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diff --git a/7843-h/7843-h.htm b/7843-h/7843-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..00500a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/7843-h/7843-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10904 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Happy End, by Joseph Hergesheimer + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Happy End, by Joseph Hergesheimer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Happy End + +Author: Joseph Hergesheimer + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7843] +This file was first posted on May 22, 2003 +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAPPY END *** + + + + +Text file produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Joshua +Hutchinson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE HAPPY END + </h1> + <h2> + By Joseph Hergesheimer + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Books By Joseph Hergesheimer + </h4> +<h5> + + The Happy End<br /> + Java Head<br /> + Gold And Iron<br /> + The Three Black Pennys<br /> + Mountain Blood<br /> + The Lay Anthony + +</h5> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HAPPY END + </h2> + <h3> + DEDICATION + </h3> + <p> + These stories have but one purpose—to give pleasure; and they have + been made into a book at the requests of those I have fortunately pleased. + It is, therefore, to such friends of my writing that they are addressed + and dedicated. However, this is not an effort to avoid my responsibility: + but to whom? Not to critics, not middlemen, nor the Academies of which I + am so reprehensibly ignorant; not, certainly, to my neighbor. They brought + me, in times of varying difficulty, food; and for that excellent reason I + am forced to conclude that, then as now, I am responsible to my grocer. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE HAPPY END </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> LONELY VALLEYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE EGYPTIAN CHARIOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE FLOWER OF SPAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> TOL'ABLE DAVID </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BREAD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ROSEMARY ROSELLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE THRUSH IN THE HEDGE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LONELY VALLEYS + </h2> + <p> + The maid, smartly capped in starched ruffled muslin and black, who + admitted them to the somber luxury of the rectory, hesitated in + unconcealed sulky disfavor. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Goodlowe has hardly started dinner,” she asserted. + </p> + <p> + “Just ask him to come out for a little,” the man repeated. + </p> + <p> + He was past middle age, awkward in harsh ill-fitting and formal clothes + and with a gaunt high-boned countenance and clear blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + His companion, a wistfully pale girl under an absurd and expensive hat, + laid her hand in an embroidered white silk glove on his arm and said in a + low tone: “We won't bother him, Calvin. There are plenty of ministers in + Washington; or we could come back later.” + </p> + <p> + “There are, and we could,” he agreed; “but we won't. I'm not going to wait + a minute more for you, Lucy. Not now that you are willing. Why, I have + been waiting half my life already.” + </p> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + A gaunt young man with clear blue eyes sat on the bank of a mountain road + and gazed at the newly-built house opposite. It was the only dwelling + visible. Behind, the range rose in a dark wall against the evening sky; on + either hand the small green valley was lost in a blue haze of serried + peaks. The house was not imposing; in reality small, but a story and a + half, it had a length of three rooms with a kitchen forming an angle, + invisible from where Calvin Stammark sat; an outside chimney at each end, + and a narrow covered portico over the front door. + </p> + <p> + An expiring clatter of hoofs marked the departure of the neighbor who had + helped Calvin set the last flanged course. It seemed incredible that it + was finished, ready—when the furniture and bright rag carpet had + been placed—for Hannah. “The truck patch will go in there on the + right,” he told himself; “and gradually I'll get the slope cleared out, + corn and buckwheat planted.” + </p> + <p> + He twisted about, facing the valley. It was deep in grass, watered with + streams like twisting shining ribbons, and held a sleek slow-grazing herd + of cattle. + </p> + <p> + The care of the latter, a part of Senator Alderwith's wide possessions, + was to form Calvin's main occupation—for the present anyhow. Calvin + Stammark had larger plans for his future with Hannah. Some day he would + own the Alderwith pastures at his back and be grazing his own steers. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts returned to Hannah, and he rose and proceeded to where a + saddled horse was tied beside the road. He ought to go back to Greenstream + and fix up before seeing her; but with their home all built, his + impatience to be with her was greater than his sense of propriety, and he + put his horse at a sharp canter to the left. + </p> + <p> + Calvin continued down the valley until the road turned toward the range + and an opening which he followed into a steeper and narrower rift beyond. + Here there were no clearings in the rocky underbrush until he reached + Richmond Braley's land. A long upturning sweep ended at the house, + directly against the base of the mountain; and without decreasing his gait + he passed over the faintly traced way, by the triangular sheep washing and + shearing pen, to the stabling shed. + </p> + <p> + Hannah's mother was bending fretfully over the kitchen stove, and + Richmond, her father, was drawing off sodden leather boots. He was a man + tall and bowed, stiff but still powerful, with a face masked in an unkempt + tangle of beard. + </p> + <p> + “H'y, Calvin,” he cried; “you're just here for spoon licking! Lucy was + looking for company.” Mrs. Braley's comment was below her breath, but it + was plainly no corroboration of her husband's assurance. “You'll find + Hannah in the front of the house,” Richmond added. Hannah was sitting on + the stone steps at the side entrance to the parlor. As usual she had a + bright bow in the hair streaming over her back, and her feet were graceful + in slippers with thin black stockings. She kissed him willingly and + studied him with wide-opened hazel-brown eyes. There wasn't another girl + in Greenstream, in Virginia, with Hannah's fetching appearance, he decided + with a glow of adoration. She had a—a sort of beauty entirely her + own; it was not exactly prettiness, but a quality far more disturbing, + something a man could never forget. + </p> + <p> + “She's done,” he told her abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “What?” Hannah gazed up at him with a dim sweetness in the gathering dusk. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he mocked her. “You ought to be ashamed to ask. Why, the house—our + home. We could move in by a week if we were called to. We can get married + any time.” + </p> + <p> + She now looked away from him, her face still and dreaming. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem overly anxious,” Calvin declared. + </p> + <p> + “It's just the idea,” she replied. “I never thought of it like this before—right + on a person.” She sighed. “Of course it will be nice, Calvin.” + </p> + <p> + He sat below her with an arm across her slim knees. “I'm going to dig + right into the truck patch; there's a parcel of poles cut for the beans. + It won't be much the first year; but wait and we'll show people how to + live.” He repeated his vision in connection with the present Alderwith + holdings. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder will we ever be rich like the senator?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he answered with calm conviction. “A man couldn't be + shiftless with you to do for, Hannah. He'd be obliged to have everything + the best.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll take a long while though,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + “We will have to put in some hard licks,” he admitted. “But we are young; + we've got a life to do it in.” + </p> + <p> + “A man has, but I don't know about girls. It seems like they get old + faster; and then things—silk dresses don't do them any good. How + would ma look in fashionable clothes!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have to wait that long,” he assured her. “Your father has never + hurt himself about the place, there's no money in sheep; and as for Hosmer—you + know well as me that he is nothing outside of the bank and his own + comfort. Store clothes is Hosmer all through.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were a little like him there,” Hannah returned. + </p> + <p> + He admitted that this evening he was more untidy than need be. “I just + couldn't wait to see you,” he declared; “with our place and—and all + so safe and happy.” + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + The Braley table, spread after the Greenstream custom in the kitchen, was + surrounded by Richmond and Calvin—Hosmer had stayed late at the bank—Hannah + and Susan, the eldest of the children, prematurely aged and wasted by a + perpetual cough, while Lucy Braley moved carelessly between the stove and + the table. At rare intervals she was assisted by Hannah, who bore the + heavy dishes in a silent but perceptible air of protest. + </p> + <p> + Calvin Stammark liked this; it was a part of her superiority to the other + girls of the locality. He made up his mind that she should never lose her + present gentility. Whenever he could afford it Hannah must have help in + the house. No greater elegance was imaginable. Senator Alderwith, at his + dwelling with its broad porch, had two servants—two servants and a + bathtub with hot water running right out of a tap. And he Calvin Stammark, + would have the same, before Hannah and he were too old to enjoy it. + </p> + <p> + He had eleven hundred dollars now, after buying the land about his house. + When the right time came he would invest it in more property—grazing, + a few herd of cattle and maybe in timber. Calvin had innumerable schemes + for their betterment and success. To all this the sheer fact of Hannah was + like the haunting refrain of a song. She was never really out of his + planning. He might be sitting on his rooftree squaring the shingling; + bargaining with Eli Goss, the stone-cutter; renewing the rock salt for + Alderwith's steers; but running through every occupation was the memory of + Hannah's pale distracting face, the scarlet thread of the lips she was + continually biting, her slender solid body. + </p> + <p> + He had heard that her mother was like that when she was young; but looking + at Mrs. Braley's spent being, hearing her thin complaining voice, it + seemed impossible. People who had known her in her youth asserted that it + was so. Phebe too, they said, was the same—Phebe who had left + Greenstream nine years ago, when she was seventeen, to become an actress + in the great cities beyond the mountains. This might or might not be a + fact. Calvin always doubted that any one else could have Hannah's charm. + </p> + <p> + However, he had never seen Phebe; he had moved from a distant part of the + county to the principal Greenstream settlement after she had gone. But the + legend of Phebe's beauty and talent was a part of the Braley household. + Mrs. Braley told it as a distinguished trait that Phebe would never set + her hand in hot dishwater. Calvin noted that Hannah was often blamed for + domestic negligence, but this and far more advanced conduct in Phebe was + surrounded by a halo of superiority. + </p> + <p> + After supper, in view of the fact of their courtship, Calvin and Hannah + were permitted to sit undisturbed in the formality of the parlor. The rest + of the family congregated with complete normality in the kitchen. The + parlor was an uncomfortable chamber with uncomfortable elaborate chairs in + orange plush upholstery, a narrow sofa, an organ of highly varnished + lightwood ornamented with scrolled fretwork, and a cannon stove with + polished brass spires. + </p> + <p> + Calvin sat on the sofa with an arm about Hannah's waist, while she twisted + round her finger the ring he had given her, a ring of warranted gold + clasping a large red stone. Her throat was circled by a silver chain + supporting a mounted polished Scotch pebble, his gift as well. Their + position was conventional; Calvin's arm was cramped from its unusual + position, he had to brace his feet to keep firm on the slippery plush, but + he was dazed with delight. His heart throbs were evident in his wrists and + throat, while a tenderness of pity actually wet his eyes. At times he + spoke in a hushed voice, phrases meaningless in word but charged with + inarticulate emotion; Hannah replied more coherently; but for the most + they were silent. She accepted the situation with evident calm as an + inevitable part of life. Drawn against him she rested her head lightly on + his shoulder, her gaze speculative and undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + Once he exclaimed: “I don't believe you love me! I don't believe you're + interested in the things for the kitchen or the bedroom suite I saw in a + catalogue at Priest's store!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly!” she murmured. “Why shouldn't I be when it's my own, when + it's all I'm going to have.” + </p> + <p> + He cried bravely. “It's only the beginning! Wait till you see our cattle + herded over the mountain to the railroad; wait till you see a spur come up + the Sugarloaf and haul away our hardwood. Just you wait——” + </p> + <p> + There was the clip-clip of a horse outside, and the creaking of wheels. + </p> + <p> + “I believe that's Hosmer.” Hannah rose. “It's funny, too, because he said + he'd have to stay at the hotel to-night, there was so much settling up at + the bank.” + </p> + <p> + It was, however, Hosmer Braley. He paused at the parlor door, a man in the + vicinity of thirty, fat in body and carefully clad, with a white starched + collar and figured satin tie. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't want to drive out,” he said, at once bland and aggrieved; “but + it couldn't be helped. Here's a piece of news for all of you—Phebe + is coming home to visit She wrote me to say so, and I only got the letter + this evening. Whatever do you suppose took her?” + </p> + <p> + Hannah at once flushed with excitement—like, Calvin Stammark + thought, the parlor lamp with the pink shade, turned up suddenly. An + instant vague depression settled over him; Hannah, only the minute before + in his arms, seemed to draw away from him, remote and unconcerned by + anything but Phebe's extraordinary return. Hosmer made it clear that the + event promised nothing but annoyance for him. + </p> + <p> + “She's coming by to-morrow's stage,” he went on, untouched by the + sensation his information had wrought in the kitchen; “and it's certain I + can't meet her. The bank's sending me into West Virginia about some + securities.” + </p> + <p> + Richmond Braley, it developed further, was bound to a day's work on the + public roads. They turned to Calvin. + </p> + <p> + “Take my buggy,” Hosmer offered; “I'll have to go from Durban by rail.” + </p> + <p> + There was no reason why he shouldn't meet Phebe Braley, Calvin realized. + He lingered, gazing with silent longing at Hannah, but it was evident that + she had no intention of returning to the parlor. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + Waiting in Hosmer's buggy for the arrival of the Greenstream stage and + Phebe Braley, Calvin was conscious of the persistence of the depression + that had invaded him at the announcement of her visit. He resented, too, + the new element thrust into the Braley household, disrupting the familiar + course of his love. Hannah had been unreasonably distracted by the + actuality of Phebe's return—the Phebe who had gone away from the + mountains and become an actress. + </p> + <p> + The buggy was drawn to one side of the principal Greenstream road, at the + post-office. Before him the way crossed the valley and lifted abruptly to + the slope of the eastern range. At his back the village—the brick + Methodist church and the white painted Presbyterian church, the courthouse + with its dignified columns, the stores at the corners of the single + crossroads, and varied dwellings—was settling into the elusive May + twilight. The highest peaks in the east were capped with dissolving rose + by the lowering sun, and the sky was a dusty blue. + </p> + <p> + Calvin Stammark heard the approaching stage before he saw it; then the + long rigid surrey with its spare horses rapidly rolled up over the open + road to the post-office. He got down and moved diffidently forward, seeing + and recognizing Phebe immediately. This was made possible by her + resemblance to Hannah; and yet, Calvin added, no two women could be more + utterly different. + </p> + <p> + Phebe Braley had a full figure—she was almost stout—a body of + the frankest emphasized curves in a long purple coat with a collar of + soiled white fur. A straw hat with the brim caught by a short purple-dyed + ostrich feather was pinned to a dead-looking crinkled mass of + greenish-gold hair, and her face—the memorable features of Hannah—was + loaded with pink powder. + </p> + <p> + Calvin said: “You must be Phebe Braley. Well, I'm Calvin Stammark. Your + father or Hosmer couldn't meet the stage and so they had to let me get + you. Where's your bag?” + </p> + <p> + She adopted at once an air of comfortable familiarity. “I don't remember + your name,” she said, settling beside him in the buggy. + </p> + <p> + He told her that he had come to this vicinity after she had gone and that + he was about to marry her sister. + </p> + <p> + “The hell you say!” she replied with cheerful surprise. “Who'd thought + Hannah was old enough to have a fellow!” + </p> + <p> + They were out of the village now and she produced a paper pack of + cigarettes from a leather hand bag with a florid gilt top. Flooding her + being with smoke she gazed with a shudder at the mountain wall on either + hand, the unbroken greenery sweeping to the sky. + </p> + <p> + “It's worse than I remembered,” she confided, resting against him. “A + person with any life to them would go dippy here. Say, it's fierce! And + yet, inside of me, I'm kind of glad to see it. I used to dream about the + mountains, and this is like riding in the dream. I'm glad you came for me + and let me down easy into things. I suppose they live in the kitchen home + and pa'd lose a currycomb in his beard. Does Hosmer still beller if he + gets the chicken neck? + </p> + <p> + “Do you sit in the holy parlor for your courting, and ain't that plush + sofa a God-forsaken perch for two little love birds? It's funny how I + remember this and that. I reckon ma's temper don't improve with age. They + kid me something dreadful about saying 'reckon,' in the talent. But it's + all good and a dam' sight better than 'I guess.' That's all they get off + me.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin Stammark's vague uneasiness changed to an acute dislike, even a + fear of Phebe. Her freedom of discourse and person, the powdered hard fare + close to his, the reek of scent—all rasped the delicacy of his love + for Hannah. The sisters were utterly different, and yet he would have + realized instantly their relationship. Phebe, too, had the disturbing + quality that made Hannah so appealing. In the former it was coarsened, + almost lost; almost but not quite. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet,” she continued, “that I'm the only female prodigal on the + bills. Not that I've been feeding on husks. Not me. Milwaukee lager and + raw beef sandwiches. I have a passion for them after the show. We do two a + day and I want solid refreshment. I wonder if you ever saw me. Of course + you didn't, but you might have. Ned Higmann's Parisian Dainties. Rose + Rayner's what I go by. That's French, but spelled different, and means + brightness. And I'm bright, Casper. + </p> + <p> + “My, what are you so glum about—the dump you live in or matrimony? + There was a gentleman in an orchestra in Harrisburg wanted to marry me—he + played the oboe—but I declined. Too Bohemian.... This is where we + turn,” she cried instinctively, and they swung into the valley where the + Braleys had their clearing. + </p> + <p> + Phebe crushed the cigarette in her fingers. Suddenly she was nervous. + </p> + <p> + “It's natural I have changed a lot,” she said. “If you hear me saying + anything rough pinch me.” + </p> + <p> + Richmond Braley was standing beside his house in the muddy clothes in + which he had labored on the roads, and Mrs. Braley and Hannah came eagerly + forward. Behind them sounded Susan's racking cough. Sentimental tears + rolled dustily over Phebe's cheeks as she kissed and embraced her mother + and sisters. + </p> + <p> + “H'y,” Richmond Braley awkwardly saluted her; and “H'y,” she answered in + the local manner. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he commented, “you hain't forgotten that anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin was asked to stay for the supper that had been delayed for Phebe's + return, but when he declined uncertainly he wasn't pressed. Putting up + Hosmer's rig and saddling his own horse he rode slowly and dejectedly on. + </p> + <p> + Instead of going directly back to Greenstream he followed the way that led + to his new house. The evening was silvery with a full brilliant moon, and + the fresh paint and bright woodwork were striking against the dark + elevated background of trees. The truck patch would be dug on the right, + the clearing widen rod by rod. From Alderwith's meadows came the soft + blowing of a steer's nostrils, while the persistent piping of the frogs in + the hollows fluctuated in his depressed consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Calvin had drawn rein and sat on his horse in the road. He was trying to + picture Hannah standing in the door waiting for him, to hear her calling + him from work; but always Phebe intervened with her travesty of Hannah's + clear loveliness. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + Again at the Braleys' he found the family—in the kitchen—listening + with absorbed interest to Phebe's stories of life and the stage. Richmond + Braley sat with an undisguised wonderment and frequent exclamations; there + was a faint flush in Mrs. Braley's dun cheeks; Susan tried without success + to strangle her coughing. Only Hosmer was unmoved; at times he nodded in + recognition of the realities of Phebe's narratives; his attitude was one + of complacent understanding. + </p> + <p> + Calvin, at last succeeding in catching Hannah's attention, made a + suggestive gesture toward the front of the house, but she ignored his + desire. She, more than any of the others, was intent upon Phebe. And he + realized that Phebe paid her a special attention. + </p> + <p> + “My,” she exclaimed, “the healthy life has put you in the front row. Ned + Higmann would rave about your shape and airs. It's too bad to bury them + here in the mountains. I reckon you love me for that”—she turned + cheerfully to Calvin—“but it's the truth. If you could do anything + at all, Hannah, you'd lead a chorus and go in the olio. And you would draw + at the stage door better than you would on the front. Young and fresh as a + daisy spells champagne and diamond garters. I don't believe they'd let you + stay in burlesque but sign you for comic opera.” + </p> + <p> + The blood beat angrily in Calvin Stammark's head. Whatever did Phebe mean + by talking like that to Hannah just when she was to marry him! He cursed + silently at Richmond Braley's fatuous face, at Mrs. Braley's endorsement + of all that her eldest daughter related, at Hosmer's assumption of worldly + experience. But Hannah's manner filled him with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “It's according to how you feel,” Phebe continued; “some like to get up of + a black winter morning and fight the kitchen fire. I don't. Some women are + happy handing plates to their husband while he puts down a square feed. + Not in mine.” + </p> + <p> + “The loneliness is what I hate,” Hannah added. + </p> + <p> + “It's hell,” the other agreed. “Excuse me, ma.” + </p> + <p> + Hannah went on: “And you get old without ever seeing things. There is all + that you tell about going on—those crowds and the jewels and + dresses, the parties and elegant times; but there is never a whisper of it + in Greenstream; nothing but the frogs that I could fairly scream at—and + maybe a church social.” As she talked Hannah avoided Celvin Stammark's + gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Me and you'll have a conversation,” Phebe promised her recklessly. + </p> + <p> + Choking with rage Calvin rose. “I might as well move along,” he asserted. + </p> + <p> + “Don't get heated,” Phebe advised him. “I wouldn't break up your happy + home, only I want Hannah to have an idea of what's what. I don't doubt + you'll get her for a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing but slaving for a woman round here,” Mrs. Braley put in. + “I'm right glad Phebe had so much spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Richmond Braley evidently thought it was time for certain reservations. + “You mustn't come down so hard on Calvin and me,” he said practically. + “We're both likely young fellows.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be here evening after to-morrow,” Calvin told Hannah in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + She nodded without interest. They must be married at once, he decided, his + wise horse following unerringly the rocky road, stepping through splashing + dark fords. If there was a repetition of the past visit he would have + something to say. Hannah was his, she was promised to him. He felt the + coolness of her cheeks, her bright mouth against his. A tyranny of misery + and desire flooded him at the sudden danger—it was as much as that—threatening + his happiness and life. + </p> + <p> + It was a danger founded on his entire ignorance of what he must combat. He + couldn't visualize it, but it never occurred to him that Hannah would + actually go away—leave him and Greenstream. No, it was a quality in + Hannah herself, a thing that had always lurked below the surface, beyond + his knowledge until now. Yet he realized that it formed a part of her + appeal, a part of her distinction over the other girls of the county. + </p> + <p> + Maybe it was because he was never in his heart absolutely certain of her—even + when she was closest to him she seemed to slip away beyond his power to + follow. His love, he acknowledged for the first time, had never been easy + or contented or happy. It had been obscure, like the night about him now; + it resembled a fire that he held in his bare hands. Hannah's + particularity, too, was allied to this strange newly-awakened peril. In a + manner it was that which had carried Phebe out of the mountains. Now the + resemblance between them was far stronger than their difference. + </p> + <p> + There was more than a touch of all this in the girls' mother, in her + bitterness and discontent. He felt that he hated the elder as much as he + did Phebe. If the latter were a man—— + </p> + <p> + He dressed with the greatest care for his next evening with Hannah. Hosmer + wore no stiffer nor whiter collar, and Calvin's necktie was a pure gay + silk. He arrived just as the moon detached itself from the fringe of + mountain peaks and the frogs started insistently. His heart was heavy but + his manner calm, determined, as he entered the Braley kitchen. No one was + there but Susan; soon however, Phebe entered in an amazing slovenly + wrapper with a lace edge turned back from her ample throat; and Hannah + followed. + </p> + <p> + Phebe made a mocking reference to the sofa in the parlor, and Hannah's + expression was distasteful; but she slowly followed Calvin into the + conventional chamber. + </p> + <p> + He made no attempt to embrace her, but said instead: “I came to fix the + day for our wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Phebe wants me to go with her for a little first,” she replied + indirectly. “She says I can come back whenever I like.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Phebe has no say in it.” He spoke harshly. “We're honestly promised + to each other and don't need outside advice or interference.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you go to call Phebe 'outside,'” she retorted. “She's my sister. + Perhaps it's a good thing she came when she did, and saved me from being + buried. Perhaps I'm not aiming to be married right off.” + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + Hannah was standing, a hand on the table that held the pink-shaded lamp, + and the light showed her petulant and antagonistic. A flare of anger + threatened to shut all else from Calvin's thoughts; but suddenly he was + conscious of the necessity for care—care and patience. He forced + back his justified sense of wrong. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't referring direct to Phebe,” he told her. “I meant that between + us nobody else matters, no one in the world is of any importance to me but + you. It's all I think about. When I was building the house, our house, I + hammered you into it with every nail. It is sort of made out of you,” he + foundered; “like—like I am.” + </p> + <p> + He could see her relenting in the loss of the rigidity of her pose. + Hannah's head drooped and her fingers tapped faintly on the table. He + moved closer, urging his advantage. + </p> + <p> + “We're all but married, Hannah; our carpet is being wove and that suite of + furniture ordered through Priest. You've been upset by this talk of + theaters and such. You'd get tired of them and that fly-by-night life in a + month.” + </p> + <p> + “Phebe hasn't.” + </p> + <p> + “What suits one doesn't suit all,” he said concisely. + </p> + <p> + “It would suit more girls than you know for,” she informed him. “Take it + round here, there's nothing to do but get married, and all the change is + from one kitchen to another. You don't even have a way to match up + fellows. Soon as you're out of short skirts one of them visits with you + and the rest stay away like you had the smallpox. Our courting lasted a + week and you were here four times.” + </p> + <p> + “We haven't much time, Hannah,” he reminded her. “It was right hard for me + to see you that often. There was a smart of things you were doing, too.” + </p> + <p> + “The more fool!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Again his resentment promised to leap beyond control. He clenched his + hands and stared with contracted eyes at the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he articulated finally, “we're promised anyhow; that can't be + denied. I have your word.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted, “but chance that I went with Phebe doesn't mean I'd + never come back.” + </p> + <p> + “It would mean that you'd never come back,” he paraphrased her. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I would know better,” she answered quickly. “I'm sorry, Calvin. I + didn't go to be so sharp. Only I don't know what's right,” she went on + unhappily. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't what's right,” he corrected her, “but what you want. I wish + Phebe had stayed away a little longer.” + </p> + <p> + “There you go again at Phebe!” she protested. + </p> + <p> + He replied grimly; “Not half what I feel.” + </p> + <p> + In a dangerously calm voice she inquired, “What's the rest then?” + </p> + <p> + “She's a trouble-maker,” he asserted in a shaking tone over which he + seemed to have no command; “she came back to Greenstream and for no reason + but her own slinked into our happiness. Your whole family—even + Hosmer, pretending to be so wise—are blind as bats. You can't even + see that Phebe's hair is as dyed as her stories. She says she is on the + stage, but it's a pretty stage! I've been to Stanwick and seen those + Parisian Dainties and burlesque shows. They're nothing but a lot of + half-naked women cavorting and singing fast songs. And the show only + begins—with most of them—when the curtain drops. If I even try + to think of you in that I get sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” Hannah stammered, scarcely above her breath. + </p> + <p> + “It's bad,” Calvin Stammark went on. “The women are bad; and a bad woman + is something awful. I know about that too. I've been to the city as well + as Phebe. Oh, Hannah,” he cried, “can't you see, can't you!” With a + violent effort he regained the greater part of his composure. “But it + won't touch you,” he added; “we're going to be married right away.” + </p> + <p> + “We are?” Hannah echoed him thinly, in bitter mockery. “I wouldn't have + you now if you were the last man on earth with the way you talked about + Phebe! I don't see how you can stand there and look at me. If I told pa or + Hosmer they would shoot you. You might as well know this as well—I'm + going back with her; it'll be some gayer than these lonely old valleys or + your house stuck away all by itself with nothing to see but Senator + Alderwith's steers.” + </p> + <p> + There flashed into Calvin Stammark's mind the memory of how he had planned + to possess just such cattle for Hannah and himself; he saw in the elusive + lamplight the house he had built for Hannah. His feeling, that a second + before had been so acute, was numb. This, he thought, was strange; a voice + within echoed that he was going to lose her, to lose Hannah; but he had no + faculty capable of understanding such a calamity. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Hannah,” he said impotently—“Hannah—” His vision blurred + so that he couldn't see her clearly; it was as if, indistinct before him, + she were already fading from his life. “I never went to hurt you,” he + continued in a curious detachment from his suffering. “You were everything + I had.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin grew awkward, confused in his mind and gestures. At the same time + Hannah's desirability increased immeasurably. Never in Greenstream or any + place else had he seen another like her; and he was about to lose her, + lose Hannah. + </p> + <p> + Automatically he repeated, “If Phebe were a man——” + </p> + <p> + He was powerless not only against exterior circumstance but to combat what + lay with Hannah. Phebe would never set her hands in hot dishwater. He + recalled their mother, fretful and impatient. He shook his head as if to + free his mind from so many vain thoughts. She stood, hard and unrelenting. + </p> + <p> + He tried to mutter a phrase about being here if she should return, but it + perished in the conviction of its uselessness. Calvin saw her with + green-yellow hair, a cigarette in painted lips; he heard the blurred + applause of men at the spectacle of Hannah on the stage, dressed like the + women he had seen there. Then pride stiffened him into a semblance of her + own remoteness. + </p> + <p> + “It's in you,” he said; “and it will have to come out. I'm what I am too, + and that doesn't make it any easier. Kind of a fool about you. Another + girl won't do. I'll say good night.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and abruptly quitted the room and all his hope. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + When the furniture Calvin had ordered through the catalogue at Priest's + store arrived by mountain wagon he placed it in the room beside the + kitchen that was to have been Hannah's and his. Hannah had gone three + weeks before with Phebe. This done he sat for a long while on the portico + of his house, facing the rich bottom pasturage and high verdant range + beyond. It was late afternoon and the rift was filling with a golden haze + from a sun veiled in watery late-spring vapors. An old apple tree by the + road was flushed with pink blossoms and a mocking bird was whistling with + piercing sweetness. + </p> + <p> + Soon it would be evening and the frogs would begin again, the frogs and + whippoorwills. The valley, just as Hannah had said, was lonely. He stirred + and later found himself some supper—in the kitchen where everything + was new. + </p> + <p> + On the following morning he left the Greenstream settlement; it was + Friday, and Monday he returned with Ettie, his sister. She was remarkably + like him—tall and angular, with a gaunt face and steady blue eyes. + Older than Calvin, she had settled into a complete acquiescence with + whatever life brought; no more for her than the keeping of her brother's + house. Calvin, noting the efficient manner in which she ordered their + material affairs, wondered at the fact that she had not been married. Men + were unaccountable, but none more than himself, with his unquenchable + longing for Hannah. + </p> + <p> + This retreated to the back of his being. He never spoke of her. Indeed he + tried to put her from his thoughts, and with a measure of success. But it + never occurred to him to consider any other girl; that possibility was + closed. Those he saw—and they were uniformly kind, even inviting—were + dull after Hannah. + </p> + <p> + Instead he devoted himself to the equivalent, in his undertakings, of + Ettie's quiet capability. The following year a small number of the steers + grazing beyond the road were his; in two years more Senator Alderwith + died, and there was a division of his estate, in which Calvin assumed + large liabilities, paying them as he had contracted. The timber in + Sugarloaf Valley drew speculators—he sold options and bought a place + in the logging development. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him that he grew older, in appearance anyhow, with + exceptional rapidity; his face grew leaner and his beard, which he + continued to shave, was soiled with gray hair. + </p> + <p> + He avoided the Braleys and their clearing; and when circumstance drew him + into conversation with Richmond or Hosmer he studiously spoke of + indifferent things. He heard nothing of Hannah. Yet he learned in the + various channels of communication common to remote localities that + Richmond Braley was doing badly. Hosmer went to bank in one of the newly + prosperous towns of West Virginia and apparently left all family + obligations behind; Susan died of lung fever; and then, at the + post-office, Calvin was told that Richmond himself was dangerously sick. + </p> + <p> + He left the mail with Ettie at his door and rode on, turning for the first + time in nine years into the narrow valley of the Braleys' home. The place + had been neglected until it was hardly distinguishable from the + surrounding tangled wild. Such sheep as he saw were in wretched condition, + wild and massed with filth and burrs. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braley was filling a large glass flask with hot water for her + husband; and to Calvin's surprise a child with a quantity of straight + pale-brown hair and wide-opened hazel-brown eyes was seated in the kitchen + watching her. + </p> + <p> + “How is Richmond?” he asked, his gaze straying involuntarily to the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Kingdom Come's how he is,” Lucy Braley replied. “Yes, and the poorhouse + will end us unless Hosmer has a spark of good feeling. I sent him a postal + card to come a long while back, but he hasn't so much as answered. Here, + Lucy”—she turned to the child—“run up with this.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy?” Calvin Stammark asked when they were alone. + </p> + <p> + “Been here two weeks,” Mrs. Braley told him. “What will become of her's + beyond me. She is Hannah's daughter, and Hannah is dead.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sharp constriction of Calvin's heart. Hannah's daughter, and + Hannah was dead! + </p> + <p> + “As far as I know,” the other continued in a strained metallic voice, “the + child's got no father you could fix. Her mother wrote the name was Lucy + Vibard, and she'd called her after me. But when I asked her she didn't + seem to know anything about it. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah was alone and dog poor when she died, that's certain. Like + everything else I can lay mind on she came to a bad end—Lord reckons + where Phebe is. I always thought you were weak fingered to let Hannah go—with + that house built and all. I suppose maybe you weren't, though; well out of + a slack bargain.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin Stammark scarcely heard her; his being was possessed by the + pitiable image of Hannah dying alone and dog poor. He had always pictured + her—except in the fleet vision of debasement—as young and + graceful and disturbing. Without further speech he left the kitchen and + crossed the house to the shut parlor. It was screened against the day, dim + and musty and damp. The orange plush of the chairs and the narrow + uncomfortable sofa, carefully dusted, was as bright as it had been when he + had last seen it—was it ten years ago? + </p> + <p> + Here she had stood, her fingers tapping on the table, when he had made the + unfortunate remark about Phebe; the lamplight had illuminated her right + cheek. Here she had proclaimed her impatience with Greenstream, with its + loneliness, her hunger for life. Here he had lost her. A sudden need to + see Hannah's daughter invaded him and he returned to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The child was present, silent; she had Hannah's eyes, Hannah's hair. + Seated by Richmond Braley's bed he realized instantly that the old man was + dying; and mentally he composed the urgent message to be sent to Hosmer. + But that failed to settle the problem of Lucy's safety—Hannah's + Lucy, who might have been his too. The solution of that difficulty slowly + took form in his thoughts. There was no need to discuss it with Ettie—his + duty, yes, and his desire was clear. + </p> + <p> + He took her home directly after Richmond's funeral, an erratic wind + blowing her soft loose hair against his face as he drove. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + There had been additions to Calvin Stammark's house—the half story + raised, and the length increased by a room. This was now furnished as the + parlor and had an entrance from the porch extended across the face of the + dwelling; the middle lower room was his; the chamber designed for his + married life was a seldom used dining room; while Ettie and Lucy were + above. A number of sheds for stabling and implements, chicken coops and + pig pen had accumulated at the back; the corn and buckwheat climbed the + mountain; and the truck patch was wide and luxuriant. + </p> + <p> + A narrow strip, bright, in season, with the petunias and cinnamon pinks + which Ettie tended, separated the dwelling from the public road; and the + flowers more than anything else attracted Hannah's daughter. Calvin talked + with her infrequently, but a great deal of his silent attention was + directed at the child. + </p> + <p> + Already Lucy had a quality of appeal to which he watched Ettie respond. + The latter took a special pride in making Lucy as pretty as possible; in + the afternoon she would dress her in sheer white with a ribbon in her + hair. She spared Lucy many of the details of housework in which the latter + could have easily assisted her; and when Calvin protested she replied that + she was so accustomed to doing that it was easier for her to go ahead. + </p> + <p> + Calvin's feelings were mixed. At first he had told himself that Lucy would + be, in a way, his daughter; he would bring her up as his own; and in the + end what he had would be hers, just as it should have been Hannah's. + However, his attitude was never any that might be recognized as that of + parenthood. He never grew completely accustomed to her presence, she was + always a subject of interest and speculation. He continued to get pleasure + from her slender graceful being and the little airs of delicacy she + assumed. + </p> + <p> + He was conscious, certainly, that Lucy was growing older—yet not so + fast as he—but he had a shock of surprise when she informed him that + she was fifteen. Calvin pinched her cheek, and, sitting on the porch, + heard her within issuing a peremptory direction to Ettie. The elder made + no reply and, he knew, did as Lucy wished. This disturbed him. There + wasn't a finer woman living than Ettie Stammark, and he didn't purpose to + have Lucy impudent to her. Lucy, he decided, was getting a little beyond + them. She was quick at her lessons, the Greenstream teacher said. Lucy + would have considerable property when he died; he'd like her to have all + the advantages possible; and—very suddenly—Calvin decided to + send her away to school, to Stanwick, the small city to and from which the + Greenstream stage drove. + </p> + <p> + She returned from her first term at Christmas, full of her experiences + with teachers and friends, to which Ettie and he listened with absorbed + attention. Now she seemed farther from him than before; and he saw that a + likeness to Hannah was increasing; not in appearance—though that was + not dissimilar—but in the quality that had established Hannah's + difference from other girls, the quality for which he had never found a + name. The assumptions of Lucy's childhood had become strongly marked + preferences for the flowers of existence, the ease of the portico rather + than the homely labor of the back of the house. + </p> + <p> + Neither his sister nor he resented this or felt that Lucy was evading her + just duties; rather they enjoyed its difference from their own practical + beings and affairs. They could afford to have her in fresh laundered + frills and they secretly enjoyed the manner in which she instructed them + in social conventions. + </p> + <p> + At her home-coming for the summer she brought to an end the meals in the + kitchen; but when she left once more for Stanwick and school Ettie and + Calvin without remark drifted back to the comfortable convenience of the + table near the cooking stove. + </p> + <p> + This period of Lucy's experience at an end she arrived in Greenstream on a + hot still June evening. Neither Calvin nor his sister had been able to go + to Stanwick for the school commencement, and Calvin had been too late to + meet the stage. After the refreshing cold water in the bright tin basin by + the kitchen door he went to his room for a presentable necktie and + handkerchief—Lucy was very severe about the latter—and then + walked into the dining room. + </p> + <p> + The lamp was not yet lit, the light was elusive, tender, and his heart + contracted violently at the youthful yet mature back toward him. She + turned slowly, a hand resting on the table, and Calvin Stammark's senses + swam. An inner confusion invaded him, pierced by a sharp unutterable + longing. + </p> + <p> + “Hannah,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She smiled and advanced; but, his heart pounding, Calvin retreated. He + must say something reasonable, tell her that they were glad to have her + back—mustn't leave them again. She kissed him, and, his eyes shut, + the touch of her lips re-created about him the parlor of the Braleys,—the + stiffly arranged furniture with its gay plush, the varnished fretwork of + the organ, the pink glow of the lamp. + </p> + <p> + She was Hannah! The resemblance was so perfect—her cheek's turn, her + voice, sweet with a trace of petulance, her fingers—that it was + sustained in a flooding illumination through the commonplace revealing act + of supper. It was as if the eighteen years since Hannah, his Hannah, was a + reality were but momentary, the passage of the valley. His love for her + was unchanged—no, here at least, was a difference; it was greater, + keener; exactly as if during the progress of their intimacy he had been + obliged to go away from her for a while. + </p> + <p> + She accompanied Ettie to the kitchen and Calvin sat on the porch in a + gathering darkness throbbing with frogs and perfumed with drifting locust + blooms. Constellation by constellation the stars glimmered into being. + Hannah, Lucy! They mingled and in his fiber were forever one. He gave + himself up to the beauty of his passion, purified and intense from long + patience and wanting, amazed at the miracle that had brought back + everything infinitely desirable. + </p> + <p> + He forgot his age, and, preparing for the night, saw with a sense of + personal outrage his seamed countenance reflected in the mirror of the + bureau. Yet in reality he wasn't old—forty-something—still, + not fifty. He was as hard and nearly as springy as a hickory sapling. + There was a saying in which he found vast comfort—the prime, the + very prime of life. + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + His enormous difficulty would be to bring Lucy to the understanding of his + new—but it was the old—attitude toward her. If she had never + become completely familiar to him association had made him a solid + recognized part of her existence; if not exactly a father, an uncle at the + very least. Calvin realized that she would be profoundly shocked by any + abrupt revelation of his feeling. Yet he was for the time in no hurry to + bring about the desired change in their relationship. His life had been so + long empty that it was enough to dwell on the great happiness of his + repossession. + </p> + <p> + This, he knew, could not continue, but at present, today, it was almost + enough. Before he was aware, the summer had gone, the mountains were + sheeted in gold; and he was still dreaming, putting off the actuality + before them. + </p> + <p> + The logging in Sugarloaf Valley had grown to an operation of importance, + and a great deal of his time was spent watching the spur of railroad creep + forward and the clearing of new sections; sawmills and camps were in + course of erection; and what had been a still green cleft in the mountains + was filled with human activity. He had secured an advantageous position + for a young man from the part of the county inhabited by the Stammark + family, Wilmer Deakon, and consulted with him frequently in connection + with his interests. + </p> + <p> + Wilmer was to the last degree dependable; a large grave individual who took + a serious interest in the welfare of his fellows and supported established + customs and institutions. He sang in a resounding barytone with the + Methodist Church choir; his dignified bearing gave weight to the school + board; and he accumulated a steadily growing capital at the Greenstream + bank. An admirable individual, Calvin thought, and extended to him the + wide hospitality of his house. + </p> + <p> + Lucy apparently had little to say to Wilmer Deakon; indeed, when he was + not present, to their great amusement she imitated his deliberate balanced + speech. She said that he was too solemn—an opinion with which Calvin + privately agreed—and made an irreverent play on his name and the + place he should occupy in the church. It seemed that she found a special + pleasure in annoying him; and on an occasion when Calvin had determined to + reprove her for this he was surprised by Winner's request to speak to him + outside. + </p> + <p> + Wilmer Deakon said abruptly: “Lucy and I are promised to each other.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin stood gazing at him in a lowering complete surprise, at a loss for + words, when the other continued with an intimation of his peculiar + qualifications for matrimony, the incontrovertible fact that he could and + would take care of Lucy. He stopped at the appropriate moment and waited + confidently for Calvin Stammark's approval. + </p> + <p> + The latter, out of a gathering immeasurable rage, almost shouted: “You get + to hell off my place!” + </p> + <p> + Wilmer Deakon was astounded but otherwise unshaken. “That's no way to + answer a decent man and a proper question,” he replied. “Lucy and I want + to be married. There's nothing wrong with that. But you look as if I had + offered to disgrace her. Why, Mr. Stammark, you can't keep her forever. I + reckon it'll be hard on you to have her go, but you must make up your mind + to it some day. She's willing, and you know all about me. Then Lucy won't + be far away from you all. I've cleared the brush up and right now the + bottom of our house is laid in Sugarloaf.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin's anger sank before a sense of helplessness at this latter fact. + Wilmer was building a house for her just as he had built one for Hannah. + He remembered his delight and pride as it had approached completion; he + remembered the evening, nearly twenty years ago, when he had sat on the + bank across the road and seen it finished. Then he had ridden, without + waiting to fix up, to the Braleys'; Hannah had scolded him as they sat in + the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “I must talk to Lucy,” he said in a different weary tone. Bareheaded he + walked over into the pasture, now his. The cattle moved vaguely in the + gloom, with softly blowing nostrils, and the streams were like smooth dark + ribbons. When he returned to his house the lights were out, Wilmer Deakon + was gone and Lucy was in bed. + </p> + <p> + He again examined his countenance in the mirror, but now he was surprised + that it was not haggard with age. It seemed that twenty more years had + been added to him since supper. He wondered whether there had ever been + another man who had lost his love twice and saw that he had been a blind + fool for not speaking in the June dusk when Lucy had come back from + school. + </p> + <p> + Lucy, it developed, had spoken to Ettie, and there was a general + discussion of her affair at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Calvin carried away from it a persistent feeling of dissatisfaction, but + for this he could find no tangible reason. Of course, he silently argued, + the girl could not be expected to show her love for Wilmer publicly; it + was enough that he had been assured of its strength; the fact of her + agreement to marry him was final. + </p> + <p> + He went about his daily activities with a heavy absent-mindedness, with a + dragging spirit. A man was coming from Washington to see him in the + interest of a new practically permanent fencing, and he met him at the + post-office, listened to a loud cheerful greeting with marked inattention. + </p> + <p> + The salesman was named Martin Eckles, and he was fashionably dressed in a + suit of shepherd's check bound with braid, and had a flashing ring—a + broad gold band set with a mystic symbol in rubies and diamonds. After his + supper at the hotel he walked, following Calvin's direction, the short + distance to the latter's house, where Calvin and Ettie Stammark and Lucy + were seated on the porch. + </p> + <p> + Martin Eckles, it developed, was a fluent and persuasive talker, a man of + the broadest worldly experiences and wit. He was younger than Calvin, but + older than Wilmer Deakon, and a little fat. He had a small mustache cut + above his lip, and closely shaved ruddy cheeks with a tinge of purple + about his ears. Drawing out his monologue entertainingly he gazed + repeatedly at Lucy. Calvin lost the sense of most that the other said; he + was immersed in the past that had been made the present and then denied to + him—it was all before him in the presence of Lucy, of Hannah come + back with the unforgetable and magic danger of her appeal. + </p> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + In the extension of his commercial activity Martin Eckles kept his room at + the Greenstream hotel and employed a horse and buggy for his excursions + throughout the county. It had become his habit to sit through the evenings + with the Stammarks where his flood of conversation never lessened. Lucy + scarcely added a phrase to the sum of talk. She rocked in her chair with a + slight endless motion, her dreaming gaze fixed on the dim valley. + </p> + <p> + Wilmer Deakon, on the occasion of his first encounter with Eckles at the + Stammarks', acknowledged the other's phrase and stood waiting for Lucy to + proceed with him to the parlor. But Lucy was apparently unaware of this; + she sat calm and remote in her crisp white skirts, while Wilmer fidgeted + at the door. + </p> + <p> + Soon, however, she said: “For goodness' sake, Wilmer, whatever's the + matter with you? Can't you find a chair that suits you? You make a person + nervous.” + </p> + <p> + At the same time she rose ungraciously and followed him into the house. + </p> + <p> + Wilmer came out, Calvin thought, in an astonishingly short time. Courting + was nothing like it had been in his day. The young man muttered an + unintelligible sentence that, from its connection, might be interpreted as + a good night, and strode back to the barn and his horse. + </p> + <p> + Martin Eckles smiled: “The love birds must have been a little ruffled.” + </p> + <p> + And Calvin, with a strong impression of having heard such a thing before, + was vaguely uneasy. Eckles sat for a long space; Lucy didn't appear, and + at last the visitor rose reluctantly. But Lucy had not gone to bed; she + came out on the porch and dropped with a flounce into a chair beside + Calvin. + </p> + <p> + “Wilmer's pestering me to get married right away,” she told him; “before + ever the house is built. He seems to think I ought to be just crazy to + take him and go to that lonely Sugarloaf place.” + </p> + <p> + “It's what you promised for,” Calvin reminded her; “nothing's turned up + you didn't know about.” + </p> + <p> + “If I did!” she exclaimed irritably. “What else is a girl to do, I'd like + to ask? It's just going from one stove to another, here. Only it'll be + worse in my case—you and Aunt Ettie have been lovely to me. I hate + to cook!” she cried. “And it makes me sick to put my hands in greasy + dishwater! I suppose that's wicked but I can't help it. When I told Wilmer + that to-night he acted like I'd denied communion. I can't help it if the + whippoorwills make me shiver, can I? Or if I want to see a person go by + once in a while. I—I don't want to be bad—or to hurt you or + Wilmer. Oh, I'll settle down, there's nothing else to do; I'll marry him + and get old before my time, like the others.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin Stammark leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and stared at her + in shocked amazement—Hannah in every accent and feeling. The old + sense of danger and helplessness flooded him. He thought of Phebe with her + dyed hair and cigarette-stained lips, her stories of the stage and life; + he thought of Hannah dying alone and dog poor. Now Lucy—— + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember anything about your mother,” he asked, “and before you + came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that we were dreadfully unhappy,” she replied. “There was a boarding + house with actresses washing their stockings in the rooms and a landlady + they were all afraid of. There was beer in the wash-stand pitcher. But + that wouldn't happen to me,” she asserted; “I'd be different. I might be + an actress, but in dramas where my hair would be down and everybody love + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You're going to marry Wilmer Deakon and be a proper happy wife!” he + declared, bringing his fist down on a hard palm. “Get this other nonsense + out of your head!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he was trembling at the old catastrophe reopened by Lucy. His + love for her, and his dread, choked him. She added nothing more, but sat + rigid and pale and rebellious. Before long she went in, but Calvin stayed + facing the darkness, the menace of the lonely valley. Except for the + lumbermen it would be worse in the Sugarloaf cutting. + </p> + <p> + Damn the frogs! + </p> + <p> + Martin Eckles appeared in the buggy the following evening and offered to + carry Lucy for a short drive to a near-by farm; with an air of + indifference she accepted. Wilmer didn't call, and Calvin sat in silent + perplexity with Ettie. The buggy returned later than they had allowed, and + Lucy went up to bed without stopping on the porch. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Ettie, with something in her hand, came out to Calvin at + the stable shed. + </p> + <p> + “I found this in Lucy's room,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + It was Martin Eckles' gold ring, set with the insignia in rubies, + suspended in a loop of ribbon. + </p> + <p> + A cold angry certitude formed in his being. What a criminal fool he had + been! What a blind booby! His only remark, however, brought a puzzled + expression to Ettie's troubled countenance. Calvin Stammark exclaimed, + “Phebe Braley.” He was silent for a little, his frowning gaze fixed beyond + any visible object, then he added: “Put that back where you found it and + forget everything.” + </p> + <p> + Ettie laid a hand on his sleeve. “Now, Calvin,” she begged, her voice low + and strained, “promise me——” + </p> + <p> + “Forget everything!” he repeated harshly. + </p> + <p> + His face was dark, forbidding, the lines deeply bitten about a somber + mouth, his eyes were like blue ice. He walked into Greenstream, where he + saw the proprietor of the small single hotel; then, back in his room, he + unwrapped from oiled leather a heavy blued revolver; and soon after he + saddled his horse and was clattering in a sharp trot in the opposite + direction from the village. + </p> + <p> + It was dark when, having returned, he dismounted and swung the saddle from + the horse to its tree. Familiar details kept him a long while, his hands + were steady but slow, automatic in movement. He went in through the + kitchen past Ettie to his room, and after a little he re-wrapped the + revolver and laid it back in its accustomed place. Supper, in spite of + Lucy's sharp comment, was set by the stove, and Ettie was solicitous of + his every possible need. He ate methodically what was offered, and + afterward filled and lit his pipe. It soon went out. Once, on the porch, + he leaned toward Lucy and awkwardly touched her shoulder. + </p> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + Wilmer came. He was late, and Lucy said wearily, “I've got a headache + to-night. Do you mind if we stay out here in the cool?” + </p> + <p> + He didn't, and his confident familiar planning took the place of Martin + Eckles' more exciting narratives. + </p> + <p> + The next day, past noon, the proprietor of the Greenstream hotel left an + excited group of men to stop Calvin as he drove in from Sugarloaf Valley. + </p> + <p> + He cried: “Eckles has been shot and killed. First they found the horse and + buggy by the road, and then Martin Eckles. He had fallen out. One bullet + did it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's too bad,” Calvin replied evenly. “Lawlessness ought to be put + down.” He had known Solon Entreken all his life. The level gaze of two men + encountered and held. + </p> + <p> + Then: “I'll never say anything against that,” the other pronounced. “It's + mighty strange who could have shot Eckles and got clear away. That's what + he did, in spite of hell and the sheriff.” + </p> + <p> + Turning, after inevitable exclamations, toward home, Calvin found Lucy + sitting moodily on the porch. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a right ugly piece of news,” he told her, masking the painful + interest with which he followed her expression. “Martin Eckles was killed + yesterday; shot out of the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + She grew pale, her breast rose in a sudden gasp and her hands were + clenched. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she whispered, horrified. + </p> + <p> + But there was nothing in her manner beyond the natural detestation of such + brutality; nothing, he saw, hidden. + </p> + <p> + “He wanted me to go away with him,” she swept on; “and get married in + Stanwick. Martin wanted me to see the world. He said I ought to, and not + stay here all my life.” + </p> + <p> + The misery that settled over her, the hopelessness dulling her youth + filled him with a passionate resentment at the fate that made her what she + was and seemingly condemned her to eternal denial. His love for her—Lucy, + Hannah, Hannah, Lucy—was intolerably keen. He went to her, bending + with a riven hand on the arm of her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want Wilmer?” he demanded. “Do you love him truly? Is he enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Slow tears wet her cheeks. “I can't say. I ought to; he's + good and faithful, and with some of me that's enough. But there's another + part; I can't explain it except to say it's a kind of excitement for the + life Mr. Eckles told us about, all those lights and restaurants and + theaters. Sometimes I think I'll die, I want it so much; then it comes + over me how ungrateful I am to you and Aunt Ettie, and I hate myself for + the way I treat Wilmer.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you love him?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not like you mean.” + </p> + <p> + All that had been so long obscured in his mind and heart slowly cleared to + understanding—Lucy Braley, Richmond's wife; Phebe; Hannah; and again + Lucy, Lucy Vibard had this common hunger for life, for brightness; they + were as helpless in its grasp as he had been to hold Hannah. Phebe's + return, Martin Eckles—were only incidents in a great inner need. In + itself it wasn't wicked; circumstance had made it seem wrong; Phebe's + greenish hair, the mark of so much spoiled, Hannah's unhappy death—were + the result of aspirations; they fretted and bruised, even killed + themselves, like gay young animals, innocent animals, in a dark lonely + enclosure. + </p> + <p> + They were really finer than the satisfied women who faded to ugliness in + the solitary homes of the Greenstream mountains; not better, for example, + than Ettie—it might be that they weren't so good, not so high in + heaven; but they were finer in the manner of blooded horses rebelling + against the plow traces. They were more elegant, slimmer, with a greater + fire. That too was the secret of their memorable power over him; he wanted + a companion different from a kitchen drudge; when he returned home at + evening, he wanted a wife cool and sweet in crisp white with a yellow + ribbon about her waist, and store slippers. He loved Lucy's superiority—it + was above ordinary things. “Like a star,” Calvin Stammark told himself. + </p> + <p> + He, with everything else that had combated their desire, depriving them of + the very necessities for his adoration, had been to blame. + </p> + <p> + “Lucy,” he said, bending over her and speaking rapidly, “let's you and me + go and learn all this life together. Let's run away from Greenstream and + Wilmer Deakon and even Ettie, what we ought to hold by, and see every + theater in the country. I've got enough money——” + </p> + <p> + The radiance of the gesture by which she interrupted his speech filled him + with pounding joy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shall we!” she cried; and then hugged him wildly, her warm young arms + about his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Of course we will,” he reassured her; “and right away, to-morrow. You and + me.” + </p> + <p> + He felt her lips against his, and then more cautiously she took up the + immediate planning of their purpose. It would be ridiculously easy; they + would drive to Stanwick in the buggy. + </p> + <p> + “The hotels and all,” she continued with shining eyes; “and nobody will + think it's queer. I'll be your daughter, like always.” + </p> + <p> + Calvin turned abruptly from her and faced the valley saturated with + slumberous sunlight. Lucy hesitated for a moment and then fled lightly + into the house. After a little he heard her singing on the upper floor. + People wouldn't think it was queer because she would be his daughter, + “like always.” + </p> + <p> + Yet he wasn't old beyond hope, past love—as strong and nearly as + springy as a hickory sapling. He had waited half his life for this. Calvin + slowly smiled in bitterness and self-contempt; a pretty figure for a young + girl to admire, he thought, losing the sense of mere physical fitness. + Anyhow Lucy was supremely happy and safe, and he had accomplished it. He + was glad that he had been so industrious and successful. Lucy could have + almost anything she wanted—pretty clothes and rings with real + jewels, necklaces hung with better than Scotch pebbles. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps when she had seen the world—its bigness and noise and + confusion—after her longing was answered, she would turn back to + him. Already he was oppressed by a feeling of strangeness, of loss at + leaving the high valleys of home. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EGYPTIAN CHARIOT + </h2> + <p> + Lemuel Doret walked slowly home from the prayer meeting with his being + vibrating to the triumphant beat of the last hymn. It was a good hymn, + filled with promised joy for every one who conquered sin. The long + twilight of early summer showed the surrounding fields still bright green, + but the more distant hills were vague, the sky was remote and faintly + blue, and shadows thickened under the heavy maples that covered the single + street of Nantbrook. The small frame dwellings of the village were higher + than the precarious sidewalk; flights of steps mounted to the narrow + porches; and though Lemuel Doret realized that his neighbors were sitting + outside he did not look up, and no voices called down arresting his + deliberate progress. + </p> + <p> + An instant bitterness, tightening his thin metallic lips and narrowing a + cold fixed gaze, destroyed the harmony of the assured salvation. Lemuel + Doret silently cursed the pinched stupidity of the country clods. The slow + helpless fools! If instead of muttering in groups one of the men would + face him with the local hypocrisy he'd sink a heel in his jaw. The + bitterness expanded into a hatred like the gleam on a knife blade; his + hands, spare and hard, grew rigid with the desire to choke a thick throat. + </p> + <p> + Then the rage sank before a swift self-horror, an overwhelming conviction + of his relapse into unutterable sin. He stopped and in a spiritual agony, + forgetful of his surroundings, half lifted quivering arms to the dim sky: + “O Christ, lean down from the throne and hold me steady.” + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment while a monotonous chatter on a porch above dropped + to a curious stillness. It seemed to him that his whisper was heard and + immediately answered; anyhow peace slowly enveloped him once more, the + melody of hope was again uppermost in his mind. He went forward, procuring + a cigarette from a mended ragged pocket. + </p> + <p> + His house, reached by a short steep path and sagging steps, was dark; at + first he saw no one, then the creak of a rocking-chair in the open doorway + indicated Bella, his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a cigarette,” she demanded, her penetrating voice dissatisfied. + </p> + <p> + “You know I don't want you to smoke anywhere you can be seen,” he + answered. “Since we've come here to live we have to mind the customs. The + women'll never take to you smoking cigarettes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, hell, what do I care! We came here, but it ain't living. It makes me + sick, and you make me sick I Can't you sing and pray in the city as well + as among these hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid of it,” he said, brief and somber. “And I don't want Flavilla + brought up with any of the gang we knew. Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I sent her to bed. She fussed round till she got me nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she feel good?” + </p> + <p> + “If she didn't a smack would have cured her.” + </p> + <p> + He passed Bella, rocking sharply, into the dank interior. + </p> + <p> + On the right was the bare room where he had his dilapidated barber's chair + and shelf with a few mugs, brushes and other scant necessities. There had + been no customers to-day nor yesterday; still, it was the middle of the + week and what trade there was generally concentrated on Saturday. Beyond + he went upstairs to Flavilla's bed. She was awake, twisting about in a + fragmentary nightgown, dark against the disordered sheet. + </p> + <p> + “It's dreadful hot,” she complained shortly; “my head's hot too. The + window won't go up.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel Doret crossed the narrow bare floor and dragged the sash open; then + he moved his daughter while he smoothed the bed and freshened a harsh + pillow. She whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “You're too big to cry without any reason,” he informed her, leaving to + fetch a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Usually she responded to his intimations of her increasing age and wisdom, + but to-night she was listless. She turned away from him, her arms flung + above her head and wispy hair veiling her damp cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Keep still, can't you?” and he gathered her hair into a clumsy plait. + </p> + <p> + The darkness about him seeped within, into his hope and courage and + resolution; all that he had determined to do seemed impossibly removed. + The whole world resembled Nantbrook—a place of universal + condemnation, forgiving nothing. He felt a certainty that even the few + dollars he had honestly earned would now be stopped. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The air grew clearer and deeper in color, and stars brightened. Lemuel +Doret wondered about God. There was no doubt of His power and glory or +of the final triumph of heaven established and earth, sin, destroyed. + wickedness was equally plain; it was the ways of the righteous that +bewildered him—the conduct of the righteous and, in the face of his +supreme recognition, the extreme difficulty of providing life for +Flavilla—and Bella. +</pre> + <p> + He consciously added his wife's name. Somehow his daughter was the sole + objective measure of his determination to build up, however late, a home + here and in eternity. + </p> + <p> + It was not unreasonable, in view of the past, to suppose that he had no + chance of succeeding. Yet religion was explicit upon that particular; it + was founded on the very hopes of sinners, on redemption. But he could do + nothing without an opportunity to make the small living they required; if + the men of Nantbrook, of the world, wouldn't come to him to be barbered, + and if he had no money to go anywhere else to begin again, he was + helpless. Everything was conspiring to thrust him back into the city, of + which he had confessed his fear, back—— + </p> + <p> + He rose and stood above the child's thin exposed body—suddenly + frozen into a deathlike sleep—chilled with a vision, a premonition, + the insidious possibility of surrender. He saw, too, that it was a + solitary struggle; even his devotion to Flavilla, shut in the single space + of his own heart, helped to isolate him in what resembled a surrounding + blackness rent with blinding flashes of lightning. + </p> + <p> + The morning sun showed him spare, with a curious appearance of being both + wasted and grimly strong; he moved with an alert, a watchful ease, catlike + and silent; and his face was pallid with gray shadows. He stood in + trousers and undershirt, suspenders hanging down, before the small dim + mirror in the room where he had the barber chair, pasting his hair down + with an odorous brilliantine. This was his intention, but he saw with + sharp discomfort that bristling strands defied his every effort. The hot + edge of anger cut at him, but, singing, he dissipated it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “<i>Why should I feel discouraged? + Why should the shadows fall? + Why should my heart be lonely, + And long for heaven</i>——” + </pre> + <p> + He broke off at the thought of Flavilla, still in bed, her head, if + anything, hotter than last night. Lemuel Doret wished again that he had + not allowed Bella to call their child by that unsanctified name. Before + the birth they had seen a vaudeville, and Bella, fascinated by a + golden-and-white creature playing a white accordion that bore her name in + ornamental letters, had insisted on calling her daughter, too, Flavilla. + In spite of the hymn, dejection fastened on him as he remembered this and + a great deal more about his wife. + </p> + <p> + If she could only be brought to see the light their marriage and life + might still be crowned with triumph. But Bella, pointing out the resulting + poverty of his own conviction and struggle, said freely that she had no + confidence in promises; she demanded fulfillment now. She regarded him as + more than a little affected in the brain. Yet there had been no deep + change in him—from the very first he had felt a growing uneasiness + at the spectacle of the world and the flesh. The throb of the Salvation + Army drum at the end of an alley, the echo of the fervent exhortations and + holy songs, had always filled him with a surging emotion like + homesickness. + </p> + <p> + Two impulses, he recognized, held a relentless warfare within him; he + pictured them as Christ and Satan; but the first would overthrow all else. + “Glory!” he cried mechanically aloud. He put down the hairbrush and + inspected the razors on their shelf. The bright morning light flashed + along the rubbed fine blades; they were beautiful, flawless, without a + trace of defilement. He felt the satin smoothness of the steel with an + actual thrill of pleasure; his eyes narrowed until they were like the + glittering points of knives; he held the razor firmly and easily, with a + sinewy poised wrist. + </p> + <p> + Finally, his suspenders in position over a collarless striped shirt, he + moved out to the bare sharp descent before his house and poured water onto + the roots of a struggling lilac bush. Its leaves were now coated with + dust; but the week before it had borne an actual cluster of scented + blossom; and he was still in the wonder of the lavender fragrance on the + meager starved stem. + </p> + <p> + The beat of hoofs approached, and he turned, seeing Doctor Frazee in his + yellow cart. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, doctor!” he called instinctively. + </p> + <p> + The other stopped, a man with a lean face, heavy curved nose and + penetrating gaze behind large spectacles. He was in reality a veterinary, + but Lemuel Doret, out of a profound caution, had discovered him to be + above the narrow scope of local prejudice. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd look at Flavilla,” Doret continued. + </p> + <p> + The doctor hesitated, and then turned shortly in at the sidewalk. “It will + hurt no one if I do that.” Above Flavilla's flushed face, a tentative + finger on her wrist, Frazee's expression grew serious. “I'll tell you + this,” he asserted; “she's sick. You had better call Markley to-day. And + until he comes don't give her any solids. You can see she's in a fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you tend her? I'd put more on you than any fresh young hospital + stiff.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” he responded. + </p> + <p> + When the latter had gone Lemuel Doret found his wife in the kitchen. She + wore a pale-blue wrapper with a soiled scrap of coarse lace at her full + throat, her hair was gathered into a disorderly knot, and already there + was a dab of paint on either cheek. She had been pretty when he married + her, pretty and full of an engaging sparkle, a ready wit; but the charm + had gone, the wit had hardened into a habit of sarcasm. They had been + married twelve years, and in itself, everything considered, that was + remarkable and held a great deal in her favor. She had been faithful. It + was only lately, in Nantbrook, that her dissatisfaction had materialized + in vague restless hints. + </p> + <p> + “Frazee says Flavilla is sick,” he told her. “He thinks we ought to get + Markley.” + </p> + <p> + She made a gesture of skepticism. “All those doctors send you to each + other,” she proclaimed. “Like as not he'll get half for doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “She don't look right.” + </p> + <p> + Bella's voice and attitude grew exasperated. “Of course you know all about + children; you've been where you could study on them. And of course I have + no sense; a woman's not the person to say when her child is sick or well. + Have a doctor if you can pay one, and buy a lot of medicine too. There's + some calomel upstairs, but that's no good. I'd like to know where you have + all the money! God knows I need a little, to put inside me and out.” + </p> + <p> + “It's right scarce,” he admitted, resolutely ignoring her tone. “Perhaps + Flavilla will be better later in the day; I'll wait.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke without conviction, denying the impulse to have her cared for at + once, in an effort to content and still Bella. However, he failed in both + of these aims. Her voice swept into a shrill complaint and abuse of + Nantbrook—a place, she asserted, of one dead street, without even a + passing trolley car to watch. She had no intention of being buried here + for the rest of her life. Turning to a cigarette and yesterday's paper she + drooped into a sulky shape of fat and slovenly blue wrapper beside the + neglected dishes of their insufficient breakfast. + </p> + <p> + He went through the empty house to the front again, where at least the sun + was warm and bright. The air held a faint dry fragrance that came from the + haymaking of the deep country in which Nantbrook lay. Lemuel Doret could + see the hotel at a crossing on the left, a small gray block of stone with + a flat portico, a heavy gilt beer sign and whitewashed sheds beyond. The + barkeeper stood at a door, a huge girth circled by a soiled apron; nearer + a bundle of brooms and glittering stacked paint cans marked the local + store. It was, he was forced to admit, far from gay; but he found a great + contentment in the sunny peace, in the limitless space of the unenclosed + sky; the air, the fields, the birds in the trees were free. + </p> + <p> + As he stood frowning in thought he saw the figure of a strange man walking + over the road; Lemuel knew that he was strange by the formality of the + clothes. He wore a hard straw hat, collar and diamond-pinned tie, and a + suit with a waistcoat. At first Doret's interest was perfunctory, but as + the other drew nearer his inspection changed to a painful absorption. + Suddenly his attitude grew tense; he had the appearance of a man gazing at + an enthralling but dangerous spectacle, such—for example—as a + wall that might topple over, crushing anything human within its sweep. + </p> + <p> + The object of this scrutiny had a pale countenance with a carefully + clipped mustache, baggy eyes and a blue-shaved heavy jaw. An indefinable + suggestion of haste sat on a progress not unduly hurried. But as he caught + sight of Lemuel Doret he walked more and more slowly, returning his fixed + attention. When the two men were opposite each other, only a few feet + apart, he almost stopped. For a moment their sharpened visions met, + parried, and then the stranger moved on. He made a few steps, hesitated, + then directly returned. + </p> + <p> + “Come inside,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “It suits me here,” Doret replied. + </p> + <p> + The other regarded him steadily. “I've made no mistake,” he asserted. “I + could almost say how long you were up for, and a few other little things + too. I don't know what you're doing in this dump, but here we both are.” + </p> + <p> + He waited for nothing more, ascending quickly to the hall. The two made + their way into the improvised barber shop. + </p> + <p> + “You've got me wrong,” Doret still insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it, Lem?” Bella demanded at the door. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke an expression of geniality overspread her face, daubed with + paint and discontent. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'll tell you—I'm June Bowman.” + </p> + <p> + “That don't mean anything to us,” Lemuel continued. “The best thing you + can do is keep right on going.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that Fourth Ward stew?” Bella asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Lem's kind of died on his feet,” she explained in a palpable excuse of + her husband's ignorance; “he don't read the papers nor nothing. But of + course I've heard of you, Mr. Bowman. We're glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep right along,” Lemuel Doret repeated. His face was dark and his mouth + hardly more than a pinched line. + </p> + <p> + “Now, who are you?” Bowman inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you,” Bella put in, “since his manners have gone with + everything else. This is Snow Doret. If you know the live men that name + will be familiar to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I seem to remember it,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “If Snow went in the city it's Lemuel here,” Doret told him. His anger + seethed like a kettle beginning to boil. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Snow ever went I guess I'm in right. The truth is I got to lay + off for a little, and this seems first-rate. I can explain it in a couple + of words: Things went bad——” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it the election?” Bella asked politely. + </p> + <p> + “In a way,” he answered with a bow. “You're all right. A certain party, + you see, was making some funny cracks—a reform dope; and he got in + other certain parties' light, see? Word was sent round, and when a friend + and me come on him some talk was passed and this public nuisance got + something. It was all regular and paid for——” + </p> + <p> + “I read about it,” Bella interrupted. “He died in the ambulance.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I was slipped the news that they were going to elect me the pretty + boy, and I had to make a break. Only temporary, till things are fixed. + Thus you see me scattered with hayseed. I was walking through for a lift + to Lancaster, where there are some good fellows; but when I saw Snow here + taking the air I knew there was one nearer.” + </p> + <p> + “Lemuel; and I'm no good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the truth,” his wife added thinly. “Here is the only one in this + house.” She touched her abundant self. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can put up?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Lemuel Doret told him. “This is a house of God's.” + </p> + <p> + Bella laughed in a rising hysterical key. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to him,” she gasped; “listen to Snow Doret. It's no wonder you + might have forgotten him,” she proclaimed; “he's been in the pen for ten + and a half years with a bunch off for good conduct. But fifteen years ago—say! + He went in for knifing a drug store keeper who held out on a 'coke' deal. + If this here's a house of God's I'd like to know what he called the one he + had then. I couldn't tell you half of what went on, not half, with fixing + drinks and frame-ups and skirts. Why, he run a hop joint with the Chinese + and took a noseful of snow at every other breath. That was after his + gambling room broke up—it got too raw even for the police. It was + brandy with him, too, and there ain't a gutter in his district he didn't + lay in. The drug store man wasn't the first he cut neither.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped from sheer lack of breath. + </p> + <p> + Curiously all that filled Lemuel Doret's mind was the thought of the glory + of God. Everything Bella said was true; but in the might of the Savior it + was less than nothing. He had descended into the pit and brought him, + Snow, up, filling his ears with the sweet hymns of redemption, the promise + of Paradise for the thieves and murderers who acknowledged His splendor + and fought His fight. This marvelous charity, the cleansing hope for his + blackened soul, swept over him in a warm rush of humble praise and + unutterable gratitude. Nothing of the Lord's was lost: “His eye is on the + sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, lay off your coat,” Bella was urging; “it's fierce hot. Lem + can rush a can of beer from the hotel. Even he wouldn't go to turn out one + of the crowd in a hard fix. I'm awful glad you saw him.” + </p> + <p> + With June Bowman in his house, engaged in verbal agreements with Bella and + spreading comfortably on a chair, Lemuel was powerless. AH his instinct + pressed him to send the other on, to refuse—in the commonest + self-preservation—shelter. But both the laws of his old life and the + commands of the new were against this act of simple precaution. Bowman + eyed him with a shrewd appraisement. + </p> + <p> + “A clever fellow,” he said, nodding; “admire you for coming out here for a + while. Well, how about the suds?” + </p> + <p> + He produced a thick roll of yellow-backed currency and detached a small + bill. “I'll finance this campaign.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel Doret was confused by the rapidity with which the discredited past + was re-created by Bowman's mere presence. He was at the point of refusing + to fetch the beer when he saw that there was no explanation possible; they + would regard him as merely crabbed, and Bella would indulge her habit of + shrill abuse. It wasn't the drink itself that disturbed him but the old + position of “rushing the can”—a symbol of so much that he had left + forever. Forever; he repeated the word with a silent bitter force. The + feel of the kettle in his hand, the thin odor of the beer and slopping + foam, seemed to him evidences of acute degeneration; he was oppressed by a + mounting dejection. God seemed very far away. + </p> + <p> + His wife was talking while Bowman listened with an air of sympathetic + wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't so bad then,” she said; “I was kind of glad to get away, and + Lem was certain everything would open right out. But he's awful hard to do + with; he wouldn't take a dollar from parties who had every right to stake + him good, and borrowed five from no more than a stranger to buy that + secondhand barber chair. What he needed was chloroform to separate these + farmers from their dimes and whiskers.” Bowman laughed loudly, and a + corresponding color invaded Bella. “Of course no one knew Lem had done + time, then. They wouldn't have either, but for the Law and Order. Oh, dear + me, no, your child ain't none of your own; they lend it to you like and + then sneak up whenever the idea takes them, to see if it's getting a + Turkish bath. I guess the people on the street wondered who was our swell + automobile friend till they found out.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” Bowman put in, “they all came round and offered you the + helping hand, wanted to see you happy and successful.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Them?” she demanded. “Them? The man that owns this house + said that if he'd known, Lem would never had it; they don't want convicts + in this town. This is a moral burg. That's more than the women said to me + though—the starved buzzards; if they've spoke a word to me since I + never heard it.” Her voice rose in sharp mimicry: “You, Katie, come right + up on the porch, child! Don't you know—! See, I'm going by.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have warned you of all that,” June Bowman asserted; “for the + reason they're narrow, don't know anything about living or affairs; + hypocritical too; long on churchgoing——” + </p> + <p> + Doret regarded him solemnly. How blind he was, a mound of corruptible + flesh! He put the beer down and turned abruptly away, going up to + Flavilla. She seemed better; her face was white but most of the fever had + gone. He listened to her harsh breathing with the conviction that she had + caught a cold; and immediately after he was back from the store with a + bottle of cherry pectoral. She liked the sweet taste of the thick + bright-pink sirup and was soon quiet. Lemuel sniffed the mouth of the + bottle suspiciously. It was doped, he finally decided, but not enough to + hurt her; tasting it, a momentary desire for stinging liquor ran like fire + through his nerves. He laughed at it, crushing and throwing aside the + longing with a sense of contempt and triumph. + </p> + <p> + He could hear occasionally Bowman's smooth periods and his wife's eager + enjoyment of the discourse. His sense of worldly loneliness deepened; + Flavilla seemed far away. All life was inexplicable—yes, and + profitless, ending in weariness and death. The hunger for perfection, for + God, that had been a constant part of his existence, the longing for peace + and security, were almost unbearable. He had had a long struggle; the + devil was deeply rooted in him. He could laugh at the broken tyranny of + drugs and drink, but the passion for fine steel cutting edges was + different, and twisted into every fiber. The rage that even yet threatened + to flood him, sweeping away his painfully erected integrity, was different + too. These things had made him a murderer. + </p> + <p> + “... not the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” + </p> + <p> + He had a sudden muddled vision of another world, a world where sturdy men + gave him their hands and in reality fulfilled June Bowman's mocking words. + There the houses, the streets of his youth would have been impossible. Ah, + he was thinking of another kind of heaven; it was a hop dream. + </p> + <p> + There was a stir below and he heard the clatter of plates. Dinner was in + preparation. “Lem!” his wife called. “Mr. Bowman wants you to go to the + butcher's.” + </p> + <p> + “Call me June,” he put in; adding: “Sure, Lem; the butcher's; we want a + tenderloin, cut thick. You can't get any pep on greens; we ain't cattle.” + </p> + <p> + Doret felt that he would have been infinitely happier with his own thin + fare. In a manner he got comfort from a pinch of hunger; somehow the + physical deprivation gave him a sense of purification. The other man, + purple with the meat and beer, shook out a cigarette from a paper pack. + </p> + <p> + “Always smoke caporal halves,” he proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The blue vapor from the three burning cigarettes rose and mingled. Bella + was quiet, reflective; Bowman sat with half-shut speculative eyes; Lemuel + Doret was again lost in visions. + </p> + <p> + “How long are you taking the milk cure?” Bowman asked. + </p> + <p> + Lemuel made no reply, but his wife smiled bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I had an idea,” the other continued; “but it's a little soon to spring + anything. And I don't know but you might prefer it here.” + </p> + <p> + “Try me,” Bella proclaimed; “that's all I want!” + </p> + <p> + Doret still said nothing of his determination to conquer life in + Nantbrook. A swift impulse seized him to take June Bowman by the collar + and fling him into the street. + </p> + <p> + “Just try me!” Bella repeated. + </p> + <p> + He would be helpless in his, Doret's, hands. It was hard enough to be + upright without an insinuating crook in the place. There was a heavy + movement of feet in the front of the house, and he went out to meet a + customer. + </p> + <p> + Sliding the sensitive razor blade over a young tanned cheek he pondered + moodily on the undesirable fact of June Bowman. + </p> + <p> + Returning from this exercise of his trade he saw Bella descending the + stair with a plate. + </p> + <p> + “With all your going on over Flavilla,” she told him, “it never came to + you that she'd like a piece of steak.” + </p> + <p> + “But Doctor Frazee told us nothing solid. I took her up two eggs in the + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you'd had two dollars to pay as well if I hadn't showed you + different. Flavilla's probably as well as any of us. I wish you would fix + yourself a little, Lem. I'm tired of having you about the house in your + suspenders.” + </p> + <p> + He viewed her silently. Bella had on a dress he had never seen before, + thin red-spotted yellow silk drawn tightly over a pronounced figure, a red + girdle, and high-heeled patent-leather slippers. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to look like this,” he admitted, “I'll have to get a move + on.” + </p> + <p> + When they were first in Nantbrook she had worn a denim apron, and that, + too, with all the other differences had seemed to express their new life; + but now in yellow silk she was back in the old. Lemuel Doret studied his + wife with secret doubt; more than the dress had changed. She seemed + younger; rather she was adopting a younger manner. In the presence of June + Bowman it intensified. + </p> + <p> + “That idea I spoke about,” the latter advanced: “I've been sizing you up, + the both of you, and you look good. Well, I've got hold of a concession on + the Atlantic Boardwalk and the necessary cash is in sight.” He turned to + Lemuel. “How would you like to run a bowling game? It's on the square and + would give you a lead into something bigger. You're wise; why, you might + turn into a shore magnate, with Bella here dressed up in stones.” + </p> + <p> + Doret shook his head. “Treasure on earth,” he thought; “moth and rust.” + But it would be hopeless to attempt any explanation. “No,” he said; “we'll + play it out here.” + </p> + <p> + “We will?” Bella echoed him. “Indeed! We will?” Now the emphasis was + sharply on the first word. “What's going to keep me?” + </p> + <p> + “You're my wife,” he replied simply; “we have a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Times have changed, Snow,” Bowman interrupted. “You ought to read the + papers. This is ladies' day. The old harem stuff don't go no longer. They + are emancipated.” + </p> + <p> + “Lemuel,” Doret insisted, a narrowed hard gaze on the other man; “Lemuel + Doret.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks nobody'll remember,” his wife explained. “Lem's redeemed.” + </p> + <p> + “Your name's what you say,” Bowman agreed, “but remember this—you + can't throw any scare into me. I'm no Fauntleroy, neither. Behave.” + </p> + <p> + The anger seethed again beneath Lemuel's restraint. It began to be + particular, personal, focused on Bowman; and joined to it was a petty + dislike for the details of the man's appearance, the jaunty bearing and + conspicuous necktie, the gloss of youth over the unmistakable signs of + degeneration, the fatty pouches of his eyes and loose throat. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't bother with scaring you,” he told him. “Why should I? You've + got no kick. I took you in, didn't I? And all I said was my name. Snow + Doret's dead; he died in prison; and this Lemuel's all different——” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard about that too,” Bowman returned; “but somehow I don't take + stock in these miracles.” + </p> + <p> + “If you ever see me looking like I might be Snow, go quiet,” Lemuel + advised. “That's all.” + </p> + <p> + With clenched hands he abruptly departed. The cords of his neck were + swollen and rigid; there was a haze before his eyes. He went up to the + refuge of his daughter's room. She was lying still, breathing thickly, + with a finger print of scarlet on each cheek. + </p> + <p> + She was so thin, so wasted, the bed and room so stripped of every comfort, + that he dropped forward on his knees, his arms outflung across her body in + an inarticulate prayer for faith, for strength and patience. + </p> + <p> + It was not much he wanted—only food for one child and help for a + woman, and a grip on the devil tearing at him in the form of hatred. + </p> + <p> + He got only a temporary relief, for when he went down Bella and June + Bowman were whispering together; he passed the door with his silent tread + and saw their heads close. Bella was actually pretty. + </p> + <p> + An astonishing possibility occurred to him—perhaps Bella would go + away with Bowman. An unbidden deep relief at such a prospect invaded him; + how happy he could be with Flavilla. They would get a smaller house, which + Flavilla would soon learn to keep for him; they would go to church and + prayer meeting together, her soprano voice and his bass joined in the + praise of the Lord, of the Almighty who raised the dead and his Son, who + took the thief to glory. + </p> + <p> + This speculation was overcome by a troubled mind; both his innate pride in + his wife as an institution of his honor, the feeling that he would uphold + it at any cost, and his Christianity interrupted the vision of release. He + must not let her stumble, and he would see that June Bowman didn't + interfere in his home. More beer made its appearance, and the other man + grew louder, boastful. He exhibited the roll of money—that was + nothing, four times that much could be had from the same source. He was a + spender, too, and treated all his friends liberally. Lemuel was to see if + there was any wine in the damned jumping-off place; and when would they + all go to Atlantic? + </p> + <p> + “Never,” Doret repeated. + </p> + <p> + Bowman laughed skeptically. + </p> + <p> + The rage stirred and increased, blinding Lemuel Doret's heart, stinging + his eyes. Bella, watching him, became quieter, and she gave June—she + called him June—a warning pressure of her fingers. Her husband saw + it with indifference; everything small was lost in the hot tide enveloping + him. His hands twitched, but there was no other outward sign of his + tumult. He smoked his cigarettes with extreme deliberation. + </p> + <p> + It was evening again, and they were sitting on the narrow porch. The west + was a serene lake of fading light against which the trees made dark blots + of foliage. Nantbrook seemed unreal, a place of thin shadow, the future + unsubstantial as well; only the past was actual in Lemuel Doret's mind—the + gray cold prison, the city at night, locked rooms filled with smoke and + lurid lights, avaricious voices in the mechanical sentences of gambling, + agonized tones begging for a shot, just a shot, of an addicted drug, a + girl crying. + </p> + <p> + He tried to sing a measure of praise beneath his breath but the tune and + words evaded him. He glanced furtively at Bowman's complacent bulk, the + flushed face turned fatuously to Bella. Under the other's left arm his + coat was drawn smoothly on a cushion of fat. + </p> + <p> + Later Lemuel stopped at Flavilla's bed, and though she was composed he was + vaguely alarmed at what seemed to him an unreal rigidity. She was not + asleep, but sunk in a stupor with a glimmer of vision and an elusive + pulse. He should not have listened to Bella but had a doctor as Frazee had + advised. It appeared now that—with all Flavilla held for him—he + had been strangely neglectful. At the same time he was conscious of the + steady increase of his hatred for Bowman. This was natural, he told + himself; Bowman in a way was the past—all that he, Doret, had put + out of his life. At least he had believed that accomplished, yet here it + was back again, alive and threatening; drinking beer in his rooms, + whispering to his wife, putting the thought of Flavilla from his head. + </p> + <p> + In the morning even Bella admitted that Flavilla might be sick and a + doctor necessary. He took one look at his daughter's burning face, heard + the shrill labor of her breathing, and hurried downstairs with a set face. + He was standing with Bella in the hall when June Bowman descended. + </p> + <p> + “Flavilla ain't right,” she told him. + </p> + <p> + The latter promptly exhibited the wad of money. “Whatever you need,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Put it away,” Lemuel replied shortly. “I don't want any of that for + Flavilla.” + </p> + <p> + Bowman studied him. Doret made no effort to mask his bitterness, and the + other whistled faintly. Bella laughed, turning from her husband. + </p> + <p> + “He's cracked,” she declared; “you'll get no decency off him. A body would + think I had been in jail and him looking out for her all those ten years + and more. I can say thank you, though; we'll need your help, and glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Put it away,” Lemuel Doret repeated. He was more than ever catlike, + alert, bent slightly forward with tense fingers. + </p> + <p> + Bowman was unperturbed. “I told you about this flash stuff,” he observed. + “Nobody's forcing money on you. Get the bend out of you and give me a + shave. That'll start you on the pills.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel Doret mechanically followed him into the rude barber shop; he was + fascinated by the idea of laying the razor across Bowman's throat. The + latter extended himself in the chair and Doret slowly, thoroughly, covered + his lower face with lather, through which the blade drew with a clean + smooth rip. A fever burned in the standing man's brain, he fought + constantly against a stiffening of his employed fingers—a swift + turn, a cutting twist. Subconsciously he called noiselessly upon the God + that had sustained him and, divided between apprehension and the + increasing lust to kill, his lips held the form in which they had + pronounced that impressive name. He had the sensation of battling against + a terrific wind, a remorseless force beating him to submission. His body + ached from the violence of the struggle to keep his hand steadily, evenly, + busied, following in a delicate sweep the cords of June Bowman's neck, the + jugulars. + </p> + <p> + The other looked up at him and grinned confidently. “Little children,” he + said, “love one another.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel stopped, the razor suspended in air; there was a din in his ears, + his vision blurred, his grip tightened on the bone handle. A sweat started + out on his brow and he found himself dabbing June Bowman's face with a wet + cold towel. + </p> + <p> + “Witch hazel?” he asked mechanically. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he was so tired that his legs seemed incapable of support. He + wiped the razor blade and put it away with a lax nerveless hand. He + realized that he had been again at the point of murder. He had been saved + by the narrowest margin in the world. For a moment the fact that he had + been saved absorbed him, and then the imminent danger of his position, his + weakness, filled him with the sense of failure, a heavy feeling of + hopelessness. His prayers and singing, his plans for redemption, for a + godly life, had threatened to end at the first assault of evil. + </p> + <p> + He temporarily overcame his dejection at the memory of Flavilla. Doctor + Markley lived in a larger town than Nantbrook, a dozen miles beyond the + fields and green hills, and he must get him by telephone. Then there was + the problem of payment. The doctor, he knew, would expect his fee, two + dollars, immediately from such an applicant as himself; and he had less + than a dollar. He explained something of this over the wire, adding that + if Markley would see Flavilla at the end of the day the money would be + forthcoming. That, the crisp, disembodied tone replied, was impossible; he + must call in the middle of the morning, but no difficulty would be made + about his bill; Doret could send the amount to him promptly. + </p> + <p> + He hurried back to the house with this information, and found Bella seated + in the kitchen, the inevitable cigarette throwing up its ribbon of smoke + from her fingers, and June Bowman at her shoulder. Lemuel ignored the + latter. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor'll be here at about eleven,” he announced. “Mind you listen to + all he says and get Flavilla into a clean nightgown and sheets.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with your tending to her?” Bella demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I won't be here; not till night. I'm going to put up hay with one of the + farmers. I hear they're in a hurry and offering good money.” + </p> + <p> + Bella's expression was strange. She laughed in a forced way. + </p> + <p> + “We got to hand it to you,” Bowman admitted genially; “you're there. I + guess I'd starve before ever it would come to me to fork hay.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel's wife added nothing; her lips twisted into a fixed smile at once + defiant and almost tremulous. Well, he was late now; he couldn't linger to + inquire into Bella's moods. Yet at the door he hesitated again to impress + on her the importance of attending the doctor's every word. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him an hour later that he was burning up in a dry intolerable + haze of sun and hay. He awkwardly balanced heavy ragged forkfuls, heaving + them onto the mounting stack of the wagon in a paste of sweat and dust. + His eyes were filmed and his throat dry. He struggled on in the soft + unaccustomed tyranny of the grass, the glare of sun, with his mind set on + the close of day. He thought of cool shadows, of city streets wet at + night, and a swift plunge into a river where it swept about the thrust of + a wharf. He wondered what Doctor Markley would say about Flavilla; + probably the child wasn't seriously sick. + </p> + <p> + The day drew apparently into a tormenting eternity; the physical effort he + welcomed; it seemed to exhaust that devil in him which had so nearly + betrayed and ruined him forever in the morning; but the shifting slippery + hay, the fiery dust, the incandescent blaze created an inferno in the + midst of which his mind whirled with monotonous giddy images and + half-meaningless phrases spoken and re-spoken. Yet the sun was not, as he + had begun to suppose, still in the sky; it sank toward the horizon, the + violet shadows slipped out from the western hills, and Lemuel finished his + toil in a swimming gold mist. It was two miles to Nantbrook, and + disregarding his aching muscles he hurried over the gray undulating road. + The people of the village were gathered on their commanding porches, the + barkeeper at the hotel bulked in his doorway. The lower part of Lemuel's + own house was closed; no one appeared as he mounted the insecure steps. + </p> + <p> + “Bella!” he cried in an overwhelming anxiety before he reached the hall. + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. He paused inside and called again. His voice echoed + about the bare walls; he heard a dripping from the kitchen sink; nothing + more. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better go up,” he said aloud with a curious tightening of his throat. + He progressed evenly up the stairs; suddenly a great weight seemed to bow + his shoulders; the illusion was so vivid that he actually staggered; he + was incapable of breaking from his measured progress. He turned directly + into Flavilla's room. She was there—he saw her at once. But Bella + hadn't put a fresh nightgown on her, and the sheets were disordered and + unchanged. + </p> + <p> + Lemuel took a step forward; then he stopped. “The fever's gone,” he vainly + told the dread freezing about his heart at a stilled white face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he repeated with numb lips; “it's gone.” + </p> + <p> + He approached the bed and standing over it and the meager body he cursed + softly and wonderingly. The light was failing and it veiled the sharp + lines of the dead child's countenance. For a moment his gaze strayed about + the room and he felt a swift sorrow at its ugliness. He had wanted pretty + things, pictures and a bright carpet and ribbons, for Flavilla. Then he + was conscious of a tearing rage, but now he was unmindful of it, + impervious to its assault in the fixed necessity of the present. + </p> + <p> + Later—— + </p> + <p> + He was sitting again on his porch, after the momentary morbid stir of + curiosity and small funeral, when the unrestrained sweep of his own + emotion overcame him. His appearance had not changed; it was impossible + for his expression to become bleaker; but there was a tremendous change + within. Yet it was not strange; rather he had the sensation of returning + to an old familiar condition. There he was at ease; he moved swiftly, + surely forward in the realization of what lay ahead. + </p> + <p> + Bella and June Bowman had left the house almost directly after him, and + Markley, finding it empty, with no response to his repeated knocking, had + turned away, being as usual both impatient and hurried. Yes, Bella had + gone and left Flavilla without even a glass of water. But Bella didn't + matter. He couldn't understand this—except where he saw at last that + she never had mattered; yet it was so. June Bowman was different. + </p> + <p> + There was no rush about the latter—to-morrow, next week would do + equally. There was no doubt either. Lemuel Doret gave a passing thought, + like a half-contemptuous gesture of final dismissal, to so much that had + lately occupied him. The shadow of a smile disfigured his metallic lips. + </p> + <p> + The following noon he shut the door of his house with a sharp impact and + made his way over the single street of Nantbrook toward the city. His fear + of it had vanished; and when he reached the steel-bound towering masonry, + the pouring crowds, he moved directly to a theater from which an audience + composed entirely of men was passing out by the posters of a hectic + burlesque. + </p> + <p> + “Clegett?” he asked at the grille of the box office. + </p> + <p> + A small man with a tilted black derby came from the darkened auditorium. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” he demanded as he caught sight of Lemuel Doret. “I + asked two or three but you might have been dead for all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just about what I have,” Doret answered. “Mr. Clegett, I'd like a + little money.” + </p> + <p> + “How little?” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred would be plenty.” + </p> + <p> + The other without hesitation produced a fold of currency, from which he + transferred an amount to Lemuel Doret. It went into his pocket without a + glance. He hesitated a moment, then added: “This will be all.” + </p> + <p> + Clegett nodded. “It might, and it might not,” he asserted; “but you can't + jam me. You're welcome to that, anyhow. It was coming to you. I wondered + when you'd be round.” + </p> + <p> + It was not far from the theater to a glittering hardware store, a place + that specialized in sporting goods. There were cases of fishing reels, + brilliant tied flies and varnished, gayly wrapped cane rods, gaffs and + coiled wire leaders, and an impressive assortment of modern pistols, + rifles and shotguns. + </p> + <p> + “Something small and neat,” Doret told the man in charge of the weapons. + </p> + <p> + He examined a compact automatic pistol, a blunted shape no larger than his + palm. It was a beautiful mechanism, and as with his silken razors, merely + to hold it, to test the smooth action, gave him a sense of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Later, seated in a quiet cafe, an adjunct of the saloon below, he could + not resist the temptation of taking the pistol in its rubber holster from + his pocket, merely to finger the delicate trigger. There was no hurry. He + knew his world thoroughly: it was a small land in which the inhabitants + had constant knowledge of each other. A question in the right place would + bring all the information he needed. Lemuel was absolutely composed, + actually he was a little sleepy; longing and inner strife, dreams, were at + an end; only an old familiar state, a thoroughly comprehensible purpose + remained. + </p> + <p> + A girl—she could have been no more than fourteen—was hurriedly + slipping a paper of white crystalline powder into a glass of sarsaparilla. + She smiled at him as she saw his indifferent interrogation. + </p> + <p> + “It's better rolled with a pencil first,” he said, and then returned to + the contemplation of his own affair. + </p> + <p> + The result of this was that, soon after, he was seated in the smoking car + of an electric train that, hurtling across a sedgy green expanse of salt + meadow, deposited him in a colorful thronging city built on sand and the + rim of the sea. It was best to avoid if possible even a casual inquiry, + and Bowman had spoken of Atlantic City. The afternoon was hot and bright, + the beach was still dotted with groups of bathers; and Lemuel Doret found + an inconspicuous place in a row of swing chairs protected by an awning ... + where he waited for evening. Below him a young woman lay contentedly with + her head in a youth's lap; a child in a red scrap of bathing suit dug + sturdily with an ineffectual tin spade. + </p> + <p> + The day declined, the water darkened and the groups vanished from the + beach. An attendant was stacking the swing chairs, and Lemuel Doret left + his place. The boardwalk, elevated above him, was filled with a gay + multitude, subdued by the early twilight and the brightening lemon-yellow + radiance of the strung globes. Drifting, with only his gaze alert, in the + scented mob, he stopped at an unremarkable lunch room for coffee, and + afterward turned down a side avenue to where some automobiles waited at + the curb. A driver moved from his seat as Lemuel approached, but after a + closer inspection the former's interest died. + </p> + <p> + Doret lighted a cigarette. “How are they hitting you?” he asked + negligently. + </p> + <p> + “Bad; but the season ain't opened up right yet. It'll have to soon, + though, if they want me; gas has gone to where it's like shoving champagne + into your car.” + </p> + <p> + “The cafés doing anything?” + </p> + <p> + “None except the Torquay; but the cabaret they got takes all the profits. + That's on the front. Then there's the World, back of the town. It's + colored, but white go. Quite a place—I saw a sailor come out last + night hashed with a knife.” + </p> + <p> + He found the Torquay, a place of brilliant illumination and color, packed + with tables about a dancing floor, and small insistent orchestra. He sat + against the wall by the entrance, apparently sunk in apathy, but his + vision searched the crowd like the cutting bar of light thrown on the + intermittent singers. He renewed his order. Toward midnight a fresh influx + of people swept in; his search was unsatisfied. + </p> + <p> + The cigarette girl, pinkly pretty with an exaggerated figure, carrying a + wooden tray with her wares, stopped at his gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you hang that about your neck with something?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “And get round shouldered!” she demanded. Her manner became confidential. + “I do get fierce tired,” she admitted; “nine till two-thirty.” + </p> + <p> + He asked for a particular brand of cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't got them.” She studied him with a memorizing frown. “They are + hardly ever asked for; and now—yes, there was a man, last night, I + think——” + </p> + <p> + “He must have made an impression.” + </p> + <p> + “Another move and I'd slapped him if I lost my job. They got to be some + fresh when they disturb me, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone, then?” + </p> + <p> + “That's right. Wanted me to meet him, and showed me a roll of money. Me!” + her contempt sharpened. + </p> + <p> + “He was young?” + </p> + <p> + “Young nothing, with gray in his shoebrush mustache.” + </p> + <p> + By such small things, Lemuel Doret reflected, the freshness that had fixed + June Bowman in the girl's memory, men were marked and followed. + </p> + <p> + “I told him,” she volunteered further, “he didn't belong on the boardwalk + but in the rough joints past the avenue.” + </p> + <p> + Paying for his drink Doret left the Torquay; and following the slight + pressure of two suggestions and a faint possibility he found himself in a + sodden dark district where a red-glass electric sign proclaimed the + entrance to the World. An automobile stopped and a chattering group of + young colored girls in sheer white with vivid ribbons, accompanied by + sultry silent negroes, preceded him into the café. He was met by a brassy + racket and a curiously musty heavy air. + </p> + <p> + The room was long and narrow, and on one wall a narrow long platform was + built above the floor for the cabaret. There was a ledge about the other + walls the width of one table, and below that the space was crowded by a + singular assembly. There were women faintly bisque in shade, with + beautiful regular features, and absolute blacks with flattened noses and + glistening eyes in burning red and green muslins. Among them were white + girls with untidy bright-gold hair, veiled gaze and sullen painted lips; + white men sat scattered through the darker throng, men like Lemuel Doret, + quiet and watchful, others laughing carelessly, belligerent, and still + more sunk in a stupor of drink. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps ten performers occupied the stage, and at one end was the + hysterical scraping on strings, the muffled hammered drums, that furnished + the rhythm for a slow intense waltz. + </p> + <p> + Yet in no detail was the place so marked as by an indefinable oppressive + atmosphere. The strong musk and edged perfumes, the races, distinct and + subtly antagonistic or mingled and spoiled, the rasping instruments, + combined in an unnatural irritating pressure; they produced an actual + sensation of cold and staleness like that from the air of a vault. + </p> + <p> + Doret ordered beer in a bottle, and watched the negro waitress snap off + the cap. He had never seen a café such as this before, and he was engaged, + slightly; its character he expressed comprehensively in the word “bad.” + </p> + <p> + A wonderfully agile dancer caught the attention of the room. The musicians + added their voices to the jangle, and the minor half-inarticulate wail, + the dull regular thudding of the bass drum were savage. The song + fluctuated and died; the dancer dropped exhausted into her chair. + </p> + <p> + Then Lemuel saw June Bowman. He was only a short distance away, and—without + Bella—seated alone but talking to the occupants of the next table. + Lemuel Doret was composed. In his pocket he removed the automatic pistol + from its rubber case. Still there was no hurry—Bowman was half + turned from him, absolutely at his command. The other twisted about, his + glance swept the room, and he recognized Doret. He half rose from his + chair, made a gesture of acknowledgment that died before Lemuel's stony + face, and sank back into his place. Lemuel saw Bowman's hand slip under + his coat, but it came out immediately; the fingers drummed on the table. + </p> + <p> + The careless fool—he was unarmed. + </p> + <p> + There was no hurry; he could make one, two steps at Bowman's slightest + movement.... Lemuel thought of Flavilla deserted, dying alone with a + parched mouth, of all that had gone to wreck in the evil that had + overtaken him—the past that could not, it appeared, be killed. Yet + where Bowman was the past, it was nearly over. He'd finish the beer before + him, that would leave some in the bottle, and then end it. With the glass + poised in his hand he heard an absurd unexpected sound. Looking up he saw + that it came from the platform, from a black woman in pale-blue silk, a + short ruffled skirt and silver-paper ornaments in her tightly crinkled + hair. She was singing, barely audibly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“Oh, children ... lost in Egypt + See that chariot.... + ... good tidings!”</i> +</pre> + <p> + Even from his table across the room he realized that she was sunk in an + abstraction; her eyes were shut and her body rocking in beat to the line. + </p> + <p> + “Good tidings,” she sang. + </p> + <p> + A negro close beside Doret looked up suddenly, and his voice joined in a + humming undertone, “See that chariot, oh, good tidings ... that Egyptian + chariot.” + </p> + <p> + A vague emotion stirred within Lemuel Doret, the singing annoyed him, + troubled him with memories of perishing things. Another joined, and the + spiritual swelled slightly, haltingly above the clatter of glasses and + laughter. The woman who had begun it was swept to her feet; she stood with + her tinsel gayety of apparel making her tragic ebony face infinitely + grotesque and tormented while her tone rose in a clear emotional soprano: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“Children of Israel, unhappy slaves, + Good tidings, good tidings, + For that chariot's coming, + God's chariot's coming, ... coming, + ........... chariot out of Egypt.”</i> +</pre> + <p> + The magic of her feeling swept like a flame over the room; shrill mirth, + mocking calls, curses were bound in a louder and louder volume of hope and + praise. The negroes were on their feet, swaying in the hysterical + contagion of melody, the unutterable longing of their alien isolation. + </p> + <p> + “God's chariot's coming.” The song filled the roof, hung with bright + strips of paper, it boomed through the windows and doors. Sobbing cries + cut through it, profound invocations, beautiful shadowy voices chimed + above the weight of sound. + </p> + <p> + It beat like a hammer on Lemuel Doret's brain and heart. Suddenly he + couldn't breathe, and he rose with a gasp, facing the miracle that had + overtaken the place he called bad. God's chariot—was there! He heard + God's very tone directed at him. Borne upward on the flood of exaltation + he seemed to leave the earth far, far away. Something hard, frozen, in him + burst, and tears ran over his face; he was torn by fear and terrible joy. + His Lord.... + </p> + <p> + He fell forward on his knees, an arm overturning the bottle of beer; and, + his sleeve dabbled in it, he pressed his head against the cold edge of the + table, praying wordlessly for faith, incoherently ravished by the marvel + of salvation, the knowledge of God here, everywhere. + </p> + <p> + The harmony wavered and sank, and out of the shuddering silence that + followed Lemuel Doret turned again from the city. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FLOWER OF SPAIN + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + From the window of the drawing-room Lavinia Sanviano could see, on the + left, the Statue of Garibaldi, where the Corso Regina Maria cut into the + Lungarno; on the right, and farther along, the gray-green foliage of the + Cascine. Before her the Arno flowed away, sluggish and without a wrinkle + or reflection on its turbid surface, into Tuscany. It was past the middle + of afternoon, and a steady procession of carriages and mounted officers in + pale blue tunics moved below toward the shade of the Cascine. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia could not see this gay progress very well, for the window—it + had only a narrow ledge guarded by an iron grille—was practically + filled by her sister, Gheta, and Anna Mantegazza. Occasionally she leaned + forward, pressed upon Gheta's shoulder, for a hasty unsatisfactory + glimpse. + </p> + <p> + “You are crushing my sleeves!” Gheta finally and sharply complained. “Do + go somewhere else. Anna and I want to talk without your young ears + eternally about. When do you return to the convent?” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia drew back. However, she didn't leave. She was accustomed to her + sister's complaining, and—unless the other went to their father—she + ignored her hints. Lavinia's curiosity in worldly scenes and topics was + almost as full as her imagination thereof. She was sixteen, and would have + to endure another year of obscurity before her marriage could be thought + of, or she take any part in the social life where Gheta moved with such + marked success. + </p> + <p> + But, Lavinia realized with a sigh, she couldn't expect to be pursued like + Gheta, who was very beautiful. Gheta was so exceptional that she had been + introduced to the Florentine polite world without the customary + preliminary of marriage. She could, almost every one agreed, marry very + nearly whomever and whenever she willed. Even now, after the number of + years she had been going about with practically all her friends wedded, no + one seriously criticized the Sanvianos for not insisting on a match with + one of the several eligibles who had unquestionably presented themselves. + </p> + <p> + Gheta was slender and round; her complexion had the flawless pallid bloom + of a gardenia; her eyes and hair were dark, and her lips an enticing + scarlet thread. Perhaps her chin was a trifle lacking in definition, her + voice a little devoid of warmth; but those were minor defects in a person + so precisely radiant. Her dress was always noticeably lovely; at present + she wore pink tulle over lustrous gray, with a high silver girdle, a + narrow black velvet band and diamond clasp about her delicate full throat. + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza was more elaborately gowned, in white embroidery, with a + little French hat; but Anna Mantegazza was an American with millions, and + elaboration was a commonplace with her. Lavinia wore only a simple white + slip, confined about her flexible waist with a yellow ribbon; and she was + painfully conscious of the contrast she presented to the two women seated + in the front of the window. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that a whole fifth of the Sanvianos' income was spent on + Gheta's clothes; and this left only the most meager provision for Lavinia. + But this, the latter felt, was just—still in the convent, she + required comparatively little personal adornment; while the other's beauty + demanded a worthy emphasis. Later Lavinia would have tulle and silver + lace. She wished, however, that Gheta would get married; for Lavinia knew + that even if she came home she would be held back until the older sister + was settled. It was her opinion that Gheta was very silly to show such + indifference to Cesare Orsi.... Suddenly she longed to have men—not + fat and good-natured like the Neapolitan banker, but austere and romantic—in + love with her. She clasped her hands to her fine young breast and a + delicate color stained her cheeks. She stood very straight and her + breathing quickened through parted lips. + </p> + <p> + She was disturbed by the echo of a voice from the cool depths of the + house, and turned at approaching footfalls. The room was so high and large + that its stiff gilt and brocade furnishing appeared insignificant. Three + long windows faced the Lungarno, but two were screened with green slatted + blinds and heavily draped, and the light within was silvery and illusive. + A small man in correct English clothes, with a pointed bald head and a + heavy nose, entered impulsively. + </p> + <p> + “It's Bembo,” Lavinia announced flatly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's Bembo,” he echoed vivaciously. “Who's more faithful to the + Casa Sanviano——” + </p> + <p> + “At tea time,” Lavinia interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia,” her sister said sharply, “don't be impertinent. There are so + many strangers driving,” she continued, to the man; “do stand and tell us + who they are. You know every second person in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + He pressed eagerly forward, and Anna Mantegazza turned and patted his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were so attentive to Pier and myself,” she remarked, both + light and serious. “I'd like to buy you—you're indispensable in + Florence.” + </p> + <p> + “Contessa!” he protested. “Delighted! At once.” + </p> + <p> + “Bembo,” Gheta demanded, “duty—who's that in the little carriage + with the bells bowed over the horses?” + </p> + <p> + He leaned out over the grille, his beady alert gaze sweeping the way + below. + </p> + <p> + “Litolff,” he pronounced without a moment's hesitation—“a Russian + swell. The girl with him is——” He stopped with a side glance + at Lavinia, a slight shrug. + </p> + <p> + “Positively, Lavinia,” Gheta insisted again, more crossly, “you're a + nuisance! When do you go back to school?” + </p> + <p> + “In a week,” Lavinia answered serenely. + </p> + <p> + With Bembo added to the others, she could see almost nothing of the scene + below. Across the river the declining sun cast a rosy light on the great + glossy hedges and clipped foliage of the Boboli Gardens; far to the left + the paved height of the Piazzale Michelangelo rose above the somber sweep + of roofs and bridges; an aged bell rang harshly and mingled with the + inconsequential clatter on the Lungarno. An overwhelming sense of the + mystery of being stabbed, sharp as a knife, at her heart; a choking + longing possessed her to experience all—all the wonders of life, but + principally love. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Bembo!” Anna Mantegazza suddenly exclaimed. “No; there—approaching! + Who's that singular person in the hired carriage?” + </p> + <p> + Her interest was so roused that Lavinia, once more forgetful of Gheta's + sleeves, leaned over her sister's shoulder, and immediately distinguished + the object of their curiosity. + </p> + <p> + An open cab was moving slowly, almost directly under the window, with a + single patron—a slender man, sitting rigidly erect, in a short, + black shell jacket, open upon white linen, a long black tie, and a soft + narrow scarlet sash. He wore a wide-brimmed stiff felt hat slanted over a + thin countenance burned by the sun as dark as green bronze; his face was + as immobile as metal, too; it bore, as if permanently molded, an + expression of excessive contemptuous pride. + </p> + <p> + Bembo's voice rose in a babble of excited information. + </p> + <p> + “'Singular?' Why, that's one of the most interesting men alive. It's + Abrego y Mochales, the greatest bullfighter in existence, the Flower of + Spain. I've seen him in the ring and at San Sebastian with the King; and I + can assure you that one was hardly more important than the other. He's + idolized by every one in Spain and South America; women of all classes + fall over each other with declarations and gifts.” + </p> + <p> + As if he had heard the pronouncement of his name the man in the cab turned + sharply and looked up. Gheta was leaning out, and his gaze fastened upon + her with a sudden and extraordinary intensity. Lavinia saw that her + sister, without dissembling her interest, sat forward, statuesque and + lovely. It seemed to the former that the cab was an intolerable time + passing; she wished to draw Gheta back, to cover her indiscretion from + Anna Mantegazza's prying sight. She sighed with inexplicable relief when + she saw that the man had driven beyond them and that he did not turn. + </p> + <p> + A bull-fighter! A blurred picture formed in Lavinia's mind from the + various details she had read and heard of the cruelty of the Spanish + national sport—torn horses, stiff on blood-soaked sand; a frenzied + and savage populace; and charging bulls, drenched with red froth. She + shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “What a brute!” she spoke aloud unintentionally. + </p> + <p> + Gheta glanced at her out of a cool superiority, but Anna Mantegazza nodded + vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “He would be a horrid person!” she affirmed. + </p> + <p> + “How silly!” Gheta responded. “It's an art, like the opera; he's an artist + in courage. Personally I find it rather fascinating. Most men are so—so + mild.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia knew that the other was thinking of Cesare Orsi, and she agreed + with her sister that Orsi was far too mild. Without the Orsi fortune—he + had much more even than Anna Mantegazza—Cesare would simply get + nowhere. The Spaniard—Lavinia could not recall his name, although it + hung elusively among her thoughts—was different; women of all + classes, Bembo had said, pursued him with favors. He could be cruel, she + decided, and shivered a little vicariously. She half heard Bembo's rapid + high-pitched excitement over trifles. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to the Guarinis' sale to-morrow afternoon? But, of course, + every one is. Well, if I come across Abrego y Mochales before then, and + I'm almost certain to, and he'll come, I'll bring him. He's as proud as + the devil—duchesses, you see—so no airs with him. The Flower + of Spain. A king of sport sits high at the table—” He went on, + apparently interminable; but Lavinia turned away to where tea was being + laid in a far angle. + </p> + <p> + Others approached over the tiled hall and the Marchese Sanviano entered + with Cesare Orsi. The window was deserted, and the women trailed + gracefully toward the bubbling minor note of the alcohol lamp. Both + Sanviano and Orsi were big men—the former, like Bembo, wore English + clothes; but Orsi's ungainly body had been tightly garbed by a Southern + military tailor, making him—Lavinia thought—appear absolutely + ridiculous. His collar was both too tight and too high, although + perspiration promised relief from the latter. + </p> + <p> + A general and unremarkable conversation mingled with the faint rattle of + passing cups and low directions to a servant. Lavinia was seated next to + Cesare Orsi, but she was entirely oblivious of his heavy kindly face and + almost anxiously benevolent gaze. He spoke to her, and because she had + comprehended nothing of his speech she smiled at him with an absent and + illuminating charm. He smiled back, happy in her apparent pleasure; and + his good-nature was so insistent that she was impelled to reward it with a + remark. + </p> + <p> + She thought, she said, that Gheta was particularly lovely this afternoon. + He agreed eagerly; and Lavinia wondered whether she had been clumsy. She + simply couldn't imagine marrying Cesare Orsi, but she knew that such a + match for Gheta was freely discussed, and she hoped that her sister would + not make difficulties. She wouldn't have dresses so fussy as Gheta's—in + figure, anyhow, she was perhaps her sister's superior—fine + materials, simply cut, with a ruffle at the throat and hem, a satin wrap + pointed at the back, with a soft tassel.... + </p> + <p> + Orsi was talking to Gheta, and she was answering him with a brevity that + had cast a shade of annoyance over the Marchese Sanviano's large features. + Lavinia agreed with her father that Gheta was a fool. She must be thirty, + the younger suddenly realized. Bembo was growing hysterical from the tea + and his own shrill anecdotes. He resembled a grotesque performing bird + with a large beak. Lavinia's mind returned to the silent dark man who had + passed in a cab. She wished, now, that she had been sitting at the front + of the window—the object of his unsparing intense gaze. She realized + that he was extremely handsome, and contrasted his erect slim carriage + with Orsi's thick slouched shoulders. The latter interrupted her look, + misinterpreted it, and said something about candy from Giacosa's. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia thanked him and rose; the discussion about the tea table became + unbearably stupid, no better than the flat chatter of the nuns at school. + </p> + <p> + Her room was small and barely furnished, with a thin rug over the stone + floor, and opened upon the court about which the house was built. The + Sanvianos occupied the second floor. Below, the <i>piano nobile</i> was + rented by the proprietor of a great wine industry. It was evident that he + was going out to dinner, for his dark blue brougham was waiting at the + inner entrance. The horse, a fine sleek animal, was stamping impatiently, + with ringing shoes, on the paved court. A flowering magnolia tree against + one corner filled the thickening dusk with a heavy palpitating sweetness. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia stayed for a long while at the ledge of her window. Her hair, + which she wore braided in a smooth heavy rope, slid out and hung free. The + brougham left, with a clatter of hoofs and a final clang of the great + iron-bound door on the street; above, white stars grew visible in a blue + dust. She dressed slowly, changing from one plain gown to another hardly + less simple. Before the mirror, in an unsatisfactory lamplight, she + studied her appearance in comparison with Gheta's. + </p> + <p> + She lacked the latter's lustrous pallor, the petal-like richness of + Gheta's skin. Lavinia's cheeks bore a perceptible flush, which she + detested and tried vainly to mask with powder. Her eyes, a clear bluish + gray, inherited from the Lombard strain in her mother, were not so much + fancied as her sister's brown; but at least they were more uncommon and + contrasted nicely with her straight dark bang. Her shoulders and arms she + surveyed with frank healthy approbation. Now her hair annoyed her, + swinging childishly about her waist, and she secured it in an + instinctively effective coil on the top of her head. She decided to leave + it there for dinner. Her mother was away for the night; and she knew that + Gheta's sarcasm would only stir their father to a teasing mirth. + </p> + <p> + Later, Gheta departed for a ball, together with the Marchese Sanviano—to + be dropped at his club—and Lavinia was left alone. The scene in the + court was repeated, but with less flourish than earlier in the evening. + Gheta would be nominally in the charge of Anna Mantegazza; but Lavinia + knew how laxly the American would hold her responsibility. She wished, + moving disconsolately under high painted ceilings through the semi-gloom + of still formal chambers, that she was a recognized beauty—free, + like Gheta. + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room, from which they had watched the afternoon procession, + was in complete darkness, save for the luminous rectangle of the window + they had occupied. Its drapery was still disarranged. Lavinia crossed the + room and stood at the grille. The lights strung along the river, curving + away like uniform pale bubbles, cast a thin illumination over the + Lungarno, through which a solitary vehicle moved. Lavinia idly watched it + approach, but her interest increased as it halted directly opposite where + she stood. A man got quickly out—a lithe figure with a broad-brimmed + hat slanted across his eyes. It was, she realized with an involuntary + quickening of her blood, Abrego y Mochales. A second man followed, + tendered him a curiously shaped object, and stood by the waiting cab while + the bull-fighter walked deliberately forward. He stopped under the window + and shifted the thing in his hands. + </p> + <p> + A rich chord of strings vibrated through the night, another followed, and + then a brief pattern of sound was woven from the serious notes of a + guitar. Lavinia shrank back within the room—it was, incredibly, a + serenade on the stolid Lungarno. It was for Gheta! The romance of the + south of Spain had come to life under their window. A voice joined the + instrument, melodious and melancholy, singing an air with little + variation, but with an insistent burden of desire. The voice and the + guitar mingled and fluctuated, drifting up from the pavement exotic and + moving. Lavinia could comprehend but little of the Spanish: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“I followed through the acacias, + But it was only the wind. + .... looked for you beyond the limes——”</i> +</pre> + <p> + The thrill at her heart deepened until tears wet her cheeks. It was for + Gheta, but it overwhelmed Lavinia with a formless and aching emotion; it + was for Gheta, but her response was instant and uncontrollable. It seemed + to Lavinia that the sheer beauty of life, which had moved her so sharply, + had been magnified unbearably; she had never dreamed of the possibilities + of such ecstasy or such delectable grief. + </p> + <p> + The song ended abruptly, with a sharp jarring note. The man by the + carriage moved deferentially forward and took the guitar. She could see + the minute pulsating sparks of cigarettes; heard a direction to the + driver. Abrego y Mochales and the other got into the cab and it turned and + shambled away. Lavinia Sanviano moved forward mechanically, gazing after + the dark vanishing shape on the road. She was shaken, almost appalled, by + the feeling that stirred her. A momentary terror of living swept over her; + the thrills persisted; her hands were icy cold. She had been safely a + child until now, when she had lost that small security, and gained—what? + </p> + <p> + She studied herself, clad in her coarse nightgown with narrow lace, in her + inadequate mirror. The color had left her cheeks and her eyes shone darkly + from shadows. “Lavinia Sanviano!” she spoke aloud, with the extraordinary + sensation of addressing, in her reflection, a stranger. She could never, + never wear her hair down again, she thought with an odd pang. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Gheta invariably took breakfast in her room. It was a larger chamber by + far than Lavinia's, toward the Via Garibaldi. A thick white bearskin was + spread by the canopied bed, an elaborate dressing table stood between long + windows drawn with ruffled pink silk, while the ceiling bore a scaling + ottocento frescoing of garlanded cupids. She was sitting in bed, the + chocolate pot on a painted table at her side, when Lavinia entered. + </p> + <p> + A maid was putting soft paper in the sleeves of Gheta's ball dress, and + Lavinia, finding an unexpected reluctance to proceed with what she had + come to say, watched the servant's deft care. + </p> + <p> + “Mochales was here last night,” Lavinia finally remarked abruptly—“that + is he stood on the street and serenaded you.” + </p> + <p> + Gheta put her cup down with a clatter. + </p> + <p> + “How charming!” she exclaimed. “And I missed it for an insufferable + affair. He stood under the window—” + </p> + <p> + “With a guitar,” Lavinia proceeded evenly. “It was very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! Bembo's going to fetch him to the Guarinis' sale, and I forgot + and promised Anna Mantegazza to drive out to Arcetri! But Anna won't miss + this. It was really a very pretty compliment.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with a trivial satisfaction that jarred painfully on Lavinia's + memory of the past night. Gheta calmly accepted the serenade as another + tribute to her beauty; Lavinia could imagine what Anna Mantegazza and her + sister would say, and they both seemed commonplace—even a little + vulgar—to her acutely sensitive being. She suddenly lost her desire + to resemble Gheta; her sister diminished in her estimation. The elder, + Lavinia realized with an unsparing detachment, was enveloped in a petty + vanity acquired in an atmosphere of continuous flattery; it had chilled + her heart. + </p> + <p> + The Guarinis, who had been overtaken by misfortune, and whose household + goods were, being disposed of at public sale, occupied a large gloomy + floor on the Via Cavour. The rooms were crowded by their friends and the + merely curious; the carpets were protected by a temporary covering; and + all the furnishings, the chairs and piano, pictures, glass and bijoux, + bore gummed and numbered labels. + </p> + <p> + The sale was progressing in one of the larger salons, but the crowd + circulated in a slow solid undulation through every room. Gheta and Anna + Mantegazza had sought the familiar comfortable corner of an entresol, and + were seated. Lavinia was standing tensely, with a laboring breast, when + Bembo suddenly appeared with the man whom he had called the Flower of + Spain. + </p> + <p> + “The Contessa Mantegazza,” Bembo said suavely, “Signorina Sanviano, this + is Abrego y Mochales.” + </p> + <p> + The bull-fighter bowed with magnificent flexibility. A hot resentment + possessed Lavinia at Bembo's apparent ignoring of her; but he had not seen + her at first and hastened to repair his omission. Lavinia inclined her + head stiffly. An increasing confusion enveloped her, but she forced + herself to gaze directly into Mochales' still black eyes. His face, she + saw, was gaunt, the ridges of his skull apparent under the bronzed skin. + His hair, worn in a queue, was pinned in a flat disk on his head, and + small gold loops had been riveted in his ears; but these peculiarities of + garb were lost in the man's intense virility, his patent brute force. His + fine perfumed linen, the touch of scarlet at his waist, his extremely + high-heeled patent-leather boots under soft uncreased trousers, served + only to emphasize his resolute metal—they resembled an embroidered + and tasseled scabbard that held a keen, thin and dangerous blade. + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza extended her hand in the American fashion, and Gheta + smiled from—Lavinia saw—her best facial angle. The Spaniard + regarded Gheta Sanviano so fixedly that after a moment she turned, in a + species of constraint, to Anna. The latter spoke with her customary + facility and the man responded gravely. + </p> + <p> + They stood a little aside from Lavinia; she only partly heard their + remarks, but she saw that Abrego y Mochales' attention never strayed from + her sister. Vicariously it made her giddy. The man absolutely summed up + all that Lavinia had dreamed of a romantic and masterful personage. She + felt convinced that he had destroyed her life's happiness—no other + man could ever appeal to her now; none other could satisfy the tumult he + had aroused in her. This, she told herself, desperately miserable, was + love. + </p> + <p> + Gheta spoke of her, for the three turned to regard her. She met their + scrutiny with a doubtful half smile, which vanished as Anna Mantegazza + made a light comment upon her hair being so newly up. Lavinia detested the + latter with a sudden and absurd intensity. She saw Anna, with a veiled + glance at Gheta, make an apology and leave to join an eddy of familiars + that had formed in the human stream sweeping by. Mochales stood very close + to her sister, speaking seriously, while Gheta nervously fingered the + short veil hanging from her gay straw hat. + </p> + <p> + A familiar kindly voice sounded suddenly in Lavinia's ears, and Cesare + Orsi joined her. He was about to move forward toward Gheta; but, before he + could attract her attention, she disappeared in the crowd with the + Spaniard. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” he inquired. “He resembles a juggler.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia elaborately masked her hot resentment at this fresh stupidity. She + must not, she felt, allow Orsi to discover her feeling for Abrego y + Mochales; that was a secret she must keep forever from the profane world. + She would die, perhaps at a terribly advanced age, with it locked in her + heart. But if Gheta married him she would go into a convent. + </p> + <p> + “A bull-fighter, I believe,” she said carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “In other words, a brute,” Orsi continued. “Such men are not fit for the + society of—of your sister. One would think his mere presence would + make her ill.... Yet she seemed quite pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange!” Lavinia spoke with innocent eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was like turning a knife in her wound to agree apparently with Cesare + Orsi—rather, she wanted to laugh at him coldly and leave him + standing alone; but she must cultivate her defenses. There was, too, a + sort of negative pleasure in misleading the banker, a sort of torment not + unlike that enjoyed by the early martyrs. + </p> + <p> + Cesare Orsi regarded her with new interest and approbation. + </p> + <p> + “You're a sensible girl,” he proclaimed; “and extremely pretty in the + bargain.” He added this in an accent of profound surprise, as if she had + suddenly grown presentable under his eyes. “In some ways,” he went on, + gathering conviction, “you are as handsome as Gheta.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Signor Orsi,” Lavinia responded with every indication of a + modesty, which, in fact, was the indifference of a supreme contempt. + </p> + <p> + “I have been blind,” he asseverated, vivaciously gesticulating with his + thick hands. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia studied him with a remote young brutality, from his fluffy + disarranged hair, adhering to his wet brow, to his extravagantly pointed + shoes. The ridiculous coral charm hanging from his heavy watch chain, a + violent green handkerchief, an insufferable cameo pin—all + contributed pleasurably to the lowering of her opinion of him. + </p> + <p> + “I must find Gheta,” she pronounced, suddenly aware of her isolation with + Cesare Orsi in the crowd, and of curious glances. Orsi immediately took + her arm, but she eluded him. “Go first, please; we can get through sooner + that way.” + </p> + <p> + They progressed from room to room, thoroughly exploring the dense throng + about the auctioneer, but without finding either Gheta, Anna Mantegazza or + the bull-fighter. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think how she could have forgotten me!” Lavinia declared with + increasing annoyance. “It's clear that they have all gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't agitate yourself,” Cesare Orsi begged. “Sanviano will be absolutely + contented to have you in my care. I am delighted. You shall go home + directly in my carriage.” He conducted her, with a show of form that in + any one else or at another time she would have enjoyed hugely, to the + street, where he handed her into an immaculately glossy and corded + victoria, drawn by a big stamping bay, and stood with his hat off until + she had rolled away. + </p> + <p> + It was comfortable in the luxuriously upholstered seat and, in spite of + herself, Lavinia sank back with a contented sigh. There was in its case a + gilt hand mirror, into which she peered, and a ledge that pulled out, with + a crystal box for cigarettes and a spirit lighter. The Sanvianos had only + a landaulet, no longer in its first condition; and Lavinia wondered why + Gheta, who adored ease, had been so long in securing for herself such + comforts as Orsi's victoria. + </p> + <p> + They swept smoothly on rubber tires into the Lungarno and rapidly + approached her home. The carriage stopped before the familiar white + façade, built of marble in the pseudo-severity of the early nineteenth + century, and the porter swung open the great iron gate to the courtyard. + Lavinia mounted the square white shaft of the stairs to the Sanvianos' + floor with a deepening sense of injury. She would make it plain to Gheta + that she was no longer a child to be casually overlooked. + </p> + <p> + A small room, used in connection with the dining room for coffee and + smoking, gave directly on the hall; there she saw her father sitting, with + his hat still on, his face stamped with an almost comical dismay, and + holding an unlighted cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Gheta left me at the Guarinis',” Lavinia halted impetuously. “If it + hadn't been for Signor Orsi I shouldn't be here yet; I was completely + ignored.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” her father exclaimed, waving her away. “Another feminine + catastrophe! Go to your sister and mother. My head is in a whirl.” + </p> + <p> + Her mother, then, had returned. She went forward and was suddenly startled + by hearing Gheta's voice rise in a wail of despairing misery. She hurried + forward to her sister's room. Gheta, fully dressed, was prostrate, face + down, upon her bed, shaken by a strangled sobbing that at intervals rose + to a thin hysterical scream. The Marchesa Sanviano, still in her traveling + suit and close-fitting black hat, sat by her elder daughter's side, trying + vainly to calm the tumult. In the background the maid, her face streaming + with sympathetic tears, was hovering distractedly with a jar of volatile + salts. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” Lavinia demanded, torn by extravagant fears, “what has happened?” + </p> + <p> + The marchesa momentarily turned a concerned countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Your sister,” she said seriously, “has found some wrinkles on her + forehead.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia with difficulty restrained a sharp giggle. Gheta's grief and their + mother's anxiety at first seemed so foolishly disproportionate to their + cause. Then a realization of what such an occurrence meant to Gheta dawned + upon her. To an acknowledged beauty like Gheta Sanviano the marks of Time + were an absolute tragedy; they threatened her on every plane of her being. + </p> + <p> + “But when—” Lavinia began. + </p> + <p> + “They—Anna Mantegazza and she—went to the dressing room at the + Guarinis', where, it seems, Anna discovered them—sympathetically, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + Gheta's sobbing slowly subsided under the marchesa's urgent plea that + unrestrained emotion would only deepen her trouble. She did not appear at + dinner; and afterward the marchese, his wife and Lavinia sat wrapped in a + gloomy silence. The marchesa was still handsome, in spite of increasing + weight. The gray gaze inherited by Lavinia had escaped the parent; her + eyes were soft and dense, like brown velvet. She was a woman of decision + and now she brought her hands smartly together. + </p> + <p> + “We have waited too long with Gheta; we should not have counted so + confidently on her beauty; time flies so treacherously. She must marry as + soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, there's Cesare Orsi!” her husband responded. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia was gazing inward at the secretly enshrined image of the Flower of + Spain. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + Gheta Sanviano often passed a night at the Mantegazzas' villa on the + Height of Castena, a long mile from the city. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia, too, knew the dwelling well, for Sanviano and Pier Mantegazza had + been intimate from their similar beginnings, and she had played there as a + child. However, she had never been regularly asked with Gheta; and when + that occurred—Gheta indifferently delivered Anna Mantegazza's + message—and her mother acquiesced, Lavinia had a renewed sense of + her growing importance. + </p> + <p> + She went out early, in the heat of midday, a time that fitted best with + the involved schedule of the Sanvianos' single equipage—Anna would + take her sister directly from a luncheon at the Ginoris'. Lavinia looked + with mingled anticipation and relief at the approaching graceful façade + added scarcely a hundred and fifty years before to the otherwise somber + abode of the Mantegazzas, first established in the twelfth century. + </p> + <p> + The villa stood on an eminence, circled by austere pines, and terraced + with innumerable vegetable gardens and frugally planted olives. The road + mounted abruptly, turned under a frowning wall incongruously topped with + delicately painted urns, and doubled across the massive iron-bound door + that closed the arched entrance. Within, an immensely high timbered hall + was pleasantly cool and dark after the white blaze without. It was bare of + furnishing except for a number of rude oak settles against the naked stone + walls. It had been a place of fear to Lavinia when a child; and even now + she left it with a sense of relief for the modernized interior beyond. + </p> + <p> + Pier Mantegazza was standing before a high inclined table, which bore a + number of blackened and shapeless medallions. He was a famous numismatic—a + tall stooping man, slightly lame, and enveloped in a premature gray ill + health that resembled clinging cobwebs. He bent and brushed Lavinia's + forehead with his crisp mustache, and then returned to the delicate + manipulation of a magnifying glass and a small blue bottle of acid. She + left him for a deep chair and a surprising French romance by Remy de + Gourmont. At a long philosophical dialogue the book drooped, and she + thought of Anna Mantegazza and her husband. + </p> + <p> + She wondered whether they were happy. But she decided, measuring that + condition solely by her own requirement, that such a state was impossible + for them. It had certainly been a marriage for money and position; prior + to the ceremony the Casa Mantegazza had been closed for years, and Pier + Mantegazza occupied a small establishment near the Military Hospital, on + the Via San Gallo. Anna Cane had arrived in Rome, without family or + credentials, and unknown to the American Embassy other than by amazing + deposits at the best banks. But she did have, in addition to this, a + pungent charm and undeniable force and good taste. It was said that the + moment she had seen Mantegazza's villa she had decided to possess it, even + at the price of its sere withdrawn holder. + </p> + <p> + She had gone at once into the best Florentine and Roman society. That was + ten years before, but Lavinia realized that she had never successfully + assimilated the Italian social formula. She mixed the most diverse + elements of their world willfully and found enjoyment in bringing about + amusing situations. She seemed devoid of the foundations of proper + caution; in fact, she mocked at them openly. And if she had not been a + model Catholic, and herself above the slightest moral question, even + Mantegazza could not have carried her among his own circles. As it was, + people flocked to her elaborate parties, torn between the hope of being + amazed and the fear that they should furnish the hub of the occasion. + </p> + <p> + Gheta and her hostess arrived later. The former, it appeared to Lavinia, + looked disconcerted; and it was evident that she had been remonstrating + with Anna Mantegazza. The other laughed provokingly. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she declared. “It was too good to miss; besides, you're an old + campaigner.” + </p> + <p> + A stair of flagging, turning sharply round a stone pillar, led + incongruously from the light French furnishings to the chamber where + Lavinia was to sleep. A Renaissance bed, made of thick quilting directly + upon the floor, was covered with gilt ecclesiastical embroidery; and a + movable tub stood in a stone corner. The narrow deep windows overlooked + Florence, a somber expanse of roofing; and, coming rapidly toward the + villa, Lavinia could see a tall dogcart, with a groom and two passengers. + They were men; and, as they drew nearer, Lavinia—with a sudden + pounding of her heart—realized the cause of the slight friction + between the two women. The cart bore Cesare Orsi, and Mochales the + bull-fighter, the Flower of Spain. It was a part of Anna Mantegazza's + humor that the men, so essentially antagonistic, should arrive together + clinging precariously on the high insecure trap. + </p> + <p> + Tea was served at five on the terrace, and Lavinia dressed with minute + care. Gheta, she knew, had brought a new lavender lawn with little gold + velvet buttons and lace; while she had nothing but the familiar coarse + white mull. But she had fresh ribbons and she gazed with satisfaction at + her firm, faintly rosy countenance. She would have no wrinkles for years + to come. However, she thought, with a return to her sense of tragic gloom, + such considerations were of little moment, as Abrego y Mochales would + scarcely be aware of her existence; he would never know.... Perhaps, years + after— + </p> + <p> + She purposely delayed her appearance on the terrace until the others had + assembled, and then quietly took possession of a chair. Cesare Orsi + greeted her with effusive warmth, the Spaniard bowed ceremoniously. A wide + prospect of countryside flowed away in innumerable hills and valleys, + clothed in the silvery smoke of olives and in green-black pines; below, a + bank of cherry trees were in bloom. The air was sweet and still and full + of a warm radiance. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia luxuriated in her unhappiness. Mochales, she decided, must be the + handsomest man in existence. His unchanging gravity fascinated her—the + man's face, his voice, his dignified gestures, were all steeped in a + splendid melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “I am a peasant,” he said, apparently addressing them all, but with his + eyes upon Gheta, “from Estremadura, in the mountains. The life there was + very hard, and that was fortunate for me; the food was scarce, and that + was good too. If I ate like the grandees a bull would end me in the hot + sun of the first <i>fiesta</i>; I'd double up like a pancake. I must work + all the time—run for miles and play <i>pelota</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia was possessed by a new contempt for her kind, which she centered + upon Orsi, clumsy and stupidly smiling. It was clear that he couldn't run + a mile; in fact, he admitted that he detested all exercise. How absurd he + looked in his tight plaited jacket! It appeared that he was always + perspiring; a crime, she felt sure—with entire disregard of its + fatal consequences—that Mochales never committed. + </p> + <p> + “A friend of ours—it was Bembo—said that he saw you at San + Sebastian with your King,” Anna Mantegazza put in. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? But Alphonso is a fine boy; he understands the business of + royalty. Every year I dedicate a magnificent bull to the King on his name + day.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you dedicate one to me?” Gheta asked carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “The best in Andalusia,” he responded with fire. + </p> + <p> + Cesare Orsi made a slight sharp exclamation, and Lavinia's heart beat + painfully. The former turned to her with sudden determination. + </p> + <p> + “Were you comfortable in my carriage,” he demanded, “and fetched home at a + smart pace?” Lavinia thanked him. + </p> + <p> + “You are always so quiet,” he complained. “I'm certain there's a great + deal in that wise young head worth hearing.” + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia is still in the schoolroom,” Gheta explained brutally. “Yesterday + she put up her hair, to-day Anna Mantegazza invites her, and we have an + effect.” + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza turned to the younger with a new veiled scrutiny. Her gaze + rested for an instant on Orsi and then moved contemplatively to Gheta and + Abrego y Mochales. It was evident that her thoughts were very busy; a + faint sparkle appeared in her eyes, a fresh vivacity animated her manner. + Suddenly she included Lavinia in her remarks; she put queries to the girl + patently intended to draw her out. Gheta grew uneasy and then cross. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sick of sitting here,” she declared; “let's walk about. It's cooler, + and Pier Mantegazza's place is always worth investigation.” She rose and + waited for Cesare Orsi, then led the small procession from under the + striped tea kiosk down the terrace. The way grew steep and she rested a + hand on Orsi's arm. Anna, Lavinia and the Flower of Spain followed + together, until the first moved forward to join the leaders. Lavinia's + gaze was obscured by a sort of warm mist; she clasped her hands to keep + them from trembling. In a narrow flagged turn Mochales brushed her + shoulder. He scarcely moved his eyes from Gheta's back. Once he gazed + somberly at the girl beside him and she responded with a pale questioning + smile. “I have had a great misfortune,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “I've lost a blessed coin that interceded for me since the first day I + went in the bull ring. I'd give a thousand wax candles for its return. Now—when + I need everything,” he continued as if to himself. “Your sister is + beautiful,” he added abruptly. “Everybody thinks so,” Lavinia replied in a + voice she endeavored to make enthusiastic. “She has had tens of admirers + here and at Rome and Lucca.” There she knew she should stop; but she + continued: “Cesare Orsi is very persistent and tremendously rich.” + </p> + <p> + Mochales made a short unintelligible remark in Spanish. He twisted a + cigarette with lightning-like rapidity and only one hand. Together they + looked at Orsi's broad ungainly back, and the bull-fighter's lips + tightened, exposing a glimmer of his immaculate teeth. They passed a neat + whitewashed cottage, where an old couple stood bowing abjectly, and came + on a series of long pale-brown buildings and walls. + </p> + <p> + “The stables and barn,” Lavinia explained. + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza turned. “You may see something of interest here,” she + called to Mochales. + </p> + <p> + A series of steps, made by projecting stones, rose to the top of an + eight-foot wall, up which Anna unexpectedly led the way. The wall was + broad, afforded a comfortable footing, and enclosed a straw-littered yard. + A number of doors led into a barn, and into one some men were urging + refractory cattle. In a corner a small compact bull, with the rapierlike + horns of the mountain breeds, was secured by a nose ring and a short + chain; and to the latter the men turned when the other animals had been + confined. Two threatened the animal with long poles, while a third + unfastened the chain from the wall; and then all endeavored to drive him + within. Abrego y Mochales stood easily above, watching these clumsy + efforts. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the bull stopped, plunged his front hoofs into the soft mold of + the stable yard and swept his head from side to side with a broken hoarse + bellow. The men prodded him with urgent cries; but the bull suddenly + whirled, snapping the poles, and there was an immediate scattering. + </p> + <p> + The sight of the retreating forms apparently enraged the animal, for he + charged with astonishing speed and barely missed horning the last man to + fall over the barricade of a half door. Mochales smiled; he called + familiarly to the bull. Then he stooped and vaulted lightly down into the + yard. Lavinia gave a short exclamation; she was cold with fear. Orsi + looked on without any emotion visible on his heavy face. Anna Mantegazza + leaned forward, tense with interest. “<i>Bravo!</i>” she called. + </p> + <p> + Gheta Sanviano smiled. + </p> + <p> + The bull did not see Mochales at first, then the man cried tauntingly. The + bull turned and stood with a lowered slowly-moving head, an uneasy tail. + The Spaniard found a small milking stool and, carrying it to the middle of + the yard, sat and comfortably rolled another cigarette. He was searching + for a match when the bull moved forward a pace; he had found and was + striking it when the bull increased his pace; he was guarding the flame + about the cigarette's end when the animal broke into a charging run. + </p> + <p> + The Flower of Spain inhaled a deep breath of smoke, which he expelled in + deliberate globes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't! Oh——” Lavinia exclaimed, an arm before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mochales shifted easily from his seat and apparently in the same instant + the bull crushed the stool to splinters. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bravo! Bravo!</i>” Anna Mantegazza called again, and the man bowed + until his extended hat rested on the ground. + </p> + <p> + He straightened slowly; the bull whirled about and flung himself forward. + Abrego y Mochales now had one of the discarded poles; and, waiting until + the horns had almost encircled him, he vaulted lightly and beautifully + over the running animal's shoulder. He waited again, avoiding the + infuriated charge by a scant step; and, when the bull stopped he had + Mochales' hat placed squarely upon his horns. Lavinia watched now in + fascinated terror; she could not remove her gaze from the slim figure in + the short black jacket and narrow crimson sash. At the moment when her + tension relaxed, Mochales, with a short running step, vaulted cleanly to + the top of the wall. His cigarette was still burning. She wanted + desperately to add her praise to Anna Mantegazza's enthusiastic plaudits, + Gheta's subtle smile; but only the utmost banalities occurred to her. + </p> + <p> + They descended the stone steps and slowly mounted toward the house. Cesare + Orsi resolutely dropped back beside Lavinia. + </p> + <p> + “You are really superb!” he told her in his highly colored Neapolitan + manner. “Most women—Anna Mantegazza for example—are like + children before such a show as that back there. Your sister, too, was + pleased; it appealed to her vanity, as the fellow intended it should. But + you only disliked it.... I could see that in your attitude. It was the + circus—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia gazed at him out of an unfathomable contempt. She thought: What a + fool he is! It wasn't Abrego y Mochales' courage that appealed to her + most, although that had afforded her an exquisite thrill, but his powerful + grace, his absolute physical perfection. Orsi was heated again and his tie + had slipped up over the back of his collar. + </p> + <p> + She recalled the first talk she had had with him about Mochales and the + manner in which she had masked her true feeling for the latter. + </p> + <p> + How easy Orsi had been to mislead! Now she was seized by the desire to + show him the actual state of her mind; she wanted, in bitter sentences, to + tell him how infinitely superior the Spaniard was to such fat easy grubs + as himself. She longed to make clear to him exactly what it was that women + admired in men—romance and daring and splendid strength. It might + suit Gheta, who had wrinkles, to encourage such men as Cesare Orsi; their + wealth might appeal to cold and material minds, but they could never hope + to inspire passion; no one would ever cherish for them a hopeless lifelong + love. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” Orsi declared with firm conviction, “you are even handsomer + than your sister!” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! fool! fool!” But she could not, of course, say a word of what was + in her thoughts. She met his admiring gaze with a blank face, conscious of + how utterly her exterior belied and hid the actual Lavinia Sanviano. She + felt wearily old, sophisticated. In her room, dressing for the evening, + she made up her mind that she must have a black dinner gown—later + she would wear no other shade. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza knocked and entered just as Lavinia had finished with her + hair and was slipping into the familiar white dress. There had been, + within the last few hours, a perceptible change in the former's attitude + toward her. Lavinia realized that Anna Mantegazza regarded her with a new + interest, a greater and more personal friendliness. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lavinia!” she exclaimed, critically overlooking the other's + preparations. “You look very appealing—like a snowdrop; exactly. I + should say the toilet for Sunday at the convent; but no longer appropriate + outside. Really, I must speak to the marchesa—parents are so slow to + see the differences in their own family. Gheta has been a little + overemphasized. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” she continued with glowing vivacity, “if you would allow me—I + assure you it would give me the greatest pleasure in the world.... Your + figure is a thousand times better than mine; but, thank heaven, I'm still + slender.... A little evening dress from Vienna! It should really do you + very well. Will you accept it from me? I'd like to give you something, + Lavinia; and it has never been out of its box.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and was out of the room before Lavinia could reply. There was + no reason why she shouldn't take a present from Anna—Pier Mantegazza + and her father had been lifelong friends, and his wife was an intimate of + the Sanvianos. It would not, probably, be black. It wasn't. Anna returned, + followed by her maid, who bore carefully over her arm a shimmering mass of + glowing pink. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” Anna Mantegazza cried. “Your hair is very pretty, very original—but + hardly for a dress by Verlat. Sara!” + </p> + <p> + The maid moved quietly forward and directed an appraising gaze at Lavinia. + She was a flat-hipped Englishwoman, with a cleft chin and enigmatic + greenish eyes. “I see exactly, madame,” she assured Anna; and with her + deft dry hands she took down Lavinia's laboriously arranged hair. + </p> + <p> + She drew it back from the brow apparently as simply as before, twisted it + into a low knot slightly eccentric in shape, and recut a bang. Lavinia's + eyes seemed bluer, her delicate flush more elusive; the shape of her face + appeared changed, it was more pointed and had a new willful charm. + </p> + <p> + “The stockings,” Anna commanded. + </p> + <p> + Dressed, Lavinia Sanviano stood curiously before the long mirror; she saw + a fresh Lavinia that was yet the old; and she was absorbing her first + great lesson in the magic of clothes. Verlat, a celebrated dressmaker, was + typical of the Viennese spirit—the gown Lavinia wore resembled, in + all its implications, an orchid. There was a whisper here of satin, a pale + note of green, a promise of chiffon. Her crisp round shoulders were bare; + her finely molded arms were clouded, as it were, with a pink mist; the + skirt was full, incredibly airy; yet every movement was draped by a suave + flowing and swaying. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia recognized that she had been immensely enriched in effect; it was + not a question of mere beauty—beauty here gave way to a more subtle + and potent consideration. It was a potency which she instinctively shrank + from probing. For a moment she experienced, curiously enough, a gust of + passionate resentment, followed by a quickly passing melancholy, a faint + regret. + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza and the maid radiated with satisfaction at the result of + their efforts. The former murmured a phrase that bore Gheta's name, but + Lavinia caught nothing else. The maid said: + </p> + <p> + “Without a doubt, madame.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia lingered in her room, strangely reluctant to go down and see her + sister. She was embarrassed by her unusual appearance and dreaded the + prominence of the inevitable exclamations. At last she was obliged to + proceed. The rest stood by the entrance of the dining room. Anna + Mantegazza was laughing at a puzzled expression on the good-natured + countenance of Cesare Orsi; Gheta was slowly waving a fan of gilded + feathers; Abrego y Mochales was standing rigid and somberly handsome; and, + as usual, Pier Mantegazza was late. + </p> + <p> + Gheta Sanviano turned and saw Lavinia approaching, and the elder's face, + always pale, grew suddenly chalky; it was drawn, and the wrinkles, + carefully treated with paste, became visible about her eyes. Her hands + shook a little as she took a step forward. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, Lavinia?” she demanded. “Why did I know nothing + about that dress?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew nothing myself until a little bit ago,” Lavinia explained + apologetically, filled with a formless pity for Gheta. “Isn't it pretty? + Anna Mantegazza gave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + She could see, over Gheta's shoulder, Cesare Orsi staring at her in + idiotic surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like it, Gheta?” Anna asked. + </p> + <p> + Gheta Sanviano didn't answer, but closed her eyes for a moment in an + effort to control the anger that shone in them. The silence deepened to + constraint, and then she laughed lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Quite a woman of fashion!” she observed of Lavinia. “Fancy! It's a pity + that she must go back to the convent so soon.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes while she was speaking were directed toward Anna Mantegazza and + the resentment changed to hatred. The other shrugged her shoulders + indifferently and moved toward the dining room, catching Lavinia's arm in + her own. + </p> + <p> + Mantegazza entered at the soup and was seated on Gheta's right; Cesare + Orsi was on Anna's left; and Lavinia sat between the two men, with + Mochales opposite. Whatever change had taken place in her looks made + absolutely no impression upon the latter; it was clear that he saw no one + besides Gheta Sanviano. + </p> + <p> + In the candlelight his face more than ever resembled bronze; his hair was + dead-black; above the white linen his head was like a superb effigy of an + earlier and different race from the others. It was almost savage in its + still austerity. Cesare Orsi, too, said little, which was extraordinary + for him. If Lavinia had made small mark on Mochales, at least she had + overpowered the other to a ludicrous degree. It seemed that he had never + before half observed her; he even muttered to himself and smiled + uncertainly when she chanced to gaze at him. + </p> + <p> + But what the others lacked conversationally Anna Mantegazza more than + supplied; she was at her best, and that was very sparkling, touched with + malice and understanding, and absolute independence. She insisted on + including Lavinia in every issue. At first Lavinia was only confused by + the attention pressed on her; she retreated, growing more inarticulate at + every sally. Then she became easier; spurred partly by Gheta's direct + unpleasantness and partly by the consciousness of her becoming appearance, + she retorted with spirit; engaged Pier Mantegazza in a duet of verbal + confetti. She gazed challengingly at Abrego y Mochales, but got no other + answer than a grave perfunctory inclination. + </p> + <p> + She thought of an alternative to the black gowns and unrelieved melancholy—she + might become the gayest member of the gay Roman world, be known throughout + Italy for her reckless exploits, her affairs and Vienna gowns, all the + while hiding her passion for the Flower of Spain. It would be a vain + search for forgetfulness, with an early death in an atmosphere of roses + and champagne. Gheta was gazing at her so crossly that she took a sip of + Mantegazza's brandy; it burned her throat cruelly, but she concealed the + choking with a smile of high bravado. + </p> + <p> + After dinner they progressed to a drawing-room that filled an entire end + of the villa; it lay three steps below the hall, the imposing walls and + floor covered with tapestries and richly dark rugs. Lavinia more than ever + resembled an orchid, here in a gloom of towering trees curiously suggested + by the draperies and space. She went forward with Anna Mantegazza to an + amber blur of lamplight, the others following irregularly. + </p> + <p> + Cesare Orsi sat at Lavinia's side, quickly finishing one long black cigar + and lighting another; Pier Mantegazza and Mochales smoked cigarettes. Anna + was smoking, but Gheta had refused. Lavinia's feeling for her sister had + changed from pity to total indifference. The elder had been an overbearing + and thoughtless superior; and now, when Lavinia felt in some subtle + inexplicable manner that Gheta was losing rank, her store of sympathy was + small. Lavinia hoped that she would marry Orsi immediately and leave the + field free for herself. She wondered whether her father would buy her a + dress by Verlat. + </p> + <p> + “Honestly,” Orsi murmured, “more beautiful than your—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped him with an impatient gesture, wondering what Mochales was + saying to Gheta. A possibility suddenly filled her with dread—it was + evident that the Spaniard was growing hourly more absorbed in Gheta, and + the latter might——Lavinia could not support the possibility of + Abrego y Mochales married to her sister. But, she reassured herself, there + was little danger of that—Gheta would never make a sacrifice for + emotion; she would be sure of the comfortable material thing, and now more + than ever. + </p> + <p> + Anna Mantegazza moved to a piano, which, in the obscurity, she began to + play. The notes rose deliberate and melodious. Gheta Sanviano told Orsi: + </p> + <p> + “That's Iris. Do you remember, we heard it at the Pergola in the winter?” + </p> + <p> + “Do go over to her,” Lavinia whispered. + </p> + <p> + He rose heavily and went to Gheta's side, and Lavinia waited expectantly + for Mochales to change too. The Spaniard shifted, but it was toward the + piano, where he stood with the rosy reflection of his cigarette on a moody + countenance. It was Pier Mantegazza who sat beside her, with a quizzical + expression on his long gray visage. He said something to her in Latin, + which she only partly understood, but which alluded to the changing of + water into wine. + </p> + <p> + “I am a subject of jest,” he continued in Italian, “because I prefer + water.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled with polite vacuity, wondering what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “You always satisfied me, Lavinia, with your dark smooth plait and white + simplicity; you were cool and refreshing. Now they have made you only + disturbing. I suppose it was inevitable, and with you the change will be + temporary.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll never let my hair down again,” she retorted. “I've settled that with + Gheta. Mother didn't care, really.” + </p> + <p> + She was annoyed by the implied criticism, his entire lack of response to + her new being. He had grown blind staring at his stupid old coins. + </p> + <p> + A step sounded behind her; she turned hopefully, but it was only Cesare + Orsi. + </p> + <p> + “The others have gone outside,” he told her, and she noticed that the + piano had stopped. + </p> + <p> + Mantegazza rose and bowed in mock serious formality, at which Lavinia + shrugged an impatient shoulder and walked with Orsi across the room and + out upon the terrace. + </p> + <p> + Florence had sunk into a dark chasm of night, except for the curving + double row of lights that marked the Lungarno and the indifferent + illumination of a few principal squares. The stars seemed big and near in + deep blue space. Orsi was standing very close to her, and she moved away; + but he followed. + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia,” he muttered, and suddenly his arm was about her waist. + </p> + <p> + She leaned back, pushing with both hands against his chest; but he swept + her irresistibly up to him and kissed her clumsily. A cold rage possessed + her. She stopped struggling; yet there was no need to continue—he + released her immediately and opened a stammering apology. + </p> + <p> + “I am a madman,” he admitted abjectly—“a little animal that ought to + be shot. I don't know what came over me; my head was in a carnival. You + must forgive or I shall be a maniac, I——” + </p> + <p> + She turned and walked swiftly into the house and mounted to her room. All + the pleasure she had had in the evening, the Viennese gown, evaporated, + left her possessed by an utter loathing of self. Now, in the mirror, she + seemed hateful, the clouded chiffon and airy clinging satin unspeakable. + Looking back out of the dim glass was a stranger who had betrayed and + cheapened her. Her pure serenity revolted against the currents of life + sweeping down upon her, threatening to inundate her. + </p> + <p> + She unhooked the Verlat gown with trembling fingers and—once more in + simple white—dropped into a deep chair, where she cried with short + painful inspirations, her face pressed against her arm. Her emotion + subsided, changed to a formless dread, and again to a black sense of + helplessness. Suddenly she rose and mechanically shook loose her hair—footsteps + were approaching. Her sister entered, pale and vindictive. + </p> + <p> + “You are to be congratulated,” she proceeded thinly; “you made a success + with everybody—that is, with all but Mochales. It was for him, + wasn't it? You were very clever, but you failed ridiculously.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Mochales excuses you because of your greenness.” + </p> + <p> + “Youth isn't any longer your crime,” Lavinia retorted at last. + </p> + <p> + “That dress—it would suit Anna Mantegazza; but you looked only + indecent.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're right, Gheta,” Lavinia said unexpectedly. “I'm going to + bed now, please.” + </p> + <p> + Her balance, restored by sleep, was once more normal when she returned to + the Lungarno. It was again late afternoon, the daily procession was + returning from the Cascine, and Gheta was at the window, looking coldly + down. The Marchesa Sanviano was knitting at prodigious speed a shapeless + gray garment. They all turned when a servant entered: + </p> + <p> + Signer Orsi wished to see the marchese. + </p> + <p> + This unusual formality on the part of Cesare Orsi could have but one + purpose, and Lavinia and their mother gazed significantly at the elder + sister. + </p> + <p> + “The marchese is dressing,” his wife directed. + </p> + <p> + She drew a long breath of relief and nodded over her needles. Gheta raised + her chin; her lips bore the half-contemptuous expression that lately had + become habitual; her eyes were half closed. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia sat with her hands loose in her lap. She was wondering whether or + not, should she make a vigorous protest, they would send her back to the + convent. The Verlat gown was carefully hung in her closet. Last night she + had been idiotic. + </p> + <p> + The Marchese Sanviano appeared hurriedly and alone; his tie was crooked + and his expression very much disturbed. His wife looked up, startled. + </p> + <p> + “What!” she demanded directly. “Didn't he——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Sanviano replied, “he did! He wants to marry Lavinia.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia half rose, with a horrified protest; Gheta seemed suddenly turned + to stone; the knitting fell unheeded from the marchesa's lap. Sanviano + spread out his hands helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he demanded, “what could I do?... A man with Orsi's blameless + character and the Orsi banks!” + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + The house to which Cesare Orsi took Lavinia was built over the rim of a + small steep island in the Bay of Naples, opposite Castellamare. It faced + the city, rising in an amphitheater of bright stucco and almond blossoms, + across an expanse of glassy and incredibly blue water. It was evening, the + color of sky and bay was darkening, intensified by a vaporous rosy column + where the ascending smoke of Vesuvius held the last upflung glow of the + vanished sun. Lavinia could see from her window the pale distant quiver of + the electric lights springing up along the Villa Nazionale. + </p> + <p> + The dwelling itself drew a long irregular façade of white marble on its + abrupt verdant screen—a series of connected pavilions, galleries, + pergolas, belvedere, flowering walls and airy chambers. There were + tesselated remains from the time of the great pleasure-saturated Roman + emperors, a later distinctly Moorish influence, quattrocento-painted + eaves, an eighteenth-century sodded court, and a smoking room with the + startling colored glass of the nineteenth. + </p> + <p> + The windows of Lavinia's room had no sashes; they were composed of a + double marble arch, supported in the center by a slender twisted marble + column, with Venetian blinds. She stood in the opening, gazing fixedly + over the water turning into night. She could hear, from the room beyond, + her husband's heavy deliberate footfalls; and the sound filled her with a + formless resentment. She wished to be justifiably annoyed by them, or him; + but there was absolutely no cause. Cesare Orsi's character and disposition + were alike beyond reproach—transparent and heroically optimistic. + Since their marriage she had been insolent, she had been both captious and + continuously indifferent, without unsettling the determined eager + good-nature with which he met her moods. + </p> + <p> + During the week he went by launch into Naples in the interests of his + banking, and did not return for luncheon; and she had long uninterrupted + hours for the enjoyment of her pleasant domain. Altogether, his demands + upon her were reasonable to the point of self-effacement. He laughed a + great deal; this annoyed her youthful gravity and she remonstrated sharply + more than once, but he only leaned back and laughed harder. Then she would + either grow coldly disdainful or leave the room, followed by the echo of + his merriment. There was something impervious, like armor, in his + excellent humor. Apparently she could not get through it to wound him as + she would have liked; and she secretly wondered. + </p> + <p> + He was prodigal in his generosity—the stores of the Via Roma were + prepared to empty themselves at her desire. Cesare Orsi's wife was a + figure of importance in Naples. She had been made welcome by the + Neapolitan society—lawn fêtes had been given in villas under the + burnished leaves of magnolias on the height of Vomero. The Cavaliere + Nelli, Orsi's cousin and a retired colonel of Bersaglieri, entertained + lavishly at dinner on the terrace of Bertolini's; she went out to old + houses looking through aged and riven pines at the sea. + </p> + <p> + She would have enjoyed all this hugely if she had not been married to + Orsi; but the continual reiteration of the fact that she was Orsi's wife + filled her with an accumulating resentment. The implication that she had + been exceedingly fortunate became more than she could bear. The + consequence was that, as soon as it could be managed, she ceased going + about. + </p> + <p> + She was now at the window, immersed in a melancholy sense of total + isolation; the water stirring along the masonry below, a call from a + shadowy fishing boat dropping down the bay, filled her with longing for + the cheerful existence of the Lungarno. She had had a letter from Gheta + that morning, the first from her sister since she had left Florence, brief + but without any actual expression of ill will. After all was said, she had + brought Gheta a great disappointment; if she had been in the elder's place + probably she would have behaved no better.... It occurred to her to ask + Gheta to Naples. At least then she would have some one with whom to recall + the pleasant trifles of past years. She would have liked to ask Anna + Mantegazza, too; but this she knew was impossible—Gheta had not + forgiven Anna for her part on the night that had resulted in Orsi's + proposal for Lavinia. + </p> + <p> + She wondered, more obscurely, whether Abrego y Mochales was still in + Florence. He loomed at the back of her thoughts, inscrutably dark and + romantic. It piqued her that he had not made the slightest response to her + palpable admiration. But he had been tremendously stirred by Gheta, who + was never touched by such emotions. + </p> + <p> + A desire to see Mochales grew insidiously out of her speculations; a + desire to talk about him, hear his name. Lavinia deliberately shut her + eyes to the fact that this last became her principal reason for wishing to + see Gheta. + </p> + <p> + She told Cesare, with a diffidence which she was unable to overcome, that + she had written asking her sister for a visit. Seemingly he didn't hear + her. They were at breakfast, on the wine-red tiling of a pergola by the + water, and he had shaken his fist, with a rueful curse, in the direction + of Naples. Before him lay an open letter with an engraved page heading. + </p> + <p> + “I said,” Lavinia repeated impatiently, “that Gheta will probably be here + the last of the week.” + </p> + <p> + “The sacred camels!” Orsi exclaimed; then: “Oh, Gheta—good!” But he + fell immediately into an angry reverie. “If I dared—” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “What has stirred you up so?” + </p> + <p> + “It's difficult to explain to any one not born in Naples. Here, you see, + all is not in order, like Florence; we have had a stormy time between + brigands and secret factions and foreign rulers; and certain societies + sprang up, necessary once, but now—when one still exists—a + source of bribery and nuisance. This letter, for example, congratulates me + on the possession of a charming bride; it expresses the devotion of a + hidden organization, but points out that in order to guarantee your safety + in a city where the guards are admittedly insufficient it will be + necessary for me to forward two thousand lire at once.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, of course, ignore it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will certainly send the money at once.” + </p> + <p> + “What a cowardly attitude!” Lavinia declared contemptuously. “You allow + yourself to be blackmailed like a common criminal.” + </p> + <p> + Orsi laughed, his equilibrium quickly restored. + </p> + <p> + “I warned you that a stranger could not understand,” he reminded her. “If + the money weren't sent, in ten days or two weeks perhaps, there would be a + little accident on the Chiaja—your carriage would be run into; you + would be upset, confused, angry. There would be profuse apologies, + investigation, perhaps arrests; but nothing would come of it. If the money + was still held back something a little more serious would occur. Nothing + really dangerous, you understand; but finally the two thousand lire would + be gladly paid over and the accidents would mysteriously cease.” + </p> + <p> + “An outrage!” Lavinia asserted, and Orsi nodded. + </p> + <p> + “If you had an enemy,” he continued, “you could have her gown ruined in + the foyer of the San Carlos; if it were a man he would be caught at his + club with an uncomfortable ace in his cuff. At least so I'm assured. I + haven't had any reason to look the society up yet.” He laughed + prodigiously. “Even murders are ascribed to it. Careful, Cesare, or a new + valet will cut your throat some fine morning and your widow walk away with + a more graceful man!” + </p> + <p> + “Your jokes are so stupid.” Lavinia shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + He laid the letter on the table's edge and a wandering air bore it + slanting to the floor, but he promptly recovered it. + </p> + <p> + “That must go in the safe,” he ended; “it is well to have a slight grasp + on those gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + He rose; and a few minutes later Lavinia saw his trim brown launch, with + its awning and steersman in gleaming white, rushing through the bay toward + Naples. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + The basin from which the launch plied lay inside a seawall inclosing a + small placid rectangle with a walk all about and iron benches. Steps at + the back, guarded by two great Pompeian sandstone urns, and pressed by a + luxuriant growth, led up to the villa. Gheta looked curiously about as she + stepped from the launch and went forward with her brother-in-law. Lavinia + followed, with Gheta's maid and a porter in the rear. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia realized that her sister looked badly; in the unsparing blaze of + midday the wrinkles about her eyes were apparent, and they had multiplied. + Although it was past the first of June, Gheta was wearing a linen suit of + last year; and—as her maid unpacked—Lavinia saw the familiar + pink tulle and the lavender gown with the gold velvet buttons. + </p> + <p> + “Your dressmaker is very late,” she observed thoughtlessly. + </p> + <p> + A slow flush spread over the other's countenance; she did not reply + immediately and Lavinia would have given a great deal to unsay her period. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't that,” Gheta finally explained; “the family find that I am too + expensive. You see, I haven't justified their hopes and they have been + cutting down.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was thin, metallic; her features had sharpened like folded paper + creased between the fingers. + </p> + <p> + “It's very good form here,” she went on, dancing about her room. It was + hardly more than a marble gallery, the peristyle choked with flowering + bushes, camellias and althea and hibiscus, barely furnished, and filled + with drifting perfumes and the savor of the sea. “What a shame that these + things must be got at a price!” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia glanced at her sharply; until the present moment that would have + expressed her own attitude, but said by Gheta it seemed a little crude. It + was, anyhow, painfully obvious, and she had no intention of showing Gheta + the true state of her being. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that so of everything—worth having?” she asked, adding the + latter purely as a counter. + </p> + <p> + The elder drew up her fine shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “That's very courageous of you,” she admitted—“especially since + everybody knew your opinion of Orsi. Heaven knows you made no effort to + disguise your feeling to others.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia smiled calmly; Cesare was really very thoughtful, and she said so. + Gheta replied at a sudden tangent: + </p> + <p> + “Mochales has been a great nuisance.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia was gazing through an opening in the leaves at the sparkling blue + plane of the bay. She made no movement, aware of her sister's unsparing + curiosity turned upon her, and only said: + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “Spaniards are so tempestuous,” Gheta continued; “he's been whispering a + hundred mad schemes in my ear. He gave up an important engagement in + Madrid rather than leave Florence. I have been almost stirred by him, he + is so slender and handsome. + </p> + <p> + “Simply every woman—except perhaps me—is in love with him.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no danger of your loving any one besides yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him the day before I left; told him where I was going. Then I had + to beg him not to take the same train. He said he was going to Naples, + anyhow, to sail from there for Spain. He will be at the Grand Hotel and I + gave him permission to see me here once.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia revolved slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? He turned my head round at least twice.” She moved toward the + door. “Ring whenever you like,” she said; “there are servants for + everything.” + </p> + <p> + In her room she wondered, with burning cheeks, when Abrego y Mochales + would come. Her sentimental interest in him had waned a trifle during the + past busy weeks; but, in spite of that, he was the great romantic + attachment of her life. If he had returned her love no whispered scheme + would have been too mad. What would he think of her now? But she knew + instinctively that there would be no change in Mochales' attitude. He was + in love with Gheta; blind to the rest of the world. + </p> + <p> + She sat lost in a day-dream—how different her life would have been, + married to the bull-fighter! She would have become a part of the fierce + Spanish crowds at the ring, traveled to South America, seen the people + heap roses, jewels, upon her idol.... + </p> + <p> + Cesare Orsi stood in the doorway, smiling with oppressive good-nature. + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia,” he told her, “I've done something, and now I'm in the devil of + a doubt.” He advanced, holding a small package, and sat on the edge of a + chair, mopping his brow. “You see,” he began diffidently, “that is, as you + must know, at first—you were at the convent—I thought + something of proposing for your sister. Thank God,” he added vigorously, + “I waited! Well, I didn't; although, to be completely honest, I knew that + it came to be expected. I could see the surprise in your father's face. It + occurred to me afterward that if I had brought Gheta any embarrassment I'd + like to do something in a small way, a sort of acknowledgment. And to-day + I saw this,” he held out the package; “it was pretty and I bought it for + her at once. But now, when the moment arrives, I hesitate to give it to + her. Gheta has grown so—so formal that I'm afraid of her,” he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia unwrapped the paper covering from a green morocco box and, + releasing the catch, saw a shimmering string of delicately pink pearls. + </p> + <p> + “Cesare!” she exclaimed. “How gorgeous!” She lifted the necklace, letting + it slide cool and fine through her fingers. “It's too good of you. This + has cost hundreds and hundreds. I'll keep it myself.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, shaking all over; then fell serious. + </p> + <p> + “Everything I have—all, all—is yours,” he assured her. Lavinia + turned away with an uncomfortable feeling of falseness. “What do you + predict—will Gheta take it, understand, or will she play the frozen + princess?” + </p> + <p> + “If I know Gheta, she'll take it,” Lavinia promptly replied. + </p> + <p> + Orsi presented Gheta Sanviano with the necklace at dinner. She took it + slowly from its box and glanced at the diamond clasp. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Cesare, immensely! What a shame that pink pearls so closely + resemble coral! No one gives you credit for them.” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of shame for her sister's ungraciousness possessed Lavinia and + mounted to angry resentment. She had no particular desire to champion + Cesare, but the simplicity and kindness of his thought demanded more than + a superficial admission. At the same time she had no intention of + permitting Gheta any display of superiority here. + </p> + <p> + “You need only say they were from Cesare,” she observed coldly; “with him, + it is always pearls.” + </p> + <p> + Such a tide of pleasure swept over her husband's countenance that Lavinia + bit her lip in annoyance. She had intended only to rebuke Gheta and had + not calculated the effect of her speech upon Cesare. She was scrupulously + careful not to mislead the latter with regard to her feeling for him. She + went to a rather needless extreme to demonstrate that she conducted + herself from a sense of duty and propriety alone. + </p> + <p> + Her married life, she assured herself, already resembled the Mantegazzas', + whose indifferent courtesy she had marked and wondered at. Perhaps in + time, like them, she would grow accustomed to it; but now it took all her + determination to maintain the smallest daily amenities. It was not that + her actual condition was unbearable, but only that it was so tragically + removed from what she had imagined; she had dreamed of romance, it had + been embodied for her eager gaze—and she had married Cesare Orsi! + </p> + <p> + Gheta returned the necklace to its box and the dinner progressed in + silence. The coffee was on when the elder sister said: + </p> + <p> + “I had a card from the Grand Hotel a while ago; Abrego y Mochales is + there.” + </p> + <p> + “And there,” Orsi put in promptly, “I hope he'll stay, or sail for Spain. + I don't want the clown about here.” + </p> + <p> + Gheta turned. + </p> + <p> + “But you will regret that,” she addressed Lavinia; “you always found him + so fascinating.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia's husband cleared his throat sharply; he was clearly impatiently + annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “What foolishness!” he cried. “From the first, Lavinia has been scarcely + conscious of his existence.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia avoided her sister's mocking gaze, disturbed and angry. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly Signore Mochales must be asked here,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it can't be avoided,” Orsi muttered. + </p> + <p> + It was arranged that the Spaniard should dine with them on the following + evening and Lavinia spent the intervening time in exploring her emotions. + She recognized now that Gheta hated both Cesare and herself, and that she + would miss no opportunity to force an awkward or even dangerously + unpleasant situation upon them. Gheta had sharpened in being as well as in + countenance to such a degree that Lavinia lost what natural affection for + her sister she had retained. + </p> + <p> + This, in a way, allied her with Cesare. She was now able at least to + survey him in a detached manner, with an impersonal comprehension of his + good qualities and aesthetic shortcomings; and in pointing out to Gheta + the lavish beauty of her—Lavinia's—surroundings, she + engendered in herself a slight proprietary pride. She met Abrego y + Mochales at the basin with a direct bright smile, standing firmly upon her + wall. + </p> + <p> + Against the blue water shadowed by the promise of dusk he was a somber and + splendid figure. Her heart undeniably beat faster and she was vexed when + he turned immediately to Gheta. His greeting was intensely serious, his + gaze so hungry that Lavinia looked away. It was vulgar, she told herself. + Cesare met them above and greeted Mochales with a superficial heartiness. + It was difficult for Cesare Orsi to conceal his opinions and feelings. The + other man's gravity was superb. + </p> + <p> + At dinner conversation languished. Gheta, in a very low dress, had a + bright red scarf about her shoulders, and was painted. This was so unusual + that it had almost the effect of a disguise; her eyes were staring and + brilliant, her fingers constantly fidgeting and creasing her napkin. + Afterward she walked with Mochales to the corner of the belvedere, where + they had all been sitting, and from there drifted the low continuous + murmur of her voice, briefly punctuated by a deep masculine note of + interrogation. Below, the water was invisible in the wrap of night. Naples + shone like a pale gold net drawn about the sweep of its hills. A glow like + a thumb print hung over Vesuvius; the hidden column of smoke smudged the + stars. + </p> + <p> + Lavinia grew restless and descended to her room, where she procured a fan. + Returning, she was partly startled by a pale still figure in the gloom of + a passage. She saw that it was Gheta, and spoke; but the other moved away + without reply and quickly vanished. Above, Lavinia halted at the strange + spectacle—clearly drawn against the luminous depths of space—of + Mochales and her husband rigidly facing each other. + </p> + <p> + “I must admit,” Orsi said in an exasperated voice, “that I don't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia saw that he was holding something in a half-extended hand. Moving + closer, she identified the object as the necklace he had given Gheta. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you don't understand, Cesare?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Some infernal joke or foolishness!” + </p> + <p> + “It is no joke, signore,” Mochales responded; “and it is better,—perhaps, + for your wife to leave us.” + </p> + <p> + Orsi turned to Lavinia. + </p> + <p> + “He gives me back this necklace of Gheta's,” he explained; “he says that + he has every right. It appears that Gheta is going to marry him, and he + already objects to presents from her brother-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “But what stuff!” Lavinia pronounced. + </p> + <p> + A swift surprise overtook her at Cesare's announcement—Gheta and + Mochales to marry! She was certain that the arrangement had not existed + that morning. A fleet inchoate sorrow numbed her heart and fled. + </p> + <p> + “Orsi has been only truthful enough to suit his own purpose,” Mochales + stated, “Signora, please——” He indicated the descent from the + belvedere. + </p> + <p> + She moved closer to him, smiling appealingly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it all about?” she queried. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me; it is impossible to answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Cesare?” She addressed her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this—this donkey hints that there was something improper in my + present. It seems that I have been annoying Gheta by my attentions, + flattering her with pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Gheta tell you that?” Lavinia demanded. A growing resentment took + possession of her. “Because if she did, she lied!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Mochales whispered sharply. + </p> + <p> + “They're both mad,” Orsi told her, “and should be dipped in the bay.” + </p> + <p> + Never had Abrego y Mochales appeared handsomer; never more like fine + bronze. That latter fact struck her forcibly. His face was no more mutable + than a mask of metal. Its stark rigidity sent a cold tremor to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “And,” she went on impetuously, “since Gheta said that, I'll tell you + really about this necklace: Cesare gave it to her because he was sorry for + her; because he thought that perhaps he had misled her. He spoke of it to + me first.” + </p> + <p> + “No, signora,” the Spaniard responded deliberately; “it is not your sister + who lies.” + </p> + <p> + Cesare Orsi exclaimed angrily. He took a hasty step; but Lavinia, quicker, + moved between the two men. + </p> + <p> + “This is impossible,” she declared, “and must stop immediately! It is + childish!” + </p> + <p> + There was now a metallic ring in Mochales' voice that disturbed her even + more than his words. The bull-fighter, completely immobile, seemed a + little inhuman; he was without a visible stir of emotion, but Orsi looked + more puzzled and angry every moment. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he ejaculated, “in my own house—infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Mochales,” Lavinia reiterated, “what I have told you is absolutely + so.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sister, signora, has said something different.... She did not want + to tell me, but I persisted—I saw that something was wrong—and + forced it from her.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” Orsi commanded. “One can see plainly that you have been duped; + some things may be overlooked.... You have talked enough.” + </p> + <p> + Mochales moved easily forward. + </p> + <p> + “You pudding!” he said in a low even voice. “Do you talk to me—Abrego + y Mochales?” + </p> + <p> + A dark tide of passion, visible even in the night, flooded Orsi's + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Leave!” he insisted, “Or I'll have you flung into the bay.” + </p> + <p> + A deep silence followed, in which Lavinia could hear the stir of the water + against the walls below. A sharp fear entered her heart, a new dread of + the Spaniard. He was completely outside the circle of impulses which she + understood and to which she reacted. He was not a part of her world; he + coldly menaced the foundations of all right and security. Her worship of + romance died miserably. In a way, she thought, she was responsible for the + present horrible situation; it was the result of the feeling she had had + for Mochales. Lavinia was certain that if Gheta had not known of it the + Spaniard would have been quickly dropped by the elder. She was suddenly + conscious of the perfume he always bore; that, curiously, lent him a + strange additional oppression. + </p> + <p> + “Mochales,” he said in a species of strained wonderment, “threatened ... + thrown into the bay! Mochales—the Flower of Spain! And by a helpless + mound of fat, a tub of entrails——” + </p> + <p> + “Cesare!” Lavinia cried in an energy of desperation. “Come! Don't listen + to him.” + </p> + <p> + Orsi released her grasp. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are at the Grand Hotel?” he addressed the other man. + </p> + <p> + “Until I hear from you.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow——” + </p> + <p> + All the heat had apparently evaporated from their words; they spoke with a + perfunctory politeness. Cesare Orsi said: + </p> + <p> + “I will order the launch.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the palpitations of the steam died in the direction of + Naples. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + Lavinia followed her husband to their rooms, where he sat smoking one of + his long black cigars. He was pale; his brow was wet and his collar + wilted. She stood beside him and he patted her arm. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is in order,” he assured her. + </p> + <p> + A species of blundering tenderness for him possessed her; an unexpected + throb of her being startled and robbed her of words. He mistook her + continued silence. + </p> + <p> + “All I have is yours,” he explained; “it is your right. I can see now that—that + my money was all I had to offer you. The only thing of value I possess. I + should have realized that a girl, charming like yourself, couldn't care + for a mound of fat.” Her tenderness rose till it choked in her throat, + blurred what she had to say. + </p> + <p> + “Cesare,” she told him, “Gheta was right; at one time I was in love with + Mochales.” He turned with a startled exclamation; but she silenced him. + “He was, it seemed, all that a girl might admire—dark and mysterious + and handsome. He was romantic. I demanded nothing else then; now something + has happened that I don't altogether understand, but it has changed + everything for me. Cesare, your money never made any difference in my + feeling for you—it didn't before and it doesn't to-night—” She + hesitated and blushed painfully, awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + The cigar fell from his hand and he rose, eagerly facing her. + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia,” he asked, “is it possible—do you mean that you care the + least about me?” + </p> + <p> + “It must be that, Cesare, because I am so terribly afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Later he admitted ruefully: + </p> + <p> + “But no man should resemble, as I do, a great oyster. I shall pay very + dearly for my laziness.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not going to fight Mochales!” she protested. “It would be + insanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Insanity,” he agreed promptly. “Yet I can't permit myself to be the + target for vile tongues.” + </p> + <p> + Lavinia abruptly left him and hurried to her sister's room. The door was + locked; she knocked, but got no response. + </p> + <p> + “Gheta,” she called, low and urgently, “open at once! Your plans have gone + dreadfully wrong. Gheta!” she said more sharply into the answering + silence. “Cesare has had a terrific argument with Mochales, and worse may + follow. Open!” There was still no answer, and suddenly she beat upon the + door with her fists. “Liar!” she cried thinly through the wood. “Liar! You + bitter old stick! I'll make you eat that necklace, pearl for pearl, sorrow + for sorrow!” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of impotence overwhelmed her at the implacable stillness that + succeeded her hysterical outburst. She stood with a pounding heart, and + clasped straining fingers. + </p> + <p> + Abrego y Mochales could kill Cesare without the slightest shadow of a + question. There was, she recognized, something essentially feminine in the + saturnine bullfighter; his pride had been severely assaulted; and + therefore he would be—in his own, less subtle manner—as + dangerous as Gheta. Cesare's self-esteem, too, had been wounded in its + most vulnerable place—he had been insulted before her. But, even if + the latter refused to proceed, Mochales, she knew, would force an acute + conclusion. There was nothing to be got from her sister and she slowly + returned to her chamber, from which she could hear Orsi's heavy footfalls. + </p> + <p> + She mechanically removed the square emerald that hung from a platinum + thread about her neck, took off her rings, and proceeded to the small iron + safe where valuables were kept. As she swung open the door a sheet of + paper slipped forward from an upper compartment. It bore a printed address + ... in the Strada San Lucia. She saw that it was the blackmailing letter + Cesare had received from the Neapolitan secret society, demanding two + thousand lire. She recalled what he had said at the time—if she had + an enemy her gown could be spoiled in the foyer of the opera; a man ruined + at his club.... Even murders were ascribed to it. + </p> + <p> + She held the letter, gazing fixedly at the address, mentally repeating + again and again the significance of its contents. She thought of showing + it to Cesare, suggesting——But she realized that, bound by a + conventional honor, he would absolutely refuse to listen to her. + </p> + <p> + Almost subconsciously she folded the sheet and hid it in her dress. + Kneeling before the safe she procured a long red envelope. It contained + the sum of money her father had given her at the wedding. It was her dot—a + comparatively small amount, he had said at the time with an apologetic + smile; but it was absolutely, unquestionably her own. This, when she + locked the safe, remained outside. + </p> + <p> + When she had hidden the letter and envelope in her dressing table Cesare + stood in the doorway. He was still pale, but composed, and held himself + with simple dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Some men,” he said, “are not so happy, even for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + A sudden passionate necessity to save him swept over her. + </p> + <p> + In the morning Orsi remained at the villa, but he sent the launch in early + with an urgent summons for the Cavaliere Nelli. Later, when he asked for + Lavinia, he was told that she had gone to Naples; and when the boat + returned, Nelli—a military figure, with hair and mustache like + yellowish white silk—assisted her to the wall. She was closely + veiled against the sparkling flood of light and bay, and hurried directly + to her room. + </p> + <p> + There she knelt on a praying chair before a small alcoved altar with tall + wax tapers, and remained a long while. She was disturbed by a sudden + ringing report below; it was Cesare practising with a dueling pistol. + Lavinia remembered, from laughing comments in Florence, that her husband + was an atrocious shot. The sound was repeated at irregular intervals + through an unbearably long morning. + </p> + <p> + Gheta, she learned, had refused the morning chocolate and, with her maid, + had collected and packed all her effects. Lavinia had no desire to see + her. The situation now was past Gheta's mending. + </p> + <p> + After luncheon Lavinia remained in her room, Nelli departed for Naples and + Cesare joined her. It was evident that he was greatly disturbed; but he + spoke to her evenly. He was possessed by an impotent rage at his unwieldy + body and clumsy hand. This alternated with an evident wonderment at the + position in which he found himself and a great tenderness for Lavinia. + </p> + <p> + At dusk they were in Lavinia's room waiting for a message from Naples. + Lavinia was leaning across the marble ledge of her window, gazing over the + dim blue sweep of water to the distant flowering lights. She heard sudden + footsteps and, half turning, saw her husband tearing open an envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Lavinia!” he cried. “There has been an accident in the elevator of the + Grand Hotel, and Mochales—is dead!” She hung upon the ledge now for + support. “The attendant, a new man, started the car too soon and caught + Mochales——” She sank down upon her knees in an attitude of + prayer, and Cesare Orsi stood reverently bowed. + </p> + <p> + “The will of God!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + A long slow shiver passed over Lavinia, and he bent and lifted her in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOL'ABLE DAVID + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + He was the younger of two brothers, in his sixteenth year; and he had his + father's eyes—a tender and idyllic blue. There, however, the obvious + resemblance ended. The elder's azure gaze was set in a face scarred and + riven by hardship, debauch and disease; he had been—before he had + inevitably returned to the mountains where he was born—a brakeman in + the lowest stratum of the corruption of small cities on big railroads; and + his thin stooped body, his gaunt head and uncertain hands, all bore the + stamp of ruinous years. But in the midst of this his eyes, like David's, + retained their singularly tranquil color of sweetness and innocence. + </p> + <p> + David was the youngest, the freshest thing imaginable; he was overtall and + gawky, his cheeks were as delicately rosy as apple blossoms, and his smile + was an epitome of ingenuous interest and frank wonder. It was as if some + quality of especial fineness, lingering unspotted in Hunter Kinemon, had + found complete expression in his son David. A great deal of this certainly + was due to his mother, a thick solid woman, who retained more than a trace + of girlish beauty when she stood back, flushed from the heat of cooking, + or, her bright eyes snapping, tramped with heavy pails from the milking + shed on a winter morning. + </p> + <p> + Both the Kinemon boys were engaging. Allen, almost twenty-one, was, of + course, the more conspicuous; he was called the strongest youth in + Greenstream County. He had his mother's brown eyes; a deep bony box of a + chest; rippling shoulders; and a broad peaceful countenance. He drove the + Crabapple stage, between Crabapple, the village just over the back + mountain, and Beaulings, in West Virginia. It was twenty-six miles from + point to point, a way that crossed a towering range, hung above a far veil + of unbroken spruce, forded swift glittering streams, and followed a road + that passed rare isolated dwellings, dominating rocky and precarious + patches and hills of cultivation. One night Allen slept in Beaulings; the + next he was home, rising at four o'clock in order to take his stage out of + Crabapple at seven sharp. + </p> + <p> + It was a splendid job, and brought them thirty-five dollars a month; not + in mere trade at the store, but actual money. This, together with Hunter + Kinemon's position, tending the rich bottom farm of State Senator Gait, + gave them a position of ease and comfort in Greenstream. They were a very + highly esteemed family. + </p> + <p> + Gait's farm was in grazing; it extended in deep green pastures and + sparkling water between two high mountainous walls drawn across east and + west. In the morning the rising sun cast long delicate shadows on one + side; at evening the shadow troops lengthened across the emerald valley + from the other. The farmhouse occupied a fenced clearing on the eastern + rise, with a gray huddle of barn and sheds below, a garden patch of + innumerable bean poles, and an incessant stir of snowy chickens. Beyond, + the cattle moved in sleek chestnut-brown and orange herds; and farther out + flocks of sheep shifted like gray-white clouds on a green-blue sky. + </p> + <p> + It was, Mrs. Kinemon occasionally complained, powerful lonely, with the + store two miles up the road, Crabapple over a heft of a rise, and no + personable neighbors; and she kept a loaded rifle in an angle of the + kitchen when the men were all out in a distant pasturage. But David liked + it extremely well; he liked riding an old horse after the steers, the + all-night sap boilings in spring groves, the rough path across a rib of + the mountain to school. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, he was glad when studying was over for the year. It finished + early in May, on account of upland planting, and left David with a great + many weeks filled only with work that seem to him unadulterated play. Even + that didn't last all the time; there were hours when he could fish for + trout, plentiful in cool rocky pools; or shoot gray squirrels in the + towering maples. Then, of evenings, he could listen to Allen's thrilling + tales of the road, of the gambling and fighting among the lumbermen in + Beaulings, or of strange people that had taken passage in the Crabapple + stage—drummers, for the most part, with impressive diamond rings and + the doggonedest lies imaginable. But they couldn't fool Allen, however + believing he might seem.... The Kinemons were listening to such a recital + by their eldest son now. + </p> + <p> + They were gathered in a room of very general purpose. It had a rough board + floor and crumbling plaster walls, and held a large scarred cherry bed + with high posts and a gayly quilted cover; a long couch, covered with + yellow untanned sheepskins; a primitive telephone; some painted wooden + chairs; a wardrobe, lurching insecurely forward; and an empty iron stove + with a pipe let into an original open hearth with a wide rugged stone. + Beyond, a door opened into the kitchen, and back of the bed a raw + unguarded flight of steps led up to the peaked space where Allen and David + slept. + </p> + <p> + Hunter Kinemon was extended on the couch, his home-knitted socks + comfortably free of shoes, smoking a sandstone pipe with a reed stem. Mrs. + Kinemon was seated in a rocking-chair with a stained and torn red plush + cushion, that moved with a thin complaint on a fixed base. Allen was over + against the stove, his corduroy trousers thrust into greased laced boots, + and a black cotton shirt open on a chest and throat like pink marble. And + David supported his lanky length, in a careless and dust-colored garb, + with a capacious hand on the oak beam of the mantel. + </p> + <p> + It was May, school had stopped, and a door was open on a warm still dusk. + Allen's tale had come to an end; he was pinching the ear of a diminutive + dog—like a fat white sausage with wire-thin legs and a rat tail—that + never left him. The smoke from the elder Kinemon's pipe rose in a tranquil + cloud. Mrs. Kinemon rocked vigorously, with a prolonged wail of the chair + springs. “I got to put some tallow to that chair,” Kinemon proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “The house on Elbow Barren's took,” Allen told him suddenly—“the one + just off the road. I saw smoke in the chimney this evening.” + </p> + <p> + A revival of interest, a speculation, followed this announcement. + </p> + <p> + “Any women'll get to the church,” Mr. Kinemon asserted. “I wonder? Did a + person say who were they?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked; but they're strange to Crabapple. I heard this though: there + weren't any women to them—just men—father and sons like. I + drew up right slow going by; but nobody passed out a word. It's a middling + bad farm place—rocks and berry bushes. I wouldn't reckon much would + be content there.” + </p> + <p> + David walked out through the open doorway and stood on the small covered + portico, that with a bench on each side, hung to the face of the dwelling. + The stars were brightening in the sky above the confining mountain walls; + there was a tremendous shrilling of frogs; the faint clamor of a sheep + bell. He was absolutely, irresponsibly happy. He wished the time would + hurry when he'd be big and strong like Allen, and get out into the + absorbing stir of the world. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + He was dimly roused by Allen's departure in the beginning brightness of + the following morning. The road over which the stage ran drew by the rim + of the farm; and later David saw the rigid three-seated surrey, the + leather mail bags strapped in the rear, trotted by under the swinging whip + of his brother. He heard the faint sharp bark of Rocket, Allen's dog, + braced at his side. + </p> + <p> + David spent the day with his father, repairing the fencing of the middle + field, swinging a mall and digging post holes; and at evening his arms + ached. But he assured himself he was not tired; any brother of Allen's + couldn't give in before such insignificant effort. When Hunter Kinemon + turned back toward house and supper David made a wide circle, ostensibly + to see whether there was rock salt enough out for the cattle, but in + reality to express his superabundant youth, staying qualities and + unquenchable vivid interest in every foot of the valley. + </p> + <p> + He saw the meanest kind of old fox, and marked what he thought might be + its hole; his flashing gaze caught the obscure distant retreat of ground + hogs; he threw a contemptuous clod at the woolly-brained sheep; and with a + bent willow shoot neatly looped a trout out upon the grassy bank. As a + consequence of all this he was late for supper, and sat at the table with + his mother, who never took her place until the men—yes, and boys of + her family—had satisfied their appetites. The dark came on and she + lighted a lamp swinging under a tin reflector from the ceiling. The + kitchen was an addition, and had a sloping shed roof, board sides, a + polished stove, and a long table with a red cloth. + </p> + <p> + His father, David learned, attacking a plateful of brown chicken swimming + with greens and gravy, was having another bad spell. He had the familiar + sharp pain through his back and his arms hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “He can't be drove to a doctor,” the woman told David, speaking, in her + concern, as if to an equal in age and comprehension. + </p> + <p> + David had grown accustomed to the elder's periods of suffering; they came, + twisted his father's face into deep lines, departed, and things were + exactly as before—or very nearly the same. The boy saw that Hunter + Kinemon couldn't support labor that only two or three years before he + would have finished without conscious effort. David resolutely ignored + this; he felt that it must be a cause of shame, unhappiness, to his + father; and he never mentioned it to Allen. Kinemon lay very still on the + couch; his pipe, beside him on the floor, had spilled its live core, + burning into a length of rag carpet. His face, hung with shadows like the + marks of a sooty finger, was glistening with fine sweat. Not a whisper of + complaint passed his dry lips. When his wife approached he attempted to + smooth out his corrugated countenance. His eyes, as tenderly blue as + flowers, gazed at her with a faint masking of humor. + </p> + <p> + “This is worse'n usual,” she said sharply. “And I ain't going to have you + fill yourself with any more of that patent trash. You don't spare me by + not letting on. I can tell as soon as you're miserable. David can fetch + the doctor from Crabapple to-night if you don't look better.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am,” he assured her. “It's just a comeback of an old ache. There + was a power of heavy work to that fence.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to get more to help you,” she continued. “That Galt'll let + you kill yourself and not turn a hand. He can afford a dozen. I don't mind + housing and cooking for them. David's only tol'able for lifting, too, + while he's growing.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” David protested, “it ain't just nothing what I do. I could do twice + as much. I don't believe Allen could helt more'n me when he was sixteen. + It ain't just nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + He was disturbed by this assault upon his manhood; if his muscles were + still a little stringy it was surprising what he could accomplish with + them. He would show her to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “And,” he added impetuously, “I can shoot better than Allen right now. You + ask him if I can't. You ask him what I did with that cranky twenty-two + last Sunday up on the mountain.” + </p> + <p> + His clear gaze sought her, his lean face quivered with anxiety to impress, + convince her of his virility, skill. His jaw was as sharp as the blade of + a hatchet. She studied him with a new surprised concern. + </p> + <p> + “David!” she exclaimed. “For a minute you had the look of a man. A real + steady look, like your father. Don't you grow up too fast, David,” she + directed him, in an irrepressible maternal solicitude. “I want a boy—something + young—round a while yet.” + </p> + <p> + Hunter Kinemon sat erect and reached for his pipe. The visible strain of + his countenance had been largely relaxed. When his wife had left the room + for a moment he admitted to David: + </p> + <p> + “That was a hard one. I thought she had me that time.” + </p> + <p> + The elder's voice was light, steady. The boy gazed at him with intense + admiration. He felt instinctively that nothing mortal could shake the + other's courage. And, on top of his mother's complimentary surprise, his + father had confided in him, made an admission that, David realized, must + be kept from fretting women. He couldn't have revealed more to Allen + himself. + </p> + <p> + He pictured the latter swinging magnificently into Beaulings, cracking the + whip over the horses' ears, putting on the grinding brake before the + post-office. No one, even in that town of reckless drinking, ever tried to + down Allen; he was as ready as he was strong. He had charge of Government + mail and of passengers; he carried a burnished revolver in a holster under + the seat at his hand. Allen would kill anybody who interfered with him. So + would he—David—if a man edged up on him or on his family; if + any one hurt even a dog of his, his own dog, he'd shoot him. + </p> + <p> + An inextinguishable hot pride, a deep sullen intolerance, rose in him at + the thought of an assault on his personal liberty, his rights, or on his + connections and belongings. A deeper red burned in his fresh young cheeks; + his smiling lips were steady; his candid blue eyes, ineffably gentle, + gazed widely against the candlelit gloom where he was making his simple + preparations for bed. The last feeling of which he was conscious was a + wave of sharp admiration, of love, for everything and everybody that + constituted his home. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + Allen, on his return the following evening, immediately opened an excited + account of the new family, with no women, on the place by Elbow Barren. + </p> + <p> + “I heard they were from down hellwards on the Clinch,” he repeated; “and + then that they'd come from Kentucky. Anyway, they're bad. Ed Arbogast just + stepped on their place for a pleasant howdy, and some one on the stoop + hollered for him to move. Ed, he saw the shine on a rifle barrel, and went + right along up to the store. Then they hired Simmons—the one that + ain't good in his head—to cut out bush; and Simmons trailed home + after a while with the side of his face all tore, where he'd been hit with + a piece of board. Simmons' brother went and asked them what was it about; + and one of the Hatburns—that's their name—said he'd busted the + loony just because!” + </p> + <p> + “What did Simmons answer back?” Hunter Kinemon demanded, his coffee cup + suspended. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much; he'd law them, or something like that. The Simmonses are + right spindling; they don't belong in Greenstream either.” David + commented: “I wouldn't have et a thing till I'd got them!” In the ruddy + reflection of the lamp his pink-and-blue charm, his shy lips, resembled a + pastoral divinity of boyhood. Allen laughed. + </p> + <p> + “That family, the Hatburns——” He paused. “Why, they'd just mow + you down with the field daisies.” + </p> + <p> + David flushed with annoyance. He saw his mother studying him with the + attentive concern she had first shown the day before yesterday. + </p> + <p> + “You have no call to mix in with them,” Kinemon told his elder son. “Drive + stage and mind your business. I'd even step aside a little from folks like + that.” + </p> + <p> + A sense of surprised disappointment invaded David at his father's + statement. It seemed to him out of keeping with the elder's courage and + determination. It, too, appeared almost spindling. Perhaps he had said it + because his wife, a mere woman, was there. He was certain that Allen would + not agree with such mildness. The latter, lounging back from the table, + narrowed his eyes; his fingers played with the ears of his dog, Rocket. + Allen gave his father a cigar and lit one himself, a present from a + passenger on the stage. David could see a third in Allen's shirt pocket, + and he longed passionately for the day when he would be old enough to have + a cigar offered him. He longed for the time when he, like Allen, would be + swinging a whip over the horses of a stage, rambling down a steep + mountain, or walking up at the team's head to take off some weight. + </p> + <p> + Where the stage line stopped in Beaulings the railroad began. Allen, he + knew, intended in the fall to give up the stage for the infinitely wider + world of freight cars; and David wondered whether Priest, the storekeeper + in Crabapple who had charge of the awarding of the position, could be + brought to see that he was as able a driver, almost, as Allen. + </p> + <p> + It was probable Priest would call him too young for the charge of the + Government mail. But he wasn't; Allen had to admit that he, David, was the + straighter shot. He wouldn't step aside for any Hatburn alive. And, he + decided, he would smoke nothing but cigars. He considered whether he might + light his small clay pipe, concealed under the stoop, before the family; + but reluctantly concluded that that day had not yet arrived. + </p> + <p> + Allen passed driving the next morning as usual, leaving a gray wreath of + dust to settle back into the tranquil yellow sunshine; the sun moved from + the east barrier to the west; a cool purple dusk filled the valley, and + the shrilling of the frogs rose to meet the night. The following day was + almost identical—the shadows swept out, shortened under the groves + of trees and drew out again over the sheep on the western slope. Before + Allen reached home he had to feed and bed his horses, and walk back the + two miles over the mountain from Crabapple; and a full hour before the + time for his brother's arrival, David was surprised to see the stage + itself making its way over the precarious turf road that led up to the + Kinemons' dwelling. He was standing by the portico, and immediately his + mother moved out to his side, as if subconsciously disturbed by the + unusual occurrence. David saw, while the stage was still diminutive + against the rolling pasture, that Allen was not driving; and there was an + odd confusion of figures in a rear seat. Mrs. Kinemon said at once, in a + shrill strange voice: + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened to Allen!” She pressed her hands against her + laboring breast; David ran forward and met the surrey as it came through + the fence opening by the stable shed. Ed Arbogast was driving; and a + stranger—a drummer evidently—in a white-and-black check suit, + was holding Allen, crumpled in a dreadful bloody faint. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Hunter?” Arbogast asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + “There he comes now,” David replied, his heart pounding wildly and dread + constricting his throat. + </p> + <p> + Hunter Kinemon and his wife reached the stage at the same moment. Both + were plaster-white; but the woman was shaking with frightened concern, + while her husband was deliberate and still. + </p> + <p> + “Help me carry him in to our bed,” he addressed Ed Arbogast. + </p> + <p> + They lifted Allen out and bore him toward the house, his limp fingers, + David saw, trailing through the grass. At first the latter involuntarily + turned away; but, objurgating such cowardice, he forced himself to gaze at + Allen. He recognized at once that his brother had not been shot; his hip + was too smeared and muddy for that. It was, he decided, an accident, as + Arbogast and the drummer lead Hunter Kinemon aside. David Kinemon walked + resolutely up to the little group. His father gestured for him to go away, + but he ignored the elder's command. He must know what had happened to + Allen. The stranger in the checked suit was speaking excitedly, waving + trembling hands—a sharp contrast to the grim immobility of the + Greenstream men: + </p> + <p> + “He'd been talking about that family, driving out of Beaulings and saying + how they had done this and that; and when we came to where they lived he + pointed out the house. A couple of dark-favored men were working in a + patch by the road, and he waved his whip at them, in a way of speaking; + but they never made a sign. The horses were going slow then; and, for some + reason or other, his little dog jumped to the road and ran in on the + patch. Sirs, one of those men spit, stepped up to the dog, and kicked it + into Kingdom Come.” + </p> + <p> + David's hands clenched; and he drew in a sharp sobbing breath. + </p> + <p> + “This Allen,” the other continued, “pulled in the team and drawed a gun + from under the seat before I could move a hand. You can hear me—I + wouldn't have kicked any dog of his for all the gold there is! He got down + from the stage and started forward, and his face was black; then he + stopped, undecided. He stood studying, with the two men watching him, one + leaning careless on a grub hoe. Then, by heaven, he turned and rested the + gun on the seat, and walked up to where laid the last of his dog. He + picked it up, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “'Hatburn, I got Government mail on that stage to get in under contract, + and there's a passenger too—paid to Crabapple; but when I get them + two things done I'm coming back to kill you two dead to hear the last + trumpet.' + </p> + <p> + “The one on the hoe laughed; but the other picked up a stone like my two + fists and let Allen have it in the back. It surprised him like; he + stumbled forward, and the other stepped out and laid the hoe over his + head. It missed him mostly, but enough landed to knock Allen over. He + rolled into the ditch, like, by the road; and then Hatburn jumped down on + him, deliberate, with lumbermen's irons in his shoes.” + </p> + <p> + David was conscious of an icy flood pouring through him; a revulsion of + grief and fury that blinded him. Tears welled over his fresh cheeks in an + audible crying. But he was silenced by the aspect of his father. Hunter + Kinemon's tender blue eyes had changed apparently into bits of polished + steel; his mouth was pinched until it was only a line among the other + lines and seaming of his worn face. + </p> + <p> + “I'd thank you to drive the stage into Crabapple, Ed,” he said; “and if + you see the doctor coming over the mountain—he's been rung up for—ask + him, please sir, will he hurry.” He turned and walked abruptly away, + followed by David. + </p> + <p> + Allen lay under the gay quilt in the Kinemons' big bed. His stained + clothes drooped from a chair where Mrs. Kinemon had flung them. Allen's + face was like white paper; suddenly it had grown as thin and sharp as an + old man's. Only a slight quiver of his eyelids showed that he was not + dead. + </p> + <p> + Hunter Kinemon sat on the couch, obviously waiting for the doctor. He, + too, looked queer, David thought. He wished his father would break the + dreadful silence gathering over them; but the only sound was the stirring + of the woman in the kitchen, boiling a pot of water. Allen moved and cried + out in a knifelike agony, and a flicker of suffering passed over his + father's face. + </p> + <p> + An intolerable hour dragged out before the doctor arrived; and then David + was driven from the room. He sat outside on the portico, listening to the + passage of feet about Allen in a high shuddering protest. David's hands + and feet were still cold, but he was conscious of an increasing stillness + within, an attitude not unlike his father's. He held out an arm and saw + that it was as steady as a beam of the stoop roof. He was without definite + plan or knowledge of what must occur; but he told himself that any + decision of Hunter Kinemon's must not exclude him. + </p> + <p> + There were four Hatburns; but two Kinemons were better; and he meant his + father and himself, for he knew instinctively that Allen was badly hurt. + Soon there would be no Hatburns at all. And then the law could do as it + pleased. It seemed to David a long way from the valley, from Allen broken + in bed, to the next term of court—September—in Crabapple. The + Kinemons could protect, revenge, their own. + </p> + <p> + The doctor passed out, and David entered where his mother was bent above + her elder son. Hunter Kinemon, with a blackened rag, was wiping the lock + of an old but efficient repeating rifle. His motions were unhurried, + careful. Mrs. Kinemon gazed at him with blanching lips, but she interposed + no word. There was another rifle, David knew, in the long cupboard by the + hearth; and he was moving to secure it when his father's voice halted him + in the middle of the floor. “You David,” he said, “I want you to stop + along here with your mother. It ain't fit for her to be left alone with + Allen, and there's a mess of little things for doing. I want those cows + milked dry, and catch in those little Dominicker chickens before that old + gander eats them up.” + </p> + <p> + David was about to protest, to sob out a passionate refusal, when a + glimpse of his father's expression silenced him. He realized that the + slightest argument would be worse than futile. There wasn't a particle of + familiar feeling in the elder's voice; suddenly David was afraid of him. + Hunter Kinemon slipped a number of heavily greased cartridges into the + rifle's magazine. Then he rose and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mattie?” + </p> + <p> + His wife laid her hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Hunter,” she told him, “you've been a mighty sweet and good husband.” He + drew his hand slowly and lovingly across her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry about this, Mattie,” he replied; “I've been powerful happy + along with you and all of us. David, be a likely boy.” He walked out of + the room, across the grass to the stable shed. + </p> + <p> + “He's going to drive to Elbow Barren,” David muttered; “and he hadn't + ought to have left me to tend the cows and chickens. That's for a woman to + do. I ought to be right along with him facing down those Hatburns. I can + shoot, and my hand is steady as his.” + </p> + <p> + He stood in the doorway, waiting for the reappearance of his father with + the roan horse to hitch to their old buggy. It didn't occur to David to + wonder at the fact that the other was going alone to confront four men. + The Kinemons had a mort of friends who would have gladly accompanied, + assisted Hunter; but this, the boy told himself, was their own affair—their + own pride. + </p> + <p> + From within came the sound of his mother, crying softly, and of Allen + murmuring in his pain. David was appalled by the swift change that had + fallen over them—the breaking up of his entire world, the shifting + of every hope and plan. He was appalled and confused; the thoughtless + unquestioning security of his boyhood had been utterly destroyed. He + looked about dazed at the surrounding scene, callous in its total + carelessness of Allen's injury, his haggard father with the rifle. The + valley was serenely beautiful; doves were calling from the eaves of the + barn; a hen clucked excitedly. The western sky was a single expanse of + primrose on which the mountains were jagged and blue. + </p> + <p> + He had never known the elder to be so long getting the bridle on the roan; + the buggy was drawn up outside. An uneasy tension increased within him—a + pressing necessity to see his father leading out their horse. He didn't + come, and finally David was forced to walk over to the shed. + </p> + <p> + The roan had been untied, and turned as the boy entered; but David, at + first, failed to find Hunter Kinemon; then he almost stepped on his hand. + His father lay across a corner of the earthen floor, with the bridle + tangled in stiff fingers, and his blue eyes staring blankly up. + </p> + <p> + David stifled an exclamation of dread, and forced himself to bend forward + and touch the gray face. Only then he realized that he was looking at + death. The pain in his father's back had got him at last! The rifle had + been carefully placed against the wall; and, without realizing the + significance of his act, David picked it up and laid the cold barrel + against his rigid young body. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + On the evening after Hunter Kinemon's burial in the rocky steep graveyard + above Crabapple, David and his mother sat, one on the couch, the other in + her creaking rocking-chair, lost in heavy silence. Allen moved in a + perpetual uneasy pain on the bed, his face drawn and fretful, and shadowed + by a soft young beard. The wardrobe doors stood open, revealing a stripped + interior; wooden chairs were tied back to back; and two trunks—one + of mottled paper, the other of ancient leather—stood by the side of + a willow basket filled with a miscellany of housekeeping objects. + </p> + <p> + What were left of the Kinemons were moving into a small house on the edge + of Crabapple; Senator Galt had already secured another tenant for the care + of his bottom acres and fat herds. The night swept into the room, fragrant + and blue, powdered with stars; the sheep bells sounded in a faintly + distant clashing; a whippoorwill beat its throat out against the piny + dark. + </p> + <p> + An overpowering melancholy surged through David; though his youth + responded to the dramatic, the tragic change that had enveloped them, at + the same time he was reluctant to leave the farm, the valley with its + trout and ground hogs, its fox holes and sap boilings. These feelings + mingled in the back of his consciousness; his active thoughts were all + directed toward the time when, with the rifle, the obligation that he had + picked up practically from his dead father's hand, he would walk up to the + Hatburn place and take full payment for Allen's injury and their paternal + loss. + </p> + <p> + He felt uneasily that he should have gone before this—at once; but + there had been a multitude of small duties connected with the funeral, + intimate things that could not be turned over to the kindest neighbors; + and the ceremony itself, it seemed to him, should be attended by dignity + and repose. + </p> + <p> + Now, however, it was over; and only his great duty remained, filling the + entire threshold of his existence. He had no plan; only a necessity to + perform. It was possible that he would fail—there were four + Hatburns; and that chance depressed him. If he were killed there was no + one else, for Allen could never take another step. That had been disclosed + by the most casual examination of his injury. Only himself, David, + remained to uphold the pride of the Kinemons. + </p> + <p> + He gazed covertly at his mother; she must not, certainly, be warned of his + course; she was a woman, to be spared the responsibility borne by men. A + feeling of her being under his protection, even advice, had grown within + him since he had discovered the death in the stable shed. This had not + changed his aspect of blossoming youth, the intense blue candor of his + gaze; he sat with his knees bent boyishly, his immature hands locked + behind his head. + </p> + <p> + An open wagon, piled with blankets, carried Allen to Crabapple, and Mrs. + Kinemon and David followed in the buggy, a great bundle, folded in the + bright quilt, roped behind. They soon crossed the range and dropped into a + broader valley. Crabapple lay on a road leading from mountain wall to + wall, the houses quickly thinning out into meadow at each end. + </p> + <p> + A cross-roads was occupied by three stores and the courthouse, a square + red-brick edifice with a classic white portico and high lantern; and it + was out from that, where the highway had degenerated into a sod-cut trail, + that the future home of the Kinemons lay. It was a small somber frame + dwelling, immediately on the road, with a rain-washed patch rising + abruptly at the back. A dilapidated shed on the left provided a meager + shelter for the roan; and there was an aged and twisted apple tree over + the broken pump. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to get at that shed, David,” his mother told him; “the first + rain would drown anything inside.” + </p> + <p> + She was settling Allen on the couch with the ragged sheepskin. So he + would; but there was something else to attend to first. He would walk over + to Elbow Barren, to-morrow. He involuntarily laid his hand on the barrel + of the rifle, temporarily leaned against a table, when his mother spoke + sharply from an inner doorway. + </p> + <p> + “You David,” she said; “come right out into the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + There he stood before her, with his gaze stubbornly fixed on the bare + floor, his mouth tight shut. + </p> + <p> + “David,” she continued, her voice now lowered, fluctuating with anxiety, + “you weren't reckoning on paying off them Hatburns? You never?” She + halted, gazing at him intently. “Why, they'd shoot you up in no time! You + are nothing but a—” + </p> + <p> + “You can call me a boy if you've a mind to,” he interrupted; “and maybe + the Hatburns'll kill me—and maybe they won't. But there's no one can + hurt Allen like that and go plumb, sniggering free; not while I can move + and hold a gun.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a look to you that was right manlike a week or two back,” she + replied; “and I said to myself: 'There's David growing up overnight.' I + favored it, too, though I didn't want to lose you that way so soon. And + only last night I said again: 'Thank God, David's a man in his heart, for + all his pretty cheeks!' I thought I could build on you, with me getting + old and Allen never taking a mortal step. Priest would give you a place, + and glad, in the store—the Kinemons are mighty good people. I had it + all fixed up like that, how we'd live here and pay regular. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't say nothing to your father when he started out—he was + too old to change; but I hoped you would be different. I hoped you would + forget your own feeling, and see Allen there on his back, and me ... + getting along. You're all we got, David. It's no use, I reckon; you'll go + like Allen and Hunter, full up with your own pride and never——” + She broke off, gazing bitterly at her hands folded in her calico lap. + </p> + <p> + A new trouble filled David's heart. Through the open doorway he could see + Allen, twisting on the couch; his mother was older, more worn, than he had + realized. She had failed a great deal in the past few days. She was + suddenly stripped of her aspect of authority, force; suddenly she appeared + negative, dependent. A sharp pity for her arose through his other + contending emotions. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how you figure you will be helping Allen by stepping off to + be shot instead of putting food in his mouth,” she spoke again. “He's got + nobody at all but you, David.” + </p> + <p> + That was so; and yet— + </p> + <p> + “How can I let those skunks set their hell on us?” he demanded + passionately. “Why, all Greenstream will think I'm afraid, that I let the + Hatburns bust Allen and kill my father. I couldn't stand up in Priest's + store; I couldn't bear to look at anybody. Don't you understand how men + are about those things?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I can see, right enough—with Hunter in the graveyard and Allen with + both hips broke. What I can't see is what we'll do next winter; how we'll + keep Allen warm and fed. I suppose we can go to the County Home.” + </p> + <p> + But that, David knew, was as disgraceful as the other—his own + mother, Allen, objects of public charity! His face was clouded, his hands + clenched. It was only a chance that he would be killed; there were four + Hatburns though. His heart, he thought, would burst with misery; every + instinct fought for the expression, the upholding of the family prestige, + honor. A hatred for the Hatburns was like a strangling hand at his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I got to!” he said; but his voice was wavering; the dull conviction + seized him that his mother was right. + </p> + <p> + All the mountains would think of him as a coward—that Kinemon who + wouldn't stand up to the men who had destroyed Allen and his father! + </p> + <p> + A sob heaved in his chest; rebellious tears streamed over his thin cheeks. + He was crying like a baby. He threw an arm up across his eyes and stumbled + from the room. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + However, he had no intention of clerking back of a counter, of getting + down rolls of muslin, papers of buttons, for women, if it could be + avoided. Priest's store was a long wooden structure with a painted façade + and a high platform before it where the mountain wagons unloaded their + various merchandise teamed from the railroad, fifty miles distant. The + owner had a small glass-enclosed office on the left as you entered the + store; and there David found him. He turned, gazing over his glasses, as + the other entered. + </p> + <p> + “How's Allen?” he asked pleasantly. “I heard he was bad; but we certainly + look to have him back driving stage.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to see you about that,” David replied. “Allen can't never drive + again; but, Mr. Priest, sir, I can. Will you give me a try?” + </p> + <p> + The elder ignored the question in the concern he exhibited for Allen's + injury. + </p> + <p> + “It is a cursed outrage!” he declared. “Those Hatburns will be got up, or + my name's not Priest! We'd have them now, but the jail wouldn't keep them + overnight, and court three months off.” + </p> + <p> + David preserved a stony silence—the only attitude possible, he had + decided, in the face of his patent dereliction. + </p> + <p> + “Will you try me on the Beaulings stage?” he repeated. “I've been round + horses all my life; and I can hold a gun straighter than Allen.” + </p> + <p> + Priest shook his head negatively. + </p> + <p> + “You are too light—too young,” he explained; “you have to be above a + certain age for the responsibility of the mail. There are some rough + customers to handle. If you only had five years more now—We are + having a hard time finding a suitable man. A damned shame about Allen! + Splendid man!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you give it to me for a week,” David persisted, “and see how I do?” + </p> + <p> + They would have awarded him the position immediately, he felt, if he had + properly attended to the Hatburns. He wanted desperately to explain his + failure to Priest, but a dogged pride prevented. The storekeeper was + tapping on an open ledger with a pen, gazing doubtfully at David. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't be worse than the drunken object we have now,” he admitted. + “You couldn't hold the job permanent yet, but I might let you drive extra—a + day or so—till we find a man. I'd like to do what I could for Mrs. + Kinemon. Your father was a good man, a good customer.... Come and see me + again—say, day after to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + This half promise partly rehabilitated his fallen pride. There was no sign + in the men he passed that they held him in contempt for neglecting to kill + the Hatburns; and his mother wisely avoided the subject. She wondered a + little at Priest's considering him, even temporarily, for the stage; but + confined her wonder to a species of compliment. David sat beside Allen, + while the latter, between silent spaces of suffering, advised him of the + individual characters and attributes of the horses that might come under + his guiding reins. + </p> + <p> + It seemed incredible that he should actually be seated in the driver's + place on the stage, swinging the heavy whip out over a team trotting + briskly into the early morning; but there he was. There were no + passengers, and the stage rode roughly over a small bridge of loose boards + beyond the village. He pulled the horses into a walk on the mountain + beyond, and was soon skirting the Gait farm, with its broad fields, where + he had lived as a mere boy. + </p> + <p> + David slipped his hand under the leather seat and felt the smooth handle + of the revolver. Then, on an even reach, he wrapped the reins about the + whipstock and publicly filled and lighted his clay pipe. The smoke drifted + back in a fragrant cloud; the stage moved forward steadily and easily; + folded in momentary forgetfulness, lifted by a feeling of mature + responsibility, he was almost happy. But he swung down the mountain beyond + his familiar valley, crossed a smaller ridge, and turned into a stony + sweep rising on the left. + </p> + <p> + It was Elbow Barren. In an instant a tide of bitterness, of passionate + regret, swept over him. He saw the Hatburns' house, a rectangular bleak + structure crowning a gray prominence, with the tender green of young pole + beans on one hand and a disorderly barn on the other, and a blue plume of + smoke rising from an unsteady stone chimney against an end of the + dwelling. No one was visible. + </p> + <p> + Hot tears filled his eyes as the stage rolled along past the moldy ditch + into which Allen had fallen. The mangy curs! His grip tightened on the + reins and the team broke into a clattering trot, speedily leaving the + Barren behind. But the day had been robbed of its sparkle, his position of + its pleasurable pride. He saw again his father's body on the earthen floor + of the stable, the bridle in his stiff fingers; Allen carried into the + house. And he, David Kinemon, had had to step back, like a coward or a + woman, and let the Hatburns triumph. + </p> + <p> + The stage drew up before the Beaulings post-office in the middle of the + afternoon. David delivered the mail bags, and then led the team back to a + stable on the grassy verge of the houses clustered at the end of tracks + laid precariously over a green plain to a boxlike station. Beaulings had a + short row of unpainted two-story structures, the single street cut into + deep muddy scars; stores with small dusty windows; eating houses elevated + on piles; an insignificant mission chapel with a tar-papered roof; and a + number of obviously masked depots for the illicit sale of liquor. + </p> + <p> + A hotel, neatly painted white and green, stood detached from the main + activity. There, washing his face in a tin basin on a back porch, David + had his fried supper, sat for a while outside in the gathering dusk, + gazing at the crude-oil flares, the passing dark figures beyond, the still + obscured immensity of mountain and forest. And then he went up to a pine + sealed room, like the heated interior of a packing box, where he partly + undressed for bed. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + The next mid-morning, descending the sharp grade toward Elbow Barren, + there was no lessening of David's bitterness against the Hatburns. The + flavor of tobacco died in his mouth, he grew unconscious of the lurching + heavy stage, the responsibility of the mail, all committed to his care. A + man was standing by the ditch on the reach of scrubby grass that fell to + the road; and David pulled his team into the slowest walk possible. It was + his first actual sight of a Hatburn. He saw a man middling tall, with + narrow high shoulders, and a clay-yellow countenance, extraordinarily + pinched through the temples, with minute restless black eyes. The latter + were the only mobile feature of his slouching indolent pose, his sullen + regard. He might have been a scarecrow, David thought, but for that + glittering gaze. + </p> + <p> + The latter leaned forward, the stage barely moving, and looked + unwaveringly at the Hatburn beyond. He wondered whether the man knew him—David + Kinemon? But of course he did; all the small details of mountain living + circulated with the utmost rapidity from clearing to clearing. He was now + directly opposite the other; he could take out the revolver and kill that + Hatburn, where he stood, with one precise shot. His hand instinctively + reached under the seat. Then he remembered Allen, forever dependent on the + couch; his mother, who had lately seemed so old. The stage was passing the + motionless figure. David drew a deep painful breath, and swung out his + whip with a vicious sweep. + </p> + <p> + His pride, however, returned when he drove into Crabapple, down the + familiar street, past the familiar men and women turning to watch him, + with a new automatic measure of attention, in his elevated position. He + walked back to his dwelling with a slight swagger of hips and shoulders, + and, with something of a flourish, laid down the two dollars he had been + paid for the trip to Beaulings. + </p> + <p> + “I'm to drive again to-morrow,” he stated to his mother and Allen; “after + that Priest has a regular man. I suppose, then, I'll have to go into the + store.” + </p> + <p> + The last seemed doubly difficult now, since he had driven stage. As he + disposed of supper, eating half a pie with his cracklings and greens, his + mother moved from the stove to the table, refilled his plate, waved the + paper streamers of the fly brush above his head, exactly as she had for + his father. Already, he assured himself, he had become a man. + </p> + <p> + The journey to Beaulings the following day was an unremarkable replica of + the one before. He saw no Hatburns; the sun wheeled from east to west at + apparently the same speed as the stage; and Beaulings held its inevitable + surge of turbulent lumbermen, the oil flares made their lurid note on the + vast unbroken starry canopy of night. + </p> + <p> + The morning of his return was heavy with a wet low vapor. The mail bags, + as he strapped them to the rear rack, were slippery; the dawn was a slow + monotonous widening of dull light. There were no passengers for Crabapple, + and David, with his coat collar turned up about his throat, urged the + horses to a faster gait through the watery cold. + </p> + <p> + The brake set up a shrill grinding, and then the stage passed Elbow Barren + in a smart rattle and bumping. + </p> + <p> + After that David slowed down to light his pipe. The horses willingly + lingered, almost stopping; and, the memory of the slippery bags at the + back of his head, David dismounted, walked to the rear of the stage. + </p> + <p> + A chilling dread swept through him as he saw, realized, that one of the + Government sacks was missing. The straps were loose about the remaining + two; in a minute or more they would have gone. Panic seized him, utter + misery, at the thought of what Priest, Crabapple, would say. He would be + disgraced, contemptuously dismissed—a failure in the trust laid on + him. + </p> + <p> + He collected his faculties by a violent effort; the bags, he was sure, had + been safe coming down the last mountain; he had walked part of the way, + and he was certain that he would have noticed anything wrong. The road was + powerful bad through the Barren.... + </p> + <p> + He got up into the stage, backed the team abruptly on its haunches, and + slowly retraced his way to the foot of the descent. There was no mail + lying on the empty road. David turned again, his heart pounding against + his ribs, tears of mortification, of apprehension, blurring his vision. + The bag must have fallen here in Elbow Barren. Subconsciously he stopped + the stage. On the right the dwelling of the Hatburns showed vaguely + through the mist. No one else could have been on the road. A troubled + expression settled on his glowing countenance, a pondering doubt; then his + mouth drew into a determined line. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to go right up and ask,” he said aloud. + </p> + <p> + He jumped down to the road, led the horses to a convenient sapling, where + he hitched them. Then he drew his belt tighter about his slender waist and + took a step forward. A swift frown scarred his brow, and he turned and + transferred the revolver to a pocket in his trousers. + </p> + <p> + The approach to the house was rough with stones and muddy clumps of grass. + A track, he saw, circled the dwelling to the back; but he walked steadily + and directly up to the shallow portico between windows with hanging, + partly slatted shutters. The house had been painted dark brown a long + while before; the paint had weathered and blistered into a depressing + harmony with the broken and mossy shingles of the roof, the rust-eaten and + sagging gutters festooning the ragged eaves. + </p> + <p> + David proceeded up the steps, hesitated, and then, his mouth firm and hand + steady, knocked. He waited for an apparently interminable space, and then + knocked again, more sharply. Now he heard voices within. He waited rigidly + for steps to approach, the door to open; but in vain. They had heard, but + chose to ignore his summons; and a swift cold anger mounted in him. He + could follow the path round to the back; but, he told himself, he—David + Kinemon—wouldn't walk to the Hatburns' kitchen door. They should + meet him at the front. He beat again on the scarred wood, waited; and + then, in an irrepressible flare of temper, kicked the door open. + </p> + <p> + He was conscious of a slight gasping surprise at the dark moldy-smelling + hall open before him. A narrow bare stairway mounted above, with a passage + at one side, and on each hand entrances were shut on farther interiors. + The scraping of a chair, talking came from the left; the door, he saw, was + not latched. He pushed it open and entered. There was a movement in the + room still beyond, and he walked evenly into what evidently was a kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The first thing he saw was the mail bag, lying intact on a table. Then he + was meeting the concerted stare of four men. One of two, so similar that + he could not have distinguished between them, he had seen before, at the + edge of the road. Another was very much older, taller, more sallow. The + fourth was strangely fat, with a great red hanging mouth. The latter + laughed uproariously, a jangling mirthless sound followed by a mumble of + words without connective sense. David moved toward the mail bag: + </p> + <p> + “I'm driving stage and lost those letters. I'll take them right along.” + </p> + <p> + The oldest Hatburn, with a pail in his hand, was standing by an opening, + obviously at the point of departure on a small errand. He looked toward + the two similar men, nearer David. + </p> + <p> + “Boy,” he demanded, “did you kick in my front door?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm the Government's agent,” David replied. “I've got to have the mail. + I'm David Kinemon too; and I wouldn't step round to your back door, + Hatburn—not if there was a boiling of you!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll learn you this,” one of the others broke in: “it will be the + sweetest breath you ever draw'd when you get out that back door!” + </p> + <p> + The elder moved on to the pounded earth beyond. Here, in their presence, + David felt the loathing for the Hatburns a snake inspires—dusty + brown rattlers and silent cottonmouths. His hatred obliterated every other + feeling but a dim consciousness of the necessity to recover the mail bag. + He was filled with an overpowering longing to revenge Allen; to mark them + with the payment of his father, dead in the stable shed. + </p> + <p> + His objective senses were abnormally clear, cold: he saw every detail of + the Hatburns' garb—the soiled shirts with buttoned pockets on their + left breasts; the stained baggy breeches in heavy boots—such boots + as had stamped Allen into nothingness; dull yellow faces and beady eyes; + the long black hair about their dark ears. + </p> + <p> + The idiot thrust his fingers into his loose mouth, his shirt open on a + hairy pendulous chest. The Hatburn who had not yet spoken showed a row of + tobacco-brown broken teeth. + </p> + <p> + “He mightn't get a heave on that breath,” he asserted. + </p> + <p> + The latter lounged over against a set of open shelves where, David saw, + lay a heavy rusted revolver. Hatburn picked up the weapon and turned it + slowly in his thin grasp. + </p> + <p> + “I'm carrying the mail,” David repeated, his hand on the bag. “You've got + no call on this or on me.” + </p> + <p> + He added the last with tremendous effort. It seemed unspeakable that he + should be there, the Hatburns before him, and merely depart. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of putting the stage under a soft little strawberry + like that?” the other inquired. + </p> + <p> + For answer there was a stunning report, a stinging odor of saltpeter; and + David felt a sharp burning on his shoulder, followed by a slow warmish + wet, spreading. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't go to do just that there!” the Hatburn who had fired explained. + “I wanted to clip his ear, but he twitched like.” + </p> + <p> + David picked up the mail bag and took a step backward in the direction he + had come. The other moved between him and the door. + </p> + <p> + “If you get out,” he said, “it'll be through the hog-wash.” + </p> + <p> + David placed the bag on the floor, stirred by a sudden realization—he + had charge of the stage, official responsibility for the mail. He was no + longer a private individual; what his mother had commanded, entreated, had + no force here and now. The Hatburns were unlawfully detaining him. + </p> + <p> + As this swept over him, a smile lighted his fresh young cheeks, his frank + mouth, his eyes like innocent flowers. Hatburn shot again; this time the + bullet flicked at David's old felt hat. With his smile lingering he + smoothly leveled the revolver from his pocket and shot the mocking figure + in the exact center of the pocket patched on his left breast. + </p> + <p> + David wheeled instantly, before the other Hatburn running for him, and + stopped him with a bullet as remorselessly placed as the first. The two + men on the floor stiffened grotesquely and the idiot crouched in a corner, + whimpering. + </p> + <p> + David passed his hand across his brow; then he bent and grasped the mail + bag. He was still pausing when the remaining Hatburn strode into the + kitchen. The latter whispered a sharp oath. David shifted the bag; but the + elder had him before he could bring the revolver up. A battering blow + fell, knocked the pistol clattering over the floor, and David + instinctively clutched the other's wrist. + </p> + <p> + The blows multiplied, beating David into a daze, through which a single + realization persisted—he must not lose his grip upon the arm that + was swinging him about the room, knocking over chairs, crashing against + the table, even drawing him across the hot iron of the stove. He must hold + on! + </p> + <p> + He saw the face above him dimly through the deepening mist; it seemed + demoniacal, inhuman, reaching up to the ceiling—a yellow giant bent + on his destruction.... + </p> + <p> + His mother, years ago, lives away, had read to them—to his father + and Allen and himself—about a giant, a giant and David; and in the + end—— + </p> + <p> + He lost all sense of the entity of the man striving to break him against + the wooden angles of the room; he had been caught, was twisting, in a + great storm; a storm with thunder and cruel flashes of lightning; a storm + hammering and hammering at him.... Must not lose his hold on—on + life! He must stay fast against everything! It wasn't his hand gripping + the destructive force towering above him, but a strange quality within + him, at once within him and aside, burning in his heart and directing him + from without. + </p> + <p> + The storm subsided; out of it emerged the livid face of Hatburn; and then, + quite easily, he pitched David back across the floor. He lay there a + moment and then stirred, partly rose, beside the mail bag. His pistol was + lying before him; he picked it up. + </p> + <p> + The other was deliberately moving the dull barrel of a revolver up over + his body. A sharp sense of victory possessed David, and he whispered his + brother's name. Hatburn fired—uselessly. The other's battered lips + smiled. + </p> + <p> + Goliath, that was the giant's name. He shot easily, securely—once. + </p> + <p> + Outside, the mail bag seemed weighted with lead. He swayed and staggered + over the rough declivity to the road. It required a superhuman effort to + heave the pack into the stage. The strap with which he had hitched the + horses had turned into iron. At last it was untied. He clambered up to the + enormous height of the driver's seat, unwrapped the reins from the + whipstock, and the team started forward. + </p> + <p> + He swung to the lurching of the stage like an inverted pendulum; darkness + continually thickened before his vision; waves of sickness swept up to his + head. He must keep the horses on the road, forward the Government mail! + </p> + <p> + A grim struggle began between his beaten flesh, a terrible weariness, and + that spirit which seemed to be at once a part of him and a voice. He wiped + the blood from his young brow; from his eyes miraculously blue like an + ineffable May sky. + </p> + <p> + “Just a tol'able David,” he muttered weakly—“only just tol'able!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BREAD + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The train rolling rapidly over the broad salt meadows thunderously entered + the long shed of the terminal at the sea. August Turnbull rose from his + seat in the Pullman smoking compartment and took down the coat hanging + beside him. It was gray flannel; in a waistcoat his shirt sleeves were a + visible heavy mauve silk, and there was a complication of gold chains + about his lower pockets. Above the coat a finely woven Panama hat with a + narrow brim had rested, and with that now on his head he moved arrogantly + toward the door. + </p> + <p> + He was a large man, past the zenith of life, but still vigorous in + features and action. His face was full, and, wet from the heat, he mopped + it with a heavy linen handkerchief. August Turnbull's gaze was steady and + light blue; his nose was so heavy that it appeared to droop a little from + sheer weight, almost resting on the mustache brushed out in a horizontal + line across prominent lips; while his neck swelled in a glowing congestion + above a wilting collar. + </p> + <p> + He nodded to several men in the narrow corridor of the car; men like + himself in luxurious summer clothes, but for the most part fatter; then in + the shed, looking about in vain for Bernard, his son-in-law, he proceeded + to the street, where his automobile was waiting. It was a glittering + landaulet, folded back and open. Thrusting a wadded evening paper into a + crevice he sank in an upholstered corner while his chauffeur skillfully + worked out through a small confusion of similar motor activity. Before him + a carved glass vase set in a bracket held smilax and yellow rosebuds, and + he saw on the floor a fallen gold powder box. + </p> + <p> + Picking it up his face was suffused by a darker tide; this was the result + of stooping and the angry realization that in spite of his prohibition + Louise had been using the landaulet again. She must be made to understand + that he, her father, had an absolute authority over his family and + property. Marriage to Bernard Foster did not relieve her from obedience to + the head of the house. Bernard had a car as well as himself; yet August + Turnbull knew that his son-in-law—at heart a stingy man—encouraged + her to burn the parental gasoline in place of his own. Turned against the + public Bernard's special quality was admirable; he was indeed more + successful, richer, than August had been at the other's age; but Louise + and her husband would have to recognize his precedence. + </p> + <p> + They were moving faster now on a broad paved avenue bound with steel + tracks. A central business section was left for a more unpretentious + region—small open fruit and fish stands, dingy lodging places, drab + corner saloons, with, at the intervals of the cross streets, fleet + glimpses of an elevated boardwalk and the luminous space of the sea. + Though the day was ending there was no thinning of the vaporous heat, and + a sodden humanity, shapeless in bathing suits, was still reluctantly + moving away from the beach. + </p> + <p> + Groups of women with their hair in trailing wet wisps and short uneven + skirts dripping on the pavements, gaunt children in scant haphazard garb + surged across the broad avenue or with shrill admonishments stood in + isolated helpless patches amid the swift and shining procession of + automobiles. + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull was disturbed by the sudden arrest of his progress, and + gazing out saw the insignificant cause of delay. He had again removed his + hat and a frown drew a visible heavy line between his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “More police are needed for these crossings,” he complained to the + chauffeur; “there is the same trouble every evening. The city shouldn't + encourage such rabbles; they give the place a black eye.” + </p> + <p> + All the immediate section, he silently continued, ought to be torn down + and rebuilt in solid expensive structures. It made him hot and + uncomfortable just to pass through the shabby quarter. The people in it + were there for the excellent reason that they lacked the ambition, the + force to demand better things. They got what they deserved. + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull made an impatient movement of contempt; the world, + success, was for the strong men, the men who knew what they wanted and + drove for it in a straight line. There was a great deal of foolishness in + the air at present—the war was largely responsible; though, on the + other hand, the war would cure a lot of nonsense. But America in + particular was rotten with sentimentality; it was that mainly which had + involved them here in a purely European affair. Getting into it had been + bad business. + </p> + <p> + Nowhere was the nation's failing more evident than in the attitude toward + women. It had always been maudlin; and now, long content to use their + advantages in small ways, women would become a serious menace to the + country generally. He had admitted their economic value—they filled + every possible place in the large establishment of the Turnbull Bakery; + rather, they performed all the light manual labor. There they were more + satisfactory than men, more easily controlled—yes, and cheaper. But + in Congress, voting, women in communities reporting on factory conditions + were a dangerous nuisance. + </p> + <p> + He had left the poorer part, and the suavity of the succeeding streets + rapidly increased to a soothing luxury. Wide cottages occupied + velvet-green lawns, and the women he saw were of the sort he approved—closely + skirted creatures with smooth shoulders in transparent crêpe de Chine. + They invited a contemplative eye, the thing for which they were created—a + pleasure for men; that and maternity. + </p> + <p> + The automobile turned toward the sea and stopped at his house midway in + the block. It was a square dwelling painted white with a roof of tapestry + slate, and broad awning-covered veranda on the sea. A sprinkler was + flashing on the lawn, dripping over the concrete pavement and filling the + air with a damp coolness. No one was visible and, leaving his hat and coat + on a chair in an airy hall furnished in black wicker and flowery chintz + hangings on buff walls, he descended to the basement dressing rooms. + </p> + <p> + In his bathing suit he presented a figure of vigorous glowing well-being. + Only the silvering hair at his temples, the fatty bulge across the back of + his neck, and a considerable stomach indicated his multiplying years. He + left by a lower door, and immediately after was on the sand. The tide was + out, the lowering sun obscured in a haze, and the sea undulated with a + sullen gleam. Two men were swimming, and farther at the left a woman stood + in the water with arms raised to her head. It was cold, but August + Turnbull marched out without hesitation and threw himself forward with an + uncompromising solid splash. + </p> + <p> + He swam adequately, but he had not progressed a dozen feet before he was + conscious of a strong current sweeping him up the beach, and he regained + his feet with an angry flourish. The other men came nearer, and he + recognized Bernard Foster, his son-in-law, and Frederick Rathe, whose + cottage was directly across the street from the Turnbulls'. + </p> + <p> + Like August they were big men, with light hair and eyes. They were very + strong and abrupt in their movements, they spoke in short harsh periods, + and fingered mustaches waxed and rolled into severe points. + </p> + <p> + “A gully has cut in above,” Bernard explained, indicating a point not far + beyond them; “it's over your head. Watch where you swim.” They were moving + away. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming over to dinner?” August Turnbull called to Bernard. + </p> + <p> + “Can't,” the latter shouted; “Victorine is sick again. Too many chocolate + sundaes.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone, August dived and floated until he was thoroughly cooled; then + he turned toward the beach. The woman, whose existence he had forgotten, + was leaving at the same time. She approached at an angle, and he was + admiring her slim figure when he realized that it was Miss Beggs, his + wife's companion. He had never seen her in a bathing suit before. August + Turnbull delayed until she was at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening.” Her voice was low, and she scarcely lifted her gaze from + the sand. + </p> + <p> + He wondered why—she had been in his house for a month—he had + failed completely to notice her previously. He decided that it had been + because she was so pale and quiet. Ordinarily he didn't like white cheeks; + and then she had been deceptive; he had subconsciously thought of her as + thin. + </p> + <p> + She stopped and took off her rubber cap, performing that act slowly, while + her body, in wet satin, turned like a faultless statue of glistening black + marble. + </p> + <p> + “Do you enjoy bathing in the ocean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + A momentary veiled glance accompanied her reply. “Yes,” she said; “though + I can't swim. I like to be beaten by the waves. I like to fight against + them.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, then fell definitely back; and he was forced to walk on + alone. + </p> + <p> + His wife's companion! With the frown once more scoring the line between + his eyes he satirically contrasted Miss Beggs, a servant really, and Emmy. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + His room occupied the front corner on the sea, Emmy's was beyond; the door + between was partly open and he could hear her moving about, but with a + cigarette and his hair-brushes he made no acknowledgment of her presence. + </p> + <p> + The sun was now no more than a diffused gray glow, the sea like unstirred + molten silver. The sound of the muffled gong that announced dinner floated + up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Below, the damask was lit both by rose silk-shaded candles and by the + radiance of a suspended alabaster bowl. August Turnbull sat at the head of + a table laden with silver and crystal and flowers. There were individual + pepper mills—he detested adulterated or stale spices—carved + goblets for water, cocktail glasses with enameled roosters, ruby goblets + like blown flowers and little gilt-speckled liqueur glasses; there were + knives with steel blades, knives all of silver, and gold fruit knives; + there were slim oyster forks, entrée forks of solid design, and forks of + filigree; a bank of spoons by a plate that would be presently removed, + unused, for other filled plates. + </p> + <p> + Opposite him Emmy's place was still empty, but his son, Morice, in the + olive drab and bar of a first lieutenant, together with his wife, was + already present. August was annoyed by any delay: one of the marks of a + properly controlled household, a house admirably conscious of the + importance of order—and obedience—was an utter promptness at + the table. Then, silent and unsubstantial as a shadow, Emmy Turnbull + slipped into her seat. + </p> + <p> + August gazed at her with the secret resentment more and more inspired by + her sickness. At first he had been merely dogmatic—she must recover + under the superlative advice and attention he was able to summon for her. + Then his impatience had swung about toward all doctors—they were a + pack of incompetent fools, medicine was nothing more than an organized + swindle. They had tried baths, cures, innumerable infallible treatments—to + no purpose. Finally he had given up all effort, all hope; he had given her + up. And since then it had been difficult to mask his resentment. + </p> + <p> + The butler, a white jacket taking the place of the conventional somber + black, poured four cocktails from a silver mixer and placed four dishes of + shaved ice, lemon rosettes and minute pinkish clams before August + Turnbull, Morice and his wife, and Miss Beggs, occupying in solitude a + side of the table. Then he set at Mrs. Turnbull's hand a glass of milk + thinned with limewater and an elaborate platter holding three small pieces + of zwieback. + </p> + <p> + She could eat practically nothing. + </p> + <p> + It was the particular character of her state that specially upset August + Turnbull. He was continually affronted by the spectacle of Emmy seated + before him sipping her diluted milk, breaking her dry bread, in the midst + of the rich plenty he provided. Damn it, he admitted, it got on his + nerves! + </p> + <p> + The sting of the cocktail whipped up his eagerness for the iced tender + clams. His narrowed gaze rested on Emmy; she was actually seven years + older than he, but from her appearance she might be a hundred, a million. + There was nothing but her painfully slow movements to distinguish her from + a mummy. + </p> + <p> + The plates were again removed and soup brought on, a clear steaming + amber-green turtle, and with it crisp wheat rolls. Morice's wife gave a + sigh of satisfaction at the latter. + </p> + <p> + “My,” she said, “they're elegant! I'm sick and tired of war bread.” + </p> + <p> + She was a pinkish young woman with regular features and abundant coppery + hair. Marriage had brought her into the Turnbull family from the chorus of + a famous New York roof beauty show. August had been at first displeased, + then a certain complacency had possessed him—Morice, who was + practically thirty years old, had no source of income other than that + volunteered by his father, and it pleased the latter to keep them + depending uncertainly on what he was willing to do. It insured just the + attitude from Rosalie he most enjoyed, approved, in a youthful and not + unhandsome woman. He liked her soft scented weight hanging on his arm and + the perfumed kiss with which she greeted him in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, at times there was a gleam in her eyes and an expression at + odds with the perfection of her submission; on several occasions Morice + had approached him armed with a determination that he, August, knew had + been injected from without, undoubtedly by Rosalie. Whatever it had been + he quickly disposed of it, but there was a possibility that she might some + day undertake a rebellion; and there was added zest in the thought of how + he would totally subdue her. + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonder something isn't said to you,” she continued. “They're + awfully strict about wheat now.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” August Turnbull instructed her heavily, “is a subject we needn't + pursue.” + </p> + <p> + The truth was that he would permit no interference with what so closely + touched his comfort. He was not a horse to eat bran. His bakery—under + inspection—conformed rigidly with the Government requirements; but + he had no intention of spoiling his own dinners. Any necessary + conservation could be effected at the expense of the riffraff through + which he had driven coming from the station. Black bread was no new + experience to them. + </p> + <p> + He saw that Miss Beggs' small white teeth were crushing salted cashew + nuts. Noticing her in detail for the first time he realized that she + enormously appreciated good food. Why in thunder, since she ate so + heartily, didn't she get fat and rosy! She was one of the thin kind—yet + not thin, he corrected himself. Graceful. Why, she must weigh a hundred + and twenty-five pounds; and she wasn't tall. + </p> + <p> + The butler filled his ruby goblet from a narrow bottle of Rhine wine. It + was exactly right, not sweet but full; and the man held for his choice a + great platter of beef, beautifully carved into thick crimson slices; the + bloodlike gravy had collected in its depression and he poured it over his + meat. + </p> + <p> + “A piece of this,” he told Emmy discontentedly, “would set you right up; + put something in your veins besides limewater.” + </p> + <p> + She became painfully upset at once and fumbled in her lap, with her face + averted, as the attention of the table was momentarily directed at her. + There was an uncontrollable tremor of her loose colorless mouth. + </p> + <p> + What a wife for him, August Turnbull! The stimulants and rich flavors and + roast filled him with a humming vitality; he could feel his heart beat—as + strong, he thought, as a bell. In a way Emmy had deceived him—she + probably had always been fragile, but was careful to conceal it from him + at their marriage. It was unjust to him. He wished that she would take her + farcical meals in her room, and not sit here—a skeleton at the + feast. Positively it made him nervous to see her—spoiled his + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + It had become worse lately; he had difficulty in putting her from his + mind; he imagined Emmy in conjunction with the bakery, of her slowly + starving and the thousands of loaves he produced in a day. There was + something unnatural in such a situation; it was like a mockery at him. + </p> + <p> + A vision of her came to him at the most inopportune moments, lingering + until it drove him into a hot rage and a pounding set up at the back of + his neck. + </p> + <p> + The meat was brought back, and he had more of a sweet boiled huckleberry + pudding. A salad followed, with a heavy Russian dressing. August + Turnbull's breathing grew thicker, he was conscious of a familiar + oppression. He assaulted it with fresh wine. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Bernard on the beach,” he related; “Victorine is sick once more. + Chocolate sundaes, Bernard said. She is always stuffing herself at + soda-water counters or with candy. They oughtn't to allow it; the child + should be made to eat at the table. When she is here she touches nothing + but the dessert. When I was ten I ate everything or not at all. But there + is no longer any discipline, not only with children but everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a little freedom, though,” Rosalie suggested. + </p> + <p> + His manner clearly showed displeasure, almost contempt, and he turned to + Miss Beggs. “What do you think?” he demanded. “I understand you have been + a school-teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are quite right,” she responded; “at least about children, and it + is clear from them that most parents are idiotically lax.” A blaze of + discontent, loathing, surprisingly invaded her pallid face. + </p> + <p> + “A rod of iron,” August recommended. + </p> + <p> + The contrast between his wife and Miss Beggs recurred, intensified—one + an absolute wreck and the other as solidly slender as a birch tree. Fate + had played a disgusting trick on him. In the prime of his life he was tied + to a hopeless invalid. It put an unfair tension on him. Women were + charming, gracious—or else they were nothing. If Emmy's money had + been an assistance at first he had speedily justified its absorption in + the business. She owed him, her husband, everything possible. He suddenly + pictured mountains of bread, bread towering up into the clouds, fragrant + and appetizing; and Emmy, a thing of bones, gazing wistfully at it. August + Turnbull, with a feeling like panic, brushed the picture from his mind. + </p> + <p> + The dessert was apparently a bomb of frozen coffee, but the center + revealed a delicious creamy substance flaked with pistache. The cold sweet + was exactly what he craved, and he ate it rapidly in a curious mounting + excitement. With the coffee he fingered the diminutive glass of golden + brandy and a long dark roll of oily tobacco. He lighted this carefully and + flooded his head with the coiling bluish smoke. Rosalie was smoking a + cigarette—a habit in women which he noisily denounced. She + extinguished it in an ash tray, but his anger lingered, an unreasoning + exasperation that constricted his throat. Sharply aware of the sultriness + of the evening he went hastily out to the veranda. + </p> + <p> + Morice following him with the evening paper volunteered, “I see German + submarines are operating on the Atlantic coast.” + </p> + <p> + His father asserted: “This country is due for a lesson. It was anxious + enough to get into trouble, and now we'll find how it likes some severe + instruction. All the news here is bluff—the national asset. What I + hope is that business won't be entirely ruined later.” + </p> + <p> + “The Germans will get the lesson,” Rosalie unexpectedly declared at his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what you're talking about,” he replied decidedly. “The + German system is a marvel, one of the wonders of civilization.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away, lightly singing a line from one of her late numbers: + “I've a Yankee boy bound for Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + Morice stirred uneasily. “They got a Danish tanker somewhere off + Nantucket,” he continued impotently. + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull refused to be drawn into further speech; he inhaled his + cigar with a replete bodily contentment. The oppression of dinner was + subsiding. His private opinion of the war was that it would end without a + military decision—he regarded the German system as unsmashable—and + then, with France deleted and England swamped in internal politics, he saw + an alliance of common sense between Germany and the United States. The + present hysteria, the sentimentality he condemned, could not continue to + stand before the pressure of mercantile necessity. After all, the entire + country was not made up of fools. + </p> + <p> + Morice and his wife wandered off to the boardwalk, and he, August, must + have fallen asleep, for he suddenly sat up with a sensation of strangeness + and dizzy vision. + </p> + <p> + He rose and shook it off. It was still light, and he could see Bernard at + his automobile, parked before the latter's cottage. + </p> + <p> + The younger man caught sight of August at the same moment and called: “We + are going to a cafe with the Rathes; will you come?” + </p> + <p> + He was still slightly confused, his head full, and the ride, the gayety of + the crowd, he thought, would do him good. + </p> + <p> + “Be over for you,” the other added; and later he was crowded into a rear + seat between Louise, his daughter, and Caroline Rathe. + </p> + <p> + Louise was wearing the necklace of platinum and diamonds Bernard Foster + had given her last Christmas. It was, August admitted to himself, a + splendid present, and must have cost eighteen or twenty thousand dollars. + The Government had made platinum almost prohibitive. In things of this + kind—the adornment of his wife, of, really, himself, the extension + of his pride—Bernard was extremely generous. It was in the small + affairs such as gasoline that he was prudent. + </p> + <p> + Both Caroline Rathe and Louise were handsome women handsomely dressed; he + was seated in a nest of soft tulle and ruffled embroidery, of pliant + swaying bodies. Their satin-shod feet had high sharp insteps in films of + black lace and their fingers glittered with prismatic stones. Bernard was + in front with the chauffeur, and Frederick Rathe occupied a small seat at + the knees of the three others. He had not made his money, as had August + and Bernard, but inherited it with a huge brewery. Frederick was younger + than the other men too; but his manner was, if anything, curter. He said + things about the present war that made even August Turnbull uneasy. + </p> + <p> + He was an unusual youth, not devoted to sports and convivial pleasures—as + any one might infer, viewing his heavy frame and wealth—but + something of a reader. He quoted fragments from philosophical books about + the will-to-power and the <i>Uebermensch</i> that stuck like burrs in + August Turnbull's memory, furnishing him with labels, backing, for many of + his personally evolved convictions and experience. + </p> + <p> + They were soon descending the steps to the anteroom of the café, where the + men left their hats and sticks. As they entered the brilliantly lighted + space beyond a captain hurried forward. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said + servilely; “Mr. Turnbull——” + </p> + <p> + He ushered them to a table by the rope of an open floor for dancing and + removed a reserved card. There he stood attentively with a waiter at his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What will you have?” Frederick Rathe asked generally. “For me nothing but + beer. Not the filthy American stuff.” He turned to the servants. “If you + still have some of the other. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “No beer for me!” Louise exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Champagne,” the captain suggested. + </p> + <p> + She agreed, but Caroline had a fancy for something else. August Turnbull + preferred a Scotch whisky and soda. The café was crowded; everywhere + drinking multiplied in an illuminated haze of cigarettes. A slight girl in + an airy slip and bare legs was executing a furious dance with a powdered + youth on the open space. The girl whirled about her partner's head, a + rigid shape in a flutter of white. + </p> + <p> + They stood limply answering the rattle of applause that followed. A woman + in an extravagantly low-cut gown took their place, singing. There was no + possibility of mistaking her allusions; August smiled broadly, but Louise + and Caroline Rathe watched her with an unmoved sharp curiosity. In the + same manner they studied other women in the cafe; more than once August + Turnbull hastily averted his gaze at the discovery that his daughter and + he were intent upon the same individual. + </p> + <p> + “The U-boats are at it again,” Bernard commented in a lowered voice. + </p> + <p> + “And, though it is war,” Frederick added, “every one here is squealing + like a mouse. 'Ye are not great enough to know of hatred and envy,'” he + quoted. “'It is the good war which halloweth every cause.'” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't say those things here,” his wife murmured. + </p> + <p> + “'Thou goest to women?'” he lectured her with mock solemnity. “'Do not + forget thy whip!'” + </p> + <p> + The whisky ran in a burning tide through August Turnbull's senses. His + surroundings became a little blurred, out of focus; his voice sounded + unfamiliar, as though it came from somewhere behind him. Fresh buckets of + wine were brought, fresh, polished glasses. His appetite revived, and he + ordered caviar. Beyond, a girl in a snake-like dress was breaking a + scarlet boiled lobster with a nut cracker; her cigarette smoked on the + table edge. Waiters passed bearing trays of steaming food, pitchers of + foaming beer, colorless drinks with bobbing sliced limes, purplish sloe + gin and sirupy cordials. Bernard's face was dark and there was a splash of + champagne on his dinner shirt. Louise was uncertainly humming a fragment + of popular song. The table was littered with empty plates and glasses. + Perversely it made August think of Emmy, his wife, and acute dread touched + him at the mockery of her wasting despair. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + The following morning, Thursday, August Turnbull was forced to go into the + city. He drove to the Turnbull Bakery in a taxi and dispatched his + responsibilities in time for luncheon uptown and an early afternoon train + to the shore. The bakery was a consequential rectangle of brick, with the + office across the front and a court resounding with the shattering din of + ponderous delivery trucks. All the vehicles, August saw, bore a new + temporary label advertising still another war bread; there was, too, a + subsidiary patriotic declaration: “Win the War With Wheat.” + </p> + <p> + He was, as always, fascinated by the mammoth trays of bread, the enormous + flood of sustenance produced as the result of his energy and ability. Each + loaf was shut in a sanitary paper envelope; the popular superstition, + sanitation, had contributed as much as anything to his marked success. He + liked to picture himself as a great force, a granary on which the city + depended for life; it pleased him to think of thousands of people, men, + women and children, waiting for his loaves or perhaps suffering through + the inability to buy them. + </p> + <p> + August left a direction for a barrel of superlative flower to be sent to + his cottage, and then with a curious feeling of expectancy he departed. He + was unable to grasp the cause of his sudden impatience to be again at the + sea. On the train, in the Pullman smoking compartment, his coat swinging + on a hook beside him, the vague haste centered surprisingly about the + person of Miss Beggs. At first he was annoyed by the reality and + persistence of her image; then he slipped into an unquestioning + consideration of her. + </p> + <p> + Never had he seen a more healthy being, and that alone, he told himself, + was sufficient to account for his interest. He liked marked physical + well-being; particularly, he added, in women. A sick wife, for example, + was the most futile thing imaginable; a wife should exist for the comfort + and pleasure of her husband. What little Miss Beggs—her name, he now + remembered from the checks made out for her, was Meta Beggs—had said + was as vigorous as herself. He realized that she had a strong, even + rebellious personality. That, in her, however, should not be encouraged—an + engaging submission was the becoming attitude for her sex. + </p> + <p> + He proceeded immediately into the ocean, puffing strenuously and gazing + about. No women could be seen. They never had any regularity of habit, he + complained silently. After dinner—a surfeit of tenderloin Bordelaise—he + walked up the short incline to the boardwalk, where on one of the benches + overlooking the sparkling water he saw a slight familiar figure. It was + Miss Beggs. Her eyes dwelt on him momentarily and then returned to the + horizon. + </p> + <p> + “You are a great deal alone,” he commented on the far end of the bench. + </p> + <p> + “It's because I choose to be,” she answered sharply. + </p> + <p> + An expression of displeasure was audible in his reply, “You should have no + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to explain,” she continued, her slim hands clasped on shapely + knees; “I mean that I can't get what I want.” + </p> + <p> + “So you prefer nothing?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That's different,” August Turnbull declared. “Anybody could see you're + particular. Still, it's strange you haven't met—well, one that + suited you.” + </p> + <p> + “What good would it do me—a school-teacher, and now a companion!” + </p> + <p> + “You might be admired for those very things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by old ladies, male and female. Not men. There's just one attraction + for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well——” + </p> + <p> + She turned now and faced him with a suppressed bitter energy. “Clothes,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “That's nonsense!” he replied emphatically. “Dress is only incidental.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you first notice me?” she demanded. “In bathing. That bathing + suit cost more than any two of my dresses. It is absolutely right.” August + was confused by the keenness of her perception. It wasn't proper for a + woman to understand such facts. He was at a loss for a reply. “Seven men + spoke to me in it on one afternoon. It is no good for you to try to + reassure me with platitudes; I know better. I ought to, at least.” + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull was startled by the fire of resentment smoldering under + her still pale exterior. Why, she was like a charged battery. If he + touched her, he thought, sparks would fly. She was utterly different from + Emmy, as different as a live flame from ashes. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that having at last spoken she intended to unburden herself + of long-accumulated passionate words. + </p> + <p> + “All my life I've had to listen to and smile sweetly at ridiculous + hypocrisies. I have had to teach them and live them too. But now I'm so + sick of them I can't keep it up a month longer. I could kill some one, + easily. In a world where salvation for a woman is in a pair of slippers I + have to be damned. If I could have kept my hair smartly done up and worn + sheer batiste do you suppose for a minute I'd be a companion to Mrs. + Turnbull? I could be going out to the cafes in a landaulet.” + </p> + <p> + “And looking a lot better than most that do,” he commented without + premeditation. + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him again, and he saw that her eyes were gray, habitually + half closed and inviting. + </p> + <p> + “I've had frightfully bad luck,” she went on; “once or twice when it + seemed that I was to have a chance, when it appeared brighter—everything + went to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you want too much,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she agreed wearily; “ease and pretty clothes and—a man.” + She added the latter with a more musical inflection than he had yet heard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he proceeded importantly, “there are not a great many men. At + least I haven't found them. As you say, most people are incapable of any + power or decision. I always maintain it's something in the country. Now in——” + He stopped, re-began: “In Europe they are different. There a man is better + understood, and women as well.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been out of America,” Miss Beggs admitted. + </p> + <p> + “But you might well have been,” he assured her; “you are more Continental + than any one else I can think of.” + </p> + <p> + He moved toward the middle of the bench and she said quickly: “You must + not misunderstand. I am not cheap nor silly. It might have been better for + me.” She addressed the fading light on the sea. “Silly women, too, do + remarkably well. But I am not young enough to change now.” She rose, + gracefully drawn against space; her firm chin was elevated and her hands + clenched. “I won't grow old this way and shrivel like an apple,” she half + cried. + </p> + <p> + It would be a pity, he told himself, watching her erect figure diminish + over the boardwalk. He had a feeling of having come in contact with an + extraordinarily potent force. By heaven, she positively crackled! He + smiled, thinking of the misguided people who had employed her, ignorant of + all that underlay that severe prudent manner. At the same time he was + flattered that she had confided in him. It was clear she recognized that + he, at least, was a man. He was really sorry for her—what an + invigorating influence she was! + </p> + <p> + She had spoken of being no longer young—something over thirty-five + he judged—and that brought the realization that he was getting on. A + few years now, ten or twelve, and life would be behind him. It was a rare + and uncomfortable thought. Usually he saw himself as at the most desirable + age—a young spirit tempered by wisdom and experience. But in a flash + he read that his prime must depart; every hour left was priceless. + </p> + <p> + The best part of this must be dedicated to a helpless invalid; a strong + current of self-pity set through him. But it was speedily lost in a more + customary arrogance. August Turnbull repeated the favorite aphorisms from + Frederick Rathe about the higher man. If he believed them at all, if they + applied to life in general they were equally true in connection with his + home; in short—his wife. Emmy Turnbull couldn't really be called a + wife. There should be a provision to release men from such bonds. + </p> + <p> + It might be that the will-to-power would release itself. In theory that + was well enough, but practically there were countless small difficulties. + The strands of life were so tied in, one with another. Opinion was made up + of an infinite number of stupid prejudices. In short, no way presented + itself of getting rid of Emmy. + </p> + <p> + His mind returned to Meta Beggs. What a woman she was! What a triumph to + master her contemptuous stubborn being! + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + At least, August reflected with a degree of comfort at breakfast, Emmy + didn't come down in the morning; she hadn't enough strength. He addressed + himself to the demolishment of a ripe Cassaba melon. It melted in his + mouth to the consistency of sugary water. His coffee cup had a large + flattened bowl, and pouring in the ropy cream with his free hand he lifted + the silver cover of a dish set before him. It held spitted chicken livers + and bacon and gave out an irresistible odor. There were, too, potatoes + chopped fine with peppers and browned; and hot delicately sweetened buns. + He emptied two full spits, renewed his coffee and finished the potatoes. + </p> + <p> + With a butter ball at the center of a bun he casually glanced at the day's + paper. The submarines, he saw, were operating farther south. A small + passenger steamer, the <i>Veronica</i> had been torpedoed outside the + Delaware Capes. + </p> + <p> + A step sounded in the hall, and Louise entered the dining room, clad all + in white with the exception of a closely fitting yellow hat. After a + moment Victorine, a girl small for her age, with a petulant satiated + expression, followed. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame,” Louise observed, “that with Morice and his wife in the + cottage you have to breakfast alone. I suppose all those theatrical people + get up at noon.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” Rosalie told her from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + Louise made no reply other than elevating her brows. Victorine looked at + the other with an exact mirroring of her mother's disdain. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” Morice said indistinctly, hooking the collar of his + uniform. “It's a bloody nuisance,” he asserted. “Why can't they copy the + English jacket?” + </p> + <p> + “It is much better looking,” Louise added. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Rosalie proclaimed, “I'm glad to see Morice in any; even if it + means nothing more than a desk in the Quartermaster's Department.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very necessary,” August Turnbull spoke decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she agreed. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is bad taste to raise such insinuations.” Louise was severe. + </p> + <p> + “An army,” August put in, “travels on its stomach. As Louise suggests—we + must ask you not to discuss the question in your present tone.” Morice's + wife half-audibly spoke into her melon, and his face reddened. “What did I + understand you to say?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, 'Swat the fly!'” Rosalie answered hardily. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all!” he almost shouted. “What you said was 'Swat the Kaiser!'” + </p> + <p> + “Well, swat him!” + </p> + <p> + “It was evident, also, that you did not refer to the Emperor of Germany—but + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You said it,” she admitted vulgarly. “If any house ever had a + Hohenzollern this has.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Rosalie!” her husband commanded, perturbed; “you'll spoil + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “It might be better if she continued,” Louise Foster corrected him. + “Perhaps then we'd learn something of this—this beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “I got good money for my face anyhow,” Rosalie asserted. “And no cash + premium went with it either. As for going on, I'll go.” She turned to + August Turnbull: “I've been stalling round here for nearly a year with + Morice scared to death trying to get a piece of change out of you. Now I'm + through; I've worked hard for a season's pay, but this is slavery. What + you want is an amalgamated lady bootblack and nautch dancer. You're a joke + to a free white woman. I'm sorry for your wife. She ought to slip you a + bichloride tablet. If it was worth while I'd turn you over to the + authorities for breaking the food regulations.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, unceremoniously shoving back her chair. “For a fact, I'm tired + of watching you eat. You down as much as a company of good boys on the + march. Don't get black in the face; I'd be afraid to if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull's rage beat like a hammer at the base of his head. He, + too, rose, leaning forward with his napkin crumpled in a pounding fist. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my house!” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right enough,” she replied; “the question is—is Morice + coming with me? Is that khaki he has on or a Kate Greenaway suit?” + </p> + <p> + Morice looked from one to the other in obvious dismay. He had a pleasant + dull face and a minute spiked mustache on an irresolute mouth. + </p> + <p> + “If you stay with me,” she warned him further, “I'll have you out of that + grocery store and into a trench.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasant for you, Morice,” Louise explained. + </p> + <p> + “Things were so comfortable, Rosalie,” he protested despairingly. “What in + the name of sense made you stir this all up? The governor won't do a tap + for us now.” + </p> + <p> + His wife stood by herself, facing the inimical Turnbull front, while + Morice wavered between. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll get along,” the former told him, “I can make a living till you + come back. We can do without any Trübner money. I'm not a lot at German, + but I guess you can understand me,” she again addressed August. “Not that + I blame you for the change, such as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to go with her,” Morice unhappily declared. + </p> + <p> + August Turnbull's face was stiff with congestion. The figures before him + wavered in a sort of fog. He put out a hand, supporting himself on the + back of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my house,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately Morice's leave had come to an end, and Rosalie and he withdrew + in at least the semblance of a normal departure. August's rage changed to + an indignant surprise, and he established himself with a rigid dignity on + the veranda. There, happening on a cigar that burned badly, he was reduced + to a state of further self-commiseration. That is, he dwelt on the general + deterioration of the world about him. There was no discipline; there was + no respect; authority was laughed at. All this was the result of laxness, + of the sentimentality he condemned; a firmer hand was needed everywhere. + </p> + <p> + He turned with relief to the contemplation of Meta Beggs; she was + enormously satisfactory to consider. August watched her now with the + greatest interest; he even sat in his wife's room while her companion + moved silently and gracefully about. Miss Beggs couldn't have noticed + this, for scarcely ever did her gaze meet his; she had a habit of standing + lost in thought, her slimness a little drooping, as if she were weary or + depressed. She was in his mind continually—Miss Beggs and Emmy, his + wife. + </p> + <p> + The latter had a surprising power to disturb him; lately he had even + dreamed of her starving to death in the presence of abundant food. He + began to be superstitious about it, to think of her in a ridiculous + nervous manner as an evil design on his peace and security. She seemed + unnatural with her shrunken face bowed opposite him at the table. His + feeling for her shifted subconsciously to hatred. It broke out publicly in + sardonic or angry periods under which she would shrink away, incredibly + timid, from his scorn. This quality of utter helplessness gave the menace + he divined in her its illusive air of unreality. She seemed—she was—entirely + helpless; a prematurely aged woman, of the mildest instincts, dying of + malnutrition. + </p> + <p> + Miss Beggs now merged into all his daily life, his very fiber. He regarded + her in an attitude of admirable frankness. “Still it is extraordinary you + haven't married.” + </p> + <p> + The tide was out, it was late afternoon, and they were walking over the + hard exposed sand. Whenever she came on a shell she crushed it with a + sharp heel. + </p> + <p> + “There were some,” she replied indifferently. + </p> + <p> + He nodded gravely. “It would have to be a special kind of man,” he agreed. + “An ordinary individual would be crushed by your personality. You'd need a + firm hand.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was inscrutable. “I have always had the misfortune to be too + late,” she told him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had known you sooner!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Her arms, in transparent sleeves, were like marble. His words crystallized + an overwhelming realization of how exactly she was suited to him. The + desire to shut her will in his hand increased a thousandfold. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I would have married you. But there's no good discussing + it.” She breathed deeply with a sinking forward of her rounded shoulders. + All her vigor seemed to have left her. “I have been worried about Mrs. + Turnbull lately,” she went on. “Perhaps it's my imagination—does she + look weaker to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't noticed,” he answered brusquely. + </p> + <p> + Curiously he had never thought of Emmy as dying; she appeared eternal, + without the possibility of offering him the relief of such freedom as yet + remained. Freedom for—for Meta Beggs. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor was at the cottage again Thursday,” she informed him. “I + didn't hear what he said.” + </p> + <p> + “Humbugs,” August Turnbull pronounced. + </p> + <p> + A sudden caution invaded him. It would be well not to implicate himself + too far with his wife's companion. She was a far shrewder woman than was + common; there was such a thing as blackmail. He studied her privately. + Damn it, what a pen he had been caught in! Her manner, too, changed + immediately, as though she had read his feeling. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to go back.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke coldly. A moment before she had been close beside him, but now + she might as well have been miles away. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + The fuse of the electric light in the dining room burned out, and dinner + proceeded with only the illumination of the silk-hooded candles. In the + subdued glow Meta Beggs was infinitely attractive. His wife's place was + empty. Miss Beggs had brought apologetic word from Emmy that she felt too + weak to leave her room. A greater degree of comfort possessed August + Turnbull than he had experienced for months. With no one at the table but + the slim woman on the left and himself a positive geniality radiated from + him. He pressed her to have more champagne—he had ordered that since + she preferred it to Rhine wine—urged more duckling, and ordered the + butler to leave the brandy decanter before them. + </p> + <p> + She laughed—a rare occurrence—and imitated, for his intense + amusement, Mrs. Frederick Rathe's extreme cutting social manner. He drank + more than he intended, and when he rose his legs were insecure. He made + his way toward Meta Beggs. She stood motionless, her thin lips like a + thread of blood on her tense face. + </p> + <p> + “What a wife you'd make!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + There was a discreet cough at his back, and swinging about he saw a maid + in a white starched cap and high cuffs. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir,” she said; “Mrs. Turnbull wants to know would you please + come up to her room.” + </p> + <p> + He swayed slightly, glowering at her with a hot face in which a vein + throbbed persistently at his temple. Miss Beggs had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he agreed heavily. + </p> + <p> + Mounting the stairs he fumbled for his cigar case, and entered the chamber + beyond his, clipping the end from a superlative perfecto. + </p> + <p> + Emmy was in bed, propped up on a bank of embroidered pillows. A light from + one side threw the shadow of her head on a wall in an animated caricature + of life. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't want to disturb you, August.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was weak and apologetic. He stood irritably beside her. + </p> + <p> + “It's hot in here.” His wife at once detected whatever assaulted his + complete comfort. She fell into a silence that strained his patience to + the utmost. + </p> + <p> + When at last she spoke it was in a tone of voice he had never heard from + her—impersonal, with at the same time a note of fear like the + flutter of a bird's wing. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor has been here two or three times lately. I didn't want to + bother you, and he said——” + </p> + <p> + She broke off, and her hand raised from her side in a gesture of seeking. + He held it uncomfortably, wishing that the occasion would speedily end. + </p> + <p> + “August, I've—I've got to leave you.” + </p> + <p> + He did not comprehend her meaning, and stood stupidly looking down at her + spent face. “I'm going to die, August, almost any time now. I wanted to + tell you first when we were quietly together; and then Louise and Bernard + must know.” + </p> + <p> + His sensations were so confused, the mere shock of such an announcement + had so confounded him that he was unable to penetrate the meaning of the + sudden expansion of his blood. His attention strayed from the actuality of + his wife to the immaterial shadow wavering on the wall. There Emmy's + profile, grotesquely enlarged and sharpened, grimaced at him. August + Turnbull's feelings disentangled and grew clearer, there was a + conventional memory of his wife as a young woman, the infinitely sharper + realization that soon he must be free, a vision of Meta Beggs as she had + been at dinner that night, and intense relief from nameless strain. + </p> + <p> + He moved through the atmosphere of suspense that followed the knowledge of + Emmy's condition with a feeling of being entirely apart from his family. + Out of the chaos of his emotions the sense of release was most insistent. + Naturally he couldn't share it with any one else, not at present. He + avoided thinking directly of Meta Beggs, partly from the shreds of the + superstitious dread that had once colored his attitude toward his wife and + partly from the necessity to control what otherwise would sweep him into a + resistless torrent. However, most of his impatience had vanished—a + little while now, and in a discreet manner he could grasp all that he had + believed so hopelessly removed. + </p> + <p> + Except for the occasions of Louise's informal presence he dined alone with + Miss Beggs. They were largely silent, attacking their plates with complete + satisfaction. On the day of her monthly payment he drew the check for a + thousand dollars in place of the stipulated hundred, and gave it to her + without comment. She nodded, managing to convey entire understanding and + acceptance of what it forecast. Once, at the table, he called her Meta. + </p> + <p> + She deliberated a reply—he had asked her opinion about British + bottled sauces—but when she answered she called him Mr. Turnbull. + This, too, pleased him. She had an unerring judgment in the small affairs + of deference. Dinner had been better than usual, and he realized he had + eaten too much. His throat felt constricted, he had difficulty in + swallowing a final gulp of coffee; the heavy odors of the dining room + almost sickened him. + </p> + <p> + “We'll get out on the beach,” he said abruptly; “a little air.” + </p> + <p> + They proceeded past the unremitting sprinklers on the strip of lawn to the + wide gray sweep of sand. At that hour no one else was visible, and a new + recklessness invaded his discomfort. “You see,” he told her, “that bad + luck of yours isn't going to hold.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems incredible,” she murmured. She added without an appearance of + the least ulterior thought: “Mrs. August Turnbull.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” he asserted. + </p> + <p> + A triumphant conviction of pleasure to come surged through him like a + subtle exhilarating cordial. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take no nonsensical airs from Louise or the Rathes,” he proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let that worry you,” she answered serenely. + </p> + <p> + He saw that it need not, and looked forward appreciatively to a scene in + which Meta would not come off second. + </p> + <p> + Above them the long curve of the boardwalk was empty, with, behind it, the + suave ornamental roofs of the cottages. A wind quartering from the shore + had smoothed the ocean into the semblance of a limitless and placid lake. + Minute waves ruffled along the beach with a continuous whispering, and the + vault of the west, from which the sun had just withdrawn, was filled with + light the color of sauterne wine. + </p> + <p> + It was inconceivable to August Turnbull that soon Emmy would be gone out + of his life. He shook his thick shoulders as if by a gesture to unburden + himself of her unpleasant responsibility. He smiled slightly at the memory + of how he had come to fear her. It had been the result of the strain he + was under; once more the vision of mountainous bread and Emmy returned. + The devil was in the woman! + </p> + <p> + “What are you smiling at?” Meta asked. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was because my luck, as well, has changed,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + She came close up to him, quivering with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I want everything!” she cried in a vibrant hunger; “everything! Do you + understand? Are you willing? I'm starved as much as that woman up in her + bed. Can you give me all the gayety, all the silks and emeralds there are + in the world?” + </p> + <p> + He patted her shoulder. “You'll look like a Christmas tree. When this + damned war is over we will go to Europe, to Berlin and Munich. They have + the finest streets and theaters and cafés in the world. There things are + run by men for men. The food is the best of all—no French + fripperies, but solid rare cuts. Drinking is an art——” + </p> + <p> + “What is that out in the water?” she idly demanded. + </p> + <p> + He gazed impatiently over the unscored tide and saw a dark infinitesimal + blot. + </p> + <p> + “I have been watching it for a long while,” she continued. “It's coming + closer, I think.” + </p> + <p> + He again took up his planning. + </p> + <p> + “We'll stay two or three years; till things get on their feet here. Turn + the bakery into a company. No work, nothing but parties.” + </p> + <p> + “Do look!” she repeated. “It's coming in—a little boat. I suppose it + is empty.” + </p> + <p> + The blot was now near enough for him to distinguish its outline. As Meta + said, no one was visible. It was drifting. Against his wish his gaze + fastened on the approaching boat. It hesitated, appeared to swing away, + and then resumed the progress inshore. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it will float into that cut in the beach below,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + His attention was divided between the craft and the image of all the + pleasures he would introduce to Meta—Turnbull. It was a lucky + circumstance that he had plenty of money, for he realized that she would + not marry a poor man. This was not only natural but commendable. Poor men + were fools, too weak for success; only the strong ate white bread and had + fine women, only the masterful conquered circumstance. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said, catching his hand; “it's almost here.” + </p> + <p> + She half pulled him over the glistening wet sand to where the deeper water + thrust into the beach. Her interest was now fully communicated to him. + </p> + <p> + “We must drag it safely up,” he articulated, out of breath from her + eagerness. The bow swept into the onward current, it moved more swiftly, + and then sluggishly settled against the bottom. Painted on its blistering + white side was a name, “<i>Veronica</i>,” and “Ten persons.” There was a + slight movement at the rail, and a sharp unreasoning horror gripped August + Turnbull. + </p> + <p> + “Something in it,” he muttered. He wanted to turn away, to run from the + beach; but a stronger curiosity dragged him forward. Not conscious of + stepping through shallow water he advanced. + </p> + <p> + A hunger-ravished dead face was turned to him from the bottom, a huddle of + bony joints, dried hands. There were others—all dead, starved. In a + red glimmer he saw the incredible travesty of a child, a lead-colored + woman, shriveled and ageless from agony. + </p> + <p> + He fell back with a choking cry, “Emmy!” + </p> + <p> + There was a dull uproar in his head, and then a violent shock at the back + of his brain. August Turnbull's body slid down into the tranquil ripples + that ran along the boat's side. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROSEMARY ROSELLE + </h2> + <p> + It would be better for my purpose if you could hear the little clear + arpeggios of an obsolete music box, the notes as sweet as barley sugar; + for then the mood of Rosemary Roselle might steal imperceptibly into your + heart. It is made of daguerreotypes blurring on their misted silver; + tenebrous lithographs—solemn façades of brick with classic white + lanterns lifted against the inky smoke of a burning city; the pages of a + lady's book, elegant engravings of hooped and gallooned females; and the + scent of crumbled flowers. + </p> + <p> + Such intangible sources must of necessity be fragile—a perfume + linked to a thin chime, elusive faces on the shadowy mirror of the past, + memories of things not seen but felt in poignant unfathomable emotions. + This is a magic different from that of to-day; here perhaps are only some + wistful ghosts brought back among contemptuous realities—a man in a + faded blue uniform with a face drawn by suffering long ended, a girl whose + charm, like the flowers, is dust. + </p> + <p> + It is all as remote as a smile remembered from youth. Such apparent + trifles often hold a steadfast loveliness more enduring than the greatest + tragedies and successes. They are irradiated by an imperishable romance: + this is my desire—to hold out an immaterial glamour, a vapor, + delicately colored by old days in which you may discover the romantic and + amiable shapes of secret dreams. + </p> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + It will serve us best to see Elim Meikeljohn first as he walked across + Winthrop Common. It was very early in April and should have been cool, but + it was warm—already there were some vermilion buds on the maples—and + Elim's worn shad-belly coat was uncomfortably heavy. The coat was too big + for him—his father had worn it for twenty years before he had given + it to Elim for college—and it hung in somber greenish folds about + his tall spare body. He carried an equally oppressive black stiff hat in a + bony hand and exposed a gaunt serious countenance. + </p> + <p> + Other young men passing, vaulting lightly over the wooden rail that + enclosed the common, wore flowing whiskers, crisply black or brown like a + tobacco leaf; their luxuriant waistcoats were draped with a profusion of + chains and seals; but Elim's face was austerely shaved, he wore neither + brocade nor gold, and he kept seriously to the path. + </p> + <p> + He was, even more than usual, absorbed in a semi-gloom of thought. It was + his birthday, he was twenty-six, and he had been married more than nine + years. Already, with his inherited dark temperament, he was middle-aged in + situation and feeling. He had been assistant to the professor of + philosophy and letters for three of those married years; yes—he had + been graduated when he was twenty-three. He arrived at an entrance to the + common that faced the row of houses where he had his room, and saw that + something unusual was in progress. + </p> + <p> + The front of his boarding house was literally covered with young men: they + hung over the small portico from steps to ridge, they bulged from every + window and sat astride of the dormer windows in the roof. Before them on + the street a camera had been set up and was covered, all save the snout, + by a black rubber cloth, backward from which projected the body and limbs + of the photographer. + </p> + <p> + The latter, Elim realized, was one of a traveling band that took pictures + of whatever, on their way, promised sufficient pecuniary return. Here the + operator had been in luck—he would sell at least thirty photographs + at perhaps fifty cents each. Harry Kaperton, a great swell, was in his + window with his setter, Spot; his legs, clad in bags with tremendous + checks and glossy boots, hung outward. On the veranda were Hinkle and Ben + Willing, the latter in a stovepipe hat; others wore stovepipes set at a + rakish angle on one ear. They were all irrepressibly gay, calling from + roof to ground, each begging the photographer to focus on his own + particular charm. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps fifty cents—Elim Meikeljohn would have liked a place in the + picture; he would like to possess one, to keep it as a memento of the + youthful life that flowed constantly about him, but the probable cost was + prohibitive. He even wished, as he paused before making his way up the + crowded veranda steps, that some one would ask him to stay and have his + picture taken with the rest. He delayed, hoping for the mere formality of + this friendliness. But it was not forthcoming. He had felt that it + wouldn't be; he had divined the careless silence with which the men moved + aside for him to mount. There was even a muttered allusion to his famous + Scotch thrift, contained in a sharper word. Elim didn't mind—actively. + He had been accustomed to the utmost monetary caution since the first dawn + of his consciousness. He had come to regard the careful weighing of + pennies as an integral part of his being. It had always been necessary for + the Meikeljohns, father and son, on their rocky pastures. He didn't mind, + but at the same time he bore a faint resentment at the injustice of the + marked and perceptible disdain of the majority of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + They didn't understand, he told himself, still ascending to his room in + the third floor back. Every cent that he could squeeze from his small + salary must go back to the support of the invalid, his wife. He had never, + of course, explained this to any one in Cambridge. They wouldn't be + particularly interested and, in addition, his daily companions seemed far + too young for such serious confidences. In reality Harry Kaperton was + three years older than Elim; and Kaperton had been pleasantly at college, + racing horses, for seven years; many others were Elim's age, but the + maturity of the latter's responsibility separated them. + </p> + <p> + In his room he took off his formal coat and nankeen waistcoat and hung + them on a pegged board. The room was bare, with two uncurtained windows + that afforded a glimpse of the shining river; it contained a small + air-tight stove, now cold and black, and a wood box, a narrow bed, a deal + table with a row of worn text-books and neatly folded papers, a stand for + water pitcher and basin, and two split-hickory Windsor chairs. Now it was + filled with an afternoon glow, like powdered gold, and the querulously + sweet piping of an early robin. + </p> + <p> + He dipped his face and hands in cooling water and, at the table, with + squared elbows, addressed himself to a set task. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn laid before him a small docket of foolscap folded + lengthwise, each section separately indorsed in pale flowery ink, with a + feminine name, a class number and date. They were the weekly themes of a + polite Young Ladies' Academy in Richmond, sent regularly north for the + impressive opinion of a member of Elim's college faculty. The professor of + philosophy and letters had undertaken the task primarily; but, with the + multiplication of his duties, he had turned the essays over to Elim, whose + careful judgments had been sufficiently imposing to secure for him a + slight additional income. + </p> + <p> + He sat for a moment regarding the papers with a frown; then, with a sudden + movement, he went over the names that headed each paper. Two he laid + aside. They bore above their dates in March, eighteen sixty-one, the name + Rosemary Roselle. + </p> + <p> + He picked one up tentatively. It was called A Letter. Elim opened it and + regarded its tenuous violet script. Then, with an expression of augmented + determination, he folded it again and placed it with its fellow at the + bottom of the heap. He firmly attacked the topmost theme. He read it + slowly, made a penciled note in a small precise hand on its margin, folded + it once more and marked it with a C minus. He went carefully through the + pile, jotting occasional comments, judging the results with A, B or C, + plus or minus. Finally only the two he had placed at the bottom remained. + </p> + <p> + Elim took one up again, gazing at it severely. He wondered what Rosemary + Roselle had written about—in her absurd English—this time. As + he looked at the theme's exterior, his attention shifted from the paper to + himself, his conscience towered darkly above him, demanding a condemnatory + examination of his feelings and impulses. + </p> + <p> + Had he not begun to look for, to desire, those essays from a doubtless + erroneous and light young woman? Had he not even, on a former like + occasion, awarded her effort with a B minus, when it was questionable if + she should have had a C plus? Had his conduct not been dishonest, + frivolous and wholly reprehensible? To all these inexorable accusations he + was forced to confess himself guilty. He had undoubtedly, only a few + minutes before, looked almost impatiently for something from Rosemary + Roselle. Beyond cavil she should have had an unadorned C last month. And + these easily proved him a broken reed. + </p> + <p> + He must at once take himself in hand, flames were reaching hungrily for + him from the pit of eternal torment. In a little more he would be damned + beyond any redemption. He was married ... shame! His thoughts turned to + Hester, his wife for nine and more years. + </p> + <p> + Her father's farm lay next to the Meikeljohns'; the two places formed + practically one convenient whole; and when Elim had been no more than a + child, Meikeljohn Senior and Hester's parents had solemnly agreed upon a + mutually satisfactory marriage. Hester had always been a thin pale slip of + a girl, locally famous for her memory and grasp of the Scriptures; but it + was only at her fourteenth year that her health began perceptibly to fail, + at the same time that a succession of material mischances overwhelmed her + family. Finally, borne down to actual privation, her father decided to + remove to another section and opportunity. He sold his place for a + fraction more than the elder Meikeljohn could pay ... but there was + Hester, now an invalid; and there was the agreement that Meikeljohn had + made when it had seemed to his advantage. The latter was a rigidly upright + man—he accepted for his son the responsibility he himself had + assumed, and Hester was left behind. Space in the Meikeljohn household was + valuable, the invalid presented many practical difficulties, and, with the + solemn concurrence of the elders of their church, Elim—something + short of seventeen but a grave mature-seeming boy—and Hester were + married. + </p> + <p> + The winter of his marriage Elim departed for college—his father was + a just man, who had felt obscurely that some reparation was due Elim; + education was the greatest privilege of which Meikeljohn could conceive, + so, at sacrifices that all grimly accepted, Elim was sent to Cambridge. + There, when he had been graduated, he remained—there were already + more at the Meikeljohn home than their labor warranted—assistant to + the professor of philosophy and letters. + </p> + <p> + Elim again opened the paper before him and spread it severely on the + table. The supposititious letter, “Two, Linden Row,” opened in proper form + and spelling, addressed to “Dearest Elizabeth.” Its progress, however, + soon wabbled, its periods degenerated into a confusion. It endeavored to + be casual, easy, but he judged it merely trivial. At one paragraph, + despite his resolution of critical impersonality, his interest deepened: + </p> + <p> + “On Thursday we have to have ready a Theme to send off to Harvard. Of + course, every Thursday morning We, with one accord, begin to make excuses. + Well, the Dread Day rolls around to-morrow, and consequently I am deep in + the Slough of Despond. My only consolation is that our Geniuses can't + write regularly, but then the mood to write never possesses me.... This + week, in writing a comparison between Hamlet and Antonio, I did succeed in + jotting down something, but unfortunately I found that I had said the same + many times before, only about different heroes. My tale of Woe——” + </p> + <p> + Elim once more took himself firmly in hand; he folded the paper and + sharply indorsed it with a C minus. Afterward he felt decidedly + uncomfortable. He wondered if Rosemary Roselle would be made unhappy by + the low marking? Probably she wouldn't care; probably all that occupied + her mind were dress and company. Possibly she danced—light, godless. + </p> + <p> + The haze within deepened; he could see through the window the tops of the + maples—they held a green sheen as if in promise of the leaves to + follow. The robin whistled faint and clear. + </p> + <p> + Possibly she danced. Carried away on the gracious flood of the afternoon, + he wondered what Rosemary Roselle looked like. He was certain that she was + pretty—her writing had the unconscious assurance of a personable + being. Well, he would never know.... Rosemary Roselle—the name had a + trick of hanging in the memory; it was astonishingly easy to repeat. He + tried it aloud, speaking with a sudden emphasis that startled him. The + name came back to him from the bare walls of his room like an appeal. + Something within him stirred sharp as a knife. He rose with a deep breath, + confused, as if some one else, unseen, had unexpectedly spoken. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + His conscience, stirring again, projected the image of Hester, with her + pinched glistening countenance, on his conjecturing. He resolutely + addressed himself to the judgment of Rosemary Roselle's second paper, his + lighter thoughts drowned in the ascending dark tide of his temperament It + was called Our Waitress, and an instant antagonism for the entire South + and its people swept over him. + </p> + <p> + He saw that the essay's subject was a negro, a slave; and all his + impassioned detestation of the latter term possessed him. The essence of + the Meikeljohns was a necessity for freedom, an almost bitter pride in the + independence of their bodies. Their souls they held to be under the + domination of a relentless Omnipotence, evolved, it might have been, from + the obdurate and resplendent granite masses of the highland where they had + first survived. These qualities gave to Elim Meikeljohn's political enmity + for the South a fervor closely resembling fanaticism. Even now when, + following South Carolina, six other states had seceded, he did not believe + that war would ensue; he believed that slavery would be abolished at a + lesser price; but he was a supporter of drastic means for its suppression. + His Christianity, if it held a book in one hand, grasped a sword in the + other, a sword with a bright and unsparing blade for the wrong-doer. + </p> + <p> + He consciously centered this antagonism on Rosemary Roselle; he visualized + her as a thoughtless and capricious female, idling in vain luxury, cutting + with a hard voice at helpless and enslaved human beings. He condemned his + former looseness of being, his playing with insidious and destructive + forces. A phrase, “Babylonish women,” crept into his mind from some old + yellow page. He read: + </p> + <p> + “Indy is a large light mulatto, very neat and very slow. She has not much + Sense, but a great deal of Sensibility. Helping her proves Fatal. The more + that is done for her the less well does she work.... Indy is very + unfortunate: going out with a present of money she lost every penny. Of + course she was incapable of work until the sum was replaced.” + </p> + <p> + Elim paused with an impatient snort at this exhibition of shiftlessness. + If the negroes were not soon freed they would be ruined beyond redemption. + He read the remainder of the paper rigid and unapproving. It gave, he + considered, such an excellent picture of Southern iniquities that he + marked it B plus, the highest rating his responsibility had allowed + Rosemary Roselle. Now he was certain that her very name held a dangerous + potentiality—it came too easily to the tongue; it had a wanton sound + like a silk skirt. + </p> + <p> + The warm glow faded from the room; without, the tenuous and bare upper + branches of the maples wavered in the oncoming dusk. The river had + disappeared. Elim was acutely conscious of the approaching hour of supper; + and in preparation to go out to it he donned again the nankeen waistcoat + and solemn garment that had served his father so long and so well. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + The following day was almost hot; at its decline coming across Winthrop + Common Elim was oppressed and weary. Nothing unusual was happening at the + boarding house; a small customary group was seated on the veranda steps, + and he joined it. The conversation hung exclusively to the growing tension + between North and South, to the forming of a Confederate States of America + in February, the scattered condition of the Union forces, the probable + fate of the forts in Charleston harbor. + </p> + <p> + The men spoke, according to their dispositions, with the fiery emphasis or + gravity common to great crises. The air was charged with a sense of + imminence, the vague discomfort of pending catastrophe. Elim listened + without comment, his eyes narrowed, his long countenance severe. Most of + the men had gone into Boston, to the Parker House, where hourly bulletins + were being posted. Those on the steps rose to follow, all except Elim + Meikeljohn—in Boston he knew money would be spent. + </p> + <p> + He went within, stopping to glance through a number of lately arrived + letters on a table and found one for himself, addressed in his father's + painstaking script. Alone, once more without his coat, he opened the + letter. Its beginning was commonplace—“My dear son, Elim”—but + what followed confused him by the totally unexpected shock it contained: + Hester, his wife, was dead. + </p> + <p> + At first he was unable to comprehend the details of what had happened to + him; the fact itself was of such disturbing significance. He had never + considered the possibility of Hester's dying; he had come to think of her + as a lifelong responsibility. She had seemed, in her invalid's chair, + withdrawn from the pressure of life as it bore upon others, more enduring + than his father's haggard concern over the increasing difficulties of + material existence and spiritual salvation, than his mother's flushed + toiling. + </p> + <p> + Elim had lived with no horizon wider than the impoverished daily + necessity; he had accepted this with mingled fatality and fortitude; any + rebellion had been immediately suppressed as a wicked reflection upon + Deity. His life had been ordered in this course; he had accepted it the + more readily from his inherited distrust of worldly values and + aspirations; it had, in short, been he, and now the foundations of his + entire existence had been overthrown. + </p> + <p> + He read the letter more carefully, realizing the probable necessity of his + immediate return home for the funeral. But that was dispelled—his + father wrote that it had been necessary to bury Hester at once. The elder + Meikeljohn proceeded relentlessly to an exact exposition of why this had + been done. “A black swelling” was included in the details. He finished: + </p> + <p> + “And if it would be inconvenient for you to leave your work at this time + it is not necessary for you to come here. In some ways it would be better + for you to stay. There is little enough for you to do and it would stop + your money at college.... The Lord is a swift and terrible Being Who + worketh His will in the night.” + </p> + <p> + Hester was dead. Elim involuntarily walked to a window, gazing with + unseeing eyes at the familiar pleasant prospect. A realization flashed + unbidden through his mind, a realization like a stab of lightning—he + was free. He overbore it immediately, but it left within him a strange + tingling sensation. He directed his mind upon Hester and the profitable + contemplation of death; but rebellion sprang up within him, thoughts + beyond control whirled in his brain. + </p> + <p> + Free! A hundred impulses, desires, of which—suppressed by his rigid + adherence to a code of duty—he had not been conscious, leaped into + vitality. His vision of life swung from its focus upon outward and + invisible things to a new surprising regard of his own tangible self. He + grew aware of himself as an entity, of the world as a broad and various + field of exploit and discovery. + </p> + <p> + There was, his father had bluntly indicated, no place for him at home; and + suddenly he realized that his duties at college had been a tedious grind + for inconsiderable return. This admission brought to him the realization + that he detested the whole thing—the hours in class; the droning + negligent recitations of the men; the professor of philosophy and letters' + pedantic display; the cramped academic spirit of the institution. The + vague resentment he had felt at the half-concealed disdain of his fellows + gave place to a fiery contempt for their majority; the covert humility he + had been forced to assume—by the thought of Hester and the few + miserable dollars of an inferior position—turned to a bitter freedom + of opinion. + </p> + <p> + The hour for supper approached and passed, but Elim did not leave his + room. He walked from wall to wall, by turns arrogant and lost in his new + situation. Of one thing he was certain—he would give up his + occupation here. It might do for some sniveling sycophant of learning and + money, but he was going forth to—what? + </p> + <p> + He heard footfalls in the bare hall below, and a sudden easy desire for + companionship seized him; he drew on the sturdy Meikeljohn coat and + descended the stairs to the lower floor. Harry Kaperton's door was open + and Elim saw the other moving within. He advanced, leaning in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Back early,” Elim remarked. “What's new at Parker's?” + </p> + <p> + Kaperton was unsuccessful in hiding his surprise at the other's unexpected + appearance and direct question. “Why—why, nothing when I left;” then + more cordially: “Come in, find a chair. Bottle on the table—oh, I + didn't think.” He offered an implied apology to Elim's scruples. + </p> + <p> + But Elim advanced to the table, where, selecting a decanter at random, he + poured out a considerable drink of pale spirits. Harry Kaperton looked at + him in foolish surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Had no idea you indulged!” he ejaculated. “Always took you to be a severe + Puritan duck.” + </p> + <p> + “Scotch,” Elim corrected him, “Presbyterian.” + </p> + <p> + He tilted the glass and the spirits sank smoothly from sight. His throat + burned as if he had swallowed a mouthful of flame, but there was a quality + in the strong rum that accorded with his present mood: it was fiery like + his released sense of life. Kaperton poured himself a drink, elevated it + with a friendly word and joined Elim. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going home,” the former proceeded. “You see, I live in Maryland, and + the situation there is getting pretty warm. We want to get our women out + of Baltimore, and our affairs conveniently shaped, before any possible + trouble. I had a message this evening to come at once.” + </p> + <p> + The two men presented the greatest possible contrast—Harry Kaperton + had elegantly flowing whiskers, a round young face that expressed facile + excitement at a possible disturbance, and sporting garb of tremendous + emphasis. Elim's face, expressing little of the tumult within, harsh and + dark and dogged, was entirely appropriate to his somber greenish-black + dress. Kaperton gestured toward the bottle, and they took a second drink, + then a third. + </p> + <p> + Kaperton's face flushed, he grew increasingly voluble, but Elim Meikeljohn + was silent; the liquor made no apparent impression upon him. He sat across + the table from the other with his legs extended straight before him. They + emptied the decanter of spirits and turned to sherry, anything that was + left. Kaperton apologized profoundly for the depleted state of his cellar—knowing + that he was leaving, he had invited a party of men to his room the night + before. He was tremendously sorry that Elim had been overlooked—the + truth being that no one had known what a good companion Elim was. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Elim Meikeljohn, drinking sherry, that the night before he + had not existed at all. He did not analyze his new being, his surprising + potations; he was proceeding without a cautious ordering of his steps. It + was neither a celebration nor a protest, but instinctive, like the + indiscriminate gulping of a man who has been swimming under the water. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” Kaperton gasped, “you've got a head like a cannon ball.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and wandered unsteadily about, but Elim sat motionless, silent, + drinking. He was conscious now of a drumming in his ears like distant + martial music, a confused echo like the beat of countless feet. He tilted + his glass and was surprised to find it empty. + </p> + <p> + “It's all gone,” Kaperton said dully. + </p> + <p> + He was as limp as an empty doll, Elim thought contemptuously. He, Elim, + felt like hickory, like iron; his mind was clear, vindicative. He rose, + sweeping back the hair from his high austere brow. Kaperton had slid + forward in his chair with hanging open hands and mouth. + </p> + <p> + The drumming in Elim's ears grew louder, a hum of voices was added to it, + and it grew nearer, actual. A crowd of men was entering the boarding + house, carrying about them a pressure of excited exclamations and a more + subtle disturbance. Elim Meikeljohn left Kaperton and went out into the + hall. An ascending man met him. + </p> + <p> + “War!” he cried. “The damned rebels have assaulted and taken Sumter! + Lincoln has called for fifty thousand volunteers!” He hurried past and + left Elim grasping the handrail of the stair. + </p> + <p> + War! The word carried an overwhelming significance to his mind dominated + by the intangible drumming, to his newly released freedom. War upon + oppression, upon the criminal slaveholders of the South! He descended the + stairs, pausing above the small agitated throng in the hall. + </p> + <p> + A passionate elation swept over him. He held his long arms upward and out. + </p> + <p> + “How many of the fifty thousand are here?” he asked. His ringing voice was + answered in an assent that rolled in a solid volume of sound up the + stairs. Elim Meikeljohn's soul leaped in the supreme kinship that linked + him, man to man, with all. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + It was again April, extremely early in the morning and month, and thickly + cold, when Brevet-Major Elim Meikeljohn, burning with the fever of a + re-opened old saber wound, strayed away from his command in the direction + of Richmond. His thoughts revolved with the rapidity of a pinwheel, + throwing off crackling ideas, illuminated with blinding spurts and + exploding colors, in every direction. A vague persistent pressure sent him + toward the city. It was being evacuated; the Union forces, he knew, were + to enter at dawn; but he had stumbled ahead, careless of consequences, + oblivious of possible reprisal. + </p> + <p> + He was, he recognized by the greater blackness ahead, near the outskirts + of the city—for Richmond was burning. The towering black mass of + smoke was growing more perceptible in the slowly lightening dawn. Elim + Meikeljohn could now hear the low sullen uprush of flames, the faint + crackling of timbers, and a hot aromatic odor met him in faint waves. + </p> + <p> + His scabbard beat awkwardly about his heels, and he impatiently unhooked + it and threw it into the gloom of the roadside. The service revolver was + still in its holster; but he had forgotten its presence and use. In the + multicolored confusion of his mind but one conscious impression remained; + and, in its reiteration, he said aloud, over and over, in dull tones, + “Two, Linden Row.” + </p> + <p> + The words held no concrete meaning, they constructed no vision, embodied + no tangible desire; they were merely the mechanical expression of an + obscure and dominating impulse. He was hardly more sensate in his progress + than a nail drawn irresistibly by a magnet. + </p> + <p> + The gray mist dissolved, and his long haggard face grew visible; it had + not aged in the past four years of struggle—almost from boyhood it + had been marked with somber longitudinal lines—but it had grown + keener, more intense, with the expression of a man whose body had starved + through a great spiritual conflict. His uniform, creased and stained, and + now silvery with dew, flapped about a gaunt ironlike frame; and from under + the leather peak of his kepi, even in his fever, his eyes burned steady + and compelling. + </p> + <p> + Scattered houses, seemingly as unsubstantial as shadows, gathered about + him; they grew more frequent, joined shoulder to shoulder, and he was in a + city street. On the left he caught a glimpse of the river, solid and + smooth and unshining; a knot of men passed shouting hoarsely, and a wave + of heat swept over him like a choking cloth. Like the morning, his mind + partially cleared, people and scenes grew coherent. The former were a + disheveled and rioting rabble; the conflagration spread in lurid waves. + </p> + <p> + The great stores of the tobacco warehouses had been set on fire, and the + spanning flames threatened the entire city. The rich odor of the burning + tobacco leaves rolled over the streets in drifting showers of ruby sparks. + The groups on the streets resolved into individuals. Elim saw a hulking + woman, with her waist torn from grimy shoulders, cursing the retreating + Confederate troops with uplifted quivering fists; he saw soldiers in gray + joined to shifty town characters furtively bearing away swollen sacks; + carriages with plunging frenzied horses, a man with white-faced and + despairingly calm women. He stopped hurrying in the opposite direction and + demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Two, Linden Row?” + </p> + <p> + The other waved a vague arm toward the right and broke away. + </p> + <p> + The street mounted sharply and Elim passed an open space teeming with + hurrying forms, shrill with cries lost in the drumming roar of the flames. + Every third man was drunk. He passed fights, bestial grimaces, heard the + fretful crack of revolvers. The great storehouses were now below him, and + he could see the shuddering inky masses of smoke blotting out quarter + after quarter. He was on a more important thoroughfare now, and inquired + again: + </p> + <p> + “Two, Linden Row?” + </p> + <p> + This man ejaculated: + </p> + <p> + “The Yankees are here!” The fact seemed to stupefy him, and he stood with + hanging hands and mouth. + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn repeated his query and was answered by a negro who had + joined them. + </p> + <p> + “On ahead, capt'n,” he volunteered; “fourth turn past the capitol and + first crossing.” + </p> + <p> + The other regained his speech and began to curse the negro and Elim, but + the latter moved swiftly on. + </p> + <p> + Above him, through the shifting tenebrous banks, he saw a classic white + building on a patch of incredible greenery, infinitely remote; and then + from the center of the city came a deafening explosion, a great sullen + sheet of flame, followed by flashes like lightning in the settling + blackness. + </p> + <p> + “The powder magazines,” Elim heard repeated from person to person. An + irregular file of Confederate soldiers galloped past him, and the echo of + their hoofs had hardly died before a troop of mounted Union cavalry, with + slanting carbines, rode at their heels. They belonged, Elim recognized, to + Kautz' command. + </p> + <p> + He had now reached the fourth turn beyond the withdrawn vision of the + capitol, and he advanced through a black snowing of soot. Flames, fanlike + and pallid, now flickered about his feet, streamed in the gutters and + lapped the curbs. He saw heaps of broken bottles against the bricks, and + the smell of fine spilled wines and liquors hung in his nostrils. His + reason again wavered—the tremendous spectacle of burning assumed an + apocalyptic appearance, as if the city had burst spontaneously into flame + from the passionate and evil spirits engendered and liberated by war. + </p> + <p> + He stopped at the first crossing and saw before him a row of tall brick + houses, built solidly and set behind small yards and a low iron fencing. + They had shallow porticoes with iron grilling, and at this end a towering + magnolia tree swept its new glossy greenery against the third-story + windows. + </p> + <p> + “Linden Row,” he muttered. “Well—Number Two?” + </p> + <p> + He swung back a creaking gate and went up a flight of bricked steps to the + door. He had guessed right; above a brass knocker filmed with the floating + muck of the air he saw the numeral, Two, painted beneath the fanlight. The + windows on the left were blank, curtained. The house rose silent and + without a mark of life above the obscene clamor of the city. He knocked + sharply and waited; then he knocked again. Nothing broke the stillness of + the façade, the interior. He tried the door, but it was solidly barred. + Then a second fact, a memory, joined the bare location in his brain. It + was a name—Rose—Rosemary Roselle. He beat with an emaciated + fist on the paneling and called, “Roselle! Roselle!” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint answering stir within; he heard the rattle of a chain; + the door swung back upon an apparently empty and cavernous cool hall. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + A colored woman, in a crisp white turban, with a strained face more gray + than brown, suddenly advanced holding before her in both hands a heavy + revolver of an outworn pattern. Elim Meikeljohn could see by her drawn + features that she was about to pull the trigger, and he said fretfully: + </p> + <p> + “Don't! The thing will explode. One of us will get hurt.” She closed her + eyes, Elim threw up his arm, and an amazingly loud report crashed through + the entry. He stood swaying weakly, with hanging palms, while the woman + dropped the revolver with a gasp. Elim Meikeljohn began to cry with short + dry sobs.... It was incredible that any one should discharge a big + revolver directly at his head. He sank limply against a chest at the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Indy!” a shaken voice exclaimed. “Do you think he's dying?” The + colored woman went reluctantly forward and peered at Elim. She touched him + on a shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, Miss Rosemary,” she replied, relieved and angry, “that shot didn't + touch a hair. He's just crying like a big old nothing.” She grasped him + more firmly, gave him a shake. “Dressed like a soldier,” she proceeded + scornfully, “and scaring us out of our wits. What did you want to come + here for anyhow calling out names?” + </p> + <p> + Elim's head rolled forward and back. The hall seemed full of flaming + arrows, and he collapsed slowly on the polished floor. He was moved; he + was half-conscious of his heels dragging upstairs, of frequent pauses, + voices expostulating and directing thinly. Finally he sank into a + sublimated peace in, apparently, a floating white cloud. + </p> + <p> + He awoke refreshed, mentally clear, but absurdly weak—he was lying + in the middle of a four-posted bed, a bed with posts so massive and tall + that they resembled smooth towering trees. Beyond them he could see a + marble mantel; a grate filled with softly smoldering coals, and a gleaming + brass hod; a highboy with a dark lustrous surface; oval gold frames; and + muslin curtains in an open window, stirring in an air that moved the + fluted valance at the top of the bed. It was late afternoon, the light was + fading, the interior wavering in a clear shadow filled with the faint fat + odor of the soft coal. + </p> + <p> + The immaculate bed linen bore an elusive cool scent, into which he + relapsed with profound delight. The personality of the room, somber and + still, flowed about him with a magical release from the inferno of the + past years, the last hours. He heard a movement at a door, and the colored + woman in the white turban moved to the side of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “I told her,” she said in an aggrieved voice, “there wasn't nothing at all + wrong with you. I reckon now you're all ready to fight again or eat. Why + did you stir things all up in Richmond and kill good folks?” + </p> + <p> + “To set you free!” Elim Meikeljohn replied. + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Capt'n,” she asked finally, “are you free?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly——” he began, and then stopped abruptly, lost + in the memory of the dour past. He recalled his father, with a passion for + learning, imprisoned in the narrow poverty of his circumstances and + surroundings; he remembered Hester, with her wishful gaze in the confines + of her invalid chair; his own laborious lonely days. Freedom, a high and + difficult term, he saw concerned regions of the spirit not liberated—solved—by + a simple declaration on the body. The war had been but the initial, most + facile step. The woman had silenced his sounding assertion, humiliated + him, by a word. He gazed at her with a new, less confident interest. The + mental effort brought a momentary recurrence of fever; he flushed and + muttered: “Freedom ... spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not as wholesome as you appeared,” the woman judged. “You can't + have nothing beside a glass of milk.” She crossed the room and, stirring + the fire, put on fresh coal that ignited with an oily crackle. Again at + the door she paused. “Don't you try to move about,” she directed; “you + stay right in this room. Mr. Roselle, he's downstairs, and Mr. McCall, and—” + her voice took on a faint insistent note of warning. He paid little heed + to her; he was lost in a wave of weariness. + </p> + <p> + The following morning, stronger, he rose and tentatively trying the door + found it locked. The colored woman appeared soon after with a tray which, + when he had performed a meager toilet, he attacked with a pleasant zest. + </p> + <p> + “The city's just burning right up,” she informed him, standing in the + middle of the floor; “the boats on the river caught fire and their camions + banged into Canal Street.” She had a pale even color, a straight delicate + nose and sensitive lips. + </p> + <p> + “Are the Union troops in charge?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. They got some of the fire out, I heard tell. But that's not the + worst now—a body can't set her foot in the street, it's so full of + drunken roaring trash, black and white. It's good Mr. Roselle and Mr. + McCall and Mr. John are here,” she declared again; “they could just finish + off anybody that offered to turn a bad hand.” + </p> + <p> + This, Elim felt, was incongruous with his reception yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Still he made no inquiry. The breakfast finished, he relapsed once more on + his pillows and heard the key stealthily turn in the door from the + outside. + </p> + <p> + He told himself, without conviction, that he must rise and join his + command. The war, he knew, was over; the courage that had sustained him + during the struggle died. The simple question of the colored woman had + largely slain it. His own personality, the vision of his forthcoming life + and necessity, rose to the surface of his consciousness. Elim realized + what had drawn, him to his present situation—it had, of course, been + the memory of Rosemary Roselle. The days when he—an assistant to a + professor of philosophy and letters—had read and marked her essays + seemed to lie in another existence, infinitely remote. How would he excuse + his presence, the calling of her name before the house? This was an + inopportune—a fatal—moment for a man in the blue of the North + to make his bow to a Richmond girl, in the midst of her wasted and burning + place of home. He decided reluctantly that it would be best to say nothing + of his connection with her academic labors, but to depart as soon as + possible and without explanation of his first summons.... Rosemary Roselle—the + name had clung persistently to his memory. It was probable that he would + see her—once. That alone was extraordinary. He marveled at the grim + humor of circumstance that had granted him such a wildly improbable wish, + and at the same time made it humanly impossible for him to benefit from + it. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + The leisurely progress of his thoughts was interrupted by hasty feet + without; the bolt was shot back and his door flung open. It was the + colored woman—the Indy of the essay—quivering with anger and + fear. + </p> + <p> + “Capt'n,” she exclaimed, gasping with her rapid accent, “you come right + down to the dining room, and bring that big pistol of yours. There's two, + two——” Words failed her. “Anyhow you shoot them! It's some of + that liberty you brought along, I reckon. You come down to Miss Rosemary!” + </p> + <p> + She stood tense and ashen, and Elim rose on one elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Some of our liberty?” he queried. “Did Miss Roselle send for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, she didn't. Miss Rosemary she wouldn't send for you, not if you + were the last man alive. I'm telling you to come down to the dining + room.... We've tended you and—” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he demanded impatiently, “what do you want; whom shall I shoot?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll see, quick enough. And I can't stand here talking either; I've got + to go back. You get yourself right along down!” + </p> + <p> + With painful slowness Elim made his preparations to descend; his fingers + could hardly buckle the stiff strap of his revolver sling, but finally he + made his way downstairs through a deep narrow hall. He turned from a blank + wall to a darkened reception room, with polished mahogany, somber books + and engravings on the walls, and a rosy blur of fire in the hearth. A more + formal chamber lay at his right, empty, but through an opposite door he + caught the faint clatter of a spoon. + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle was seated, rigid and white, at the end of a table that + bore a scattered array of dishes. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and + her hands, on the table, were clenched. On her left a man in an unmarked + blue uniform sat, sagging heavily forward in his chair, breathing + stertorously, with a dark flush over a pouched and flaccid countenance. + Opposite him, sitting formally upright, was a negro in a carefully brushed + gray suit, with a crimson satin necktie surcharged by vivid green + lightning. His bony face, the deep pits of his temples, were the dry + spongy black of charcoal, and behind steel-rimmed glasses his eyes rolled + like yellow agates. He glanced about, furtive and startled, when Elim + Meikeljohn entered, but he was immediately reassured by Elim's disordered + uniform. He made a solemn obeisance. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” he said, “will you make one of a little informal repast? We + are, you see, at the lady's table.” + </p> + <p> + Overcome by a sharp weakness, Elim slipped into the chair at his side and + faced Rosemary Roselle. The latter gave no sign of his presence. She sat + frozen into a species of statuesque rage. “Like you,” the negro continued + pompously, “we invited ourselves. All things are free and easy for all. + The glorious principle of equality instituted lately has swept away—swept + away the inviderous distinctions of class and color. The millenium has + come!” He made a grandiloquent gesture with a sooty hand. + </p> + <p> + “'Ray!” the sodden individual opposite unexpectedly cried. + </p> + <p> + “We came in,” the other continued, “to uphold our rights as the exponents + of—of——” + </p> + <p> + “You sneaked in the kitchen,” the woman in the doorway interrupted; “and I + found you rummaging in the press.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” the orator commanded. “Are you unaware of the dignity now + resting on your kinks—hair, hair.” He rose, facing Elim Meikeljohn. + “Colonel, gentleman, in a conglomeration where we are all glorious + cohevals of—of—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” said the apostrophized colonel, sudden and fretful. “Get out!” + </p> + <p> + The orator paused, disconcerted, in the midflow of his figures; and + unaccustomed arrogance struggled with habitual servility. “Gentleman,” he + repeated, “in a corposity of souls high above all narrow malignations—” + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn took his revolver from its holster and laid it before him + on the table. The weapon produced an electrical effect on the figure + nodding in a drunken stupor. He rose abruptly and uncertain. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going,” he asserted; “come on, Spout. You can be free and equal + better somewheres else.” + </p> + <p> + The negro hesitated; his hand, Elim saw, moved slightly toward a knife + lying by his plate. Elim's fingers closed about the handle of his + revolver; he gazed with a steady cold glitter, a thin mouth, at the black + masklike countenance above the hectic tie and neat gray suit. + </p> + <p> + The latter backed slowly, instinctively, toward the rear door. His + companion had already faded from view. The negro proclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I go momentiously. There are others of us banded to obtain equality + irrespectable of color; we shall be back and things will go different.... + They have gone different in other prideful domestications.” + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn raised the muzzle lying on the cloth, and the negro + disappeared. Rosemary Roselle did not move; her level gaze saw, + apparently, nothing of her surroundings; her hands were still clenched on + the board. She was young, certainly not twenty, but her oval countenance + was capable of a mature severity not to be ignored. He saw that she had + wide brown eyes the color of a fall willow leaf, a high-bridged nose and a + mouth—at present—a marvel of contempt. Her slight figure was + in a black dress; she was without rings or ornamental gold. + </p> + <p> + “That talking trash gave me a cold misery,” the colored woman admitted. + She glanced at the girl and moved a bowl of salad nearer Elim Meikeljohn. + “Miss Rosemary,” she begged, “take something, my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle answered with a slow shudder; she slipped forward, with + her face buried in her arms on the table. Elim regarded her with profound + mingled emotions. In the fantastic past, when he had created her from the + studied essays, he had thought of her—censoriously—as gay. + Perhaps she danced! He wondered momentarily where the men were Indy had + spoken of as present; then he realized that they had been but a + precautionary figment of Indy's imagination; the girl, except for the + woman with the tender brown hand caressing her shoulder, was alone in the + house. + </p> + <p> + He sat with chin on breast gazing with serious speculation at the crumpled + figure opposite him. Indy, corroborating his surmise, said to the girl: + </p> + <p> + “I can't make out at all why your papa don't come back. He said yesterday + when he left he wouldn't be hardly an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Something dreadful has happened,” Rosemary Roselle insisted, raising a + hopeless face. “Indy, do you suppose he's dead like McCall and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Roselle he ain't dead,” the woman responded stoutly; “he's just had + to keep low trash from stealing all his tobacco.” + </p> + <p> + “He could easily be found,” Elim put in; “I could have an orderly + detailed, word brought you in no time.” The girl paid not the slightest + heed to his proposal. From the street came a hoarse drunken shouting, a + small inflamed rabble streamed by. It wouldn't be safe to leave Rosemary + Roselle alone here with Indy. He recalled the threat of the black + pomposity he had driven from the house—it was possible that there + were others, banded, and that they would return. It was clear to him that + he must stay until its head reappeared, order had been reestablished—or, + if he went out, take the girl with him. + </p> + <p> + “You let the capt'n do what he says,” the woman urged. Rosemary Roselle's + eyes turned toward Elim; it was, seemingly, the first time she had become + aware of his presence. She said in a voice delicately colored by hate: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I couldn't think of taking the—the orderly from his + conquests.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll find your father myself,” Elim replied. “You will come with me, + of course; show me where to go. It would be a good thing to start at once. + I—we—might be of some assistance to him with his tobacco.” + </p> + <p> + Indy declared with an expression of instant determination: + </p> + <p> + “We'll go right along with you.” She silenced Rosemary's instinctive + protest. “I'll get your hat and shawl,” she told the girl. + </p> + <p> + And, before the latter could object, the colored woman hurried from the + room. + </p> + <p> + Silence enveloped the two at the table. Elim replaced his revolver in its + belt. He had never before studied a girl like Rosemary Roselle; fine white + frills fell about her elbows from under the black short sleeves. Her skin + was incredibly smooth and white. It was evident that her hands had never + done manual labor; their pointed little beauty fascinated him. He thought + of the toil-hardened hands of the women of his home. This girl represented + all that he had been taught to abjure, all that—by inheritance—he + had in the abstract condemned. She represented the vanities; she was + vanity itself; and now he was recklessly, contumaciously, glad of it. Her + sheer loveliness of being intoxicated him; suddenly it seemed as + absolutely necessary to life as the virtues of moral rectitude and homely + labor. Personally, he discovered, he preferred such beauty to the latter + adamantine qualities. He had a fleet moment of amazed self-consciousness: + Elim Meikeljohn—his father an elder in the house of God—astray + in the paths of condemned worldly frivolities! Then he recalled a little + bush of vivid red roses his mother carefully protected and cultivated; he + saw their bright fragrant patch on the rocky gray expanse of the + utilitarian acres; and suddenly a light of new understanding enveloped his + mother's gaunt drearily-clad figure. He employed in this connection the + surprising word “starved.” ... Rosemary Roselle was a flower. + </p> + <p> + Indy returned with a small hat of honey-colored straw and a soft + white-silk mantilla. The former she drew upon the girl's head and wrapped + the shawl about the slim shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she pronounced decisively, “we're going to find your papa.” She led + Rosemary Roselle toward the outer door. Elim found his cap in the hall and + followed them down the bricked steps to the street. It was at present + deserted, quiet; and they turned to the left, making their way toward the + river and warehouses. + </p> + <p> + The fires had largely subsided; below them rose blackened bare walls of + brick, sullen twisting flags of smoke; an air of sooty desolation had + settled over the city. Houses were tightly shuttered; some with broken + doors had a trail of hastily discarded loot on the porticoes; still others + were smoldering shells. + </p> + <p> + A bugle call rose clear and triumphant from the capital; at one place they + passed Union soldiers, extinguishing flames. + </p> + <p> + They descended the flagged street over which Elim had come, turned into + another called—he saw—Cary, and finally halted before a long + somber façade. Here, too, the fire had raged; the charred timbers of the + fallen roof projected desolately into air. + </p> + <p> + A small group at a main entrance faced them as they approached; a coatless + man with haggard features, his clothes saturated with water, advanced + quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Rosemary!” he ejaculated in palpable dismay. He drew Elim Meikeljohn + aside. “Take her away,” he directed; “her father ... killed, trying to + save his papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” Elim demanded. “Their house is empty. She can't stay in Richmond + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd forgotten that!” the other admitted. “McCall and John both gone, + mother dead, and now—by heaven!” he exclaimed, low and distressed, + “she has just no one. I'm without a place. Her friends have left. There's + a distant connection at Bramant's Wharf, but that's almost at the mouth of + the James.” + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle came up to them. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jim Haxall,” she asked, direct and white, “is father dead?” + </p> + <p> + He studied her for a moment and then answered: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Rosemary.” + </p> + <p> + She swayed. Indy, at her side, enveloped her in a sustaining arm. + </p> + <p> + “Indy,” the girl said, her face on the woman's breast, “he, too!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sending a few bales of leaf down the river,” Haxall continued to + Elim; “the sloop'll pass Bramant's Wharf; but the crew will be just + anybody. Miss Rosemary couldn't go with only her nigger—” + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn spoke mechanically: + </p> + <p> + “I'll be responsible for her.” The war was over; he had been ordered from + the column when his wound had broken afresh, and in a maze of fever he had + been irresistibly impelled toward Linden Row. “I'll take her to Bramant's + Wharf.” + </p> + <p> + Haxall regarded suspiciously the disordered blue uniform; then his gaze + shifted to Elim's somber lined countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Rosemary's rubies and gold—” he said finally. “But I believe + you're honest, I believe you're a good man.” + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + James Haxall explained this to Rosemary. Elim, standing aside, could see + that the girl neither assented nor raised objection. She seemed utterly + listless; a fleet emotion at the knowledge of her father's death had, in + that public place, been immediately repressed. The sloop, Elim learned, + was ready to start at once. The afternoon was declining; to reach + Bramant's Wharf would take them through the night and into the meridian of + tomorrow. They had made no preparations for the trip, there was neither + bedding nor food; but Elim and Haxall agreed that it was best for Rosemary + Roselle to leave the city at the price of any slight momentary discomfort. + </p> + <p> + Elim looked about for a place where he might purchase food. A near-by + eating house had been completely wrecked, its floor a debris of broken + crockery. Beyond, a baker's shop had been deserted, its window shattered + but the interior intact. The shelves, however, had been swept bare of + loaves. Elim searched behind the counters—nothing remained. But in + walking out his foot struck against a round object, wrapped in paper, + which on investigation proved to be a fruit cake of satisfactory solidity + and size. With this beneath his arm he returned to Rosemary Roselle, and + they followed Haxall to the wharf where the sloop lay. + </p> + <p> + The tiller was in charge of an old man with peering pale-blue eyes and + tremulous siccated hands. Yet he had an astonishingly potent voice, and + issued orders, in tones like the grating of metal edges, to a loutish + youth in a ragged shirt and bare legs. The cabin, partly covered, was + filled with bagged bales; a small space had been left for the steersman, + and forward the deck was littered with untidy ropes and swab, windlass bar + and other odds. + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn moved forward to assist Rosemary on to the sloop, but she + evaded his hand and jumped lightly down upon the deck, Indy, grumbling and + certain of catastrophe, was safely got aboard, and Elim helped the youth + to push the craft's bow out into the stream. The grimy mainsail rose + slowly, the jib was set, and they deliberately gathered way, slipping + silently between the timbered banks, emerging from the thin pungent + influence of the smoking ruins. + </p> + <p> + Behind them the sun transfused the veiled city into a coppery blur that + gradually sank into a tender-blue dusk. Indy had arranged a place with the + most obtainable comfort for Rosemary Roselle; she sat with her back + against the mast, gazing toward the bank, stealing backward, at the + darkening trees moving in solemn procession. + </p> + <p> + After the convulsed and burning city, the uproar of guns and clash of + conflict, the quiet progress of the sloop was incredibly peaceful and + withdrawn. Elim felt as if they had been detached from the familiar + material existence and had been set afloat in a stream of silken shadows. + The wind was behind them, the boom had been let far but, the old steersman + drowsed at his post, and the youth had fallen instantly asleep in a + strange cramped attitude. + </p> + <p> + Elim was standing at the stern—he had conceived it his duty to stay + as far away from Rosemary Roselle as her wish plainly indicated; but, in + this irrelated phase of living, he gradually lost his sense of + responsibility and restrained conduct. He wanted extravagantly to be near + Rosemary, to be where he could see her clearly. Perhaps, but this was + unlikely, she would speak to him. His desire gradually flooded him; it + induced a species of careless heroism, and he made his way resolutely + forward and sat on a heap of rope at a point where he could study her with + moderate propriety and success. She glanced at him momentarily when he + took his place—he saw that her under lip was capable of an extremely + human and annoying expression—and returned to her veiled scrutiny of + the sliding banks. + </p> + <p> + An unfamiliar emotion stirred at Elim's heart; and in his painstaking + introspective manner he exposed it. He found a happiness that, at the same + time, was a pain; he found an actual catch in his throat that was a + nebulous desire; he found an utter loneliness together with the conviction + that this earth was a place of glorious possibilities of affinity. + Principally he was conscious of an urging of his entire being toward the + slight figure in black, staring with wide bereft eyes into the gathering + evening. On the other side of the mast, Indy was sleeping with her head + upon her breast. The feeling in Elim steadily increased in poignancy—faint + stars appearing above the indefinite foliage pierced him with their + beauty, the ashen-blue sky vibrated in a singing chord, the river divided + in whispering confidences on the bow of the sloop. + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn debated the wisdom of a remark; his courage grew + immeasurably reckless. + </p> + <p> + “The wind and river are shoving us along together.” Pronounced, the + sentence seemed appallingly compromising; he had meant that the wind and + river together, not— + </p> + <p> + She made no reply; one hand, he saw, stirred slightly. + </p> + <p> + Since he had not been blasted into nothingness, he continued: + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad the war's over. Why,” he exclaimed in genuine surprise, “you can + hear the birds again.” A sleepy twitter had floated out over the stream. + Still no response. He should not, certainly, have mentioned the war. He + wondered desperately what a fine and delicate being like Rosemary Roselle + talked about? It would be wise to avoid serious and immediate + considerations for commonplaces. + </p> + <p> + “Ellik McCosh,” he said, “a girl in our village who went to Boston, + learned to dance, and when she came back she taught two or three. Her + communion medal was removed from her,” he added with complete veracity. + “Perhaps,” he went on conversationally, “you don't have communion medals + in Richmond—it's a little lead piece you have when you are in good + standing at the Lord's table. Mine was taken away for three months for + whistling by the church door. A long while ago,” he ended in a different + voice. He thought of the fruit cake, and breaking off a piece offered it + to the silent girl. “It's like your own,” he told her, placing it on a + piece of paper at her side; “it's from Richmond and wasn't even paid for + with strange silver.” + </p> + <p> + At this last a sudden uneasiness possessed him, and he hurriedly searched + his pockets. He had exactly fifty cents. Until the present he had totally + overlooked the depleted state of his fortune. Elim had some arrears of + pay, but now he seriously doubted whether they were collectible. Nothing + else. He had emerged from the war brevetted major but as penniless as the + morning of his enlistment. He doubted whether, in the hurry of departure, + Rosemary Roselle had remembered to bring any money. + </p> + <p> + Still, she would be cared for, supplied with every necessity, at Bramant's + Wharf. There he would leave her ... his breathing stopped, for, + incredibly, he saw that her hand was suspended over the piece of cake. She + took it up and ate it slowly, absently. This, he felt, had created a bond + between them; but it was a conviction in which, apparently, she had no + share. She might have thanked him but she didn't. + </p> + <p> + An underhanded and indefensible expedient occurred to him, and he sat for + a perceptible number of minutes concentrating his memory upon a dim and + special object. Finally he raised his head. + </p> + <p> + “Indy,” he quoted, “a large light mulatto, hasn't much sense but a great + deal of sensibility. That,” he added of himself, “is evidently very well + observed.” He saw that Rosemary turned her head with an impatient + curiosity. “She is very unfortunate,” he continued uncertainly; “she lost + a present of money and couldn't work till it was given back.” + </p> + <p> + “But how,” demanded Rosemary Roselle, “did you know that?” Curiosity had + betrayed her. + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn concealed a grin with difficulty. It was evident that she + profoundly regretted the lapse, yet she would not permit herself to + retreat from her position. She maintained a high intolerant aspect of + query. + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten,” he went on, “how the dread day rolled around?” He + paused wickedly. “The slough of despond?” he added. + </p> + <p> + “What silly stuff!” Rosemary pronounced. + </p> + <p> + “It was,” he agreed, “mostly. But the paper about Indy was a superior + production. B plus, I think.” + </p> + <p> + A slow comprehension dawned on her face, blurred by the night. + </p> + <p> + “So that's where they went,” she observed; “you marked them.” He would + have sworn that a smile hovered for the fraction of a moment on her pale + lips. She drew up her shoulders slightly and turned away. + </p> + <p> + His best, his only hope had flickered for a minute and died away. Her + silence was like impregnable armor. A puff of wind filled the sails, there + was a straining of cordage, an augmented bubbling at the sloop's bow, and + then the stir subsided. He passed into a darkness of old distresses, + forebodings, grim recollections from his boyhood, inherited bleak + memories. Rosemary Roselle's upright figure gradually sank. He realized + that she was asleep on her arm. Elim bent forward shamelessly and studied + her worn countenance. There was a trace of tears on her cheek. She was as + delicate, as helpless as a flower sleeping on its stalk. + </p> + <p> + An impulse to touch her hair was so compelling that he started back, + shaken; a new discordant tumult rose within him, out of which emerged an + aching hunger for Rosemary Roselle; he wanted her with a passion cold and + numbing like ether. He wanted her without reason, and in the desire lost + his deep caution, his rectitude of conscience. He was torn far beyond the + emotional possibilities of weak men. The fact that, penniless and without + a home, he had nothing to offer was lost in the beat and surge of his + feelings. He went with the smashing completeness of a heavy body, broken + loose in an elemental turmoil. He wanted her; her fragrant spirit, the + essence that was herself, Rosemary Roselle. He couldn't take it; such + consummations, he realized, were beyond will and act, they responded from + planes forever above human desire—there was not even a rift of hope. + The banks had been long lost in the night; the faint disembodied cry of an + owl breathed across the invisible river. + </p> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + She woke with a little confused cry, and sat gazing distractedly into the + dark, her hands pressed to her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you remember,” Elim Meikeljohn spoke, “Haxall and the sloop; your + relatives at Bramant's Wharf?” + </p> + <p> + She returned to a full consciousness of her surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “I was dreaming so differently,” she told him. It seemed to Elim that the + antagonism had departed from her voice; he even had a feeling that she was + glad of his presence. Indy, prostrate on the deck with her chin elevated + to the stars, had not moved. + </p> + <p> + The darkness increased, broken only by the colored glimmer of the port and + starboard lights and a wan blur about the old man bent over the tiller. + Once he woke the youth and sent him forward with a sounding pole, once the + sloop scraped heavily over a mud bank, but that was all; their + imperceptible progress was smooth, unmarked. + </p> + <p> + Elim, recalling Joshua, wished that the sloop and night were anchored, + stationary. Already he smelled the dawn in a newly stirring, cold air. The + darkness thickened. Rosemary Roselle said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm dreadfully hungry.” + </p> + <p> + He immediately produced the fruit cake. + </p> + <p> + “It's really quite satisfactory,” she continued, eating; “It's like the + rest of this—unreal.... What is your name?” she demanded + unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Elim Meikeljohn.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a very Northern sort of name.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be hard to come by one more so,” he agreed. “It's from the + highlands of Scotland.” + </p> + <p> + “Then if you don't mind, I'll think of you as Scotch right now.” + </p> + <p> + He conveyed to her the fact that he didn't. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” she exclaimed. “There's the morning!” + </p> + <p> + A thin gray streak widened across the east. Almost immediately the night + dissolved. They were sweeping down the middle of a river that surprised + Elim with its width and majesty. The withdrawn banks bore clustered trees, + undulating green reached inland, the shaded facades of houses sat back on + lawns that dipped to the stream. + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle's face was pale with fatigue; her eyes appeared + preternaturally large; and this, for Elim, made her charm infinitely more + appealing. She smoothed her dress, touched her hair with light fingers. + The intimacy of it all thrilled him. A feeling of happy irresponsibility + deepened. He lost sight of the probable unhappiness of tomorrow, the + catastrophe that was yesterday; Elim was radiantly content with the + present. + </p> + <p> + “You look Northern too,” she went on; “you are so much more solemn than + the Virginia men—I mean your face is.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I've had a solemn sort of existence,” he agreed. “Life's an + awful serious thing where I was born. The days are not long enough, life's + too short, to get your work done. It's a stony pasture,” he admitted. He + described the Meikeljohn farm land, sloping steeply to swift rocky + streams, the bare existence of the sheep, the bitter winters. He touched + briefly on Hester and his marriage. + </p> + <p> + “It's no wonder,” she pronounced, “that you have shadows in your eyes. You + can't imagine,” she continued, “how wonderful everything was in Richmond, + before—I simply can't talk about it now. I suppose we are ruined, + but there isn't a man or woman who wouldn't do the same thing all over + again. I'm almost glad that father isn't—isn't here; misery of any + kind made him so wretched ... perfect memories.” She closed her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her under lip, he saw, projected slightly, her chin was fine but stubborn. + These details renewed his delight; they lent a warm humanity to her charm. + </p> + <p> + “Any one would know,” she said, regarding him, “that you are absolutely + trustworthy. It's a nice quality now, but I don't think I would have + noticed it even a month ago. You can see that I have grown frightfully old + in the littlest while. Yes, you are comfortable to be with, and I suspect + that counts for a great deal. It's quite sad, too, to grow old. Oh, look, + we've changed! Where do you suppose he is going? This can't nearly be + Bramant's.” + </p> + <p> + The mainsail had been hauled in, and the course of the sloop changed, + quartering in toward the shore. The youth, moving forward, stopped to + enlighten them. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the old man. + </p> + <p> + “He's got kin here at Jerico,” he explained; “and we're setting in to see + them. We won't stop long.” + </p> + <p> + The mainsail came smoothly down, the jib fluttered, and the sloop slid in + beside a sturdy old wharf, projecting from a deep fringe of willows. No + sign of life or habitation was visible. + </p> + <p> + The youth made fast a hawser, the old man mounted painfully to the dock, + and Indy stirred and rose. + </p> + <p> + “I must have just winked asleep,” she declared in consternation. + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle lightly left the boat, and Elim followed. “If we + explored,” he proposed, “perhaps we could get you a cup of coffee.” She + elected, however, to stay by the river, and Elim went inward alone. Beyond + the willows was an empty marshland. The old man had disappeared, with no + trace of his objective kin. A road, deep in yellow mire, mounted a rise + beyond and vanished a hundred yards distant. Elim, unwilling to get too + far away from the sloop, had turned and moved toward the wharf, when he + was halted by the sound of horses' hoofs. + </p> + <p> + He saw approaching him over the road a light open carriage with a fringed + canopy and a pair of horses driven by a negro in a long white dust coat. + In the body of the carriage a diminutive bonneted head was barely visible + above an enormous circumference of hoops. Elim saw bobbing gray curls, + peering anxious eyes, and a fluttering hand in a black silk-thread mit. + </p> + <p> + “Gossard,” a feminine voice cried shrilly to the driver, at the sight of + Elim on the roadside, “here's a Yankee army; lick up those horses!” + </p> + <p> + The negro swung a vicious whip, the horses started sharply forward, but + the carriage wheels, sinking in a deep slough, remained fixed; the harness + creaked but held; the equipage remained stationary. The negro dismounted + sulkily, and Elim crossed the road and put his shoulder to a wheel. + Together with the driver, he lifted the carriage on to a firmer surface. + The old lady was seated with tightly shut eyes. + </p> + <p> + “This here man ain't going to hurt you,” the driver exclaimed impatiently. + “This exdus is all nonsense anyways,” he grumbled. “I got a mind to stop—I'm + free.” + </p> + <p> + She directed upon him a beady black gaze. + </p> + <p> + “You get right into this carriage,” she commanded; “you'd be free to + starve. You are a fool!” The man reluctantly obeyed her. “I thank you for + your clemency,” she said to Elim. She fumbled among her flounces and hoops + and produced an object carefully wrapped and tied. “Here,” she proclaimed; + “I can still pay for a service. Gossard—” the carriage moved + forward, was lost in the dip in the road. Elim opened the package in his + hand and regarded, with something like consternation, a bottle of + champagne. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the wharf the great yellow flood of the river gleamed in the sun; + choirs of robins whistled in trees faintly green. Rosemary Roselle was + seated with her feet hanging over the water. + </p> + <p> + “Champagne for breakfast,” she observed, shaking her head; “only the most + habitual sports manage that.” He recounted the episode of the “Yankee + army,” delighted by her less formal tone, then the old man returned as + enigmatically as he had disappeared. The ropes were cast off, the sloop + swung out into the current, and their smooth progress was resumed. + </p> + <p> + A few more hours and they would be at Bramant's Wharf. There, Elim knew, + he would be expected to leave Rosemary. There would be a perfunctory + gratitude from her relatives, perhaps a warmer appreciation from herself—a + moment—a momentary pressure of her hand—and then—where? + He would never again come in contact with so exquisite a girl; they were, + he realized, customarily held in a circle where men like himself, + outsiders, rarely penetrated; once more with her family and he would be + forgotten. Anyhow, he had nothing. + </p> + <p> + But in spite of these heavy reflections his irresponsible happiness + increased. In this segment of existence no qualifications from the shore + were valid. Time, himself, at the tiller, seemed drifting, unconcerned. + Rosemary Roselle regarded Elim with a franker interest. She took off a + small slipper and emptied some sand from the shore; the simple act seemed + to him burdened with gracious warmth. Now she was infinitely easier than + any girl he had known before. Those about his home met the younger + masculine world either with a blunt sarcasm or with an uneasy voiceless + propriety. Rosemary, propped on an elbow, was as unconcerned as a boy. + This made her infinitely more difficult of approach. Her slight beautiful + body, not hidden by clothes—as decency demanded in the more + primitive state—was delightfully marked, suggested. Here was beauty + admitted, lauded, even studied, in place of the fierce masking and + denouncement of his father and the fellow elders. + </p> + <p> + He remembered, from collegiate hours, the passion of the Greeks for sheer + earthly strength and loveliness—Helen and Menelaus, Sappho on the + green promontories of Lesbos. At the time of his reading he had maintained + a wry brow ... now Elim Meikeljohn could comprehend the siege of Troy. + </p> + <p> + He said aloud, without thinking and instantly aghast at his words: + </p> + <p> + “You are like a bodied song.” He was horrified; then his newer spirit + utterly possessed him, he didn't care; he nodded his long solemn head. + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle turned toward him with a cool stare that was lost in + irresistible ringing peals of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she gasped; “what a face for a compliment. It was just like pouring + sirup out of a vinegar cruet.” + </p> + <p> + He became annoyed and cleared his throat in an elder-like manner, but her + amusement strung out in silvery chuckles. + </p> + <p> + “It's the first I've said of the kind,” he admitted stiffly; “I've no + doubt it came awkward.” + </p> + <p> + She grew more serious, studied him with thoughtful eyes. “Do you know,” + she said slowly, “I believe you. Compliments in Virginia are like + cherries, the trees are full of them; they're nice but worth—so + much.” She measured an infinitesimal degree with a rosy nail against a + finger. “But I can see that yours are different. They almost hurt you, + don't they?” + </p> + <p> + He made no reply, struggling weakly against what, he perceived, was to + follow. + </p> + <p> + “You're like a song that to hear would draw a man about the world,” said + Elim Meikeljohn, pagan. “He would leave his sheep and byre, he'd drop his + duty and desert his old, and follow. I'm lost,” he decided, in a last + perishing flicker of early teaching; and then he smiled inexplicably at + the wrath to come. + </p> + <p> + Rosemary Roselle grew more serious. + </p> + <p> + “But that's not a compliment at all,” she discovered; “it's more, and it + makes me uncomfortable. Please stop!” + </p> + <p> + “About the world,” echoed Elim, “and everything else forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” she repeated, holding up a prohibitory palm. + </p> + <p> + “Rose petals,” he said, regarding it. His madness increased. She withdrew + her hand and gazed at him with a small frown. She was sitting upright, + propped on her arms. Her mouth, with its slightly full under lip, was + elevated, and an outrageous desire possessed him. His countenance slowly + turned hotly red, and slowly a faint tide of color stained Rosemary + Roselle's cheeks. She looked away; Elim looked away. He proceeded aft and + learned that Bramant's Wharf lay only a few miles ahead. + </p> + <p> + The old man cursed the wind in his stringent tones. Elim hadn't noticed + anything reprehensible in the wind. It appeared that for a considerable + time there hadn't been any. A capful was stirring now, and humanity—ever + discontented—silently cursed that. + </p> + <p> + “We're nearly there,” he said, returning to Rosemary Roselle. + </p> + <p> + He was unable to gather any intelligence from her expression. + </p> + <p> + She rose, and stood with a hand on Indy's shoulder, murmuring + affectionately in the colored woman's ear. The sloop once more headed at a + long angle for the shore. Bramant's Wharf grew visible, projecting solidly + from a verdant bank. They floated silently up to the dock, and the youth + held the sloop steady while Rosemary Roselle and Indy mounted from its + deck. Elim followed, but suddenly he stopped, and his hand went into his + pocket. A half dollar fell ringing into the boat. Elim indicated the + youth; he was now penniless. + </p> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + “The house,” Rosemary explained, “is almost a mile in. There is a carriage + at the wharf when they expect you. And usually there is some one about.” + </p> + <p> + Elim, carrying the cake and bottle, followed over a grassy road between + tangles of blackberry bushes. On either hand neglected fields held a + sparse tangle of last year's weeds; beyond, trees closed in the + perspective. The sun had passed the zenith, and the shadows of walnut + trees fell across the road. Elim's face was grim, a dark tide rose about + him, enveloping his heart, bothering his vision. He wanted to address + something final to the slim girl in black before him, something now, + before she was forever lost in the gabble of her relatives; but he could + think of nothing appropriate, expressive of the tumult within him. His + misery deepened with every step, grew into a bitterness of rebellion that + almost forced an incoherent reckless speech. Rosemary Roselle didn't turn, + she didn't linger, there were a great many things that she might say. The + colored woman was positively hurrying forward. A great loneliness swept + over him. He had not, he thought drearily, been made for joy. + </p> + <p> + “It's queer there's no one about,” Rosemary Roselle observed. They reached + the imposing pillars of an entrance—the wooden gate was chained, and + they were obliged to turn aside and search for an opening in a great + mock-orange hedge. Before them a wide sweep of lawn led up to a formal + dark façade; a tanbark path was washed, the grass ragged and uncut. + Involuntarily they quickened their pace. + </p> + <p> + Elim saw that towering brown pillars rose to the roof of the dwelling and + that low wings extended on either hand. Before the portico a stiffly + formal garden lay in withered neglect. + </p> + <p> + The flower beds, circled with masoned rims and built up like wired + bouquets, held only twisted and broken stems. + </p> + <p> + A faint odor of wet plaster and dead vegetation rose to meet them. On the + towering wall of the house every window was tightly shuttered. The place + bore a silent and melancholy air of desertion. + </p> + <p> + The girl gave a dismayed gasp. Elim hastily placed his load on the steps + and, mounting, beat upon the door. Only a dull echo answered. Dust fell + from the paneling upon his head. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they have shut up the front for protection,” he suggested. He made + his way to the rear; all was closed. Through the low limbs of apple trees + he could see a double file of small sad brick quarters for the slaves. + They, too, were empty. The place was without a living being. He stood, + undecided, when suddenly he heard Rosemary Roselle calling with an acute + note of fear. + </p> + <p> + He ran through the binding grass back to the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Elim Meikeljohn!” She stumbled forward to meet him. “Oh, Elim,” she + cried; “there's no one in the world——” A sob choked her + utterance. + </p> + <p> + He fell on his knees before her: + </p> + <p> + “There's always me.” + </p> + <p> + She sank in a fragrant heap into his arms. + </p> + <p> + Elim Meikeljohn laughed over her shoulder at his entire worldly goods on + the steps—the fragmentary fruit cake and a bottle of champagne. + </p> + <p> + Here they are lost on the dimming mirror of the past. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THRUSH IN THE HEDGE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + Harry Baggs came walking slowly over the hills in the blue May dusk. He + could now see below him the clustered roofs and tall slim stack of a town. + His instinct was to avoid it, but he had tramped all day, his blurred + energies were hardly capable of a detour, and he decided to settle near by + for the night. About him the country rose and fell, clothed in emerald + wheat and pale young corn, while trees filled the hollows with the shadowy + purple of their darkening boughs. A robin piped a belated drowsy note; the + air had the impalpable sweetness of beginning buds. + </p> + <p> + A vague pleasant melancholy enveloped him; the countryside swam + indistinctly in his vision—he surrendered himself to inward + sensations, drifting memories, unformulated regrets. He was twenty and had + a short powerful body; a broad dusty patient face. His eyes were steady, + light blue, and his jaw heavy but shapely. His dress—the forlorn + trousers, the odd coat uncomfortably drawn across thick shoulders, and + incongruous hat—held patently the stamp of his worldly position: he + was a tramp. + </p> + <p> + He stopped, looking about. The road, white and hard, dipped suddenly down; + on the right, windows glimmered, withdrawn behind shrubbery and orderly + trees; on the left, a dark plowed field rose to a stiff company of pines + and the sky. Harry Baggs stood turned in the latter direction, for he + caught the faint odor of wood smoke; behind the field, a newly acquired + instinct told him, a fire was burning in the open. This, now, probably + meant that other wanderers—tramps—had found a place of + temporary rest. + </p> + <p> + Without hesitation he climbed a low rail fence, found a narrow path trod + in the soft loam and followed it over the brow into the hollow beyond. His + surmise was correct—a fire smoldered in a red blur on the ground, a + few relaxed forms gathered about the wavering smoke, and at their back + were grouped four or five small huts. + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs walked up to the fire, where, with a conventional sentence, he + extended his legs to the low blaze. A man regarded him with a peering + suspicious gaze; but any doubts were apparently laid, for the other + silently resumed a somnolent indifference. His clothes were an amazing and + unnecessary tangle of rags; his stubble of beard and broken black hat had + an air of unreality, as though they were the stage properties of a stupid + and conventional parody of a tramp. + </p> + <p> + Another, sitting with clasped knees beyond the fire, interrupted a + monotonous whining recital to question Harry Baggs. “Where'd you come + from?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhere by Lancaster.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever been here before?” And, when Baggs had said no: “Thought I hadn't + seen you. Most of us here come back in the spring. It's a comfortable dump + when it don't rain cold.” He was uncommonly communicative. “The Nursery's + here for them that want work; and if not nobody's to ask you reasons.” + </p> + <p> + A third, in a grimy light overcoat, with a short bristling red mustache + and morose countenance, said harshly: “Got any money?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe two bits.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's send him in for beer,” the other proposed; and a new animation + stirred the dilapidated one and the talker. + </p> + <p> + “You can go to hell!” Baggs responded without heat. + </p> + <p> + “That ain't no nice way to talk,” the second proclaimed. “Peebles, here, + meant that them who has divides with all that hasn't.” + </p> + <p> + Peebles directed a hard animosity at Harry Baggs. His gaze flickered over + the latter's heavy-set body and unmoved face. “Want your jaw slapped + crooked?” he demanded with a degree of reservation. + </p> + <p> + “No,” the boy placidly replied. + </p> + <p> + A stillness enveloped them, accentuated by the minute crackling of the + disintegrating wood. The dark increased and the stars came out; the + clip-clip of a horse's hoofs passed in the distance and night. Harry Baggs + became flooded with sleep. + </p> + <p> + “I s'pose I can stay in one of these brownstones?” he queried, indicating + the huts. + </p> + <p> + No one answered and he stumbled toward a small shelter. He was forced to + bend, edge himself into the close damp interior, where he collapsed into + instant unconsciousness on a heap of bagging. In the night he cried out, + in a young strangely distressed voice; and later a drift of rain fell on + the roof and ran in thin cold streams over his still body. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + He woke late the following morning and emerged sluggishly into a sparkling + rush of sunlight. The huts looked doubly mean in the pellucid day. They + were built of discarded doors and variously painted fragments of lumber, + with blistered and unpinned roofs of tin, in which rusted smokepipes had + been crazily wired; strips of moldy matting hung over an entrance or so, + but the others gaped unprotected. The clay before them was worn smooth and + hard; a replenished fire smoked within blackened bricks; a line, stretched + from a dead stump to a loosely fixed post, supported some stained and + meager red undergarb. + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs recognized Peebles and the loquacious tramp at the edge of the + clearing. The latter, clad in a grotesquely large and sorry suit of + ministerial black, was emaciated and had a pinched bluish countenance. + When he saw Baggs he moved forward with a quick uneven step. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he proceeded, “can you let me have something to get a soda-caffeine + at a drug store? This ain't a stall; I got a fierce headache. Come out + with a dime, will you? My bean always hurts, but to-day I'm near crazy.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs surveyed him for a moment, and then, without comment, produced + the sum in question. The other turned immediately and rapidly disappeared + toward the road. + </p> + <p> + “He's crazy, all right, to fill himself with that dope,” Peebles observed; + “it's turning him black. You look pretty healthy,” he added. “You can + work, and they're taking all the men they can get at the Nursery.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was sharply conscious of a crawling emptiness—hunger. He had + only fifteen cents; when that was gone he would be without resources. “I + don't mind,” he returned; “but I've got to eat first.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you stick till night?” his companion urged. “There's only half a + day left now. If you go later there'll be nothing doing till tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Harry Baggs assented. + </p> + <p> + The conviction seized him that this dull misery of hunger and dirt had + settled upon him perpetually—there was no use in combating it; and, + with an animal-like stoicism, he followed the other away from the road, + out of the hollow, to where row upon row of young ornamental trees reached + in mathematical perspective to broad sheds, glittering expanses of glass, + a huddle of toolhouses, and office. + </p> + <p> + His conductor halted at a shed entrance and indicated a weather-bronzed + individual. + </p> + <p> + “Him,” he said. “And mind you come back when you're through; we all dish + in together and live pretty good.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs spent the long brilliant afternoon burning bunches of + condemned peach shoots. The smoke rolled up in a thick ceaseless cloud; he + bore countless loads and fed them to the flames. The hungry crawling + increased, then changed to a leaden nausea; but, accepting it as + inevitable, he toiled dully on until the end of day, when he was given a + dollar and promise of work to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + He saw, across a dingy street, a small grocery store, and purchased there + coffee, bacon and a pound of dates. Then he returned across the Nursery to + the hollow and huts. More men had arrived through the day, other fires + were burning, and an acrid odor of scorched fat and boiling coffee rose in + the delicate evening. A small group was passing about a flasklike bottle; + a figure lay in a stupor on the clay; a mutter of voices, at once cautious + and assertive, joined argument to complaint. + </p> + <p> + “Over this way,” Peebles called as Harry Baggs approached. The former + inspected the purchased articles, then cursed. “Ain't you got a bottle on + you?” + </p> + <p> + But when the bacon had been crisped and the coffee turned into a steaming + thick liquid, he was amply appreciative of the sustenance offered. They + were shortly joined by Runnel, the individual with the bluish poisoned + countenance, and the elaborately ragged tramp. + </p> + <p> + “Did you frighten any cooks out of their witses?” Peebles asked the last + contemptuously. The other retorted unintelligibly in his appropriately + hoarse voice. “Dake knocks on back doors,” Peebles explained to Harry + Baggs, “and then fixes to scare a nickel or grub from the women who open.” + </p> + <p> + Quiet settled over the camp; the blue smoke of pipes and cigarettes merged + imperceptibly into the dusk of evening. Harry Baggs was enveloped by a + momentary contentment, born of the satisfaction of food, relaxation after + toil; and, leaning his head back on clasped hands, he sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“I changed my name when I got free + To Mister, like the res'. + But now ... Ol' Master's voice I hears + Across de river: 'Rome, + You damn ol' nigger, come and bring + Dat boat an' row me home!'”</i> +</pre> + <p> + His voice rolled out without effort, continuous as a flowing stream, grave + and round as the deep tone of a temple bell. It increased in volume until + the hollow vibrated; the sound, rather than coming from a single throat, + seemed to dwell in the air, to be the harmony of evening made audible. The + simple melody rose and fell; the simple words became portentous, burdened + with the tragedy of vain longing, lost felicity. The dead past rose again + like a colored mist over the sordid reality of the present; it drifted + desirable and near across the hill; it soothed and mocked the heart—and + dissolved. + </p> + <p> + The silence that followed the song was sharply broken by a thin querulous + question; a tenuous bent figure stumbled across the open. + </p> + <p> + “Who's singing?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “That's French Janin,” Peebles told Harry Baggs; “he's blind.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” the latter responded—“Harry Baggs.” + </p> + <p> + The man came closer, and Baggs saw that he was old and incredibly worn; + his skin clung in dry yellow patches to his skull, the temples were bony + caverns, and the pits of his eyes blank shadows. He felt forward with a + siccated hand, on which veins were twisted like blue worsted over + fleshless tendons, gripped Harry Baggs' shoulder, and lowered himself to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Another song,” he insisted; “like the last. Don't try any cheap show.” + </p> + <p> + The boy responded immediately; his serious voice rolled out again in a + spontaneous tide. + </p> + <p> + “'Hard times,'” Harry Baggs sang; “'hard times, come again no more.'” + </p> + <p> + The old man said: “You think you have a great voice, eh? All you have to + do to take the great roles is open your mouth!” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't thought of any of that,” Baggs responded. “I sing because—well, + it's just natural; no one has said much about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have had no teaching, that's plain. Your power leaks like an old rain + barrel. What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Tramping.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs looked about, suddenly aware of the dark pit of being into + which he had fallen. The fires died sullenly, deserted except for an + occasional recumbent figure. Peebles had disappeared; Dake lay in his rags + on the ground; Runnel rocked slowly, like a pendulum, in his ceaseless + pain. + </p> + <p> + “Tramping to the devil!” he added. + </p> + <p> + “What started you?” French Janin asked. + </p> + <p> + “Jail,” Harry Baggs answered. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you didn't take it,” the blind man commented satirically; “or + else you went in to cover some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “I took it, all right—eighteen dollars.” He was silent for a moment; + then: “There was something I had to have and I didn't see any other way of + getting it. I had to have it. My stepfather had money that he put away—didn't + need. I wanted an accordion; I dreamed about it till I got ratty, lifted + the money, and he put me in jail for a year. + </p> + <p> + “I had the accordion hid. I didn't tell them where, and when I got out I + went right to it. I played some sounds, and—after all I'd done—they + weren't any good. I broke it up—and left.” + </p> + <p> + “You were right,” Janin told him; “the accordion is an impossible + instrument, a thing entirely vulgar. I know, for I am a musician, and + played the violin at the Opéra Comique. You think I am lying; but you are + young and life is strange. I can tell you this: I, Janin, once led the + finale of Hamlet. I saw that the director was pale; I leaned forward and + he gave me the baton. I knew music. There were five staves to conduct—at + the Opéra Comique.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his sightless face toward Harry Baggs. + </p> + <p> + “That means little to you,” he spoke sharply; “you know nothing. You have + never seen a gala audience on its feet; the roses—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off. His wasted palms rested on knees that resembled bones draped + with maculate clothing; his sere head fell forward. Runnel paced away from + the embers and returned. Harry Baggs looked, with doubt and wonderment, at + the ruined old man. + </p> + <p> + The mere word musician called up in him an inchoate longing, a desire for + something far and undefined. He thought of great audiences, roses, the + accompaniment of violins. Subconsciously he began to sing in a whisper + that yet reached beyond the huts. He forgot his surroundings, the past + without light, the future seemingly shorn of all prospect. + </p> + <p> + French Janin moved; he fumbled in precarious pockets and at last produced + a small bottle; he removed the cork and tapped out on his palm a measure + of white crystalline powder, which he gulped down. Then he struggled to + his feet and wavered away through the night toward a shelter. + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs imagined himself singing heroic measures; he finished, there + was a tense pause, and then a thunderous acclamation. His spirit mounted + up and up in a transport of emotional splendor; broken visions thronged + his mind of sacrifice, renouncement, death. The fire expired and the night + grew cold. His ecstasy sank; he became once more aware of the human + wreckage about him, the detritus of which he was now a part. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + He spent the next day moving crated plants to delivery trucks, where his + broad shoulders were most serviceable, and in the evening returned to the + camp, streaked with fine rich loam. French Janin was waiting for him and + consumed part of Harry Baggs' unskilfully cooked supper. The old man was + silent, though he seemed continually at the point of bursting into eager + speech. However, he remained uncommunicative and followed the boy's + movements with a blank speculative countenance. Finally he said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Sing that song over—about the 'damn ol' nigger.'” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs responded; and, at the end, Janin nodded. + </p> + <p> + “What I should have expected,” he pronounced. “When I first heard you I + thought: 'Here, perhaps, is a great voice, a voice for Paris;' but I was + mistaken. You have some bigness—yes, good enough for street ballads, + sentimental popularities; that is all.” + </p> + <p> + An overwhelming depression settled upon Harry Baggs, a sense of + irremediable loss. He had considered his voice a lever that might one day + raise him out of his misfortunes; he instinctively valued it to an + extraordinary degree; it had resembled a precious bud, the possible + opening of which would flood his being with its fragrant flowering. He + gazed with a new dread at the temporary shelters and men about him, the + huts and men that resembled each other so closely in their patched decay. + </p> + <p> + Until now, except in brief moments of depression, he had thought of + himself as only a temporary part of this broken existence. But it was + probable that he, too, was done—like Runnel, and Dake, who lived on + the fear of women. He recalled with an oath his reception in the village + of his birth on his return from jail: the veiled or open distrust of the + adults; the sneering of the young; his barren search for employment. He + had suffered inordinately in his narrow cell—fully paid, it had + seemed, the price of his fault. But apparently he was wrong; the thing was + to follow him through life—and he would live a long while—; + condemning him, an outcast, to the company of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + His shoulders drooped, his face took on the relaxed sullenness of those + about him; curiously, in an instant he seemed more bedraggled, more + disreputable, hopeless. + </p> + <p> + French Janin continued: + </p> + <p> + “Your voice is good enough for the people who know nothing. Perhaps it + will bring you money, singing at fairs in the street. I have a violin, a + cheap thing without soul; but I can get a thin jingle out of it. Suppose + we go out together, try our chance where there is a little crowd; it will + be better than piggin' in the earth.” + </p> + <p> + It would, Baggs thought, be easier than carrying heavy crates; subtly the + idea of lessened labor appealed to him. He signified his assent and rolled + over on his side, staring into nothingness. + </p> + <p> + French Janin went into the town the following day—he walked with a + surprising facility and speed—to discover where they might find a + gathering for their purpose. Harry Baggs loafed about the camp until the + other returned with the failing of light. + </p> + <p> + “The sales about the country are all that get the people together now,” he + reported; “the parks are empty till July. There's to be one tomorrow about + eight miles away; we'll try it.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the shelter, where he secured a scarred violin, with roughly + shaped pegs and lacking a string. He motioned Harry Baggs to follow him + and proceeded to the brow of the field, where he settled down against a + fence, picking disconsolately at the burring strings and attempting to + tighten an ancient bow. Baggs dropped beside him. Below them night flooded + the winding road and deepened under the hedges; a window showed palely + alight; the stillness was intense. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” French Janin said. + </p> + <p> + The violin went home beneath his chin and he improvised a thin but + adequate opening for Harry Baggs' song. The boy, for the first time in his + existence, sang indifferently; his voice, merely big, lacked resonance; + the song was robbed of all power to move or suggest. + </p> + <p> + Janin muttered unintelligibly; he was, Harry Baggs surmised, speaking his + native language, obscurely complaining, accusing. They tried a second + song: “Hard times, hard times, come again no more.” There was not an + accent of longing nor regret. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” French Janin told him; “good enough for cows and chickens.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and descended to the camp, a bowed unsubstantial figure in the + gloom. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + They started early to the sale. Janin, as always, walked swiftly, his + violin wrapped in a cloth beneath his arm. Harry Baggs lounged sullenly at + his side. The day was filled with a warm silvery mist, through which the + sun mounted rayless, crisp and round. Along the road plum trees were in + vivid pink bloom; the apple buds were opening, distilling palpable clouds + of fragrance. + </p> + <p> + Baggs met the morning with a sullen lowered countenance, his gaze on the + monotonous road. He made no reply to the blind man's infrequent remarks, + and the latter, except for an occasional murmur, fell silent. At last + Harry Baggs saw a group of men about the fence that divided a small lawn + and neatly painted frame house from the public road. A porch was filled + with a confusion of furniture, china was stacked on the grass, and a bed + displayed at the side. + </p> + <p> + The sale had not yet begun; A youth, with a pencil and paper, was moving + distractedly about, noting items; a prosperous-appearing individual, with + a derby resting on the back of his neck, was arranging an open space about + a small table. Beyond, a number of horses attached to dusty vehicles were + hitched to the fence where they were constantly augmented by fresh + arrivals. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are!” Baggs informed his companion. He directed Janin forward, + where the latter unwrapped his violin. A visible curiosity held the + prospective buyers; they turned and faced the two dilapidated men on the + road. A joke ran from laughing mouth to mouth. Janin drew his bow across + the frayed strings; Harry Baggs cleared the mist from his throat. As he + sang, aware of an audience, a degree of feeling returned to his tones; the + song swept with a throb to its climax: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'<i>You damn ol' nigger, come and bring + Dat boat an' row me home</i>!'” + </pre> + <p> + There was scattered applause. + </p> + <p> + “Take your hat round,” Janin whispered; and the boy opened the gate and + moved, with his battered hat extended, from man to man. + </p> + <p> + Few gave; a careless quarter was added to a small number of pennies and + nickels. Janin counted the sum with an unfamiliar oath. + </p> + <p> + “That other,” he directed, and drew a second preliminary bar from his + uncertain instrument. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you!” a strident voice called. “Shut your noise; the sale's going + to commence.” + </p> + <p> + French Janin lowered the violin. + </p> + <p> + “We must wait,” he observed philosophically. “These things go on and on; + people come and go.” + </p> + <p> + He found a bank, where he sat, after stumbling through a gutter of + stagnant water. Harry Baggs followed and filled a cheap ornate pipe. The + voice of the auctioneer rose, tiresome and persistent, punctuated by bids, + haggling over minute sums for the absurd flotsam of a small house keeping + square of worn oilcloth, a miscellany of empty jars. A surprisingly + passionate argument arose between bidders; personalities and threats + emerged. Janin said: + </p> + <p> + “Listen! That is the world into which musicians are born; it is against + such uproar we must oppose our delicate chords—on such hearts.” His + speech rambled into French and a melancholy silence. + </p> + <p> + “It's stopped for a little,” Baggs reminded him. + </p> + <p> + Janin rose stiffly and the other guided him to their former place. The + voice and violin rose, dominated a brief period, and the boy went among + the throng, seeking newcomers. The mist thickened, drops of water shone on + his ragged sleeves, and then a fine rain descended. The crowd filled the + porch and lower floor, bulged apparently from door and windows. Harry + Baggs made a motion to follow with his companion, but no one moved; there + was no visible footing under cover. They stayed out stolidly in the wet, + by an inadequate tree; and whenever chance offered Harry Baggs repeated + his limited songs. A string of the violin broke; the others grew soggy, + limp; the pegs would tighten no more and Janin was forced to give up his + accompanying. + </p> + <p> + The activities shifted to a shed and barn, where a horse and three sorry + cows and farming implements were sold. Janin and Harry Baggs followed, but + there was no opportunity for further melody; larger sums were here + involved; the concentration of the buyers grew painful. The boy's throat + burned; it was strained, and his voice grew hoarse. Finally he declared + shortly that he was going back to the shelter by the Nursery. + </p> + <p> + As they tramped over the rutted and muddy road, through a steadily + increasing downpour, Harry Baggs counted the sum they had collected. It + was two dollars and some odd pennies. Janin was closely attentive as the + money passed through the other's fingers. He took it from Baggs' hand, + re-counted it with an unfailing touch, and gave back a half. + </p> + <p> + The return, even to the younger's tireless being, seemed interminable. + Harry Baggs tramped doggedly, making no effort to avoid the deepening + pools. French Janin struggled at his heels, shifting the violin from place + to place and muttering incoherently. + </p> + <p> + It was dark when they arrived at the huts; the fires were sodden mats of + black ash; no one was visible. They stumbled from shelter to shelter, but + found them full. One at last was discovered unoccupied; but they had no + sooner entered than the reason was sharply borne upon them—the roof + leaked to such an extent that the floor was an uneasy sheet of mud. + However, there was literally nowhere else for them to go. Janin found a + broken chair on which he balanced his bowed and shrunken form; Harry Baggs + sat against the wall. + </p> + <p> + He dozed uneasily, and, wakened by the old man's babbling, cursed him + bitterly. At last he fell asleep; but, brought suddenly back to + consciousness by a hand gripping his shoulder, he started up in a blaze of + wrath. + </p> + <p> + He shook off the hand and heard French Janin slip and fall against an + insecure wall. The interior was absolutely black; Harry Baggs could see no + more than his blind companion. The latter fumbled, at last regained a + footing, and his voice fluctuated out of an apparent nothingness. + </p> + <p> + “There is something important for you to know,” Janin proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “I lied to you about your voice—I, once a musician of the orchestra + at the Opéra Comique. I meant to be cunning and take you round to the + fairs, where we would make money; have you sing truck for people who know + nothing. I let you sing to-day, in the rain, for a dollar—while I, + Janin, fiddled. + </p> + <p> + “I am a <i>voyou</i>; there is nothing in English low enough. The thought + of it has been eating at me like a rat.” The disembodied words stopped, + the old man strangled and coughed; then continued gasping: “Attention! You + have a supreme barytone, a miracle! I heard all the great voices for + twenty years, and know. + </p> + <p> + “At times there is a voice with perfect pitch, a true art and range; not + many—they are cold. At times there is a singer with great heart, + sympathy ... mostly too sweet. + </p> + <p> + “But once, maybe, in fifty, sixty years, both are together. You are that—I + make you amends.” + </p> + <p> + The rain pounded fantastically on the roof a few inches above Harry Baggs' + head and the water seeped coldly through his battered shoes; but, in the + violent rebirth of the vague glow he had lost a short while before, he + gave no heed to his bodily discomfort. “A supreme barytone!” The walls of + the hut, the hollow, dissolved before the sudden light of hope that + enveloped him; all the dim dreams, the unformulated aspirations on which + subconsciously his spirit had subsisted, returned. + </p> + <p> + “Can you be sure?” he demanded uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely! You are an artist, and life has wrung you out like a cloth—jail, + hungry, outcast; yes, and nights with stars, and water shining; men like + old Janin, dead men, begging on the roads—they are all in your + voice, jumbled—serious barytone——” The high thin recital + stopped, from exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs was warm to the ends of his fingers. He wiped his wet brow + with a wetter hand. + </p> + <p> + “That's fine,” he said impotently; “fine!” + </p> + <p> + He could hear French Janin breathing stertorously; and, suddenly aware of + the other's age, the misery of their situation, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel good?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been worse and better,” he replied. “This is bad for your throat, + after singing all day in the rain. <i>Voyou</i>!” he repeated of himself. + </p> + <p> + Silence enveloped them, broken by the creaking of the blind man's chair + and the decreasing patter of the rain. Soon it stopped and Harry Baggs + went outside; stars glimmered at the edges of shifting clouds, a sweet + odor rose from the earth, a trailing scent of blossoming trees expanded. + </p> + <p> + He sang in a vibrant undertone a stave without words. An uneasy form + joined him; it was Runnel. + </p> + <p> + “I b'lieve my head'll burst!” he complained. + </p> + <p> + “Leave that soda-caffeine be.” + </p> + <p> + He would never forget Runnel with his everlasting pain; or Dake, who lived + by scaring women.... Great audiences and roses, and the roar of applause. + He heard it now. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + Harry Baggs returned to the Nursery, where, with his visions, his sense of + justification, he was happy among the fields of plants. There he was given + work of a more permanent kind; he was put under a watchful eye in a group + transplanting berry bushes, definitely reassigned to that labor to-morrow. + He returned to the camp with a roll of tar paper and, after supper, + covered the leaking roof of the shelter. French Janin sat with his blank + face following the other's movements. Janin's countenance resembled a + walnut, brown and worn in innumerable furrows; his neck was like a dry + inadequate stem. As he glanced at him the old man produced a familiar + bottle and shook out what little powder, like finely ground glass, it + contained. He greedily absorbed what there was and, petulantly exploring + the empty container, flung it into the bushes. A nodding drowsiness + overtook him, his head rolled forward, he sank slowly into a bowed + amorphous heap. Harry Baggs roused him with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want to sit like this,” he said; “come up by the field, where + it's fresher.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted Janin to his feet, half carried him to the place under the + fence. Harry Baggs was consumed by a desire to talk about the future—the + future of his voice; he wanted to hear of the triumphs of other voices, of + the great stages that they finally dominated. He wanted to know the most + direct path there; he was willing that it should not be easy. “I'm as + strong as an ox,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + But he was unable to move French Janin from his stupor; in reply to his + questions the blind man only muttered, begged to be let alone. Life was at + such a low ebb in him that his breathing was imperceptible. Harry Baggs + was afraid that he would die without a sound—leave him. He gave up + his questioning and sang. He was swept to his feet by a great wave of + feeling; with his head back, he sent the resonant volume of his tones + toward the stars. Baggs stopped suddenly; stillness once more flooded the + plowed hill and he raised imploring arms to the sky in a gust of longing. + </p> + <p> + “I want to sing!” he cried. “That's all—to sing.” + </p> + <p> + Janin was brighter in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “You must have some exercises,” he told the boy. “I'll get new strings for + the violin; it'll do to give you the pitch.” + </p> + <p> + At the day's end they went again to the hilltop. French Janin tightened + and tuned his instrument. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” he measured, with poised bow. “Ah!” Both his voice and violin were + tremulous, shrill; but they indicated the pitch of the desired note. “Ah!” + the old man quavered, higher. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Harry Baggs boomed in his tremendous round tone. + </p> + <p> + They repeated the exercises until a slip of a new moon, like a wistful + girl, sank and darkness hid the countryside. A palpitating chorus of frogs + rose from the invisible streams. Somnolence again overtook Janin; the + violin slipped into the fragrant grass by the fence, but his fingers still + clutched the bow. + </p> + <p> + Pity for the other stirred Baggs' heart. He wondered what had ruined him, + brought him—a man who had played in an opera house—here. A + bony elbow showed bare through a torn sleeve—the blind man had no + shirt; the soles of his shoes gaped, smelling evilly. Yet once he had + played in an orchestra; he was undoubtedly a musician. Life suddenly + appeared grim, a sleepless menace awaiting the first opportune weakness by + which to enter and destroy. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Harry Baggs for the first time that against such a hidden + unsuspected blight his sheer strength would avail him little. He had + stolen money; that in itself held danger to his future, his voice. He had + paid for it; that score was clear, but he must guard against such + stupidities in the years to come. He had now a conscious single purpose—to + sing. A new sense of security took the place of his doubts. He stirred + Janin from his collapsed sleep, directed him toward their hut. + </p> + <p> + He returned eagerly in the evening to the vocal exercises. French Janin + struggled to perform his part, but mostly Harry Baggs boomed out his Ahs! + undirected. The other had been without his white powder for three days; + his shredlike muscles twitched continually and at times he was unable to + hold the violin. Finally: + </p> + <p> + “Can you go in to the post-office and ask for a package for me at general + delivery?” he asked Harry Baggs. “I'm expecting medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “That medicine of yours is bad as Runnel's dope. I've a mind to let it + stay.” + </p> + <p> + The other rose, stood swaying with pinching fingers, tremulous lips. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't make it,” he whimpered. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” Harry Baggs told him abruptly; “I'll go. Too late now to try + pulling you up. Whatever it is, it's got you.” + </p> + <p> + It was warm, almost hot. He walked slowly down the road toward the town. + On the left was a smooth lawn, with great stately trees, a long gray stone + house beyond. A privet hedge, broken by a drive, closed in the withdrawn + orderly habitation. A young moon bathed the scene in a diffused silver + light; low cultivated voices sounded from a porch. + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs stopped; he had never before seen such a concretely desirable + place; it filled him with a longing, sharp like pain. Beyond the hedge lay + a different world from this; he could not even guess its wide possession + of ease, of knowledge, of facility for song. A voice laughed, gay and + untroubled as a bird's note. He wanted to stay, seated obscurely on the + bank, saturate himself with the still beauty; but the thought of French + Janin waiting for the relief of his drug drove him on. + </p> + <p> + The maple trees that lined the quiet streets of the town were in full + early leaf. Groups paced tranquilly over the brick ways; the houses stood + in secure rows. A longing for safety, recognition, choked at Harry Baggs' + throat. He wanted to stop at the corner, talk, move home to a shadowy cool + porch. He hurried in his ragged clothes past the pools of light at the + street crossings into the kinder gloom. At that moment he would have + surrendered his voice for a place in the communal peace about him. + </p> + <p> + He reached the post-office and asked for a package addressed to Janin. The + clerk delayed, regarded him with suspicion, but in the end surrendered a + small precisely wrapped box. As he returned his mood changed; all he + asked, he muttered bitterly, was a fair trial for his voice. He recognized + obscurely that a singer's existence must be different from the constricted + life of a country town; here were no stage, no audience, for the great + harmonies he had imagined himself producing. He had that in his heart + which would make mere security, content, forever impossible. + </p> + <p> + In the dilapidated camp French Janin eagerly clutched the box. He almost + filled his palm with the crystalline powder and gulped it hastily. Its + effect was produced slowly.... Janin waited rigidly for the release of the + drug. + </p> + <p> + The evening following, under the fence on the hill, the blind man dozed + while Harry Baggs exercised his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” the former pronounced unexpectedly. “I know; heard all the great + voices for twenty years; a violin in the Opera Comique. Once I led the + finale of Hamlet. I saw the Director stop.... He handed me the baton. He + died soon after, and that was the beginning of my bad luck. I should have + been Director; but I was ignored, and came to America—Buenos Aires; + then Washington, and—and morphia.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence and then he spoke again with a new energy: + </p> + <p> + “I'm done, but you haven't started. You're bigger than ever I was; you'll + go on and on. I, Janin, will train you; when you sing the great roles I'll + sit in a box, wear diamond studs. Afterward, as we roll in a carriage down + the Grandes Boulevards, the people in front of the cafés will applaud; the + voice is appreciated in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a lot to learn first,” Baggs put in practically. + </p> + <p> + The old man recovered his violin. “Ah!” He drew the note tenuous but + correct from the uncertain strings. “Ah!” Harry Baggs vociferated to the + inattentive frogs, busy with their own chorus. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + The practice proceeded with renewed vigor through the evenings that + followed; then French Janin sank back into a torpor, varied by acute + depression. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got the life in me to teach you,” he admitted to Harry Baggs. + “I'll be dead before you get your chance; besides, you ought to be + practising all day, and not digging round plants and singing a little in + the evening. You've got the voice, but that's not enough; you've got to + work at exercises all your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm strong,” Harry Baggs told him; “I can work more than most men.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that won't do alone; you've got to go at it right, from the start; + the method's got to be good. I'll be dead in some hospital or field when + you'll be hardly starting. But remember it was Janin who found you, who + dug you out of a set of tramps, gave you your first lessons.” He changed. + “Stay along with me, Harry,” he begged; “take me with you. You're strong + and'll never notice an old man. You will be making thousands some day. I + will stop the morphia; perhaps I've got a good bit in me yet. Attention!” + He raised the bow. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried, interrupting. “Breathe deep, below the chest. Control! + Control! Hold the note steady, in the middle; don't force it into your + head.” + </p> + <p> + His determination scion expired. Tears crept from under his sunken lids. + He reached furtively into his pocket, took morphia. The conviction seized + Harry Baggs that nothing could be accomplished here. The other's dejection + was communicated to him. Where could he find the money, the time for the + necessary laborious years of preparation? He was without credentials, + without clothes; there was no one to whom he could go but the old spent + man beside him. They were adrift together outside life, as the huts they + inhabited were outside the orderly town beyond the hill. + </p> + <p> + He rose, left Janin, and walked slowly along the fence to the road. The + moon had increased in size and brilliancy; the apple trees had bloomed and + their fallen petals glimmered on the ground. He thought of the house on + the smooth sward, with its hedge and old trees; a sudden longing seized + him to linger at its edge, absorb again the profound peaceful ease; and he + quickened his pace until he was opposite the low gray façade. + </p> + <p> + He sat on the soft steep bank, turned on his elbow, gazing within. The + same voices drifted from the porch, voices gay or placid, and contained + laughter. A chair scraped. It was all very close to Harry Baggs—and + in another world. There was a movement within the house; a window leaped + into lighted existence and then went out against the wall. Immediately + after, a faint pure harmony of strings drifted out to the hedge. It was so + unexpected, so lovely, that Harry Baggs sat with suspended breath. The + strings made a pattern of simple harmony; and then, without warning, a + man's voice, almost like his own, began singing. The tones rose fluid and + perfect, and changed with feeling. It seemed at first to be a man; and + then, because of a diminuendo of the voice, a sense of distance not + accounted for by his presence near the hedge, he knew that he heard a + record of the actual singing. + </p> + <p> + The voice, except for its resemblance to his own, did not absorb his + attention; it was the song itself that thrilled and held him. He had never + before heard music at once so clear and capable of such depths. He + realized instinctively, with a tightening of his heart, that he was + listening to one of the great songs of which Janin had spoken. It hung for + a minute or more in his hearing, thrilling every nerve, and then died + away. It stopped actually, but its harmony rang in Harry Baggs' brain. + Instantly it had become an essential, a permanent part of his being. It + filled him with a violent sense of triumph, a richness of possession that + gave birth to a new unconquerable pride. + </p> + <p> + He rose, waited for a short space; but nothing more followed. He was glad + of that; he had no wish to blur the impressions of the first. Harry Baggs + hurried up the road and crossed the field to where he had left French + Janin. The latter was still sleeping, crumpled against the vegetation. + Baggs grasped the thin shoulder, shook him into consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “I have just heard something,” he said. “Listen! What is it?” + </p> + <p> + He sang without further preliminary, substituting a blank phrasing for + uncomprehended words; but the melody swept without faltering to its + conclusion. Janin answered irritably, disturbed by his rude awakening: + </p> + <p> + “The Serenade from Don Giovanni—Mozart. Well, what about it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's wonderful!” Harry Baggs declared. “Are there any more as great?” + </p> + <p> + “It is good,” Janin agreed, his interest stirred; “but there are better—the + Dio Possente, the Brindisi from Hamlet. Once I led the finale of Hamlet. I + saw the Director——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get every one,” the boy interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “There are others now, newer—finer still, I'm told; but I don't + know.” Janin rose and steadied himself against the fence. “Give me a + start. I've been getting confused lately; I don't seem to keep a direction + like I could. From Don Giovanni: <i>'Deh vieni alla finestra</i>'—'Come + to the window' 's about it. I'm glad you're not a tenor; they're delicate + and mean. But you are a fine boy, Harry; you'll take the old man up along + with you!” + </p> + <p> + He talked in a rapid faint voice, like his breathing. Harry Baggs grasped + his arm and led him down to their shanty. French Janin entered first, and + immediately the other heard a thin complaint from within: + </p> + <p> + “Somebody's got that nice bed you made me.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs went into the hut and, stooping, shook a recumbent shape. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of the old man's place!” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + A string of muffled oaths responded. + </p> + <p> + “There's no reserved rooms here.” + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” Baggs insisted. + </p> + <p> + The shape heaved up obscurely and the boy sent him reeling through the + door. French Janin sank with weary relief on the straw and bagging. He + grasped the thick young arm above him. + </p> + <p> + “We won't be long in this,” he declared; “diamond studs!” + </p> + <p> + He fell asleep instantly, with his fingers caught in Harry Baggs' sleeve. + The latter, with the supreme egotism of youth, of a single ambition, + loosened the hand and moved out of the narrow confinement of the shanty. + He wanted space, the sky, into which to sing his imaginary triumphant + songs. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + The next day moved toward its end without arresting incident. Janin and + Harry Baggs had walked to the public road, where they stood leaning + against the rail fence. The smoke from Baggs' pipe uprose in unbroken + spheres; the evening was definitely hot. French Janin said: + </p> + <p> + “In the town to-day I asked about that house here at the bend. It seems + he's got money; comes for a couple of months in the spring—just like + us—and then goes to Europe like as not. Perhaps he knows a voice.” + </p> + <p> + The blind man fell silent, contemplative. + </p> + <p> + “Trouble is,” he broke out fretfully, “we've got nothing to sing. That + about the 'damn old nigger' won't do. You ought to know something like the + Serenade. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he added after a moment, “why not? I could teach you the words—it's + Italian; you've nearly got the air. It's all wrong and backward; but this + isn't the Conservatoire. You can forget it when you have started; sing + exercises again.” + </p> + <p> + “When can we begin?” Harry Baggs asked. + </p> + <p> + “We'll brush our clothes up best we can,” Janin proceeded, absorbed in his + planning, “and go up to the porch of an evening. 'Mr. Brinton'—that's + his name—I'll say, 'I'm M. Janin, once of the orchestra at the Opera + Comique, and I'd like you to listen to a pupil of mine. I've heard them + all and this boy is better——'” He stopped; took morphia. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you stop that for a day?” Harry Baggs demanded desperately. “Can't + you?” + </p> + <p> + He watched with bitter rebellion the inevitable slackening of the other's + being, the obfuscation of his mind. Janin hung over the fence, with hardly + more semblance of life than an incredibly tattered and empty garment. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, you old fool!” Baggs exclaimed, burning with impatience, balked + desire; he half carried him brusquely to his bed. + </p> + <p> + Yet, under the old man's fluctuating tuition, he actually began the + Serenade within twenty-four hours. “<i>Deh vieni alla finestra</i>,” + French Janin pronounced. “<i>Deh vieni</i>——” Harry Baggs + struggled after him. His brow grew wet with the intensity of his effort; + his tongue, it seemed to him, would never accomplish the desired + syllables. + </p> + <p> + Janin made a determined effort to live without his drug; the abstinence + emphasized his fragility and he was cold, even in the heart of the long + sunny day; but the effort stayed him with a flickering vitality, bred + visions, renewed hopes of the future. He repeated the names of places, + opera houses—the San Carlo, in Naples; the Scala—unknown to + Harry Baggs, but which came to him with a strange vividness. The learning + of the Serenade progressed slowly; French Janin forgot whole phrases, some + of which returned to memory; one entire line he was forced to supply from + imagination. + </p> + <p> + At last the boy could sing it with a degree of intelligence; Janin + translated and reconstructed the scene, the characters. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have some good clothes,” he told Harry Baggs; he spoke again + of the necessity of a diamond stud. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I haven't,” the other stated shortly. “They'll have to listen to me + without looking.” + </p> + <p> + He borrowed a rusted razor and subjected himself to the pain of an awkward + shaving; then inadequately washed his sole shirt and looped the frayed + collar with a nondescript tie. + </p> + <p> + The night was immaculate; the moon, past the full, cast long segments of + light and shadow across the countryside. Harry Baggs drew a deep breath: + </p> + <p> + “We might as well go.” + </p> + <p> + French Janin objected; he wasn't ready; he wasn't quite sure of what he + was going to say. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I haven't anything to show. Perhaps they will laugh at me—at Janin, + of the Opéra Comique. I couldn't allow that.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to sing,” the boy reminded him; “if it's any good they won't + laugh. If what you say's right they'll have to believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel bad to-night, too, in my legs.” + </p> + <p> + “Get your violin.” + </p> + <p> + A fresh difficulty arose: French Janin positively refused to play on his + present instrument before a critical audience. + </p> + <p> + “It's as thin as a cat,” he protested. “Do you want me to make a show of + myself?” + </p> + <p> + “All right; I'll sing alone. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Janin's legs were uncertain; he stumbled over the path to the road and + stopped at the fence. He expressed fresh doubts, the hesitation of old + age; but Harry Baggs silenced him, forced him on. A cold fear possessed + the boy, which he resolutely suppressed: if Janin were wrong, his voice + worthless, if they laughed, he was done. Opportunity, he felt, would never + return. With his voice scorned, no impetus remained; he had no other + interest in life, no other power that could subdue the slight inward flaw. + </p> + <p> + He saw this in a vivid flash of self-knowledge.... If he couldn't sing he + would go down, lower than Janin; perhaps sink to the level of Dake. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” he repeated grimly, assisting his companion over the luminous + white road. + </p> + <p> + Janin got actually feebler as he progressed. He stopped, gasping, his + sightless face congested. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to take a little,” he whispered, “just a taste. That puts life + in me; it needs a good deal now to send me off.” + </p> + <p> + He produced the familiar bottle and absorbed some powder. Its effect was + unexpected—he straightened, walked with more ease; but it acted upon + his mind with surprising force. + </p> + <p> + “I want to stop just a little,” he proclaimed with such an air of decision + that Harry Baggs followed him without protest to the fragrant bank. + “You're a good fellow,” Janin went on, seated; “and you're going to be a + great artist. It'll take you among the best. But you will have a hard time + for a while; you won't want anybody hanging on you. I'd only hurt your + chances—a dirty old man, a drugtaker. I would go back to it, Harry; + it's got me, like you said. People wouldn't have me round. I doubt if I'd + be comfortable with them. They'd ask me why I wasn't Director.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” Baggs repeated for the third time; “it's getting late.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted French Janin to his feet and forced him on. “You don't know + life,” the other continued. “You would get sick of me; you might get + influenced to put me in a Home. I couldn't get my breath right there.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs forced him over the road, half conscious of the protesting + words. The fear within him increased. Perhaps they wouldn't even listen to + him; they might not be there. + </p> + <p> + His grip tightened on French Janin; he knew that at the first opportunity + the old man would sink back into the oblivion of morphia. + </p> + <p> + “I've done all I could for you, Harry”—the other whimpered. “I've + been some—good. Janin was the first to encourage you; don't expect + too much.” + </p> + <p> + “If I get anywhere, you did it,” Harry Baggs told him. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to see it all,” French Janin said. “I know it so well. Who'd + have thought”—a dull amazement crept into his voice—“that old + Janin, the sot, did it?... And you'll remember.” + </p> + <p> + They stopped opposite the entrance to the place they sought. Harry Baggs + saw people on the porch; he recognized a man's voice that he had heard + there before. On the right of the drive a thick maple tree cast a deep + shadow, but beyond it a pool of clear moonlight extended to the house. He + started forward, but Janin dragged him into the gloom of the maple. + </p> + <p> + “Sing here,” he whispered in the boy's ear; “see, the window—<i>Deh + vieni alla finestra</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Harry Baggs stood at the edge of the shadow; his throat seemed to thicken, + his voice expire. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he protested weakly; “you must speak first.” + </p> + <p> + He felt the old man shaking under his hand and a sudden desperate calm + overtook him. + </p> + <p> + He moved forward a little and sang the first phrase of the Serenade. + </p> + <p> + A murmur of attention, of surprised amusement, arose from the porch; then, + as his voice gained in bigness, flowed rich and thrilling and without + effort from his deep powerful lungs, the murmur died away. The song rose + toward its end; Harry Baggs saw nothing but the window above him; he put + all the accumulated feeling, the longing, of the past miserable years into + his ending. + </p> + <p> + A silence followed, in which Harry Baggs stood with drooping head. Then an + unrestrained patter of applause followed; figures advanced. French Janin + gave the boy a sharp unexpected shove into the radiance beyond the tree. + </p> + <p> + “Go on and on,” he breathed; “and never come back any more!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and shambled rapidly away into the shadows, the obscurity, that + lined the road. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Happy End, by Joseph Hergesheimer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAPPY END *** + +***** This file should be named 7843-h.htm or 7843-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/4/7843/ + + +Text file produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Joshua +Hutchinson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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