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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Stubble, by George Looms
+
+
+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: Stubble
+
+
+Author: George Looms
+
+
+
+Release Date: April 24, 2008  [eBook #25158]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUBBLE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Garcia, David T. Jones, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
+images generously made available by Kentuckiana Digital Library
+(http://kdl.kyvl.org/)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Kentuckiana Digital Library. See
+      http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=b92-225-31182911&view=toc
+
+
+
+
+
+STUBBLE
+
+by
+
+GEORGE LOOMS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Garden City    New York
+Doubleday, Page & Company
+1922
+
+Copyright, 1922, by
+Doubleday, Page & Company
+
+All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation
+into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian
+
+Printed in the United States
+at
+The Country Life Press, Garden City, N. Y.
+
+First Edition
+
+
+
+
+                               TO
+
+                           MIS' KATIE
+
+                        AND HER COURAGE
+
+
+
+
+                            CONTENTS
+
+
+                             PART I
+                                                         PAGE
+MARY LOUISE                                                 1
+
+                             PART II
+
+MYRTLE                                                    143
+
+                             PART III
+
+BLOOMFIELD                                                249
+
+
+
+
+
+PART I
+
+MARY LOUISE
+
+
+
+
+STUBBLE
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The front gate screaked, a slow, timid, almost furtive sort of screak,
+and then banged suddenly shut as though it despaired of further
+concealment. Mary Louise gathered her sewing to her, rose to her feet,
+and looked out. It was raining. Through the glass upper half of the
+door that opened from the sitting room upon the side porch she could
+see the swelling tendrils of the vines that crawled about the trellis,
+heavy and beady with the gathering moisture. It was one of those cold,
+drizzly, early April rains that dares you by its seeming futility to
+come forth and do weaponless battle and then sends you back
+discomfited and drenched. A woman was coming up the walk bent in a
+huddle over a bundle which she carried in her arms. Mary Louise gazed
+searchingly for a moment and then, as the figure would have passed the
+door, on around to the rear of the house, stepped out on the porch and
+called:
+
+"Zenie! Zenie! Come in this way. There's nobody around there."
+
+Zenie raised her head in mute surprise and then slowly obeyed. She
+shuffled across the porch, and at the door, which Mary Louise held
+open for her, paused and looked about her in indecision. She was a
+buxom creature, of the type that the Negroes about the station would
+call a "High Brown," but without the poise and aplomb that conscious
+membership in that class usually brings.
+
+"Mis' Susie in?" she ventured, after a careful survey of the room had
+assured her that such was not probable. And her care, relaxed for the
+moment, allowed the corner of the shawl to fall from the bundle in her
+arms, which forthwith set up a remote wailing, feeble and muffled,
+though determined.
+
+Mary Louise raised a skeptic eyebrow at the discredited Zenie.
+
+"Sshh!" dispassionately urged the latter, scorning for once public
+regard and continuing to gaze about the low-ceilinged room for the
+absent but much-desired Miss Susie.
+
+Such callous indifference baffled Mary Louise, even while it answered
+her innermost questionings, and for the moment she was voiceless.
+"What in the world----!" she said at length and hated herself for the
+vulgar surprise in her tone.
+
+Zenie turned away from the inspection and, finding herself and
+appendage the centre of interest, bridled with a timid pleasure, and
+then poked a ruminative finger into the swaddle of shawl and
+comforter.
+
+"Yas'm," she began in explanation. "Done brung 'im to show t' Mis'
+Susie. Didn' know you wuz home." Her manner had all the affable ease
+of a conscious equal.
+
+Mary Louise rubbed her eyes. Time was bringing changes; Zenie had once
+been humble. Her voice rang with an accusing hardness. "I thought
+you'd shut the door on that worthless Zeke of yours."
+
+Zenie did not raise her head but continued the aimless poking in the
+bundle, which strangely responded to the treatment and was quiet
+again. "No'm. He comes roun'. Eve' now an' then. Zeke's got a cah!" A
+momentary gleam from dark eyes lit like coals into a sudden flare, and
+Mary Louise was conscious of a pride that was fierce and strong, even
+if new. She felt suddenly strange, foreign, like an intruder.
+
+Their eyes met, and this time it was Mary Louise's that fell. She felt
+embarrassed at the question that arose in her. Of course Zeke was the
+father. Such a question to the emancipated Zenie would be paternally
+insulting. She countered skillfully:
+
+"What's--his name?"
+
+Zenie shifted the bundle in her arms and then reached over with her
+toe and thoughtfully pushed the stove door.
+
+"Name Nausea," she replied softly, still regarding the door which
+refused to shut entirely.
+
+"Name's what?"
+
+Zenie raised her eyes and smiled. It was a sudden unmasking of a
+battery in a peaceful landscape. "Nausea Zekiel Thompson," Zenie
+continued, gazing down into the bundle with the simplicity of a great
+emotion.
+
+For a moment silence descended upon the room. Mary Louise could not
+trust herself in the customary amenities. She stepped over to Zenie
+and the younger Thompson and peered into the bundle, conscious as she
+did so of a slowly opening door beyond them. A tiny weazened face and
+two beady blinking eyes were all she saw. Zenie was making a curious
+clucking noise.
+
+"Yas'm," Zenie went on, encouraged into an unwonted garrulity, "Mist'
+Joe done give 'im that name. Hit's from de Bible, ain't it?"
+
+"Mister Joe?"
+
+"Yas'm. Mist' Joe Hoopah." There was a cheery ring to Zenie's voice
+that had been wont to drag so dispiritedly. "He say hit come so
+unexpeckedly an' all you kin do is make the bes' of it." Her face was
+suddenly wreathed in an expansive smile. "Mist' Joe done hoorahin'
+us--Zeke an' me. Zeke don' min'. Nossuh. He say de baby look lak him."
+She held the bundle up and looked at it in rapt contemplation.
+
+Mary Louise's lips shut in a tight line. She turned away from the pair
+in distaste. But just then a light step sounded and her feeling was
+diverted. Zenie did not hear the advent of another character upon the
+scene so absorbed was she in holding the centre of the stage. "Think
+hit's a pritty name, don' you?"
+
+Receiving no answer she raised her eyes and beheld Miss Susie, whose
+critical gaze enveloped her sternly. Zenie dropped her eyes again.
+
+"So you've finally decided to show up again, Zenie?" Miss Susie
+clipped her words off short to everyone. She was a wisp of a woman
+with little hands as dry and yellow as parchment. Her voice had a
+quavering falsetto break in it and her laugh, when there was occasion,
+was dry and withery and short-lived like a piece of thistle-down.
+
+Mary Louise was watching with interest. Zenie struggled for a moment
+and then turned and faced the inevitable. There was a growing decision
+in her manner.
+
+"H'do, Mis' Susie! Yas'm. I 'cided I'd drop in on you-all. Show him to
+his white folks." She looked at Miss Susie and smiled a most uncertain
+smile.
+
+And then for the first time was the import of the visit brought fully
+to the visitee.
+
+"So," Miss Susie exploded, "that's where you've been. Out of town!
+Humph! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
+
+Zenie looked as though she would like to defend herself, but it was
+useless.
+
+Miss Susie went on inexorably, "That worthless Zibbie Tuttle has been
+tearing all my good linen and lace to pieces for the past three weeks.
+And now I suppose I'll have to put up with her for a few weeks
+longer."
+
+"Yas'm," Zenie replied weakly.
+
+"However"--Miss Susie pronounced it as though it were one syllable--"I
+suppose I can't help it. What is it? Boy or girl?"
+
+"Boy," said Zenie, and with growing decision, "but hit ain' him I come
+to see you-all about. No'm. Thank you jes' as much. I jes' aim to tell
+you I ain' take in no mo' wash. No'm. Zeke he don' want me to take in
+no mo' wash. No'm."
+
+"Zeke!" Miss Susie's snort was very ladylike. "Zeke!--and what has
+Zeke to do with what _you_ want to do?"
+
+"We'se ma'ied, ain' we, Mis' Susie?"
+
+This was irrefutable, but more so the changing viewpoint. Zenie had
+tasted emancipation. Miss Susie shrugged her shoulders and left the
+room with short hurried steps.
+
+Zenie turned to Mary Louise. "I'm tiahed of the ol' tub. 'Tain' no use
+my weahin' myself out fu nuthin'. 'Sides, this heah boy a heap o'
+trubbel." She shook her head doubtfully.
+
+Mary Louise disregarded the confidence. "D'you say Mister Joe--Mister
+Joe Hooper--named your baby? How could he? He's not even home."
+
+"Yas'm. Yas'm, he is. He come in t' see Zeke this mo'nin'. Mist' Joe
+lookin' mighty fine."
+
+Mary Louise felt a curious sinking feeling of being shoved into a
+discard. And then Miss Susie came hurrying back into the room. In her
+hand she carried a small bundle of red flannel cloth freshly cut from
+the bolt. Zenie eyed her uncertainly.
+
+"Here. Here's something to keep out the cold--next winter. And you
+oughtn't to bring _it_ out in such rainy weather." She went to the
+door and held it open in all finality. And Zenie, with much secret and
+inner scorning for a ritual so antiquated and a gift so obsolete,
+could do naught but depart. Miss Susie had somehow managed to keep the
+advantage, and the two white women watched the departing figure
+shuffle down the walk, out through the sagging, screaky gate. The
+clouds had broken in the west and a soft golden radiance suffused the
+row of maples that lined the fence along the street, and the swelling
+branches gleamed with promise. Over toward the east a patch of blue
+sky appeared, and then the tip of a sickle moon thrust itself through
+and floated entire for a moment on a tiny azure lake. A little breeze
+came round the corner of the porch from the sunset. It was as soft and
+warm as an unspoken promise, and it flipped back skirt hems and
+twisted hair tendrils most inoffensively.
+
+"Come, honey!" Miss Susie said at length, wrenching herself loose from
+the charm. "It's getting late."
+
+Mary Louise stepped slowly off the porch on to the spongy lawn that
+stretched out to a summerhouse partly covered with the skeleton of
+last summer's vines. "Just a minute, Aunt Susie," she answered,
+without looking back. "I want to see how the hydrangea is coming on."
+
+Miss Susie turned and closed the door behind her.
+
+Bloomfield had a quality of unchangeableness. Even in the dead of
+winter you could tell with half an eye how it would look bedecked in
+its summer finery. Down the stretch of years, past many an intervening
+milepost, it always stood clearly envisioned to its sons and daughters
+both natural and adopted. There was about four hundred yards of
+macadam street lined with oaks and maples as old as or older than the
+meeting house of early Post-Revolutionary days which stood at the
+cross-roads corner diagonally across from the glary white gasolene
+station. Half-way down the street, in a cluster of elms, stood the
+remnants of an ancient tavern, whose front wall, flush with the
+sidewalk, showed occasional bullet scars on the rough red brownstone
+surface. Green outside shutters lay inertly back from dull leaded
+panes which reflected metallically the orange glow of the setting sun,
+and over the door, which was squat and low and level with the
+pavement, an ancient four-sided lantern, hung from a bracket of rusty
+black iron, was gathering cobwebs in disuse. All this lay within Mary
+Louise's field of vision from the summerhouse and yet she saw it not.
+She was staring abstractedly at a wary robin that had stopped to rest
+on a fence post, his beak all frowzy with the débris from a recent
+drilling. The McCallum house--her father's--stood at the other end of
+the row of maples on the same side of the street as the meeting house
+and a hundred yards or so distant. There was quite an expanse of
+greening lawn in front and to the south, whereon stood the
+summerhouse, and a tangle of rose bushes hid the decaying board fence
+which marked the southern boundary. Along the brick sidewalk stretched
+a line of ageing wooden pickets and about midway in their extent hung
+the wooden gate with the screak. The house was frame, low and
+wide-stretching, with an inviting verandah about a cavernous front
+door that was dark and rarely open. People used the side door into the
+ell sitting room, and the brick walk leading in a curved sweep to this
+doorway was free from grass. A high wooden lattice separated the front
+lawn from the backyard and sheds and stables, and about this lattice
+sprawled in luxuriant freedom rose vines and honeysuckle, just now
+faintly budding into life.
+
+Mary Louise stooped and punched a hole in the soft earth with a little
+stick, unconsciously uprooting a tender shoot thereby. A black beetle
+came scurrying out of the decaying baseboard at this disturbance and
+was summarily filliped off into the greening wastes of lawn.
+Collecting herself, she next inspected the branches of the plant near
+by and finding sufficient promise of green, straightened up and flung
+back an escaping wisp of hair, with a sigh.
+
+There was nothing particularly noticeable about Mary Louise unless it
+might possibly be a certain fine-drawnness. Her eyes, which were
+brown, had a sort of set focus on the immediate, and there were some
+fine lines from the corners of her lips to her nose. She was slim and
+straight, with small hands and feet, and her arms, which were bare to
+the elbow, might have been soft and round, were it not for a sinuous
+tension that showed itself in little corded creases right where a
+girl's arms should be softest and roundest. And her hair had a way of
+coming down at all times and in all weathers. It had never been
+decided whether she were pretty or not. That was something that had
+never mattered--to her, at least.
+
+As she threw back her head she was conscious of a general escaping of
+hairpins and a loosening of hair. With a frown she dropped her stick
+and turned her attention from horticulture to coiffure. A low whistle
+sounded from somewhere beyond the rose vines, and as she turned, with
+her fingers in her hair and elbows protruding, she saw a man come
+swinging along the walk past the boundary fence, his eyes sweeping the
+house from upstairs windows to side porch.
+
+Mary Louise calmly proceeded with her toilette, making no sign. He
+caught sight of her, paused a moment, and then vaulted stiffly over
+the picket fence into the yard.
+
+"'Lo," he said.
+
+She had a hairpin in her mouth and returned the greeting with a slight
+lifting of eyebrows. As her head was lowered and her chin tucked in,
+this was a sufficiently effective reply.
+
+"Musta rained pretty hard here," he ventured, as, noticing the damage
+that the damp grass was doing to his trouser hems, he covered the
+remaining distance between them in a series of violent haphazard
+leaps.
+
+The hairpin rendered her response unintelligible.
+
+"How d'you find things?" gaining her side, and a bit more calmly.
+
+Mary Louise deliberately tucked in one last recalcitrant wisp and
+pinned it down, and then turned to him. "Pretty well." Her gaze was
+level and critical.
+
+"Aunt Sue better?"
+
+She nodded. Then she turned and slowly walked within the inclosure of
+the summerhouse and sat down. He followed her and stood framed in the
+doorway.
+
+"What's the gloom?" he asked directly, after a moment of silence.
+
+"Nothing," she said, a little too brightly.
+
+"Not interrupting anything, am I?"
+
+Disregarding this: "What are you doing in Bloomfield?"
+
+He laughed. "Aren't sorry I came, are you? This is Saturday. Times
+have changed. Maybe you don't know. Proletariat's riding high."
+
+"They're giving you the whole day now?" in a mildly dubious tone.
+
+He turned away. "No. But Uncle Buzz was in a jam, and--well, I thought
+I'd better come." He turned on her suddenly. "Keeping tab on me,
+aren't you? How'd you know?"
+
+"I reckon I'd better, Joe." And then more softly: "Think it's the best
+way to do? Uncle Buzz's been in deep water before." She rose to her
+feet and walked slowly to the opposite entrance. "How are things--at
+the works?"
+
+He was silent a moment. "Same old place. Take more'n a war to change
+'em." He came and stood beside her in the doorway. The sun was making
+a last desperate attempt to lighten the general gray of the sky with
+broad shafts of orange, and as they watched, it settled slowly and
+then dipped behind the dim blue of the distant hills. As at a signal,
+a bird in a thicket somewhere over beyond them began a long throaty
+warble. Another answered over to the left. Faint, liquid
+trip-hammerings, they were, upon brittle anvils.
+
+"It's a good thing some things don't change," she said at length, in a
+low tone.
+
+"I reckon."
+
+They watched the glow fade from the sky, the broad bands of orange
+receding swiftly westward, while the cloud rim above the horizon
+cooled softly into pink and coral and a sudden soft patter of rain
+upon the dried vines and leaves above their heads aroused them.
+Without a word, Mary Louise slipped past him and ran for the house. He
+followed.
+
+On the side porch she turned and waited for him, and he came and stood
+before her, hatless, in the rain. "I'd better be getting back before
+it gets any worse--see you in the morning?"
+
+"Let me get you an umbrella." She turned and was about to enter the
+house.
+
+"No. Can't use 'em. Get hung up in the trees. What time you want to
+start out? Nine o'clock? See you at nine."
+
+"That's too early. Make it ten. I'm busy. Besides, it's Sunday."
+
+"Comin' at nine," he called over his shoulder and started for the
+gate.
+
+She watched his retreating figure as he darted along through the
+shadow, and then she slowly turned and entered the sitting room. A dim
+yellow light from a single oil lamp on the table over against the
+right wall was feebly penetrating the deep shadows in far corners. The
+low-ceilinged room seemed huge and cavernous, with deep niches and
+crannies and bulky, shadowy objects. Miss Susie sat by the table with
+her knitting, her face yellower than ever, her hands feverishly
+restive. She raised her head as Mary Louise closed the door, and the
+tiny lines, accentuated by the lamplight, covered her face like
+markings upon an ancient scroll.
+
+"Why didn't he come in, honey?"
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Susie. He was in a hurry."
+
+"What's he doing in town? Thought he'd gone back to work in
+Louisville."
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Susie."
+
+Miss McCallum picked up her knitting. She sniffed. "No, I s'pose not."
+
+Mary Louise went over and kissed her aunt lightly upon the forehead,
+and then disappeared through a shadowy door back into shadowy depths.
+Directly came a sound of clattering tinware and then the faint echoes
+of a song, hummed, and slightly nasal. A smile flickered across Miss
+Susie's lips as she watched her fingers--the needles flitting swiftly
+in and out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+They drew rein on a hill which sloped gently away to the town a mile
+or so distant. Over to the right in a cluster of trees gleamed the
+white fences and buildings of the Bloomfield Fair Grounds like a blob
+of paint squeezed on a dark palette.
+
+Mary Louise turned in the saddle and took a long thirsty look at the
+western sky. "I love these days that are unplanned. They bring so much
+more when there isn't any promise."
+
+Joe took off his hat and wiped his forehead, keeping tight rein in the
+meantime with his other hand on his roan saddler, who, scenting the
+home stretch, was restless to be off. "After which original tribute to
+my day, I hesitate to tell you that it has been a hunch of mine for
+over a year--ever since that first spring in Texas. Made up my mind if
+ever I struck God's country alive and in one piece, I'd treat myself
+to a great bath of this sort of stuff. Unplanned! Humph!"
+
+Mary Louise's tight little mouth relaxed but she did not shift her
+gaze. "You forget. It was not planned--by me." On rare occasions Mary
+Louise could slip from her matter-of-fact self into coquetry and back
+again before one realized. It was like the play of a lightning
+shuttle, so quick that one rarely caught the flash of the back stroke.
+Joe had erred before. He was discreetly silent.
+
+"I love it," Mary Louise went on, flinging back her head, "every
+stick, every stone of it. That half mile of turf down Blue Bottle
+Lane! I'd give ten years of my life to gallop the rest of it through
+country like that." And then, as though startled, she bit her lip and
+was still.
+
+Joe smiled as he watched her narrowly. "A woman's a mess o'
+contradictions. Whoa! You, too," he called sharply to his mare.
+"Thought you wanted to eat grass a little. Whoa!" He reined up the
+tossing head with difficulty. And then to Mary Louise, "You're a sort
+of self-inflicted exile, aren't you?"
+
+Mary Louise turned from her musing and gave him a look of most
+effective scorn. "Put your hat on," she said coldly. "You talk better
+through it." She was backing her mount out from the thicket whence he
+had thrust his nose and was wheeling him about to point him toward
+home. "I suppose you'd leave your job in Louisville and come back here
+to live yourself--just because you loved the scenery!"
+
+"Not such a bad swap at that." But she was off and away. One rearing
+plunge and he was after her. Down across the grassy sweep of turf
+they fled, across a shallow ditch, past a stretch of willow thicket,
+around a jutting knob of rock, into an arching avenue of trees. It was
+like dropping into a cool, shadowy bowl, the first shoots and
+sproutings of baby leaves from the branches casting a delicate tracery
+of shadow on the golden-green shimmer of the grass. Through an open
+gate they shot, he close behind, out upon a hard metallic roadway of
+macadam. Here Mary Louise reined in her horse and Joe instantly drew
+up alongside.
+
+"It's lucky the street came along to help," he breathed. "Twenty yards
+more----"
+
+Mary Louise reached up a hand to her hair in a futile effort to stem
+the havoc there. A moment of furious attempt to quiet the racing in
+her veins, and then, quite calmly, "It's all as it should be. We've
+got to look out for such things and take advantage of them. There are
+no ifs and buts about being caught. You didn't--that's all."
+
+Joe opened his mouth to speak, stared at her a moment, and then turned
+away his eyes. They trotted along in silence, the shadows deepening
+and lengthening.
+
+Directly: "When does your tea room open?"
+
+"To-morrow. I'll be fine and stiff to start it off." Both question and
+answer had taken on a fine flavour of impersonality. Quiet again, with
+only the clatter of hoofs on the roadway. Directly they turned a wide
+sweeping curve and before them appeared a wooden gateway set at the
+end of an avenue of elms, at the other end of which showed, dim and
+forbidding, a house with columns and a green roof. Joe dismounted and,
+unlatching the gate, turned and stood grinning at her.
+
+"So you're really goin' to try it out?" His voice had the quality of
+self-questioning.
+
+It broke in on her musings and she seemed a bit impatient. "Of course
+I'm going to try it out. Only there isn't much 'try' to it. It's bound
+to make a go."
+
+"Some little difference between a merely commercial proposition and a
+popular charity like the Red Cross. There's no percentage in just
+guzzlin' tea for fun unless you're doin' it to keep Americans from
+starvin' or doughboys from itchin'. You know what I believe?" He
+turned on her suddenly. "You're just scrapin' up an excuse to--to----"
+He stammered, hesitated in indecision. "Tea!"
+
+"Don't be maudlin, Joe!" Her tone was very cold. "If you must know, we
+need the money and----Well, I guess I learned enough about _tea_ and
+_tea rooms_ in the past ten or eleven months to know whether one will
+pay or not--if it's properly run. Got awfully hardboiled while you
+were in the army, didn't you? Come, open the gate."
+
+He was silent. Mary Louise usually could put him in his place. But
+thus put in his place, Joe could assume all the irritable
+stick-to-itiveness of a child. "How about Miss Susie?"
+
+He watched the shot. For a moment it had no seeming effect, and then
+Mary Louise, turning loose all the pent-up outpourings to inner
+questionings, in a fury of righteous self-justification: "You needn't
+think I haven't thought about that. You needn't think I'm shirking my
+duty in any way. If you _knew_, you wouldn't ask such a question.
+Before you left we were just on the ragged edge, and now--well,
+somebody's got to do something to bring the money in. The place don't
+make it." Her voice quieted down a little. "It hasn't been an easy
+question to solve. Come, Joe! Open the gate."
+
+He watched her curiously. "But the servants? You've still got the
+servants, Matty, and Old Landy, and that half-baked gorilla, Omar. Why
+not----"
+
+"Yes, why not?" She turned on him. "Why not shut down the place, too,
+as well as dismiss all the servants, and live in one of the old stone
+quarters? Why not? Why not let your heels run down if they want to?
+It's much easier."
+
+Quietly he pushed the gate open and stood waiting, holding it for her.
+Something in his manner struck her, and she reached out her hand from
+her seat in the saddle and touched him lightly as her horse swerved
+past. "There, I'm sorry, Joe. But you just hounded me into it somehow.
+I didn't mean it's that way with you. You know I didn't. You see what
+I mean? One ought to try. Ought to try everything first, not just
+give up because everything doesn't seem just right. I _have_ thought
+about Aunt Susie, and it breaks me all up. But it can't be helped."
+She waited till he closed the gate and with a quick swing-up into the
+saddle drew alongside. Slowly they walked their horses up the avenue.
+
+"I s'pose you're right," he said at length. "Only--only it has seemed
+to me that there's a lot of good time wasted doing useless things.
+Would you rather run a tea room than do anything else in the world?"
+
+She looked at him but they were passing a bend in the road, and the
+sun, having dipped behind a jutting hill, no longer lighted up the
+dusky avenue, and Joe's face was in semi-shadow. "I'd rather hold on
+to what I've got than lose the tiniest portion of it," was all she
+said.
+
+Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. "If they could only see
+me now!"
+
+"They? Who, they?"
+
+His face sobered, but there was a momentary twinkle about the eyes.
+"Who? Oh, at the office." And then, as dismissing the thought, "Uncle
+Buzz know you're openin' the tea room?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you ought to tell him. Give you a lot of invaluable suggestions
+as to how to mix up little 'what-for-you's.' Get 'em comin' and goin'.
+Also, Uncle Buzz's got a mint bed that has parts."
+
+"There's some patronage we will be forced to do without," Mary Louise
+replied primly. They were nearing the house and as they approached,
+someone in one of the front rooms struck a light and it could be seen
+moving, the shadows dancing on the walls.
+
+"Don't overlook Uncle Buzz," said Joe with a chuckle. "Don't overlook
+any discriminatin' taste. You can't beat those horses of his."
+
+"No," agreed Mary Louise, "nor----" and then checked herself.
+
+The roadway turned sharply to the left and finished off in a circle,
+one arc of which touched the steps of an open porch. These steps were
+sagging and decayed, and the porch was swept by the gentle eddyings of
+leaves of past summers that had sought refuge there and had been
+undisturbed by the ruthless sweepings of winds or brooms. There was a
+haunting odour of pine and something else that was damp and old and
+weary and forgotten, and a shrivelled wisteria vine that clung with
+withered fingers to a trellis at the house corner began to whisper at
+their approach. A yellow bar of light shot for a moment across the
+porch floor to their feet, then disappeared. It was the lamp Mary
+Louise had seen farther down the driveway, and directly the side door
+opened and the mellow glow of it sent shadowy rings of light out
+toward them.
+
+"Joe! Joe!" called out an anxious voice. "Don't make noise. Keep 'way
+from the back." There was a moment's silence and as Joe made no
+reply: "Come in this way, why don't you? Better way come in."
+
+And then Mary Louise saw a hand shade the uppermost part of the lamp.
+Then there was a pause, and then a figure came across the porch, a
+short figure casting grotesque shadows, a bit stiff, a bit unsteady,
+like the rings of light that went out in circling waves behind it. It
+was Uncle Buzz. He came and stood on the topmost rotting step. He
+bowed. With one hand holding the wavering lamp, the other bravely
+cupped before his chest, he bowed.
+
+"Pardon," he said. "'N't know there were ladies."
+
+"Miss McCallum, Uncle Buzz," interposed Joe.
+
+"Honoured, 'm sure," Uncle Buzz responded with another bow, lower if
+anything than the first, so that the tip of his little goatee came
+within singeing distance of the lamp chimney, and he straightened back
+with a start, only to stare about him again, vaguely hurt. Collecting
+himself again, "Knew there was reason shouldn't go 'roun' th' back.
+Le' Zeke take horses. Zeke! Zeke!" he called in a falsetto quaver.
+"Come in this way, madam," he added with grave dignity, but curtailing
+the bow.
+
+For a moment Mary Louise was fascinated. Old Mr. Bushrod Mosby she had
+known for years--a veritable rustic macaroni, a piece of tinselled
+flotsam floating on backwater. He had always called her M'Lou; later
+occasionally Miss M'Lou. Now the rhythm of some ancient rout was
+stirring old memories, and the obligations of host sat pleasantly
+heavy upon his befogged consciousness. He bowed again.
+
+"No, thank you," she summoned her resources. "We'll be getting home.
+But we'll just leave the horses here," she added a bit hurriedly,
+anxious to be off. Echoes were sounding along a length of hallway and
+she was not desirous of the prospect of seeing Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
+Loraine--who was apt to prove a most discordant fly in the ointment of
+harmonious hospitality. So she turned to go, but turned too late. The
+door opened again and another figure appeared, a brisk figure, at
+which the dead leaves of the porch bestirred themselves in vague,
+uneasy rustlings. Uncle Buzz stepped meekly aside and Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
+Loraine--joined the group, giving him a momentary withering glance.
+She was an inexorable woman, an inch taller than Uncle Buzz, who stood
+five feet three, but she matched him whim for whim in her attire. Her
+hair looked black in the graying light; in reality it was splotched
+and streaked with a chestnut red, colour not so ill as misapplied. Her
+dress rustled as she swept forward and there were numberless faint
+clickings and clackings of chains and bangles about her. A high boned
+collar with white ruching helped her hold her head even more proudly
+straight, and the smile she shot Mary Louise was heavily fraught with
+a sickly sweet though rigorous propriety.
+
+"You must come in, my dear," she lisped. "Such exhausting exercise!
+You wouldn't think of going one step further without resting.
+Here"--she reached out one hand toward Mary Louise, testing the
+meanwhile the security of the upper step with the tip of a shiny
+shoe--"the man will attend to the horses."
+
+"Man! Yes," Uncle Buzz recollected with a start. "Zeke! Zeke!" he
+began to shout again. "Come here, suh!"
+
+"Bushrod! Be still!" hissed Mrs. Mosby.
+
+Almost was Mary Louise tempted to accept and stay, he looked so
+helpless, in such terrific danger, standing there blinking at them,
+his eyes vaguely trying to focus, and so mildly blue. His head with
+the graying hair so closely cropped gave him an odd appearance of
+boyishness, to which the smart little bow tie added not a little. He
+was trim, dapper, in spite of the fact that his standing collar was a
+size or two too large; in spite, too, of the tiny, well-trimmed
+goatee. He looked like a faun in trouble. With a shadow of distress
+crossing his face, he gave ground and backed away, the lamp tipping
+perilously in his grasp. Joe sprang forward and rescued it, setting it
+on the porch railing.
+
+"We'd better be going, I reckon, Aunt Lorry. Miss Susie's all alone,"
+he explained.
+
+Mary Louise recovered herself with a start. What could she be thinking
+of, letting Joe make her excuses for her? Somehow she felt a sharp
+little wave of irritation against him for it. She hastened to add,
+however, "Oh, no, Mrs. Mosby. Thank you so much. I really must be
+getting home. Aunt Susie _will_ be worried. It's quite dark."
+
+The little woman murmured something, and then, "And how is your Aunt
+Susie? I must call. Give her my love, be sure," all in one breath.
+
+"I will. You must," agreed Mary Louise, and turned to go. And as she
+did so she caught a most lugubrious expression on the face of Uncle
+Buzz, a gradual lengthening of all the muscles on one side of the
+face, resolving itself finally into a prodigious wink, deliberate and
+malign. Fortunately, it passed in the darkness the regard of the
+partner of his joys and sorrows and roused no answering spark.
+
+They made their adieus and passed on down the shaded avenue on foot.
+Mary Louise gave an odd little shiver as they walked out into the
+shadow, past the circle of the lamp on the railing. Uncle Buzz--Mr.
+Mosby--had seemed always just a piece of background, a harmless bit of
+scenery, a catalogue of amenities, a husk, a shell--she wondered how
+many other things. And now he was cropping out with a personality, had
+desires, problems, secret plottings, all behind the mask--a
+Machiavelli.
+
+She was aroused by a chuckle from Joe. The chuckle jarred. She turned
+and frowned at him in the darkness. Their shoes crunched in the small
+gravel of the roadway and then directly they came to the gate and
+turned along a wooden walk.
+
+"Uncle Buzz's sure ripe," Joe's voice came out of nowhere. "Been ripe
+for over two days. Time he was being picked," he continued.
+
+"Joe!"
+
+"Oh, don't get shocked. You aren't, you know. It's nothin' new!" He
+paused a moment as if to consider. "Reckon Aunt Lorry's busy with the
+pickin' now. She'll hate you," he added as an afterthought.
+
+"What for?" asked Mary Louise.
+
+"For seein' him." Joe chuckled again and relapsed into silence.
+
+They walked the rest of the way without speaking, around one corner
+past the old meeting house, beneath the low-branched maples, up to the
+McCallum gate. Mary Louise opened it and held it open, her arm barring
+the way.
+
+"Well! To-morrow's another day," said Joe, apparently disregarding it.
+
+"It's just as well," replied Mary Louise. "I'm not quite sure the
+army's helped you much, Joe."
+
+"The army? Helped me?--I don't get you," he tried to see her eyes,
+puzzled.
+
+"You're flippant--about things that are not trivial."
+
+"Oh!" he laughed. "It doesn't always rain when it clouds. Wait till we
+get into some real heavy weather. What's the harm, anyway? We should
+bother."
+
+"That's not the only thing. You were making fun of Zenie's baby--just
+like it was a little animal. They might find out some day _how_ you
+quoted from the Bible. Of course, there's no real harm done--but I
+don't like it."
+
+Joe slid his hand softly along the top bar of the wooden gate till it
+touched hers. She drew quietly away. "Perhaps!" he said. "The old
+world runs along pretty well whether we bother or whether we don't. It
+doesn't make much difference what we do or what we don't. The old
+fellow's heart's all right, I reckon, and as for the niggers!--just as
+good a name as Loraine. My Lord!"
+
+She stood silent, in thought. A faint reddish glow came to them from
+the curtained glass door of the ell sitting room. "Just a little
+sermon to start us out right--back to work. It _is_ a serious
+business, you know, Joe--reconstruction! It's a big task. Let's not
+fall down on it or be trivial--shirk any of the responsibilities.
+Good-night," she added suddenly, giving her hand. "It's been a
+glorious day. I'll see you--in the city."
+
+They parted, and he could hear her scrape her feet at the edge of the
+porch. The stars were winking through the branches of the maples and
+somewhere in the darkness a gutter was keeping up a monotonous
+dripping. He passed the corner and turned back to the road with the
+overlapping elms, walking with his hands thrust deep into his pockets,
+his eyes watching the road. "Humph!" he said after a while, out loud,
+and then began to whistle softly to himself, shuffling with his feet
+on the gravel in time to his whistling as he walked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Joe Hooper was not a handsome man. He was of that type so often seen
+in the South, tall, gangly, and very dark, with a sallow complexion
+and a general air of inertness that always misleads the stranger to
+the type. Insignificant looking, perhaps, but they will be found, on
+later acquaintance, to be worming themselves into general regard
+without effort. The law claims many of them and occasionally the
+raising of stock and the tilling of soil, though usually as
+proprietors only, it is true. Sometimes they are swept into strange
+waters where, if they float about long enough, they manage by some
+inherent mordant capacity to colour the entire complexion to their
+own. There are exceptions, of course.
+
+Joe's father had lost his farm through foreclosure. It killed him.
+This fact and the presence of some alien strain sent Joe to Louisville
+which had some of the elements of the melting pot and some traditional
+elements of opportunity. He was twenty-four when he made this change.
+For two years he had resisted fusion and escaped opportunity. He had
+fallen into a job with the Bromley Plow Company and risen to the
+exalted status of stock clerk when the war came. The war, or rather
+the idea of the war, had proved a great relief to his imagination and
+he had enlisted at once, as a matter of fact, on the second day. This
+notion of service had been the one thing stronger than the influence
+of Mary Louise, which had been, it must be confessed, the main reason
+for his sticking as long as two years. The Plow Works had seemed a
+rather tedious road to a _Restoration_ and the _Barebones Parliament_
+that sat in the inner office had seemed inexorably determined to make
+that road as devious and difficult as possible. He had escaped gladly.
+But the war had come to an end with him still in service on this side
+and he had at length returned with many things unsatisfied. One of
+these had been his idea about Mary Louise. She, too, had been swept
+into the vortex, into a mild eddy of it. The Red Cross had found her
+useful in the maintenance of a tea room for the enjoyment of the men
+at Camp Taylor. It had sounded innocent enough, but upon Joe's return
+he had found that she had in some way been galvanized. She was one of
+the war's changes; he, unfortunately, not so.
+
+He did not know clearly just what he had expected upon his return, but
+then he had not expected the kind of return that he had experienced.
+There had been nothing epochal in it. Even his job was waiting for
+him; it seemed to him even the same routine details. One file of
+correspondence that he had found upon his desk that first morning had
+had a singularly familiar look. It would always stick in his memory.
+First there had been a moment of high anticipation at the station with
+the taxi-men calling out the names of the hotels, and stretched across
+Main Street he remembered seeing a large banner flanked with bunting
+and with "Welcome Home" inscribed thereon. Then he had watched the
+familiar landmarks as he rolled southward in the street car with an
+odd little feeling of "Hello, there you are again"; and the Works,
+looming up in the distance at the end of the line, with its tall brick
+stack, was a sort of culmination. Not exactly a culmination, either,
+for he was conscious of a jarring note. Then the oak-panelled lobby,
+with the time clock, a sombre monitor, took just another grain of
+carefree satisfaction from the sum total of his feelings; and
+finally--his desk, and the worn, thumb-edged file! The first letter
+therein! "Recent shipments castings EE23, G143, F47, and J29 have come
+to us unannealed. J29 shows fins and sprues; the hole in EE23 is in
+most cases completely closed; and G143 and F47 are so rough that they
+will not fit into their respective sockets without machining. Will
+return same via local freight to-day." That was all. An Homeric
+welcome into very deep water! Such had been Joe Hooper's homecoming.
+
+As for Mary Louise:--well, there had been nothing quite so definite.
+He had met her at the tea room--there had been one final week of
+closing after his arrival--and he had not quite made up his mind about
+her before she had left for Bloomfield, beyond a certain stiffening of
+fibre, an aloofness that was new, and a business-like air that seemed
+to say "Come across," that he did not exactly like. But then a week is
+not a very long time to get down to bed-rock with a person, especially
+when that person is busy ten hours out of the day and thinking the
+other fourteen about the ten that have just passed.
+
+Four weeks had rolled around. It was the first of May. Joe sat at his
+desk absently fingering a stack of paper slips. They were reports from
+the various assembling shops advising him of the number of bolts of
+certain styles and sizes used in those respective shops that day. He
+was supposed to post these amounts in a stock ledger against the
+various sizes and styles and note the approaching shortages wherever
+they came. There were between fifty and a hundred slips. The window
+was open opposite his desk and a delightful breeze was curling up the
+edges of some papers which had been thoughtfully weighted down. Joe
+gazed, heavy lidded, through the window. An automobile, a long,
+slouchy black one, went whirling by with the tonneau full of girls.
+Their veils were streaming and fluttering out behind, many-hued and
+flimsy. They were all gazing at the office windows as they passed.
+"One might think it was a reformatory or the county workhouse or
+something," he thought. He turned dully to the stack of reports and
+began to count them. He felt stale--flat.
+
+He heard his name called, and turning, saw Mr. Boner standing at the
+corner of the partition looking at him over his spectacles. Mr. Boner
+was a tall, heavy man with nervous twitchings and anxious eyes that
+were eternally shifting about beneath their brows for something
+disturbing. He was responsible for keeping the warehouse filled, the
+warehouse whose books Joe kept, and it was his further duty to keep it
+filled as cheaply as possible. The threat of failure in either was
+what caused that eternal shifting. It was a sort of high-tension
+vigilance.
+
+Joe rose to his feet, obeying the monosyllabic summons, and followed
+Mr. Boner around the partition. Mr. Boner rated a private office,
+where he could worm information, trade secrets, and occasional
+concessions from travelling salesmen. There was nothing social about
+the place. As Joe turned the partition corner and stood in the
+doorway, the old man had already seated himself at the desk. His fat
+hips completely filled the chair. He was apparently staring at
+something on the desk before him, but Joe could catch the occasional
+shifting glimmer of his eyes at the corners and knew he was looking
+at him. Suddenly Mr. Boner turned to the inner corner of the desk,
+started to speak, strangled, and with difficulty recovered himself.
+His voice, when finally he did recover it, was so loud that it
+startled even himself, and just as suddenly he lowered it to
+confidential pitch. Joe had been a witness to this procedure many
+times before but it never failed to interest him. In fact, Mr. Boner
+was himself a study. There was an old-fashioned golf cap perched on
+the top of his graying head and his close-clipped moustache was
+silvery white, in marked contrast to the pink-and-white mottle of his
+cheeks, which hung down over his collar in folds, like some dependable
+old foxhound's. One hand lay fat and puffy on the desk, clutching a
+pencil in a nervous grip. And the middle of him--he seemed to bulk and
+fill out the entire chair--so incongruous with his little feet and
+mincing gait! It was as though as much as possible of his body were
+seeking to escape that all-devouring tension in relapse. How familiar
+it all was! Even during those months at camp the picture would recur
+and Joe would laugh softly to himself. Poor old duffer! He was a
+product of the plant just as much as ploughs and tillage implements
+were. How soon would _he_ begin to show the indelible imprint?
+
+The voice rose sharply. Joe realized that Mr. Boner was speaking to
+him--was speaking with great feeling. He came back to realities with a
+jerk.
+
+"Out of carriage bolts two one half one quarter," he was saying. It
+was probably the second time he had said it. He choked with emotion
+and had to seek refuge again in the receptacle on the floor at the
+left-hand corner of his desk.
+
+Joe seemed unmoved.
+
+"Book shows been out since April nineteenth." The old man turned to
+observe the effect of his damnation.
+
+Joe quivered but showed no sign.
+
+"Make out memorandum cut down one thousand five one half by one
+quarter." He spoke it explosively, keeping a furtive eye on that
+left-hand corner. "Have a surplus eleven thousand of them."
+
+Joe guiltily felt that the old man knew the stock books better than he
+himself. A little spot of red appeared in each cheek.
+
+Mr. Boner shoved two sheets of yellow paper across the desk toward
+him. "I've reordered replacement one thousand five one half,
+cancellation one thousand two one half." This with an air of
+satisfaction. There was nothing more to be done, patently. "Waste
+stock," Mr. Boner muttered.
+
+Joe turned to go.
+
+Mr. Boner exploded again. This was not all, apparently. "Blue annealed
+sheets," he called, sputtered, gripped the arms of his chair
+convulsively, recovered, and sat glaring helplessly.
+
+Joe availed himself of the opportunity. "Have a memo for you on the
+desk." In spite of himself his voice sounded nervous. "Just out of two
+sizes to-day." He waited.
+
+The old man turned and bent his head over his work. _That_ was over.
+Joe returned to his desk, got the memo, and entered the little office
+again. As he slipped the paper across an intervening table, Mr. Boner
+straightened from a stooping inspection of a lower desk drawer, and
+Joe saw him furtively wipe a knife blade on the leg of his trousers
+and then turn upon him a look of mildest blue. There was a bulge in
+his left cheek as round as an acorn. Neither spoke. A privacy had been
+violated. Joe felt like a "Peeping Tom."
+
+Noiselessly he slipped around the corner, back to his desk. The breeze
+was still blowing merrily through the window and two clerks at desks
+across the aisle were shoving pencils and rulers and like equipment
+into their proper drawers with a smug sort of satisfaction shining in
+their drawn faces. He looked at his watch. It lacked a minute of
+five-thirty. Then he looked at the stack of reports again, paused, and
+with an air of sudden decision dropped them into an open drawer.
+Opening another drawer he swept all the movable articles on his desk
+thereinto, careless of the confusion he caused, seized his hat from a
+peg behind him, and strode across the office, out through the door,
+into the oak-panelled lobby. For a moment he stood before the clock.
+Its hands showed five twenty-nine. He paused, then deliberately
+punched his number, descended the steps, and went out through the door
+on to the street. The whistle was blowing as he went down the walk.
+The street was deserted. He felt eyes somewhere on his back but walked
+on in apparent unconcern. He was conscious of a peculiar mixture of
+emotions, a little guilt, a little shame, a little furtiveness, and
+more than any, a lifting sense of relief, freedom. The air was light,
+cool, and invigorating. There was a pleasant crunch of dry dusty
+cinders beneath his feet. And then he saw a venturesome bluebird come
+darting across the open fields to the west and perch for a moment on
+the top strand of the barbed-wire fence of the Plow Works, a few yards
+ahead of him. It sat there swaying and watching him and, as he
+approached nearer, it took wing and darted across the Plow Company's
+grounds eastward toward the city. Joe filliped a wire paper clip after
+it.
+
+"You had better turn around and go back where you came from," he
+called after it softly.
+
+He proceeded homeward.
+
+As he climbed the boarding-house stairs to his room he felt listless.
+For four weeks he had climbed those listless stairs. There had been
+one brief respite--the two days of Bloomfield with its easy
+relaxation. What lay at the end of the road? Whither was he tending?
+Mr. Boner's shoes? His desk was the step next below the little
+private office. He laughed shortly to himself as he opened a bureau
+drawer and selected a clean white shirt. The touch of the clean linen
+encouraged him a little. He began to whistle. He had a "date on" with
+Mary Louise. He had asked her to go to the vaudeville. Two or three
+hours of pleasant forgetfulness, anyway. Mary Louise--the thought of
+her brought a vague feeling of unrest. For over two weeks he had tried
+to get her over the 'phone. She had either been out when he had called
+or had pleaded some other engagement. Finally he had got the
+engagement for to-night three days ahead. And she had as good as
+promised to see him right off, immediately after that week-end in
+Bloomfield. Stranger! Stranger in the city! That did not sound very
+much as if she were a stranger. He wondered what she could have been
+doing. She had met a good many people while she was doing Red Cross,
+probably, people in the army--men--officers, now in civilian life. Why
+not? And yet he had felt the least bit irritated and a little bit
+lonely. For _his_ friends had scattered, it seemed. And then they had
+not mattered much. And he had rather looked forward to the coming
+summer with Mary Louise in town. Now he didn't so much. It was
+foolish, too. There wasn't any reason for it. A man shouldn't pin his
+resources down to one spot.
+
+He washed, dressed, and then went to dinner at a dairy lunch around
+the corner. The boarding place furnished breakfasts only. Then there
+was an hour and a half to kill before he could go for her. She had a
+room in a down-town apartment, not over three blocks away, and that
+would take but a very short time. He wandered over to the public
+square. Some old men were sitting on a row of iron benches lining the
+sidewalk, facing the street. They surveyed him critically as he passed
+by. He walked up and idly inspected the kiosk where the weather-bureau
+reports were posted. He noticed it predicted continued fair. Then he
+turned and walked in the street for about a block, gazing in shop
+windows. There was nothing in any of them that he particularly wanted.
+He stopped at a street corner and looked up and down both streets. A
+few desultory pedestrians went walking hither and yon, leisurely, with
+no apparent purpose. It was the lull of supper hour and there was an
+orange glow that penetrated even down to the streets which were mere
+canyons between sombre, artificial cliffs of masonry. To the west a
+small patch of open sky glowed sulphurously through a smoke pall. A
+city _was_ a poor place to spend time in--really live in, he thought.
+And Mary Louise--he wondered if she thought so, too, she who had been
+raised in the greenest of all green country, in the widest and
+cleanest of spaces. Probably not. At least, it didn't look like it. A
+city was a good place to work in. One could work anywhere--if the work
+was all right. She had seemed keen about her work. She probably had
+had a lot to do, getting things started. She'd probably not had much
+time. He might have missed her during her leisure hours. It was
+possible she was as desirous of some outdoors, of some clean air, some
+blue sky, as he was.
+
+Almost with the force of a decision he turned and walked back to the
+square and sat down. He looked at the clock. It said five minutes
+after seven. There was still an hour.
+
+He sat and deliberately waited.
+
+The time eventually passed, and before he had really gathered together
+his thoughts into orderly array she was meeting him at the door of her
+apartment, a little flushed, a little hurried, quite brisk and
+apparently eager to be at the business at hand. There was also an air
+of preoccupation as if she were revolving over in her mind some
+previous matters of which the threads still remained untangled. In
+this respect there was change. The old Mary Louise had been as open as
+a wild rose, as freshly and sweetly receptive to whatever wind came
+along. She had gathered complexity, was more serious, laughed less,
+frowned more.
+
+They walked along the street in the gathering darkness soberly, he
+returning monosyllabic answers to the perfunctory questions which she
+fired at him, brightly crisp. Like the questionnaire of a superior
+officer he felt. Then for nearly a block they said nothing. Glancing
+sidewise at her he caught the straight, almost grim line of her mouth
+and the little pucker between her brows. As if realizing she was being
+observed she suddenly asked:
+
+"What are you doing out at the Works?"
+
+Joe paused a moment before replying. "When I was in Texas," he began,
+"out in the sticks, we had a flood, and the road from headquarters was
+in danger of being washed away. Culverts too small. Had one nigger
+standing on the bank of one stream by the head of a culvert catching
+the sticks and brush and dragging them up on the bank so they wouldn't
+clog up the hole." He spoke in a quietly reminiscent tone.
+
+She turned and looked at him curiously. "But I said, 'What are _you_
+doing _now_ at the Works?'"
+
+"I know," he continued, in the same tone. "That's what I'm doing at
+the Plow Factory. Keeping the water running."
+
+She smiled, just a flash of a smile. "Doesn't sound so bad, even if
+you are secretive about it. How did the nigger take care of his job?"
+
+Joe looked up quickly. "Oh--he? He fell asleep. And then he fell in
+the creek."
+
+Mary Louise was watching him, waiting for him to finish. At last he
+seemed to have got her entire attention. "And then?"
+
+"Then he got pneumonia--and died."
+
+They crossed the street. Up ahead the lights of the theatre gleamed
+dazzling white. The crowd was getting almost too thick to permit
+conversation.
+
+"You don't like your job then?"
+
+He flared into sudden unexpected defense of it. "Well, I haven't gone
+to sleep on it yet."
+
+They said no more, for the task of passing the ticket chopper and then
+of getting settled in their seats was all absorbing. And then directly
+the curtain rose and Joe found himself slipping into a delightfully
+relaxed forgetfulness. He was being amused. His good humour was
+returning. He got an occasional glance at Mary Louise, sometimes
+during contagious gales of laughter that would sweep the audience, and
+saw her smiling slightly, mostly with her eyes; and was puzzled, for
+the humour was not that sort. Had he stopped to think, or had he been
+more experienced, he would not have been thus puzzled, for he would
+have realized that the sudden putting on of sophistication is always a
+puzzling thing.
+
+But he banished the question and gave himself up entirely to
+enjoyment. And when the final curtain fell he rose to his feet with a
+faint inner sigh of regret. It was with high good humour that he
+gained his companion's side outside the theatre.
+
+"We'll get a bite to eat down in the Rathskeller," he suggested gaily.
+
+"No, Joe, let's not. This is enough for one evening." She turned as if
+to start southward, toward home, but he seized her arm, laughing:
+
+"Maybe it's enough for you, but it's not enough for me. Come on. Be a
+sport. You've been dodging me long enough."
+
+"Dodging you?" She was all hurt surprise as he hurried her along.
+
+Joe's method was improving. "Well, come along, then--if you don't want
+me to think so."
+
+Mary Louise let it go at that. She came.
+
+A revolving door that swept outward musty and yet alluring odours
+swept them inward. They descended a flight of winding steps to a
+subterranean anteroom of stone. Dim lights winked at them from stone
+niches and from a cleft in the rock to one side a prim little maid in
+a ruched white cap took Joe's hat. There should have been a troglodyte
+attendant, instead. On the other side of swinging glass doors was much
+clatter and laughter and the indistinct voice of a woman above a
+rhythmic strumming and the bleat of a saxophone. The transition to
+this other side was sudden and bewildering. The glimmer burst into a
+glare, the dim echo swelled into a roar as the door opened, and Joe
+stood blinking, asking for a table for two. As he threaded his way
+between tables, past careening waiters swinging aloft perilous trays,
+a girl in a crimson evening frock came wandering carelessly through
+the aisle toward him, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes
+searching the crowd sitting about her. Her figure was short and pudgy
+and so violently compressed into her crimson gown that she seemed to
+be oozing out of a scanty chalice. She was singing a most provocative
+song and, catching sight of Joe as he struggled along, face uptilted,
+and, looking into his eyes most impudently, let him have the full
+import of her words.
+
+Joe gave her a deliberate, knowing wink. With a careless shrug she
+moved away in search of more promising and sensitive material.
+
+He passed, the toxine of gaiety mounting to his head, to a small table
+tucked into a remote corner, where the waiter was holding out a chair
+for him.
+
+"Won't do, George," he said, refusing the proffered chair. "We can't
+be buried way back here. We aren't dead ones, you know."
+
+The waiter raised a deprecating shoulder but Mary Louise broke in,
+"Oh, don't bother! This is all right, Joe." She had already seated
+herself and was drawing off her gloves. Her face looked hot and weary,
+and long wisps of hair were clinging damply to her temples.
+
+"Wish we could have had a table over there," indicating two or three
+vacant ones near the orchestra and the base of the jongleur's
+operations. "We're out of it here. Well, at any rate, what are you
+going to have?"
+
+She turned from a weary inspection of adjoining tables. "Oh, anything.
+Some lemonade, I suppose."
+
+"Don't want to celebrate? This is our first party." His eyes and smile
+were eager.
+
+"No. Of course not, Joe. You know better than that."
+
+"Two lemonades," he said to the waiter regretfully. Somehow it seemed
+like a waste of atmosphere, a waste of fuel, pulling a rowboat with a
+turbine--to be drinking lemonade in a place like this. Many bitter
+similes occurred to him, but he banished them.
+
+"The old girl looks like a rash, doesn't she?" he said, indicating the
+singer who was wandering about amongst the tables in another part of
+the room.
+
+Mary Louise looked at him suspiciously. "How's that?"
+
+"She's a-breakin' out."
+
+Neither paid any further attention to this atrocity; she, because she
+willed otherwise; he, because he was blissfully unaware.
+
+But her apathy was noticeable. He made one or two violent efforts to
+spur her flagging spirits and then, becoming touched by the contagion
+of her reserve, lapsed himself into silence. They sat and sipped their
+lemonades, thoughtfully inspecting their straws, dolefully ruminative.
+Their little table was like a blot on a snow-white expanse of joy.
+
+Joe came to the bottom of his glass and made a vicious noise in the
+residue of cracked ice. He looked up to see how she might be taking
+it and saw a gleam of pleasure pass across her face. It quickly
+subsided and gave way to a look of preoccupation. He was watching her
+intently now. And then she smiled and looked beyond him, stretching
+her hand out in recognition. Someone touched the back of his chair. He
+looked over his shoulder, saw a man's figure standing there, and then
+he rose to his feet.
+
+Dimly he heard Mary Louise's introduction. It was a Mr. Claybrook or
+something like that.
+
+"Won't you pull your chair up?" Joe invited.
+
+Mr. Claybrook decided he would. He was a big man, a grave man, a man
+of considerable poise, and possessed of whimsical crow's-feet in the
+corners of his eyes. Mary Louise's apathy seemed to retire a little at
+his approach.
+
+"Glad to see you survived last night," he said to her with a faint
+smile.
+
+She flushed, and Joe felt a little roughness under his collar.
+
+"How's the tea room coming? Roused out any hard drinkers yet?"
+
+"Oh, we're not looking for that. We hope to make a few steady friends,
+but we're depending on the ebb and flow." Her colour was mounting, and
+had not Joe been so uncomfortable he would have seen how pretty she
+was. But he sank deeper and deeper into a sullen and unreasoning
+discomfort. The two had evidently had considerable in common before.
+He felt awkward--knew of nothing to say. Claybrook, on the other
+hand, was enjoying himself.
+
+And apparently sensing the tension in Joe's mind, and seeking to
+lighten it a bit, she volunteered:
+
+"Captain Claybrook is going to help us put the tea room across. He was
+one of our best little patrons in Camp Taylor."
+
+Claybrook looked self-conscious; Joe even more embarrassed. And
+suddenly a strange look crossed her face and she broke off her
+explanation. Joe turned and looked in the direction toward which she
+was staring wide-eyed.
+
+And across the room, weaving through the labyrinth of tables and
+bearing straight down upon them, came a strange apparition. With
+unsteady gait, his hand stretched out in caution before him and a
+watery smile upon his lips, came Uncle Buzz. An incongruously
+picturesque figure amidst smartness and glitter. His head was as sleek
+as ever and he had waxed the tips of his moustaches so that they stuck
+out jauntily as did the tips of his black bow tie. But his jacket was
+short and rusty and in need of pressing, of which fact he seemed
+blissfully unaware. For, having sighted them, he was coming on
+steadfastly, past pitfalls that yawned, with a smile upon his face.
+
+Joe felt a peculiar exulting glow pass over him, whether at the sight
+of a familiar, friendly face or for some less creditable reason.
+Distress was plainly written on the face of Mary Louise. Claybrook
+talked on, unconscious of what was coming.
+
+And then Mr. Mosby drew up alongside and favoured them with an
+elaborate bow from the centre of the aisle. A hurrying waiter, being
+thus perilously presented with an unexpected hazard, made a desperate
+swerve in mid-flight and menaced an adjoining table with the contents
+of his tray. A glass crashed, a woman shrieked, and Uncle Buzz
+serenely proceeded.
+
+"Don't get up. Pray, don't get up," he said to Joe and Claybrook. "Saw
+you from the door and merely came to pay my respects. Miss Mary
+Louise, we miss you in the old town." He turned to her gracefully, and
+Joe could catch the faint aroma of Bourbon, thus immediately
+accounting to his own satisfaction for the easy poise and manner. Mary
+Louise was lost. She watched Claybrook, who seemed amused, and Uncle
+Buzz went on, turning his attention to Joe. "And by the way, Joseph,
+if you can arrange to, your Aunt Loraine and I would like for you to
+spend Saturday and Sunday with us."
+
+Joe knew how much his Aunt Loraine would subscribe to this courtesy.
+It meant work to do, that was all. But he was amused, felt singularly
+light-hearted instead of embarrassed. Who can say he was depraved? His
+voice was kind and cajoling as he replied:
+
+"What are you doing in town, Uncle Buzz? Isn't the store open to-day?
+Mr. Claybrook! Mr. Mosby!"
+
+Uncle Buzz acknowledged the honour and then he turned on Joe a
+dignified but hurt surprise. "I come to town quite frequently," he
+said, clipping his words. "A Mr. Forbes of Boston wrote me to meet him
+here about some saddle horses." This was said quietly but with proper
+emphasis. Joe wondered how far it strayed from the truth. There were
+only two saddlers left, he knew. Uncle Buzz was swaying slightly to
+and fro and the little table was rapidly becoming the cynosure of all
+eyes. Mary Louise looked about her desperately. Uncle Buzz, smiling
+sweetly in the aisle, and threatening at any moment to shatter the
+illusion by falling prostrate, was entirely ignorant of her distress.
+The tables were reversed. Claybrook was silent; Joe held the centre of
+the conversational stage.
+
+Suddenly Mary Louise arose. "We must be going," she said. She paused,
+gave them all an uncertain smile, and then she started rapidly for the
+door. Old Mr. Mosby looked mildly surprised, then accepted the
+situation as one too complex for his muddled brain. And Joe, after a
+first flare of anger, followed her in silence, leaving Claybrook and
+Uncle Buzz to contest the honours after him.
+
+They parted in the lobby; Mary Louise with a bright spot on either
+cheek and her lips set in their tightest line; Claybrook suave and
+genial; Uncle Buzz bewildered and in some way wistfully regretful.
+His watery blue eyes held in them an unanswered question that seemed
+too ponderous for utterance. Joe was silent.
+
+He took her home, along the deserted streets as quickly as possible.
+For a long time neither spoke. Then it was some trivial amenity that
+she uttered to which he made even shorter reply. Up in the elevator
+they went, silently watching the floor. At the door of her apartment
+he inclined his head. "Good-night," he said, without offering to shake
+hands.
+
+"What's the matter, Joe?" she asked, suddenly coming to herself and
+realizing the oversight.
+
+"Not a thing," he said. "It's perfectly all right with me." He turned
+to go.
+
+"Oh!" The exclamation was almost involuntary. She shrank back a little
+into the shadow. "It was a nice party."
+
+He made no reply but acknowledged this with another slight inclination
+of the head. And then he started down the hall.
+
+For a moment she stood and listened to the muffled sound of his
+footsteps upon the thick hall carpet, and then she softly closed the
+door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Joe had been right. There was a difference between an enterprise
+backed by popular sentiment and practically the same elements with the
+backing removed. In the first place, the patronage of the new tea room
+was not so brisk and what there was was more skeptically critical.
+There was not that carefree acceptance of things that overlooked
+deficiencies in the light of the cause they existed under. In fact,
+the helpful pressure that had held it all cemented had loosened. At
+the end of the first week the two cooks suggested a raise in pay
+amounting to ten dollars a month apiece. They did this in accord. And
+then, contrary to what might be expected now that the war was over,
+there was an insidious rising in the cost of everything, from table
+napkins to canned asparagus. Mary Louise began to feel that profits
+might not be so easy to estimate, after all.
+
+Her coördinate, too, was constitutionally apathetic. She was a bovine
+creature who positively refused to get ruffled over obstacles,
+criticisms, or fate. Her name was Maida Jones. Two large pans of buns
+had burned. Mary Louise, seeking to fix the responsibility, had failed
+in doing so and was wracked at the prospect of frequently recurring
+waste. Responsibility to be effective must be undivided. Maida had
+only laughed. And Mary Louise removed herself from the scene of her
+defeat and stood in the doorway of the tea room proper and stared
+bleakly across a vista of deserted tables at a languid and heat-ridden
+thoroughfare. It was going to be a "hit-or-miss" proposition, a
+careless, slipshod affair--this tea room--unless she did something to
+prevent it--and it was too hot. That was what was the matter. It was
+too hot. She brushed back the hair from her face and slumped. Behind
+her came the clatter of dishes. And then someone laughed, a coarse,
+raucous laugh. Mary Louise shuddered. The post-office clock boomed six
+and she suddenly realized that the day was over. There would be no
+belated custom, for the service stopped at six and the room was empty.
+Irritation gave way to discouragement. The day's receipts had been
+slim indeed. Just then she noticed an automobile roll up to the curb
+outside, and a man got out. She saw him start for the door, and for a
+moment she pondered whether she would accomodate him or turn him away.
+He opened the door. It was Claybrook.
+
+"Hullo," he said, catching sight of her. "Afraid I'd be too late. Come
+take a ride."
+
+That was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can't," she said. "I have
+to wait till they get through back there," indicating with a jerk of
+the head those uncertain regions which had become suddenly quiet.
+
+"Oh, let them take care of themselves. What is help for if you have to
+watch it every minute? Come on. It's too hot to work any longer,
+anyway."
+
+She yielded. First she spent a moment or two before a mirror, tidying
+herself up, feeling as she did so a little thrill of anticipation. And
+then she stuck her head through the kitchen door and announced that
+she was leaving. "Don't burn the whole place up, Maida," she cautioned
+with a laugh as she caught sight of her sitting, humped forward in a
+kitchen chair, fat elbows resting on a table, placidly viewing a vast
+clutter of dishes that had not yet been put away.
+
+Mary Louise escaped and clambered into the waiting car, into the
+vacant seat beside the driver.
+
+They whirled away, turned a corner sharply, and soon were leaving the
+narrow, restricted streets of the down-town district which had been
+pulsing and glowering with heat all day. She caught a look at
+Claybrook in the seat beside her. He was as fresh and cool as though
+he had not been exposed to the weather at all. Instinctively she
+reached a restraining hand to her hair. It was blowing in wild
+disarray. A sudden stretch of stately old houses sitting well back on
+either side of the street, partly hidden by double rows of trees,
+caused her fresh doubts as to the fitness of her attire. In her
+shirtwaist and skirt she felt like an intruder.
+
+A man from the sidewalk bowed to them. So busy was she with her hat
+that she could not see who it was.
+
+"There goes Wilkes," said Claybrook. "You remember Wilkes out at Camp?
+Had charge of the Post Exchange."
+
+She hoped she had escaped recognition. As if for protection she
+slipped farther down in the seat and was less troubled by the wind.
+The neighbourhood through which they were passing was becoming even
+more fashionable, and aristocratic nurse-maids with their aristocratic
+charges, alike in white, starchy, frilly things, were dotting the
+sidewalks on either side of the street, supplying a live motif to a
+prospect that might otherwise seem too orderly and remote. The lawns
+were beautiful, close cropped and freshly green, and frequent
+fountains sent a delightful mist across the pavement even to the
+street. It was all very cool and refreshing. She began to see where
+certain phases of city life might prove to be quite pleasant. The
+modern fleshpots may seem alluring not alone in retrospect.
+
+At length they passed from the asphalt paving on to a roadway of
+yellow-red gravel, and up ahead, Mary Louise could see a stretch of
+open country and beyond, a ridge of misty blue hills. There was a
+double line of young maples on either side of the boulevard and the
+fresh young leaves were rustling vigorously in the evening breeze as
+they passed. Claybrook settled down in his seat us they gained the
+boundary between paving and roadway with what seemed almost like a
+sigh of relief. He turned upon his companion a satisfied smile,
+meanwhile cutting down their speed appreciably.
+
+"This is something like it," he said. "Pretty hot down your way
+to-day?"
+
+"Terrible," admitted Mary Louise. "I don't believe those walls will
+get cool again before Christmas."
+
+He smiled without answering, being occupied at the moment with a
+little difficulty in the traffic. Directly he was free.
+
+"Rare old boy--the other night," he said, still watching the road.
+
+For a moment she did not catch the reference.
+
+"Down in the Rathskeller," he added.
+
+A hot rush of confusion struck her and she made no reply, but he went
+on:
+
+"I've often wondered what these people were like fifty years
+ago--living on top of the world, best farm land anywhere, fine old
+homes, lots of servants--nothing to do but enjoy life. Let it slip
+away from them, didn't they? Must not have known what they had." He
+had relaxed and was driving comfortably. And as though wrapped in a
+mist of his own musing he continued, his eyes fixed on the road before
+him, "I've often thought that if I ever got to the point where I
+could afford it I would get me one of those old places--lot of
+land--stock it up well, fix up the house. I'd like to leave something
+like that to my family." He chuckled. "They might not appreciate it as
+much as I do, however."
+
+"They might," she replied. "They might have just as hard a time trying
+to keep it as--as we have. Conditions might change again in the next
+fifty years."
+
+He turned and smiled at her. "Hadn't thought of that." The crow's feet
+were thick about his eyes. "Who was the boy?--the one you were with
+the other night."
+
+Mary Louise flushed in spite of herself. "Joe--Joe Hooper. You've
+heard me speak of him."
+
+"Oh, yes. Lives in Bloomfield, doesn't he?"
+
+"He did. Works here in town now--out at Bromley's."
+
+He made no further reply, but somehow she felt an unuttered
+conviction, on the part of the man there beside her, of Joe's loss of
+heritage. And yet a certain compunction prevented her from making any
+explanation--that it was not Joe's fault. There was a sort of sacred
+inviolability about it. A hot little wave of feeling swept over her.
+She had treated Joe miserably. She had yielded to her feelings like a
+child. She ought to have been good sport enough to hide what she had
+felt. But she hadn't. She was a snob. She had hoped to conceal that
+she was not their sort--Joe and Mr. Mosby. In a sense, she had been
+going back on her own people. As if she were trying to pass
+them--trying to keep up with the procession. And yet that was exactly
+what she was doing. But to show it!
+
+The straight level path of the boulevard came abruptly to an end and
+the road diverged to the left and mounted swiftly, skirting the
+incline of a white, chalky hill densely covered with a tangle of scrub
+oak, buckeye, cedar, and much underbrush. The slanting rays of the sun
+were shut off abruptly as by a shutter and they rolled between
+stretches of shade that were mistily fragrant and cool. Even the upper
+air currents in the spaces above the road, up toward the sky, seemed
+shadowy and unharried by the fierceness of the passing sunlight. The
+motor settled down to the business of climbing, and once Claybrook
+turned to her with a look of appreciation.
+
+"Some park, this."
+
+She hardly heard him, so intent was she on watching the road and the
+occasional glimpses, through the tangle, of declivitous stretches
+strewn with trunks of fallen trees and rank vegetation, down which the
+wind went wandering with vague whisperings. They had been suddenly
+transported out of the world of people into the world of hopes. The
+city had been left leagues behind.
+
+They made a quick, sharp turn to the right, the road almost doubling
+back upon itself, and there was a steep grade for a short distance,
+during which time Mary Louise caught herself leaning forward and
+holding her breath in an instinctive impulse to help the labouring
+car. And then they gained the top. Before them lay a tableland of many
+acres thickly covered with trees. The grass, in the open spaces
+between, was sparse, and there was much moss and lichen and drifts of
+withered leaves, dried by the sun of more than one summer; and here
+and there in the northern shadow of some gnarled trunk and in dipping
+hollows the leaves were packed close in a damp and moulding compress.
+Great streamers of wild grape-vine hung precariously from weary limbs
+and swayed to and fro gently in the wind that came mounting up the
+slope from the west and went dipping away to the eastward, leaving a
+soft, shuddering wake. It was as if a mellower spirit hovered about
+the old giant knob resting there, watching with its head all venerably
+gray, though the sunlight ere it faded was elfishly splashing the
+shadow with golden green, and little flecks of crimson and orange came
+flashing through the tangle of branches as they passed, making light
+mockery. And then the trees suddenly opened and they came out upon a
+flat bare knoll, where the road, making a loop, signified that its
+journey was over. Around the outside edge was a wall of loose stones
+from which the hill sloped steeply in all directions, and before them,
+stretching away for miles, lay the country through which they had
+passed, till soft and green and gray in the distance. A huge smoke
+pall, its feathery top drifting slowly eastward, hung over a
+cup-shaped depression, and below it stretched a darker line, from
+which occasionally emerged a solitary stack, or above which a church
+spire, caught by an errant ray from the setting sun, would flash a
+momentary beacon. Slowly the mantle seemed to fade and mingle with the
+twilight, and even as they watched, a light flashed out, a single
+pin-prick of a light, and then another and another, as night,
+gathering in its intensity, swept over the valley, until it was met by
+an ever-increasing challenge. It was like a myriad host of fairy
+fire-flies, each diamond pointed, flickering, blinking, never still.
+And there settled on the under side of the smoke pall a lurid glow as
+of banked fires, waiting for the work of another day.
+
+Mary Louise breathed a soft little sigh.
+
+"It does get next to one, some way, doesn't it?" he said.
+
+Rather to her thoughts she replied aloud: "To think of all those
+people living there, almost in the grasp of the hand. Think of them
+moving, scurrying about among those lights. It makes one feel it would
+be so easy to do things for them, move them about at one's will--from
+here. And yet----" She was silent a moment, thinking. "And yet even to
+be able to raise one's head above it all, to see--and be seen!
+Well----"
+
+"That's what I mean to do." He spoke almost as if she were not there,
+and his voice, which was as though disembodied, and jarring a bit with
+its resonance, brought her back to the present.
+
+"It's a hard thing to do and I've come to think it takes sometimes a
+lifetime, but--it can be done." He had turned and she could feel his
+warm breath in her ear. There was a note of assurance in his words
+and, as she watched, a change came over the scene before her and it
+all seemed like a huge graying blanket punched full of tiny, bright
+flat holes. Something had receded, escaped back into the darkness
+behind it all.
+
+She made no reply.
+
+"I wanted to tell you and it's about as good a time as any. You may be
+needing some help. It's not all so easy down there. And--well, if you
+need any help--make the way any easier for you--why, don't hesitate to
+call on me."
+
+"That's good of you," she replied, and wondered at the lack of warmth
+in her own voice. "Perhaps I shall." But she could not help feeling
+that in some way she had seen what she had seen--alone.
+
+They sat a little longer in silence, and then Mary Louise straightened
+in her seat and called to him briskly:
+
+"We _must_ be going. Why, it must be eight o'clock. What have I been
+thinking of?"
+
+"That's what I'd like to know," he laughed.
+
+"Come, take me home, man. Maida will think--all sorts of things."
+
+"You don't have to answer to her, do you?"
+
+"No. But let's go."
+
+He stooped over and switched on the lights and immediately two long,
+ghostly streamers went searching out across the wall and rested
+lightly in the tops of some ragged trees on the slopes, bringing them
+grotesquely into focus, while myriads of tiny motes danced down the
+twin circular paths off into space. Directly there was a roar of the
+engine, with an occasional sputtering cough--for the night air was
+cool--and then Claybrook's voice again:
+
+"There really isn't any great hurry. We can stop at the Gardens at the
+foot of the hill and get a bite to eat."
+
+"No, not to-night. Thank you ever so much."
+
+"But why not? We needn't hurry then. It's a pretty good place." He
+seemed insistent, waiting, stooped there over the steering wheel.
+
+"No," she said again. "I must get home. Maida will be waiting for me
+and I've some work to do. And besides, I don't want to go anywhere
+looking like this. I'm a fright, I know."
+
+He muttered something to himself as he threw the car into gear, and
+they went whirling around the circle of the road in reckless disregard
+for the menace of the rock wall. It was pitch dark as they made their
+way across the level top of the knob, with occasional shadows of
+spectral limbs projecting their silhouettes against the sky, and once
+the jagged edge of a trailing creeper swished close to her head as
+they whirled along. Above the noise of the motor there was not a
+sound. Claybrook suddenly laughed:
+
+"Some of the niggers down at the mill say this old hill is haunted."
+
+She clung to the hand-grip of her seat, her mind filled with a tangle
+of impressions, with a shrinking from the sepulchral depths below
+them, and an effort to recall in detail that vision of the city.
+
+"I have to shake it off before I can be any more good. It's like being
+moon-struck." He took another sharp curve at reckless speed, the tires
+grinding on the gravel, the brakes screeching.
+
+Mary Louise held her breath for a moment and waited. And then she
+touched him lightly on the elbow. "Oh, please!"
+
+He laughed and for a short time was more careful, slowing down at the
+curves which came every hundred yards or so. "Feels like they're
+coming after me. Like to get down to the level road again." He made a
+quick swerve to avoid a pointed rock. "Must have been great, driving
+to the top of this with a horse and buggy. Not for me."
+
+And they were off again as swiftly as before. Twice they grazed the
+projecting roots of trees on the outside edge of the road by the
+scantiest of margins and once a board in a culvert snapped ominously
+as they swept across it, and Claybrook laughed aloud. And Mary Louise,
+wide-eyed, sat in a frenzy of preparedness, her gaze glued to the
+winding, ever-dipping road in fascination.
+
+Suddenly a shadow seemed to leap out upon them, out of the
+darkness--the shadow of a man. There was a moment's hideous clamour of
+the brakes, a sickening swerve of the machine, a man's shout, a sudden
+instant's flash of gleaming trunks brought sharply into focus, and
+then a slow, gradual letting down of her side of the car, inch by
+inch. She grasped the arm beside her to keep from falling, and then
+all was still.
+
+A moment later she could see that they were balanced on the edge of a
+culvert; to her right was the darkness; up ahead, the lights were
+glaring impotently off into space. And then she realized that an arm
+was encircling her waist in an iron grip and that the motor was still
+thrumming and that someone was running around in front of the car and
+then peering off down the slope where they tipped so perilously. These
+things came to her in just that order. And directly she was on the
+road, trembling just a little and feeling very helpless, and
+Claybrook's voice somewhere over in the darkness was giving
+directions, sharp, irritated. To her knowledge he had not uttered a
+word during it all. She could hear them somewhere over there crashing
+about in the underbrush, an occasional word, an occasional suppressed
+shout. Very unreal it was, with the stars shining faintly overhead,
+the black shadows all around, and those two shafts of light poking out
+into nowhere. She walked back to the inside edge of the road and sat
+down, and bye-and-bye she felt quieter. It had been such a childishly
+foolish thing to do and so useless. The minutes passed and she began
+to wonder what time it was getting to be. And then she felt a growing
+irritation and suddenly she was hungry. All she could hear was the
+threshing about of the brush and the sound of heavy dragging. Once she
+went around the rear of the car and peered down. She could dimly see
+that the rear wheel had passed completely over the brink, and below it
+lay a pile of sticks and brush. A little more and they might have
+rolled over, down into the darkness. She returned to her seat by the
+side of the road.
+
+Just like a little boy he was, she thought--reckless, irresponsible,
+"full of the fullness of living." And his tone, when she had spoken of
+the dead-level of life in the city below them and the problem of
+raising one's head--"That's what I mean to do"--had seemed so like the
+confident tones of a child on the threshold of life. Were we all like
+that, after all--lifted up for a moment so that we could see;
+blundering forward the next, blindly, into pitfalls of our own making?
+His very offer of help, there on the hilltop, had been naïve, and yet
+she was troubled by it. Why was he thrusting his stick into the still
+waters of her life? And yet she had felt very much alone and in need
+of the realization of another presence.
+
+And then suddenly she realized why and how it was she liked him. She
+liked to think of him as standing by, liked the realization of his
+strength, his confidence. He was big, he was good-looking, and there
+was a tonic freshness about him. He was good as a friend. And he
+needed watching over, needed guiding, himself. That made it all the
+better. And then she felt hungry again. But she was no longer
+irritated.
+
+The roar of the motor roused her from her musings. There was a
+ripping, grinding noise and she could see the outline of the car move,
+sink back, and then lurch forward again. There was another whirring
+and grinding and then Claybrook's triumphant shout. She rose to her
+feet and walked over to him. They had succeeded. The car was standing,
+all four wheels on the hard, level surface, the engine racing like
+mad.
+
+"Hop in," Claybrook called to her a bit shortly.
+
+She complied and he reached forward to throw in the gear, when the man
+walked around in front of the car and held up a restraining hand. She
+saw then, for the first time, that he was a park policeman.
+
+"Let's have your name before you go, friend," he said.
+
+"But what for? There's no harm done. I thought I made it all right
+with you?"
+
+"You did--with me. But then you're pretty dangerous on these roads
+and I'll have to turn you in so that they can be looking out for you."
+
+Claybrook sullenly complied. And then, throwing the car into gear,
+they slipped quickly out of sight. After they had rounded the curve,
+he turned suddenly to Mary Louise. "That's a new one on me. I tipped
+him for helping me get the car out, and then he turns and takes my
+name. You can't count on anybody these days--ever since the war."
+
+"I think he has a sense of humour," she replied, laughing softly.
+
+As they passed the road-house he suggested once again that they stop
+for a bite to eat, but upon her refusal he made no comment. The night
+was no longer clear; gathering clouds on the western horizon were
+gradually spreading across the sky, and as they crossed the line on to
+the asphalt paving again, it began to rain, a few scattering drops. At
+which she teased him about his altered driving. He laughed but made no
+answer.
+
+But the shower did not come and directly they drew up at the curb
+outside her apartment.
+
+"Don't stop," she said. "Don't bother. You must get in before the
+rain." She felt singularly good humoured.
+
+"I'm sorry I made such a mess of things," he began clumsily,
+"and--and--you were pretty decent about it." It was a concession, but
+she could see he was rankled about something.
+
+"I hope they won't fine you too much," she called after him as he
+started off. And then she walked thoughtfully into the hallway and
+stepped into the elevator and was carried swiftly upward.
+
+"You've got to make allowances for them all," she decided mentally.
+"Yes," she added force to that decision, half aloud.
+
+"What d'you say, Miss Mac?" inquired the elevator boy.
+
+"I said, 'Seventh,'" she smiled at him.
+
+She was met at the door by Maida with her hair in curl papers and a
+most prodigious yawning and rubbing of eyes. The ideal night life for
+Maida was that spent comfortably in bed.
+
+"Thought you'd eloped," she ventured sleepily and then turned and
+shuffled off to the inner room. At the door she called over her
+shoulder, "There's a note someone left for you--about two hours ago."
+
+Mary Louise looked on the table and, lying on a pile of magazines and
+newspaper supplements, was a plain, thin, white envelope. She picked
+it up and looked at it curiously, wondering from whom it could be.
+There was no address. She tore it open and read, and as she read she
+reached over one hand and steadied herself against the table. The note
+was from Joe, and laconic:
+
+    "They phoned me this evening your Aunt Susie had
+    had another stroke. They said you had better come."
+
+That was all it said. There was no expression of regret. There was no
+offer of help. She had a sudden rush of anxiety. But behind the
+anxious feeling was one of wonder and a tiny one of hurt. She laid the
+letter down upon the table and slowly and thoughtfully took off her
+hat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Things had changed for Joe. It was as though he had been told that he
+had not amounted to much, that what he had come from had not amounted
+to much, and that in all probability he would never amount to much.
+Just how much had actually been suggested to him, and how much he had
+supplied out of the whole cloth of his imagination it is doubtful if
+even he could have said.
+
+It was not the weather certainly. For the morning of the second day of
+May opened wide with promise. There was a lightness about the air and
+a clarity as Joe emerged from his lodging house from the ready-made
+breakfast which they doled out as though breakfasts were just like
+linen and towels and soap. The day would have made countless
+insinuations to a normal man. To some, it said golf; to others, a
+motor trip out to where a plethora of such bounties as it suggested
+might be available; and to others less fortunate--why, there was the
+"Ferry" just opening to hesitant crowds, with its band stand, its
+scenic railway, its forty-five minutes of vaudeville that was anything
+but mentally exhausting. It was an eloquent morning. But Joe turned a
+deaf ear.
+
+His walk to the factory lay for a short distance along a pretty little
+park where, when the weather was proper, squirrels and babies and
+numerous other smaller, crawly things were wont to mingle together in
+democratic unconcern. But to him, this morning, it was just so much
+pavement.
+
+He punched the time clock viciously as he passed through the office
+lobby and barely escaped collision with Mr. Boner as he turned the
+corner of the partition en route to his desk. Mr. Boner merely
+grunted. He bore in his hand a sheaf of orders for the mailing desk.
+He believed in getting an early start.
+
+Joe sat down before his desk and gazed listlessly out of the window.
+The day arose before him in prospect, drab, desolate, and dreary. High
+up overhead, through the dingy panes, he could see the little fleecy
+clouds floating about in peaceful unconcern. May was a slack month.
+And at its end came June--June, with its four weeks' inventory period
+wherein each stick and stone of the entire plant, each ten-penny nail,
+each carriage bolt, would have to be listed, valued, and carried into
+an imposing total. It meant working late into the night under a
+pitiless glare with handkerchief tied about one's neck like a washer.
+It meant cramped fingers, and hot dry eyes, and a back that ached when
+it didn't feel crawly with infinitesimal bugs, and bugs that bumped
+and buzzed and then fell sprawling across one's paper. Each item had
+to be entered upon the sheet. Each item had to be valued. Discounts
+had to be figured, extensions had to be made, figures had to be
+checked meticulously, and the whole thing eventually bound up in six
+or eight huge volumes which were then allowed to languish in the
+Company safe. He had been through it before. And the thought of it was
+intolerable. This was June. June and inventory and Mr. Boner seemed to
+him to be cut from the same piece. For neither did Mr. Boner escape.
+Instead, he came earlier, stayed later, and worked with more furious
+rapidity than ever. And he was Mr. Boner's successor--that is, if he
+hit the ball and worked hard enough to deserve it. The thought of the
+little boy whose mother gave him a nickle every time he took his
+castor oil manfully came to his mind as he sat and gazed out the
+window. When asked what he did with the nickles, the Spartan youth had
+replied: "Buy more castor oil with it." Joe wearily dragged one of his
+stock ledgers from the rack and opened it.
+
+All that day, as he made his entries and checked his totals, came the
+thought, "Why am I doing this? What is it all for?" He was feeling the
+double edge of scorn no less keenly because only implied. Why wasn't
+he doing a man's work? Why was he humbly taking his turn in a servile
+and remote succession, where death's was the only hand that moved the
+pawns? Why had he come back to it? He dared not confess the reason.
+The best he could do was admit to himself he had been mistaken. The
+rose tints had vanished from his sky and the path he had chosen was
+disclosed in all its drab ugliness. He had chosen it fatuously. The
+rose tints had been of his own making. He viciously snapped his mind
+shut on the thought. For a while he would feverishly clamp his
+attention to his work, while outside the sky continued serenely blue,
+and the breeze that drifted through his window was languorous and
+soft. But the work was too light. There was not enough of it, nor was
+it of the nature that demanded his absorbed concentration. He thought
+of Mr. Mosby, the unwitting cause of it all. And yet he did not blame
+Uncle Buzz in the least. Rather he sided with him. They were both
+inferior animals--not to be mentioned in the same breath with
+progress, thrift, success.
+
+Uncle Buzz had his troubles, too. He was bookkeeper of the general
+store in Bloomfield, but he had never got to the point where he was
+absolutely sure of his trial balances. Nor had Aunt Loraine ever got
+to the point where she was absolutely sure of him, and he had had only
+the slightest hand in the management of what was left of the farm. The
+farm was Aunt Loraine's. But she always took what was necessary from
+what Uncle Buzz got from the store to make both ends meet on the farm,
+and that was, of late, becoming an ever-increasing distance. Uncle
+Buzz felt a proprietor's interest. He liked to speak about it as "his
+farm." Uncle Buzz would have loved to raise horses, thoroughbreds and
+saddlers, but for obvious reasons that had been impossible. But he
+went his jaunty way, waxing his moustaches, squandering his money on
+fancy neckties, taking his surreptitious nip with all the gay bravado
+of thirty years before, and getting seedier and seedier. He was a
+dandelion withering on the stalk. He had long since given up hope of
+being anything else but bookkeeper in the "Golden Rule," and indeed it
+was only the stock which he held in that institution that insured him
+the place such as it was. For Uncle Buzz was with age becoming more
+unreliable. His mind would play queer tricks on him. The figures would
+occasionally assume a demonic elusiveness and he could no longer carry
+his liquor with his former assurance. While outwardly he was the same
+suave, debonair old beau, he was beginning to have inner doubtings and
+despairs. And Joe, who had, as it were, taken up the pen when he had
+cast aside the sword, became for him a potential straw adrift on the
+downward current.
+
+Uncle Buzz's message in the Rathskeller the night before had been
+cryptic to the others but plain enough to Joe. Uncle Buzz was in
+trouble again. Trial balance, maybe. There was no telling. As Joe
+finished footing up a long column of figures he smiled. It meant
+another trip to Bloomfield on Saturday. And Saturday was the day after
+to-morrow. Thus the day wore on.
+
+On Saturday, which was a day of the same pattern as its predecessors,
+at eleven o'clock Joe quietly rose from his desk, took his hat, and
+unostentatiously walked out of the office. He punched the time clock
+gently so that it would attract the attention of only the most
+observant of clerks, and hurried away, feeling that this repeated
+dereliction was bound to bring him some notice, even if the first
+offense had not. But for some reason he felt singularly indifferent.
+
+An hour later he had forgotten it all. The dumpy accommodation train
+was bumping itself along at a great rate, puffing stertorously up the
+long grade past "Sassafras Hill," and then swinging itself around the
+curves that followed the river so desperately that passengers and
+freight alike--for it was a combination train as well as
+accommodation--were like to be flung from it, hurled into space as
+useless encumbrances to its desperate need of getting there. It would
+rush along madly for a mile or two, then give a wild shriek and stop,
+and after a great puffing and snorting, start up again.
+
+It was such an enthusiastic train that Joe could not long escape the
+contagion of its enthusiasm. Ten miles out they came into a stretch of
+rolling meadow where the shadows of trees were like purple splotches
+upon the shimmering mist of the grass. A high wind had arisen that set
+the countless blades vibrating so that each bit of sun-swept meadow
+was naught but a silverish blurr, with the tree tops above it tossing
+wildly about. A little girl, holding open a gate for an old man in a
+buggy behind a placid old white horse, was all fluttering ribbon ends,
+and as they passed, her sunbonnet was torn from her grasp and flung
+over the fence, far afield. Joe could see her running after it as they
+rounded a curve out of sight.
+
+At twelve thirty-five they reached Guests where Joe alighted. He was
+the only passenger of like mind, and aside from the station master who
+made a hurried exchange of sundry small express packages and mail
+there was no one at the station but a fat little old man in a brown
+derby and a red sweater, and with a very dirty face. This latter
+gentleman accosted Joe with a warning gesture, lifting his arm and
+pointing to the sky, and at the same time giving him a significant
+look, and then scuttling over to a disreputable motor car that stood
+beside the station platform. Arriving there he twisted his fat neck
+half around to see if his prey was following him, and being thus
+assured, clambered in. The car was very aged and trembling from some
+violent internal disorder, while the top was bellying off sidewise
+with a great flapping of loose straps and curtain ends till it seemed
+doubtful if the whole thing might hold together for another minute.
+
+"High wind," suggested the Jehu, in a fat wheezy voice as Joe crawled
+into the seat beside him. Joe agreed without qualification. The old
+man paused a minute, gave him a sober, reflective look of far-away
+intensity, and then suddenly turned and spat precariously into the
+wind.
+
+"Bloomfield?" he suggested with increased lightness of manner.
+
+"Bloomfield," Joe agreed again. It was a pleasant bit of procedure,
+invested with the dignity of a formula, for there was no other town
+within a radius of many miles and no other road over which such
+traffic was possible. Still it had to be gone through with.
+
+They started with a rush, being ably seconded by a more severe gust of
+wind than usual, and for eight miles it was a stalemate between the
+wind and the motor as to which could make the most noise. But in spite
+of it all Joe was enjoying it. There was a freedom in the uproar, in
+the wildly tossing tree tops, in the white clouds that went scudding
+high overhead. He had an insane desire to fling his hat high up in the
+air, as they rolled along, and see how far the wind would carry it.
+
+At length they arrived. Out of courtesy, perhaps, the wind abated;
+perhaps it was because nothing boisterous would be tolerated along
+those silent old streets. But as they passed the tavern, one green
+shutter could be seen hanging by one hinge, moving softly to and fro,
+and against the iron stair railing of the meeting house an old,
+yellowing newspaper clung for a moment and then dropped to the
+pavement. A very old man in a linen suit, followed by an old hound,
+was going through the door as they passed, and he pivoted on his stick
+and watched them. Here was the very essence of stability.
+
+Reaching the central square, the driver swung his car in a majestic
+arc around the traffic post in the centre of the street and drew up at
+the curb in front of the post-office. There was a liberal sprinkling
+of small motors of the same general classification as the one in which
+they were arriving, parked with their noses headed toward the curb, at
+an angle. Uncle Buzz's figure suddenly appeared, hurrying from behind
+one of these, his face set in an earnest frown. He had evidently seen
+them from the "Golden Rule," diagonally opposite, and had come the
+most direct route, through the traffic.
+
+"Well, Joseph, this is a surprise."
+
+This, thought Joe, might mean anything. Either his Aunt Loraine had
+not been apprised of his expected arrival, or perhaps the old man had
+already extricated himself from his trouble.
+
+"Any bags?"
+
+"No. No bags." Joe was still holding the out-stretched hand of
+welcome.
+
+Uncle Buzz turned to the driver and dropped a coin in that worthy
+gentleman's greasy palm as it lay inertly on the seat, beside him.
+"That will be all," he said with great dignity.
+
+The driver gave him a long look, heavy lidded--a critical look, a
+deeply thoughtful look--sniffed, and then turned to Joe, "Goin' back?"
+he asked shortly, as though there were nothing more now for any one to
+stay for.
+
+"No," said Joe. "Not to-day."
+
+The driver pondered this in his heart for a moment, came to a sudden
+decision, sniffed again, and turned his back on them both and
+proceeded to stretch himself out as far as the narrow confines of the
+seat would permit. Business was apparently over for the day.
+
+Uncle Buzz led Joe across the street to the busy side. The contrast of
+their figures was striking, for Joe was over a head taller, and loose
+where Uncle Buzz was stiff.
+
+Mr. Mosby turned at the curbing and with a confidential air: "We'll
+just get a bite to eat in here," indicating a tiny little lunch room
+crammed in between two ramshackle old frame buildings. "Your Aunt
+Loraine was a bit indisposed this morning."
+
+This established one conclusion. He was at least not expected at home.
+More than that, he could not decide without further premises.
+
+They occupied stools at a high counter covered with oilcloth. Uncle
+Buzz ordered rolls and coffee. Joe took rolls and coffee. There was a
+period of silence as they waited.
+
+Directly Mr. Mosby began talking in a low tone: "It's a rather
+fortunate thing you came up this week-end, Joseph. I was rather afraid
+you mightn't." He paused and Joe, while he felt reasonably sure of
+just what would come next, listened with polite interest.
+
+"I've been troubled with frightful headaches this past week," he
+continued, "so severe that I could scarcely see the open page before
+me."
+
+Joe murmured his regret over the cup's brim.
+
+The old man paused and seemed to consider. Then hesitantly continuing:
+"If you could spare an hour or two this afternoon----?"
+
+"Surely I can, Uncle Buzz. Easiest thing you know."
+
+The old man breathed deep and long and set down his coffee cup. "It is
+a trifling matter of some forty-six dollars. Would you like to go out
+to Montgomery's this afternoon? He has a couple of two-year-olds that
+he will be shipping down for the Derby now pretty soon."
+
+"I'd be very pleased to, Uncle Buzz."
+
+And thus was the matter broached, and the matter accepted, without any
+bald reference to necessity, without the slightest violation to the
+tenets of hospitality. No reference was made to a previous
+understanding. Joe's visit was established on a purely social basis,
+and as such it would be presented to Mrs. Mosby, whose penchant for
+alarm might thus escape stimulus.
+
+They finished their lunch hurriedly and made their way across to the
+"Golden Rule," where Uncle Buzz led his charge with swift, silent
+steps back to the little private office in the rear of the store. Once
+inside, the door was closed and the books quickly opened upon the
+table. "They are always a bit impatient for the balance this time of
+the year," Mr. Mosby offered in explanation.
+
+An hour's work sufficed to find the trouble. It was in the carrying
+forward of a single account. Once found, the rest was very simple, and
+at three o'clock Uncle Buzz slammed the ledger shut with an air of
+complete satisfaction, walked confidently through the door into the
+adjoining office with his little sheaf of papers, and returning
+reached for his hat. "Burrus is out," he said crisply. "We won't
+wait."
+
+Joe likewise reached for his hat.
+
+At the door the old man turned, and with a reminiscent smile and in a
+confidential tone, "There is a lot of personal jealousy in this firm."
+
+Joe expressed no surprise.
+
+"He's just been elected deacon in the church." His old eyes began to
+twinkle. "Great changes can take place in a man's habits once you
+hitch him up with apron strings. His wife has never thought so much of
+Loraine. And now he doesn't think so much of me." He chuckled. "We
+were raised together, and I have a good memory." He opened the door
+and walked slowly toward the front of the store. It was empty of
+customers. A clerk stood leaning idly across a glass counter of
+notions looking into the street. Uncle Buzz proceeded calmly on,
+giving the clerk a pleasant nod. "She came from a farm back in the
+county. They say she had never seen a railroad until she was
+twenty-one years old."
+
+The clerk inspected Joe thoroughly and critically and made no sign of
+having heard anything. And still Joe felt a bit dubious; indiscretion
+is like other normal weapons: it kills when one doesn't know it is
+loaded.
+
+But Mr. Mosby was in rising spirits. They emerged to the street and
+turned the corner into the less populous thoroughfare, known commonly
+throughout Bloomfield as Pearl Street, and there they came upon Uncle
+Buzz's horse and buggy, standing as if carved from one and the same
+block of immutable immobility. Even the flies found little of
+excitement in lighting about the front section of the combination, and
+only one or two were buzzing about in the general neighbourhood in a
+dispirited manner.
+
+The horse opened his eyes and lifted one ear as Uncle Buzz climbed in
+the buggy and took up the lines. But being complacent and particularly
+indisposed to anything as much like effort as resistance, the starting
+was quite without ceremony.
+
+Eventually, and not too much so, they left the city streets, and soon
+were jogging down a winding little lane of the softest, yellowest
+earth imaginable. On either side, between the edge of the roadside and
+the snake rail fence, was a little bank all a-tangle with blackberry
+bushes, and here and there, with its roots protruding out into space,
+a gaunt and bare thorn tree or an occasional walnut thrusting its
+branches over the road. Beyond, the fields lay in cool, serrated rows,
+deep brown and freshly fragrant. The woodland which hung about in the
+background beyond the fields would occasionally sweep down and cross
+the road, and then would come a stretch of checkered shade on the
+yellow earth, and the lifting, expectant sound of high wind in top
+branches. And sometimes, in the heart of such an arm of woodland, the
+old horse's hoofs would echo hollow on the warped and mellowing boards
+of a tiny bridge, and there would be a momentary slip and gurgle of
+water underneath, on down through the ferns. Joe felt steeped in calm.
+
+Mr. Montgomery was not at home. Nor were the horses. They found they
+were a week late. An old Negro whom they encountered just within the
+paddock gate so informed them: "Yessuh. They done took 'em down t'
+Louisville, las' Monday."
+
+They left him scratching his kinky gray pate in meditation.
+
+Uncle Buzz was disappointed. The little excursion was thus deprived
+of its sparkle. There was a something about going out to see
+racehorses----Well, at any rate, Uncle Buzz was disappointed. He
+showed it on the way home. Perhaps the fading sunlight, the
+lengthening shadows, had something to do with it. And the wind, too,
+that had come with the morning and kept up its bluster all day, had
+died to a whisper, so that a cluster of last year's corn-stalks
+standing in a fence corner were merely indifferently waggling. It may
+have been just a reflection of mood, but as they were rounding the
+brow of the hill above Bloomfield and could see the dip of the meadows
+to the creek and the white fences and outbuildings of the Fair Grounds
+away off to the right, the old horse stopped and gently switched his
+tail. And Uncle Buzz let him stop.
+
+"Do you know," he said, and his voice was reminiscent and uncertain,
+"I've been thinking lately we ought to sell the place and move to
+town."
+
+Joe looked up at him curiously. "Why do you think that, Uncle Buzz?"
+
+Mr. Mosby pondered, as the horse, feeling perhaps the slight pricks of
+conscience, resumed his way at an imperceptible walk. "Well," he said,
+"this country is not what it used to be. All the other towns, Guests,
+Fillmore--all the rest of them--are on the railroad or interurban.
+They have the advantage of us."
+
+Joe was watching him unperceived. The old man's face had lost its
+aggressive jauntiness. There was an odd pucker about the brows. His
+mouth, above the well-trimmed goatee, seemed small and indecisive. Joe
+could see the clear blue veins on the back of the hand as it
+listlessly held the lines.
+
+"Business has been a bit slack this past year. Seems like it never got
+over the war. And prices are high, too. Can't get a nigger to do a
+day's work for you for less than three dollars now," he added
+fiercely. And then lapsing into his former vein again, "I wonder----"
+
+Joe waited. "Wonder what, Uncle Buzz?"
+
+The sun made one of its perceptible drops, just as though its setting
+was a matter of notches. A little cool breeze came up to meet them
+from the creek bottom as they moved slowly downward.
+
+"Why couldn't you get me something to do in Louisville? How about the
+Plow Company? They must employ a great many men." He laughed a bit
+shrilly. "I've always thought I would like to live in Louisville."
+
+Joe was aghast. He felt as if it might be some old lady demanding of
+him pink tights and a place in the front row of the ballet. However,
+he checked the exclamation that rose to his lips. But for a moment he
+did not know what to say. Uncle Buzz--wanting to go to work at
+Bromley's!--An ancient and decrepit Whittington!
+
+"But you've been here so long, Uncle Buzz!" he managed at length.
+
+"So I have. All the more reason. I'm getting in a rut. Besides, I'm
+getting tired of Burrus. Narrow-minded scoundrel! He throws out hints
+about Zeke bringing me my whiskey over from Fillmore. As if it were
+any of his business!" He subsided and silently contemplated the depths
+of Burrus' degradation.
+
+Joe laughed softly and at the same time felt the sharp little warning
+edge of an intuition. Uncle Buzz was slipping, and he knew it.
+
+"I wouldn't be in a hurry," he suggested at length, "Bromley's is full
+up. All those men coming back from the army, you know--I'll keep an
+eye open for you if you want me." It was most incongruous, the
+patronizing air that had crept into his voice, the tone that
+invariably greets the unemployed, wherever or whoever he be.
+
+Uncle Buzz brightened. "Do," he said.
+
+They drove through the gate and up to the house. Aunt Loraine
+profusely reproached her husband for not advising her of Joseph's
+arrival. "It's a shame. Here at the last minute. You might have at
+least sent me word, Bushrod."
+
+"We had to go out in the country," Uncle Buzz replied with decision.
+
+And so they supped meagrely on fried chicken and rice and gravy and
+hot biscuits and coffee. And afterward they sat in the high-ceilinged
+back parlour, in candlelight, and watched the glow die from the
+western sky. And Aunt Loraine asked him about the "season" in
+Louisville, and once she asked him about Mary Louise. And bye-and-bye
+Uncle Buzz began to nod just like a sleepy little boy, and with the
+prospect of a long, well-filled to-morrow, Joe suggested that they go
+to bed. And then there was a moment's pausing upon the threshold of a
+yawning black door beyond which things smelled mustily sweet, with
+dusty shadows that crept across the matting from a shielded lamp; and
+later a most delicious yielding of one's self to the cool envelope of
+soft white sheets, and a moment's wide-eyed staring at the ceiling;
+and then forgetfulness.
+
+Sometime later--it seemed hours--Joe was awakened by the clatter of an
+automobile somewhere beneath his window. For a moment he lay still and
+wondered and then, the bustle continuing, only in a much subdued and
+muffled manner, he got up and in his bare feet walked over to the
+window across the matting and looked out. He saw an oil lantern
+sitting on the edge of the side steps, and he saw the open screen
+door. And then from a black shadow a short distance away, behind the
+old lilac bush he remembered so well, he saw a figure emerge, carrying
+a glass jug. The figure was Zeke's, stooped over and shuffling, in the
+same old peaked cap he had always worn. And in the jug was the
+apotheosis of Mr. Mosby's contempt for Mr. Burrus, and as it passed
+the light it gleamed and sparkled with a deep golden malevolence. And
+hearing steps on the porch, and voices, and fearing lest he might be
+seen spying at the window, Joe crept back to bed. And directly he
+heard the familiar roaring clatter of a car starting up somewhere down
+below there in the darkness, and after a while--silence. He fell into
+a deep and satisfying sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Mary Louise had the power of concentration over her determinations as
+well as over her desires. Once having decided on a course she could
+keep herself driving at it without ceasing. If she made a digression,
+it was with eyes set on the goal, and for the reason that to so
+digress was to find a more facile path and save time in the end. Her
+past attainments had been gained apparently without effort, for in the
+little world she had known at Bloomfield all had been hers to do with
+as she desired. And then had come the eighteen months in Louisville,
+with its awakenings, its gradual undermining of her old standards and
+conceptions, and its whetting of the keen edge of her desire.
+
+She had been made to see her facts in another light. Those things that
+had been wont to be considered as axioms and irrefutable postulates in
+her daily acceptance were suddenly seen as the most ephemeral
+hypotheses. The desirability of Bloomfield and the lustre about the
+name "McCallum"--two rocks upon which she had builded the edifice of
+her confidence--were found of a sudden to be but shifting sands,
+hard-packed enough on the surface, but subjected to the most
+insidious and devastating undertow. Many a weaker spirit would have
+thrown up his arms and dived with desperation overboard in search of
+solid footing. But not so Mary Louise. She had a momentary whirl at
+negation and then a firm and ever-increasing determination to build
+her own footing. If Bloomfield and the McCallum family were not all
+they should be, she would make them so, to her own satisfaction at
+least. Money was the one thing needed, she soon found or thought she
+found, and money was the thing she was determined to get, enough of it
+to accomplish her purpose. When she had started the tea room she had
+not had the slightest idea that she could possibly fail to do just
+exactly what she wanted.
+
+As she read the note that Joe had left for her, the news of Miss
+Susie's illness caused her temporary distress. But her mind did not
+dwell for long on the distressing part of it, but got busy with the
+problem in hand, went into conference with itself over it, analyzed
+and dissected it to its complete satisfaction, and then put out the
+resulting dicta on the bulletin board of her consciousness. The
+particular "Thou must" was in this case "Go to Bloomfield." And
+inasmuch as Mary Louise never under any circumstances thought of
+disregarding these highly accurate mental dicta, go to Bloomfield she
+did. She went the following morning, which was Friday. And it must be
+said that in spite of the attention which was focused on the
+immediate difficulty before her, which was, "What to do with Miss
+Susie," her mind kept straining at this barrier for continued and
+reassuring glimpses of the ultimate goal ahead. Still, she loved her
+aunt, and the realization of her suffering was to her genuine pain.
+
+As she entered the sitting-room door, she found the little old lady
+propped in a rocking chair just inside the doorway with a patchwork
+quilt across her lap, tucking her in. There was no appreciable change.
+She was as yellow, as parchment like as ever. Her eyes perhaps were
+brighter; indeed they seemed almost to have a heat of their own as
+Mary Louise stooped to kiss the cheek held up to her.
+
+"Why didn't you let me know sooner?" she chided.
+
+"There was no reason for you to come at all," Miss Susie responded
+briskly. "Some people haven't enough questions to decide for
+themselves. Have to go about hunting for other people's problems."
+
+"But you weren't going to sit up here and not let me know anything
+about it?" Mary Louise took off her hat and came over to the rocking
+chair, toward which she dragged another, and seated herself. She
+reached out and took one of the little blue-veined hands and stroked
+it gently. "You weren't going to sit up here and let me know nothing
+about it? That's not what you promised."
+
+Miss Susie's fixed, inexorable expression did not change. But she was
+pleased--was feeling softer. Unconsciously she liked Mary Louise to
+assume that patronizing, superior air toward her. She said nothing and
+began to rock softly to and fro, staring through the doorway.
+
+Mary Louise continued the gentle stroking. Bye-and-bye she ventured
+softly, "You're right sure you're feeling all right now? What did the
+doctor say?"
+
+Miss Susie turned on her, mouth snapping shut. "Doctor! Who said I had
+to have a doctor?" The look in her eyes, as she turned them full upon
+the girl, was one in which defiance mingled with alarm and struggled
+for mastery. For Miss Susie had waged a long and losing warfare with
+disease and she quailed before the emblems of surrender if not from
+the enemy itself.
+
+Mary Louise for the moment let it go at that. After the air had
+appreciably cooled she ventured again: "I don't suppose Mrs. Mosby
+knew how to reach me?" Miss Susie looked puzzled and she continued in
+explanation, "I had a note from Joe Hooper saying you had had a little
+spell--I suppose Mrs. Mosby 'phoned him."
+
+Miss Susie gave a little snort. "And what would Loraine Mosby be doing
+meddling in my affairs? She hasn't called on me for years. Like as not
+it was that fool Lavinia Burrus. You would think she owned and was
+running the town. The salvation of Bloomfield weighs mighty heavy on
+her shoulders these days--with her '_Dear_ Miss McCallum,' and her
+'Poor dear Mrs. Hamilton!' I've a mind to tell her that charity, even
+of thought, begins at home--where it's needed."
+
+Mary Louise felt a sudden sort of displeasure. She had adopted the
+devious method of getting at the true state of affairs, for that was
+the only way any one could get anything out of Miss Susie. And now she
+found herself getting interested on her own account. She had once
+supposed that it had been through Mrs. Mosby's agency that she had
+been apprised. It now appeared that someone else--an outsider and a
+parvenu at that--had linked her name with that of Joe Hooper's to send
+her word through him. It gave her rank displeasure. To be officially
+tagged as "Such and such" by a "one-horse" little town. Yes it was a
+"one-horse" little town. Her assurance slipped from her and in
+confusion she sought to investigate no further.
+
+"Where's Mattie? You ought to have something about your shoulders."
+She rose to her feet and began poking about on the wardrobe shelf.
+
+"Mattie's not here," said Miss Susie.
+
+Mary Louise turned around. "Mattie's not here?--And what's the reason
+she's not here?"
+
+Miss Susie's voice was acquiring calm. "She decided that this wasn't
+good enough place for her. She couldn't bear to think of all the money
+servants were getting down in Louisville--so she left."
+
+Mary Louise came back and stood before her chair. She looked at her
+aunt intently. "You mean to say she _left_ you?"
+
+"She did."
+
+It was too much for Mary Louise's comprehension and she contemplated
+the fact bleakly. "Why, her people have been here on the place for
+four generations!"
+
+Miss Susie's face was grim. "Ten dollars a week was too much for her."
+
+Slowly the conviction was taking root. "And she has really left?"
+
+Miss Susie nodded.
+
+"And taken Omar with her?"
+
+Miss Susie nodded again.
+
+"And Landy?"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Miss Susie, it seemed, would for the
+dramatic effect have preferred that the defection had been universal.
+"No," she said half regretfully, "Landy's stayed with me."
+
+"And done the cooking, I suppose?"
+
+"He did--after Wednesday."
+
+"And Wednesday? _You_ tried it until then, I suppose?" Mary Louise's
+tone was all reproach.
+
+Miss Susie did not deny it.
+
+They sat for a moment in dismal accord. Mary Louise had a sudden
+feeling as though the family were breaking up. All during the war the
+little corps of servants had remained intact. She had felt that, the
+war over, the danger point had been passed. Also the reason for Miss
+Susie's little spell was now apparent.
+
+Directly she asked more briskly, "D' you try to get any one
+else?--Zibbie Tuttle?"
+
+"Zibbie's gone to town, too."
+
+Another moment's depressed silence.
+
+"And how about Zenie? She used to cook."
+
+Miss Susie sighed. "Zenie's got her head all full of fool notions. She
+thinks she has to stay home and look after that worthless Zeke."
+
+"And she won't come? You've tried her?"
+
+Miss Susie shook her head grimly.
+
+Mary Louise suddenly laughed. It was a dry, mirthless sort of laugh.
+"Looks like the Negroes are getting all the latest notions of
+progress, too. I must have put the idea into their heads."
+
+"All except Zenie," amended Miss Susie. "She's old-fashioned."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better be coming back." She stood by the door, musing.
+
+Miss Susie reached over for her spectacles. There was an almost
+imperceptible flash in her eyes. "And be like Zenie?"
+
+The shot missed. Mary Louise was turning over many things in her mind.
+Her little plans were being threatened and by circumstances which she
+had previously scorned to notice. Irritation and a restless desire to
+be up and at her obstacles were prevailing over all other feelings.
+For several moments she pondered, gazing through the glass half of the
+sitting-room door, and then with a hurried, "I'll be back," she bolted
+from the room, out toward the kitchen.
+
+When she returned some fifteen minutes later there was a look of
+settled calm on her face, and she busied herself making Miss Susie
+comfortable; for she had reached a decision and could think about
+other things. And the things that old Landy had told her had sobered
+her while they strengthened that decision.
+
+That night she lay on a restless pillow. The sudden change from the
+rattle and bang of the city where all the little noises were swallowed
+up in a general roar was hard on her ravelled nerves. She missed the
+noise. She found herself painfully acute to all the little tickings
+and crackings and buzzings that an open country window brings to one's
+ears. There was an unpleasant smell of damp matting there in the dark
+room. And the wind, as it came soughing down from the hill behind,
+caught a loose end of the roof somewhere over her head and made as
+though to roll it back. But it never did. Her bed was lumpy. It had
+never seemed so before. And there was not enough ventilation in the
+room. The two windows, placed side by side in the eaves, allowed no
+circulation. People in the country did not know how to live. Now she
+would knock that partition away. There was no use having a hall at
+the head of the stairs, a hall that led nowhere except into one room.
+She would knock that partition away and make a single big room of the
+whole attic. And then the window in the hall would serve for
+additional light and air for the one room. Or would it be better to
+cut another window and run the partition lengthwise, thus making two
+rooms of it? That might be better. Two rooms were better than one
+great big barn of a room. Later on, perhaps, she would have it done.
+She fell asleep over the complexity of the problem.
+
+The next morning she set out with dispatch to carry out her plan. She
+went to see Zenie Thompson.
+
+She found that much maligned and misunderstood woman cheerily rocking
+her leisure away at the front door of her home. The air was warm and
+Zenie had, contrary to the tenets of her race's religion, thrown open
+all the front of her house, windows and all. The neck of her waist,
+which was a very old white one of Mary Louise's, was likewise frankly
+open, and as there was considerable difference in the respective
+sizes, Zenie seemed on the point of bursting from its doubtful
+whiteness into all her full-blown coffee-coloured creamness. She
+hastily pinned up the bosom of it a little as Mary Louise turned in at
+her gate.
+
+"How do, Mis' Ma'y Louise," she beamed, rising to her feet and holding
+her offspring clutched at a precarious angle to her shoulder. She
+stood with one hand resting on the doorpost and in her eyes
+expectancy. "Won' you-all come in?"
+
+"Just for a minute," said Mary Louise, refusing the proffered chair
+and giving the room a hasty, critical look. Even in that critical look
+she could find naught to criticize. The cabin was a small three-room
+affair, set back from the street, between two vacant old storehouses.
+Zeke had whitewashed it without and calcimined it within, and with the
+free air that circulated the place this treatment was enough to make
+the front rooms passable. Over the iron mantel hung Zeke's "Knights of
+Macabre" sword in its scabbard. Mary Louise looked for the
+white-plumed hat but it had evidently been put away. On the left wall,
+in a brilliant gilt frame, hung a coloured portrait of Admiral Dewey.
+The artist had in some way inspired a look of malign cunning on the
+face by shifting the position of the left eye a hair's breadth below
+normal, but the mouth and smile were benign. On a table to the right
+reposed a glass case with a base of felt and a rounded top--the
+mausoleum for an ancient bird creature that looked like a prairie
+chicken, very droopy and, in spite of its interment, quite dingy with
+dust. It was vaguely familiar to her somehow.
+
+Zenie was watching the inspection with an eager, expectant look. When
+Mary Louise had apparently finished and turned to her again, she
+smiled.
+
+"You ain' eveh see ouh house befo', is you?"
+
+Mary Louise admitted she never had. And then to disarm any suspicion
+that she might have come for social reasons only, she attacked the
+matter in hand with characteristic vigour:
+
+"Zeke's not home much, is he?"
+
+"Right smaht he ain', no'm." Zenie's face was all expectant smiles.
+Not a shadow seemed to linger near it.
+
+Mary Louise allowed her gaze to travel about the room. In the entire
+atmosphere of the place was no besmirching suggestion of toil. She
+returned again to Zenie. The latter was like some tropical flower in
+full bloom. She began, selecting carefully her ground: "You haven't
+any place to put your baby, no one to watch him while you work, have
+you?" This was spoken with all the force of conviction.
+
+Zenie's face wreathed itself in another smile. "I ain' do no mo'
+wuk--not ontil Zeke he come home."
+
+Mary Louise paused and drew breath. She began again: "If there was
+somewhere you could put him, someone who could look out for him, or if
+it was so that you could keep an eye on him yourself--why, you could
+go to work again, like you used to."
+
+The brightness of Zenie's smile began to fade. "Yas'm. Yas'm, reckon I
+could." She turned her attention to the child in her arms and her
+voice, as she continued, was liquid soft. "Zeke's doin' so good--I
+ain' aim to wuk out no mo'. Jes' keep house heah fo' him."
+
+Then Mary Louise, sensing defeat, struck; struck unerringly for her
+objective which she judged to be the vulnerable spot; struck with
+characteristic vigour and direct: "I'll give you six dollars a week if
+you'll come and do the cooking for Miss Susie, for this summer." She
+paused and observed the effect.
+
+Zenie had suddenly acquired all the coy graces of a maid receiving a
+long-expected proposal. She cast her eyes discreetly down, toyed at
+the rocker edge with her shoe, and smiled.
+
+"You won't have to clean up the house. Landy does that. You won't have
+to do a single thing but cook." The speech ended with a rising
+inflection. Mary Louise's eloquent picture inspired even herself with
+hope.
+
+"Mis' Burrus done offa me seven."
+
+There was a momentary silence, during which time Mary Louise
+marshalled her routed forces. Directly she gallantly renewed the
+attack: "I'll give you seven then. And you can have all the time off
+you want, whenever you get through with the dishes." She had come, in
+a way, prepared for shocks, but the whirlwind manner of her
+recklessness was leaving her a bit breathless.
+
+Zenie's face at once assumed a look of concern and lifting her head
+she pondered far-off possibilities. "Zeke, he home so little," she
+began, and her voice had an ineffable sadness, "I likes to be home
+when he come."
+
+"But you _can_ be at home when he comes," Mary Louise explained with a
+patience which she far from felt. "You can get off directly dishes are
+done--seven o'clock every evening, I'm sure."
+
+"I know," responded Zenie, still doubting. "But Zeke, he gone at
+night. Mos' eve' night. He home in de day, mos' de day."
+
+It ended by Mary Louise's offering and Zenie's accepting ten dollars a
+week, and with a promise of starting in on the following Monday. Mary
+Louise descended the cabin steps with the hollow pomp of one who has
+bought his victory too dearly. Zenie, from the steps, called cheerily:
+"Mis' Ma'y Louise. You bring me some goods fuh a dress? Sometime when
+you come up ag'in?"
+
+Mary Louise paused at the gate and speculated on the humble creature
+on whom she had wreaked her will. "I guess I might, Zenie. What kind
+do you want?"
+
+Zenie beamed. "Oh, mos' any kin'. Whateveh you think is pritty. I pay
+you fo' it."
+
+Mary Louise promised and departed. She walked home very thoughtfully.
+Ten dollars a week! Ten dollars just to get the cooking done! She had
+had her eyes fixed very clearly indeed on the coveted goal to brush
+aside such an expensive obstacle.
+
+That afternoon, as she busied herself with little chores about the
+house--she was sweeping the side porch at the time--she chanced to
+look up and saw Joe Hooper driving by in a low-swung phaeton behind a
+sleepy old horse. Beside him sat Mr. Mosby, very prim and very erect,
+and Joe's arm lay along the back of the seat behind him. The street
+was rather shady and it was quite a distance from where she was to
+where he was passing. But somehow it seemed to her that there was a
+singularly cheerful, quite happy expression on his face as he lolled
+back against the cushion. And he did not look in as he passed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Two weeks passed. Joe felt himself gradually slipping into an abyss of
+resignation. Nearer and nearer came June. Less and less he seemed to
+care. He took interest in nothing. He ate and slept and plodded. He
+ate and slept and plodded as though all that life consisted of was
+eating and sleeping and plodding. Most of us have seen in some quiet
+fence corner, just behind the barn, under some old tree with gnarled
+trunk and droopy branches, an old gray horse, with eyes closed, muzzle
+resting on the top rail, one hind leg slightly bent and propped by the
+tip of a cracked and drying hoof. Most of us have seen such a horse,
+seemingly on the gradual slip into oblivion, whose very tail-switching
+was so rhythmic and regular as to fit in, in absolute harmony, with
+the swelling waves of sleep and measured breathing and all that sort
+of thing. And that very horse might well be on the brink of a day's
+exhausting labour. And furthermore he might well know it. Certainly
+his experience might tell him--easily enough. Yet he stands there
+switching in a sort of self-imposed numbness. It is probably nature's
+way of anaesthetizing him from the pain of unlimited drabness. It is
+the only way a sensitive nature can face such a prospect without going
+mad. Such was Joe.
+
+He had slumped. He no longer cared. He no longer cared if skies were
+blue and if breezes were lazy and outdoors was calling. He no longer
+cared when the quitting whistle blew. He no longer cared that June was
+only two weeks off. He would not even have cared if June had been the
+end of it all. He had settled into his stupor.
+
+And then one morning at about eleven o'clock he was summoned to the
+telephone by the switchboard operator. It was a drowsy morning, full
+of dronings and rustlings, and he was very heavy lidded as he stepped
+into the booth reserved for such calls. He had been expecting a
+message from Indianapolis about some shipment that had gone astray and
+for which he was putting in a claim. He sank heavily down upon the
+hard, polished little stool. The air was stuffy and foul about him.
+
+"This Mr. Hooper?" he heard a voice say.
+
+He said it was.
+
+"Well, this is----" He had not the slightest idea what the name was.
+But it made not the slightest difference. It might have been the
+president or it might have been the shipping clerk. All that mattered
+was that it was a tiresome sack of castings giving him some extra
+trouble. And so he stretched a little and yawned a little and replied:
+"Yes. All right."
+
+And then the voice went on a little hurriedly--too hurriedly for him
+to catch it all. And instead of "sack of castings," the voice kept on
+crazily alluding to "your uncle" and "all night"--and phrases that
+were jumbled as in a dream. He came to himself suddenly with a start
+and then the connection was broken off and there was nothing but a
+confused buzzing and rattling. He straightened up on the stool, waited
+a minute, and then jiggled the receiver. He felt very queer. He felt
+to blame for his stupidness. He felt someway as though he had been
+caught up with. And he could not understand.
+
+Directly the exchange called his name and he responded quite sharply
+and briskly. Then her "Just a minute," and he was feeling suddenly
+taut and tense. And then the voice was switched on again.
+
+Like a dream it came. He could barely make out the syllables. The
+voice was broken--seemed very far-away--very weak. It was telling him
+that his uncle--his uncle, Mr. Mosby--"Brrr! Brrr!"--and had not been
+seen since. There was a moment's pause.
+
+And then--would he come?
+
+Another pause and he had vague notions that that was all. And yet he
+had not heard. Yes, he would come.
+
+There was a click and then silence, and there he was, sitting just as
+though he had dreamed it all. Then a voice called, "Did you get
+them?" And he mechanically put up the receiver without a word.
+Something had happened--just what, he could only guess--make out
+piecemeal. There was trouble--he could feel that. Uncle Buzz had
+somehow stepped beyond the pale. He had heard the words "all night"
+and "no trace of him." This was no ordinary trouble. This was not a
+matter of trial balance.
+
+He opened the door and stepped out into the office. It was a changed
+place. Over there was his long flat-topped desk with the opened ledger
+upon it. A sheet of paper had blown to the floor and was sliding over
+toward him, its edges curling lazily. These seemed live, vibrant
+features. One of the clerks across the way had thought of something
+humorous and was leaning forward to tell his vis-à-vis. It had been so
+vital that he had laid his pen down to tell it. He was talking with
+half-shut lips, with eyes that shifted back and forth alert for a
+glance of disfavour. His rusty black derby sat on the back of his
+head: his white piqué tie had slipped away from a bright brass collar
+button....
+
+Through the open door he could see Mr. Boner hunched up over his desk
+and as he watched, that gentleman suddenly plunged his head in a
+ducking motion toward the cuspidor on the floor and just as quickly
+bent down again over the desk. Like fire-flashes of consciousness all
+these things were. These were things going on outside of him. There
+was a world moving on outside of him, a world that took little count
+of the creatures in its path. All this--all this about him--was like a
+bit of stale, flat, slightly greenish backwater--the big wheels
+churning away just beyond and paying it no attention, letting it grow
+staler and staler. Some day there would come a change--as though the
+miller had opened up another sluice--and a few vigorous splashings and
+all would be changed even here. He viewed it speculatively, as one
+outside it all. He suddenly felt that for him it was all over. And he
+went into Mr. Boner's office.
+
+Mr. Boner looked up sidewise.
+
+"I've had a 'phone call from home."
+
+Mr. Boner's eyes rolled slightly, showing the whites.
+
+"There's some trouble there. I'll have to go."
+
+A moment's pause. Mr. Boner cleared his throat. "All right," he said.
+And then he bent back over his work.
+
+He went and got his hat. With his hand on the swinging door he paused
+and looked back. Not a head was raised. In the air there hovered a
+droning, a rustling. It was like a vast, drowsy, slothful thing,
+ignorant, dull, hateful. He pulled open the door. And then he left it.
+
+Three hours later he was standing in the "Golden Rule" at Bloomfield.
+Before him was a glass counter wherein were displayed knives and
+cleavers and scissors and other cutlery. Above the counter, peering
+at him rather anxiously over steel-rimmed spectacles, were the head
+and shoulders of Mr. Burrus. Burrus! It had come to him on the train.
+That was the name he had not caught. Burrus! Who else?
+
+"And you say that the last time you saw him was when he got into his
+buggy and drove away--last night? What makes you think he's gone
+away?"
+
+Mr. Burrus had been thoughtfully eyeing his stock of knives through
+the case and as Joe finished he cast a quick, sidewise glance up at
+him. Joe caught the flicker of it through the spectacles. "Well," he
+began, and hesitated a little, "it's what I woulda done--under the
+circumstances." Mr. Burrus' manner, usually so brisk and
+business-like, seemed suddenly to have changed. He scratched his head
+with a long and bony finger and looked up again at Joe. What he saw
+seemed not to reassure him, for Joe had all of a sudden grown beyond
+Bloomfield's conception of him. He towered above the cutlery
+case--seemed to fill out his clothes. There was a set look about his
+mouth and a steadiness about his eyes. Mr. Burrus paused again.
+
+"Circumstances?" said Joe. "Under what circumstances?"
+
+Mr. Burrus gazed off into the clear blue of the sky patch outlined by
+his front door. "Well," he began cautiously, "I weren't callatin' to
+say anything about this to anybody, but--I had to let Bushrod go."
+The little weazened body with its scrawny neck rising out of the
+gaping rubber collar, the shiny bald head with its fringe of graying
+hair about the edge, the white shirt sleeves with the frayed cuffs and
+the skinny brown hands--a most incongruous disguise for Nemesis to
+take in passing a pronunciamento.
+
+"Why?" Joe repeated after him softly. "Wasn't he doing his work?"
+
+Another flash-like glance up through the steel-rimmed spectacles. Mr.
+Burrus appeared to be weighing his words. "No," he considered, "it
+weren't that." He drummed with his fingers on the glass counter. "He
+was drunk," he snapped out, and stared sternly off into space. And
+then as if he felt it becoming of him, he frowned and his adam's-apple
+moved up and down with quick, spasmodic jerks. But he would not look
+at Joe.
+
+A moment's silence descended on the shop and the odours of the place,
+as though set free by that silence, came drifting to Joe's nostrils as
+he stood there waiting--waiting for the story. There was a blending of
+the smells of coal oil and fresh cloth on bolts and the indefinable
+metallic smell of tinware, and behind it all an overtone of odour, as
+it were, of sweet growing things--hay and grain--and the
+fields--Someone dropped a pan in the rear of the shop and Mr. Burrus
+looked around fiercely. When he again faced Joe, the harassed look was
+gone.
+
+Joe had been gradually making up his mind. "You'd seen him drunk
+before?--That wasn't the first time?"
+
+Mr. Burrus looked up. "Well!" he began tartly. "So much the worse,
+isn't it?"
+
+"No," said Joe, "it's not. If you'd fired him the first time there'd
+have been some reason for it. It was because he wasn't the kind of man
+you wanted in your office, wasn't it?"
+
+"That was it, exactly," agreed Mr. Burrus.
+
+"It was because he didn't see things as he should, didn't do things as
+he should--in a general way--that he wasn't fit for the job, Mr.
+Burrus?" Joe went on.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"And if he had--had been of a piece with yourself--so that you could
+have jiggled him around in your fingers like a hunk of putty, it would
+have been all right. It was not his drinking--it was his drinking in
+spite of your wanting him not to--that got him in bad, wasn't it, Mr.
+Burrus?"
+
+Mr. Burrus fidgeted and then turned sharply on Joe. "This ain't no
+third degree."
+
+"And you think he's gone away?" Joe continued as though not hearing
+him.
+
+"Of course he's gone away. What else was there for him to do?"
+
+There was no obvious alternative.
+
+Joe took his leave and went to see Mrs. Mosby. As he stood waiting in
+the cool, high-ceilinged hall, he was struck by the quiet of the
+place. It had an air of waiting. What for? There was a high walnut
+hat-rack with a mirror and a marble slab with a card tray on it, and
+two high-backed chairs, likewise black walnut and elaborately carved
+and atrocious, and in the dim recesses of the stair a horsehair sofa,
+all just as they had been for years. They were mute but they seemed
+expectant. What could they be waiting for? They were on the outside
+edge of things--where life was passing. What could be in store for
+them? And yet, as he stood in the hall, with the sound of his
+breathing so fine, so distinct in his ears, they seemed to be part of
+another presence waiting there with him, a mute presence as to sound,
+but in some way eloquent voiced, clamorous to be heard.
+
+A faint rustling came to his ears and then steps, and looking up, he
+saw his aunt Loraine coming down the stairs. Her bangles and her
+trinkets gave out hushed little clickings and he could hear her
+breathing as she came across the carpet to meet him.
+
+"Joseph," she said, and he could see beneath her shell that she was
+agitated. "Joseph! What do you suppose can have happened?" Her
+toilette, like an ancient ritual observed in every sacred detail,
+included her manner and deportment. The voice, the inflection, the
+bearing--all went with the ruching and the bangles. Joe had once
+wondered if she put them all in the same box when she went to bed.
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Lorry, I'm sure." Catching a haggard look about
+her eyes he added more gently: "But I wouldn't be too worried. He's
+probably gone to Louisville."
+
+She shook her head, and in spite of herself her voice broke a little.
+"He's never done that without telling me."
+
+Joe stood for a moment in thought. "There was no business that would
+take him anywhere--business about the farm?"
+
+"No," she said. "Won't you come in and sit down in the parlour? I was
+so upset----"
+
+He looked at her kindly. It was perhaps the first time in his
+experience he had ever done so. Somehow the shell did not seem so to
+cover her. She was such a tight little body, a close-bound fagot of
+reserves and inhibitions. She had never exuded the slightest humanity.
+And now the shell was cracking and little glints were showing through.
+"No, Aunt Lorry," he said. "Not now. There's nothing to be gained by
+talking--unless you have any ideas as to where--where he might have
+gone."
+
+Her eyes looked haggard but they remained stoically dry. She shook her
+head.
+
+He turned to go and took a few steps toward the door. And she came and
+laid her hand on his arm. It was as light and feathery as a dead leaf,
+but he could feel the warmth through his sleeve.
+
+"Don't," she said, "don't let anything get out if--if there's
+anything should be kept quiet." She looked him earnestly in the eyes.
+"I'll depend on you?"
+
+He promised and ran lightly down the front steps. Behind him the front
+door closed, ponderous and grave. And as he passed around the curve of
+the driveway to the gate he looked back and the shadows of the old
+house were stretching out toward him on the grass.
+
+He had had a sudden idea. There in the front hall it had occurred to
+him that there was one person at least who might know something. He
+had recalled that last night spent in the upstairs ell bedroom, the
+voices, the clatter of a car. Zeke was probably closer to his uncle
+Buzz than any other living soul. And just as suddenly he had decided
+that it would be time wasted to talk with his aunt Loraine--time that
+could be well spent elsewhere. And so his departure had been
+precipitate. And now as he hurried along the plank walk, beneath the
+arching branches, with the world so fresh and green and hopeful about
+him, he felt how incongruous everything was. Over beyond the hedge the
+blackbirds were hopping about on the grass looking for worms, giving
+occasional satisfied clucks. Across an intersecting road, on up ahead,
+an old buggy passed, drawn by a jogging horse with hanging head. Like
+the Mosby turnout--very. And that very morning he had been at his
+desk, drugged, overwhelmed with the hopelessness of monotony.
+
+He passed on to the other side of town, keeping to the back streets,
+for he did not wish to meet any one or talk to any one. It was nearing
+six o'clock as he approached the gate of Zeke Thompson's cabin, and
+there was that golden glow in the sky which so often follows a spell
+of dampness. It had rained the night before--the road looked dark and
+cool--and about the western sky the clouds were hovering as if
+undecided. But the sunlight streamed bravely through and all was fresh
+and clean and cool.
+
+The front door was open and as Joe passed through the gate he saw no
+one. Softly he climbed the steps and passed over the threshold. The
+room was empty, but an apron thrown carelessly over the back of a
+rocking chair gave evidence of its having been vacated not long since.
+The door to the next room was standing ajar.
+
+Joe stood and pondered. Just what should he ask Zeke? Should he tell
+him what had happened? Zeke might probably have heard, if the news was
+about. Standing there, waiting, there came to his ears a peculiar
+sound, faint, high-pitched, and monotonous. He listened. Someone was
+singing in the next room in a voice not much louder than a whisper.
+Curious, he walked softly over to the door and peered through.
+
+There in a tiny rocking chair sat a little figure rocking to and fro.
+Its back was half turned toward him, but he could see a kinky head
+which was bent over something held in its arms, which it was most
+evidently lulling to sleep. The room was darkening, with only a single
+patch of orange-coloured sunlight upon the bare floor. Back and forth
+went the little body. He could see the bare feet with the stubby toes,
+escaping as by miracle the ever-threatening rocker. There was a small
+square of blue-calico-covered back, two little pigtails of hair
+tightly tied with scraps of baby-blue ribbon, and--the voice. It was
+as fine and high as wind blowing across a hair and with a curious,
+lifting minor note. He listened.
+
+First there would be a gentle hushing and then the refrain--the melody
+was unappreciable and elusive, though constant:--
+
+    "Grasshopper set on sweet tater vine,
+    On sweet tater vine,
+    On sweet tater vine.
+    Big turkey gobbler come up behime
+    And nip him off that sweet tater vine."
+
+With the word "nip" would come a crescendo, swelling to a sharp little
+monosyllabic quaver, and then the whole thing would die away most
+mournfully.
+
+Twice he heard it sung through to the faint accompaniment of the tiny
+screaking rocker. It was a very solemn abjuration against the
+promiscuous sitting about of casual creatures. And oddly enough it
+seemed to him in a way that something was speaking through that
+feeble, quavering voice to him; that this was of the same parcel with
+what had happened, was happening. He felt singularly tense--had not
+the slightest desire to laugh. And as he watched, the orange patch on
+the floor began to fade, until the room was bathed in shadow. And the
+song came suddenly to an end and he heard a gentle little "Hush," and
+then a sigh, and then silence. Slowly he backed away on tiptoe from
+the door.
+
+He had barely gained the security of the front room--somehow he felt
+it as security--when he heard the gate screak and, turning suddenly,
+saw a man dart like a shadow around the side of the house. For a
+moment he stood in indecision; then he walked softly to the open front
+door and stood waiting on the threshold. It would be easier to explain
+his presence there. The sky had grown darker; curling billows of cloud
+rolling in from the south had chased away the orange glow and their
+under surface was lit by a pale-green luminance as they came. Shifting
+wisps of vapour slid twisting and writhing on up ahead, like outriders
+on reconnaissance. It was singularly still.
+
+Joe stood and waited. Directly he heard a sound, and then steps echoed
+on the walk around the side of the cabin, and then a man came hurrying
+around the corner, took one step up on the cabin stair, and then fell
+back with a low cry: "Fo' de Lawd."
+
+It was Zeke. The smoothness of his skin turned an ashen colour and the
+whites of his eyes were rolling. He pushed back away from the doorway
+and stared at Joe. Gradually the terror began to fade out of his face
+and it was superseded by a sickly grin. Joe was watching him closely.
+
+"You plum skeered me to deff," he finally managed to say, his breath
+coming fast and thick. "Thought you wuz a ghos'." The grin was very
+weak and it quickly subsided.
+
+Zeke was a gaunt "darky" of that peculiar transparent blackness that
+looks as though it is put on only one layer deep, and yet is black,
+not brown. He was thin and shambling, with high and prominent
+cheekbones and eyes that showed a lot of white at all times. Across
+one cheek was a long, purplish scar reaching up to the corner of one
+eye. It gave him a look of cunning from that quarter. But on the whole
+he was an ineffectual, shiftless looking Negro, with hands that were
+always dangling and feet that always dragged.
+
+"Ain' seen you fo' a long time, Mist' Joe."
+
+"No. I've been away--down in the city." He paused a moment,
+considering the best way to begin. "Where were you and Mr. Bushrod
+last night?" he ventured on a bold stroke.
+
+Zeke's eyes opened wide. "Why, we wusn' no place, Mist' Joe, Mist'
+Bushrod, he--I was to bring him--he and I wuz to have a little bisnis
+ovah to de house, but I couldn' come." His face clouded and took on
+an anxious look. "Dey ain' no trubbel, is dey, Mist' Joe?"
+
+Joe made no reply and Zeke watched his thoughtful, serious face with
+growing anxiety. Here was one more avenue of possible solution
+blocked. Since yesterday afternoon no one had apparently seen
+him--Uncle Buzz. It was as though the world had swallowed him up. He
+would have to seek elsewhere. He was on the point of dismissing the
+matter, of going elsewhere, when a thought suddenly came to him.
+
+"You and he were to have some business last night?" he said, looking
+at Zeke intently.
+
+Zeke grinned a sheepish grin. "Yessuh, we wuz--we had a little
+bisnis."
+
+"But you didn't meet him? Sure you didn't meet him?"
+
+"Sho I neveh. I ain' able to git de--I was detain'." Zeke had learned
+from experience and considerable instinct to hedge his utterances
+about with much generality. It was a good principle. It meant less to
+retract.
+
+Joe thought another moment. "Take me," he said suddenly, "to the place
+where you get the business." There he might find a connecting link in
+his chain, he felt growingly certain.
+
+"Oveh to Mist' Bushrod's?" The inflection was perfectly naïve.
+
+"No. Of course not--out where you get it. Over to Fillmore or wherever
+it is."
+
+"Now, Mist' Joe," very reproachfully and with a quick, nervous
+flashing of the eyes.
+
+Joe frowned. "You needn't put on anything with me, Zeke. I'm not going
+to give you away. Let's go get your car." He stretched out his arm as
+though to sweep Zeke into doing his bidding and started for the door.
+
+"But I ain' eveh had no bisnis to Fillmo'," Zeke began in a last
+effort to stem the tide. "They ain' no bisnis theh."
+
+"That's more like it. That may be the truth," said Joe pressing him
+on. And Zeke reluctantly passed out and descended the steps.
+
+As Joe turned to close the front door behind him he caught a look back
+in the room. Framed in the doorway stood a very small pickaninny,
+barely reaching to the knob. She was barefoot, in a blue calico dress,
+with her hair done in two kinky braids that stood out in front like
+diminutive horns. In her arms she held tightly clutched an old corn
+shock wrapped in a red rag. One hand grasped the doorpost. And she was
+watching him wide eyed and very gravely.
+
+"That's good advice you gave me," Joe said to her, as he closed the
+door.
+
+They made their way around a corner to a ramshackle shed, Joe urging
+on the reluctant Zeke by the menace of an encroaching shoulder. Zeke
+paused at the entrance. He groped in his pocket and directly pulled
+forth a key on a very dirty, greasy string. Fumblingly he inserted it
+in the lock. Then he paused again and lifting his eyes, thoughtfully
+inspected the sky.
+
+"Look powahful lak rain," he reflected dubiously.
+
+"Get the car out," said the inexorable Joe. "We can put the top up."
+
+Zeke opened the door and went in. For several minutes there was the
+metallic slip and catch of the crank and Zeke's laboured breathing.
+Then there issued forth a reverberating roar as of a monster released
+in travail, and then slowly there emerged, back end first, a perfect
+scarecrow of an automobile, mud stained and rust streaked, with an
+arrangement on the back like a discarded chicken crate, with fenders
+that were battered and twisted as though torn by some elemental
+tempest, and with a sagging and flopping top over the front seat that
+looked as though at any moment it might collapse from sheer
+decrepitude. Slowly the thing backed out of the shed, in a curve to
+the road, with much groaning and roaring, and then came to a stop. The
+whites of two eyes peered out of the shadow of the enveloping bonnet
+as Joe approached.
+
+He took one more look at the sky before he climbed in. The racing
+forerunners of storm had in some inexplicable manner vanished and
+there remained a lowering canopy of gray and black with here and there
+a patch of grayish green. Over in the west was a thin line of greening
+yellow, and the shadows were darkening over the back lanes through the
+trees.
+
+"Let's go," said Joe, climbing in.
+
+With much panting and sputtering and popping the car started slowly
+forward and they were off. Neither spoke. They came to an intersecting
+street and Zeke slowed down the car.
+
+"Which way, Mist' Joe?" he asked.
+
+Joe was suddenly irritated. "To Fillmore. You know where I mean.
+Wherever you've been going for the stuff."
+
+Zeke made a sudden turn to the left, narrowly escaping the projecting
+roots of a tree. Joe clung to the top brace for support. Down a
+darkening street they rolled, with the trees arching, sombre overhead,
+and on either side, back in the shadows, the darker shapes of houses
+with here and there the passing glow of a lighted lamp. Night
+descended upon them as they left the town and a few splashes of rain
+appeared on the dirty glass of the wind-shield. Joe settled stoically
+down to wait. There was so much time to be passed until he could be of
+further use and until then there was no need of making any effort. The
+thought of the morning came back to him. It did not seem possible that
+the same day was passing. Singularly, the idea of Bromley's was the
+thing that obsessed him rather than the business in hand. It was as
+though he had been released on furlough. "Grind, grind, grind," said
+the car. "You will be back at it all to-morrow. This is not real. This
+is a dream you're having." He shook himself. He was getting sleepy,
+felt utterly fagged.
+
+And then Mary Louise flashed across his mind. "Come on," she seemed to
+say. "You're slipping. You're getting behind. They're all getting
+ahead of you. You're not keeping up. Let's get in a little
+more--little more--little more." He lurched against the top brace,
+blinked, and straightened up. Beside him was the shadow bent a little
+over the wheel. He could see the outline of the peak of the old golf
+cap and the dim tracing of Zeke's face, about it a faint gleam, and
+then the flash of an eye. He pondered. Here was Zeke doing his
+work--playing his part in the scheme of things. _He_ was not bothered
+by any notions of obligation. _He_ was not concerned with working out
+his destiny. _He_ played his cards as he got them. "Sometime they roll
+seven--and sometime they roll two," he remembered the words of a
+philosopher of the rolling rubes a year ago--or was it a lifetime?
+Bromley's! The Golden Rule! Mary Louise! All alike. "Shape yourself to
+this pattern. Fill this niche. You've got to," said one. "Be like me.
+Do as I do. Or get out," said another. "It costs so much to live this
+way. And you have to. Or it's not worth living," said the third. How
+about his way of looking at it?
+
+He turned suddenly to the inscrutable face beside him.
+
+"You don't let anybody cramp your style, do you, Zeke?" he said.
+
+Zeke started. The sudden voice for a moment terrified him. "Nossuh, I
+doesn'," he stammered, anxious to agree.
+
+Joe's voice was kindly encouraging. "Well, don't you let them, ever."
+
+"Nossuh, I won'." And singularly he spoke the truth.
+
+They came to a stretch of sand and the car slowed down appreciably. In
+addition there was a grade. And then came a flash of lightning over in
+the west, straight ahead of them, and another, fan-shaped, like the
+slow opening of a hand. In the momentary glare they saw the outlines
+of a hill up before them, with the road clipping it in two. A
+telephone pole on the crest stretched out spectral arms and leaned
+away. And then darkness again.
+
+Joe decided he had better tell Zeke the object of their mission. It
+really didn't matter much, but then he wanted to talk.
+
+"Do you reckon Mr. Bushrod's in Fillmore, Zeke?" he began, trying to
+make it as conversational as possible.
+
+"I dunno. Mist' Joe. He might could." This offered no encouragement.
+
+"He's been gone--ever since last night. Reckon he is in Fillmore?" He
+caught the gleam of two eyes as Zeke partly turned to look at him.
+
+"I dunno, Mist' Joe. Wheh you reckon he gone?" As yet the import had
+failed to reach him.
+
+For a short while they rolled along in silence, silence save for the
+rattling labour of the car. The grade was growing steeper. On both
+sides of the road the woods were encroaching and the only light was
+the feeble one cast by the single uncertain lamp of the car. It barely
+seemed to puncture the black.
+
+"Mist' Bushrod ain' been home?" came Zeke's voice. The idea was
+beginning to have effect.
+
+"Not since yesterday morning."
+
+For another interval, silence, and then: "Whuh Mist' Bushrod gone?
+Reckon he gone to Louisville?" Perhaps the faint stirrings of a cell
+of conscience. Who can say?
+
+"Don't know, Zeke. Perhaps."
+
+As though satisfied by this mutual exchange of confidence, Zeke lapsed
+again into silence, and for a time nothing was heard save the voice of
+the car and occasional sighing bursts of wind high up in the
+tree-tops. Then there came a black line of shadow stretching across
+their way, on up ahead, and above it a yellowish, greenish streak of
+light where the clouds were breaking. Faint wisps of vapour went
+curling slowly across the streak and there was a patch of blue, very
+deep, and the momentary gleam of a star, and then they plunged into
+the shadow.
+
+The air grew cooler, almost cold. The woods had swept down upon the
+road and engulfed it. Even the noise of the motor seemed quieter, and
+above it could be heard whisperings and occasional crackings.
+Something started up from a thicket by the side of the road and they
+could hear it scurrying through the underbrush. Zeke moved up the
+throttle and they began to move faster. And on either side of them
+came down the darkness, sweeping past them, pressing close, and before
+them wavered the faltering light, and the cool damp air came fingering
+and touched their faces.
+
+Zeke stopped the car. The rushing darkness stopped. The breeze was
+still.
+
+"Heah's de place," he said, and his voice was lower; Joe could barely
+hear him.
+
+"I thought it was Fillmore. This isn't Fillmore."
+
+"I know," said Zeke. "I doesn' go to Fillmo'. Dis is de place whuh I
+gets it. Up de paff a piece."
+
+Joe was on the point of telling him to go on--on to Fillmore, where
+proper inquiry might be made, when a sense of curiosity prompted him
+to stop. He would see where the illegal traffic was being carried on.
+Zeke was trustingly letting him in on his business and he might not
+understand. After all, it was getting down in a way to the heart of
+the business--in a way getting closer to Uncle Buzz. He had never
+bothered much before. He climbed out of the car and Zeke shut off the
+motor.
+
+The silence, as he followed Zeke down the narrow path, was oppressive.
+There would come a vast sighing like a wave of sound, and a settling,
+a few crackings far off, and then silence. The ground was soft with a
+matting of fallen leaves, damp and mouldy, and once as Zeke turned his
+pocket flashlight from the path there came a gleam of water. Briars
+flicked his face and scratched his hands, and once a low-hanging
+branch struck him across the eyes and he stumbled from the path and
+stepped into slime. He kept close behind his guide, for the darkness
+was intense and the path was tortuous. Directly Zeke stopped. The
+pocket light made a small circle on the ground.
+
+"Heah 'tis," Zeke whispered, and pointed with the light.
+
+A thicket of blackberry bushes crowded into a corner of an old
+snake-rail fence and two old boards were all that was visible in the
+narrow compass of the light--that, and a pool of dark water over to
+one side. Up above, there was a break in the trees and a suggestion,
+beyond, of open fields. He stood for a minute. Nothing else was
+visible, nothing from the hand of man, as Zeke moved the light back
+and forth in slow-sweeping arcs. It had been a waste of time; there
+was nothing to see, nothing but the crude assignation place of a troop
+of spectral whiskey jugs, and the seat of a profitable industry. He
+turned to go, his mind shifting to other things. He heard Zeke
+fumbling in the bushes, saw the light switch into the fence corner,
+then across the pool; and then he heard a cry, a low cry of terror,
+and caught a glimpse of something white--on the ground, near a big
+tree. And then Zeke's voice, "Fo' Gawd!" and the light switched off
+and someone came hurrying toward him in the darkness.
+
+"Come on, Mist' Joe. Le's git away fum heah!"
+
+Zeke brushed past him in an agony of haste. He heard his footsteps on
+the leaf carpet, saw the crazy flickerings of the light through the
+trees, and had a sudden intense desire to follow. But he paused,
+curious, mastering his fear. And then the outline of the clearing came
+slowly to his eyes, and looking up he saw that the clouds were
+breaking and that the tip of the moon was showing through. Slowly the
+place was bathed in a silvery flood. Back slipped the shadows. Shapes
+that had been pressing, close at hand, receded and took the form of
+trees, of bushes, lurking there on the edge of the darkness. He saw
+the fence corner. He saw the two boards propped up against it, forming
+a cache. He saw the pool, a tiny little woodland pool. And then he
+caught again that glimmer of white by the foot of a huge beech tree.
+Slowly he made his way toward it with beating heart. Slowly it took
+shape, a huddled shadow, right on the edge of the light. He touched it
+with his foot, careful lest he step beyond. He stooped. He touched it
+with his hand. He turned it over. And the moonlight, slipping through
+the trees as though to help him, sent a feeble, flickering shaft
+down--upon the upturned face of Uncle Buzz. For a moment it rested
+there, as if to reassure him, bringing out in misty detail all that
+was necessary. The thing was hideously befouled, besmirched, lying
+there in that black swamp water, mute, helpless, utterly broken. But
+it was unmistakeable. He stretched out his arms and dragged it from
+the water, and the clouds, closing in again, obscured the moon,
+leaving all in darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Two days later they buried Mr. Mosby.
+
+Joe had kept his promise. At least he had kept it as well as it was
+possible to keep it. It was decided that Mr. Mosby had met his death
+by drowning. That is what "One Half of Rome" believed. The "Other Half
+of Rome" perhaps had various ideas. It could not be surmised from the
+set conventional expressions on the faces of those gathered together
+in the back parlour that hot Saturday afternoon just what the
+consensus was. There had been at first a surreptitious buzz of
+conversation and then deep silence as the Episcopal priest in his long
+white vestments came slowly in. Joe felt peculiarly outside of it all.
+He was in a sense neither spectator nor mourner. For Mrs. Mosby
+depended on the palsied arm of her brother for support. And then there
+were a few old ladies, friends of Mrs. Mosby's, and himself bringing
+up the rear--merely appended to the family, the last survivor of the
+discredited branch. He was conscious of a heavy scent of flowers
+banked about the close, dark room, a scent in which the cloying
+sweetness of jasmine prevailed. For a moment there was not a sound,
+and then the minister lifted his head and began the burial service.
+He, too, was feeling the heavy hand of time, and his voice, so long
+charged with the burden of emotion, emotion that had had to be
+summoned on short notice, seemed on the point of breaking. He was old
+and broken himself, wearied with futility, with his head raised,
+half-closed eyes lifted ceiling-ward, his fluttering draperies now
+billowy, now closely enwrapping his gaunt frame in the little breeze
+that came in from the hall. There was not much of comfort to be
+gained, not much of hope. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, Joe
+could get a glimpse of a wall of white, blank, expressionless faces
+and the silent waving of countless palm-leaf fans. Directly in front
+of him was the long, narrow back of Mr. Fawcette, and beside the
+latter, Aunt Loraine, sitting very straight and very stiff, her new
+black veil opaquely shielding from curious eyes the delicacy of her
+grief. The ruching was there, but the bangles had been laid aside. On
+went that quavering, faltering voice:
+
+"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of
+men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of
+birds."
+
+Of just what kind had been Uncle Buzz, he found himself wondering. A
+weaker kind, or at least, a kind ill suited to the world it had been
+thrown in.
+
+"Now I say, brethren," the voice went on, "that flesh and blood cannot
+inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit
+incorruption."
+
+What, thought Joe, were the chances of all those white, fleshy faces
+staring there, immovable? The crowd in the back parlour--a single,
+silent, pasty-faced, fan-waving convention, over which the fat, pasty
+white hand of death was significantly hovering, and about which the
+odour of jasmine was pressing. He felt suddenly stifled, suffocated.
+He wanted to get up and run away, out of doors, anywhere. The only
+thing that seemed to escape the stifling was his Uncle Buzz, lying
+there quietly, in acceptance. And then he knew that another link had
+been broken, a link that held him to the past. There was a little less
+friendliness, a little less cheer, a little less understandableness--he
+was conscious of it--a little less need of him.
+
+The service came to an end and a small fraction of the assembly filed
+out to the family burying ground on the hill behind the house. Here
+came a repetition of what had been enacted in the back parlour, only
+there was the distraction of the wind which would be playful and of a
+robin, perched on a near-by fence post, who would not be depressed but
+sang away its liquid, throaty warble as though the whole ceremony had
+been arranged for its own entertainment. It came quickly to an end.
+Mr. Mosby was sent on his way with all due convention and dispatch
+with a little of sentimentality thrown in for good measure. A few
+moments of grace after the last clods of earth were tossed on and
+patted down, and then everyone was hurrying away, back to his
+respective niche, cloaking haste with a thin layer of dignity. Mr.
+Burrus openly ran after a departing "Ford." It was Mr. Martin's, and
+the handy reserve carry-all of the "Golden Rule," and Mr. Burrus
+preferred a moment's haste to a long, hot walk at greater leisure. Joe
+remembered his face, there in the third row at the end, in the back
+parlour. Inscrutable it had seemed--a weazened, yellowing blank mask,
+slowly souring in the heat. What had he been thinking on? On the waste
+of some lost accounts, perhaps--or even on the amount of credit he
+might allow the widow. It might be that he contemplated the remote
+results of his own handiwork lying there in the black cloth-covered
+box. But if this latter, his face showed no sign. And "Neither Half of
+Rome," though it point an accusing finger, would pause for a moment as
+it passed him by.
+
+Joe did not go back to the house with the rest of the family. Instead,
+he struck out across the fields away from them. He climbed the back
+boundary fence and was soon walking up to his knees in grass and
+weeds. The air was hot and sticky and heavily charged with a
+shimmering white water vapour. There were a few sluggish clouds with
+sombre centres hanging about the valley to the southwest, and there
+was a drone and zip of flying creatures in swarms above the drying
+weeds and stubble. Coming to a large oak tree standing solitary in
+that wasting field, he threw himself face downward on the ground in
+its shadow, careless that the grass was scant, and that his bed was
+scratchy. For a moment he lay in utter relaxation, caring for and
+observing nothing. And then, the sharp edge of his fatigue being
+broken, he slowly turned on his side and leaned his head on his palm,
+his elbow resting on the ground. It was a barren prospect that
+stretched out before him: lazy, shiftless land clear over the brow of
+the hill that sloped away to the house. The Fawcette place had not
+been worked to capacity for years, and there it lay, the waste of Mr.
+Mosby's opportunity. Tiny creatures swarmed in the grass. Joe could
+see them scurrying up and down the withered and drying stalks. A
+little crowd of gnats was hovering about his head and occasionally one
+would light upon his face and stick there dejectedly. Above the grass,
+against the blue of the sky beyond, he could see the shimmering waves
+hang tremulous like the air above a hot wood-stove in winter, and
+there came to his ears the sudden whirring zip of a grasshopper in
+mid-flight. Directly there came another, and another, till the air
+seemed full of them. Summer had come. And about him lay the field in
+listless idleness.
+
+It was common talk that it should be worked, that it was a shame not
+to work it. But there had not been money enough. Money was needed for
+everything, everything that man wanted to do, money and something
+else. About him buzzed the gnats; all around him poured the sunshine;
+and in his ears was the drone of countless insects. This was Saturday.
+Another full day and would come Monday. Monday! He had not thought of
+it until now. He suddenly felt the uselessness of his bonds. And yet
+he could feel the stretching of his tether. Was everybody fastened to
+a tether? Was there no such thing as freedom? Singularly enough, this
+field in all its idleness, with all its heat, with its droning and
+buzzing, suggested freedom. In fact, the feel of the entire country,
+this country that he had known, about which his memories clustered
+thick, suggested freedom. And yet it was not above reproach. People
+spoke of it condescendingly. "Poor land--unproducing--a century behind
+the times." What was it? The land? The people? The times? There was
+Uncle Buzz, with his foothold on two hundred acres, and they had
+buried him in his one good suit. Buried beneath the force of
+circumstances, he had never once lifted his head--had died with it in
+a shallow pool of water. And _he_ was no better. He could feel the
+shackles close about him, binding him hand and foot. What was one to
+do? His head dropped down upon the crook of his arm and he fell
+asleep.
+
+An hour later he awoke. He felt hot and uncomfortable. He stretched
+himself and rolled over on his back. He gazed upward through the
+tangle of branches and tried to relax again. But the heat had become
+unbearable. He struggled to his feet and brushed the litter from his
+clothes. Away in each direction stretched the field. It was dry and
+dusty and covered with a short, cutting stubble beneath the upper
+surface of waving grass and weeds. It no longer held any allurement
+for him and yet he did not want to go back to the house. He looked at
+his watch. It was five o'clock. Some of the old ladies would still be
+there. They would be sitting about on the horsehair chairs making
+lugubrious conversation. Back toward the left stretched the pike,
+white and dusty enough. But there were trees along the edge of it, and
+he remembered the grass in the fence corners to be long and fresh and
+succulent as a rule, even in midsummer. Slowly he started in that
+direction. When he reached the boundary fence he was dripping with
+perspiration and his shoes and trouser hems were covered with the
+yellow dust. He climbed the fence, and as he stepped out into the road
+he saw an automobile approaching in the distance, dipping down a hill
+to the creek that broke the stretch toward Guests. It was not often
+that motors of any distinction saw fit to travel into Bloomfield; the
+pike was not good enough. But this approaching car seemed to be one of
+some distinction--was long and rather rakish, had a deep sound to the
+exhaust as it started up the hill toward him. Idly he watched it.
+There were two passengers, a man and a woman, slouched well down in
+the seats. What could they be doing in the heat of the afternoon with
+the top down and in all that blazing sunlight? He stepped over to the
+side of the road and dragged his feet, first one and then the other,
+in the grass to wipe off some of the dust. He knew that he was hot and
+dirty and dishevelled, but he did not care much. On came the car. As
+it came nearer it lost its interest to him and he sat down in the
+grass and plucked a blade to chew, paying it no further attention.
+Suddenly, to his surprise, he realized it was stopping and then the
+woman called to him.
+
+At first he did not recognize her. Her face was quite red from the sun
+and she had on a fetching little close-fitting motor-bonnet with
+fluttering lavender strings. A long lemon-coloured duster enveloped
+the rest of her. She was quite pretty, with the contrast of colour,
+with her hair all snugly tucked away. It did not look like Mary
+Louise, but it was. He felt very conscious of his dusty old suit and
+his wilting collar and his flushed and perspiring face, as he came and
+stood by the car.
+
+"This is Mr. Claybrook, Joe," she said, looking at him gravely.
+
+He remembered then the big, confident man that had joined them that
+unhappy night.
+
+"I just heard, Joe. It was terrible. I was awfully distressed."
+
+He looked into her eyes--she spoke so earnestly--and wondered if she
+were feeling all she might feel. Uncle Buzz had not received very
+charitable treatment at her hands. The picture of it all came before
+his mind and he said nothing.
+
+"When is--when is the funeral?"
+
+"It's all over," he replied shortly. "This afternoon."
+
+"Oh."
+
+She turned and had a word with her companion. And then he leaned over,
+partly across her, smiling quietly.
+
+"We're going right back in an hour or so. Be glad to have you go with
+us. There's plenty of room." His voice was big and rather pleasant and
+he had an air of careless assumption that everything would be all
+right.
+
+"Yes, do, Joe," Mary Louise put in. "I had John drive me up this
+afternoon. I wanted to get here in time for----Aunt Susie wanted some
+things."
+
+It was quite natural the way she said, "I had John----"
+
+"It will be better than going back on that morning train--to-morrow?
+And I suppose you'll have to be back at the office Monday?" He had
+never known her voice to be so solicitously sweet.
+
+"No," he said, and he surprised himself, "I'm not going back." He had
+come to no such decision. But the idea was suddenly so utterly
+distasteful that it seemed impossible. And _she_ having _him_,
+Claybrook, take him, Joe, back to work. The smart of it was
+intolerable. "No," he repeated firmly, "I'm not going back." And then
+he gazed off across the hood of the motor into the vacant field
+beyond.
+
+"I see," she replied, rather softly, and he could feel that she was
+watching him and that Claybrook was, in a way, standing by in a
+condescending attitude, ready to do her bidding.
+
+He was anxious to be off, anxious to be alone. "Thank you very much,
+however," he said, and bowed to Claybrook. He avoided Mary Louise's
+eyes. He backed away from the car and lifted his hat. "Good-bye."
+
+Turning away, he set off down the road, away from Bloomfield, and
+shortly he heard the motor start and the grind of wheels. He looked
+back. He saw her lean over as though to speak to Claybrook. And then
+he saw Claybrook turn his face toward hers. They were probably talking
+about him.
+
+He trudged on down the road, although he had no idea of where he was
+going. There was a soreness deep down in his heart and it hurt all the
+more because he realized that he had been unreasonable. And he had
+said he was not going back. He caught his breath slightly at the
+thought. Well, he wouldn't go back. There was no reason why he
+should--absolutely no reason. With that he turned about and walked
+briskly back up the hill toward home.
+
+As he entered the front hall he could hear a low hum of conversation
+on the other side of the parlour doors. They were partly open, and he
+hurried past lest someone call for him to come in. He went upstairs,
+into the ell bedroom, and took off his coat. He looked at himself in
+the glass of the bureau. His face was red and streaked with
+perspiration and dust. And _they_ had looked quite fresh--"smart" was
+the word. He proceeded to clean himself up and he spent quite a long
+time in the process.
+
+When he came downstairs again it was growing dark. He no longer heard
+the voices in the parlour. When he reached the foot, he paused for a
+moment in uncertainty. The walnut chairs were there, quite placid and
+content with themselves, and the hat-rack, and the old horsehair sofa.
+His aunt Loraine came out of another door, back in the passage. She
+had, of course, laid aside her veil and her face had been freshly
+powdered; she looked quite the same. There was a certain prim set to
+her mouth, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were calculatingly
+cool. She did not touch him but stood with her arms hanging rather
+stiffly by her sides.
+
+"Joseph," she said, "we want you to stay, if you will--as long as you
+feel you can."
+
+The tiny spark that he had felt died away. "We," she had said. He
+wondered who the "we" might be. Mr. Fawcette, perhaps; perhaps one of
+the old ladies. Aunt Lorry had evidently been looking ahead. There was
+no need for him here.
+
+"No," he said rather quietly. "Thank you very much, Aunt Lorry. I
+must be getting back--first train to-morrow, I expect."
+
+She lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly. "Very well. Make yourself at
+home while you stay." And she glided off with her queer, noiseless
+step, back into the shadow of the hall.
+
+He walked to the front door and out on to the wide verandah. He looked
+down the winding driveway to the gate, all mellowing in the dying
+sunlight. There was not a breath of air, not a sound. The gate was
+standing partly open; the last departing guest had neglected to shut
+it. On the driveway lay something white, somebody's handkerchief. It
+lay without moving, inert. There was nothing to pick it up, not even
+the slightest breeze. He gazed across the open country that dipped
+away to the west to the ridge of hills that was crowned with orange
+and purple mists, with the white road climbing to its crest. And as he
+watched, he could see a small blob of white dust moving, leaving a
+feathery tail behind it. And he turned quickly and went into the
+house.
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+MYRTLE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The sunlight was dazzling white. High winds during the night had
+chased all clouds to remote quarters and had with the morning suddenly
+gone, leaving the city to the entire mercy of the sun. It was August
+and very dry and in the corners of buildings huddled little heaps of
+dust and elusive trash, withered and powdery. On the pavements and
+walls the sunlight lay like white-hot gold and the shadows cast by the
+awnings of Bessire's department store were sharply chiselled as by a
+stencil. Mary Louise paused for a moment in their shelter and drew
+breath.
+
+Sometimes work is a fattener. It is when, by virtue of its absorption,
+certain phases of the body are allowed to function naturally. It is
+true in the case of meddling minds, also in more or less conscientious
+natures. Mary Louise's nerves had temporarily ceased to feed upon her.
+She was getting plump. The lace frill at the bottom of her elbow
+sleeve lay flat against a curve that was full and round. In fact, one
+was conscious of a general well-roundedness about her. And her face,
+which was flushed, was likewise serene.
+
+The tea room had been making money. With the arrival of the intense
+heat had come generous patronage, especially for the noon meal. And
+the petty vexations had effaced themselves. For the past few weeks an
+atmosphere of expectancy had seemed to hover, such as is felt on
+trains arriving after a long journey, or in the completion of a work.
+It was the sense of accomplishment. Mary Louise felt her problem
+undergoing solution, and nothing else mattered. She now laughed at the
+dismay she had felt at paying ten dollars for a cook in Bloomfield.
+There was no price to be set on her freedom. And the careless streak
+in Maida was something to be accepted with good nature and not to be
+allowed to irritate. Maida was at least on the job, eternally on the
+job. Not much of a companion truly, nor for that matter a really good
+business partner. But she irradiated good nature and that was
+something.
+
+A sizzling hot pavement is not much of a place for reflection even if
+shaded by a striped awning. So Mary Louise passed on. The bundle of
+fresh-printed menus was getting heavy under her arm--she had just come
+from the printer's--and the soda fountain at the corner drug store
+tempted her. She yielded.
+
+She took a seat alongside a revolving electric fan and let the breeze
+play on her heated cheek. She felt suddenly lazy and allowed herself a
+delicious relaxation. Behind the counter two boys in spotless caps
+and aprons were working with desperate haste to cool the dusty throats
+lined up before them. One of them looked like Joe Hooper, except that
+he moved faster, was quicker with his hands. Poor Joe! How helpless
+and hopeless he had looked that afternoon. He was one of the kind that
+could not learn how. The other clerk stopped before her and asked her
+for her order. This one looked very much like the new cook Maida and
+she had just hired. So intent was she upon her observation that she
+forgot he was speaking to her. That new cook--he was a smart,
+sharp-looking boy--just out of the army a few months. It had seemed a
+bit incongruous having that type in the kitchen, but then----She
+watched the face before her, hair sleek and parted in the middle with
+ears a little too prominent, features rather regular. The eyes were
+set too close together. He slid in and out without friction, made up
+almost two drinks to the other one's one--the one who looked like Joe.
+Probably made more money even than the real Joe.
+
+A tall frosty tumbler was placed before her. She dipped into it with a
+straw. It was delightfully cool and refreshing, with a blend of fruit
+odour and flavour beneath the sprig of mint that floated on the top.
+Slowly she sipped it. And then for a moment she let her eyes wander
+across the faces lined up before the counter beside her. Next to her
+was an old woman in a sleazy black dress with a turban-like hat all
+swathed with a long black veil hemmed with black. She had looped it
+back in anticipation of the drink she would soon get. The old face was
+white and limned with wrinkles, and one hand, as it rested timidly on
+the edge of the counter, was heavily veined and thin and swollen about
+the knuckles. There was a droop to the shoulders and a patient,
+haggard look about the eyes. Mary Louise wondered if the mourning were
+very real; she seemed so very tired that even a poignant grief might
+well be spent. As she looked, the old woman caught her eye and turned
+hurriedly away.
+
+Beyond her two young girls were making merry with the cherries in
+their glasses. At odd moments they would surreptitiously bid for the
+soda-jerker's attention. They had finely plucked eyebrows and were
+much powdered about the nose. One of them sat with her back partly
+turned to Mary Louise, who could catch the occasional lift of an
+alluring eyelash from the glass's brim in the direction of the clerk.
+She had her legs crossed, and once when she shifted her position Mary
+Louise could see the gleam of a bare knee. It made her feel a bit
+older somehow, but likewise complacent.
+
+She finished her drink and arose to go. Just then the big, raw-boned
+clerk, the one who looked a bit like Joe, dropped a glass on the
+counter and immediately there was a widening stain of red and a piece
+of glass rolled over the edge and fell to the floor. A woman sprang
+up and back from the counter in irritation. And a dull red flush crept
+into the boy's face as he quickly produced a rag and began to mop up
+the débris. As she walked to the door, the other clerk, the one with
+the close-set eyes, was saying something to him in a sharp tone.
+
+She paused a moment. Past her on the sidewalk pressed a steady stream
+in each direction. Hot, perspiring faces, flushed and lined with
+concentration, worry, or fatigue--all hurrying. She felt curiously
+complacent and aloof. Perhaps it was the momentary rest and cooling.
+Her thought returned again to Joe, being reminded perhaps by the
+little incident at the counter. She recalled Claybrook. She remembered
+Claybrook's words that afternoon--that afternoon she had gone to
+Bloomfield. It was just a few minutes after they had left Joe Hooper
+on the road; they were passing the old Mosby place. She had noticed
+the interest with which Claybrook had inspected the place as they
+rolled by. He had asked the name of the owner.
+
+"Fine old trees," he had said. And later, "Walnuts," in answer to her
+question as to which ones he had meant.
+
+Yes, they had been fine old trees. Something enduring about them. They
+added to a place--trees. There was nothing artificial or upstart about
+their beauty, but the venerableness of dignity. The Mosby place had
+been noted for its walnuts.
+
+"Tell 'em," Claybrook had said, "I'll give 'em a nickle a foot for
+those trees right there on the ground. That is, if they are hard up,"
+he had added as if seeking to justify himself. She remembered the
+incident now with regret, a sort of complacent regret. Claybrook was a
+bit crude at times, or at least he was not quite awake to some of the
+finer sensibilities. But he was a kindly man and doing well. He was
+the sort you could depend on. Business was cruel. You had to overlook
+certain things, for instance--Maida. But Joe! Well, it was too bad. He
+just didn't have the knack.
+
+She crossed the street. The glare was terrific. Hugging the wall, to
+keep as far in the shelter of its shade as possible, she proceeded
+north. In spite of the heat the streets were crowded. She looked at
+her watch. It was eleven-thirty. She would have to be hurrying to get
+her menus back on time. She came to an alley and paused on the curb to
+look in either direction for traffic. By the curb at the corner of the
+alley stood a bright, shiny, new car. Something about it attracted her
+attention. She looked more closely and was conscious of a peculiar
+little catch or start somewhere deep down inside her. In the front
+seat, behind the steering wheel, sat Joe Hooper, with his arm flung
+negligently along the polished patent leather of the top brace. And
+such a Joe Hooper! He had on a new straw hat, and while Mary Louise
+could not trust herself to a very long inspection, she noticed the
+fresh creases in his coat sleeve. He was wearing a "shepherd plaid"
+suit that looked "bran spanking" new, and in his collar was knotted a
+pale lavender-hued tie. More than that, he seemed positively well
+groomed. Beside him sat a woman, back turned toward the curb. It was a
+most alluring back, in a soft, shimmering dark-blue dress with a lace
+collar and above it a gentle curve of neck with little provoking wisps
+of hair curling softly about it. That was all she took in in that
+flash of vision, except--as she looked, the creature raised a dainty,
+tapering hand and filliped a tiny feather under Joe's nose. He drew
+back slightly and smiled--she saw the whole thing--a quite restrained
+and, if anything, a condescending kind of smile.
+
+Mary Louise passed on inconspicuously across the alley, into the
+sheltering shade, of the shop awnings again. She wondered if he had
+seen her. And then she was tempted to turn around and reassure herself
+with another look. But she did not.
+
+A singular mixture of emotions surged through her. She felt as if
+someone were secretly laughing at her. Joe Hooper, she had decided,
+had been one of those people who could never learn how to do things.
+And yet, unless her eyes had deceived her, here he had burst
+gorgeously from his chrysalis. She was not sure she was glad of it,
+either. Charity, especially of thought, is frequently more of a luxury
+to the donor than to the recipient.
+
+She hurried on. The street was becoming more crowded and the heat, if
+anything, more intense. She began to feel just a bit angry with
+herself for exposing herself to it. Her face felt as if it were
+burning up. It had not been at all necessary. She could just as well
+have sent someone else. And here she was plugging along, with her
+clothes all sticky, her hair coming down in wisps about her ears, and
+her face as red as a beet. Funny, what had come over Joe. She was
+certain it had been he but it seemed improbable. And she had been
+sorry for him. He was the kind who could not "put anything across."
+
+All her complacency was gone as she opened the tea-room door. She was
+hot and tired and hurried. The little clock on the mantelshelf said a
+quarter to twelve as she closed the door behind her and then she saw
+that there was a customer at a far table in the corner and realized
+how late she was. A short, fat little woman was sitting tensely on the
+edge of a chair, looking about her with quick, restless, stabbing
+glances. She had on an atrocity of a hat that looked as though someone
+had plumped down on her head a flimsy crate of refuse blossoms and
+vegetables. It was a riot of colour and disorder. And her short,
+protuberant bosom rested on the table's edge while the face above it
+was marked with stern lines of dissatisfaction. Little folds of flesh
+hung down below her jaws.
+
+Giving Mary Louise a momentary appraising glance, us the latter came
+in with her bundle, she snapped out: "This place open, you suppose?"
+
+Mary Louise hastily laid down the menus. "Yes," she said, "it is.
+Haven't you been waited on?"
+
+"No," said the old lady, stirring in her chair and making as if to
+rise, though wild horses could not have pulled her away from even the
+prospect of food. "I've been sitting here ten minutes by your clock."
+She turned away and stared gloomily into space with her mouth sharply
+set in indignant endurance of such mistreatment.
+
+Mary Louise hurried across the room. She pushed open the swinging door
+into the passage that led to the kitchen. Everything was quiet. She
+wondered at it. As she stood there for an unappreciable instant, she
+heard a slight sound to her right, seemingly from the little pantry or
+storage room that was tucked in beneath the stairs. The door of it
+ordinarily stood open.
+
+She paused a moment then took one step forward and pushed open the
+door.
+
+Full beneath the light of the pendent lamp, leaning against the
+serving table for support, stretched the billowy form of Maida Jones,
+half reclining in the arms of the sleek-haired cook who sat on the
+table edge and faced the door. Her head was thrown back in complete
+abandonment and her hair was coming down about her shoulders. The
+boy's close-set eyes peered up sharply as Mary Louise opened the
+door. Then there was an immediate scurry, the lamp was switched off,
+and directly Maida emerged flushed and sullen.
+
+Mary Louise was stunned. Her ideas were chaotic and could take no
+form. But as they stood there facing each other, she was conscious of
+a rising sense of the ludicrous mingled with disgust. The memory of
+that momentary scene lingered in her mind like a piece of burlesque
+statuary. She stifled a desire to laugh.
+
+Then the other culprit began to stir about among the pans. Maida was
+staring at her with lips partly open, her breath still coming short
+and thick.
+
+"Turn on the light," said Mary Louise.
+
+And then as Maida made no move:
+
+"Go fix yourself up. There's someone in the room waiting to be
+served." Her voice was heavy with the scorn she felt.
+
+Maida recovered. She bit her lip. Then she laughed a short, nervous
+laugh. "Shocked to death, aren't you?"
+
+"Not at all," replied Mary Louise pleasantly. "It's quite charming, I
+assure you." She turned and entered the kitchen. The other cook and a
+maid were quietly attending to their work. She paid them no attention
+but went and stood by the back window over which was stretched a heavy
+wire screen, and through the thick dust of which she could see a dim,
+dusty, narrow courtyard and a pile of discarded boxes.
+
+For a long time she stood there, with her hands folded one upon the
+other and resting limply upon a table. The world had taken on a
+grotesque slant. It was a strange place in which it was easy to lose
+one's way. Her assurance, her satisfaction, her enthusiasm had
+vanished. Nothing was well ordered; everything was haphazard. People
+did the most unexpected things. And there was ugliness and deceit
+parading about in broad daylight. She suddenly felt herself utterly
+incapable of passing judgment on anything.
+
+And as she stood staring out through that dingy window, with the
+bustle and sounds of feet behind her, two fat round tears welled from
+her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Meantime, Joe had written his name at the top of a new sheet. He drew
+up to the curb on Broadway just below Fourth and stopped the motor. He
+leaned back against the tufted arm and stretched himself. Then he idly
+viewed the passing show before him. It was past mid-afternoon and dry
+and dusty. The keen edge of the sun had slightly dulled, but a Negro,
+seated high up on a pile of shabby furniture on a moving van, mopped a
+shining black face with the end of a very dirty undershirt sleeve. A
+boy came wavering along on a bicycle, swerved in to the curbing across
+the street, stopped, got off and went in to the Baptist Seminary,
+leaving the bicycle sprawling in the gutter. An old woman came out of
+nowhere; he heard her uncertain steps before he saw her as she
+approached him; the wide pavement the moment before had been entirely
+deserted. She walked as though she had no definite destination, not
+straight ahead in a plumb line. She had an old-fashioned bonnet with
+dangles on her head and a straw basket over one arm. Somehow he
+thought of his aunt Lorry. She came peering up at him from under her
+lashes. She seemed drawn by the brightness of the car. And her dim
+eyes seemed searching in the shadow of the top for a definite
+assurance. As she drew near, Joe smiled, a little absently; the rusty
+steel aigrette perched on top of the bonnet like the horn of a unicorn
+was nodding so gravely. The old thing caught the smile. Her face
+brightened. Her mouth spread in a toothless grin. She reached out a
+hand and touched the car lightly with a withered finger on the fender.
+
+"Such a pretty buggy," she said. The voice was tremulous and
+high-pitched and the articulation thick and indistinct.
+
+Then she looked at Joe; her rheumy gaze passed over him from the tips
+of his shiny new shoes to the crown of his hat. Admiration now spoke
+from her with perhaps greater eloquence even though her lips were
+still, parted a little. The pause had been but momentary.
+
+Joe reached over and threw the door open.
+
+"Climb in," he said. "I'll take you for a ride."
+
+The old woman shrank back from the car, wide-eyed in alarm.
+
+"Come on," he urged, quite gently, "I'm not a masher. I'll bring you
+right back here, all safe and right side up."
+
+The old face wrinkled in a shrewd, crafty grin. She lingered on the
+pavement for a moment in indecision, then came slowly forward and
+paused at the running board, peering upward into Joe's face.
+
+"Take me for a ride?" she lisped, tremulously eager.
+
+"Sure," said Joe. "I'm selling 'em." He held the door open invitingly.
+"Maybe you'll buy one some day."
+
+Again the swift flash of a smile passed over the slack mouth and there
+was a gathering in the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Painfully
+she pulled herself up into the car and sank into the seat beside him.
+
+He switched on the motor, threw out the clutch, engaged the starting
+gear, and paused with his hand on the lever.
+
+"We'll go around this way. It's not so crowded and I think the air's
+better."
+
+She smiled at him confidently.
+
+They started. At the corner he swung around in a wide sweep. He caught
+a glance at her and saw her sitting with eyes glued intently on the
+street before them, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Then the
+block ahead was straight and smooth and free of traffic.
+
+He patted the chest of his coat.
+
+"I've just put an order away in here," he said. "It's very easy.
+They're scrambling over each other to buy these cars."
+
+She gave him a fleeting glance and returned to her desperate business
+of watching the road.
+
+For a moment he was silent. They rounded another corner.
+
+"I'm not really expecting you to buy a car--merely speak a good word
+for it with your friends. That is, if you like it. It is all right,
+isn't it?"
+
+At his questioning tone she again ventured a look at him and smiled
+again uncertainly, still gripping the edges of the seat.
+
+One more corner and they were on the return trip. Directly they were
+rolling up toward the curb from whence they had started. They stopped
+and Joe reached over and opened the door again. The old woman caught
+the import of the movement and clambered stiffly out, stooping low
+with her head to avoid the top brace. She stood on the curbing,
+bewildered and blinking, apparently lost.
+
+Joe reached out and handed her a card.
+
+"You're headed just the same way you were when I picked you up," he
+said. "And in the same spot." And as she made no move and apparently
+did not hear him, "Call on me if I can serve you. I can do other
+things besides sell motor cars.
+
+"Good-bye," he said, tipping his hat and slamming the door shut. Then
+he moved away. He left her standing there, watching.
+
+He turned in Fourth Street and slowed down to about six miles an hour.
+The lengthening shadows were bringing out the ephemeral creatures that
+might otherwise wither in the heat. The west pavement was already
+crowded and there was a stream of motors idling along in a sluggish
+tide, southward. It was the time of day when the city, as it were,
+stretches itself after its siesta and takes long, lazy, satisfied
+looks at itself.
+
+Joe slumped in the seat. This lazy panorama had not begun to pall on
+him. He luxuriated in it. It was something of a holiday to him. The
+change that had come over his life was inexplicable; without effort he
+had lifted himself. The selection of an occupation had been haphazard;
+he had merely taken the first thing that had offered itself--selling
+automobiles. And there had been no difficulty in selling them, none
+whatever. The very first month his commissions had amounted to
+considerably more than twice the sum Bromley's had paid him.
+
+The motor was thrumming along slowly and regularly, giving out soft
+little ticks like a clock. Everything about it was shining and new.
+Everything about Joe was shining and new. He felt sleek, lazy, and
+comfortable. He made no effort to analyze the change that had come
+over him, merely accepted it as a matter of course. At times would
+come vague wonderings why he had been such a "chump" as to hang on in
+that treadmill of an office as long as he had.
+
+He thought about the old woman and her grenadier bonnet and her
+bewildered pleasure, and chuckled to himself. The old soul had
+probably never been in an automobile before. He had raised the
+standard of her desires. She might not be satisfied again until she
+had another ride, maybe many more. It might even stir her up. That
+was what it was. Ignorance was what kept most people down. They did
+not know what they were missing. And so they just plugged along taking
+things as they came, most of them. That was what had been the matter
+with him. Hard work never got a man anywhere, just hard work. He shut
+his mind resolutely on the thought and turned again to the inspection
+of the evening parade.
+
+As he came in sight of the windows of Bessire's Department Store he
+remembered that there was something there that he needed. And there
+was no need of his hurrying back to the office. He had done enough for
+the day. So he turned the corner and squeezed into an opening on the
+side street. He stepped out on to the pavement and indulged in a
+luxurious stretch of the arms. The sudden glare of the sun on the
+pavement made him sneeze. It was delightful. He walked lazily through
+the revolving doors of the department store.
+
+As he gained the interior a woman brushed past him so that he had to
+stop in his tracks. As she passed she looked into his eyes. Something
+in him stopped with a click like a notch on a reel.
+
+He gazed after her, trying to remember. But all there was was a faint
+lingering scent that was difficult and alluring. There was something
+familiar about the curve of the neck, something about the tilt of the
+hat, he had seen before. It disturbed him. All he had caught was a
+flicker of her eyes, as though she had thought to recognize him and
+then had changed her mind. She turned a corner into a distant aisle
+and was gone.
+
+He had a momentary impulse to follow to the end of that aisle and see
+where it led to, but he checked it. He gathered himself together and
+lazily strolled along in search of the counter he wanted. Quiet had
+descended upon the store. It was almost deserted of shoppers and the
+yellow light came streaming down the cross aisles heavy laden with
+dust particles. The little bundle girls leaned from their stalls
+behind the counters and chatted. There was a pleasant buzz in the air.
+
+He made his purchase and lingered for a moment at a counter of
+notions. Then he strolled back toward the door, steeped in the feeling
+of well being. A girl at a curved counter was tucking in a wisp of
+hair and taking off her paper sleeve protectors. Over beyond, there by
+the west entrance, they were already shutting the doors. He paused and
+watched the day's closing pleasantly settle down. Then he reached out
+a hand to push open the door before him. Somebody jostled against him.
+A small collection of paper bundles spilled out on to the floor at his
+feet and he mechanically stooped to pick them up. They were manifestly
+feminine. There were four of them, all small; he gathered them all up
+in one hand.
+
+Then he rose to his feet and turned to restore them to their owner.
+
+He looked into a pair of limpid violet eyes.
+
+They dropped and long lashes shaded them. A delicate colour rose and
+splashed the softest of cheeks.
+
+Joe stood, holding the bundles.
+
+Directly she looked at him again. It was a very timid, gentle,
+apologetic look. She seemed to be gathering courage.
+
+"Oh," she burst out in a sudden sweet abandonment to friendliness.
+"I'm so sorry." She paused then, uncertain what next to do or say.
+
+Joe held the door open for her, keeping tight hold of the packages. He
+felt a little warm behind the ears.
+
+She preceded him to the pavement. He got a good look at her as she
+passed through the door. Still the baffling resemblance!
+
+Then she turned and faced him on the pavement. Again she looked at him
+shyly, and there were little dimples in her cheeks as she tried hard
+not to smile.
+
+"I knew I'd get into trouble when I loaded myself down with all these
+bundles," she explained, reaching out for them.
+
+Confidence was returning to him. He felt the old lazy relaxation of
+being amused.
+
+"Can't I help you out of your difficulty--see that you get safely home
+with them?" he asked quietly. "I've my car here."
+
+She raised her eyebrows, looked startled a moment, and then flushed
+slightly. "Oh, don't bother. I can get a taxi."
+
+She made no further resistance and directly he was slamming the door
+behind her. He had caught a glimpse of black-silk stocking above a
+white buckskin pump that somehow disturbed his poise. As he walked
+around to the other side of the car he was wondering where it was he
+had seen her before. He could not remember.
+
+He climbed into his place behind the steering wheel and observed her
+again. It was a setting that became her. Her shyness seemed to have
+all vanished. She was powdering her nose as he climbed in; a silver
+vanity case lay open on her lap. He noticed it, saw a hairpin and two
+nickles and a card or two. She had said she might take a taxi.
+
+Directly she was smiling into his eyes. It made him just a little bit
+giddy in spite of himself. How old was she, he wondered? For a moment
+he busied himself with the car. There was nothing made up about her;
+it was a clear case of good looks. And she knew how to wear her
+clothes.
+
+"I think I'm terrible," she was saying.
+
+"How?" he answered, hardly hearing her.
+
+"Letting you take me up this way." She finished her renovation to her
+evident satisfaction and packed away the puff with a snap.
+
+"You couldn't expect to manage those bundles any other way," he
+assured confidently and quietly. It was an amusing game.
+
+She gazed off toward the corner and wetted her lips.
+
+He started the car. They turned the corner into Fourth Street and
+moved south. As if sensing the need of further explanation here on the
+esplanade, where all seemed acquainted, she began in a slightly more
+animated tone:
+
+"Of course, it's not like we had never met."
+
+He felt she was looking at him, but being busy with the car he was
+silent.
+
+"I really believe you've forgotten."
+
+He caught a glance at her. She looked charmingly provoked. The fact
+that she was centring her attention on him was in itself flattering.
+"Not at all," he assured her and wondered to what she referred.
+
+"It was at the American Legion Ball," she reminded him.
+
+And then he remembered. It all came back to him. It had been a dismal
+evening, way back in April. He had noticed her that evening. She had
+worn a weird thing of silver and black. She had even sat beside him on
+a sofa by the door--she and her partner. But he had not met her; he
+was sure of that. He had remarked, he remembered now, how curiously
+alert her eyes were, how alive, taking everything in.
+
+"You were in uniform," she continued.
+
+"Yes," he replied. Nearly every man present had been.
+
+For a few moments silence. Then reaching Broadway and less traffic
+they rolled along a little more easily, with less tension.
+
+"I'm Myrtle Macomber," she at length essayed. "In case you had
+forgotten."
+
+Joe grinned. Then he turned to her, "And my name's Hooper."
+
+She gave him another one of her roguish glances through her lashes.
+
+"I was trying to remember," she laughed.
+
+Then he asked her the way home and she told him. After that she
+chatted more freely, made comments on some of the people they passed.
+The evening had turned out fine. Broad orange pennons streamed out of
+the west. The little fountain in the city park tinkled delightfully as
+they passed.
+
+"It's a pretty car," she said once; "so roomy and comfortable."
+
+He made no reply and wondered if his silence were reprehensible.
+
+Under her direction they turned into a quiet side street and stopped
+before a grayish frame house with a fancy bulbous tower at one corner
+and bilious green outside shutters. A woman was stooped over a flower
+bed in the centre of the yard. She arose stiffly at their approach.
+
+Miss Macomber turned to Joe, but he had already alighted from the car
+and gone around to help her out. As he held the door open for her she
+seemed a bit distrait. Slowly they walked across the pavement to the
+gate. The woman in the yard came forward to meet them.
+
+There was a moment's pause. And then: "This is Mr. Hooper, mama."
+
+The woman gave him an appraising look, glanced at the car, then smiled
+and held out her hand. It was damp and flabby.
+
+"Please excuse my appearance, Mr. Hooper," she smirked. "I was getting
+some flowers for the table, dearie," she added to the girl.
+
+Joe wondered vaguely at the contrast. Here was another of nature's
+paradoxes. Mrs. Macomber looked worn and quite untidy. She was fat;
+her figure looked as though it had been allowed to run wild. Her face
+was heavily lined with wrinkles and was not too clean. And her eyes
+were tired. The house dress that she wore open at the neck and held
+together by a bleak-looking cameo pin might have been destined for
+dust rags in some families, and not extravagantly, either.
+
+She gazed at her daughter with open admiration.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Hooper," said the latter, and as she spoke she
+barred the entrance through the wooden gate with a dainty arm in a
+long, white-silk glove. But she smiled at him archly. "Call me up
+sometime."
+
+And then she turned and, gently pushing the drab creature before her,
+went up the walk and into the house.
+
+Joe looked back over his shoulder at them as he drove away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The rest of that troublous day passed hazily for Mary Louise. She
+avoided Maida, who in her turn seemed disposed to avoid her. She made
+a hasty escape after the tea-serving hour and hurried home.
+
+The sun was setting as she entered her room; the tall spire of the
+First Church was all ruddy with the glow of it as she threw open the
+window, and as she paused for a moment with palms on the sill, she
+looked down into the deepening shadows of back passages and alleys,
+nooks and recesses, where lurked ash and garbage cans and heaps of
+rubbish. A black cat came slinking around the corner of an old
+gray-brick stable, disappeared for a moment in a passage, and a moment
+later she saw him spring to the top of a rotting board fence, pause,
+and then lightly let himself down into the shadow of the other side.
+And just a hundred feet to the left--she could barely see past the
+front cornice of the four-story dwelling below her--Broadway was
+thronged with its sleek, pleasure-loving, home-going crowd. You could
+never tell the back from the front.
+
+She withdrew from the window, walked slowly across the room, and sank
+into a chair. She felt curiously ill at ease and sat staring blankly
+before her at the wall.
+
+For the difficulty, which in some ways was trivial enough, no solution
+presented itself. Maida Jones, her companion and business associate,
+had developed a side that had never been taken into account. Or
+perhaps she had merely presented it for the first time. So much the
+worse. If so, then her judgment had been all the more faulty.
+
+She had thought she had known Maida, known her well enough to count on
+her. She had known she was lazy, known she was a bit slipshod and
+indifferent. To offset this she was good-natured and compliant. She
+had had the money, enough for her share in floating the venture. There
+had been no complexity in the problem at the start.
+
+It was unfair for her to pan out so. Mary Louise felt in a way that
+she had been swindled. She had felt all along that she could dominate
+the tone of the establishment, and in fact she had done so. Maida was
+not made of the stuff to furnish opposition. That had been one of the
+considerations of the partnership. And in all the months of their
+association nothing positive had ever cropped out in her. Why, she did
+not have the strength to say "no." That was why--Mary Louise's thought
+checked itself sharply here and paused. For a while her mind wore
+itself out in short, futile meanderings of suppositions. Directly the
+dim headlines of the paper she had brought with her claimed her
+attention, and then tiring of that she dropped the paper and stared
+emptily out of the window. Why, she decided suddenly out of nowhere,
+she didn't even know the girl.
+
+A swinging white finger of light came feeling across the sky in her
+window. She watched it grope for the brass ball on the peak of the
+spire, saw it slip off and fumble and come feeling again, settle with
+a determined grasp as if to say, "There, I've got you," and then go
+wandering off eastward across the sky. It was the searchlight from the
+new Odeon theatre, she remembered. And it might be barely possible
+that it was entirely an honourable affair. They might really care for
+each other, grotesque as it might seem. Mary Louise granted for the
+moment that she had been a detached, impersonal sort of companion and
+such a thing might well be possible without her knowledge. But if such
+were the case, Maida needs must be apprised at once of the
+proprieties. The tea room was a business proposition purely. She would
+wait a bit until the proper time and straighten out the kinks.
+
+Somewhat relieved in mind, she leaned back in the chair and rocked
+slowly. She began to grow restless, and thought for a moment to switch
+on the light. But the room was a bare sort of thing, had nothing of
+her in it, and the thought of its bleak primness was repellent. She
+decided that a walk was what she needed, to clear out the cobwebs.
+Slowly she arose to her feet and groping along the edge of the table,
+felt her way to the door. An hour's walk would be enough; she would
+not need her coat. Slowly and thoughtfully she opened the door.
+
+Just beyond the threshold in the dim-lit hall stood Maida, fumbling in
+her bag for her key. She looked up in alarm as Mary Louise opened the
+door. It was ludicrous, the expression on the flat face. Behind her
+stood the cook--the man from the army. He turned away as Mary Louise
+stepped out and pretended to look out the hall window.
+
+Mary Louise had decided on a more moderate course. She had decided to
+forget the matter for the time being. But the sight of the boy, there
+in the hall, was disconcerting. Nevertheless, it was with a forced
+cheeriness that she spoke:
+
+"Don't need your key, after all. I was just going out for a little
+while." It was trite enough civility.
+
+Maida looked up at her dully, and Mary Louise stepped to the left and
+was on the point of passing on down the hall. As she walked away, the
+boy moved to the door, fingering his hat, and took one step across the
+threshold after Maida, who had preceded him, into the darkened room.
+
+And then Mary Louise turned around. At her step he paused and looked
+quickly up.
+
+"There's a chair by the window," she said, indicating a group of
+armchairs clustered there and a tall fern in a glazed pot on a
+pedestal. "You can wait there." She had spoken on the impulse, and her
+voice sounded strangely vibrant and remote even to herself, like the
+voice of a third person. She was trembling slightly.
+
+The boy looked at her, flushed a little, seemed undecided.
+
+The light switched on and Maida appeared at the door.
+
+"Come on in, Tim," she said, looking strangely at Mary Louise.
+
+An overpowering anger came swelling in the latter's veins. She walked
+back to the door and stood before the placid bovine figure of her
+room-mate. For a moment she could not trust herself to speak, she was
+trembling so.
+
+"I said for him to wait outside--there," she repeated with quavering
+emphasis.
+
+Maida's face looked flat and large and sober. There was a great, vast,
+pasty blank of cheek from her sombre eyes to the downcast corner of
+her mouth. "I heard you," she replied. "Come in, Tim."
+
+Mary Louise felt impotent. She watched the face before her, stolid,
+immutable, expressionless. She felt suffocated for breath. She plucked
+at her skirts with her fingers. Finally she gasped out:
+
+"Not--not into my room. If he does, I'm through with it--and you. You
+understand?"
+
+Maida shrugged her shoulders, and a slight smile curled the corners of
+her lips. She turned away.
+
+"That's your lookout, not mine. You're making an awful fool of
+yourself, McCallum."
+
+And then she closed the door.
+
+Mary Louise walked blindly down the hall. She stumbled into the
+elevator and did not answer when the elevator boy spoke to her. When
+she gained the street the rush of the night air against her face
+steadied her a bit. She turned off promptly north and struck out for
+the down-town district.
+
+By the time she had walked a block her faculties were returning. It
+had all been preposterous, crude. She had blindly lost her temper.
+Something kept crying out to her that she was an old maid. Perhaps she
+shouldn't have minded. She was finicky and squeamish. A girl had to
+have some privacy in the place she entertained her company. But
+Maida--and the cook! The thought of that flat, pasty, sullen face
+stirred in her a sudden repulsion.
+
+She crossed Broadway and turned west toward Fourth, walking rapidly.
+Maida! Maida! The girl she had known for eighteen months in the Red
+Cross tea room! The girl who had sat through a year of war without
+ever changing the vacuity of her smile! Sat--that was it, positively
+sat. A woman with a figure like that had no right to a lover. And a
+cook! An ordinary cook, hired out by the week! His beady, close-set
+eyes and hair sleeked back. Like a rat! And _she_ was mixed directly
+up in it, _she_--Mary Louise McCallum, the daughter of Angus McCallum.
+She shuddered and hurried on.
+
+As she passed Chestnut Street they were going into the "movie"
+theatre. There was a long queue stringing out on the pavement. She was
+hardly aware of it but kept on walking straight north. More than one
+head was turned to watch her as she plunged resolutely on. Her
+apparent fixity of purpose was incongruous for that time of the
+evening.
+
+The preposterousness of the whole affair kept hammering at her
+thoughts. To think that she had tied herself up with such a creature.
+To think that she had been so blind to the coarseness, the commonness
+that must have been there all along. What would Aunt Susie think about
+it? What would they all think? And in her own room! The brazen,
+callous nerve of the creature! Like a big, fat, lumbering ox. She
+trembled all over with sensitiveness.
+
+Before she knew it she had come to Main Street. Beyond her dipped the
+hill that led to the river. The lamps were dim, and sparsely lighted
+the alleyways and loading platforms of the dark, forbidding
+warehouses. She realized suddenly that she must make some decision.
+She could not go back to the room. Slowly and thoughtfully she crossed
+the street and retraced her steps on the other side. What was she to
+do? She could not go back. Not under any circumstances. The friends
+she had were mere casual acquaintances; she could not call on them.
+
+She passed out into the more crowded district again. She began to be a
+little perturbed, forgot her anger; at least it was dimmed. Coming to
+Spruce Street she saw the usual crowd of men hanging about the door of
+the Ardmore. They always stood there, clustered about on the steps,
+with their cigarettes and their half-burned cigars and their flashy
+clothes and their burnt-out eyes and their appraising looks. For a
+moment she contemplated crossing the street to avoid running the
+gauntlet of their inspection. Where would she go then? Farther south
+it was darker and more unfriendly, with great stretches of shade and
+silence. She paused for a moment on the corner and watched the throng
+about the steps across the street. People were hurrying in and out;
+motors were humming; trolley gongs were clanging. She felt a sudden
+fear of it, that familiar neighbourhood with the tea room less than a
+block away. Hot, flushed, nervous, excited, she wanted to run
+somewhere, slink down into a cool, quiet shelter as had the cat she
+had seen from the window earlier in the evening. The world was a cruel
+place. One had to know how to get along in it. Every scrap of
+assurance seemed to have left her.
+
+Suddenly she turned to the right and walked down Spruce Street. She
+came to the lobby of the Patterson and walked boldly in. With her
+pulses hammering she went up to the desk, took the pen, and signed
+her name to the register.
+
+A level-eyed man with a very naked head came forward and considered
+her. His face was as cryptic as the outline on a mummy case. It was as
+easy to read his thoughts. He merely inclined his head and looked
+slightly away, suggesting that his ear was hers if she so desired.
+
+"Single room with bath," faltered Mary Louise.
+
+The clerk resumed his upright position. He looked at her gravely as
+though she had said, "What will you take for your hotel?" He looked
+past her into the vast stretches of the lobby and found there much for
+philosophic speculation. Thus absorbed, he asked vacantly, "Any
+luggage?"
+
+"No," said Mary Louise. "I--it will be here in the morning."
+
+He turned and stepped back into the sanctum of interwoven grilles and
+partitions.
+
+Mary Louise was desperately nervous. It seemed that a thousand eyes
+were watching her; her back felt peppered with them. She shifted one
+foot and leaned slightly against the desk. All about her men were
+pressing up for mail, keys, reservations, information. She dared not
+look around. There were no women in the constricted circle of her
+vision except the telephone operator over to her left.
+
+The clerk was taking a long time. She was getting even more anxious.
+Suddenly she heard her name called. It startled her even while it
+brought a tremendous sense of relief. She turned and Claybrook was
+standing by her elbow.
+
+"How's tricks?" he inquired.
+
+For a moment she could not answer, only look at him gratefully.
+
+"I've been out of town. Just got back. Was going to call you up this
+evening, but I didn't have the chance," he went on.
+
+She murmured something unintelligible.
+
+"Waiting here for something?" At her nod of assent he came and stood
+beside her, leaning his elbow on the desk, his gaze idly and
+comfortably sweeping the lobby. "Hot to-night," he said.
+
+The inscrutable clerk returned. Mary Louise felt his inspection before
+she actually saw him. She turned, expectant.
+
+"Sorry," he murmured. "Can't do anything for you."
+
+Mary Louise received the blow standing. "But," she faltered, "Later
+on?--I'm not in a hurry. Are you really all filled up?"
+
+The clerk gravely smiled and shook his head.
+
+She stared at him in desolate appeal. Her thoughts went rocketing off.
+What was she going to do?
+
+"How's this?" she heard Claybrook say. "Full up?" He had turned from
+his idle inspection of the lobby. "Not in two weeks. You can rent a
+floor in this hotel."
+
+He looked at Mary Louise. "You want a room here?" He seemed a bit
+surprised.
+
+"Yes," she stammered. "For the night."
+
+Claybrook turned to the clerk. "Tell McLean Miss McCallum wants a room
+here for the night," he said.
+
+"But----" interrupted the clerk.
+
+Claybrook cut him off short, tossing a card across the desk. "Take
+that to McLean and tell him Miss McCallum wants a room. And give her
+the best service you've got."
+
+The clerk disappeared again. Mary Louise was hot and embarrassed and
+uncomfortable. She looked up and saw Claybrook regarding her
+quizzically but kindly. He seemed very big and she warmed to him. He
+asked her no questions. She was about to speak when the clerk returned
+again and, calling a bell-boy, tossed out a key to him, bowed, and
+murmured, "Six fourteen," indicating Mary Louise.
+
+Before following the waiting boy, she held out her hand impulsively to
+Claybrook and looked into his eyes.
+
+"Thank you so much," she said. "I don't know what I would have done
+without you. It's all so ridiculous. Tell you all about it sometime."
+
+She left him standing there in front of the desk, with a puzzled look
+upon his face, a big, reliant, kindly figure. He had not asked her a
+single question. He had come to her assistance when she needed it
+sorely. His was a friendship worth having.
+
+She waited until the bell-boy had left her in the room and then she
+closed the door and locked it. Then she threw herself face down upon
+the bed and buried her flushed cheeks in the pillow. What a
+disgraceful, disreputable affair it all was. All on account of her own
+blindness and folly. She felt like a little child helped out of a
+scrape. But all the mischief was not remedied. She at least could find
+other lodgings to-morrow. She would not wait another day. Thanks to
+Claybrook she was in off the street. Suppose she had had to spend the
+night on a park bench? Once that had had a humorous sound to it.
+Claybrook _was_ a masterful person. He had made that clerk step
+around. How humiliating it had all been.
+
+She got up and switched off the lights. Then she lay down again and
+watched the twinkle of the lamps of an electric sign about a block
+away across the roofs. What was she going to do about Maida? What was
+she going to do about the tea room? Something would have to be done.
+It was impossible to go on with it any further.
+
+She would have to buy Maida out. She could force her to sell, she
+supposed. But where would she get the money? She was already in debt
+for part of her share. Perhaps Maida would buy her out. What would she
+do then? Go back to Bloomfield? Just when the venture was beginning
+to pan out nicely? Not without a struggle, she wouldn't. Back and
+forth she debated the question, her mind a welter of confused
+decisions.
+
+After a while she fell asleep....
+
+Two days later she met Claybrook again. Nothing had been decided.
+Maida had seemed utterly indifferent. "Perfectly satisfied with things
+as they are," she had said; there was a diabolical stubbornness in her
+manner. She made capital of her own inertia. She was as cool as if
+dealing with an entire stranger. Finally, after two days of backing
+and filling, of bickering and contesting, she had named her price.
+"Fifteen hundred," she had said and there was nothing in the way she
+said it that gave the slightest hope that it would be any less. It was
+a hold-up.
+
+Mary Louise met Claybrook; she was passing through the lobby of the
+Patterson where she still had her expensive room. He saw the trouble
+in her face and drew her to the lounge in the ladies' entrance.
+
+"What's wrong?" he said shortly. "You've been hard to catch
+lately--something's on your mind."
+
+"No, there isn't. Honestly," she protested. She saw that he was not to
+be put off. Moreover, she was feeling entirely weak and helpless, no
+longer the masterful and self-reliant female. And she told him the
+story--most of it.
+
+When she finished he smiled at her. He seemed genuinely amused. "It's
+quite a tragedy," he admitted.
+
+"And what am I going to do?"
+
+"That's just the point," he agreed. "Has the tea room been making you
+money? Does it look good to you?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "Too good to let go of." And then she launched into a
+digressive and rather vague prospectus of its activities and profits.
+
+"How much money would it take?" he asked at length.
+
+She told him.
+
+"Well, then, forget it," he concluded. "I told you that if you got in
+a jam, to call on me. Well, I was not talking just to hear myself
+talk. I meant it." He paused and stared away at the opposite wall.
+"Meet me here this afternoon at three and I'll have a check for you."
+
+Mary Louise was for the moment incredulous. Then a great sense of
+relief flooded over her, and then a feeling of regret.
+
+"But I couldn't," she faltered.
+
+"Why couldn't you?" He rose to his feet and looked down at her.
+
+"I couldn't take money from you. You don't know what I'd do with it,
+don't know what sort of business woman I am, or anything."
+
+"I know enough to satisfy myself," Claybrook assured her soothingly.
+"And I'm not giving you the money. You can write me out a note for
+it. Six per cent. is better than four," he added. And then he smiled.
+
+Two days later Maida Jones moved out and Mary Louise saw her no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Loneliness wages a Fabian warfare. It is likewise a craven. At the
+slightest opposition it turns tail and flees, frequently to steal back
+furtively and lurk slinking in the vicinity, clouding it. Only on rare
+occasions does it boldly come out and proclaim itself.
+
+Another week had passed. Joe was finding leisure. And in leisure there
+are echoes, as in all vast vaulted spaces, where slight sounds linger
+reverberating and faint shadows stretch away to void. There was time
+to see the drabness of his boarding place, so he changed it. The
+change cost him more money and left him more leisure. He took his
+meals wherever he happened to be. The town was full of people, kindly
+enough, but each with his own circle of interests. To some of these he
+sold motor cars. There would be a short period of contact, then that
+would pass and the customer would slip into the whirlpool of casuality
+and be swept away. None of the relationships seemed to last. Each one
+left him more alone than ever.
+
+He ran across Mrs. LeMasters. Mrs. LeMasters was an ancient lady with
+a penchant for lavender. The day he called on her she was wearing a
+flowered dress with a sash, with bits of lace about the neck and
+cuffs. She put on a bonnet of lavender straw before the glass in her
+front hall and bound it to her by yards of voluminous cream tulle,
+wrapped under her chin and about her neck with trembling fingers.
+
+"Does it blow much in your car?" she called to him in a quavery voice.
+
+He assured her that it was quite desirably calm.
+
+"The Stokes car is most delightful," she said. "Just like sitting in
+my own room. Not the sign of a bump--and I could not realize we had
+been going twenty-five miles an hour."
+
+He smiled politely. "We'll see what this one will do."
+
+"I've been struggling to keep off this evil hour for, oh, so long,"
+she explained as she followed him timidly down the walk to the curb.
+"It was a terrible thing when the world went mad for haste and now has
+to be jerked around from place to place without ever drawing a sane
+breath. I've two horses and three carriages, one a Victoria that I
+bought in Paris. What am I going lo do with these if I buy your car,
+Mr. Hooper? Oh, what a pretty car!"
+
+She narrowed her sharp little eyes--she was quite near sighted--and
+stepped out into the street and around the rear of the automobile,
+caught sight of her image in the back panel, came around and felt of
+the leather in the seat, rubbed the polished surface of the bow
+socket as though she had bought motors for years. Then she turned to
+Joe: "And the engine? Is it a good engine?"
+
+"It is guaranteed to be the best." And then he went on quietly to tell
+her a few of the more spectacular things about it. He did not overdo
+it.
+
+As he was speaking she was watching his face with a dreamy, vague
+expression on her wrinkled features. When he had finished, she
+brightened and laid her hand on his arm. "And now let's go for a nice
+ride." She was as enthusiastic as a girl. "I'm sure this is a nice
+car."
+
+They went out in the country a short distance, out on the Bloomfield
+pike. She found he was from Bloomfield and trilled away in a high,
+shrill cackle that she loved every stick and stone in that adorable
+country. And when she found that he was the nephew of Mrs. Mosby, or,
+rather, Loraine Fawcette, that was, her ecstasy knew no bounds.
+
+"Why, I took Tom LeMasters away from her," she giggled, and leaned
+over with her wrinkled and scented face close to his, grasping him by
+the arm.
+
+After that they were bosom friends. He told her about Bloomfield as it
+came back to him, rhapsodized over its meadows and woods and "purling
+streams," and felt a rising desire to taste its joys again. And all
+the while his voice would fall on deaf ears and her eyes would take on
+a misty look as though peering down dark, dusty corridors; and
+interrupting him, she would recall the circumstances of some famous
+party, summoning forth the creaking images of old men and women,
+yellow and withering, some of them long dead.
+
+The afternoon passed swiftly away. They found themselves in a bit of
+lane that dipped down into a little grove of trees, just as the sun
+was gathering his cohorts for departure. A breath of fragrant breeze,
+heavy laden with clover and sweet with the stretch of cool, moist
+shade through which it had passed, came sweeping across the road, and
+the sounds of a farm hand whetting his scythe. Through a rift in the
+trees appeared a patch of delicate blue sky and the edge of a rosy
+cloud. Mrs. LeMasters came to the wistful end of an alluring and musty
+reminiscence and gazed regretfully at the tawdry beauties of the
+present. Then she turned her eyes upon Joe, and with a sigh that was
+sodden with romance: "How could you ever bear to leave that adorable
+spot?"
+
+Joe smiled in mellow acquiescence and almost agreed with her.
+
+Of course, the Stokes car never had a chance. Before he took his leave
+of her he had her signed order for a "Sedan" for immediate delivery.
+And she grasped his hand and held it, leaning coyly close. "We're
+going to have some wonderful times this fall. We'll drive to
+Bloomfield, just you and I. And what am I going to do about a
+chauffeur? What will I ever do with a strange creature who cares for
+nothing but speed? Why don't you stay with me and drive for me? We'll
+just not stay home a minute."
+
+He temporized, laughing, and finally tore himself away. And when he
+stepped from the car outside of Blake's Restaurant and was met by a
+blast of hot air, laden with the breath of fried onions, he felt
+himself very much alone. He ate his supper dreamily and
+retrospectively. The vacant chair across the little table added to the
+plaintiveness. He had liver and onions and a chocolate eclair and felt
+that he needed a woman to look after him.
+
+He got in the car and drove slowly south. When he came to Lytle Street
+he turned off to the right. It was not quite dark and people passing
+on the pavement seemed to him to peer out at him. He felt
+self-conscious and slowed down the car still more till he barely crept
+along, with headlights blazing two bright paths before him. Myrtle
+Macomber had told him he might come and he did not wish to seem to be
+too eager. But as he sought his bearings, watching the unfamiliar
+fronts of houses and clumps of shade, he suffered little tremblings of
+expectancy in spite of his restraint.
+
+Directly the house appeared; he had no difficulty in recognizing it.
+It stood out bleakly against the evening sky, with its pointed cupola
+thrust upward like a warning finger, with its wooden fence and gate.
+It bad no modest shrouding of trees and bushes in the shadow of which
+one might veil one's entrance. For a moment he was afraid lest he be
+too early, so he alighted, switched off the lamps, and proceeded
+across the pavement to the gate very slowly. Then from the shelter of
+the vines on the side porch he heard the hum of voices and a laugh.
+Grasping his dignity firmly like a walking stick, he stalked up the
+pavement to the house.
+
+Myrtle came to meet him. The dim outline of her in her filmy dress and
+the elusive scent of her presence stirred him again. Her voice was
+gentle as she laughed a greeting and she gave his hand an
+imperceptible squeeze as he came up the steps. His stiffness vanished,
+but the sound of voices from back in the shadow disturbed him. An
+absurd personality crowded to his lips as she led him forward, but he
+repressed it.
+
+He was introduced. There was quite a crowd assembled and in the dark
+he was conscious of only a blob of faces and the grip of one hand that
+was quite too hot. Even in the dark he felt embarrassed, as the
+conscious caller exposed nakedly to the world. What had she done this
+for? It was not too considerate of her. Perhaps it was purely
+accidental. He began to speculate on how soon the crowd might break
+up, and found himself dangling uncomfortably on the porch railing
+close beside the chair of a shadowy girl who was buried in its depths.
+He could look down into the place where he imagined her face might
+be. He was quite close to her and in the jabber of voices she was
+silent. No one seemed to pay him the slightest attention, and his
+interest mounted in a growing intimacy of silence with this girl in
+the chair. A door opened and he saw Myrtle's figure pass across the
+room within and busy herself with something on the table. In the faint
+light that now pervaded the porch he again peered down at the figure
+beside him. Instantly the glamour vanished. The face he saw was thin
+and sharp, with hair slicked back from the forehead and narrow,
+slanting sharp eyes. He caught a glimpse of neck and shoulders above a
+brazen filmy waist, and in the splash of light and shadow there was no
+softness of contour, but cruel bones and hollows.
+
+"Think you'll know me next time?" came a harsh voice and a laugh, and
+he straightened up and murmured an apology. He felt very much
+embarrassed and disturbed. His mellow complacence had fled
+precipitately. In his ears sounded the rattle of personalities. It was
+as harsh and as constant and as senseless as machine-gun fire. At
+least he could make an early "get-away."
+
+Myrtle came and stood beside him from somewhere in the darkness. The
+tip of her little finger barely touched his hand as she stood there,
+leaning against the railing and firing back some "chaff" into the
+darkness. There came a lull in the chatter and Joe was feeling a bit
+mollified. Suddenly, before he realized it, the crowd was leaving,
+and one by one they filed past him, each bidding good-night. There was
+the thin girl in the chair, then two boys who were entirely
+nondescript, with noisy throats cut out of the same copper plate, a
+soft billowy shadow of a woman under a floppy hat and exuding a
+ghastly sweet, cloying perfume. Her bare arm was as soft and flabby as
+jelly as she stretched it out to Myrtle. After her came another man,
+rather hesitantly, and keeping in the shadow. His voice was good,
+rather deep, rather strong. As he passed, he called Joe by name.
+Twisting around in the light, Joe saw that it was Hawkins, one of the
+owners of the "Kum-quik Tire Company," a rather taciturn, solemn sort
+of man to do business with. Joe was surprised.
+
+In a moment they were all gone and the porch was dark and still. Their
+passage was as inexplicable as their presence had been. A dim band of
+light lay across the floor of the porch and Myrtle stood before him,
+facing him. He could not see her face.
+
+"Well?" she said, as though she had known him for years.
+
+"Well?" he echoed uncertainly. Her tone had implied a question or
+perhaps it was a suggestion. She stood quite motionless; he could have
+reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder, "Suppose we go for a
+ride," he suggested lamely, not feeling quite sure of himself, feeling
+that perhaps it was not just the thing to propose on his first call.
+
+For a moment she made no answer, but stood there looking at him. He
+could feel rather than see the fixity of her gaze. Suddenly she
+tripped away from him and ran into the house, calling back over her
+shoulder, "Have to get a wrap. Be back in a minute."
+
+After they had started he regretted the suggestion. It had shut off
+the prospect of a languorous evening. It was not in harmony with his
+mood; he had much rather loll back on a bench and steep himself in
+musings.
+
+Accordingly, he turned away from town, keeping on quiet back streets.
+He did not even ask her where she wanted to go. The night was soft and
+dark with a sky that hung low like black velvet in which was sprinkled
+a soft studding of stars. The air wrapped about them, lazy and warm;
+it was not like night air at all. There was a peculiar exotic feel to
+it which kept the senses in a state of semi-coma yet alive to the
+slightest change. Joe half closed his eyes and leaned back against the
+cushion like an old cat getting her back scratched. The soft perfume
+of the girl's hair, the delicious mystery of the impenetrable sky
+above them, the caress of the air, all seemed to have been provided
+for his own especial enjoyment. He was suddenly exultant that he had
+escaped the house, that he was out and beneath the sky, and above all,
+that he had someone with him. The feeling of unfulfillment that had
+wracked him constantly was giving way. He imagined a sort of
+proprietary right to the conditions about him. Luxury, ease, pleasure,
+all that rolling along underneath those stars with an exquisite,
+beautiful thing beside him was symbolical of, seemed justly to have
+fallen to his lot. The dull, unfathomable ache of suppressed desire
+had vanished and he was complacent.
+
+"Well," a voice startled him. "Aren't you ever coming back to earth?"
+
+He was suddenly confused.
+
+"I don't think it's a bit nice, carrying me off and then thinking
+about some other girl. Aren't you ever going to say a word?"
+
+He recovered and found that they had travelled about two blocks. The
+spell faded. He regained mastery of himself. "I've been waitin' for
+permission to speak. Yon only said I might take you for a ride." He
+turned and gave her a personal look.
+
+"Where are you taking me then?" Her liveliness seemed to be returning.
+"Do you have to have permission for everything you do?"
+
+"I'm not sure," said Joe. "We're goin' to take a look at the river.
+That's my own idea."
+
+"How'd you know I wanted to? Perhaps I had rather do something else."
+
+He looked at her suddenly, but before he could speak, she leaned
+toward him impulsively and laid her hand on his shoulder. "There, I
+was just kidding. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do. It's a
+heavenly night. And I like you for your silence. It takes a real
+person to be still at the right time. Go ahead and dream all you want.
+It's heavenly."
+
+She removed her hand, but in some way she seemed to remain nearer to
+him than she had been. A little, delightful shudder of appreciation
+ran through him. He no longer felt isolated. The proprietary sense was
+growing stronger.
+
+They wound in and out in a devious path, for the streets in the
+eastern part of the city were laid out in accordance with whim and not
+by plan. And the rows of cottages lining the streets had acquired
+something of mystery from the canopy of night, and even the squalid
+sheds that appeared on the edge of the city's virility were wrapped in
+a shadow that loaned them charm. There came a short stretch of
+hedge-encompassed road and a damp musty smell of water, beyond, in the
+blackness on both sides. Then they rolled out upon a clattering
+bridge, turned a corner, and before them lay the river.
+
+Joe slowed down the car. A tiny light flashed and then lay stretching
+its rays in a yellow ripple out into a blue-black immensity. A shadow,
+beyond it and entirely detached, appeared drifting slowly, and passed
+them, an empty "plop-plop" following vaguely in its wake. The road
+turned again, a little to the left this time, and swishing branches
+brushed the car, and then almost at their feet stretched away to the
+left a broad, black, moving shadow, matching the sky and studded
+likewise by tiny pin-pricks of light. Ahead, unwound the road, a
+straight ghostly ribbon fading away into a giant's mouth, and softly
+swept down upon them the river wind, almost imperceptible in its
+rustling and a little chill. Joe felt a quiver of happiness.
+
+"You're the noisiest man I ever knew," interrupted Myrtle plaintively.
+"Ooh! This place gives me the creeps."
+
+He could feel the warmth of her and he laughed. "Swampy here a bit
+from the creek bottom. Up ahead it is higher and better. That crowd
+all come to see you? You shouldn't have run them away."
+
+"Oh, it was time they were going. They knew I wanted to see you." He
+could almost feel her eyes and felt that she was making a play for
+him. It was a new and pleasing experience.
+
+"So you really did, did you? I'm flattered."
+
+There was a coaxing, cloying note in her voice when she spoke
+directly, that in some way coincided with the breath of the night and
+the feel of that velvet sky. He got her to talk just to hear the sound
+of her voice and she chattered on for a while about airy nothings that
+vibrated pleasantly in his ear: told him about a trip she had just had
+up to the Indiana lakes, regretted the ruining of a summer frock on a
+boating party, asked him his opinion of the necessity of chaperones
+on picnics. There was a suggestion of deference in her manner as well
+as lightness, a quality that stirred him a little more pleasantly even
+than the other qualities. She was different from others he knew.
+
+They mounted a slight rise in the road and then dipped into a cool
+hollow fringed about by the shadows of willows. She paused suddenly in
+her recital and gave a little ecstatic cry. Seizing his arm she
+pointed. Over beyond, through a gap in the willows, lay a stretch of
+shadowy river meadow reaching back for a great distance to the second
+rise and fringed about its edge by even blacker shadows. And above it
+danced a million fire-flies weaving ceaselessly to and fro, waving
+their soft lanterns. They hung, a cloud of twinkling radiance, upon a
+soft black curtain.
+
+"Oh, stop the car," cried Myrtle. "The lovely things! Let's watch 'em
+from here."
+
+For some moments neither spoke. They were drawn up to one side of the
+road partly in the shelter of the willows that lined it and it was
+snug and pleasant and warm. The light breeze could not reach them. Joe
+felt exalted. In this communion of spirit he was experiencing
+something entirely new. It was as though he had known her always. He
+could feel sure about her. She liked the things he liked. She was
+alive and she was not aloof. There was a joy in living; she felt it
+and he felt it. And she was sitting very close. With an easy
+stretching of cramped muscles he slid his arm along the back of the
+seat and let it slip carelessly about her shoulder. There was a moment
+of delicious freedom and relaxation, of kindliness and friendliness
+and a thousand other little sensations, to say nothing of a spark of a
+thrill--when she moved easily forward, contracting her shoulders.
+
+"Let's go," she said dully.
+
+Instantly the illusion vanished. Back into his self-belittling he
+slipped and was silent. Away fled the ease and complacency, and the
+wind came up from the river and chilled his ankles.
+
+A moment later she asked him quite brightly, "_What_ do you do?"
+
+He had been thinking upon his sin and was startled at the casualness
+of the question. He laughed, a bit nervous. "Why, didn't you know?
+What'd you imagine?"
+
+"Of course I don't know. Run some sort of plant, I would guess."
+
+"Nope," he replied, and his voice had not the low, ringing assurance
+he might have wished, but was a little too loud, a little too high.
+"Nothing but this car."
+
+"I don't understand," she replied. "How do you mean?"
+
+"I'm selling 'em. This is a demonstrator, and I am responsible for
+it."
+
+"Oh, I see--well--isn't that nice!"
+
+And somehow from that time on the evening grew chilly and less
+pleasant and clouds came up and obscured the soft velvet sky. In a
+very few minutes they turned about and went home.
+
+She bid him a casual good-night.
+
+When he climbed the stairs to his room about thirty minutes later,
+they seemed endless. His breath was coming short as he gained the top
+and a vast, sudden, sickening weariness swooped down upon his body and
+consumed it. As he passed the open window in the hall the night breeze
+made him shiver and he went chattering to bed. He pulled the covers up
+beneath his chin and realized that he had made a fool of himself,
+which somehow didn't matter much; realized that he was alone--just as
+much alone as ever--which mattered quite a lot. All this and the chill
+shivering and the vast, aching weariness. He fell asleep and dreamed
+of desolate wastes and wanderings and parching heat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Half of August had joined the past. And with it was passing Joe's
+complacency. Each day brought a certain routine: customers to be
+developed, doubtful and recalcitrant ones to be urged to the
+purchasing point. One day's work was very like the next. But each day
+passing brought a certain satisfaction, of being one day nearer to the
+day ahead.
+
+The day that he had taken Myrtle Macomber up the river road had been
+Tuesday. On Wednesday he had risen, sluggish and weary, with an ache
+in his bones. A half-hearted, spasmodic attempt at work had ended at
+eleven o'clock. He had called up Myrtle. They went that afternoon to a
+ball-game. Thursday morning came, bright with promise, and a
+profitable forenoon was spent in the old hammer-and-tongs manner. By
+noon he had two orders in his pocket and felt quite exhausted. The
+heat drank up the very marrow from one's bones. He met Myrtle on the
+street. They had lunch together. All that afternoon they paddled about
+in the river and came home with hair wet and nerves sagging. Friday
+passed, a long dreary day. By the time five o'clock arrived Joe would
+willingly have sunk down on the cement pavement in some shaded corner,
+just to take his mind from the grip of the traffic. There was nothing
+in the selling of motor cars to give his mind anything to bite on.
+What was it kept him going, he asked himself? The answer suggested
+itself to him, but he shook it off and mused on. Summer was a dreary
+time. That night he dragged himself to Lytle Street. He found Miss
+Macomber waiting for him on the porch. She was wearing a Nile green
+sports suit of soft flannel, with white facings, and white shoes and
+stockings and a stiff sailor hat of white straw. As he came up the
+walk and approached the steps, he heard a scurrying and moving of
+chairs, and as he gained the porch he caught a glimpse of a scuttling
+back in a baggy shirt with suspenders, a stooped fat neck that was
+collarless, and a frayed-out bald spot--just a glint of it--on the
+head above. From humble soil is sometimes nurtured the choicest of
+blooms. Joe had never met Mr. Macomber and the mother always seemed to
+keep discreetly in the background.
+
+They went that night to the amusement park on the river. Myrtle looked
+like a clipping from a style magazine; there was not a flaw in her.
+She drank up amusement like a thirsty sponge. They wandered about
+after the show. They drank lemonade. They danced in the pavilion. They
+wandered about some more, listened for a short time to the trillings
+of a robustious prima donna come upon evil days. They soon tired of
+this so easily attained diversion and feverishly set out for more.
+They danced again. They ran into a crowd of Myrtle's friends. They
+joined them in a series of mad dashes on the roller coaster. Myrtle's
+zest seemed fed from eternal springs. They danced a third time, or
+rather Myrtle did, with each clamouring swain, while the music bleated
+and whined away in expiring ecstasies and Joe leaned back against the
+window sill and gazed hollow-eyed at the ceiling or answered the
+fatuous banalities of some of the less fortunate ladies who were not
+dancing at the moment for various reasons. And as they went home that
+night, after twelve, they talked of the vast still places of the
+world, "where Nature leans a brooding ear" and "where one can be
+reposed and strong and silent and happy" and "just drink up the
+atmosphere in great gusty draughts, and steep oneself in calm. None of
+this terrible grind from day to day."
+
+Saturday, Myrtle went up-state. Saturday was hot and long and
+interminable. Sunday she motored, likewise up-state. It did not make
+the city streets the cooler, thinking of her. Sunday night produced a
+rain and a rising wind and a repetition of that chill, aching
+weariness for Joe when he dragged himself to bed. Just as relaxation
+slipped down between the covers upon his weary body the future came
+and stood at the foot of his bed and stared at him like a flat, empty
+sheet of yellow foolscap, without a mark on it, and away it stretched
+endless. It was a silly image; it stared so vacantly. But it roused
+him with a start and he tossed about restlessly on his bed and threw
+back the covers that had become oppressive and let the breeze from the
+window, a water-soaked breeze, blow in upon his bare chest. How long
+would he be selling motor cars? He shelved that question. How much
+would he have to make this month still, to pay all his bills? He
+shelved this one, too. What was the matter with him, that he felt so
+played out? Suddenly he shivered and was chilled to the marrow, and he
+pulled the sheet up under his chin and went to sleep in the absorbed
+contemplation of each minute bodily misery.
+
+Monday noon found them lunching together in the tea room. Joe spoke
+very distantly and formally to Mary Louise when once she came in,
+looked around at the tables, and then disappeared in the mysterious
+regions behind. Tuesday night they went on a moonlight picnic on a
+large river steamer and got back at half-past one. There had been a
+blissful hour of drifting black shadows, of gleaming ripples, and the
+heavy sonorous exhaust of benign boilers, spent on the topmost step of
+the pilot-house stairs, with a moon that dipped and swam in a turgid
+sea of drifting clouds. The rest had been rattle and bang of jazz and
+chatter, and bumping about on a hot, swaying floor into obstreperous
+shoulders, and the smell of sweetened popcorn and fresh paint and
+sickly perfume. Wednesday they went for a ride again and ended up at
+the "Ferry" and danced and drank lemonade. And they passed a table
+where sat old Mrs. LeMasters with a youngish boy with a very red,
+sunburned face, and she wagged her finger at Joe and looked long and
+critically at Myrtle. Thursday night he stayed home and felt
+solitarily virtuous.
+
+On Friday a picnic had been arranged. Joe "knocked off" work at four
+o'clock and went home and dressed by a window through which the sun
+streamed broiling hot. Before putting on his shoes he yielded to the
+lure of the bed and flung himself upon it. It was all he could do to
+drag himself forth and put on the finishing touches. Somehow the
+notion of the picnic did not thrill him. There would be the same crowd
+on hand, noisy, obstreperous, vulgar. They had no real "punch" to
+them. They were like beating a tin pan: all of it was right on the
+surface.
+
+He arrived twenty minutes late and was scolded. They loaded a stack of
+baskets into his car; all about his feet were cumbersome bundles; and
+they scratched the polished panel in the tonneau behind the front
+seat. He could hear the grating of the straw basket across the
+beautiful surface and he shrank from the sound. Into the seat beside
+him clambered the soft, fattish girl. Her name was Penny, he had
+learned. She smirked at him as she adjusted her skirts. There was a
+line of tiny beady perspiration upon her upper lip and her white
+slippers gaped at the sides and were not too clean. Her pink georgette
+crêpe waist clung to a flabby back with a suggestion of dampness and
+she simpered at him:
+
+"I hope Myrtle won't put poison in my ice-tea."
+
+He confessed that that would distress him exceedingly.
+
+Into the back seat clambered the two boys with the copper throats.
+Their names were Glotch and Trumpeter. They hailed Joe with acclaim,
+slapped Miss Penny on the bare neck, coyly, with little flips of the
+fingers, and when the slim, sour-faced girl--who was a Miss
+Ardle--with her slicked black hair, climbed in between them, they fell
+on her neck in ecstasies of greeting and threatened to kiss her and
+were slapped roundly for their pains amid loud guffaws. It ended by
+Miss Ardle coming around and sitting in the front seat to the
+rapturous discomfort of Miss Penny, whose fat leg was thereby squeezed
+against the gear-shifting lever where it was in Joe's way for the
+remainder of the trip.
+
+Just before they started, Mrs. Macomber came out of the house carrying
+a small package which she brought round and entrusted to Joe's care.
+She was wearing a stiffly starched apron and her hair had been
+plastered down and her face scrubbed so that the deep rings in the
+flabby flesh below her eyes were thereby accentuated. Very pointedly
+she looked at Joe and very definitely she spoke:
+
+"You'll see that they get back at a decent hour? And don't let 'em go
+in the water." It might have been the tone with which she exhorted Mr.
+Macomber. At any rate, Miss Penny pursed her lips and looked at Joe
+and then significantly at Miss Ardle, and ever after that made highly
+cryptic remarks half aloud, to herself, to the general effect that
+some folks' families always were so good to them and how unhappy it
+was to be an orphan.
+
+They went to a hot, stuffy little grove by the side of a disconsolate
+stream where mosquitoes hummed and tiny gnat creatures were vulgarly
+familiar. Joe carried the baskets down a steep and rocky path to the
+very edge of the brook, scratching his face with stinging briars and
+tough, elastic little switches from ubiquitous bushes. The two young
+men in the back seat ostentatiously assisted the ladies in the descent
+with much demonstration and much unnecessary pawing. Joe sat down and
+waited for Myrtle, who was coming with Hawkins, a look of resignation
+on his face.
+
+When at length she finally arrived she paid him no attention in spite
+of the fact that he had not seen her for over a whole day. Later on
+she gave him some directions in the arranging of the lunch and the
+building of the fire, in a strictly impersonal tone, very much the
+same as she had used with her mother. Joe was a bit puzzled, but he
+complied.
+
+They went straight to the business of the lunch. Everything was spread
+out on a white tablecloth, Mrs. Macomber's second best. There was a
+baffling variety of sandwiches, olive and peanut-butter, lettuce and
+cucumber--quite soggy and dangerous--devilled ham, thin bread and
+butter, and a small pile whose filling was made up chiefly of
+discarded chicken scraps. There was a highly indigestible chocolate
+cake sodden enough to serve as a boat's anchor, a great quantity of
+jumbo pickles, and a dozen bottles of near beer. This last Mr. Glotch
+welcomed with a stentorian shout ably echoed by Mr. Trumpeter, each of
+whom fell to and consumed a bottle with much assumption of inebriety.
+After dissembling complete disintegration and coma, Mr. Glotch raised
+his head from the ground and mourned, "Oh, boy! The guy that named
+this juice sure was a bum judge of distance." "You said it," echoed
+Mr. Trumpeter, and they were rewarded by a series of titters from the
+ladies which encouraged them into still further excesses.
+
+Joe felt weary. He was fortunately deaf to much of what went on about
+him, being concerned in the baffling mystery of Myrtle's behaviour.
+Was she provoked at him? Surely not. Was Hawkins, perhaps an erstwhile
+rival, putting in a bid for first honours? She was paying no attention
+to Hawkins whatever. Had he been talking too much with Miss Ardle or
+the coy Miss Penny? Perhaps all she needed was waking up.
+
+They had demolished the lunch and were sitting about the wreckage in
+mournful speculation of its vanished glories; Myrtle was seated
+between the two comedians; Joe between the two ladies; Hawkins some
+distance in the background, on a rock. With no warning whatever Joe
+sprang to his feet, strode over to the lovely Myrtle in her filmy
+white dress, and picked her bodily from the ground.
+
+"Let's go swimming," he shouted before a single member of the crowd
+could give utterance.
+
+He carried her in a couple of strides to the edge of the little stream
+and there held her threateningly over the bank. The two young men
+shouted approval and Myrtle began to squirm. At first she demanded
+coyly to be set down, and then with more sharpness in her tone. Joe
+looked into her eyes. They were unfathomable. Her peach-bloom cheeks
+were quite pink. But there were a few tiny wrinkles about her mouth
+that he had never seen before. Made her look older, somehow. He
+softened, for the lovely burden was becoming delightfully heavy.
+
+"Think I'd better not?" he addressed the crowd.
+
+"Go on," urged Mr. Glotch.
+
+"Oh, well," he decided, "perhaps we'll only go in wading." He reached
+clumsily down to her foot for her slipper.
+
+She squirmed and flushed deeper. "Don't!" she cried. "Don't, Joe!"
+
+He disregarded her. Her foot dangled out in front, in full view; it
+was difficult to reach it without letting her slip and with her
+struggling. But he finally succeeded. He caught the French heel in a
+sudden swipe and the slipper went scudding off into the bushes.
+Immediately she drew the foot in to her and cried out. But not content
+he reached for the other.
+
+"If you take that off I'll never speak to you again," she cried. She
+looked bewitching, struggling there in his arms all flushed and red,
+with her hair coming down. He wanted to kiss her but he grabbed the
+remaining slipper instead and firmly disengaged it from its place. And
+then she began to cry. And as he held her, struggling no longer, with
+one foot dangling disconsolately below his arm, he saw the turn of
+shapely ankle all sleek in its sheathing of white silk, the high arch
+with the delicate dip to the instep, and below it the gleam of two
+pink toes boldly peeping from a malignant hole.
+
+Contrite, he set her down while the audience went hysterical. He set
+her down on a grassy mound and she threw him a red, angry look while
+the traces of tears were quickly drying. And he noticed that the other
+stocking was in the same condition. When he returned her the slippers
+she put them on without a word.
+
+The rest of the evening she spent on the rock beside Hawkins while
+the two young swains made merry with the other girls and Miss Penny
+simpered and Miss Ardle was correspondingly caustic. Joe sat back with
+his head against a tree and a hard, tired smile about his mouth, and a
+restlessness in the pit of his stomach. He tried not to look at Myrtle
+and Hawkins. And once when the crowd surged in a moment's
+boisterousness over to another part of the picnic grounds he stretched
+himself, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands to get the smart
+out of them, and muttered, "God, what a party!" all to himself.
+
+Later on, when they were gathering up the remains of the lunch and
+folding it up in the tablecloth and returning glasses and plates and
+cutlery to the basket, Joe found himself standing silently beside
+Hawkins, watching the preparations for leaving. The moonlight was
+streaming down in a silvery flood through the trees and the bit of
+green meadow glowed like a fairy ring. There were silvery ripples on
+the water of the little stream that slipped off with a tinkling
+chatter into the deep gloom of the shadow. Somewhere near a wild
+honeysuckle bloomed and the fragrance of its blooming came drifting to
+them. Hawkins spoke. He stood with eyes fixed on the stooping figures
+near the tablecloth and his lips barely moved.
+
+"How'd you get mixed up in this crowd?" he said. It was a curious
+question.
+
+Joe looked at him oddly; the fellow's manner was, always had been,
+peculiar. "How about yourself?" he replied.
+
+Without answering, Hawkins lifted his shoulders and threw out his
+hands. Then they were both called to come and help.
+
+Joe had the sole company of Miss Penny on the return trip. She was
+inclined to be quiet and answered his polite attempts with
+monosyllables. He wondered if by chance he might be being remiss in
+the customs of such an occasion, but he did not care much. The three
+on the back seat had lapsed into a strange silence that seemed out of
+place, like death in a boiler shop, and when they finally reached the
+city limits and passed beneath the glare of the first corner light, he
+took a look behind him and caught Miss Ardle kissing the imperious
+Glotch. He turned and looked at Miss Penny. She sat with her hands in
+her lap, looking demurely at them.
+
+He delivered them all to their respective destinations. And then,
+having the load of baskets and picnic utensils in the car, he returned
+to Lytle Street to see that they were properly handed over. He passed
+Hawkins' roadster as he turned the corner into Lytle Street and
+wondered if he were too late.
+
+But as he staggered up the walk with the baskets, Myrtle came to meet
+him at the top of the steps and showed him where to put them. And as
+he turned and would have gone, she stopped him with a soft word. On
+the top step she came and took hold of him by both elbows and looked
+up into his face with eyes that were swimming with sweetness. He
+gulped and was bitterly sorry for his folly. He started to speak, when
+she reached up with her hand and softly passed it across his forehead;
+the touch of it was as exquisite and as transient as a dream. He felt
+unmentionable depths.
+
+"Hope you're feeling better," she murmured.
+
+"Why?" he managed to ask. And then he remembered he had told her he
+had been unwell Thursday which accounted for his absence. And then:
+"Oh, I do. Much. All right now." An errant moonbeam came straggling in
+between a break in the screen of vines and lighted up her face,
+looking up into his, flooding it with a sort of holy wistfulness.
+Softly she moved away, out of the light.
+
+An hour later he clambered into his car and drove away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+What a curious question, that of Hawkins, "How did you come to get
+mixed up in this crowd?" And the inane response he had made to the
+counter as though it all were a mystery too vast for solution. Oh,
+well, Hawkins was a queer bird, inexpressive and glum and commonplace.
+Could not be expected to register much. His thoughts probably were too
+rusty and old by the time they formed in his head to issue forth in
+sparkling deeds or words. Joe slipped a knot into his tie, gave his
+hair a final swipe with the brush, caught a quick glance at himself in
+the glass, and then rushed to the door and rattled down the stairs
+whistling.
+
+It was a fine morning, the kind that gave one lots of "pep," high
+cloudless sky, dazzling sun, hot and bracing. The morning paper had a
+column on the first page listing the names of those who had succumbed
+to the heat; but Joe had no eyes for such morbid news. A man never
+felt the heat when he had plenty of good work to do and was in good
+shape, and things were going well with him. Funny, how much suffering
+of any sort was due entirely to the state of mind. He whistled as he
+swung along on his way to the garage. And when he stepped into the
+door of the garage office he mopped his streaming face and shouted to
+the night man who was just leaving, "'D you get those gaskets put into
+the old boat, Harry?"
+
+"Whadda you think this is?" growled the man, "a mad-house? This ain't
+no flivver fact'ry--build you a car while you change yer shirt--course
+I ain't changed them gaskets." Harry clumped sullenly out of the door
+and down the street, keeping close to the wall, in the shade. Harry
+was an old married man and his feet were leaden. Joe chuckled as he
+gazed after him speculatively. And then he passed through the door
+back into the shop.
+
+It was Saturday and only four hours till noon. There were no
+demonstrations scheduled for the afternoon. There was not a flaw in
+the sky. And yet the morning dragged. The streets were hot; great
+waves of heat came curling up from the asphalt, which was soft and
+gummy and showed the ruts of passing tires.
+
+Toward twelve things began to quicken. Two or three insignificant
+details brazenly presented themselves and Joe fell upon them with
+feverish irritation. For a time they threatened to encroach upon a
+golden afternoon. A lady had sent in an inquiry about a winter top;
+Mrs. LeMasters was having trouble with her doors squeaking. They could
+just as well have waited until Monday.
+
+It was two o'clock when he finally quieted Mrs. LeMasters, using a
+small oil can on the hinges and a few honeyed words upon her ruffled
+spirits. He drew a deep breath of exasperation and relief as he
+clambered into his car and drove away. He looked at his watch, paused
+a moment in deep thought, stopping his car dead in the middle of the
+street and was almost run over from behind by a nervous, excitable
+"flivver." The driver waved at him wildly, shouting obscenities as he
+swerved past and went careening down the street.
+
+He would not have time to eat lunch. There was so much to do.
+Inspired, he stopped at a corner drug store and gulped down a malted
+milk. Then with enforced calm, and with a glance at the clock, he
+brushed down his clothes, looked at himself in the glass above the
+counter, and walked with much careless aplomb out to the car. He had
+timed it to a nicety.
+
+When he got out of the car in front of the Macomber dwelling he had
+another struggle to keep from appearing self-conscious. As he
+approached the house a rosy little vision of the afternoon in prospect
+flitted into his mind. He glanced patronizingly at the sky. Never had
+there been serener blue. Descending a notch, he caught a surreptitious
+glimpse at upstairs windows. The one above the front door was chastely
+shrouded by inside shutters. But through a slight gap and beneath a
+raised sash he saw a flutter of white and turned away his eyes. It
+was _her_ room. He pulled the old bell knob and stood thoughtfully
+humming to himself on the steps.
+
+No one came. Slightly jarred, he realized it and pulled the bell
+again. He stopped humming. Quite a while he waited, in growing
+irritation. The bell was probably broken. After many minutes--it may
+have been two--he stepped to the edge of the porch and speculated on
+going around to the back, when the door flew suddenly open and Mrs.
+Macomber stood peering at him through the screen.
+
+He jerked off his hat. "How do you do?" and gave her a radiant smile.
+
+Mrs. Macomber scowled. She was an impregnable griffin even in still
+life. She had on an untidy apron and her hair was squeezed back from
+her yellow, greasy face.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"I've--er--Miss Myrtle?" sparkled Joe, conquering the vapours.
+
+"Not in," said Mrs. Macomber shortly.
+
+Joe fell back a step. The shadows swept down upon him. For a moment he
+was at a loss for words. "But--Mrs. Macomber--we were going to Stony
+Point this afternoon!" He was aghast, and he bared his feelings to the
+world before he sank in the engulfing sea of negation. "Are you sure?"
+
+Mrs. Macomber smiled grimly. "My eyes haven't gone back on me
+entirely, I reckon."
+
+Joe stepped up to the level of the porch which stood inviting off to
+the right. "Listen, Mrs. Macomber," he began, striving to be
+respectful. "What's wrong?" In the face of the threatening debacle he
+could not calmly let matters drift. He felt himself rushing into
+action.
+
+Mrs. Macomber considered and then apparently made up her mind. She
+opened the door and stepped out upon the vine-covered porch. For a
+moment she stood facing him as if taking in her ground. There was
+something deep and lurking and resentful in her narrow eyes.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you," she began. "You've been taking up a mighty lot
+of Myrtle's time here, lately."
+
+He sinkingly realized the truth of this statement as he felt the
+fixity of her gaze. He was silent. The front door opened over to his
+left, but he was too absorbed to notice. There was a sound of someone
+stirring in the vestibule.
+
+Mrs. Macomber did not like his silence. She had decided on conflict.
+"A man's got no right to take up a girl's time unless he means right
+by her. Just because a girl's good lookin' 's no sign she's a
+play-thing for any Tom, Dick, or Harry comes along."
+
+Joe was stunned by the baldness of the statement.
+
+"But, Mrs. Macomber," he managed to stammer, "I didn't know that's the
+way Myrtle--Miss Macomber felt about it. I'm awfully sorry----"
+
+"Keeps other men away," she interrupted him ruthlessly, determined to
+have her say. "Spoils everything for her. She's just a young girl----"
+
+"There, there, Ma," broke in a voice. Mr. Macomber joined the group, a
+sheepish, kindly look upon his face, and raising a restraining hand.
+He came and took Joe by the shoulder. There was something familiar in
+his round, stolid face. "Don't take on so. Gonna get a cigar. Wouldn't
+you like one?" he added casually to Joe, at the same time propelling
+him to the steps.
+
+Joe felt he was being manipulated. He turned again in a desperate
+effort to regain some of the lost ground and his tone was very
+respectful, quite abject.
+
+"Mrs. Macomber, please accept my humble apologies. Perhaps I should
+have spoken to you." He struggled. A final shred of self-respect
+prevented him from laying bare the throbbings of his heart, or perhaps
+it was a tiny, rising suspicion of doubt. There were signs of dross in
+his vision of pure gold. "I hope," he concluded, "that you will give
+me a chance to square myself."
+
+The old woman glared at him, blocking the doorway, like a faithful
+dragon at the castle gates where sleeps the queen of beauty.
+
+"Sure you will," insisted Mr. Macomber, still urging him forward. He
+seemed distressed in a vague sort of way.
+
+They sauntered out of the gate, prisoner and captive, to the corner
+drug store. Joe mechanically selected a cigar from a proffered box.
+Mr. Macomber did likewise and gravely and deliberately clipped the end
+in the mechanical clipper on the counter, lighted it, and took a few
+ruminative puffs, gazing at the ceiling. Then he and Joe walked slowly
+to the street.
+
+"Women fly off the handle," he ventured at length without looking at
+Joe. "You mustn't mind what the old lady says."
+
+"She misunderstood," said Joe. "I suppose I was a bit too much on the
+job." It was not easy to express himself and he laughed nervously.
+"But I don't think you can blame me much." He looked at the old man
+for encouragement and found none. "What I can't understand is, that
+nothing was said to me before. It could have been prevented if it was
+so objectionable. You don't think there is anything wrong, do you?"
+
+Mr. Macomber shook his head and Joe proceeded to vent the vials of his
+dismay. A taxi driver escaping from the drug store passed them as they
+were absorbed in their conversation and stared at them in curiosity.
+The old man stood chewing his cigar, his eyes on the ground, the
+breeze softly ruffing the nebulous hairs that fringed his bald head.
+
+Joe concluded his oration. There was nothing more he could add. And
+Mr. Macomber, raising his eyes, looked at him frankly. "Seen you
+before, ain't I? Used to be at Bromley's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm foreman there. Cultivator room."
+
+And Joe remembered. It did not exactly add to his satisfaction. "Sure
+you are," and he tried to make his voice heartily friendly.
+
+They walked slowly back toward the house. At the gate they paused for
+an awkward moment, and then Mr. Macomber held out his hand.
+
+"See you again," he said. "Don't worry about what the old lady said to
+you. It's the heat. It's all right. It's all right." He turned to go.
+He had made no reference to Myrtle at all.
+
+It was over. Joe stood on the curbing and watched the sturdy figure in
+its sagging vest and collarless shirt plod up the walk to the house.
+He could not help looking furtively for just a glance at that upstairs
+window and caught a flash of white and then vacuity. And then
+crestfallen and hot and sullen and ashamed, he sprang into the car and
+drove away.
+
+On his way down Broadway he had a puncture. Fortunately it occurred
+just half a block away from the "Kum-quik Tire Company's" repair shop.
+He covered that half block on a flat tire and went in for help.
+
+Hawkins came and stood silently beside him as a boy removed the tire.
+It was a solemn occasion. They stood there on the pavement,
+thoughtful, intently watching the operation. Hawkins was coatless; he
+had pink elastics holding up his sleeves and his hair stood up in a
+solemn pompadour and his high stiff collar had a spot of grease on it.
+
+"What was the idea of the question you asked me last night, Hawkins?"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Then Hawkins looked up and smiled
+queerly. "Oh, nothing particular."
+
+Joe was not satisfied. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't be runnin'
+around in that crowd? What's the matter? Aren't they--isn't she--all
+right?"
+
+There was a quick, sudden turning of the slim hatchet face and Hawkins
+looked hard into his eyes. "It isn't that," he said brusquely. "I'm
+engaged to marry her."
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Joe.
+
+The boy wrenched loose the tire and was rolling it into the shop.
+Slowly they followed him. Hawkins proceeded to the desk and picked up
+a pad of repair forms and started to scribble something on the top
+sheet. Joe watched his narrow, bent shoulders under the sleazy shirt.
+There was something pathetic in the proud crest of hair above his
+forehead and the pucker of lines in his brows.
+
+"How long have you been the lucky man?"
+
+Hawkins looked up from his paper. Faint surprise was written in his
+face. "Oh, a little over three years. Want to wait for this tube or
+will you come back for it? Man can put on your spare."
+
+"I'll come hack for it Monday," said Joe.
+
+A few moments later he drove away.
+
+For an hour he drove without thought of where he was going. Detail
+after detail of the affair presented itself to his mind in endless
+repetition. It had been a humiliating experience. The old woman's
+vulgarity; Macomber's stolid, iron hand clearing the air, like
+brushing trash from his doorstep; the consciousness of prying eyes at
+that upstairs window! "I've been a feeble cuckoo," he thought. "Mighta
+supposed two years in the army would have taught me better'n that.
+Played me for a good thing as long as it lasted and then the old lady
+called a showdown. Hawkins must stand in with the old lady. Poor
+Hawkins!"
+
+He discovered that he was rolling along on the Bloomfield pike about
+two miles from town.
+
+"Funny how these hard-workin' folks sink all their money in a
+butterfly like that. Bet she uses up the meat bill every month. And
+look what she gets out of it. Bet she's twenty-six if she's a day. And
+all she got was Hawkins. I must have looked good to her for a day or
+two."
+
+Bitterly he waited at the grade crossing while "Number Twenty-seven"
+went lumbering by. It shrieked a high, exasperating whistle as it
+passed, exulting in its trembling, shaking twenty-five miles per hour.
+
+On he drove. Hot blasts of air came crushing about him, with the
+sunlight shimmering white hot on the bare, dry pike. There was much
+dust from countless automobiles hurrying by in both directions. He was
+constantly churned up in clouds of fine white particles thrown back at
+him by passing tires, hurrying on in a mad drive to get somewhere. He
+was suddenly unbearably hot. But he drove on blindly.
+
+About five miles out he came to a shady lane. It ran like a cool brown
+gash between arching trees, off from the pike to the right. Away in
+the distance the fields dipped and rose to the skyline, a golden waste
+with here and there a patch of withering green. The lane was
+irresistible. He swung suddenly into it and was caught in a shifting,
+squirming quagmire of fine yellow sand. For a hundred yards he
+struggled on, with the car careening back and forth across the road
+and with much churning and slipping of tires. His shoulders began to
+ache and he wearied of the effort. It was a useless waste of energy.
+Spying a huge tree standing on the fence line on up ahead, he drew up
+to it and stopped in its shade. There was barely room for any one to
+pass on the other side of him.
+
+For a moment he sat and dully stared out across the landscape. Then he
+got out of the car, climbed over the fence and threw himself down on
+the ground in the shade of the big tree.
+
+A stupor seemed to have come over him. There was the splotchy edge of
+shade just beyond his feet; there stretched a parched and drying
+furrow. Withered stubs of corn-stalks poked up forlorn heads at
+intervals in an endless row. Beyond them were more rows, and all about
+him lay the scarred and cracking earth in yellow heaps and clods, with
+the wind twisting fine spirals of dust from its rest and spewing it
+broadcast. In the air was a drone of drab creatures being happy in
+their drabness, rejoicing in the waste, thoughtless of the future.
+That was it, the whole field, unkept, idle, lazying, was thoughtless
+of the future. There stood the dead stubble, blackening and hopeless.
+Winter might come with its frost. Here was no worry over failing
+crops. One year's work had done for two. And the grasshoppers and the
+midges and the gnats and the flies were likewise quite content.
+
+He brushed the dust from a trouser leg. He looked at the trouser leg.
+The suit had cost him ninety dollars. And he was a creature of
+Bromley's rigged out like a butterfly and lying in the dust of a
+rotten old cornfield. Barely two months had passed and great changes
+had laid their hands upon him. Seemingly great changes. Three hundred
+dollars a month! Princely wages; but in what respect was he lifted? He
+had on a ninety-dollar suit, with dust from a cornfield fouling it. He
+had a few more bills in the haberdasher shops, an enamelled tub to
+bathe in, and more time to think about himself, to chase elusive
+lights and shadows. Otherwise, he was the same old Joe, the same tired
+old Joe. He realized how tired he was. In spite of the heat his face
+felt dry and parched, his lips were cracking, his bones ached, and his
+eyes burned. Well, he had caught up with himself; he would have to
+snap out of it. No use to lie around and gather dust on one's self and
+not lay anything by, like the farmer who owned this field, and like
+the gnats that buzzed around in the dust. He had no idea what he would
+do, but he would be careful--from now on.
+
+He climbed back across the fence and into the car. The lane was so
+narrow that he had to back clear to its juncture with the pike. It was
+slow, tedious, grinding work. "Glad I didn't go down a couple of
+miles," he thought. And as he backed slowly away, the dry, hot wind
+came in rattling gusts and swept the dust in yellow eddies after him,
+bearing the voice of the grasshoppers, the monotone of futility.
+
+When at six o'clock he passed through the cool, smelly garage entrance
+that was wet and shiny with grease and blue with the breathings of
+many cars, he was met by the "boss." The latter looked critically at
+the dust-bespattered panels and then at Joe.
+
+"Seems to me you're spending a lot of time in the country. Don't need
+to take 'em all over the earth to show 'em what the car will do. You
+must be doing a lot of educating."
+
+"I have been," said Joe. "Guess I'll have to slow up on it a bit. Have
+to brush up my salesmanship."
+
+The "boss" grunted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Mary Louise was seeing quite a lot of Claybrook. First there had been
+the business of going over the books, although that had not taken much
+time. "Just to make sure how things stand," he had laughed and she had
+been only too eager to acquiesce. Then there was the business of
+making out the notes. Six months and one year they had been, ample
+time enough on considering the progress of the business. Of course it
+could have all been finished up in one session. But somehow it was a
+week or more before everything was entirely settled. She had taken a
+small apartment, in reality just a room and a bath, in a quiet family
+hotel-apartment that Claybrook had recommended. He had, of course,
+come in to see how she was installed. It was a dim, cool, hushed sort
+of place, where guests spoke in sibilant whispers when they crossed
+the parlour lobby. There was a faded blonde of doubtful age presiding
+over the tiny desk, who handed out mail and plugged in telephone calls
+in a small switchboard and kept the hotel porter in a constant state
+of agitated unrest. No one ever sat around in the lobby. Every now
+and then there would gather little groups of prim old ladies with
+shawls and magazines and embroidery frames, discussing whispered
+personalities and the weather, as they waited for the elevator.
+Careful, curious looks they always had for Mary Louise whenever she
+came upon them. An all-pervading atmosphere of stealth and secrecy and
+propriety seemed to hover about the place. Before she had been an
+inmate three hours she felt it and when Claybrook called that first
+evening, she had come rushing across the lobby to meet him, with a
+glad little cry of welcome. Immediately one of the little groups had
+ceased to function and had with one accord stared at her with grave
+eyes, and the blonde at the switchboard had lifted her head above the
+edge of the desk and peered over. And then in the lobby, over in a far
+corner, they had sat uncomfortably for an hour on the faded plush
+divan and discussed commonplaces in a low tone and felt irreparably
+guilty.
+
+But in spite of it all, Claybrook had come again; had come the next
+evening and the next. Most of the time he took her out for drives in
+his car. It began to be a regular thing, and she had come to look
+forward to his coming. The idea of staying alone in that whispery
+place was not a pleasant idea. Moreover, now that Maida was gone, she
+had double work to do in the tea room--which was running on as briskly
+as ever--and in the evening she felt invariably jaded and in need of
+some sort of diversion. So she welcomed Claybrook. And she got used to
+him.
+
+One evening--it was after two weeks of this sort of thing--as she was
+sitting in her room, looking out of the window at the tops of the
+trees in an adjacent yard, it struck her how much she had been seeing
+him. For a moment it made her uncomfortable. What was it leading to?
+Such suppositions must almost invariably come to a single woman. Ages
+of tradition have left their imprint upon the sex to the effect that
+single life is not an end in itself, and that somehow it needs must
+change. Of course, many a spinster has gone to a satisfied grave in
+complete contentment over a life of spinsterhood. But there is nothing
+to prevent the question from arising, especially when there is an
+attentive male hanging about unattached.
+
+Claybrook had given no indication of any serious intentions. Now that
+she had come to know him better, he seemed more like an overgrown boy
+with a healthy appetite for play. There was no cause for alarm. If he
+had been the kind to moon around in dark corners, wanting to sit alone
+with her in long interminable silences--but on the contrary he always
+wanted to go somewhere. She had met several of his friends and they
+were always going somewhere, both men and women. And he always had
+plenty to say, mostly about conditions in the mill, the increase in
+the cost of labour, the scarcity of good lumber, some little anecdotes
+about the men, drummers' tales. More like a business acquaintance he
+treated her, discussing gravely the problems of her tea room and that
+sort of thing. He had even begun to call her "Sister" in an odd little
+patronizing way. And she had seen him every night now for the past two
+weeks. She thoughtfully ran her hand across her mouth. That was too
+much speed. She would have to slow down.
+
+The graying light deepened and the chequered wavering of the boughs
+beneath her was slowly swallowed up in shadow so that the depth seemed
+interminable. A screen door slammed and there was the clatter of a pan
+on a brick pavement and the drawl of a soft Negro voice somewhere
+below. The help was going home. And then silence descending with only
+the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant clang and clatter of the
+city. She felt suddenly very much alone; and she wondered what her
+aunt Susie might be doing at this instant. Sitting alone in the ell
+sitting room, knitting, perhaps, with old Landy pottering about in the
+kitchen or on the back steps, with some fishing tackle or an odd bit
+of harness. A bit of sentimentality touched her lightly. It would be
+good to put the old place on its feet again, free it entirely of debt,
+with a little surplus so that there would not be that constant feeling
+of strain, of anxiety. This was no life to be living in spite of the
+glamour of the city. Every living creature felt the need of home. If
+only all she meant to do might not be accomplished too late.
+
+The sharp burr of the telephone startled her and she rose to answer
+it, dabbing at her eyes furtively with her handkerchief as she rose.
+
+She met Claybrook in the lobby.
+
+"Hi, there!" he said. "Get your hat. The Thompsons want us to come and
+play bridge with them." He squeezed her hand just a little as he
+smiled good-naturedly at her with patronizing approval.
+
+"To-night?" she echoed. "In August?"
+
+"Sure," he said. "Why not? It's plenty cool. They've a room on the top
+floor of the Ardmore and they keep all the windows open. Never seen
+the Thompsons' apartment, have you?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Pretty swell dump. Like to know how much Tommy pays for it. Keeps it
+all the year too. They go to Florida for January and February. Want
+you to see it. Maybe when the business grows enough you'll be wanting
+one like it."
+
+She smiled wanly and pictured herself spending the balance of her days
+in a hotel.
+
+"Hurry up. Get your hat and powder your nose and pretty yourself up.
+Want you to feel at home. Mrs. Tom is _some_ doll."
+
+She hastened back to the room. He was like a kind older brother
+wanting to show her a good time, wanting her to show to the best
+advantage. She smiled at him when she again joined him in the lobby.
+"That better?"
+
+He peered at her closely. "Much," he grunted and followed her through
+the swinging door.
+
+They played bridge with the Thompsons.
+
+Through the open windows the noise of the city came swelling up
+distractingly. The cards kept blowing from the table so that the men
+were busy gathering them up from the floor. Mrs. Thompson wore a lacy
+gown of lilac organdie cut quite low in the neck and her hair was
+arranged in an elaborate and immaculate coiffure that stuck out behind
+in huge, smooth, artificial-looking puffs. Her colour was high and not
+all her own. Her husband was of the type commonly called a "rough
+diamond," showing evident signs of hours spent in the barber's chair,
+with a sort of rawness about a blue-black chin, traces of talcum
+powder, and a lurking odour of toilet water. He was too big for his
+clothes, which were just a bit flashy, and he looked as though he
+might like to doff his coat.
+
+Mary Louise and Claybrook arrived at eight-thirty. At eight
+thirty-five Thompson produced a flask from a desk drawer and mixed up
+a couple of high balls with an air of grave deliberation. The glasses
+were placed on the folding bridge table and remained there throughout
+the evening, Mrs. Thompson stooping over and taking delicate sips
+from her husband's glass every now and then.
+
+The game languished. Mary Louise did not know much about it and the
+men would lapse into rather boisterous spells of conversation during
+which time the cards would lie on the table forgotten, and Mrs.
+Thompson would gaze at her husband with deep absorption and
+occasionally at Claybrook and sometimes at Mary Louise in a far-off,
+absent-minded way. And then they would ask each other whose deal it
+was and "How were the honours?" and then they would be at it again.
+Claybrook laughed at the slightest provocation, and seemed to pay a
+little too obsequious attention to whatever Thompson had to say, and
+after a while the conversation narrowed down entirely to the two men,
+with Mrs. Thompson contracting a glassy look in her pale-blue eyes
+beneath their fine-plucked brows. And at ten o'clock she stifled a
+yawn behind her handkerchief, threw down her cards, got up and went
+over to the corner where stood an expensive "Victrola."
+
+"Let's have a little jazz," she said brightly. The men were busy
+discussing the income tax and the ways of avoiding it and did not seem
+to mind at all. And Mary Louise welcomed the suggestion with relief.
+
+For another hour they sat back in deep chairs, relaxed, relieved of
+responsibility. And then Claybrook, straightening in his chair, said:
+"Think I'll have to get a new car. The old wagon's been losing
+compression. Hasn't any get-away at all these days." Then turning
+abruptly to Mary Louise who, sunk back in her chair, was absently
+dreaming, "What kind shall I get? You're the one to be pleased." The
+crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes gathered in tight little
+clusters and there was an odd pucker about his lips.
+
+In spite of herself she flushed fiery red. There was in the tone a
+suggestion of proprietary claim that jangled on her. Almost without
+thinking she replied, "Joe Hooper's selling the Marlowe. It's the best
+make, isn't it?"
+
+Three pairs of eyes were regarding her, Claybrook's with a slight
+frown. He continued gazing at her for a moment, in consideration, and
+then, the topic changing to Florida in the winter, he apparently
+forgot her.
+
+At eleven o'clock they rose to go. Mrs. Thompson showed signs of
+relief, and there was more warmth in the farewells than in any
+previous interchange of amenities. Mr. Thompson laid his hand
+affectionately on Mary Louise's shoulder as they stood in the doorway
+into the hall. His manner was bluff and friendly:
+
+"John tells me you're running the tea room over on Spruce Street.
+Guess I'll have to drop in and see how you're doing."
+
+She murmured her gratitude.
+
+"Won't mind, will you, if I bring in anything on my hip? Tea's mighty
+weak for a growing boy."
+
+They all laughed, and as she and Claybrook made their way to the
+elevator, the Thompsons stood in the hall calling gibes and parting
+injunctions after them.
+
+"Great old scout," commented Claybrook as they descended to the ground
+floor. "Sure been a good friend to me."
+
+Mary Louise felt her taut nerves slowly relaxing.
+
+"What does he do?" she responded wearily.
+
+"Contractor. Biggest in town." And then when they reached the street
+and were climbing into the car, "Whadda you say to meeting me at five
+o'clock to-morrow afternoon? Look at that Marlowe car you say you
+like."
+
+He was looking into her eyes with an odd sort of questioning
+directness. She started to refuse, remembering her resolve to see him
+less often. But then the thought of Joe Hooper presented itself. She
+owed Joe a kindness or two. Perhaps if she delayed, Claybrook would
+change his mind. She hesitated a moment.
+
+"All right," she assented.
+
+Claybrook laughed shortly. "You don't sound so keen, somehow. Don't
+know if I can afford a Marlowe or not. You've a pretty extravagant
+taste in automobiles. Only one of 'em higher priced than the
+Marlowe."
+
+"Oh, is it? I didn't know." And then, "But I don't see what my taste
+has got to do with it. It's your affair, you know. I knew Joe Hooper,
+that's all."
+
+He was silent, but as he took leave of her at the doorway of her
+apartment, he again brought up the subject in a quiet tone. "Meet me
+at live to-morrow?"
+
+"Surely," she agreed, and then went thoughtfully upstairs to bed.
+
+As she slowly undressed she thought of Joe Hooper in his new "shepherd
+plaid" suit and wondered if he were getting along. And she thought of
+the Thompsons living in their bleak finery on the top floor of the
+Ardmore, just sixty feet removed from the hideous clatter of the
+traffic. And she speculated on the appearance of Mrs. Thompson with
+all the hairs in her eyebrows that nature meant them to have. And then
+she thought upon Claybrook's boyishness in wanting her to help him go
+pick out a new toy. He was without guile, entirely without guile.
+Suddenly she laughed aloud and then she switched off the light and
+went smiling to bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+They met at the Marlowe garage. When Mary Louise saw Claybrook and Joe
+Hooper standing together in absorbed conversation, leaning each with
+one foot propped on the running board of a big shiny new car in the
+display room, she suddenly knew she had no business there. She saw
+them through the big plate-glass window as she came along. It would be
+hard to make her arrival seem casual. And when Joe Hooper raised his
+head as she entered the doorway--he was wearing that gaudy suit--she
+was confused.
+
+But he did not seem to notice and greeted her cordially. He was
+looking a bit thin, with a high colour and a restless snap in his
+eyes. There was an alertness about him that was new to her and a
+something in his manner that was quite different. She stole a look at
+him while he and Claybrook were discussing lubrication and wondered in
+what way he had changed. A sureness? A steadiness? A bit of reserve
+that sat well upon him? All of these, surely. She had never seen him
+show to better advantage. Once he turned to her and asked her opinion
+about the leather. There was an air of quiet deference in the way he
+put the question. It was a trivial question and she was thinking of
+the impersonal note in his tone, just as though she might have been a
+total stranger to whom he owed courtesy, and she was wishing he had
+asked her something about herself. Her uneasiness about the
+unconventionality of her being there vanished, so completely were the
+two men absorbed in technical discussion. She noted the contrast:
+Claybrook rather beefy and a bit too red of face; Joe, on the other
+hand, quite slim and taut. His new clothes fitted him better; he had
+lost that raw-boned look.
+
+Joe asked her if she would not like to go for a ride.
+
+She looked up into his eyes from the chair which he had got for her
+and felt a childish pleasure, just as though he had shown her a
+personal attention.
+
+"I'd love to," she said.
+
+They waited at the curb for the demonstrating car to be brought around
+and she had a chance to ask him how things were at home.
+
+"I haven't been back this summer," he replied, and looked away.
+
+Once, when she and Claybrook were standing a little apart, she caught
+Joe looking at them, she imagined, under lowered brows, and she had an
+impulse to go to him and tell him that she was bringing him this
+business, putting in a word for him. She did not hear what Claybrook
+was saying to her at all. And then the car came rolling up and
+stopped, and her chance was gone.
+
+She and Claybrook sat down in the back seat together, while Joe took
+the wheel. In about thirty minutes they were climbing a steep hill
+that lead out of Fenimore Park to one of the back lanes.
+
+"Takes the grade all right," commented Claybrook to her, and she
+wished that he would not continue to include her in the discussion.
+She strove to counteract the impression that might be formed by
+calling attention to the clouds that were gathering in the southwest.
+Dark and sombre they came rolling, like great billows of smoke,
+although the green of the park meadows was flooded with golden
+sunlight. At the crest of the hill Joe partly turned in his seat and
+with one arm thrown along the back of it pointed to the outline of a
+massive stone bridge that was being built across the creek far below
+them. The greenish brown blended subtly with the golden-green shadows
+of the trees and the dark pools of water beneath.
+
+"New bridge," he said. "Man that's buildin' it knows a thing or two
+about colour tones."
+
+Mary Louise bent eagerly forward to look. It seemed as though he were
+speaking directly to her. Claybrook remained leaning back in the
+corner. They turned a curve and the bridge passed out of view below.
+
+They gained the macadam of the lane that led out from the park gate
+into the country. Claybrook turned and asked her how she liked the
+car. His low, direct tone and intent gaze made her uncomfortable, made
+her nerves ruffle up in a most irritating manner. But she controlled
+herself and answered lightly, "Oh, ever so much."
+
+He looked as though he might say something more, but changed his mind
+and sank back against the cushions. For a time they rode on in
+silence. Claybrook had been strangely quiet ever since they had left
+the garage. She could feel him watching her and she tried not to
+notice it. So absorbed was she in trying to appear unconcerned that
+she did not see the approach of the storm; in fact, there was a
+supercharge of restraint on all three of them, and it startlingly
+broke upon them in a clap of thunder that sounded as if it had smashed
+a tree not fifty feet away.
+
+Joe stopped the car and scrambled back into the tonneau to adjust the
+side curtains. He murmured an apology as he brushed against her--just
+like a stranger. Quite sharply she felt the change that had come over
+their relations. When everything had been adjusted he resumed his seat
+and called over his shoulder, "Guess we had better go back, hadn't we?
+I'm sorry this rain had to come and spoil things."
+
+They turned slowly around in the narrow road and when they again
+faced the west, the rain came beating furiously down against the
+wind-shield so that the road ahead was barely visible. Never had she
+seen such blinding sheets of water. It tore at the roof, it whipped
+about the curtains, it threatened to engulf them all in a torrential
+flood. The car was moving slowly forward--she could see Joe's outline
+bent slightly over the wheel--and in spite of his care the rear wheels
+would slew gently from side to side. As she peered ahead she could see
+a yellow flood of water rushing down the road before them so that it
+did not look like a road at all but like an angry, muddy stream upon
+which they were floating. Once Claybrook leaned forward, his eyes
+narrowing. He had been as silent as a mummy.
+
+"Got any chains?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"Think I have," replied Joe. "Under the seat."
+
+"Better put 'em on, don't you think?"
+
+Mary Louise started. "Oh, John! In this rain?"
+
+"Guess I had at that," interposed Joe quickly.
+
+He stopped the car and lifted the cushion on which he was sitting.
+Directly he pulled forth a long, tangled confusion of links, opened
+the door, and stepped forth. As he thrust out his head Mary Louise
+called:
+
+"Haven't you any coat?" and his answer came back cheerily from the
+outside, "Never mind me. It'll all come out in the wash."
+
+She looked at Claybrook reproachfully. He sat stolidly in the corner
+but there was a look of discomfort in his face.
+
+"Don't want us to slide off one of these hills into the creek, do
+you?"
+
+And she felt there was nothing more she could say.
+
+They sat in awkward silence, listening to the downpour and the wind.
+The thunder crashed incessantly and the air was alive with the
+lightning playing about them in livid flares. They could feel one side
+of the car lift slightly as Joe adjusted the chain, and then the other
+side; could dimly hear him struggling with the wheel jack. It seemed
+criminal to be exposed to such a rain. A wave of cold resentment
+against Claybrook came over her and she sat staring straight in front
+of her, lips tightly compressed, waiting.
+
+It seemed an interminable time; in reality, in about ten minutes Joe's
+head appeared at the door of the car and he climbed stiffly in.
+Drenched he was from top to toe. The water streaked down his checks in
+little streams; his clothes flapped and clung to him as though he had
+been flung into the river; his cap was a sodden, pulpy mass. But he
+chuckled as he slid over in behind the wheel.
+
+"Guess I'll remember to bring my coat along next time."
+
+She wanted to put her hand on his shoulder but she sat in stony
+silence. And she noticed that he no longer drove with the same care as
+before. She saw that he was giving little involuntary shivers,
+watched the water drip with silent monotony from his cap on to the
+back of the seat, making a slick, shiny spot there.
+
+And then Claybrook broke the silence. "How will you split commission
+with me if I take one of these cars?" He spoke heartily, as though he
+wished to be friendly and cheerful.
+
+Joe made no reply for a moment and when he did, his voice trembled
+just a little. "We're not allowed to make that kind of a deal."
+
+"Oh, I know that, and all that sort of thing. But they all _do_, just
+the same." He reached over and gave Mary Louise a little shove on the
+elbow, from which she recoiled.
+
+Joe made no further reply; they waited for what he might say. And
+directly Claybrook tried again:
+
+"And how about my old car? Take that in, I suppose?"
+
+"We'll take it and do the best we can to sell it for you," said Joe,
+without looking back. The water still dripped from his cap on to the
+cushion.
+
+"Hum," muttered Claybrook, "Independent." And louder: "Two or three
+other concerns will allow me good money on my car."
+
+Joe made no reply.
+
+When they arrived at the garage again, the rain had about stopped and
+they drove in at the main entrance back into the general storage room.
+Joe stood holding the tonneau door open for them, a ludicrous object
+in his bedraggled clothes. He made no effort to assist Mary Louise but
+stood there holding the door with an abstracted look on his face. All
+the dash, all the sleekness was out of him. They both thanked him and
+then Claybrook led the way to his own car which someone had brought in
+out of the rain.
+
+He turned to Joe once more--"I'll see you later"--thanked him again,
+and started his motor.
+
+Mary Louise satisfied herself with waving her hand to him as they
+started. His aloofness forbade her to do anything more, though she
+would have liked to go to him and tell him how sorry she was and to be
+sure and hurry and put on some dry clothes. But she didn't and she saw
+him standing in the centre of the passage, a forlorn figure. It struck
+her as they rolled out on to the street that he had made no effort
+whatever to sell the car.
+
+"Cold-blooded crowd," broke out Claybrook at length as they hurried
+on.
+
+"I do hope he won't be sick," she replied.
+
+He grunted. "In the army, wasn't he? Guess he can stand a little
+water. Used to worse than that."
+
+And after apparently waiting for her to break the silence, he again
+ventured,
+
+"I like the car. Think I'll have to see if I can't make some sort of
+deal with them. They'll probably come down a little off their perch."
+His tone seemed to invite her opinion, but she offered none.
+
+They came into the stiff little parlour lobby of Mary Louise's
+apartment. It was quite dark as they got out of the automobile, and
+the stuffy room was dimly lit by a few feeble incandescent lamps in
+loose-jointed and rather forlorn gilt wall brackets. They made their
+way over to the elevator. The lobby was empty; even the blonde was
+absent from her post.
+
+As they passed the faded plush divan Claybrook laid a detaining hand
+on her arm: "Sit down here a minute. I want to talk to you." His voice
+sounded rather gentle and subdued.
+
+She turned and looked at him, wondering, and then obeyed.
+
+"Listen," he began, and laid his hand quietly on hers. "Don't get sore
+at me because I was the cause of your friend's getting wet. It won't
+hurt him--just a little clothes-pressing bill--and I'd much rather he
+had that than for that car to slide off the cliff--especially when you
+were in it."
+
+She felt somewhat mollified. "Was that what you wanted to say to me?"
+She looked at his face and saw there an odd expression--a sort of
+dogged shamefacedness.
+
+"No. I was just getting to it." He was silent a moment, staring at his
+foot. Suddenly he looked up at her--she had withdrawn her hand.
+"When," he began, "when are we going to call this thing a game?"
+
+"I don't understand what you mean."
+
+He halted. "Well," he said. "How--when are you going to marry me?" He
+was looking into her face with that same queer, stubborn expression.
+
+Her heart stopped momentarily. "Why," she faltered, "I hadn't thought
+of it."
+
+They sat there in the hushed lobby as remote from the world as though
+shipwrecked on a desert island. It was Mary Louise who now looked at
+the floor. She could feel Claybrook's eyes upon her. He was waiting
+for her to speak, but she could not collect her thoughts. It had come
+upon her baldly, without preparation. She scarcely realized the import
+of his words.
+
+"Well," he was saying, "think of it now."
+
+Another pause.
+
+She raised her eyes and looked at him squarely in spite of the
+trembling in her limbs. His face loomed big and blank before her,
+though his voice was very kind.
+
+"I don't know," she heard herself saying. "You--I--it's come on me
+rather quickly."
+
+For a moment he made no reply. A street car thundered past and made
+the windows rattle.
+
+"Well, you're going to, aren't you? When?"
+
+She could not trust herself to look at him. Again he waited on her
+words. She could feel him edging a hit nearer.
+
+"I don't know." The words choked in her throat. She felt cornered,
+hemmed in. She could not clear the tumult in her brain. A short time
+before she had felt tremendously irritated at him. Now she did not
+know how she felt. He was hammering at her with his insistence.
+
+"That can't be," he broke in on her confusion. "I'm not a stranger,
+you know. You've known me for over a year and, I think, seen enough of
+me to know what sort I am. We are not a couple of kids just out of
+school." His voice broke in a ridiculous quaver that somehow tempted
+her to laugh hysterically, but he mastered it and went on: "When shall
+it be? Next month? I'll buy that big car and we'll drive to
+California."
+
+He was groping for her hand.
+
+"I don't know," she said again. "I can't think. Can't we let things
+run on as they are?" She ventured a look at him, appealingly.
+
+He drew away just a little and she could see a grim little line
+gathering about his mouth and a frown about his eyes.
+
+"I don't see any use in waiting to make up your mind. That's not the
+way _I_ do business. What is it?" He went on quietly and firmly, "Yes
+or no?" and then more gently, "I think you can see I am willing to do
+things for you. It hasn't been one-sided, has it?"
+
+His words crystallized the turbulence in her mind. She was suddenly
+sure of herself. She looked up quickly. She could see the little folds
+of flesh about his collar, the fine little purplish lines in his
+cheeks, could hear his thick breathing, and yet his eyes were looking
+steadily and gravely into hers.
+
+"You're right," she said. "There's no use waiting. I'm sorry. I
+can't."
+
+Something faded from his face. He looked at her fixedly for a moment
+and then rose to his feet. "I wonder if you've fooled yourself as
+thoroughly as you have me," he said.
+
+She made no reply, though she cringed slightly at the inference, and
+sat there watching him.
+
+He lifted his shoulders and let them sink heavily, and then he cast a
+look about the deserted lobby. Then he turned to her again and
+imperceptibly inclined his head. He did not offer his hand.
+
+"Good-bye," he said.
+
+"Good-bye," she echoed, her lips barely moving.
+
+She watched his broad, stolid back move slowly across the room, saw
+him pause for a moment at the door and then plunge resolutely through
+it, and then she was alone. Not a sound came to her ears. The desk by
+the switchboard was deserted. A bracket lamp on the wall opposite was
+crooked; one of the crystal pendants beneath it was broken short off.
+Someone had dropped a burnt match on the floor in front of the desk
+and it lay there in mute sacrilege. All at once the silence seemed
+fraught with a tumult of hateful suggestions, and, without ringing for
+the elevator, she sprang to her feet, rushed for the steps, and fled
+up to her room.
+
+She switched on the light and stood for a moment by the table
+fingering an ivory paper cutter. Then she went to the window and
+peered out. Not a sound came to her, not a single, friendly sound.
+Below her the leafy branches stretched out, inert, indifferent; and
+below them, darkness.
+
+"And this is the man," she thought, "from whom I have borrowed all
+that money."
+
+
+
+
+PART III
+
+BLOOMFIELD
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Fate smiled. An itinerant Swiss became interested in the tea room.
+There were a few days of sharp bargaining and on October the
+fourteenth it was sold to him. The price just barely covered the
+indebtedness. Mary Louise made haste to send Claybrook a check for the
+fifteen hundred dollars plus the interest. Two days later she got the
+notes through the mail with no comment and she tremblingly tore them
+into bits and scattered the bits from her window. Then she went to the
+bank and took up the note for the six hundred dollars she had
+originally borrowed. It left her nothing, but she was free. She had
+lived the summer and was where she had started. A little wan, feeling
+a little empty, she caught the train for Bloomfield. All during the
+trip she gazed from the window, dizzily conscious of the shifting
+landscape, dimly aware of her retreat....
+
+Miss Susan McCallum looked up from her rocking chair as Mary Louise
+entered the sitting room. There was no surprise in her greeting, and
+she suffered her cheek to be kissed in silence. Old Landy stuck his
+grizzled head in at the door at the unusual commotion and Mary
+Louise, unaccountably and suddenly touched by something subtly
+familiar and friendly, trilled:
+
+"I've come to look after you, Aunt Susie. Just couldn't stay away any
+longer. The countryside was perfectly beautiful as I came up this
+morning in the train. It's the loveliest October I've ever seen. Think
+of being cooped up in the city this time of year."
+
+Landy grinned and came shambling in with a greeting. Miss Susie's
+eyebrows went up and there was a suspicion of moisture on the lashes.
+"Well, you needn't have done it. Landy and I have been managing very
+well. But _you_ look a little peaked." She turned and laid her
+knitting on the table by her side.
+
+"Little Missy's a sight fo' so' eyes," interjected Landy and then
+withdrew. Directly they could hear him authoritatively ordering
+someone about.
+
+Miss Susie sighed and looked at Mary Louise. The latter was taking off
+her hat but she caught a hidden appeal in the pinched, weazened face
+that she had never before noticed. It made a sharp little tug at her
+heart, and throwing her hat on the table, she came over and sat on the
+stool at the older woman's feet.
+
+"How long will you be with us this time?"
+
+She reached up and took the hand and was startled at finding how hot
+it was. "Why--for all the time. Didn't you understand? I'm not going
+back at all."
+
+A strange expression came over Miss Susie's face. It was as though she
+all of a sudden let down. She stared into Mary Louise's eyes and the
+latter waited for some characteristic outburst. But none came.
+Directly the old lady reached over for her knitting again and busied
+herself with it, bending her head over it. Mary Louise, watching her,
+saw her throat contract, saw her moisten her lips softly with the tip
+of her tongue.
+
+Without, looking up, "What about your business? You're not leaving it
+for someone else to look after for you?" The tone was very low and the
+voice so husky that she finished the sentence with a little clearing
+of the throat.
+
+"I've given it up--given it up entirely. Not a thing in the world to
+keep me," replied Mary Louise.
+
+For a few moments complete silence settled down upon the room, with
+only the ticking of the clock on the mantel. It was dark and cool and
+sweet-smelling, a sort of "goodsy" smell. A blue-bottle fly began to
+buzz and bump against the glass of the window and now and then he
+would circle about the room, filling its silence with his droning. The
+sunlight came creeping slowly across the rag carpet, a widening orange
+pool, as the sun slipped around to the westward. Mary Louise could see
+the edge of it without turning her head. She felt suddenly guilty, as
+though she were in some way parading in false colours. There was an
+impenetrableness in the reserve.
+
+"I just couldn't stand it any longer," she burst out. "I want to be
+with my people and stay with my people, and look after you and live my
+life as it was intended." Somehow it was not exactly what she wanted
+to say, not the whole truth, but as if in explanation she began to
+stroke her aunt's knee very softly.
+
+"What do you plan to do?" Miss Susie looked up again and there was the
+same old look of withered sharpness. "There's nothing in Bloomfield,
+you know."
+
+"Oh, I know. Nothing, if you mean opportunity. But everything in the
+way of living. We'll just rock along. I'll find something to do.
+Something to keep me out of mischief," she laughed. "Mr. Orpell ought
+to have somebody in his drug store. His soft-drink counter is
+atrocious. Then I can make preserves and sell 'em. I know where I can
+sell a lot--in the city. I just don't want to think--just rest a bit
+and let this blessed peace get a good hold of me again." Her voice
+rose sharp and eager and Miss Susie smiled a quizzical smile and the
+old order was again restored. A door slammed and Landy's voice came to
+them, this time in a wailing gospel hymn, and Mary Louise sprang to
+her feet. "I'll have to go get Zeke Thompson and have him fetch my
+trunk. There was nobody to bring it over from Guests and I didn't
+want to wait to hunt for someone."
+
+She skipped over to the table and picked up her hat again. Already she
+felt better--warmed and comforted. She paused for a moment, standing
+in front of Miss Susie, looking down at her as she sat there knitting
+placidly away with the fine firm lines about her mouth. "You won't
+mind if I go with him, will you? There's an excess baggage charge that
+I can't trust Zeke with, and I'll not be long."
+
+"No, of course not. Since when have I been that I couldn't be left
+alone?" But she smiled and Mary Louise, rushing to her, kissed her
+again, rapturously upon the cheek, turned and whirled toward the door
+where she paused for a wave of the hand before plunging forth on her
+errand.
+
+The sound of the door closing behind her sobered her for a moment.
+Here she was, gone again. Would she never be content to settle down?
+But the wine of the autumnal weather came mounting to her head and as
+she opened the front gate and struck out up the street she raised her
+face, drinking it in.
+
+The rows of maples had been touched by the frost and were flaming
+scarlet and crimson. Over beyond, across the street, between the
+houses where a pasture land stretched down to the creek, the beeches
+were golden and rustling and shimmering in the mellow sunlight. There
+was a delicious tang in the air one moment and a soft mellow touch of
+indolent fruition the next. An automobile went scuttling across Main
+Street at the intersection, seeking its way westward, leaving a cloud
+of dust that hung lazily golden ere it settled. Even the dust was
+fragrant. The old tavern was quite deserted; the same green shutter
+hung by one hinge, and as she passed the town hall or meeting house
+she could hear the click of a typewriter through an open window, an
+incongruous touch of modernity in an otherwise immaculate antique
+setting. The sun was warm and came filtering through the shade to
+splotch the uneven brick pavement, bringing out its homely roughness
+in minute detail. She felt as if she recognized each upturned brick,
+and the worn patch of yellow earth where a grass plot was meant to be,
+up to the edge of the gnarled root of the oak stump that had been
+struck by lightning, was just as it had always been. She and Joe
+Hooper had played marbles there until he had grown too big to be
+playing marbles with girls. Queer little ecstatic sensations they
+were.
+
+She crossed the square. A solitary man was walking on the other side
+of the street, away from her. He was carrying three long poles over
+his shoulder and he walked stiffly and with a slight limp. He wore a
+suit of dusty blue "unionalls" and a battered felt hat. Curious that
+she should notice such things. A "Ford" backed away from the curbing,
+wheeled and went rattling around the corner down the road toward
+Guests. And then the street and the square and the whole town were
+quiet again, as deserted as a street or a town on canvas.
+
+She walked swiftly, but not too swiftly to catch up every sign of
+home. Her mind was aflood with impressions. What a narrow escape she
+had had. An exultant thought like a song arose in her. She had
+ventured forth, had had her taste, and it had cost her nothing. The
+city had not caught her even though it had reached forth strong,
+prehensile fingers. She knew now what she wanted, had the strength,
+the zest. And it was October and fair, and smiling.
+
+Suddenly she ran almost headlong into Mrs. Mosby. That good lady came
+precipitately out of Orpell's Drug Store, and she was wearing her
+white ruching and her bangles and a trim little widow's bonnet with a
+semi-circle of black veil hanging down behind and accentuating the
+prim whiteness of her face.
+
+Mrs. Mosby's was not a face to betray emotion; it was a well-behaved,
+studiously composed face. And her voice was level as she took Mary
+Louise by both hands.
+
+"Well, my dear," she said. "What brings you here? I've heard you're an
+awfully busy woman. Hope there's nothing wrong at home."
+
+"No," replied Mary Louise. Somehow she could never get it out of her
+head whenever she spoke to Mrs. Mosby that it was not still as a
+little girl to a personage--a personage to whom restraint and
+deference were due. "I'm not so busy as all that."
+
+"Oh, but you are. I've heard all about you. We're very proud of you,
+my dear. Very. You've been doing so well--oh, I've heard--and your
+striking out into business quite alone was about the most courageous
+thing I know of. Why, the mere thought of such a thing takes my breath
+away."
+
+"But I'm not doing it any more. And there's nothing courageous in
+that," smiled Mary Louise.
+
+Mrs. Mosby looked puzzled.
+
+"It's a fact. I've given it all up. Just got home to-day. And I'm
+going to settle down again with you all and be just folks."
+
+The mask again slipped over Mrs. Mosby's countenance. "Quite as
+courageous a thing to do as the other," she went on evenly. "Just to
+give up your splendid opportunity to come back and accept your duties
+here--well, I think it highly commendable." She was not to be robbed
+of her chance to be agreeable. "Your aunt Susan is, I trust, not
+unwell?"
+
+"Oh, about the same, thank you, Mrs. Mosby." She wanted to ask about
+Joe, something in the rapprochement giving rise to thoughts of him,
+but she realized that Mrs. Mosby was doubtless entirely out of touch
+with her graceless nephew and would invent some mere plausibility. So
+she inquired instead after Mr. Fawcette.
+
+"Brother is not so well. Poor soul, he suffers terribly with his
+rheumatism." Mrs. Mosby lapsed into thoughtfulness and Mary Louise
+murmured her sympathy.
+
+A moment of this and Mrs. Mosby recovered herself and held out her
+hand again.
+
+"You must come and see me now--real often. I'm so much alone. Such a
+lot you must have to tell me and I want to hear it all." She took her
+prim, precise departure conscious of her graciousness.
+
+On her way, in the opposite direction, Mary Louise suffered another
+qualm, a feeling of insincerity. She was gathering credit that really
+was undeserved. Her return would doubtless be labelled in Bloomfield
+as a bit of pretty sacrifice. And the place was a very refuge. The sun
+dipped as she walked along, so that the tip of it reddened the ridge
+poles of the houses and the sky was as blue as indigo. She passed an
+open lot where weeds abounded and in the weeds the blackbirds were
+chattering noisily. At her approach they flew up in a black swarm to
+refuge in an old apple tree in the rear of the lot. On the ground near
+the sidewalk was an old wagon bed that had been there for years--she
+tried to remember how long. There were decided compensations in coming
+home.
+
+She found Zeke sitting on his doorstep, his chin on his hands, busily
+strengthening his restful philosophy. She quickly bargained with him
+and he hurried away to get out his old carry-all. When he found that
+she followed him, and found in addition that she intended accompanying
+him, his pleasure was quite evident.
+
+"Wait, Mis' Ma'y, ontil I gits a rag and wipes off de seat," he said
+at the door of the shed.
+
+She could not help feeling a bit self-conscious as she sat by Zeke's
+side and went rattling along the street, down into the square, into
+the very centre of Bloomfield life. But she held her head jauntily
+aloft and wondered if she were being noticed and being talked about.
+They met no one. They took the open road and the afternoon settled
+down upon her like a blessing. On either side of the road great
+patches of red and yellow streaked the hills, and the fields were
+taking on a soft golden brown, and soft purple mists gathered in the
+valleys blending in subtle fashion with the foreground. In spite of
+the riot of colour, the land was wrapped in a calm dignity. It wore
+its glories well. In the bits of woodland, through which the road
+occasionally digressed, there was a strong odour of beech and buckeye
+and there was a fragrant dampness rising.
+
+The thought of Claybrook came into her mind. She could not quite make
+up her mind about Claybrook. She felt momentarily sorry for him,
+regretted that their friendship had come to its abrupt close. And yet
+there was no reason why she should feel sorry for him, he had so much
+of everything. But he and his world were woven out of different
+fabric from this world about her. She could not keep one and still
+have the other. Anyway, she had made up her mind. She had escaped; her
+feeling was one of definite escape. She banished the thought of him.
+
+She got her trunk and Zeke loaded it upon the car where it threatened
+to crush its way through bottom, springs, frame, and all. She observed
+it skeptically but Zeke was quite brisk and cheerful about it. She
+bought a "Courier" from the station agent and with it in her hand
+climbed back into her seat and felt content, now that she had her
+goods about her and was about to go home again.
+
+Zeke started to crank the car when he took one reassuring look about
+to see if everything was all right. Not being quite satisfied with the
+way the trunk was riding, he departed to look for a bit of rope with
+which to lash it into place. While she waited, she opened up the paper
+in her lap and looked idly at the first page.
+
+Instantly something caught her eye; she started and then felt suddenly
+weak. She read on for a moment and then closed the paper and let it
+fall into her lap and stared off at the blue hills that rimmed the
+horizon. The station at Guests was about a half mile from the town and
+the road was quite deserted, with only the sound of someone moving a
+trunk around in the baggage room behind her. A flock of birds went
+winging across the sky and dipped down into a patch of red-and-gold
+woodland. She picked up the paper again and read some more.
+
+The "Courier" made no specialty of scare headlines or red type. Its
+most sensational news rarely ever rated more than single-column type,
+or at most two columns. The article that caught her attention was the
+usual one concerning misappropriation of public funds, malfeasance of
+office, bribery, and the like--a drab sort of story. The public had
+been "bilked" again. It sounded quite matter of fact. Involved were
+the city engineer and one J. K. Thompson, Contractor, and J. F.
+Claybrook, lumber man and dealer, all in collusion. All this was in
+the headlines--in neat, modest type. Below came the bald facts stating
+the amounts of money involved which somehow she did not notice and a
+somewhat cynically weary paragraph at the end remarking that the
+people were having quite too much of this sort of thing and that the
+courts should recognize their full duty.
+
+So that was where the new car and the trip to California was to come
+from. Perhaps that was where the fifteen hundred dollars had come
+from, too. But she had paid it back. She had just barely shaken the
+bird-catcher's lime from her wings. She shivered and closed the paper
+again.
+
+When Zeke returned with the rope she smiled at him.
+
+"Let's hurry back," she said.
+
+On the way back to Bloomfield she had no eyes for the beauties of the
+fast-falling October evening. But in a little while she began to feel
+warmer inside. At least she had shaken the dust of the city from her
+feet, the city where everyone wore a mask--of honesty and sobriety and
+right living--and lived otherwise. No wonder they called it a melting
+pot. She would be content from henceforth to live where the air and
+the living were cleaner and purer.
+
+So absorbed was she that she did not realize that Zeke had taken
+another route home. When she noticed, she remarked on it.
+
+"Hit's a shoht cut," explained Zeke. "You said you wanted to get home
+quick."
+
+She smiled at his responsiveness.
+
+They came suddenly around a bend in the road upon a gang of men, road
+mending. There was a huge concrete mixer and she wondered at the sight
+of it, a new sign of progress for Bloomfield. There was a stretch of
+loose rock and a wooden bar blocking the road. Zeke muttered his
+dismay but did not stop. They rolled right up to the barrier. A man in
+khaki breeches and flannel shirt and high lace boots came and waved
+them back.
+
+"You'll have to turn around," he called out cheerily, and she saw that
+it was Joe Hooper. As though in answer to the obvious question he
+added, as he in turn recognized her, "Like a bad penny--I'm turning up
+again."
+
+She looked at him and stared. His face was very red and somehow he
+looked quite natural, more so than in his city clothes.
+
+"What in the world?" she said.
+
+He had come quite close and she could see he was smiling. That
+baffling, uncertain look had left his face and there was something
+open about it.
+
+"Got a man's job again," he said, still smiling.
+
+"And you're going to be in this part of the country?"
+
+"Till the job's finished," he replied. "And there's quite a lot of it,
+too. County's got a prosperous streak on. Means to have some real
+roads. It's about time."
+
+Zeke was slowly backing the car preparatory to turning around.
+
+"I'm back home now, myself," she called and reddened at once at her
+unnecessary confidence. What did he care where she was? But as they
+turned slowly in the narrow road she added, "Come and see me," and
+waved to him and wondered if he would.
+
+It was growing dusk as they came again to Bloomfield and a chill was
+settling down. The lights in the windows glowed cheerily against the
+purple twilight and in one kitchen someone was frying potato cakes.
+The odour was symbolical of hot suppers, and summer's passing, and
+home, and warmth, and cheer.
+
+She tipped Zeke a quarter even before he lugged her trunk through the
+kitchen door, and then she went briskly in.
+
+"Supper ready, Zenie?" she called.
+
+Zenie turned slowly around and looked at her from the biscuit board.
+She smiled wearily. "No'm. Not jes' yet it ain'. Terectly."
+
+Mary Louise looked at her watch. It was a quarter past six. She came
+to a sudden decision.
+
+"Zenie," she said.
+
+Zenie looked up hopefully.
+
+"I guess we'll not be needing you any more after this week."
+
+A slow, incredulous look met her. "Yas'm?"
+
+"You can go back and look after that husband of yours."
+
+"Yas'm? He gettin' erlong all right."
+
+"I don't know, Zenie. You never can tell," Mary Louise went on,
+maliciously enjoying the havoc she was spreading. "I'll pay you for
+the week. You can leave whenever you want to. But let's have supper
+right away." And she walked resolutely through the kitchen into a
+darkened house, burning her bridges behind her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+It was seven o'clock on Main Street. A very faint glow still lingered
+in the western sky and above it cool points of stars pricked a
+gray-blue curtain. Over to the left the moon was peeping above a
+gambrel roof and the near side was steely blue up to the shadow of the
+purple chimney. Joe walked along shuffling with his feet in the little
+hollows of dry leaves. They crunched cheerily, sending up a faint, dry
+fragrance. Up ahead was a dying fire with only here and there a tiny
+flame tongue; the rest, a black and smoking crust underlaid with dull
+embers. The smoke that curled upward from the fire was pale blue-gray
+and mixed with tiny dust particles, and it hung in thin motionless
+strata or came curling in feathery wisps almost invisible in the
+shadow but heavy laden with magic scent. Up slid the moon, till Main
+Street was a phantom cloister, the maple boles huge columns casting
+purple shadows on a milky floor. Fairy lights winked in hooded windows
+like deep-set eyes, and a soft warm haze lapped round him dreamily,
+lulling his senses.
+
+Joe had left the road-camp and tramped three miles into town. In the
+dusk he had come upon it unawares; it seemed quite deserted. Very
+quietly he had come through the back lanes, and now it lay before him,
+its heart open in a sort of whispered confidence. Crude, inert,
+makeshift sort of place it might betray itself to be in daylight, it
+now lay snug and warm and breathing in its cluster of trees. It had
+gathered its brood to it, its warm lights blinking red, and above,
+clear liquid moonlight. Joe walked along slowly, an outsider, and yet
+feeling himself slipping somehow into the warmth and protection of the
+street. The odour of the burning leaves was heady, a superdistillate
+of memories. October and moonlight and burning leaves! It meant nuts
+and wine-sap apples, lingering in the dusk, watching the bull-bats
+rise. It meant hot supper and a ravenous appetite and a slow roasting
+before an open fire. Sharp little pictures flashed before his eyes as
+he walked along, and he fancied he could hear the soft crunch of buggy
+wheels in the dried leaves and the pad-pad of hoofs. It all seemed
+wrapped up in the same parcel with his childhood, stored away
+somewhere in musty archives. You couldn't pull out one without
+stirring up all the others. He half closed his eyes and peered through
+his lashes down a sharp black line of roofs like a knife edge against
+a liquid, shimmering sky, down a broad ghostly band of silver white
+that was the road, all flecked and mottled with leaf shadows that
+moved slowly to and fro. He paused a moment. He scarcely dared breathe
+lest the whole thing vanish. A fairy touch on his arm, light as
+thistle-down, a subtle sense of warmth and a dim, intangible
+fragrance, and he started, blinking, and then walked on. Something was
+dry and dusty in his throat. "Golly, the old place sorta gets next to
+you on a night like this," he thought. "Guess I'd better get in.
+They'll think I'm nuts, mooning around on the street all night."
+
+He came to a long stretch of wooden picket fence, beyond it a silver
+plaque of moon-splashed grass, the house all hollow-eyed and gaunt,
+like a thing watching. As he approached the gate a man came hurrying
+out, his head hunched forward on his shoulders. Joe stood aside to let
+him pass. The man peered sharply at him from under his hat brim,
+grunted, and then passed on. It was Mr. Burrus. Joe had a sense of
+being too late. Over the house hung the stillness of death, and a
+thing like Burrus leaving! It was an ugly thought. He walked up to the
+porch and knocked softly on the door.
+
+A moment's silence and then it slowly opened. Someone stood in the
+doorway. A voice said, "Well?" in a low vibrant tone. There was
+blended in it the soft mistiness of the night, something of regret,
+something of purple shadows, something of stirring memories. He
+moistened his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Is it you?" the voice went on, and then Mary Louise came out.
+
+"I just heard to-day that Miss Susie had had another spell," he
+explained.
+
+She stood beside him on the porch and looked up into his face. He
+could see she was shivering a little.
+
+"Not to amount to anything," she said. "Aunt Susie has 'em
+periodically. She'll be all right in a day or two."
+
+Joe stood in indecision. There had come a high-pitched, nervous
+tension into her tone, an eagerness that he did not like. The other
+thing had vanished.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" said Mary Louise. "I'd ask you in, but Aunt
+Susie's asleep and the sound of our voices might disturb her. She
+hasn't had much sleep the last few nights."
+
+Joe fingered his hat.
+
+"Aren't you going to stay and tell me about yourself?" she urged.
+"It's been ages since we had a talk. Let's go down to the
+summerhouse."
+
+He felt doubtful. Already a chill was gathering in the air, and he
+fancied she spoke through set teeth. The charm was melting away and
+the moon, rising above the tops of the maples, seemed cheerless and
+cold. But he could not be unfriendly; she had had a lot to upset her.
+He had read about Claybrook in the paper and while the news had caused
+him no discomfort--if anything quite the contrary--still, it was
+different now. She was alone in that bleak, staring house, alone with
+a sick woman. So he followed her awkwardly across the grass that was
+already gathering dew.
+
+They sat facing each other in the summerhouse, sat on the edges of the
+chairs, bending slightly forward. Mary Louise was softly chafing her
+hands.
+
+"So you've really come back," she began.
+
+"Well, three miles from 'back,'" he replied. She was making a pretty
+brave show; her voice sounded bright and cheery. If only she would
+stop rubbing her hands together--be still for a moment.
+
+"I expect we're meant for this place, Joe."
+
+"Yes? How do you mean?"
+
+"Oh, if you bend a twig young enough, the tree will grow that way."
+She laughed softly and he gave her a quick look.
+
+For a few moments they sat in silence.
+
+"How did you happen to make another change, Joe?" she asked at length,
+very quietly.
+
+He paused before replying. "Well," he began, "you see I've never had
+any real preparation for anything I was doin'. I never could have got
+anywhere. Those jobs I had in town--I just drifted into 'em. Anybody
+could have filled 'em. I--what was the use of 'em?" He paused and was
+silent.
+
+She nodded slowly. "I think you said something like that once before.
+I begin to see where you were right."
+
+He made no reply. Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped
+she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not
+feel in the mood for raking over ashes.
+
+"Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack.
+
+"Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how
+surprised I was to see you with that road gang. I was riding along
+with Zeke, all wrapped up in my thoughts, and suddenly I looked up and
+saw you there----" She trailed off and sat thinking.
+
+Again he was uneasy. Apparently the uncomfortable topic was not
+entirely buried yet. It might rise up exhumed, in its shroud, any
+moment.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I'm used to that sort of thing--managin' niggers. Had
+'em doin' most every sort of rough work in my time, diggin' ditches,
+mendin' roads, cuttin' fence posts--all that sort of thing. Guess it's
+about all I'm fit for." The effort died lugubriously and he sat,
+waiting. He hated personal confidences and there hung a most
+particularly uncomfortable one in the offing.
+
+The silence was like a living thing. It crushed down upon the
+summerhouse with huge, downy black wings. A very faint rustling
+started up in the dry leaves of the creeper on the roof and clammy
+little draughts of air came twisting through the cracks. All the
+languorous glamour of the night had passed. It was merely autumn
+moonlight, and too late in the year to be sitting out in a summerhouse
+mouthing inconsequentialities--two people who were old enough to know
+better. Joe stirred restlessly. Surely she must be convinced that he
+meant to be friendly. He leaned back and looked up at the sky.
+
+"What do you mean to do, Joe?" Mary Louise began again.
+
+"Huh?" He recovered with a start. "Oh, I don't know. Think sometimes I
+will come back and try my hand at farmin'. Think maybe I'll be more of
+a real person doing that than anything else I know. But this road
+business is a necessary thing. Bloomfield needs a good road--all the
+way into the city. Something to put her on the map. Maybe with a good
+road we can get somewhere." Speaking out the idea seemed to
+crystallize it. He began to enthuse a little over it inwardly.
+"Mightn't be so bad. Might buy back the old place even, some day.
+Jenkins is not makin' too much speed with it, I hear."
+
+Mary Louise leaned forward toward him.
+
+"Oh, Joe, I wish you would," she said. "I've been thinking a lot here
+lately and it seems to me it's just as essential for real men to
+settle and live in places like Bloomfield as anywhere else. Big people
+should spread their influence. Why should they all cluster in little
+knots and bunches like the cities? I think there's a better chance to
+grow--here. I really do." She turned away and sat with her chin on her
+hands, her face averted.
+
+Joe, carried momentarily away with the thought, did not notice her
+agitation; moreover, it was quite dark in the summerhouse, with only
+odds and ends of moonlight slipping through the roof. And he did not
+answer her, but sat thinking.
+
+"I'm going to," she continued after a bit, her voice sounding somewhat
+broken and muffled against her open hand.
+
+"Goin' to what?"
+
+"Going to stay here and see what I can make out of it."
+
+She was groping for his friendship and he did not know it. A new line
+of thought had been stimulated and it brought up very pleasing
+pictures. After all, what could be better than a respectable life on a
+farm producing things, seeing the direct results of the work of his
+own hands, establishing his very own identity? By contrast, how much
+better than working for someone else, furnishing the effort while
+someone else worked out the plans, losing his identity completely in
+an economic machine? He could start modestly, pay off as he went, out
+of the profits. And meantime, he could be living--real life. Only
+first he must get a little money to make a start on.
+
+He realized Mary Louise had spoken, paused in his thought and then
+remembered. "Oh--yeah. Don't know but what it's about the best thing
+to do. Might try it myself--soon's I can get enough money together."
+
+She made no reply and he watched her dim profile. Her head drooped
+quite dejectedly. There was a little splash of moonlight on her cheek;
+tendrils of her hair curled about the line of her neck. "She's had a
+pretty heavy bump," he thought.
+
+He briskly rose to his feet. "Must be on my way," he said and stood
+looking down at the shadow of her. "It's three miles or more out to
+the camp. We get up at six."
+
+For a moment she did not move, and then heavily she stood up. She made
+no protest and he could not see her face. If only he might get away,
+now that he had started, she might not be tempted to make any
+allusions to her affair. He shunned it instinctively as a dark closet
+containing a few unburied bones of his own skeleton.
+
+Accordingly he walked slowly out upon the lawn and headed for the
+front gate. He could feel the dew lapping about his ankles through his
+socks and his shadow was clear cut and black on the grass, Mary Louise
+came and walked the short distance by his side, neither saying a word.
+They came to the gate and stood there in silence. Not a sound could be
+heard, the street stretching along before them a broad white ribbon,
+with splotches of mottled shade along the edges, the dark line of
+houses across the street like mysterious creatures crouching in the
+shadow.
+
+As they stood there, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came a
+distant sound, low and yet distinct, like the sound of one metal
+striking upon another. It was clear and somewhat musical, lingering in
+the air with a dying cadence. As the waves of sound died slowly away
+there came silence and then the soft rustle of the leaves overhead.
+
+"What was that?" she whispered.
+
+"Don't know. Sounded like the closin' of a door."
+
+Both stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated.
+
+"Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "See you again
+sometime."
+
+She took the hand and held it for a moment. "Joe," she began, "let's
+be friends." She was forcing herself to talk. "I've made some mistakes
+but--I want everybody to like me here--especially you. You understand
+things, and you will overlook some of the things that have happened?"
+Spectres of uncharitableness were disturbing her and she sought to be
+shriven.
+
+He thought she was alluding to Claybrook and moved uneasily so that
+she dropped his hand.
+
+"Surely. Surely I will. Good-night," he said again. Then he turned and
+walked briskly away.
+
+He had got but ten yards or so when out of the stillness came the
+sound again. He paused there on the sidewalk and listened. A faint,
+musical, metallic clang came surging toward him in clear beating
+waves. It sounded as if it were miles away, and the echo lingered
+pulsing on the silence. Slowly it died away to a whisper and then he
+heard distant shouts and footsteps echoing hollow. Men were running
+toward him down the brick sidewalk, their voices sounding nearer. At
+the corner they turned and went, westward, the sound of them growing
+fainter and fainter. He looked back, and at the gate he could see a
+shadow standing there waiting. There was a faint nimbus about the head
+and the face, turned toward him, was in the darkness.
+
+He paused a moment in indecision and then turned and walked rapidly
+down the street westward, toward the camp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Mary Louise walked back to the house. At the side porch she paused and
+looked behind her. High overhead sailed the moon, a day or two past
+the first half. There was a tremulous movement in the leaves of the
+maples along the sidewalk, producing an indistinct, vibratory shimmer
+and shadow. By contrast the patches of darkness were jet black; the
+overhanging portico of the house was as yawning as a cavern. She
+listened, stood, her head bent slightly forward, listening. Not a
+sound could be heard. The sharp, crisp clack of Joe's footsteps had
+been swallowed up by the distance. She could hear the sound of her own
+breathing. An uneasiness came gradually upon her, a vague sort of
+dread of being left alone, entirely alone. How aloof he had seemed;
+how aloof everything seemed, and unreal! Those sinister trees waving
+there without a breath of wind; the lowering shadows of the
+summerhouse and the barn; that greasy moonlight that came slipping up
+to the very edge of the porch and lay there fearful and cold--were
+they all remembering her scorn and coming back to mock her
+loneliness?
+
+Softly she opened the door and went inside. Something scurried off
+into a corner and she fancied it turned about there and watched her in
+the darkness. The room seemed hot and close and there was a rhythmic
+rise and fall like the rising and falling of some vast invisible
+bosom, oppressed. She tiptoed over to the far door and stood
+listening. Not a sound could she hear. Old Landy was most probably
+asleep in his bed in the room up over the stable. She balanced on her
+feet and stood waiting, in indecision. She could not go back, so she
+opened the door softly and peered in.
+
+A glaring white patch caught her eye. The moonlight through the window
+lay cold and bright upon the counterpane. Just above the patch was a
+jumble of shadows, from which protruded, bare and yellow and weazened,
+an arm. She caught her breath and fought down the sudden rising of her
+heart. It was nothing--only lying there so detached in the moonlight,
+thrust up out of the shadow out of nowhere, it did look gruesome, like
+something dead, something completely and irrevocably dead. It lay
+without a sign of movement, with the fingers slightly curled up under
+the palm and clutching at the coverlet. Gradually, her calm returning,
+she listened with her head thrust around the corner of the door, and
+directly she caught the very faint sound of breathing, a far-away,
+fine-drawn, eerie whisper. Slowly she backed away and closed the
+door.
+
+She groped over to a chair in the sitting room and sat down. Through
+the squares of the window panes she could see the milky white patches
+of moonlight flooding the world outside, and the silence came creeping
+up all around until it seemed to squeeze the very walls inward.
+
+"I wonder what's going on?" she thought. Because of its very
+soundlessness, the universe about her seemed to be teeming with vague
+suggestions. That distant clamour, the hurry of footsteps, and then
+Joe, slipping away from her into the shadow. And now the deathlike
+stillness.
+
+She began to rock slowly to and fro. With an effort of the will she
+forced herself to think of cheerful things, housework and cooking, and
+sunlight and people. Suddenly she realized that there was no reason
+for her sitting up. She might just as well go to bed. She started to
+her feet, but something held her, something forced her back into her
+chair. There had been footsteps fading off into the darkness. She must
+wait until they came back again--out of the darkness. Something in the
+idea strangely excited her, left her tense. In all this silence she
+knew she could not sleep; she would be lying there waiting, waiting
+for something, she knew not what. So she settled back and rocked and
+waited, staring with wide-open eyes at the steel-blue patch that was
+the door. And the night settled down and drew close to her with its
+uncertainties.
+
+Time passed.
+
+Suddenly she was aware of sound. So gradually it had come that she
+realized she had been hearing it for some time. It was coming back.
+She riveted her gaze upon the door, watched it unblinking, waiting for
+it to open upon her with its secret any moment.
+
+Slowly she rocked to and fro. Gradually nearer and nearer came the
+sound. Rolling upward, gathering round and round into a ball, it took
+the shape of footsteps and a confused murmur of voices. On it swept.
+They were passing the house, would pass it, away into the darkness and
+silence again. Whither?
+
+She rose to her feet and hurried to the door. She groped for the knob
+and stumbled blindly out upon the porch. The sudden glare of the
+moonlight dazzled her and she could only make out dimly a little knot
+of black shadows moving along the pavement past the gate. There was a
+confused murmur of voices as of several persons trying to make
+themselves heard at once, and yet be quiet about it. As she watched,
+tried to get her eyes to focus, the little group passed on and was
+gone.
+
+She walked slowly to the gate and stood there looking into the
+darkness after it. Gradually she was recovering her sight; sounds
+sprang up, little normal sounds, and she began to feel cold. She
+turned and was about to go back to the house when the echo of
+footsteps again caught her ear, and she waited.
+
+It was a single person, apparently in a great hurry. She could hear
+him shuffling and stumbling along. She peered down the street into the
+darkness and directly could distinguish the shadow of a man hurrying
+toward her. On he came. He passed the fence corner--now he had reached
+the tree with the big fork--he was passing the gate. She saw it was
+Zeke.
+
+"What's going on?" she called to him.
+
+He started, stopped, and then came over to the gate.
+
+"Mist' Burrus's bahn done cave in," he said, the whites of his eyes
+gleaming at her in the darkness.
+
+The sound of his voice cheered her greatly. She felt suddenly so
+relieved that it was with difficulty that she kept herself from
+laughing out loud. "How do you mean? It didn't fall down of itself?"
+
+"Yas'm, hit did. Hit's de waehouse. Folks say he done load hit up too
+full and hit plum' give out." His voice sounded excited.
+
+"Anybody hurt?" She was beginning to enjoy it all, feeling exhilarated
+over the drama of it.
+
+"Mist' Joe--Mist' Joe Hoopah. He done fell offen de bridge into de
+ditch. Speck he done broke his laig."
+
+She caught her breath.
+
+"Dey done sen' me to git my cah. Said dey would lemme ketch up wid
+'em. But Lawsy, de cah won' run."
+
+"Was that him they were carrying past the house?" she managed to ask.
+
+"Yas'm, I reckon. Dey aim to take him to Mis' Mosby's. Reckon I better
+hurry on."
+
+She reached over and seized him by the coat. "Was he much hurt? Did he
+seem much hurt?"
+
+"Well, yas'm. No'm. Leasewise, he say he ain'. But he cain't stan' up.
+Hit's his laig. Dey done pull him outen de ditch, wid it dubble unner
+him."
+
+She let him go and listened to his retreating footsteps down the
+street into the darkness. She felt suddenly faint and weak. She walked
+back to the house, entered the sitting room, and lit a candle. Then
+she went to Miss Susie's door and opened it.
+
+Miss Susie's eyes were looking calmly at her from the bed as she
+entered. "What's the matter?" said Miss Susie's voice.
+
+"He was here just an hour ago. I saw him go down the street. And now
+they're bringing him back, broken. Just an hour! God knows what
+happened to him."
+
+"Who do you mean, child?" Miss Susie moved forward and raised up a
+little on her elbow.
+
+"It just seems as if the hand of Fate was stretching out over this
+place, reaching down over us. It makes no difference what we do--we're
+helpless--all of us." She seemed to steady herself. She came over to
+the bedside and laid her hand on Miss Susie's forehead.
+
+"Don't you want me to bring you a drink of water?" she asked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Directly after breakfast she went to the Mosby place. The sunlight was
+making glaring white patches on the pavement, of which she was but
+dimly conscious as she walked along. The house looked very peaceful,
+with the mellowness of respectable old age, that fresh October
+morning. She climbed the steps to the front door, feeling a little
+self-conscious as she stood and waited. It was possible that she was
+borrowing trouble; the accident might not prove to have been a serious
+one at all and she might seem too solicitous.
+
+The door opened and a very old Negro woman in a stiff, white, starched
+apron stood and peered forth at her.
+
+"Mrs. Mosby in?" she asked.
+
+The old woman ducked her head and held open the door. "I see." And
+then she waddled off. Half-way down the dim hallway she turned, paused
+a moment, and then came back. She went to a tall door, on the left
+side of the hall, and pushed it open, casting up a furtive eye at Mary
+Louise as she did so. A wave of clammy air rushed forth and there was
+a faint crackling as of dried leaves back in the darkness. "Won' you
+set down?" said the old woman.
+
+Mary Louise realized how early she had come; she had quite disturbed
+the usual order of things. "No, thank you," she said. "I'll just wait
+here in the hall."
+
+The woman waddled away again and disappeared through a back door which
+wheezed shut with a sort of sucking noise, and the hall was left in
+hushed silence. Mary Louise gazed up at the ceiling, then at the
+stairway reaching far back and into the depths of upstairs hall. Even
+in the soft light the place looked like a barn. It seemed to be
+watching her sullenly as a small child watches an intruder. Odd little
+crackings sounded in far corners, and a whispering, starting somewhere
+in that upstairs hall, came slinking down the wainscoting, across the
+hall carpet, and out beneath the front door. She wondered what might
+be going on back in those silent, unexplored depths.
+
+Then the door opened again and Mrs. Mosby came swishing forth, like an
+echo of the whisper that had preceded her. She was wearing the same
+ruching, the same bangles, the same everything--minus the bonnet with
+the veil--that she had worn that previous afternoon. There was an
+opaque flatness in her eyes.
+
+Mary Louise rose to her feet. She was embarrassed as she met the older
+woman's quiet gaze, but she quickly threw off the feeling.
+
+"I just heard some indefinite but disturbing news about an accident
+last night," she said anxiously.
+
+Mrs. Mosby smiled a ghostly little smile and inclined her head. "We
+had quite a time," she admitted. "Won't you sit down? Or won't you
+come in the parlour?"
+
+"No. I've not long to stay. I--I felt so worried. I wanted to come
+first thing and find out, see if there was anything I could do." They
+sat down at opposite ends of the horsehair sofa, each reflectively
+watching the other.
+
+Mrs. Mosby shook her head. "He's getting on as nicely as could be
+expected. Fortunately, Dr. Withers was got hold of right away, last
+night." She was gazing dreamily at Mary Louise as though the latter
+were a creature of another world come vaguely intruding.
+
+There was a curious atmosphere of restraint. Mary Louise sat waiting
+for the other woman to speak, her hands in her lap, her fingers slowly
+weaving in and out. After a momentary silence she asked in a politely
+casual tone, "What really did happen, Mrs. Mosby? Was he much hurt?"
+
+Mrs. Mosby continued staring for an instant before she replied: "It
+really was the strangest thing. You know I did not even know that
+Joseph was in this part of the country. And at ten o'clock last night
+they came carrying him in. Of course, I was terribly excited and
+upset, and I did not find out the particulars exactly." She paused
+and took a delicate little shuddering breath. "You see, Mr. Burrus'
+warehouse--the one down by the creek, you know? Well, something
+happened--the bank on which it stood caved in, in some way, and the
+rear wall collapsed, and from all I can understand there was quite a
+wreck, quite a lot of damage, for he had it crammed full of winter
+goods." She paused and looked intently at Mary Louise with eyes that
+were visualizing the events of the night before. "Well, to continue.
+It seems that someone with a lantern, investigating the place around
+the back, ran across poor Joseph lying in the creek in the water, with
+one leg doubled up under him. He told the man he had fallen off the
+bridge. That was all he said. Just what he could have been doing there
+at such a time I cannot imagine. It seems that he had been working
+with a road-construction company about three miles out on the road to
+Guests. I found that out from a perfect stranger." She paused again
+and the line of her mouth took on a grimmer straightness. "One of the
+men, who brought him in--a great rough boor he was--had the audacity
+to suggest that Joseph was around there seeing what he could pick up.
+I silenced him quickly enough. But can you imagine what brought him to
+such a place at such a time?"
+
+Mary Louise drew herself together in an odd little shiver. "Some
+strange things can happen by coincidence, Mrs. Mosby. Was he badly
+hurt?"
+
+"Fractured his left leg just below the knee, Dr. Withers says--poor
+Joseph! He's been an ambitious boy. So anxious to get ahead, and so
+self-sufficient. I feel right guilty about Joseph." She shook her head
+dolorously.
+
+"But there's no real danger, is there?" broke in Mary Louise, her
+heart momentarily sinking.
+
+"No. I suppose not. He is terribly run down. Like a ghost he looked
+when they carried him in last night, his eyes staring out before him
+all dumb and suffering. He must have been in that ice-cold water
+almost an hour before they found him. I might have been doing things
+for him all this time--looking after him--but you know how things have
+been in this house."
+
+The cold wall of her reserve seemed to be gradually letting down.
+Never before had she ever so much as alluded to the break in her
+family's fortunes. Mary Louise felt an odd, lifting feeling of
+hope--tremulous but dawning hope.
+
+"Mrs. Mosby," she said. "Excuse me for speaking about something that
+is not my affair, but"--she hesitated and gazed at the polished marble
+slab of the hall tree--"it's only because I've known Joe so well, for
+such a long time"--the polished slab was gleaming faintly from an
+errant ray of sunshine that came through a dim, high-set hall
+window--"that I perhaps know a little more about him." She paused
+after this introduction, and having thus committed herself, plunged
+in. "Why don't you give Joe the chance he really wants? You have a lot
+of land here that is not being developed at all. Give Joe the chance
+to work it out--some of it, at least, on shares." She paused,
+breathless, and looked up timidly to see how her presumption fared.
+
+A slow, fatuous smile spread over Mrs. Mosby's face. Mary Louise
+watched it break--watched it play for a moment about her lips like a
+shaft of winter sunshine. Then she spoke, shaking her head in
+reminiscence:
+
+"I'd thought of that, myself. In fact, I'd spoken of it to Joseph. But
+he had other ideas. Many's the time I would have welcomed having
+someone who really cared, on whom I could depend. It's been a
+difficult time for me, my dear. Brother's so feeble. I couldn't call
+on him. No. Joseph doesn't care for farming. You're mistaken there.
+He's got an errant streak in him, like his father, I'm afraid." She
+sighed, and the sibilance of it echoed with a strange lingering note
+between those high gray walls. "Besides--though I've not let it be
+generally known--I've sold the place--to a Mr. Walcott of New York.
+He's very wealthy, I believe. He's taking it over the first of the
+year. I'm just not strong enough to hold on any longer."
+
+Mary Louise did not look up. The sunlight on the marble slab of the
+hall tree faded slowly away.
+
+"Don't you want to go up and see him, my dear?" Mrs. Mosby said at
+length.
+
+She started. "No," she replied. "I must be getting on. I've so many
+things to do. Some other time, may I? Perhaps this afternoon." She
+rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door. She opened it and
+walked through, out on to the wide front porch, her thoughts in a
+turmoil. Rising above everything was an inexplicable conviction that
+Joe was closely akin to herself; in all the confusion of the world's
+ways, a kindred creature.
+
+She turned. Mrs. Mosby was standing in the open doorway watching her,
+on her face a set, wistful smile, that was as hard as stone. They
+exchanged good-byes and then the door slowly closed with its soft
+sucking noise and she found herself in the graying light of a
+gathering storm....
+
+It was not until late the following afternoon that she found time
+again to visit the Mosby home.
+
+The same old Negro woman admitted her and she stepped into the hall
+and stood waiting. Back in the shadow, in an open doorway, Mrs. Mosby
+and a stout, thickset man with stubbly black hair were talking in low
+tones. The Negro woman hurried past them back into the passage, and
+they moved aside a little as she passed. The last words of the
+conversation came faintly to Mary Louise's ears; the stout man was
+talking:
+
+"Must build him up," he was saying. "Keep the windows open, give him
+plenty to eat, all he wants." Then Mrs. Mosby's sibilant but inaudible
+reply. And then again, "He's used himself up. No reserve. Not prepared
+for an emergency like this."
+
+She sat dumbly wondering; it was most probably Dr. Withers, the new
+doctor. The monotonous hum of their voices suddenly ceased and he was
+walking past her toward the door, pursing his lips in an odd sort of
+way. He looked at her as he passed, and reached for his hat. She did
+not hear the door close after him. Mrs. Mosby was speaking to her with
+a slight frown on her face.
+
+"Just go on up, my dear. Ell bedroom, on the left. I'll be up
+directly."
+
+She climbed the stairs in a maze. The silence was the most noticeable
+thing about the place unless it was the clinging, indescribable odour.
+
+She found the door without difficulty and softly pushed it open. A
+draught of chill air greeted her, and there was a dim glow on the
+carpet from an open-grate fire in the wall opposite. Behind the door
+stood the bed, with its head against the wall, and in the bed lay Joe.
+
+For a moment she could not realize it was he, the light was so dim,
+the figure so indistinct, so swathed in its covers. He turned his head
+at the sound of her footsteps and looked at her.
+
+"Hullo," he said weakly.
+
+All her reserves collapsed within her and she came and sat on the
+edge of the bed. She looked down into his face and could not speak; a
+change which she could not begin to detail had come over him. He
+smiled, "Was wondering about you to-day," he said.
+
+She reached out and took his hand. It was very hot. Two bright spots
+burned in his cheeks and his eyes had that peculiar, hollow, sunken
+look she had seen once or twice before. Two days had passed. The
+realization that it was but two days shocked her.
+
+"Funny," he was saying. "That night--you remember--I met old Burrus
+coming out of your house. I wondered then what he could be doing.
+Well--he was just on my trail. Fact."
+
+"Yes," she said. "He brought Aunt Susie a hot-water bottle. But you
+mustn't talk too much, Joe." She squeezed his hand very softly.
+
+"Well," he went on, as though intensely interested in the idea, "you
+know what he was for Uncle Buzz? Well, next he must put his jinx on
+me." He chuckled softly. "His kind always have it in for--my kind. It
+is funny. As I went down the road, after leaving your house, you
+remember?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Well, I soon saw from the road that something had happened. I went
+down across the field up to the fence. Things were scattered all over
+the ground, and some of 'em floating down the creek--I could see in
+the moonlight. 'Serves you right, you old skinflint,' I said to
+myself. 'But it's none of your business.' So I turned about and went
+back to the road. Couldn't help feeling kinda glad about it." He
+paused and drew a deep, painful breath. "I guess it's all just
+retribution. Shouldn't have enjoyed a man's misfortune. I missed the
+edge of the road, slipped, and fell across the big eight by eight that
+ties the bridge to the bank, and that's all I remember. Old Burrus
+pulled me out of the creek himself."
+
+He withdrew his hand and moved slightly in the bed, as if easing
+himself somewhere. "It _was_ funny, wasn't it?"
+
+She gazed into his face. Something was stirring within her over which
+she seemed to have no control--a tenderness, a mothering instinct, a
+vast hurt deep within herself. She suddenly realized that she could
+have had him, although he had not offered himself. Nor had he ever
+asked for anything, probably never would. The realization singularly
+made him seem all the more her own. "You mustn't work yourself up,
+Joe. Be quiet. I want you to get well." Just how fervently she wished
+it, and with what anxiety, she suddenly knew. The sight of his peaked,
+upturned face, staring at the ceiling, with the bright red spots on
+his cheeks, was more than she could bear, and she rose to her feet and
+walked over to the open window.
+
+The sun was just sinking behind a broken bank of heavy, blue-gray
+clouds. On the inner surfaces through which streamed its last rays
+patches of blood-red lining showed. A lurid glow was thinly suffused
+over the stretch of land between, against which were outlined the gray
+top branches of trees, moving fitfully to and fro. She stood for a few
+moments, waiting, listening for Mrs. Mosby. The shadows deepened and
+lengthened; they came creeping over the grass toward her, in their van
+the fading glow. All at once, as it were out of the twilight, the
+sunlight settled momentarily on the field at the bottom of the hill
+before her. Stark upright and in serried rows stretched the waste of
+last year's cornfield, the withered stalks touched with a passing
+glory, standing quite proudly erect and then--blue-gray darkness. A
+mellow waste delivering a valedictory! Next year it would doubtless be
+ploughed up--prepared for a crop. Over beyond the crest of hills
+clouds were gathering like a smoke pall. She wondered if the factory
+chimneys were sending their beacons that far. There were forty miles
+between the two worlds.
+
+A voice spoke behind her, a strange, unknown voice. She turned and
+went back to the bedside. Joe lay staring straight before him and his
+lips were moving stiffly. The words came muffled and indistinct: "Tell
+you--got to have more money 'n that, Mr. Heston. 'Tisn't a question of
+just gettin' by. A man's got to get ahead." And then there was an
+unintelligible muttering. And then suddenly the voice rose, clear,
+querulous, and high-pitched: "Well you can go to hell with it. Needn't
+think you're doin' us a favour--payin' us a living--just because
+you've got it all. No, sir! I can go back home. Can live there without
+havin' to thank _you_!" The voice died away.
+
+She hung on the echo, shaken to the depths of her. Like a disembodied
+voice it had come out of the great silence. What was it all about? Who
+was Mr. Heston?
+
+Then in a flash it all came clear to her. The mists arose from the
+past and before her stood envisioned all in the proper relationship:
+herself, Claybrook, and Joe; Bloomfield, the city, all of mankind.
+
+Life was, after all, but one shrewd bargain; success a process of
+getting more than one gave; the survivors, shrewd bargainers,
+shouldering, edging, metamorphosed by a modern Circe, their forefeet
+and muzzles thrust eager and deep into the magic swill of her trough;
+and the others--creatures like Joe--untouched by the sorcery, going
+without and suffering discredit. Militant, her spirit rose in revolt.
+Was there no escape from the dilemma? She felt dried up, parched,
+athirst for something; her throat contracted in a burning ache.
+
+She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She sat in
+silence with a great pain in her heart. Over beyond the window sill
+the glow was dying, and the gathering pall was rising and coming
+nearer. Like a blanket the relentless world the cog-world of personal
+interests, regulations, and restrictions--was coming, gathering up its
+wastage into its blue-gray depths.
+
+Joe was speaking again. His voice was suddenly clearer.
+
+"I wonder," he was saying, "if you'd mind goin' for Zeke Thompson and
+sendin' him up to me? I want him to go somewhere for me. And will
+you--will you call up Mr. Clausen of the Pulvia Company and tell him
+I'll get back on the job soon's I can? To-morrow'll do to call him
+up."
+
+"Surely I will, Joe," she replied.
+
+The door opened softly from the hall and Mrs. Mosby appeared, shading
+a lamp with her hand. "Keep your seat." she exclaimed as Mary Louise
+rose to her feet. "I'm just getting ready to bring him his supper."
+Then she went back out again.
+
+Mary Louise bent over the bed. The lamp was directly behind her and
+she could not see for blurring.
+
+"Do take care of yourself, Joe," she whispered. "I'll come back again
+to-morrow," and then she slipped noiselessly from the room.
+
+Directly Mrs. Mosby returned with a steaming tray which she set on the
+little table by the bedside. "Has she gone?" she asked.
+
+Joe turned and looked with indifference at the tray, with its white
+napkins and egg-shell china. "Don't believe I want anything much, Aunt
+Lorry," he said.
+
+"Come now, Joseph. You must. I've a soft-boiled egg and some milk
+toast and cocoa. Dr. Withers says you must keep up your strength."
+
+He turned languidly away. "And Aunt Lorry," he added.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I don't need anything--specially this sympathy stuff." He paused and
+frowned at the ceiling. "I don't--I don't want to have any company.
+Reckon I can get along all right."
+
+Ten minutes later she carried away the tray with the food on it but
+scarcely touched. And he lay in the gathering darkness, watching the
+ceiling, with the wavering circles from the open fire and the soft
+whisper of the wind in the withered leaves outside the window. There
+came a gentle patter of rain on the roof and night slipped down upon
+Bloomfield. He sighed gently, turned his head, and fell asleep....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some four blocks away a girl was walking--swiftly, her hands clenched
+so that the knuckles were white. Bright spots burned in her cheeks and
+her eyes were deep and starry with bright vision. A man, passing
+close, turned and watched her curiously, saw her enter a wooden gate.
+A few feet from a darkened porch she seemed to spring forward in her
+haste. He saw her run up the steps and disappear into the house....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was the sound of water being poured from one vessel into
+another, in the downstairs back-hall, and then the shuffling of
+retiring feet. Mrs. Mosby stood outlined in the high doorway, a
+lighted candle in her hand, her eyes straining into the darkness.
+
+"Come, brother Rob," she called and waited.
+
+There was a muffled reply.
+
+"It will certainly be good," she went on, half to herself and
+pleasantly musing, "to have a real bathroom with hot water from a
+spigot. The city's pleasant in winter. I'm sorry we're waiting until
+January first. Come, brother Rob. The water's getting cold."
+
+
+
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stubble, by George Looms</title>
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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Stubble, by George Looms</h1>
+<pre>
+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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: Stubble</p>
+<p>Author: George Looms</p>
+<p>Release Date: April 24, 2008  [eBook #25158]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUBBLE***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by David Garcia, David T. Jones,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/c/">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br />
+    from page images generously made available by<br />
+    Kentuckiana Digital Library<br />
+    (<a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/">http://kdl.kyvl.org/</a>)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10">
+  <tr>
+    <td valign="top">
+      Note:
+    </td>
+    <td>
+      Images of the original pages are available through
+      Kentuckiana Digital Library. See
+      <a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&amp;idno=b92-225-31182911&amp;view=toc">
+	  http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&amp;idno=b92-225-31182911&amp;view=toc</a>
+	</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>STUBBLE</h1>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+<h2>GEORGE LOOMS</h2>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h5>GARDEN CITY&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;NEW YORK</h5>
+<h4>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY</h4>
+
+<h4>1922</h4>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h4>COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY</h4>
+<h4>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY</h4>
+
+<h4>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br />
+INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</h4>
+
+<h6>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES<br />
+AT<br />
+THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.</h6>
+
+<h6><i>First Edition</i></h6>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h4>TO</h4>
+
+<h3>MIS' KATIE</h3>
+
+<h5>AND HER COURAGE</h5>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<a name="toc" id="toc"></a>
+
+<table summary="table of contents" width="70%" border="0">
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td><b>CONTENTS</b></td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#PART_I"><b>PART I</b></a></td>
+<td><span class="smcap">Mary Louise</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#PART_II"><b>PART II</b></a></td>
+<td><span class="smcap">Myrtle</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">143</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#PART_III"><b>PART III</b></a></td>
+<td><span class="smcap">Bloomfield</span></td>
+<td class="tdr">249</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<h1><b>STUBBLE</b></h1>
+
+<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h2>
+
+<h3>MARY LOUISE</h3>
+<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span>
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER I</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span>
+front gate screaked, a slow, timid, almost furtive sort of screak, and
+then banged suddenly shut as though it despaired of further
+concealment. Mary Louise gathered her sewing to her, rose to her feet,
+and looked out. It was raining. Through the glass upper half of the
+door that opened from the sitting room upon the side porch she could
+see the swelling tendrils of the vines that crawled about the trellis,
+heavy and beady with the gathering moisture. It was one of those cold,
+drizzly, early April rains that dares you by its seeming futility to
+come forth and do weaponless battle and then sends you back
+discomfited and drenched. A woman was coming up the walk bent in a
+huddle over a bundle which she carried in her arms. Mary Louise gazed
+searchingly for a moment and then, as the figure would have passed the
+door, on around to the rear of the house, stepped out on the porch and
+called:</p>
+
+<p>"Zenie! Zenie! Come in this way. There's nobody around there."</p>
+
+<p>Zenie raised her head in mute surprise and then slowly obeyed. She
+shuffled across the porch, and at the door, which Mary Louise held
+open for her, paused and looked about her in indecision. She was a
+buxom creature, of the type that the Negroes about the station would
+call a "High Brown," but without the poise and aplomb that conscious
+membership in that class usually brings.</p>
+
+<p>"Mis' Susie in?" she ventured, after a careful survey of the room had
+assured her that such was not probable. And her care, relaxed for the
+moment, allowed the corner of the shawl to fall from the bundle in her
+arms, which forthwith set up a remote wailing, feeble and muffled,
+though determined.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise raised a skeptic eyebrow at the discredited Zenie.</p>
+
+<p>"Sshh!" dispassionately urged the latter, scorning for once public
+regard and continuing to gaze about the low-ceilinged room for the
+absent but much-desired Miss Susie.</p>
+
+<p>Such callous indifference baffled Mary Louise, even while it answered
+her innermost questionings, and for the moment she was voiceless. "What
+in the world&mdash;&mdash;!" she said at length and hated herself for
+the vulgar surprise in her tone.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie turned away from the inspection and, finding herself and
+appendage the centre of interest, bridled with a timid pleasure, and
+then poked a ruminative finger into the swaddle of shawl and
+comforter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm," she began in explanation. "Done brung 'im to show t' Mis'
+Susie. Didn' know you wuz home." Her manner had all the affable ease
+of a conscious equal.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise rubbed her eyes. Time was bringing changes; Zenie had once
+been humble. Her voice rang with an accusing hardness. "I thought
+you'd shut the door on that worthless Zeke of yours."</p>
+
+<p>Zenie did not raise her head but continued the aimless poking in the
+bundle, which strangely responded to the treatment and was quiet
+again. "No'm. He comes roun'. Eve' now an' then. Zeke's got a cah!" A
+momentary gleam from dark eyes lit like coals into a sudden flare, and
+Mary Louise was conscious of a pride that was fierce and strong, even
+if new. She felt suddenly strange, foreign, like an intruder.</p>
+
+<p>Their eyes met, and this time it was Mary Louise's that fell. She felt
+embarrassed at the question that arose in her. Of course Zeke was the
+father. Such a question to the emancipated Zenie would be paternally
+insulting. She countered skillfully:</p>
+
+<p>"What's&mdash;his name?"</p>
+
+<p>Zenie shifted the bundle in her arms and then reached over with her
+toe and thoughtfully pushed the stove door.</p>
+
+<p>"Name Nausea," she replied softly, still regarding the door which
+refused to shut entirely.</p>
+
+<p>"Name's what?"</p>
+
+<p>Zenie raised her eyes and smiled. It was a sudden unmasking of a
+battery in a peaceful landscape. "Nausea Zekiel Thompson," Zenie
+continued, gazing down into the bundle with the simplicity of a great
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment silence descended upon the room. Mary Louise could not
+trust herself in the customary amenities. She stepped over to Zenie
+and the younger Thompson and peered into the bundle, conscious as she
+did so of a slowly opening door beyond them. A tiny weazened face and
+two beady blinking eyes were all she saw. Zenie was making a curious
+clucking noise.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm," Zenie went on, encouraged into an unwonted garrulity, "Mist'
+Joe done give 'im that name. Hit's from de Bible, ain't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mister Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm. Mist' Joe Hoopah." There was a cheery ring to Zenie's voice
+that had been wont to drag so dispiritedly. "He say hit come so
+unexpeckedly an' all you kin do is make the bes' of it." Her face was
+suddenly wreathed in an expansive smile. "Mist' Joe done hoorahin'
+us&mdash;Zeke an' me. Zeke don' min'. Nossuh. He say de baby look lak
+him." She held the bundle up and looked at it in rapt contemplation.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise's lips shut in a tight line. She turned away from the pair
+in distaste. But just then a light step sounded and her feeling was
+diverted. Zenie did not hear the advent of another character upon the
+scene so absorbed was she in holding the centre of the stage. "Think
+hit's a pritty name, don' you?"</p>
+
+<p>Receiving no answer she raised her eyes and beheld Miss Susie, whose
+critical gaze enveloped her sternly. Zenie dropped her eyes again.</p>
+
+<p>"So you've finally decided to show up again, Zenie?" Miss Susie
+clipped her words off short to everyone. She was a wisp of a woman
+with little hands as dry and yellow as parchment. Her voice had a
+quavering falsetto break in it and her laugh, when there was occasion,
+was dry and withery and short-lived like a piece of thistle-down.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise was watching with interest. Zenie struggled for a moment
+and then turned and faced the inevitable. There was a growing decision
+in her manner.</p>
+
+<p>"H'do, Mis' Susie! Yas'm. I 'cided I'd drop in on you-all. Show him to
+his white folks." She looked at Miss Susie and smiled a most uncertain
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>And then for the first time was the import of the visit brought fully
+to the visitee.</p>
+
+<p>"So," Miss Susie exploded, "that's where you've been. Out of town!
+Humph! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."</p>
+
+<p>Zenie looked as though she would like to defend herself, but it was
+useless.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie went on inexorably, "That worthless Zibbie Tuttle has been
+tearing all my good linen and lace to pieces for the past three weeks.
+And now I suppose I'll have to put up with her for a few weeks
+longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm," Zenie replied weakly.</p>
+
+<p>"However"&mdash;Miss Susie pronounced it as though it were one
+syllable&mdash;"I suppose I can't help it. What is it? Boy or girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Boy," said Zenie, and with growing decision, "but hit ain' him I come
+to see you-all about. No'm. Thank you jes' as much. I jes' aim to tell
+you I ain' take in no mo' wash. No'm. Zeke he don' want me to take in
+no mo' wash. No'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Zeke!" Miss Susie's snort was very ladylike. "Zeke!&mdash;and what
+has Zeke to do with what <i>you</i> want to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'se ma'ied, ain' we, Mis' Susie?"</p>
+
+<p>This was irrefutable, but more so the changing viewpoint. Zenie had
+tasted emancipation. Miss Susie shrugged her shoulders and left the
+room with short hurried steps.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie turned to Mary Louise. "I'm tiahed of the ol' tub. 'Tain' no use
+my weahin' myself out fu nuthin'. 'Sides, this heah boy a heap o'
+trubbel." She shook her head doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise disregarded the confidence. "D'you say Mister
+Joe&mdash;Mister Joe Hooper&mdash;named your baby? How could he? He's
+not even home."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm. Yas'm, he is. He come in t' see Zeke this mo'nin'. Mist' Joe
+lookin' mighty fine."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise felt a curious sinking feeling of being shoved into a
+discard. And then Miss Susie came hurrying back into the room. In her
+hand she carried a small bundle of red flannel cloth freshly cut from
+the bolt. Zenie eyed her uncertainly.</p>
+
+<p>"Here. Here's something to keep out the cold&mdash;next winter. And
+you oughtn't to bring <i>it</i> out in such rainy weather." She went to the
+door and held it open in all finality. And Zenie, with much secret and
+inner scorning for a ritual so antiquated and a gift so obsolete,
+could do naught but depart. Miss Susie had somehow managed to keep the
+advantage, and the two white women watched the departing figure
+shuffle down the walk, out through the sagging, screaky gate. The
+clouds had broken in the west and a soft golden radiance suffused the
+row of maples that lined the fence along the street, and the swelling
+branches gleamed with promise. Over toward the east a patch of blue
+sky appeared, and then the tip of a sickle moon thrust itself through
+and floated entire for a moment on a tiny azure lake. A little breeze
+came round the corner of the porch from the sunset. It was as soft and
+warm as an unspoken promise, and it flipped back skirt hems and
+twisted hair tendrils most inoffensively.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, honey!" Miss Susie said at length, wrenching herself loose from
+the charm. "It's getting late."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise stepped slowly off the porch on to the spongy lawn that
+stretched out to a summerhouse partly covered with the skeleton of
+last summer's vines. "Just a minute, Aunt Susie," she answered,
+without looking back. "I want to see how the hydrangea is coming on."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie turned and closed the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>Bloomfield had a quality of unchangeableness. Even in the dead of
+winter you could tell with half an eye how it would look bedecked in
+its summer finery. Down the stretch of years, past many an intervening
+milepost, it always stood clearly envisioned to its sons and daughters
+both natural and adopted. There was about four hundred yards of
+macadam street lined with oaks and maples as old as or older than the
+meeting house of early Post-Revolutionary days which stood at the
+cross-roads corner diagonally across from the glary white gasolene
+station. Half-way down the street, in a cluster of elms, stood the
+remnants of an ancient tavern, whose front wall, flush with the
+sidewalk, showed occasional bullet scars on the rough red brownstone
+surface. Green outside shutters lay inertly back from dull leaded
+panes which reflected metallically the orange glow of the setting sun,
+and over the door, which was squat and low and level with the
+pavement, an ancient four-sided lantern, hung from a bracket of rusty
+black iron, was gathering cobwebs in disuse. All this lay within Mary
+Louise's field of vision from the summerhouse and yet she saw it not.
+She was staring abstractedly at a wary robin that had stopped to rest
+on a fence post, his beak all frowzy with the d&eacute;bris from a
+recent drilling. The McCallum house&mdash;her father's&mdash;stood at
+the other end of the row of maples on the same side of the street as
+the meeting house and a hundred yards or so distant. There was quite
+an expanse of greening lawn in front and to the south, whereon stood
+the summerhouse, and a tangle of rose bushes hid the decaying board
+fence which marked the southern boundary. Along the brick sidewalk
+stretched a line of ageing wooden pickets and about midway in their
+extent hung the wooden gate with the screak. The house was frame, low
+and wide-stretching, with an inviting verandah about a cavernous front
+door that was dark and rarely open. People used the side door into the
+ell sitting room, and the brick walk leading in a curved sweep to this
+doorway was free from grass. A high wooden lattice separated the front
+lawn from the backyard and sheds and stables, and about this lattice
+sprawled in luxuriant freedom rose vines and honeysuckle, just now
+faintly budding into life.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise stooped and punched a hole in the soft earth with a little
+stick, unconsciously uprooting a tender shoot thereby. A black beetle
+came scurrying out of the decaying baseboard at this disturbance and
+was summarily filliped off into the greening wastes of lawn.
+Collecting herself, she next inspected the branches of the plant near
+by and finding sufficient promise of green, straightened up and flung
+back an escaping wisp of hair, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing particularly noticeable about Mary Louise unless it
+might possibly be a certain fine-drawnness. Her eyes, which were
+brown, had a sort of set focus on the immediate, and there were some
+fine lines from the corners of her lips to her nose. She was slim and
+straight, with small hands and feet, and her arms, which were bare to
+the elbow, might have been soft and round, were it not for a sinuous
+tension that showed itself in little corded creases right where a
+girl's arms should be softest and roundest. And her hair had a way of
+coming down at all times and in all weathers. It had never been
+decided whether she were pretty or not. That was something that had
+never mattered&mdash;to her, at least.</p>
+
+<p>As she threw back her head she was conscious of a general escaping of
+hairpins and a loosening of hair. With a frown she dropped her stick
+and turned her attention from horticulture to coiffure. A low whistle
+sounded from somewhere beyond the rose vines, and as she turned, with
+her fingers in her hair and elbows protruding, she saw a man come
+swinging along the walk past the boundary fence, his eyes sweeping the
+house from upstairs windows to side porch.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise calmly proceeded with her toilette, making no sign. He
+caught sight of her, paused a moment, and then vaulted stiffly over
+the picket fence into the yard.</p>
+
+<p>"'Lo," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She had a hairpin in her mouth and returned the greeting with a slight
+lifting of eyebrows. As her head was lowered and her chin tucked in,
+this was a sufficiently effective reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Musta rained pretty hard here," he ventured, as, noticing the damage
+that the damp grass was doing to his trouser hems, he covered the
+remaining distance between them in a series of violent haphazard
+leaps.</p>
+
+<p>The hairpin rendered her response unintelligible.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'you find things?" gaining her side, and a bit more calmly.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise deliberately tucked in one last recalcitrant wisp and
+pinned it down, and then turned to him. "Pretty well." Her gaze was
+level and critical.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Sue better?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. Then she turned and slowly walked within the inclosure of
+the summerhouse and sat down. He followed her and stood framed in the
+doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the gloom?" he asked directly, after a moment of silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," she said, a little too brightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not interrupting anything, am I?"</p>
+
+<p>Disregarding this: "What are you doing in Bloomfield?"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed. "Aren't sorry I came, are you? This is Saturday. Times
+have changed. Maybe you don't know. Proletariat's riding high."</p>
+
+<p>"They're giving you the whole day now?" in a mildly dubious tone.</p>
+
+<p>He turned away. "No. But Uncle Buzz was in a jam, and&mdash;well, I
+thought I'd better come." He turned on her suddenly. "Keeping tab on
+me, aren't you? How'd you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I'd better, Joe." And then more softly: "Think it's the best
+way to do? Uncle Buzz's been in deep water before." She rose to her
+feet and walked slowly to the opposite entrance. "How are
+things&mdash;at the works?"</p>
+
+<p>He was silent a moment. "Same old place. Take more'n a war to change
+'em." He came and stood beside her in the doorway. The sun was making
+a last desperate attempt to lighten the general gray of the sky with
+broad shafts of orange, and as they watched, it settled slowly and
+then dipped behind the dim blue of the distant hills. As at a signal,
+a bird in a thicket somewhere over beyond them began a long throaty
+warble. Another answered over to the left. Faint, liquid
+trip-hammerings, they were, upon brittle anvils.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a good thing some things don't change," she said at length, in a
+low tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>They watched the glow fade from the sky, the broad bands of orange
+receding swiftly westward, while the cloud rim above the horizon
+cooled softly into pink and coral and a sudden soft patter of rain
+upon the dried vines and leaves above their heads aroused them.
+Without a word, Mary Louise slipped past him and ran for the house. He
+followed.</p>
+
+<p>On the side porch she turned and waited for him, and he came and stood
+before her, hatless, in the rain. "I'd better be getting back before
+it gets any worse&mdash;see you in the morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let me get you an umbrella." She turned and was about to enter the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Can't use 'em. Get hung up in the trees. What time you want to
+start out? Nine o'clock? See you at nine."</p>
+
+<p>"That's too early. Make it ten. I'm busy. Besides, it's Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>"Comin' at nine," he called over his shoulder and started for the
+gate.</p>
+
+<p>She watched his retreating figure as he darted along through the
+shadow, and then she slowly turned and entered the sitting room. A dim
+yellow light from a single oil lamp on the table over against the
+right wall was feebly penetrating the deep shadows in far corners. The
+low-ceilinged room seemed huge and cavernous, with deep niches and
+crannies and bulky, shadowy objects. Miss Susie sat by the table with
+her knitting, her face yellower than ever, her hands feverishly
+restive. She raised her head as Mary Louise closed the door, and the
+tiny lines, accentuated by the lamplight, covered her face like
+markings upon an ancient scroll.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't he come in, honey?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Aunt Susie. He was in a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"What's he doing in town? Thought he'd gone back to work in
+Louisville."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Aunt Susie."</p>
+
+<p>Miss McCallum picked up her knitting. She sniffed. "No, I s'pose not."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise went over and kissed her aunt lightly upon the forehead,
+and then disappeared through a shadowy door back into shadowy depths.
+Directly came a sound of clattering tinware and then the faint echoes
+of a song, hummed, and slightly nasal. A smile flickered across Miss
+Susie's lips as she watched her fingers&mdash;the needles flitting
+swiftly in and out.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER II</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hey</span>
+drew rein on a hill which sloped gently away to the town a mile
+or so distant. Over to the right in a cluster of trees gleamed the
+white fences and buildings of the Bloomfield Fair Grounds like a blob
+of paint squeezed on a dark palette.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise turned in the saddle and took a long thirsty look at the
+western sky. "I love these days that are unplanned. They bring so much
+more when there isn't any promise."</p>
+
+<p>Joe took off his hat and wiped his forehead, keeping tight rein in the
+meantime with his other hand on his roan saddler, who, scenting the
+home stretch, was restless to be off. "After which original tribute to
+my day, I hesitate to tell you that it has been a hunch of mine for
+over a year&mdash;ever since that first spring in Texas. Made up my
+mind if ever I struck God's country alive and in one piece, I'd treat
+myself to a great bath of this sort of stuff. Unplanned! Humph!"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise's tight little mouth relaxed but she did not shift her
+gaze. "You forget. It was not planned&mdash;by me." On rare occasions
+Mary Louise could slip from her matter-of-fact self into coquetry and
+back again before one realized. It was like the play of a lightning
+shuttle, so quick that one rarely caught the flash of the back stroke.
+Joe had erred before. He was discreetly silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I love it," Mary Louise went on, flinging back her head, "every
+stick, every stone of it. That half mile of turf down Blue Bottle
+Lane! I'd give ten years of my life to gallop the rest of it through
+country like that." And then, as though startled, she bit her lip and
+was still.</p>
+
+<p>Joe smiled as he watched her narrowly. "A woman's a mess o'
+contradictions. Whoa! You, too," he called sharply to his mare.
+"Thought you wanted to eat grass a little. Whoa!" He reined up the
+tossing head with difficulty. And then to Mary Louise, "You're a sort
+of self-inflicted exile, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise turned from her musing and gave him a look of most
+effective scorn. "Put your hat on," she said coldly. "You talk better
+through it." She was backing her mount out from the thicket whence he
+had thrust his nose and was wheeling him about to point him toward
+home. "I suppose you'd leave your job in Louisville and come back here
+to live yourself&mdash;just because you loved the scenery!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not such a bad swap at that." But she was off and away. One rearing
+plunge and he was after her. Down across the grassy sweep of turf
+they fled, across a shallow ditch, past a stretch of willow thicket,
+around a jutting knob of rock, into an arching avenue of trees. It was
+like dropping into a cool, shadowy bowl, the first shoots and
+sproutings of baby leaves from the branches casting a delicate tracery
+of shadow on the golden-green shimmer of the grass. Through an open
+gate they shot, he close behind, out upon a hard metallic roadway of
+macadam. Here Mary Louise reined in her horse and Joe instantly drew
+up alongside.</p>
+
+<p>"It's lucky the street came along to help," he breathed. "Twenty yards
+more&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise reached up a hand to her hair in a futile effort to stem
+the havoc there. A moment of furious attempt to quiet the racing in
+her veins, and then, quite calmly, "It's all as it should be. We've
+got to look out for such things and take advantage of them. There are
+no ifs and buts about being caught. You didn't&mdash;that's all."</p>
+
+<p>Joe opened his mouth to speak, stared at her a moment, and then turned
+away his eyes. They trotted along in silence, the shadows deepening
+and lengthening.</p>
+
+<p>Directly: "When does your tea room open?"</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow. I'll be fine and stiff to start it off." Both question and
+answer had taken on a fine flavour of impersonality. Quiet again, with
+only the clatter of hoofs on the roadway. Directly they turned a wide
+sweeping curve and before them appeared a wooden gateway set at the
+end of an avenue of elms, at the other end of which showed, dim and
+forbidding, a house with columns and a green roof. Joe dismounted and,
+unlatching the gate, turned and stood grinning at her.</p>
+
+<p>"So you're really goin' to try it out?" His voice had the quality of
+self-questioning.</p>
+
+<p>It broke in on her musings and she seemed a bit impatient. "Of course
+I'm going to try it out. Only there isn't much 'try' to it. It's bound
+to make a go."</p>
+
+<p>"Some little difference between a merely commercial proposition and a
+popular charity like the Red Cross. There's no percentage in just
+guzzlin' tea for fun unless you're doin' it to keep Americans from
+starvin' or doughboys from itchin'. You know what I believe?" He
+turned on her suddenly. "You're just scrapin' up an excuse
+to&mdash;to&mdash;&mdash;" He stammered, hesitated in indecision. "Tea!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be maudlin, Joe!" Her tone was very cold. "If you must know, we
+need the money and&mdash;&mdash;Well, I guess I learned enough about
+<i>tea</i> and <i>tea rooms</i> in the past ten or eleven months to know whether
+one will pay or not&mdash;if it's properly run. Got awfully hardboiled
+while you were in the army, didn't you? Come, open the gate."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent. Mary Louise usually could put him in his place. But
+thus put in his place, Joe could assume all the irritable
+stick-to-itiveness of a child. "How about Miss Susie?"</p>
+
+<p>He watched the shot. For a moment it had no seeming effect, and then
+Mary Louise, turning loose all the pent-up outpourings to inner
+questionings, in a fury of righteous self-justification: "You needn't
+think I haven't thought about that. You needn't think I'm shirking my
+duty in any way. If you <i>knew</i>, you wouldn't ask such a question.
+Before you left we were just on the ragged edge, and now&mdash;well,
+somebody's got to do something to bring the money in. The place don't
+make it." Her voice quieted down a little. "It hasn't been an easy
+question to solve. Come, Joe! Open the gate."</p>
+
+<p>He watched her curiously. "But the servants? You've still got the
+servants, Matty, and Old Landy, and that half-baked gorilla, Omar. Why
+not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, why not?" She turned on him. "Why not shut down the place, too,
+as well as dismiss all the servants, and live in one of the old stone
+quarters? Why not? Why not let your heels run down if they want to?
+It's much easier."</p>
+
+<p>Quietly he pushed the gate open and stood waiting, holding it for her.
+Something in his manner struck her, and she reached out her hand from
+her seat in the saddle and touched him lightly as her horse swerved
+past. "There, I'm sorry, Joe. But you just hounded me into it somehow.
+I didn't mean it's that way with you. You know I didn't. You see what
+I mean? One ought to try. Ought to try everything first, not just
+give up because everything doesn't seem just right. I <i>have</i> thought
+about Aunt Susie, and it breaks me all up. But it can't be helped."
+She waited till he closed the gate and with a quick swing-up into the
+saddle drew alongside. Slowly they walked their horses up the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>"I s'pose you're right," he said at length. "Only&mdash;only it has
+seemed to me that there's a lot of good time wasted doing useless
+things. Would you rather run a tea room than do anything else in the
+world?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him but they were passing a bend in the road, and the
+sun, having dipped behind a jutting hill, no longer lighted up the
+dusky avenue, and Joe's face was in semi-shadow. "I'd rather hold on
+to what I've got than lose the tiniest portion of it," was all she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. "If they could only see
+me now!"</p>
+
+<p>"They? Who, they?"</p>
+
+<p>His face sobered, but there was a momentary twinkle about the eyes.
+"Who? Oh, at the office." And then, as dismissing the thought, "Uncle
+Buzz know you're openin' the tea room?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to tell him. Give you a lot of invaluable suggestions
+as to how to mix up little 'what-for-you's.' Get 'em comin' and goin'.
+Also, Uncle Buzz's got a mint bed that has parts."</p>
+
+<p>"There's some patronage we will be forced to do without," Mary Louise
+replied primly. They were nearing the house and as they approached,
+someone in one of the front rooms struck a light and it could be seen
+moving, the shadows dancing on the walls.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't overlook Uncle Buzz," said Joe with a chuckle. "Don't overlook
+any discriminatin' taste. You can't beat those horses of his."</p>
+
+<p>"No," agreed Mary Louise, "nor&mdash;&mdash;" and then checked
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>The roadway turned sharply to the left and finished off in a circle,
+one arc of which touched the steps of an open porch. These steps were
+sagging and decayed, and the porch was swept by the gentle eddyings of
+leaves of past summers that had sought refuge there and had been
+undisturbed by the ruthless sweepings of winds or brooms. There was a
+haunting odour of pine and something else that was damp and old and
+weary and forgotten, and a shrivelled wisteria vine that clung with
+withered fingers to a trellis at the house corner began to whisper at
+their approach. A yellow bar of light shot for a moment across the
+porch floor to their feet, then disappeared. It was the lamp Mary
+Louise had seen farther down the driveway, and directly the side door
+opened and the mellow glow of it sent shadowy rings of light out
+toward them.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe! Joe!" called out an anxious voice. "Don't make noise. Keep 'way
+from the back." There was a moment's silence and as Joe made no
+reply: "Come in this way, why don't you? Better way come in."</p>
+
+<p>And then Mary Louise saw a hand shade the uppermost part of the lamp.
+Then there was a pause, and then a figure came across the porch, a
+short figure casting grotesque shadows, a bit stiff, a bit unsteady,
+like the rings of light that went out in circling waves behind it. It
+was Uncle Buzz. He came and stood on the topmost rotting step. He
+bowed. With one hand holding the wavering lamp, the other bravely
+cupped before his chest, he bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon," he said. "'N't know there were ladies."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss McCallum, Uncle Buzz," interposed Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Honoured, 'm sure," Uncle Buzz responded with another bow, lower if
+anything than the first, so that the tip of his little goatee came
+within singeing distance of the lamp chimney, and he straightened back
+with a start, only to stare about him again, vaguely hurt. Collecting
+himself again, "Knew there was reason shouldn't go 'roun' th' back.
+Le' Zeke take horses. Zeke! Zeke!" he called in a falsetto quaver.
+"Come in this way, madam," he added with grave dignity, but curtailing
+the bow.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Mary Louise was fascinated. Old Mr. Bushrod Mosby she had
+known for years&mdash;a veritable rustic macaroni, a piece of
+tinselled flotsam floating on backwater. He had always called her
+M'Lou; later occasionally Miss M'Lou. Now the rhythm of some ancient
+rout was stirring old memories, and the obligations of host sat
+pleasantly heavy upon his befogged consciousness. He bowed again.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you," she summoned her resources. "We'll be getting home.
+But we'll just leave the horses here," she added a bit hurriedly,
+anxious to be off. Echoes were sounding along a length of hallway and
+she was not desirous of the prospect of seeing Mrs. Mosby&mdash;Aunt
+Loraine&mdash;who was apt to prove a most discordant fly in the
+ointment of harmonious hospitality. So she turned to go, but turned
+too late. The door opened again and another figure appeared, a brisk
+figure, at which the dead leaves of the porch bestirred themselves in
+vague, uneasy rustlings. Uncle Buzz stepped meekly aside and Mrs.
+Mosby&mdash;Aunt Loraine&mdash;joined the group, giving him a
+momentary withering glance. She was an inexorable woman, an inch
+taller than Uncle Buzz, who stood five feet three, but she matched him
+whim for whim in her attire. Her hair looked black in the graying
+light; in reality it was splotched and streaked with a chestnut red,
+colour not so ill as misapplied. Her dress rustled as she swept
+forward and there were numberless faint clickings and clackings of
+chains and bangles about her. A high boned collar with white ruching
+helped her hold her head even more proudly straight, and the smile she
+shot Mary Louise was heavily fraught with a sickly sweet though
+rigorous propriety.</p>
+
+<p>"You must come in, my dear," she lisped. "Such exhausting exercise!
+You wouldn't think of going one step further without resting.
+Here"&mdash;she reached out one hand toward Mary Louise, testing the
+meanwhile the security of the upper step with the tip of a shiny
+shoe&mdash;"the man will attend to the horses."</p>
+
+<p>"Man! Yes," Uncle Buzz recollected with a start. "Zeke! Zeke!" he
+began to shout again. "Come here, suh!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bushrod! Be still!" hissed Mrs. Mosby.</p>
+
+<p>Almost was Mary Louise tempted to accept and stay, he looked so
+helpless, in such terrific danger, standing there blinking at them,
+his eyes vaguely trying to focus, and so mildly blue. His head with
+the graying hair so closely cropped gave him an odd appearance of
+boyishness, to which the smart little bow tie added not a little. He
+was trim, dapper, in spite of the fact that his standing collar was a
+size or two too large; in spite, too, of the tiny, well-trimmed
+goatee. He looked like a faun in trouble. With a shadow of distress
+crossing his face, he gave ground and backed away, the lamp tipping
+perilously in his grasp. Joe sprang forward and rescued it, setting it
+on the porch railing.</p>
+
+<p>"We'd better be going, I reckon, Aunt Lorry. Miss Susie's all alone,"
+he explained.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise recovered herself with a start. What could she be thinking
+of, letting Joe make her excuses for her? Somehow she felt a sharp
+little wave of irritation against him for it. She hastened to add,
+however, "Oh, no, Mrs. Mosby. Thank you so much. I really must be
+getting home. Aunt Susie <i>will</i> be worried. It's quite dark."</p>
+
+<p>The little woman murmured something, and then, "And how is your Aunt
+Susie? I must call. Give her my love, be sure," all in one breath.</p>
+
+<p>"I will. You must," agreed Mary Louise, and turned to go. And as she
+did so she caught a most lugubrious expression on the face of Uncle
+Buzz, a gradual lengthening of all the muscles on one side of the
+face, resolving itself finally into a prodigious wink, deliberate and
+malign. Fortunately, it passed in the darkness the regard of the
+partner of his joys and sorrows and roused no answering spark.</p>
+
+<p>They made their adieus and passed on down the shaded avenue on foot.
+Mary Louise gave an odd little shiver as they walked out into the
+shadow, past the circle of the lamp on the railing. Uncle
+Buzz&mdash;Mr. Mosby&mdash;had seemed always just a piece of
+background, a harmless bit of scenery, a catalogue of amenities, a
+husk, a shell&mdash;she wondered how many other things. And now he was
+cropping out with a personality, had desires, problems, secret
+plottings, all behind the mask&mdash;a Machiavelli.</p>
+
+<p>She was aroused by a chuckle from Joe. The chuckle jarred. She turned
+and frowned at him in the darkness. Their shoes crunched in the small
+gravel of the roadway and then directly they came to the gate and
+turned along a wooden walk.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Buzz's sure ripe," Joe's voice came out of nowhere. "Been ripe
+for over two days. Time he was being picked," he continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't get shocked. You aren't, you know. It's nothin' new!" He
+paused a moment as if to consider. "Reckon Aunt Lorry's busy with the
+pickin' now. She'll hate you," he added as an afterthought.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" asked Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"For seein' him." Joe chuckled again and relapsed into silence.</p>
+
+<p>They walked the rest of the way without speaking, around one corner
+past the old meeting house, beneath the low-branched maples, up to the
+McCallum gate. Mary Louise opened it and held it open, her arm barring
+the way.</p>
+
+<p>"Well! To-morrow's another day," said Joe, apparently disregarding it.</p>
+
+<p>"It's just as well," replied Mary Louise. "I'm not quite sure the
+army's helped you much, Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"The army? Helped me?&mdash;I don't get you," he tried to see her
+eyes, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"You're flippant&mdash;about things that are not trivial."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" he laughed. "It doesn't always rain when it clouds. Wait till we
+get into some real heavy weather. What's the harm, anyway? We should
+bother."</p>
+
+<p>"That's not the only thing. You were making fun of Zenie's
+baby&mdash;just like it was a little animal. They might find out some
+day <i>how</i> you quoted from the Bible. Of course, there's no real harm
+done&mdash;but I don't like it."</p>
+
+<p>Joe slid his hand softly along the top bar of the wooden gate till it
+touched hers. She drew quietly away. "Perhaps!" he said. "The old
+world runs along pretty well whether we bother or whether we don't. It
+doesn't make much difference what we do or what we don't. The old
+fellow's heart's all right, I reckon, and as for the
+niggers!&mdash;just as good a name as Loraine. My Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>She stood silent, in thought. A faint reddish glow came to them from
+the curtained glass door of the ell sitting room. "Just a little
+sermon to start us out right&mdash;back to work. It <i>is</i> a serious
+business, you know, Joe&mdash;reconstruction! It's a big task. Let's
+not fall down on it or be trivial&mdash;shirk any of the
+responsibilities. Good-night," she added suddenly, giving her hand.
+"It's been a glorious day. I'll see you&mdash;in the city."</p>
+
+<p>They parted, and he could hear her scrape her feet at the edge of the
+porch. The stars were winking through the branches of the maples and
+somewhere in the darkness a gutter was keeping up a monotonous
+dripping. He passed the corner and turned back to the road with the
+overlapping elms, walking with his hands thrust deep into his pockets,
+his eyes watching the road. "Humph!" he said after a while, out loud,
+and then began to whistle softly to himself, shuffling with his feet
+on the gravel in time to his whistling as he walked.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER III</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">J</span><span class="smcap">oe</span>
+Hooper was not a handsome man. He was of that type so often seen in
+the South, tall, gangly, and very dark, with a sallow complexion and a
+general air of inertness that always misleads the stranger to the
+type. Insignificant looking, perhaps, but they will be found, on later
+acquaintance, to be worming themselves into general regard without
+effort. The law claims many of them and occasionally the raising of
+stock and the tilling of soil, though usually as proprietors only, it
+is true. Sometimes they are swept into strange waters where, if they
+float about long enough, they manage by some inherent mordant capacity
+to colour the entire complexion to their own. There are exceptions, of
+course.</p>
+
+<p>Joe's father had lost his farm through foreclosure. It killed him.
+This fact and the presence of some alien strain sent Joe to Louisville
+which had some of the elements of the melting pot and some traditional
+elements of opportunity. He was twenty-four when he made this change.
+For two years he had resisted fusion and escaped opportunity. He had
+fallen into a job with the Bromley Plow Company and risen to the
+exalted status of stock clerk when the war came. The war, or rather
+the idea of the war, had proved a great relief to his imagination and
+he had enlisted at once, as a matter of fact, on the second day. This
+notion of service had been the one thing stronger than the influence
+of Mary Louise, which had been, it must be confessed, the main reason
+for his sticking as long as two years. The Plow Works had seemed a
+rather tedious road to a <i>Restoration</i> and the <i>Barebones Parliament</i>
+that sat in the inner office had seemed inexorably determined to make
+that road as devious and difficult as possible. He had escaped gladly.
+But the war had come to an end with him still in service on this side
+and he had at length returned with many things unsatisfied. One of
+these had been his idea about Mary Louise. She, too, had been swept
+into the vortex, into a mild eddy of it. The Red Cross had found her
+useful in the maintenance of a tea room for the enjoyment of the men
+at Camp Taylor. It had sounded innocent enough, but upon Joe's return
+he had found that she had in some way been galvanized. She was one of
+the war's changes; he, unfortunately, not so.</p>
+
+<p>He did not know clearly just what he had expected upon his return, but
+then he had not expected the kind of return that he had experienced.
+There had been nothing epochal in it. Even his job was waiting for
+him; it seemed to him even the same routine details. One file of
+correspondence that he had found upon his desk that first morning had
+had a singularly familiar look. It would always stick in his memory.
+First there had been a moment of high anticipation at the station with
+the taxi-men calling out the names of the hotels, and stretched across
+Main Street he remembered seeing a large banner flanked with bunting
+and with "Welcome Home" inscribed thereon. Then he had watched the
+familiar landmarks as he rolled southward in the street car with an
+odd little feeling of "Hello, there you are again"; and the Works,
+looming up in the distance at the end of the line, with its tall brick
+stack, was a sort of culmination. Not exactly a culmination, either,
+for he was conscious of a jarring note. Then the oak-panelled lobby,
+with the time clock, a sombre monitor, took just another grain of
+carefree satisfaction from the sum total of his feelings; and
+finally&mdash;his desk, and the worn, thumb-edged file! The first
+letter therein! "Recent shipments castings EE23, G143, F47, and J29
+have come to us unannealed. J29 shows fins and sprues; the hole in
+EE23 is in most cases completely closed; and G143 and F47 are so rough
+that they will not fit into their respective sockets without
+machining. Will return same via local freight to-day." That was all.
+An Homeric welcome into very deep water! Such had been Joe Hooper's
+homecoming.</p>
+
+<p>As for Mary Louise:&mdash;well, there had been nothing quite so
+definite. He had met her at the tea room&mdash;there had been one
+final week of closing after his arrival&mdash;and he had not quite
+made up his mind about her before she had left for Bloomfield, beyond
+a certain stiffening of fibre, an aloofness that was new, and a
+business-like air that seemed to say "Come across," that he did not
+exactly like. But then a week is not a very long time to get down to
+bed-rock with a person, especially when that person is busy ten hours
+out of the day and thinking the other fourteen about the ten that have
+just passed.</p>
+
+<p>Four weeks had rolled around. It was the first of May. Joe sat at his
+desk absently fingering a stack of paper slips. They were reports from
+the various assembling shops advising him of the number of bolts of
+certain styles and sizes used in those respective shops that day. He
+was supposed to post these amounts in a stock ledger against the
+various sizes and styles and note the approaching shortages wherever
+they came. There were between fifty and a hundred slips. The window
+was open opposite his desk and a delightful breeze was curling up the
+edges of some papers which had been thoughtfully weighted down. Joe
+gazed, heavy lidded, through the window. An automobile, a long,
+slouchy black one, went whirling by with the tonneau full of girls.
+Their veils were streaming and fluttering out behind, many-hued and
+flimsy. They were all gazing at the office windows as they passed.
+"One might think it was a reformatory or the county workhouse or
+something," he thought. He turned dully to the stack of reports and
+began to count them. He felt stale&mdash;flat.</p>
+
+<p>He heard his name called, and turning, saw Mr. Boner standing at the
+corner of the partition looking at him over his spectacles. Mr. Boner
+was a tall, heavy man with nervous twitchings and anxious eyes that
+were eternally shifting about beneath their brows for something
+disturbing. He was responsible for keeping the warehouse filled, the
+warehouse whose books Joe kept, and it was his further duty to keep it
+filled as cheaply as possible. The threat of failure in either was
+what caused that eternal shifting. It was a sort of high-tension
+vigilance.</p>
+
+<p>Joe rose to his feet, obeying the monosyllabic summons, and followed
+Mr. Boner around the partition. Mr. Boner rated a private office,
+where he could worm information, trade secrets, and occasional
+concessions from travelling salesmen. There was nothing social about
+the place. As Joe turned the partition corner and stood in the
+doorway, the old man had already seated himself at the desk. His fat
+hips completely filled the chair. He was apparently staring at
+something on the desk before him, but Joe could catch the occasional
+shifting glimmer of his eyes at the corners and knew he was looking
+at him. Suddenly Mr. Boner turned to the inner corner of the desk,
+started to speak, strangled, and with difficulty recovered himself.
+His voice, when finally he did recover it, was so loud that it
+startled even himself, and just as suddenly he lowered it to
+confidential pitch. Joe had been a witness to this procedure many
+times before but it never failed to interest him. In fact, Mr. Boner
+was himself a study. There was an old-fashioned golf cap perched on
+the top of his graying head and his close-clipped moustache was
+silvery white, in marked contrast to the pink-and-white mottle of his
+cheeks, which hung down over his collar in folds, like some dependable
+old foxhound's. One hand lay fat and puffy on the desk, clutching a
+pencil in a nervous grip. And the middle of him&mdash;he seemed to
+bulk and fill out the entire chair&mdash;so incongruous with his
+little feet and mincing gait! It was as though as much as possible of
+his body were seeking to escape that all-devouring tension in relapse.
+How familiar it all was! Even during those months at camp the picture
+would recur and Joe would laugh softly to himself. Poor old duffer! He
+was a product of the plant just as much as ploughs and tillage
+implements were. How soon would <i>he</i> begin to show the indelible
+imprint?</p>
+
+<p>The voice rose sharply. Joe realized that Mr. Boner was speaking to
+him&mdash;was speaking with great feeling. He came back to realities
+with a jerk.</p>
+
+<p>"Out of carriage bolts two one half one quarter," he was saying. It
+was probably the second time he had said it. He choked with emotion
+and had to seek refuge again in the receptacle on the floor at the
+left-hand corner of his desk.</p>
+
+<p>Joe seemed unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>"Book shows been out since April nineteenth." The old man turned to
+observe the effect of his damnation.</p>
+
+<p>Joe quivered but showed no sign.</p>
+
+<p>"Make out memorandum cut down one thousand five one half by one
+quarter." He spoke it explosively, keeping a furtive eye on that
+left-hand corner. "Have a surplus eleven thousand of them."</p>
+
+<p>Joe guiltily felt that the old man knew the stock books better than he
+himself. A little spot of red appeared in each cheek.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Boner shoved two sheets of yellow paper across the desk toward
+him. "I've reordered replacement one thousand five one half,
+cancellation one thousand two one half." This with an air of
+satisfaction. There was nothing more to be done, patently. "Waste
+stock," Mr. Boner muttered.</p>
+
+<p>Joe turned to go.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Boner exploded again. This was not all, apparently. "Blue annealed
+sheets," he called, sputtered, gripped the arms of his chair
+convulsively, recovered, and sat glaring helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>Joe availed himself of the opportunity. "Have a memo for you on the
+desk." In spite of himself his voice sounded nervous. "Just out of two
+sizes to-day." He waited.</p>
+
+<p>The old man turned and bent his head over his work. <i>That</i> was over.
+Joe returned to his desk, got the memo, and entered the little office
+again. As he slipped the paper across an intervening table, Mr. Boner
+straightened from a stooping inspection of a lower desk drawer, and
+Joe saw him furtively wipe a knife blade on the leg of his trousers
+and then turn upon him a look of mildest blue. There was a bulge in
+his left cheek as round as an acorn. Neither spoke. A privacy had been
+violated. Joe felt like a "Peeping Tom."</p>
+
+<p>Noiselessly he slipped around the corner, back to his desk. The breeze
+was still blowing merrily through the window and two clerks at desks
+across the aisle were shoving pencils and rulers and like equipment
+into their proper drawers with a smug sort of satisfaction shining in
+their drawn faces. He looked at his watch. It lacked a minute of
+five-thirty. Then he looked at the stack of reports again, paused, and
+with an air of sudden decision dropped them into an open drawer.
+Opening another drawer he swept all the movable articles on his desk
+thereinto, careless of the confusion he caused, seized his hat from a
+peg behind him, and strode across the office, out through the door,
+into the oak-panelled lobby. For a moment he stood before the clock.
+Its hands showed five twenty-nine. He paused, then deliberately
+punched his number, descended the steps, and went out through the door
+on to the street. The whistle was blowing as he went down the walk.
+The street was deserted. He felt eyes somewhere on his back but walked
+on in apparent unconcern. He was conscious of a peculiar mixture of
+emotions, a little guilt, a little shame, a little furtiveness, and
+more than any, a lifting sense of relief, freedom. The air was light,
+cool, and invigorating. There was a pleasant crunch of dry dusty
+cinders beneath his feet. And then he saw a venturesome bluebird come
+darting across the open fields to the west and perch for a moment on
+the top strand of the barbed-wire fence of the Plow Works, a few yards
+ahead of him. It sat there swaying and watching him and, as he
+approached nearer, it took wing and darted across the Plow Company's
+grounds eastward toward the city. Joe filliped a wire paper clip after
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better turn around and go back where you came from," he
+called after it softly.</p>
+
+<p>He proceeded homeward.</p>
+
+<p>As he climbed the boarding-house stairs to his room he felt listless.
+For four weeks he had climbed those listless stairs. There had been
+one brief respite&mdash;the two days of Bloomfield with its easy
+relaxation. What lay at the end of the road? Whither was he tending?
+Mr. Boner's shoes? His desk was the step next below the little
+private office. He laughed shortly to himself as he opened a bureau
+drawer and selected a clean white shirt. The touch of the clean linen
+encouraged him a little. He began to whistle. He had a "date on" with
+Mary Louise. He had asked her to go to the vaudeville. Two or three
+hours of pleasant forgetfulness, anyway. Mary Louise&mdash;the thought
+of her brought a vague feeling of unrest. For over two weeks he had
+tried to get her over the 'phone. She had either been out when he had
+called or had pleaded some other engagement. Finally he had got the
+engagement for to-night three days ahead. And she had as good as
+promised to see him right off, immediately after that week-end in
+Bloomfield. Stranger! Stranger in the city! That did not sound very
+much as if she were a stranger. He wondered what she could have been
+doing. She had met a good many people while she was doing Red Cross,
+probably, people in the army&mdash;men&mdash;officers, now in civilian
+life. Why not? And yet he had felt the least bit irritated and a
+little bit lonely. For <i>his</i> friends had scattered, it seemed. And
+then they had not mattered much. And he had rather looked forward to
+the coming summer with Mary Louise in town. Now he didn't so much. It
+was foolish, too. There wasn't any reason for it. A man shouldn't pin
+his resources down to one spot.</p>
+
+<p>He washed, dressed, and then went to dinner at a dairy lunch around
+the corner. The boarding place furnished breakfasts only. Then there
+was an hour and a half to kill before he could go for her. She had a
+room in a down-town apartment, not over three blocks away, and that
+would take but a very short time. He wandered over to the public
+square. Some old men were sitting on a row of iron benches lining the
+sidewalk, facing the street. They surveyed him critically as he passed
+by. He walked up and idly inspected the kiosk where the weather-bureau
+reports were posted. He noticed it predicted continued fair. Then he
+turned and walked in the street for about a block, gazing in shop
+windows. There was nothing in any of them that he particularly wanted.
+He stopped at a street corner and looked up and down both streets. A
+few desultory pedestrians went walking hither and yon, leisurely, with
+no apparent purpose. It was the lull of supper hour and there was an
+orange glow that penetrated even down to the streets which were mere
+canyons between sombre, artificial cliffs of masonry. To the west a
+small patch of open sky glowed sulphurously through a smoke pall. A
+city <i>was</i> a poor place to spend time in&mdash;really live in, he
+thought. And Mary Louise&mdash;he wondered if she thought so, too, she
+who had been raised in the greenest of all green country, in the
+widest and cleanest of spaces. Probably not. At least, it didn't look
+like it. A city was a good place to work in. One could work
+anywhere&mdash;if the work was all right. She had seemed keen about
+her work. She probably had had a lot to do, getting things started.
+She'd probably not had much time. He might have missed her during her
+leisure hours. It was possible she was as desirous of some outdoors,
+of some clean air, some blue sky, as he was.</p>
+
+<p>Almost with the force of a decision he turned and walked back to the
+square and sat down. He looked at the clock. It said five minutes
+after seven. There was still an hour.</p>
+
+<p>He sat and deliberately waited.</p>
+
+<p>The time eventually passed, and before he had really gathered together
+his thoughts into orderly array she was meeting him at the door of her
+apartment, a little flushed, a little hurried, quite brisk and
+apparently eager to be at the business at hand. There was also an air
+of preoccupation as if she were revolving over in her mind some
+previous matters of which the threads still remained untangled. In
+this respect there was change. The old Mary Louise had been as open as
+a wild rose, as freshly and sweetly receptive to whatever wind came
+along. She had gathered complexity, was more serious, laughed less,
+frowned more.</p>
+
+<p>They walked along the street in the gathering darkness soberly, he
+returning monosyllabic answers to the perfunctory questions which she
+fired at him, brightly crisp. Like the questionnaire of a superior
+officer he felt. Then for nearly a block they said nothing. Glancing
+sidewise at her he caught the straight, almost grim line of her mouth
+and the little pucker between her brows. As if realizing she was being
+observed she suddenly asked:</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing out at the Works?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe paused a moment before replying. "When I was in Texas," he began,
+"out in the sticks, we had a flood, and the road from headquarters was
+in danger of being washed away. Culverts too small. Had one nigger
+standing on the bank of one stream by the head of a culvert catching
+the sticks and brush and dragging them up on the bank so they wouldn't
+clog up the hole." He spoke in a quietly reminiscent tone.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and looked at him curiously. "But I said, 'What are <i>you</i>
+doing <i>now</i> at the Works?'"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," he continued, in the same tone. "That's what I'm doing at
+the Plow Factory. Keeping the water running."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled, just a flash of a smile. "Doesn't sound so bad, even if
+you are secretive about it. How did the nigger take care of his job?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe looked up quickly. "Oh&mdash;he? He fell asleep. And then he fell
+in the creek."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise was watching him, waiting for him to finish. At last he
+seemed to have got her entire attention. "And then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then he got pneumonia&mdash;and died."</p>
+
+<p>They crossed the street. Up ahead the lights of the theatre gleamed
+dazzling white. The crowd was getting almost too thick to permit
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't like your job then?"</p>
+
+<p>He flared into sudden unexpected defense of it. "Well, I haven't gone
+to sleep on it yet."</p>
+
+<p>They said no more, for the task of passing the ticket chopper and then
+of getting settled in their seats was all absorbing. And then directly
+the curtain rose and Joe found himself slipping into a delightfully
+relaxed forgetfulness. He was being amused. His good humour was
+returning. He got an occasional glance at Mary Louise, sometimes
+during contagious gales of laughter that would sweep the audience, and
+saw her smiling slightly, mostly with her eyes; and was puzzled, for
+the humour was not that sort. Had he stopped to think, or had he been
+more experienced, he would not have been thus puzzled, for he would
+have realized that the sudden putting on of sophistication is always a
+puzzling thing.</p>
+
+<p>But he banished the question and gave himself up entirely to
+enjoyment. And when the final curtain fell he rose to his feet with a
+faint inner sigh of regret. It was with high good humour that he gained
+his companion's side outside the theatre.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll get a bite to eat down in the Rathskeller," he suggested gaily.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Joe, let's not. This is enough for one evening." She turned as if
+to start southward, toward home, but he seized her arm, laughing:</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe it's enough for you, but it's not enough for me. Come on. Be a
+sport. You've been dodging me long enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Dodging you?" She was all hurt surprise as he hurried her along.</p>
+
+<p>Joe's method was improving. "Well, come along, then&mdash;if you don't
+want me to think so."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise let it go at that. She came.</p>
+
+<p>A revolving door that swept outward musty and yet alluring odours
+swept them inward. They descended a flight of winding steps to a
+subterranean anteroom of stone. Dim lights winked at them from stone
+niches and from a cleft in the rock to one side a prim little maid in
+a ruched white cap took Joe's hat. There should have been a troglodyte
+attendant, instead. On the other side of swinging glass doors was much
+clatter and laughter and the indistinct voice of a woman above a
+rhythmic strumming and the bleat of a saxophone. The transition to
+this other side was sudden and bewildering. The glimmer burst into a
+glare, the dim echo swelled into a roar as the door opened, and Joe
+stood blinking, asking for a table for two. As he threaded his way
+between tables, past careening waiters swinging aloft perilous trays,
+a girl in a crimson evening frock came wandering carelessly through
+the aisle toward him, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes
+searching the crowd sitting about her. Her figure was short and pudgy
+and so violently compressed into her crimson gown that she seemed to
+be oozing out of a scanty chalice. She was singing a most provocative
+song and, catching sight of Joe as he struggled along, face uptilted,
+and, looking into his eyes most impudently, let him have the full
+import of her words.</p>
+
+<p>Joe gave her a deliberate, knowing wink. With a careless shrug she
+moved away in search of more promising and sensitive material.</p>
+
+<p>He passed, the toxine of gaiety mounting to his head, to a small table
+tucked into a remote corner, where the waiter was holding out a chair
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't do, George," he said, refusing the proffered chair. "We can't
+be buried way back here. We aren't dead ones, you know."</p>
+
+<p>The waiter raised a deprecating shoulder but Mary Louise broke in,
+"Oh, don't bother! This is all right, Joe." She had already seated
+herself and was drawing off her gloves. Her face looked hot and weary,
+and long wisps of hair were clinging damply to her temples.</p>
+
+<p>"Wish we could have had a table over there," indicating two or three
+vacant ones near the orchestra and the base of the jongleur's
+operations. "We're out of it here. Well, at any rate, what are you
+going to have?"</p>
+
+<p>She turned from a weary inspection of adjoining tables. "Oh, anything.
+Some lemonade, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't want to celebrate? This is our first party." His eyes and smile
+were eager.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Of course not, Joe. You know better than that."</p>
+
+<p>"Two lemonades," he said to the waiter regretfully. Somehow it seemed
+like a waste of atmosphere, a waste of fuel, pulling a rowboat with a
+turbine&mdash;to be drinking lemonade in a place like this. Many
+bitter similes occurred to him, but he banished them.</p>
+
+<p>"The old girl looks like a rash, doesn't she?" he said, indicating the
+singer who was wandering about amongst the tables in another part of
+the room.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise looked at him suspiciously. "How's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's a-breakin' out."</p>
+
+<p>Neither paid any further attention to this atrocity; she, because she
+willed otherwise; he, because he was blissfully unaware.</p>
+
+<p>But her apathy was noticeable. He made one or two violent efforts to
+spur her flagging spirits and then, becoming touched by the contagion
+of her reserve, lapsed himself into silence. They sat and sipped their
+lemonades, thoughtfully inspecting their straws, dolefully ruminative.
+Their little table was like a blot on a snow-white expanse of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Joe came to the bottom of his glass and made a vicious noise in the
+residue of cracked ice. He looked up to see how she might be taking
+it and saw a gleam of pleasure pass across her face. It quickly
+subsided and gave way to a look of preoccupation. He was watching her
+intently now. And then she smiled and looked beyond him, stretching
+her hand out in recognition. Someone touched the back of his chair. He
+looked over his shoulder, saw a man's figure standing there, and then
+he rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Dimly he heard Mary Louise's introduction. It was a Mr. Claybrook or
+something like that.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you pull your chair up?" Joe invited.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Claybrook decided he would. He was a big man, a grave man, a man
+of considerable poise, and possessed of whimsical crow's-feet in the
+corners of his eyes. Mary Louise's apathy seemed to retire a little at
+his approach.</p>
+
+<p>"Glad to see you survived last night," he said to her with a faint
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>She flushed, and Joe felt a little roughness under his collar.</p>
+
+<p>"How's the tea room coming? Roused out any hard drinkers yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we're not looking for that. We hope to make a few steady friends,
+but we're depending on the ebb and flow." Her colour was mounting, and
+had not Joe been so uncomfortable he would have seen how pretty she
+was. But he sank deeper and deeper into a sullen and unreasoning
+discomfort. The two had evidently had considerable in common before.
+He felt awkward&mdash;knew of nothing to say. Claybrook, on the other
+hand, was enjoying himself.</p>
+
+<p>And apparently sensing the tension in Joe's mind, and seeking to
+lighten it a bit, she volunteered:</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Claybrook is going to help us put the tea room across. He was
+one of our best little patrons in Camp Taylor."</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook looked self-conscious; Joe even more embarrassed. And
+suddenly a strange look crossed her face and she broke off her
+explanation. Joe turned and looked in the direction toward which she
+was staring wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>And across the room, weaving through the labyrinth of tables and
+bearing straight down upon them, came a strange apparition. With
+unsteady gait, his hand stretched out in caution before him and a
+watery smile upon his lips, came Uncle Buzz. An incongruously
+picturesque figure amidst smartness and glitter. His head was as sleek
+as ever and he had waxed the tips of his moustaches so that they stuck
+out jauntily as did the tips of his black bow tie. But his jacket was
+short and rusty and in need of pressing, of which fact he seemed
+blissfully unaware. For, having sighted them, he was coming on
+steadfastly, past pitfalls that yawned, with a smile upon his face.</p>
+
+<p>Joe felt a peculiar exulting glow pass over him, whether at the sight
+of a familiar, friendly face or for some less creditable reason.
+Distress was plainly written on the face of Mary Louise. Claybrook
+talked on, unconscious of what was coming.</p>
+
+<p>And then Mr. Mosby drew up alongside and favoured them with an
+elaborate bow from the centre of the aisle. A hurrying waiter, being
+thus perilously presented with an unexpected hazard, made a desperate
+swerve in mid-flight and menaced an adjoining table with the contents
+of his tray. A glass crashed, a woman shrieked, and Uncle Buzz
+serenely proceeded.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't get up. Pray, don't get up," he said to Joe and Claybrook. "Saw
+you from the door and merely came to pay my respects. Miss Mary
+Louise, we miss you in the old town." He turned to her gracefully, and
+Joe could catch the faint aroma of Bourbon, thus immediately
+accounting to his own satisfaction for the easy poise and manner. Mary
+Louise was lost. She watched Claybrook, who seemed amused, and Uncle
+Buzz went on, turning his attention to Joe. "And by the way, Joseph,
+if you can arrange to, your Aunt Loraine and I would like for you to
+spend Saturday and Sunday with us."</p>
+
+<p>Joe knew how much his Aunt Loraine would subscribe to this courtesy.
+It meant work to do, that was all. But he was amused, felt singularly
+light-hearted instead of embarrassed. Who can say he was depraved? His
+voice was kind and cajoling as he replied:</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing in town, Uncle Buzz? Isn't the store open to-day?
+Mr. Claybrook! Mr. Mosby!"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz acknowledged the honour and then he turned on Joe a
+dignified but hurt surprise. "I come to town quite frequently," he
+said, clipping his words. "A Mr. Forbes of Boston wrote me to meet him
+here about some saddle horses." This was said quietly but with proper
+emphasis. Joe wondered how far it strayed from the truth. There were
+only two saddlers left, he knew. Uncle Buzz was swaying slightly to
+and fro and the little table was rapidly becoming the cynosure of all
+eyes. Mary Louise looked about her desperately. Uncle Buzz, smiling
+sweetly in the aisle, and threatening at any moment to shatter the
+illusion by falling prostrate, was entirely ignorant of her distress.
+The tables were reversed. Claybrook was silent; Joe held the centre of
+the conversational stage.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Mary Louise arose. "We must be going," she said. She paused,
+gave them all an uncertain smile, and then she started rapidly for the
+door. Old Mr. Mosby looked mildly surprised, then accepted the
+situation as one too complex for his muddled brain. And Joe, after a
+first flare of anger, followed her in silence, leaving Claybrook and
+Uncle Buzz to contest the honours after him.</p>
+
+<p>They parted in the lobby; Mary Louise with a bright spot on either
+cheek and her lips set in their tightest line; Claybrook suave and
+genial; Uncle Buzz bewildered and in some way wistfully regretful.
+His watery blue eyes held in them an unanswered question that seemed
+too ponderous for utterance. Joe was silent.</p>
+
+<p>He took her home, along the deserted streets as quickly as possible.
+For a long time neither spoke. Then it was some trivial amenity that
+she uttered to which he made even shorter reply. Up in the elevator
+they went, silently watching the floor. At the door of her apartment
+he inclined his head. "Good-night," he said, without offering to shake
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Joe?" she asked, suddenly coming to herself and
+realizing the oversight.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a thing," he said. "It's perfectly all right with me." He turned
+to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" The exclamation was almost involuntary. She shrank back a little
+into the shadow. "It was a nice party."</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply but acknowledged this with another slight inclination
+of the head. And then he started down the hall.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she stood and listened to the muffled sound of his
+footsteps upon the thick hall carpet, and then she softly closed the
+door.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER IV</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">J</span><span class="smcap">oe</span>
+had been right. There was a difference between an enterprise backed by
+popular sentiment and practically the same elements with the backing
+removed. In the first place, the patronage of the new tea room was not
+so brisk and what there was was more skeptically critical. There was
+not that carefree acceptance of things that overlooked deficiencies in
+the light of the cause they existed under. In fact, the helpful
+pressure that had held it all cemented had loosened. At the end of the
+first week the two cooks suggested a raise in pay amounting to ten
+dollars a month apiece. They did this in accord. And then, contrary to
+what might be expected now that the war was over, there was an
+insidious rising in the cost of everything, from table napkins to
+canned asparagus. Mary Louise began to feel that profits might not be
+so easy to estimate, after all.</p>
+
+<p>Her co&ouml;rdinate, too, was constitutionally apathetic. She was a
+bovine creature who positively refused to get ruffled over obstacles,
+criticisms, or fate. Her name was Maida Jones. Two large pans of buns
+had burned. Mary Louise, seeking to fix the responsibility, had failed
+in doing so and was wracked at the prospect of frequently recurring
+waste. Responsibility to be effective must be undivided. Maida had
+only laughed. And Mary Louise removed herself from the scene of her
+defeat and stood in the doorway of the tea room proper and stared
+bleakly across a vista of deserted tables at a languid and heat-ridden
+thoroughfare. It was going to be a "hit-or-miss" proposition, a
+careless, slipshod affair&mdash;this tea room&mdash;unless she did
+something to prevent it&mdash;and it was too hot. That was what was
+the matter. It was too hot. She brushed back the hair from her face
+and slumped. Behind her came the clatter of dishes. And then someone
+laughed, a coarse, raucous laugh. Mary Louise shuddered. The
+post-office clock boomed six and she suddenly realized that the day
+was over. There would be no belated custom, for the service stopped at
+six and the room was empty. Irritation gave way to discouragement. The
+day's receipts had been slim indeed. Just then she noticed an
+automobile roll up to the curb outside, and a man got out. She saw him
+start for the door, and for a moment she pondered whether she would
+accomodate him or turn him away. He opened the door. It was Claybrook.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," he said, catching sight of her. "Afraid I'd be too late. Come
+take a ride."</p>
+
+<p>That was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can't," she said. "I have
+to wait till they get through back there," indicating with a jerk of
+the head those uncertain regions which had become suddenly quiet.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, let them take care of themselves. What is help for if you have to
+watch it every minute? Come on. It's too hot to work any longer,
+anyway."</p>
+
+<p>She yielded. First she spent a moment or two before a mirror, tidying
+herself up, feeling as she did so a little thrill of anticipation. And
+then she stuck her head through the kitchen door and announced that
+she was leaving. "Don't burn the whole place up, Maida," she cautioned
+with a laugh as she caught sight of her sitting, humped forward in a
+kitchen chair, fat elbows resting on a table, placidly viewing a vast
+clutter of dishes that had not yet been put away.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise escaped and clambered into the waiting car, into the
+vacant seat beside the driver.</p>
+
+<p>They whirled away, turned a corner sharply, and soon were leaving the
+narrow, restricted streets of the down-town district which had been
+pulsing and glowering with heat all day. She caught a look at
+Claybrook in the seat beside her. He was as fresh and cool as though
+he had not been exposed to the weather at all. Instinctively she
+reached a restraining hand to her hair. It was blowing in wild
+disarray. A sudden stretch of stately old houses sitting well back on
+either side of the street, partly hidden by double rows of trees,
+caused her fresh doubts as to the fitness of her attire. In her
+shirtwaist and skirt she felt like an intruder.</p>
+
+<p>A man from the sidewalk bowed to them. So busy was she with her hat
+that she could not see who it was.</p>
+
+<p>"There goes Wilkes," said Claybrook. "You remember Wilkes out at Camp?
+Had charge of the Post Exchange."</p>
+
+<p>She hoped she had escaped recognition. As if for protection she
+slipped farther down in the seat and was less troubled by the wind.
+The neighbourhood through which they were passing was becoming even
+more fashionable, and aristocratic nurse-maids with their aristocratic
+charges, alike in white, starchy, frilly things, were dotting the
+sidewalks on either side of the street, supplying a live motif to a
+prospect that might otherwise seem too orderly and remote. The lawns
+were beautiful, close cropped and freshly green, and frequent
+fountains sent a delightful mist across the pavement even to the
+street. It was all very cool and refreshing. She began to see where
+certain phases of city life might prove to be quite pleasant. The
+modern fleshpots may seem alluring not alone in retrospect.</p>
+
+<p>At length they passed from the asphalt paving on to a roadway of
+yellow-red gravel, and up ahead, Mary Louise could see a stretch of
+open country and beyond, a ridge of misty blue hills. There was a
+double line of young maples on either side of the boulevard and the
+fresh young leaves were rustling vigorously in the evening breeze as
+they passed. Claybrook settled down in his seat us they gained the
+boundary between paving and roadway with what seemed almost like a
+sigh of relief. He turned upon his companion a satisfied smile,
+meanwhile cutting down their speed appreciably.</p>
+
+<p>"This is something like it," he said. "Pretty hot down your way
+to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Terrible," admitted Mary Louise. "I don't believe those walls will
+get cool again before Christmas."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled without answering, being occupied at the moment with a
+little difficulty in the traffic. Directly he was free.</p>
+
+<p>"Rare old boy&mdash;the other night," he said, still watching the
+road.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she did not catch the reference.</p>
+
+<p>"Down in the Rathskeller," he added.</p>
+
+<p>A hot rush of confusion struck her and she made no reply, but he went
+on:</p>
+
+<p>"I've often wondered what these people were like fifty years
+ago&mdash;living on top of the world, best farm land anywhere, fine
+old homes, lots of servants&mdash;nothing to do but enjoy life. Let it
+slip away from them, didn't they? Must not have known what they had."
+He had relaxed and was driving comfortably. And as though wrapped in a
+mist of his own musing he continued, his eyes fixed on the road before
+him, "I've often thought that if I ever got to the point where I
+could afford it I would get me one of those old places&mdash;lot of
+land&mdash;stock it up well, fix up the house. I'd like to leave
+something like that to my family." He chuckled. "They might not
+appreciate it as much as I do, however."</p>
+
+<p>"They might," she replied. "They might have just as hard a time trying
+to keep it as&mdash;as we have. Conditions might change again in the
+next fifty years."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and smiled at her. "Hadn't thought of that." The crow's feet
+were thick about his eyes. "Who was the boy?&mdash;the one you were
+with the other night."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise flushed in spite of herself. "Joe&mdash;Joe Hooper. You've
+heard me speak of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Lives in Bloomfield, doesn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did. Works here in town now&mdash;out at Bromley's."</p>
+
+<p>He made no further reply, but somehow she felt an unuttered
+conviction, on the part of the man there beside her, of Joe's loss of
+heritage. And yet a certain compunction prevented her from making any
+explanation&mdash;that it was not Joe's fault. There was a sort of
+sacred inviolability about it. A hot little wave of feeling swept over
+her. She had treated Joe miserably. She had yielded to her feelings
+like a child. She ought to have been good sport enough to hide what
+she had felt. But she hadn't. She was a snob. She had hoped to conceal
+that she was not their sort&mdash;Joe and Mr. Mosby. In a sense, she
+had been going back on her own people. As if she were trying to pass
+them&mdash;trying to keep up with the procession. And yet that was
+exactly what she was doing. But to show it!</p>
+
+<p>The straight level path of the boulevard came abruptly to an end and
+the road diverged to the left and mounted swiftly, skirting the
+incline of a white, chalky hill densely covered with a tangle of scrub
+oak, buckeye, cedar, and much underbrush. The slanting rays of the sun
+were shut off abruptly as by a shutter and they rolled between
+stretches of shade that were mistily fragrant and cool. Even the upper
+air currents in the spaces above the road, up toward the sky, seemed
+shadowy and unharried by the fierceness of the passing sunlight. The
+motor settled down to the business of climbing, and once Claybrook
+turned to her with a look of appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"Some park, this."</p>
+
+<p>She hardly heard him, so intent was she on watching the road and the
+occasional glimpses, through the tangle, of declivitous stretches
+strewn with trunks of fallen trees and rank vegetation, down which the
+wind went wandering with vague whisperings. They had been suddenly
+transported out of the world of people into the world of hopes. The
+city had been left leagues behind.</p>
+
+<p>They made a quick, sharp turn to the right, the road almost doubling
+back upon itself, and there was a steep grade for a short distance,
+during which time Mary Louise caught herself leaning forward and
+holding her breath in an instinctive impulse to help the labouring
+car. And then they gained the top. Before them lay a tableland of many
+acres thickly covered with trees. The grass, in the open spaces
+between, was sparse, and there was much moss and lichen and drifts of
+withered leaves, dried by the sun of more than one summer; and here
+and there in the northern shadow of some gnarled trunk and in dipping
+hollows the leaves were packed close in a damp and moulding compress.
+Great streamers of wild grape-vine hung precariously from weary limbs
+and swayed to and fro gently in the wind that came mounting up the
+slope from the west and went dipping away to the eastward, leaving a
+soft, shuddering wake. It was as if a mellower spirit hovered about
+the old giant knob resting there, watching with its head all venerably
+gray, though the sunlight ere it faded was elfishly splashing the
+shadow with golden green, and little flecks of crimson and orange came
+flashing through the tangle of branches as they passed, making light
+mockery. And then the trees suddenly opened and they came out upon a
+flat bare knoll, where the road, making a loop, signified that its
+journey was over. Around the outside edge was a wall of loose stones
+from which the hill sloped steeply in all directions, and before them,
+stretching away for miles, lay the country through which they had
+passed, till soft and green and gray in the distance. A huge smoke
+pall, its feathery top drifting slowly eastward, hung over a
+cup-shaped depression, and below it stretched a darker line, from
+which occasionally emerged a solitary stack, or above which a church
+spire, caught by an errant ray from the setting sun, would flash a
+momentary beacon. Slowly the mantle seemed to fade and mingle with the
+twilight, and even as they watched, a light flashed out, a single
+pin-prick of a light, and then another and another, as night,
+gathering in its intensity, swept over the valley, until it was met by
+an ever-increasing challenge. It was like a myriad host of fairy
+fire-flies, each diamond pointed, flickering, blinking, never still.
+And there settled on the under side of the smoke pall a lurid glow as
+of banked fires, waiting for the work of another day.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise breathed a soft little sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"It does get next to one, some way, doesn't it?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>Rather to her thoughts she replied aloud: "To think of all those
+people living there, almost in the grasp of the hand. Think of them
+moving, scurrying about among those lights. It makes one feel it would
+be so easy to do things for them, move them about at one's
+will&mdash;from here. And yet&mdash;&mdash;" She was silent a moment,
+thinking. "And yet even to be able to raise one's head above it all,
+to see&mdash;and be seen! Well&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I mean to do." He spoke almost as if she were not there,
+and his voice, which was as though disembodied, and jarring a bit with
+its resonance, brought her back to the present.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a hard thing to do and I've come to think it takes sometimes a
+lifetime, but&mdash;it can be done." He had turned and she could feel
+his warm breath in her ear. There was a note of assurance in his words
+and, as she watched, a change came over the scene before her and it
+all seemed like a huge graying blanket punched full of tiny, bright
+flat holes. Something had receded, escaped back into the darkness
+behind it all.</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to tell you and it's about as good a time as any. You may be
+needing some help. It's not all so easy down there. And&mdash;well, if
+you need any help&mdash;make the way any easier for you&mdash;why,
+don't hesitate to call on me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's good of you," she replied, and wondered at the lack of warmth
+in her own voice. "Perhaps I shall." But she could not help feeling
+that in some way she had seen what she had seen&mdash;alone.</p>
+
+<p>They sat a little longer in silence, and then Mary Louise straightened
+in her seat and called to him briskly:</p>
+
+<p>"We <i>must</i> be going. Why, it must be eight o'clock. What have I been
+thinking of?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I'd like to know," he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, take me home, man. Maida will think&mdash;all sorts of things."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't have to answer to her, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. But let's go."</p>
+
+<p>He stooped over and switched on the lights and immediately two long,
+ghostly streamers went searching out across the wall and rested
+lightly in the tops of some ragged trees on the slopes, bringing them
+grotesquely into focus, while myriads of tiny motes danced down the
+twin circular paths off into space. Directly there was a roar of the
+engine, with an occasional sputtering cough&mdash;for the night air
+was cool&mdash;and then Claybrook's voice again:</p>
+
+<p>"There really isn't any great hurry. We can stop at the Gardens at the
+foot of the hill and get a bite to eat."</p>
+
+<p>"No, not to-night. Thank you ever so much."</p>
+
+<p>"But why not? We needn't hurry then. It's a pretty good place." He
+seemed insistent, waiting, stooped there over the steering wheel.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said again. "I must get home. Maida will be waiting for me
+and I've some work to do. And besides, I don't want to go anywhere
+looking like this. I'm a fright, I know."</p>
+
+<p>He muttered something to himself as he threw the car into gear, and
+they went whirling around the circle of the road in reckless disregard
+for the menace of the rock wall. It was pitch dark as they made their
+way across the level top of the knob, with occasional shadows of
+spectral limbs projecting their silhouettes against the sky, and once
+the jagged edge of a trailing creeper swished close to her head as
+they whirled along. Above the noise of the motor there was not a
+sound. Claybrook suddenly laughed:</p>
+
+<p>"Some of the niggers down at the mill say this old hill is haunted."</p>
+
+<p>She clung to the hand-grip of her seat, her mind filled with a tangle
+of impressions, with a shrinking from the sepulchral depths below
+them, and an effort to recall in detail that vision of the city.</p>
+
+<p>"I have to shake it off before I can be any more good. It's like being
+moon-struck." He took another sharp curve at reckless speed, the tires
+grinding on the gravel, the brakes screeching.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise held her breath for a moment and waited. And then she
+touched him lightly on the elbow. "Oh, please!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed and for a short time was more careful, slowing down at the
+curves which came every hundred yards or so. "Feels like they're
+coming after me. Like to get down to the level road again." He made a
+quick swerve to avoid a pointed rock. "Must have been great, driving
+to the top of this with a horse and buggy. Not for me."</p>
+
+<p>And they were off again as swiftly as before. Twice they grazed the
+projecting roots of trees on the outside edge of the road by the
+scantiest of margins and once a board in a culvert snapped ominously
+as they swept across it, and Claybrook laughed aloud. And Mary Louise,
+wide-eyed, sat in a frenzy of preparedness, her gaze glued to the
+winding, ever-dipping road in fascination.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a shadow seemed to leap out upon them, out of the
+darkness&mdash;the shadow of a man. There was a moment's hideous
+clamour of the brakes, a sickening swerve of the machine, a man's
+shout, a sudden instant's flash of gleaming trunks brought sharply
+into focus, and then a slow, gradual letting down of her side of the
+car, inch by inch. She grasped the arm beside her to keep from
+falling, and then all was still.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later she could see that they were balanced on the edge of a
+culvert; to her right was the darkness; up ahead, the lights were
+glaring impotently off into space. And then she realized that an arm
+was encircling her waist in an iron grip and that the motor was still
+thrumming and that someone was running around in front of the car and
+then peering off down the slope where they tipped so perilously. These
+things came to her in just that order. And directly she was on the
+road, trembling just a little and feeling very helpless, and
+Claybrook's voice somewhere over in the darkness was giving
+directions, sharp, irritated. To her knowledge he had not uttered a
+word during it all. She could hear them somewhere over there crashing
+about in the underbrush, an occasional word, an occasional suppressed
+shout. Very unreal it was, with the stars shining faintly overhead,
+the black shadows all around, and those two shafts of light poking out
+into nowhere. She walked back to the inside edge of the road and sat
+down, and bye-and-bye she felt quieter. It had been such a childishly
+foolish thing to do and so useless. The minutes passed and she began
+to wonder what time it was getting to be. And then she felt a growing
+irritation and suddenly she was hungry. All she could hear was the
+threshing about of the brush and the sound of heavy dragging. Once she
+went around the rear of the car and peered down. She could dimly see
+that the rear wheel had passed completely over the brink, and below it
+lay a pile of sticks and brush. A little more and they might have
+rolled over, down into the darkness. She returned to her seat by the
+side of the road.</p>
+
+<p>Just like a little boy he was, she thought&mdash;reckless,
+irresponsible, "full of the fullness of living." And his tone, when
+she had spoken of the dead-level of life in the city below them and
+the problem of raising one's head&mdash;"That's what I mean to
+do"&mdash;had seemed so like the confident tones of a child on the
+threshold of life. Were we all like that, after all&mdash;lifted up
+for a moment so that we could see; blundering forward the next,
+blindly, into pitfalls of our own making? His very offer of help,
+there on the hilltop, had been na&iuml;ve, and yet she was troubled by
+it. Why was he thrusting his stick into the still waters of her life?
+And yet she had felt very much alone and in need of the realization of
+another presence.</p>
+
+<p>And then suddenly she realized why and how it was she liked him. She
+liked to think of him as standing by, liked the realization of his
+strength, his confidence. He was big, he was good-looking, and there
+was a tonic freshness about him. He was good as a friend. And he
+needed watching over, needed guiding, himself. That made it all the
+better. And then she felt hungry again. But she was no longer
+irritated.</p>
+
+<p>The roar of the motor roused her from her musings. There was a
+ripping, grinding noise and she could see the outline of the car move,
+sink back, and then lurch forward again. There was another whirring
+and grinding and then Claybrook's triumphant shout. She rose to her
+feet and walked over to him. They had succeeded. The car was standing,
+all four wheels on the hard, level surface, the engine racing like
+mad.</p>
+
+<p>"Hop in," Claybrook called to her a bit shortly.</p>
+
+<p>She complied and he reached forward to throw in the gear, when the man
+walked around in front of the car and held up a restraining hand. She
+saw then, for the first time, that he was a park policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's have your name before you go, friend," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"But what for? There's no harm done. I thought I made it all right
+with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You did&mdash;with me. But then you're pretty dangerous on these
+roads and I'll have to turn you in so that they can be looking out for
+you."</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook sullenly complied. And then, throwing the car into gear,
+they slipped quickly out of sight. After they had rounded the curve,
+he turned suddenly to Mary Louise. "That's a new one on me. I tipped
+him for helping me get the car out, and then he turns and takes my
+name. You can't count on anybody these days&mdash;ever since the war."</p>
+
+<p>"I think he has a sense of humour," she replied, laughing softly.</p>
+
+<p>As they passed the road-house he suggested once again that they stop
+for a bite to eat, but upon her refusal he made no comment. The night
+was no longer clear; gathering clouds on the western horizon were
+gradually spreading across the sky, and as they crossed the line on to
+the asphalt paving again, it began to rain, a few scattering drops. At
+which she teased him about his altered driving. He laughed but made no
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>But the shower did not come and directly they drew up at the curb
+outside her apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stop," she said. "Don't bother. You must get in before the
+rain." She felt singularly good humoured.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I made such a mess of things," he began clumsily,
+"and&mdash;and&mdash;you were pretty decent about it." It was a
+concession, but she could see he was rankled about something.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope they won't fine you too much," she called after him as he
+started off. And then she walked thoughtfully into the hallway and
+stepped into the elevator and was carried swiftly upward.</p>
+
+<p>"You've got to make allowances for them all," she decided mentally.
+"Yes," she added force to that decision, half aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"What d'you say, Miss Mac?" inquired the elevator boy.</p>
+
+<p>"I said, 'Seventh,'" she smiled at him.</p>
+
+<p>She was met at the door by Maida with her hair in curl papers and a
+most prodigious yawning and rubbing of eyes. The ideal night life for
+Maida was that spent comfortably in bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Thought you'd eloped," she ventured sleepily and then turned and
+shuffled off to the inner room. At the door she called over her
+shoulder, "There's a note someone left for you&mdash;about two hours
+ago."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise looked on the table and, lying on a pile of magazines and
+newspaper supplements, was a plain, thin, white envelope. She picked
+it up and looked at it curiously, wondering from whom it could be.
+There was no address. She tore it open and read, and as she read she
+reached over one hand and steadied herself against the table. The note
+was from Joe, and laconic:</p>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"They phoned me this evening your Aunt
+Susie had</span><br /><span style="margin-left: 4em;">had another stroke.
+They said you had better come."</span><br />
+
+<p>That was all it said. There was no expression of regret. There was no
+offer of help. She had a sudden rush of anxiety. But behind the
+anxious feeling was one of wonder and a tiny one of hurt. She laid the
+letter down upon the table and slowly and thoughtfully took off her
+hat.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER V</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hings</span>
+had changed for Joe. It was as though he had been told that he had not
+amounted to much, that what he had come from had not amounted to much,
+and that in all probability he would never amount to much. Just how
+much had actually been suggested to him, and how much he had supplied
+out of the whole cloth of his imagination it is doubtful if even he
+could have said.</p>
+
+<p>It was not the weather certainly. For the morning of the second day of
+May opened wide with promise. There was a lightness about the air and
+a clarity as Joe emerged from his lodging house from the ready-made
+breakfast which they doled out as though breakfasts were just like
+linen and towels and soap. The day would have made countless
+insinuations to a normal man. To some, it said golf; to others, a
+motor trip out to where a plethora of such bounties as it suggested
+might be available; and to others less fortunate&mdash;why, there was
+the "Ferry" just opening to hesitant crowds, with its band stand, its
+scenic railway, its forty-five minutes of vaudeville that was anything
+but mentally exhausting. It was an eloquent morning. But Joe turned a
+deaf ear.</p>
+
+<p>His walk to the factory lay for a short distance along a pretty little
+park where, when the weather was proper, squirrels and babies and
+numerous other smaller, crawly things were wont to mingle together in
+democratic unconcern. But to him, this morning, it was just so much
+pavement.</p>
+
+<p>He punched the time clock viciously as he passed through the office
+lobby and barely escaped collision with Mr. Boner as he turned the
+corner of the partition en route to his desk. Mr. Boner merely
+grunted. He bore in his hand a sheaf of orders for the mailing desk.
+He believed in getting an early start.</p>
+
+<p>Joe sat down before his desk and gazed listlessly out of the window.
+The day arose before him in prospect, drab, desolate, and dreary. High
+up overhead, through the dingy panes, he could see the little fleecy
+clouds floating about in peaceful unconcern. May was a slack month.
+And at its end came June&mdash;June, with its four weeks' inventory
+period wherein each stick and stone of the entire plant, each
+ten-penny nail, each carriage bolt, would have to be listed, valued,
+and carried into an imposing total. It meant working late into the
+night under a pitiless glare with handkerchief tied about one's neck
+like a washer. It meant cramped fingers, and hot dry eyes, and a back
+that ached when it didn't feel crawly with infinitesimal bugs, and
+bugs that bumped and buzzed and then fell sprawling across one's
+paper. Each item had to be entered upon the sheet. Each item had to be
+valued. Discounts had to be figured, extensions had to be made,
+figures had to be checked meticulously, and the whole thing eventually
+bound up in six or eight huge volumes which were then allowed to
+languish in the Company safe. He had been through it before. And the
+thought of it was intolerable. This was June. June and inventory and
+Mr. Boner seemed to him to be cut from the same piece. For neither did
+Mr. Boner escape. Instead, he came earlier, stayed later, and worked
+with more furious rapidity than ever. And he was Mr. Boner's
+successor&mdash;that is, if he hit the ball and worked hard enough to
+deserve it. The thought of the little boy whose mother gave him a
+nickle every time he took his castor oil manfully came to his mind as
+he sat and gazed out the window. When asked what he did with the
+nickles, the Spartan youth had replied: "Buy more castor oil with it."
+Joe wearily dragged one of his stock ledgers from the rack and opened
+it.</p>
+
+<p>All that day, as he made his entries and checked his totals, came the
+thought, "Why am I doing this? What is it all for?" He was feeling the
+double edge of scorn no less keenly because only implied. Why wasn't
+he doing a man's work? Why was he humbly taking his turn in a servile
+and remote succession, where death's was the only hand that moved the
+pawns? Why had he come back to it? He dared not confess the reason.
+The best he could do was admit to himself he had been mistaken. The
+rose tints had vanished from his sky and the path he had chosen was
+disclosed in all its drab ugliness. He had chosen it fatuously. The
+rose tints had been of his own making. He viciously snapped his mind
+shut on the thought. For a while he would feverishly clamp his
+attention to his work, while outside the sky continued serenely blue,
+and the breeze that drifted through his window was languorous and
+soft. But the work was too light. There was not enough of it, nor was
+it of the nature that demanded his absorbed concentration. He thought
+of Mr. Mosby, the unwitting cause of it all. And yet he did not blame
+Uncle Buzz in the least. Rather he sided with him. They were both
+inferior animals&mdash;not to be mentioned in the same breath with
+progress, thrift, success.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz had his troubles, too. He was bookkeeper of the general
+store in Bloomfield, but he had never got to the point where he was
+absolutely sure of his trial balances. Nor had Aunt Loraine ever got
+to the point where she was absolutely sure of him, and he had had only
+the slightest hand in the management of what was left of the farm. The
+farm was Aunt Loraine's. But she always took what was necessary from
+what Uncle Buzz got from the store to make both ends meet on the farm,
+and that was, of late, becoming an ever-increasing distance. Uncle
+Buzz felt a proprietor's interest. He liked to speak about it as "his
+farm." Uncle Buzz would have loved to raise horses, thoroughbreds and
+saddlers, but for obvious reasons that had been impossible. But he
+went his jaunty way, waxing his moustaches, squandering his money on
+fancy neckties, taking his surreptitious nip with all the gay bravado
+of thirty years before, and getting seedier and seedier. He was a
+dandelion withering on the stalk. He had long since given up hope of
+being anything else but bookkeeper in the "Golden Rule," and indeed it
+was only the stock which he held in that institution that insured him
+the place such as it was. For Uncle Buzz was with age becoming more
+unreliable. His mind would play queer tricks on him. The figures would
+occasionally assume a demonic elusiveness and he could no longer carry
+his liquor with his former assurance. While outwardly he was the same
+suave, debonair old beau, he was beginning to have inner doubtings and
+despairs. And Joe, who had, as it were, taken up the pen when he had
+cast aside the sword, became for him a potential straw adrift on the
+downward current.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz's message in the Rathskeller the night before had been
+cryptic to the others but plain enough to Joe. Uncle Buzz was in
+trouble again. Trial balance, maybe. There was no telling. As Joe
+finished footing up a long column of figures he smiled. It meant
+another trip to Bloomfield on Saturday. And Saturday was the day after
+to-morrow. Thus the day wore on.</p>
+
+<p>On Saturday, which was a day of the same pattern as its predecessors,
+at eleven o'clock Joe quietly rose from his desk, took his hat, and
+unostentatiously walked out of the office. He punched the time clock
+gently so that it would attract the attention of only the most
+observant of clerks, and hurried away, feeling that this repeated
+dereliction was bound to bring him some notice, even if the first
+offense had not. But for some reason he felt singularly indifferent.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he had forgotten it all. The dumpy accommodation train
+was bumping itself along at a great rate, puffing stertorously up the
+long grade past "Sassafras Hill," and then swinging itself around the
+curves that followed the river so desperately that passengers and
+freight alike&mdash;for it was a combination train as well as
+accommodation&mdash;were like to be flung from it, hurled into space
+as useless encumbrances to its desperate need of getting there. It
+would rush along madly for a mile or two, then give a wild shriek and
+stop, and after a great puffing and snorting, start up again.</p>
+
+<p>It was such an enthusiastic train that Joe could not long escape the
+contagion of its enthusiasm. Ten miles out they came into a stretch of
+rolling meadow where the shadows of trees were like purple splotches
+upon the shimmering mist of the grass. A high wind had arisen that set
+the countless blades vibrating so that each bit of sun-swept meadow
+was naught but a silverish blurr, with the tree tops above it tossing
+wildly about. A little girl, holding open a gate for an old man in a
+buggy behind a placid old white horse, was all fluttering ribbon ends,
+and as they passed, her sunbonnet was torn from her grasp and flung
+over the fence, far afield. Joe could see her running after it as they
+rounded a curve out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>At twelve thirty-five they reached Guests where Joe alighted. He was
+the only passenger of like mind, and aside from the station master who
+made a hurried exchange of sundry small express packages and mail
+there was no one at the station but a fat little old man in a brown
+derby and a red sweater, and with a very dirty face. This latter
+gentleman accosted Joe with a warning gesture, lifting his arm and
+pointing to the sky, and at the same time giving him a significant
+look, and then scuttling over to a disreputable motor car that stood
+beside the station platform. Arriving there he twisted his fat neck
+half around to see if his prey was following him, and being thus
+assured, clambered in. The car was very aged and trembling from some
+violent internal disorder, while the top was bellying off sidewise
+with a great flapping of loose straps and curtain ends till it seemed
+doubtful if the whole thing might hold together for another minute.</p>
+
+<p>"High wind," suggested the Jehu, in a fat wheezy voice as Joe crawled
+into the seat beside him. Joe agreed without qualification. The old
+man paused a minute, gave him a sober, reflective look of far-away
+intensity, and then suddenly turned and spat precariously into the
+wind.</p>
+
+<p>"Bloomfield?" he suggested with increased lightness of manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Bloomfield," Joe agreed again. It was a pleasant bit of procedure,
+invested with the dignity of a formula, for there was no other town
+within a radius of many miles and no other road over which such
+traffic was possible. Still it had to be gone through with.</p>
+
+<p>They started with a rush, being ably seconded by a more severe gust of
+wind than usual, and for eight miles it was a stalemate between the
+wind and the motor as to which could make the most noise. But in spite
+of it all Joe was enjoying it. There was a freedom in the uproar, in
+the wildly tossing tree tops, in the white clouds that went scudding
+high overhead. He had an insane desire to fling his hat high up in the
+air, as they rolled along, and see how far the wind would carry it.</p>
+
+<p>At length they arrived. Out of courtesy, perhaps, the wind abated;
+perhaps it was because nothing boisterous would be tolerated along
+those silent old streets. But as they passed the tavern, one green
+shutter could be seen hanging by one hinge, moving softly to and fro,
+and against the iron stair railing of the meeting house an old,
+yellowing newspaper clung for a moment and then dropped to the
+pavement. A very old man in a linen suit, followed by an old hound,
+was going through the door as they passed, and he pivoted on his stick
+and watched them. Here was the very essence of stability.</p>
+
+<p>Reaching the central square, the driver swung his car in a majestic
+arc around the traffic post in the centre of the street and drew up at
+the curb in front of the post-office. There was a liberal sprinkling
+of small motors of the same general classification as the one in which
+they were arriving, parked with their noses headed toward the curb, at
+an angle. Uncle Buzz's figure suddenly appeared, hurrying from behind
+one of these, his face set in an earnest frown. He had evidently seen
+them from the "Golden Rule," diagonally opposite, and had come the
+most direct route, through the traffic.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Joseph, this is a surprise."</p>
+
+<p>This, thought Joe, might mean anything. Either his Aunt Loraine had
+not been apprised of his expected arrival, or perhaps the old man had
+already extricated himself from his trouble.</p>
+
+<p>"Any bags?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. No bags." Joe was still holding the out-stretched hand of
+welcome.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz turned to the driver and dropped a coin in that worthy
+gentleman's greasy palm as it lay inertly on the seat, beside him.
+"That will be all," he said with great dignity.</p>
+
+<p>The driver gave him a long look, heavy lidded&mdash;a critical look, a
+deeply thoughtful look&mdash;sniffed, and then turned to Joe, "Goin'
+back?" he asked shortly, as though there were nothing more now for any
+one to stay for.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Joe. "Not to-day."</p>
+
+<p>The driver pondered this in his heart for a moment, came to a sudden
+decision, sniffed again, and turned his back on them both and
+proceeded to stretch himself out as far as the narrow confines of the
+seat would permit. Business was apparently over for the day.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz led Joe across the street to the busy side. The contrast of
+their figures was striking, for Joe was over a head taller, and loose
+where Uncle Buzz was stiff.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Mosby turned at the curbing and with a confidential air: "We'll
+just get a bite to eat in here," indicating a tiny little lunch room
+crammed in between two ramshackle old frame buildings. "Your Aunt
+Loraine was a bit indisposed this morning."</p>
+
+<p>This established one conclusion. He was at least not expected at home.
+More than that, he could not decide without further premises.</p>
+
+<p>They occupied stools at a high counter covered with oilcloth. Uncle
+Buzz ordered rolls and coffee. Joe took rolls and coffee. There was a
+period of silence as they waited.</p>
+
+<p>Directly Mr. Mosby began talking in a low tone: "It's a rather
+fortunate thing you came up this week-end, Joseph. I was rather afraid
+you mightn't." He paused and Joe, while he felt reasonably sure of
+just what would come next, listened with polite interest.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been troubled with frightful headaches this past week," he
+continued, "so severe that I could scarcely see the open page before
+me."</p>
+
+<p>Joe murmured his regret over the cup's brim.</p>
+
+<p>The old man paused and seemed to consider. Then hesitantly continuing:
+"If you could spare an hour or two this afternoon&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely I can, Uncle Buzz. Easiest thing you know."</p>
+
+<p>The old man breathed deep and long and set down his coffee cup. "It is
+a trifling matter of some forty-six dollars. Would you like to go out
+to Montgomery's this afternoon? He has a couple of two-year-olds that
+he will be shipping down for the Derby now pretty soon."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd be very pleased to, Uncle Buzz."</p>
+
+<p>And thus was the matter broached, and the matter accepted, without any
+bald reference to necessity, without the slightest violation to the
+tenets of hospitality. No reference was made to a previous
+understanding. Joe's visit was established on a purely social basis,
+and as such it would be presented to Mrs. Mosby, whose penchant for
+alarm might thus escape stimulus.</p>
+
+<p>They finished their lunch hurriedly and made their way across to the
+"Golden Rule," where Uncle Buzz led his charge with swift, silent
+steps back to the little private office in the rear of the store. Once
+inside, the door was closed and the books quickly opened upon the
+table. "They are always a bit impatient for the balance this time of
+the year," Mr. Mosby offered in explanation.</p>
+
+<p>An hour's work sufficed to find the trouble. It was in the carrying
+forward of a single account. Once found, the rest was very simple, and
+at three o'clock Uncle Buzz slammed the ledger shut with an air of
+complete satisfaction, walked confidently through the door into the
+adjoining office with his little sheaf of papers, and returning
+reached for his hat. "Burrus is out," he said crisply. "We won't
+wait."</p>
+
+<p>Joe likewise reached for his hat.</p>
+
+<p>At the door the old man turned, and with a reminiscent smile and in a
+confidential tone, "There is a lot of personal jealousy in this firm."</p>
+
+<p>Joe expressed no surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"He's just been elected deacon in the church." His old eyes began to
+twinkle. "Great changes can take place in a man's habits once you
+hitch him up with apron strings. His wife has never thought so much of
+Loraine. And now he doesn't think so much of me." He chuckled. "We
+were raised together, and I have a good memory." He opened the door
+and walked slowly toward the front of the store. It was empty of
+customers. A clerk stood leaning idly across a glass counter of
+notions looking into the street. Uncle Buzz proceeded calmly on,
+giving the clerk a pleasant nod. "She came from a farm back in the
+county. They say she had never seen a railroad until she was
+twenty-one years old."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk inspected Joe thoroughly and critically and made no sign of
+having heard anything. And still Joe felt a bit dubious; indiscretion
+is like other normal weapons: it kills when one doesn't know it is
+loaded.</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Mosby was in rising spirits. They emerged to the street and
+turned the corner into the less populous thoroughfare, known commonly
+throughout Bloomfield as Pearl Street, and there they came upon Uncle
+Buzz's horse and buggy, standing as if carved from one and the same
+block of immutable immobility. Even the flies found little of
+excitement in lighting about the front section of the combination, and
+only one or two were buzzing about in the general neighbourhood in a
+dispirited manner.</p>
+
+<p>The horse opened his eyes and lifted one ear as Uncle Buzz climbed in
+the buggy and took up the lines. But being complacent and particularly
+indisposed to anything as much like effort as resistance, the starting
+was quite without ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>Eventually, and not too much so, they left the city streets, and soon
+were jogging down a winding little lane of the softest, yellowest
+earth imaginable. On either side, between the edge of the roadside and
+the snake rail fence, was a little bank all a-tangle with blackberry
+bushes, and here and there, with its roots protruding out into space,
+a gaunt and bare thorn tree or an occasional walnut thrusting its
+branches over the road. Beyond, the fields lay in cool, serrated rows,
+deep brown and freshly fragrant. The woodland which hung about in the
+background beyond the fields would occasionally sweep down and cross
+the road, and then would come a stretch of checkered shade on the
+yellow earth, and the lifting, expectant sound of high wind in top
+branches. And sometimes, in the heart of such an arm of woodland, the
+old horse's hoofs would echo hollow on the warped and mellowing boards
+of a tiny bridge, and there would be a momentary slip and gurgle of
+water underneath, on down through the ferns. Joe felt steeped in calm.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Montgomery was not at home. Nor were the horses. They found they
+were a week late. An old Negro whom they encountered just within the
+paddock gate so informed them: "Yessuh. They done took 'em down t'
+Louisville, las' Monday."</p>
+
+<p>They left him scratching his kinky gray pate in meditation.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz was disappointed. The little excursion was thus deprived
+of its sparkle. There was a something about going out to see
+racehorses&mdash;&mdash;Well, at any rate, Uncle Buzz was
+disappointed. He showed it on the way home. Perhaps the fading
+sunlight, the lengthening shadows, had something to do with it. And
+the wind, too, that had come with the morning and kept up its bluster
+all day, had died to a whisper, so that a cluster of last year's
+corn-stalks standing in a fence corner were merely indifferently
+waggling. It may have been just a reflection of mood, but as they were
+rounding the brow of the hill above Bloomfield and could see the dip
+of the meadows to the creek and the white fences and outbuildings of
+the Fair Grounds away off to the right, the old horse stopped and
+gently switched his tail. And Uncle Buzz let him stop.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know," he said, and his voice was reminiscent and uncertain,
+"I've been thinking lately we ought to sell the place and move to
+town."</p>
+
+<p>Joe looked up at him curiously. "Why do you think that, Uncle Buzz?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Mosby pondered, as the horse, feeling perhaps the slight pricks of
+conscience, resumed his way at an imperceptible walk. "Well," he said,
+"this country is not what it used to be. All the other towns, Guests,
+Fillmore&mdash;all the rest of them&mdash;are on the railroad or
+interurban. They have the advantage of us."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was watching him unperceived. The old man's face had lost its
+aggressive jauntiness. There was an odd pucker about the brows. His
+mouth, above the well-trimmed goatee, seemed small and indecisive. Joe
+could see the clear blue veins on the back of the hand as it
+listlessly held the lines.</p>
+
+<p>"Business has been a bit slack this past year. Seems like it never got
+over the war. And prices are high, too. Can't get a nigger to do a
+day's work for you for less than three dollars now," he added
+fiercely. And then lapsing into his former vein again, "I
+wonder&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Joe waited. "Wonder what, Uncle Buzz?"</p>
+
+<p>The sun made one of its perceptible drops, just as though its setting
+was a matter of notches. A little cool breeze came up to meet them
+from the creek bottom as they moved slowly downward.</p>
+
+<p>"Why couldn't you get me something to do in Louisville? How about the
+Plow Company? They must employ a great many men." He laughed a bit
+shrilly. "I've always thought I would like to live in Louisville."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was aghast. He felt as if it might be some old lady demanding of
+him pink tights and a place in the front row of the ballet. However,
+he checked the exclamation that rose to his lips. But for a moment he
+did not know what to say. Uncle Buzz&mdash;wanting to go to work at
+Bromley's!&mdash;An ancient and decrepit Whittington!</p>
+
+<p>"But you've been here so long, Uncle Buzz!" he managed at length.</p>
+
+<p>"So I have. All the more reason. I'm getting in a rut. Besides, I'm
+getting tired of Burrus. Narrow-minded scoundrel! He throws out hints
+about Zeke bringing me my whiskey over from Fillmore. As if it were
+any of his business!" He subsided and silently contemplated the depths
+of Burrus' degradation.</p>
+
+<p>Joe laughed softly and at the same time felt the sharp little warning
+edge of an intuition. Uncle Buzz was slipping, and he knew it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't be in a hurry," he suggested at length, "Bromley's is full
+up. All those men coming back from the army, you know&mdash;I'll keep
+an eye open for you if you want me." It was most incongruous, the
+patronizing air that had crept into his voice, the tone that
+invariably greets the unemployed, wherever or whoever he be.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Buzz brightened. "Do," he said.</p>
+
+<p>They drove through the gate and up to the house. Aunt Loraine
+profusely reproached her husband for not advising her of Joseph's
+arrival. "It's a shame. Here at the last minute. You might have at
+least sent me word, Bushrod."</p>
+
+<p>"We had to go out in the country," Uncle Buzz replied with decision.</p>
+
+<p>And so they supped meagrely on fried chicken and rice and gravy and
+hot biscuits and coffee. And afterward they sat in the high-ceilinged
+back parlour, in candlelight, and watched the glow die from the
+western sky. And Aunt Loraine asked him about the "season" in
+Louisville, and once she asked him about Mary Louise. And bye-and-bye
+Uncle Buzz began to nod just like a sleepy little boy, and with the
+prospect of a long, well-filled to-morrow, Joe suggested that they go
+to bed. And then there was a moment's pausing upon the threshold of a
+yawning black door beyond which things smelled mustily sweet, with
+dusty shadows that crept across the matting from a shielded lamp; and
+later a most delicious yielding of one's self to the cool envelope of
+soft white sheets, and a moment's wide-eyed staring at the ceiling;
+and then forgetfulness.</p>
+
+<p>Sometime later&mdash;it seemed hours&mdash;Joe was awakened by the
+clatter of an automobile somewhere beneath his window. For a moment he
+lay still and wondered and then, the bustle continuing, only in a much
+subdued and muffled manner, he got up and in his bare feet walked over
+to the window across the matting and looked out. He saw an oil lantern
+sitting on the edge of the side steps, and he saw the open screen
+door. And then from a black shadow a short distance away, behind the
+old lilac bush he remembered so well, he saw a figure emerge, carrying
+a glass jug. The figure was Zeke's, stooped over and shuffling, in the
+same old peaked cap he had always worn. And in the jug was the
+apotheosis of Mr. Mosby's contempt for Mr. Burrus, and as it passed
+the light it gleamed and sparkled with a deep golden malevolence. And
+hearing steps on the porch, and voices, and fearing lest he might be
+seen spying at the window, Joe crept back to bed. And directly he
+heard the familiar roaring clatter of a car starting up somewhere down
+below there in the darkness, and after a while&mdash;silence. He fell
+into a deep and satisfying sleep.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER VI</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">ary</span>
+Louise had the power of concentration over her determinations as well
+as over her desires. Once having decided on a course she could keep
+herself driving at it without ceasing. If she made a digression, it
+was with eyes set on the goal, and for the reason that to so digress
+was to find a more facile path and save time in the end. Her past
+attainments had been gained apparently without effort, for in the
+little world she had known at Bloomfield all had been hers to do with
+as she desired. And then had come the eighteen months in Louisville,
+with its awakenings, its gradual undermining of her old standards and
+conceptions, and its whetting of the keen edge of her desire.</p>
+
+<p>She had been made to see her facts in another light. Those things that
+had been wont to be considered as axioms and irrefutable postulates in
+her daily acceptance were suddenly seen as the most ephemeral
+hypotheses. The desirability of Bloomfield and the lustre about the
+name "McCallum"&mdash;two rocks upon which she had builded the edifice
+of her confidence&mdash;were found of a sudden to be but shifting
+sands, hard-packed enough on the surface, but subjected to the most
+insidious and devastating undertow. Many a weaker spirit would have
+thrown up his arms and dived with desperation overboard in search of
+solid footing. But not so Mary Louise. She had a momentary whirl at
+negation and then a firm and ever-increasing determination to build
+her own footing. If Bloomfield and the McCallum family were not all
+they should be, she would make them so, to her own satisfaction at
+least. Money was the one thing needed, she soon found or thought she
+found, and money was the thing she was determined to get, enough of it
+to accomplish her purpose. When she had started the tea room she had
+not had the slightest idea that she could possibly fail to do just
+exactly what she wanted.</p>
+
+<p>As she read the note that Joe had left for her, the news of Miss
+Susie's illness caused her temporary distress. But her mind did not
+dwell for long on the distressing part of it, but got busy with the
+problem in hand, went into conference with itself over it, analyzed
+and dissected it to its complete satisfaction, and then put out the
+resulting dicta on the bulletin board of her consciousness. The
+particular "Thou must" was in this case "Go to Bloomfield." And
+inasmuch as Mary Louise never under any circumstances thought of
+disregarding these highly accurate mental dicta, go to Bloomfield she
+did. She went the following morning, which was Friday. And it must be
+said that in spite of the attention which was focused on the
+immediate difficulty before her, which was, "What to do with Miss
+Susie," her mind kept straining at this barrier for continued and
+reassuring glimpses of the ultimate goal ahead. Still, she loved her
+aunt, and the realization of her suffering was to her genuine pain.</p>
+
+<p>As she entered the sitting-room door, she found the little old lady
+propped in a rocking chair just inside the doorway with a patchwork
+quilt across her lap, tucking her in. There was no appreciable change.
+She was as yellow, as parchment like as ever. Her eyes perhaps were
+brighter; indeed they seemed almost to have a heat of their own as
+Mary Louise stooped to kiss the cheek held up to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you let me know sooner?" she chided.</p>
+
+<p>"There was no reason for you to come at all," Miss Susie responded
+briskly. "Some people haven't enough questions to decide for
+themselves. Have to go about hunting for other people's problems."</p>
+
+<p>"But you weren't going to sit up here and not let me know anything
+about it?" Mary Louise took off her hat and came over to the rocking
+chair, toward which she dragged another, and seated herself. She
+reached out and took one of the little blue-veined hands and stroked
+it gently. "You weren't going to sit up here and let me know nothing
+about it? That's not what you promised."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie's fixed, inexorable expression did not change. But she was
+pleased&mdash;was feeling softer. Unconsciously she liked Mary Louise
+to assume that patronizing, superior air toward her. She said nothing
+and began to rock softly to and fro, staring through the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise continued the gentle stroking. Bye-and-bye she ventured
+softly, "You're right sure you're feeling all right now? What did the
+doctor say?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie turned on her, mouth snapping shut. "Doctor! Who said I had
+to have a doctor?" The look in her eyes, as she turned them full upon
+the girl, was one in which defiance mingled with alarm and struggled
+for mastery. For Miss Susie had waged a long and losing warfare with
+disease and she quailed before the emblems of surrender if not from
+the enemy itself.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise for the moment let it go at that. After the air had
+appreciably cooled she ventured again: "I don't suppose Mrs. Mosby
+knew how to reach me?" Miss Susie looked puzzled and she continued in
+explanation, "I had a note from Joe Hooper saying you had had a little
+spell&mdash;I suppose Mrs. Mosby 'phoned him."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie gave a little snort. "And what would Loraine Mosby be doing
+meddling in my affairs? She hasn't called on me for years. Like as not
+it was that fool Lavinia Burrus. You would think she owned and was
+running the town. The salvation of Bloomfield weighs mighty heavy on
+her shoulders these days&mdash;with her '<i>Dear</i> Miss McCallum,' and
+her 'Poor dear Mrs. Hamilton!' I've a mind to tell her that charity,
+even of thought, begins at home&mdash;where it's needed."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise felt a sudden sort of displeasure. She had adopted the
+devious method of getting at the true state of affairs, for that was
+the only way any one could get anything out of Miss Susie. And now she
+found herself getting interested on her own account. She had once
+supposed that it had been through Mrs. Mosby's agency that she had
+been apprised. It now appeared that someone else&mdash;an outsider and
+a parvenu at that&mdash;had linked her name with that of Joe Hooper's
+to send her word through him. It gave her rank displeasure. To be
+officially tagged as "Such and such" by a "one-horse" little town. Yes
+it was a "one-horse" little town. Her assurance slipped from her and
+in confusion she sought to investigate no further.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Mattie? You ought to have something about your shoulders."
+She rose to her feet and began poking about on the wardrobe shelf.</p>
+
+<p>"Mattie's not here," said Miss Susie.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise turned around. "Mattie's not here?&mdash;And what's the
+reason she's not here?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie's voice was acquiring calm. "She decided that this wasn't
+good enough place for her. She couldn't bear to think of all the money
+servants were getting down in Louisville&mdash;so she left."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise came back and stood before her chair. She looked at her
+aunt intently. "You mean to say she <i>left</i> you?"</p>
+
+<p>"She did."</p>
+
+<p>It was too much for Mary Louise's comprehension and she contemplated
+the fact bleakly. "Why, her people have been here on the place for
+four generations!"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie's face was grim. "Ten dollars a week was too much for her."</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the conviction was taking root. "And she has really left?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"And taken Omar with her?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie nodded again.</p>
+
+<p>"And Landy?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence. Miss Susie, it seemed, would for the
+dramatic effect have preferred that the defection had been universal.
+"No," she said half regretfully, "Landy's stayed with me."</p>
+
+<p>"And done the cooking, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did&mdash;after Wednesday."</p>
+
+<p>"And Wednesday? <i>You</i> tried it until then, I suppose?" Mary Louise's
+tone was all reproach.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie did not deny it.</p>
+
+<p>They sat for a moment in dismal accord. Mary Louise had a sudden
+feeling as though the family were breaking up. All during the war the
+little corps of servants had remained intact. She had felt that, the
+war over, the danger point had been passed. Also the reason for Miss
+Susie's little spell was now apparent.</p>
+
+<p>Directly she asked more briskly, "D' you try to get any one
+else?&mdash;Zibbie Tuttle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Zibbie's gone to town, too."</p>
+
+<p>Another moment's depressed silence.</p>
+
+<p>"And how about Zenie? She used to cook."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie sighed. "Zenie's got her head all full of fool notions. She
+thinks she has to stay home and look after that worthless Zeke."</p>
+
+<p>"And she won't come? You've tried her?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie shook her head grimly.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise suddenly laughed. It was a dry, mirthless sort of laugh.
+"Looks like the Negroes are getting all the latest notions of
+progress, too. I must have put the idea into their heads."</p>
+
+<p>"All except Zenie," amended Miss Susie. "She's old-fashioned."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I'd better be coming back." She stood by the door, musing.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie reached over for her spectacles. There was an almost
+imperceptible flash in her eyes. "And be like Zenie?"</p>
+
+<p>The shot missed. Mary Louise was turning over many things in her mind.
+Her little plans were being threatened and by circumstances which she
+had previously scorned to notice. Irritation and a restless desire to
+be up and at her obstacles were prevailing over all other feelings.
+For several moments she pondered, gazing through the glass half of the
+sitting-room door, and then with a hurried, "I'll be back," she bolted
+from the room, out toward the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>When she returned some fifteen minutes later there was a look of
+settled calm on her face, and she busied herself making Miss Susie
+comfortable; for she had reached a decision and could think about
+other things. And the things that old Landy had told her had sobered
+her while they strengthened that decision.</p>
+
+<p>That night she lay on a restless pillow. The sudden change from the
+rattle and bang of the city where all the little noises were swallowed
+up in a general roar was hard on her ravelled nerves. She missed the
+noise. She found herself painfully acute to all the little tickings
+and crackings and buzzings that an open country window brings to one's
+ears. There was an unpleasant smell of damp matting there in the dark
+room. And the wind, as it came soughing down from the hill behind,
+caught a loose end of the roof somewhere over her head and made as
+though to roll it back. But it never did. Her bed was lumpy. It had
+never seemed so before. And there was not enough ventilation in the
+room. The two windows, placed side by side in the eaves, allowed no
+circulation. People in the country did not know how to live. Now she
+would knock that partition away. There was no use having a hall at
+the head of the stairs, a hall that led nowhere except into one room.
+She would knock that partition away and make a single big room of the
+whole attic. And then the window in the hall would serve for
+additional light and air for the one room. Or would it be better to
+cut another window and run the partition lengthwise, thus making two
+rooms of it? That might be better. Two rooms were better than one
+great big barn of a room. Later on, perhaps, she would have it done.
+She fell asleep over the complexity of the problem.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning she set out with dispatch to carry out her plan. She
+went to see Zenie Thompson.</p>
+
+<p>She found that much maligned and misunderstood woman cheerily rocking
+her leisure away at the front door of her home. The air was warm and
+Zenie had, contrary to the tenets of her race's religion, thrown open
+all the front of her house, windows and all. The neck of her waist,
+which was a very old white one of Mary Louise's, was likewise frankly
+open, and as there was considerable difference in the respective
+sizes, Zenie seemed on the point of bursting from its doubtful
+whiteness into all her full-blown coffee-coloured creamness. She
+hastily pinned up the bosom of it a little as Mary Louise turned in at
+her gate.</p>
+
+<p>"How do, Mis' Ma'y Louise," she beamed, rising to her feet and holding
+her offspring clutched at a precarious angle to her shoulder. She
+stood with one hand resting on the doorpost and in her eyes
+expectancy. "Won' you-all come in?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just for a minute," said Mary Louise, refusing the proffered chair
+and giving the room a hasty, critical look. Even in that critical look
+she could find naught to criticize. The cabin was a small three-room
+affair, set back from the street, between two vacant old storehouses.
+Zeke had whitewashed it without and calcimined it within, and with the
+free air that circulated the place this treatment was enough to make
+the front rooms passable. Over the iron mantel hung Zeke's "Knights of
+Macabre" sword in its scabbard. Mary Louise looked for the
+white-plumed hat but it had evidently been put away. On the left wall,
+in a brilliant gilt frame, hung a coloured portrait of Admiral Dewey.
+The artist had in some way inspired a look of malign cunning on the
+face by shifting the position of the left eye a hair's breadth below
+normal, but the mouth and smile were benign. On a table to the right
+reposed a glass case with a base of felt and a rounded top&mdash;the
+mausoleum for an ancient bird creature that looked like a prairie
+chicken, very droopy and, in spite of its interment, quite dingy with
+dust. It was vaguely familiar to her somehow.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie was watching the inspection with an eager, expectant look. When
+Mary Louise had apparently finished and turned to her again, she
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"You ain' eveh see ouh house befo', is you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise admitted she never had. And then to disarm any suspicion
+that she might have come for social reasons only, she attacked the
+matter in hand with characteristic vigour:</p>
+
+<p>"Zeke's not home much, is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Right smaht he ain', no'm." Zenie's face was all expectant smiles.
+Not a shadow seemed to linger near it.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise allowed her gaze to travel about the room. In the entire
+atmosphere of the place was no besmirching suggestion of toil. She
+returned again to Zenie. The latter was like some tropical flower in
+full bloom. She began, selecting carefully her ground: "You haven't
+any place to put your baby, no one to watch him while you work, have
+you?" This was spoken with all the force of conviction.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie's face wreathed itself in another smile. "I ain' do no mo'
+wuk&mdash;not ontil Zeke he come home."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise paused and drew breath. She began again: "If there was
+somewhere you could put him, someone who could look out for him, or if
+it was so that you could keep an eye on him yourself&mdash;why, you
+could go to work again, like you used to."</p>
+
+<p>The brightness of Zenie's smile began to fade. "Yas'm. Yas'm, reckon I
+could." She turned her attention to the child in her arms and her
+voice, as she continued, was liquid soft. "Zeke's doin' so
+good&mdash;I ain' aim to wuk out no mo'. Jes' keep house heah fo'
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Then Mary Louise, sensing defeat, struck; struck unerringly for her
+objective which she judged to be the vulnerable spot; struck with
+characteristic vigour and direct: "I'll give you six dollars a week if
+you'll come and do the cooking for Miss Susie, for this summer." She
+paused and observed the effect.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie had suddenly acquired all the coy graces of a maid receiving a
+long-expected proposal. She cast her eyes discreetly down, toyed at
+the rocker edge with her shoe, and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't have to clean up the house. Landy does that. You won't have
+to do a single thing but cook." The speech ended with a rising
+inflection. Mary Louise's eloquent picture inspired even herself with
+hope.</p>
+
+<p>"Mis' Burrus done offa me seven."</p>
+
+<p>There was a momentary silence, during which time Mary Louise
+marshalled her routed forces. Directly she gallantly renewed the
+attack: "I'll give you seven then. And you can have all the time off
+you want, whenever you get through with the dishes." She had come, in
+a way, prepared for shocks, but the whirlwind manner of her
+recklessness was leaving her a bit breathless.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie's face at once assumed a look of concern and lifting her head
+she pondered far-off possibilities. "Zeke, he home so little," she
+began, and her voice had an ineffable sadness, "I likes to be home
+when he come."</p>
+
+<p>"But you <i>can</i> be at home when he comes," Mary Louise explained with a
+patience which she far from felt. "You can get off directly dishes are
+done&mdash;seven o'clock every evening, I'm sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," responded Zenie, still doubting. "But Zeke, he gone at
+night. Mos' eve' night. He home in de day, mos' de day."</p>
+
+<p>It ended by Mary Louise's offering and Zenie's accepting ten dollars a
+week, and with a promise of starting in on the following Monday. Mary
+Louise descended the cabin steps with the hollow pomp of one who has
+bought his victory too dearly. Zenie, from the steps, called cheerily:
+"Mis' Ma'y Louise. You bring me some goods fuh a dress? Sometime when
+you come up ag'in?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise paused at the gate and speculated on the humble creature
+on whom she had wreaked her will. "I guess I might, Zenie. What kind
+do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>Zenie beamed. "Oh, mos' any kin'. Whateveh you think is pritty. I pay
+you fo' it."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise promised and departed. She walked home very thoughtfully.
+Ten dollars a week! Ten dollars just to get the cooking done! She had
+had her eyes fixed very clearly indeed on the coveted goal to brush
+aside such an expensive obstacle.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon, as she busied herself with little chores about the
+house&mdash;she was sweeping the side porch at the time&mdash;she
+chanced to look up and saw Joe Hooper driving by in a low-swung
+phaeton behind a sleepy old horse. Beside him sat Mr. Mosby, very prim
+and very erect, and Joe's arm lay along the back of the seat behind
+him. The street was rather shady and it was quite a distance from
+where she was to where he was passing. But somehow it seemed to her
+that there was a singularly cheerful, quite happy expression on his
+face as he lolled back against the cushion. And he did not look in as
+he passed.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER VII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">wo</span>
+weeks passed. Joe felt himself gradually slipping into an abyss of
+resignation. Nearer and nearer came June. Less and less he seemed to
+care. He took interest in nothing. He ate and slept and plodded. He
+ate and slept and plodded as though all that life consisted of was
+eating and sleeping and plodding. Most of us have seen in some quiet
+fence corner, just behind the barn, under some old tree with gnarled
+trunk and droopy branches, an old gray horse, with eyes closed, muzzle
+resting on the top rail, one hind leg slightly bent and propped by the
+tip of a cracked and drying hoof. Most of us have seen such a horse,
+seemingly on the gradual slip into oblivion, whose very tail-switching
+was so rhythmic and regular as to fit in, in absolute harmony, with
+the swelling waves of sleep and measured breathing and all that sort
+of thing. And that very horse might well be on the brink of a day's
+exhausting labour. And furthermore he might well know it. Certainly
+his experience might tell him&mdash;easily enough. Yet he stands there
+switching in a sort of self-imposed numbness. It is probably nature's
+way of anaesthetizing him from the pain of unlimited drabness. It is
+the only way a sensitive nature can face such a prospect without going
+mad. Such was Joe.</p>
+
+<p>He had slumped. He no longer cared. He no longer cared if skies were
+blue and if breezes were lazy and outdoors was calling. He no longer
+cared when the quitting whistle blew. He no longer cared that June was
+only two weeks off. He would not even have cared if June had been the
+end of it all. He had settled into his stupor.</p>
+
+<p>And then one morning at about eleven o'clock he was summoned to the
+telephone by the switchboard operator. It was a drowsy morning, full
+of dronings and rustlings, and he was very heavy lidded as he stepped
+into the booth reserved for such calls. He had been expecting a
+message from Indianapolis about some shipment that had gone astray and
+for which he was putting in a claim. He sank heavily down upon the
+hard, polished little stool. The air was stuffy and foul about him.</p>
+
+<p>"This Mr. Hooper?" he heard a voice say.</p>
+
+<p>He said it was.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this is&mdash;&mdash;" He had not the slightest idea what the
+name was. But it made not the slightest difference. It might have been
+the president or it might have been the shipping clerk. All that
+mattered was that it was a tiresome sack of castings giving him some
+extra trouble. And so he stretched a little and yawned a little and
+replied: "Yes. All right."</p>
+
+<p>And then the voice went on a little hurriedly&mdash;too hurriedly for
+him to catch it all. And instead of "sack of castings," the voice kept
+on crazily alluding to "your uncle" and "all night"&mdash;and phrases
+that were jumbled as in a dream. He came to himself suddenly with a
+start and then the connection was broken off and there was nothing but
+a confused buzzing and rattling. He straightened up on the stool,
+waited a minute, and then jiggled the receiver. He felt very queer. He
+felt to blame for his stupidness. He felt someway as though he had
+been caught up with. And he could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>Directly the exchange called his name and he responded quite sharply
+and briskly. Then her "Just a minute," and he was feeling suddenly
+taut and tense. And then the voice was switched on again.</p>
+
+<p>Like a dream it came. He could barely make out the syllables. The
+voice was broken&mdash;seemed very far-away&mdash;very weak. It was
+telling him that his uncle&mdash;his uncle, Mr. Mosby&mdash;"Brrr!
+Brrr!"&mdash;and had not been seen since. There was a moment's pause.</p>
+
+<p>And then&mdash;would he come?</p>
+
+<p>Another pause and he had vague notions that that was all. And yet he
+had not heard. Yes, he would come.</p>
+
+<p>There was a click and then silence, and there he was, sitting just as
+though he had dreamed it all. Then a voice called, "Did you get
+them?" And he mechanically put up the receiver without a word.
+Something had happened&mdash;just what, he could only guess&mdash;make
+out piecemeal. There was trouble&mdash;he could feel that. Uncle Buzz
+had somehow stepped beyond the pale. He had heard the words "all
+night" and "no trace of him." This was no ordinary trouble. This was
+not a matter of trial balance.</p>
+
+<p>He opened the door and stepped out into the office. It was a changed
+place. Over there was his long flat-topped desk with the opened ledger
+upon it. A sheet of paper had blown to the floor and was sliding over
+toward him, its edges curling lazily. These seemed live, vibrant
+features. One of the clerks across the way had thought of something
+humorous and was leaning forward to tell his vis-&agrave;-vis. It had
+been so vital that he had laid his pen down to tell it. He was talking
+with half-shut lips, with eyes that shifted back and forth alert for a
+glance of disfavour. His rusty black derby sat on the back of his
+head: his white piqu&eacute; tie had slipped away from a bright brass
+collar button....</p>
+
+<p>Through the open door he could see Mr. Boner hunched up over his desk
+and as he watched, that gentleman suddenly plunged his head in a
+ducking motion toward the cuspidor on the floor and just as quickly
+bent down again over the desk. Like fire-flashes of consciousness all
+these things were. These were things going on outside of him. There
+was a world moving on outside of him, a world that took little count
+of the creatures in its path. All this&mdash;all this about
+him&mdash;was like a bit of stale, flat, slightly greenish
+backwater&mdash;the big wheels churning away just beyond and paying it
+no attention, letting it grow staler and staler. Some day there would
+come a change&mdash;as though the miller had opened up another
+sluice&mdash;and a few vigorous splashings and all would be changed
+even here. He viewed it speculatively, as one outside it all. He
+suddenly felt that for him it was all over. And he went into Mr.
+Boner's office.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Boner looked up sidewise.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a 'phone call from home."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Boner's eyes rolled slightly, showing the whites.</p>
+
+<p>"There's some trouble there. I'll have to go."</p>
+
+<p>A moment's pause. Mr. Boner cleared his throat. "All right," he said.
+And then he bent back over his work.</p>
+
+<p>He went and got his hat. With his hand on the swinging door he paused
+and looked back. Not a head was raised. In the air there hovered a
+droning, a rustling. It was like a vast, drowsy, slothful thing,
+ignorant, dull, hateful. He pulled open the door. And then he left it.</p>
+
+<p>Three hours later he was standing in the "Golden Rule" at Bloomfield.
+Before him was a glass counter wherein were displayed knives and
+cleavers and scissors and other cutlery. Above the counter, peering
+at him rather anxiously over steel-rimmed spectacles, were the head
+and shoulders of Mr. Burrus. Burrus! It had come to him on the train.
+That was the name he had not caught. Burrus! Who else?</p>
+
+<p>"And you say that the last time you saw him was when he got into his
+buggy and drove away&mdash;last night? What makes you think he's gone
+away?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burrus had been thoughtfully eyeing his stock of knives through
+the case and as Joe finished he cast a quick, sidewise glance up at
+him. Joe caught the flicker of it through the spectacles. "Well," he
+began, and hesitated a little, "it's what I woulda done&mdash;under
+the circumstances." Mr. Burrus' manner, usually so brisk and
+business-like, seemed suddenly to have changed. He scratched his head
+with a long and bony finger and looked up again at Joe. What he saw
+seemed not to reassure him, for Joe had all of a sudden grown beyond
+Bloomfield's conception of him. He towered above the cutlery
+case&mdash;seemed to fill out his clothes. There was a set look about
+his mouth and a steadiness about his eyes. Mr. Burrus paused again.</p>
+
+<p>"Circumstances?" said Joe. "Under what circumstances?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burrus gazed off into the clear blue of the sky patch outlined by
+his front door. "Well," he began cautiously, "I weren't callatin' to
+say anything about this to anybody, but&mdash;I had to let Bushrod
+go." The little weazened body with its scrawny neck rising out of the
+gaping rubber collar, the shiny bald head with its fringe of graying
+hair about the edge, the white shirt sleeves with the frayed cuffs and
+the skinny brown hands&mdash;a most incongruous disguise for Nemesis
+to take in passing a pronunciamento.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" Joe repeated after him softly. "Wasn't he doing his work?"</p>
+
+<p>Another flash-like glance up through the steel-rimmed spectacles. Mr.
+Burrus appeared to be weighing his words. "No," he considered, "it
+weren't that." He drummed with his fingers on the glass counter. "He
+was drunk," he snapped out, and stared sternly off into space. And
+then as if he felt it becoming of him, he frowned and his adam's-apple
+moved up and down with quick, spasmodic jerks. But he would not look
+at Joe.</p>
+
+<p>A moment's silence descended on the shop and the odours of the place,
+as though set free by that silence, came drifting to Joe's nostrils as
+he stood there waiting&mdash;waiting for the story. There was a
+blending of the smells of coal oil and fresh cloth on bolts and the
+indefinable metallic smell of tinware, and behind it all an overtone
+of odour, as it were, of sweet growing things&mdash;hay and
+grain&mdash;and the fields&mdash;Someone dropped a pan in the rear of
+the shop and Mr. Burrus looked around fiercely. When he again faced
+Joe, the harassed look was gone.</p>
+
+<p>Joe had been gradually making up his mind. "You'd seen him drunk
+before?&mdash;That wasn't the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burrus looked up. "Well!" he began tartly. "So much the worse,
+isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Joe, "it's not. If you'd fired him the first time there'd
+have been some reason for it. It was because he wasn't the kind of man
+you wanted in your office, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"That was it, exactly," agreed Mr. Burrus.</p>
+
+<p>"It was because he didn't see things as he should, didn't do things as
+he should&mdash;in a general way&mdash;that he wasn't fit for the job,
+Mr. Burrus?" Joe went on.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"And if he had&mdash;had been of a piece with yourself&mdash;so that
+you could have jiggled him around in your fingers like a hunk of
+putty, it would have been all right. It was not his drinking&mdash;it
+was his drinking in spite of your wanting him not to&mdash;that got
+him in bad, wasn't it, Mr. Burrus?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Burrus fidgeted and then turned sharply on Joe. "This ain't no
+third degree."</p>
+
+<p>"And you think he's gone away?" Joe continued as though not hearing
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he's gone away. What else was there for him to do?"</p>
+
+<p>There was no obvious alternative.</p>
+
+<p>Joe took his leave and went to see Mrs. Mosby. As he stood waiting in
+the cool, high-ceilinged hall, he was struck by the quiet of the
+place. It had an air of waiting. What for? There was a high walnut
+hat-rack with a mirror and a marble slab with a card tray on it, and
+two high-backed chairs, likewise black walnut and elaborately carved
+and atrocious, and in the dim recesses of the stair a horsehair sofa,
+all just as they had been for years. They were mute but they seemed
+expectant. What could they be waiting for? They were on the outside
+edge of things&mdash;where life was passing. What could be in store
+for them? And yet, as he stood in the hall, with the sound of his
+breathing so fine, so distinct in his ears, they seemed to be part of
+another presence waiting there with him, a mute presence as to sound,
+but in some way eloquent voiced, clamorous to be heard.</p>
+
+<p>A faint rustling came to his ears and then steps, and looking up, he
+saw his aunt Loraine coming down the stairs. Her bangles and her
+trinkets gave out hushed little clickings and he could hear her
+breathing as she came across the carpet to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"Joseph," she said, and he could see beneath her shell that she was
+agitated. "Joseph! What do you suppose can have happened?" Her
+toilette, like an ancient ritual observed in every sacred detail,
+included her manner and deportment. The voice, the inflection, the
+bearing&mdash;all went with the ruching and the bangles. Joe had once
+wondered if she put them all in the same box when she went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Aunt Lorry, I'm sure." Catching a haggard look about
+her eyes he added more gently: "But I wouldn't be too worried. He's
+probably gone to Louisville."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head, and in spite of herself her voice broke a little.
+"He's never done that without telling me."</p>
+
+<p>Joe stood for a moment in thought. "There was no business that would
+take him anywhere&mdash;business about the farm?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said. "Won't you come in and sit down in the parlour? I was
+so upset&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her kindly. It was perhaps the first time in his
+experience he had ever done so. Somehow the shell did not seem so to
+cover her. She was such a tight little body, a close-bound fagot of
+reserves and inhibitions. She had never exuded the slightest humanity.
+And now the shell was cracking and little glints were showing through.
+"No, Aunt Lorry," he said. "Not now. There's nothing to be gained by
+talking&mdash;unless you have any ideas as to where&mdash;where he
+might have gone."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes looked haggard but they remained stoically dry. She shook her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to go and took a few steps toward the door. And she came and
+laid her hand on his arm. It was as light and feathery as a dead leaf,
+but he could feel the warmth through his sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't," she said, "don't let anything get out if&mdash;if there's
+anything should be kept quiet." She looked him earnestly in the eyes.
+"I'll depend on you?"</p>
+
+<p>He promised and ran lightly down the front steps. Behind him the front
+door closed, ponderous and grave. And as he passed around the curve of
+the driveway to the gate he looked back and the shadows of the old
+house were stretching out toward him on the grass.</p>
+
+<p>He had had a sudden idea. There in the front hall it had occurred to
+him that there was one person at least who might know something. He
+had recalled that last night spent in the upstairs ell bedroom, the
+voices, the clatter of a car. Zeke was probably closer to his uncle
+Buzz than any other living soul. And just as suddenly he had decided
+that it would be time wasted to talk with his aunt Loraine&mdash;time
+that could be well spent elsewhere. And so his departure had been
+precipitate. And now as he hurried along the plank walk, beneath the
+arching branches, with the world so fresh and green and hopeful about
+him, he felt how incongruous everything was. Over beyond the hedge the
+blackbirds were hopping about on the grass looking for worms, giving
+occasional satisfied clucks. Across an intersecting road, on up ahead,
+an old buggy passed, drawn by a jogging horse with hanging head. Like
+the Mosby turnout&mdash;very. And that very morning he had been at his
+desk, drugged, overwhelmed with the hopelessness of monotony.</p>
+
+<p>He passed on to the other side of town, keeping to the back streets,
+for he did not wish to meet any one or talk to any one. It was nearing
+six o'clock as he approached the gate of Zeke Thompson's cabin, and
+there was that golden glow in the sky which so often follows a spell
+of dampness. It had rained the night before&mdash;the road looked dark
+and cool&mdash;and about the western sky the clouds were hovering as
+if undecided. But the sunlight streamed bravely through and all was
+fresh and clean and cool.</p>
+
+<p>The front door was open and as Joe passed through the gate he saw no
+one. Softly he climbed the steps and passed over the threshold. The
+room was empty, but an apron thrown carelessly over the back of a
+rocking chair gave evidence of its having been vacated not long since.
+The door to the next room was standing ajar.</p>
+
+<p>Joe stood and pondered. Just what should he ask Zeke? Should he tell
+him what had happened? Zeke might probably have heard, if the news was
+about. Standing there, waiting, there came to his ears a peculiar
+sound, faint, high-pitched, and monotonous. He listened. Someone was
+singing in the next room in a voice not much louder than a whisper.
+Curious, he walked softly over to the door and peered through.</p>
+
+<p>There in a tiny rocking chair sat a little figure rocking to and fro.
+Its back was half turned toward him, but he could see a kinky head
+which was bent over something held in its arms, which it was most
+evidently lulling to sleep. The room was darkening, with only a single
+patch of orange-coloured sunlight upon the bare floor. Back and forth
+went the little body. He could see the bare feet with the stubby toes,
+escaping as by miracle the ever-threatening rocker. There was a small
+square of blue-calico-covered back, two little pigtails of hair
+tightly tied with scraps of baby-blue ribbon, and&mdash;the voice. It
+was as fine and high as wind blowing across a hair and with a curious,
+lifting minor note. He listened.</p>
+
+<p>First there would be a gentle hushing and then the refrain&mdash;the
+melody was unappreciable and elusive, though constant:&mdash;</p>
+
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Grasshopper set on sweet tater vine,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On sweet tater vine,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On sweet tater vine.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Big turkey gobbler come up behime</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And nip him off that sweet tater vine."</span><br />
+
+<p>With the word "nip" would come a crescendo, swelling to a sharp little
+monosyllabic quaver, and then the whole thing would die away most
+mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>Twice he heard it sung through to the faint accompaniment of the tiny
+screaking rocker. It was a very solemn abjuration against the
+promiscuous sitting about of casual creatures. And oddly enough it
+seemed to him in a way that something was speaking through that
+feeble, quavering voice to him; that this was of the same parcel with
+what had happened, was happening. He felt singularly tense&mdash;had
+not the slightest desire to laugh. And as he watched, the orange patch
+on the floor began to fade, until the room was bathed in shadow. And
+the song came suddenly to an end and he heard a gentle little "Hush,"
+and then a sigh, and then silence. Slowly he backed away on tiptoe
+from the door.</p>
+
+<p>He had barely gained the security of the front room&mdash;somehow he
+felt it as security&mdash;when he heard the gate screak and, turning
+suddenly, saw a man dart like a shadow around the side of the house.
+For a moment he stood in indecision; then he walked softly to the open
+front door and stood waiting on the threshold. It would be easier to
+explain his presence there. The sky had grown darker; curling billows
+of cloud rolling in from the south had chased away the orange glow and
+their under surface was lit by a pale-green luminance as they came.
+Shifting wisps of vapour slid twisting and writhing on up ahead, like
+outriders on reconnaissance. It was singularly still.</p>
+
+<p>Joe stood and waited. Directly he heard a sound, and then steps echoed
+on the walk around the side of the cabin, and then a man came hurrying
+around the corner, took one step up on the cabin stair, and then fell
+back with a low cry: "Fo' de Lawd."</p>
+
+<p>It was Zeke. The smoothness of his skin turned an ashen colour and the
+whites of his eyes were rolling. He pushed back away from the doorway
+and stared at Joe. Gradually the terror began to fade out of his face
+and it was superseded by a sickly grin. Joe was watching him closely.</p>
+
+<p>"You plum skeered me to deff," he finally managed to say, his breath
+coming fast and thick. "Thought you wuz a ghos'." The grin was very
+weak and it quickly subsided.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke was a gaunt "darky" of that peculiar transparent blackness that
+looks as though it is put on only one layer deep, and yet is black,
+not brown. He was thin and shambling, with high and prominent
+cheekbones and eyes that showed a lot of white at all times. Across
+one cheek was a long, purplish scar reaching up to the corner of one
+eye. It gave him a look of cunning from that quarter. But on the whole
+he was an ineffectual, shiftless looking Negro, with hands that were
+always dangling and feet that always dragged.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain' seen you fo' a long time, Mist' Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"No. I've been away&mdash;down in the city." He paused a moment,
+considering the best way to begin. "Where were you and Mr. Bushrod
+last night?" he ventured on a bold stroke.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke's eyes opened wide. "Why, we wusn' no place, Mist' Joe, Mist'
+Bushrod, he&mdash;I was to bring him&mdash;he and I wuz to have a
+little bisnis ovah to de house, but I couldn' come." His face clouded
+and took on an anxious look. "Dey ain' no trubbel, is dey, Mist' Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe made no reply and Zeke watched his thoughtful, serious face with
+growing anxiety. Here was one more avenue of possible solution
+blocked. Since yesterday afternoon no one had apparently seen
+him&mdash;Uncle Buzz. It was as though the world had swallowed him up.
+He would have to seek elsewhere. He was on the point of dismissing the
+matter, of going elsewhere, when a thought suddenly came to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You and he were to have some business last night?" he said, looking
+at Zeke intently.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke grinned a sheepish grin. "Yessuh, we wuz&mdash;we had a little
+bisnis."</p>
+
+<p>"But you didn't meet him? Sure you didn't meet him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sho I neveh. I ain' able to git de&mdash;I was detain'." Zeke had
+learned from experience and considerable instinct to hedge his
+utterances about with much generality. It was a good principle. It
+meant less to retract.</p>
+
+<p>Joe thought another moment. "Take me," he said suddenly, "to the place
+where you get the business." There he might find a connecting link in
+his chain, he felt growingly certain.</p>
+
+<p>"Oveh to Mist' Bushrod's?" The inflection was perfectly na&iuml;ve.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Of course not&mdash;out where you get it. Over to Fillmore or
+wherever it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mist' Joe," very reproachfully and with a quick, nervous
+flashing of the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Joe frowned. "You needn't put on anything with me, Zeke. I'm not going
+to give you away. Let's go get your car." He stretched out his arm as
+though to sweep Zeke into doing his bidding and started for the door.</p>
+
+<p>"But I ain' eveh had no bisnis to Fillmo'," Zeke began in a last
+effort to stem the tide. "They ain' no bisnis theh."</p>
+
+<p>"That's more like it. That may be the truth," said Joe pressing him
+on. And Zeke reluctantly passed out and descended the steps.</p>
+
+<p>As Joe turned to close the front door behind him he caught a look back
+in the room. Framed in the doorway stood a very small pickaninny,
+barely reaching to the knob. She was barefoot, in a blue calico dress,
+with her hair done in two kinky braids that stood out in front like
+diminutive horns. In her arms she held tightly clutched an old corn
+shock wrapped in a red rag. One hand grasped the doorpost. And she was
+watching him wide eyed and very gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"That's good advice you gave me," Joe said to her, as he closed the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>They made their way around a corner to a ramshackle shed, Joe urging
+on the reluctant Zeke by the menace of an encroaching shoulder. Zeke
+paused at the entrance. He groped in his pocket and directly pulled
+forth a key on a very dirty, greasy string. Fumblingly he inserted it
+in the lock. Then he paused again and lifting his eyes, thoughtfully
+inspected the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Look powahful lak rain," he reflected dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Get the car out," said the inexorable Joe. "We can put the top up."</p>
+
+<p>Zeke opened the door and went in. For several minutes there was the
+metallic slip and catch of the crank and Zeke's laboured breathing.
+Then there issued forth a reverberating roar as of a monster released
+in travail, and then slowly there emerged, back end first, a perfect
+scarecrow of an automobile, mud stained and rust streaked, with an
+arrangement on the back like a discarded chicken crate, with fenders
+that were battered and twisted as though torn by some elemental
+tempest, and with a sagging and flopping top over the front seat that
+looked as though at any moment it might collapse from sheer
+decrepitude. Slowly the thing backed out of the shed, in a curve to
+the road, with much groaning and roaring, and then came to a stop. The
+whites of two eyes peered out of the shadow of the enveloping bonnet
+as Joe approached.</p>
+
+<p>He took one more look at the sky before he climbed in. The racing
+forerunners of storm had in some inexplicable manner vanished and
+there remained a lowering canopy of gray and black with here and there
+a patch of grayish green. Over in the west was a thin line of greening
+yellow, and the shadows were darkening over the back lanes through the
+trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go," said Joe, climbing in.</p>
+
+<p>With much panting and sputtering and popping the car started slowly
+forward and they were off. Neither spoke. They came to an intersecting
+street and Zeke slowed down the car.</p>
+
+<p>"Which way, Mist' Joe?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Joe was suddenly irritated. "To Fillmore. You know where I mean.
+Wherever you've been going for the stuff."</p>
+
+<p>Zeke made a sudden turn to the left, narrowly escaping the projecting
+roots of a tree. Joe clung to the top brace for support. Down a
+darkening street they rolled, with the trees arching, sombre overhead,
+and on either side, back in the shadows, the darker shapes of houses
+with here and there the passing glow of a lighted lamp. Night
+descended upon them as they left the town and a few splashes of rain
+appeared on the dirty glass of the wind-shield. Joe settled stoically
+down to wait. There was so much time to be passed until he could be of
+further use and until then there was no need of making any effort. The
+thought of the morning came back to him. It did not seem possible that
+the same day was passing. Singularly, the idea of Bromley's was the
+thing that obsessed him rather than the business in hand. It was as
+though he had been released on furlough. "Grind, grind, grind," said
+the car. "You will be back at it all to-morrow. This is not real. This
+is a dream you're having." He shook himself. He was getting sleepy,
+felt utterly fagged.</p>
+
+<p>And then Mary Louise flashed across his mind. "Come on," she seemed to
+say. "You're slipping. You're getting behind. They're all getting
+ahead of you. You're not keeping up. Let's get in a little
+more&mdash;little more&mdash;little more." He lurched against the top
+brace, blinked, and straightened up. Beside him was the shadow bent a
+little over the wheel. He could see the outline of the peak of the old
+golf cap and the dim tracing of Zeke's face, about it a faint gleam,
+and then the flash of an eye. He pondered. Here was Zeke doing his
+work&mdash;playing his part in the scheme of things. <i>He</i> was not
+bothered by any notions of obligation. <i>He</i> was not concerned with
+working out his destiny. <i>He</i> played his cards as he got them.
+"Sometime they roll seven&mdash;and sometime they roll two," he
+remembered the words of a philosopher of the rolling rubes a year
+ago&mdash;or was it a lifetime? Bromley's! The Golden Rule! Mary
+Louise! All alike. "Shape yourself to this pattern. Fill this niche.
+You've got to," said one. "Be like me. Do as I do. Or get out," said
+another. "It costs so much to live this way. And you have to. Or it's
+not worth living," said the third. How about his way of looking at it?</p>
+
+<p>He turned suddenly to the inscrutable face beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't let anybody cramp your style, do you, Zeke?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke started. The sudden voice for a moment terrified him. "Nossuh, I
+doesn'," he stammered, anxious to agree.</p>
+
+<p>Joe's voice was kindly encouraging. "Well, don't you let them, ever."</p>
+
+<p>"Nossuh, I won'." And singularly he spoke the truth.</p>
+
+<p>They came to a stretch of sand and the car slowed down appreciably. In
+addition there was a grade. And then came a flash of lightning over in
+the west, straight ahead of them, and another, fan-shaped, like the
+slow opening of a hand. In the momentary glare they saw the outlines
+of a hill up before them, with the road clipping it in two. A
+telephone pole on the crest stretched out spectral arms and leaned
+away. And then darkness again.</p>
+
+<p>Joe decided he had better tell Zeke the object of their mission. It
+really didn't matter much, but then he wanted to talk.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you reckon Mr. Bushrod's in Fillmore, Zeke?" he began, trying to
+make it as conversational as possible.</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. Mist' Joe. He might could." This offered no encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>"He's been gone&mdash;ever since last night. Reckon he is in
+Fillmore?" He caught the gleam of two eyes as Zeke partly turned to
+look at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno, Mist' Joe. Wheh you reckon he gone?" As yet the import had
+failed to reach him.</p>
+
+<p>For a short while they rolled along in silence, silence save for the
+rattling labour of the car. The grade was growing steeper. On both
+sides of the road the woods were encroaching and the only light was
+the feeble one cast by the single uncertain lamp of the car. It barely
+seemed to puncture the black.</p>
+
+<p>"Mist' Bushrod ain' been home?" came Zeke's voice. The idea was
+beginning to have effect.</p>
+
+<p>"Not since yesterday morning."</p>
+
+<p>For another interval, silence, and then: "Whuh Mist' Bushrod gone?
+Reckon he gone to Louisville?" Perhaps the faint stirrings of a cell
+of conscience. Who can say?</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know, Zeke. Perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>As though satisfied by this mutual exchange of confidence, Zeke lapsed
+again into silence, and for a time nothing was heard save the voice of
+the car and occasional sighing bursts of wind high up in the
+tree-tops. Then there came a black line of shadow stretching across
+their way, on up ahead, and above it a yellowish, greenish streak of
+light where the clouds were breaking. Faint wisps of vapour went
+curling slowly across the streak and there was a patch of blue, very
+deep, and the momentary gleam of a star, and then they plunged into
+the shadow.</p>
+
+<p>The air grew cooler, almost cold. The woods had swept down upon the
+road and engulfed it. Even the noise of the motor seemed quieter, and
+above it could be heard whisperings and occasional crackings.
+Something started up from a thicket by the side of the road and they
+could hear it scurrying through the underbrush. Zeke moved up the
+throttle and they began to move faster. And on either side of them
+came down the darkness, sweeping past them, pressing close, and before
+them wavered the faltering light, and the cool damp air came fingering
+and touched their faces.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke stopped the car. The rushing darkness stopped. The breeze was
+still.</p>
+
+<p>"Heah's de place," he said, and his voice was lower; Joe could barely
+hear him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it was Fillmore. This isn't Fillmore."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Zeke. "I doesn' go to Fillmo'. Dis is de place whuh I
+gets it. Up de paff a piece."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was on the point of telling him to go on&mdash;on to Fillmore,
+where proper inquiry might be made, when a sense of curiosity prompted
+him to stop. He would see where the illegal traffic was being carried
+on. Zeke was trustingly letting him in on his business and he might
+not understand. After all, it was getting down in a way to the heart
+of the business&mdash;in a way getting closer to Uncle Buzz. He had
+never bothered much before. He climbed out of the car and Zeke shut
+off the motor.</p>
+
+<p>The silence, as he followed Zeke down the narrow path, was oppressive.
+There would come a vast sighing like a wave of sound, and a settling,
+a few crackings far off, and then silence. The ground was soft with a
+matting of fallen leaves, damp and mouldy, and once as Zeke turned his
+pocket flashlight from the path there came a gleam of water. Briars
+flicked his face and scratched his hands, and once a low-hanging
+branch struck him across the eyes and he stumbled from the path and
+stepped into slime. He kept close behind his guide, for the darkness
+was intense and the path was tortuous. Directly Zeke stopped. The
+pocket light made a small circle on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Heah 'tis," Zeke whispered, and pointed with the light.</p>
+
+<p>A thicket of blackberry bushes crowded into a corner of an old
+snake-rail fence and two old boards were all that was visible in the
+narrow compass of the light&mdash;that, and a pool of dark water over
+to one side. Up above, there was a break in the trees and a
+suggestion, beyond, of open fields. He stood for a minute. Nothing
+else was visible, nothing from the hand of man, as Zeke moved the
+light back and forth in slow-sweeping arcs. It had been a waste of
+time; there was nothing to see, nothing but the crude assignation
+place of a troop of spectral whiskey jugs, and the seat of a
+profitable industry. He turned to go, his mind shifting to other
+things. He heard Zeke fumbling in the bushes, saw the light switch
+into the fence corner, then across the pool; and then he heard a cry,
+a low cry of terror, and caught a glimpse of something white&mdash;on
+the ground, near a big tree. And then Zeke's voice, "Fo' Gawd!" and
+the light switched off and someone came hurrying toward him in the
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, Mist' Joe. Le's git away fum heah!"</p>
+
+<p>Zeke brushed past him in an agony of haste. He heard his footsteps on
+the leaf carpet, saw the crazy flickerings of the light through the
+trees, and had a sudden intense desire to follow. But he paused,
+curious, mastering his fear. And then the outline of the clearing came
+slowly to his eyes, and looking up he saw that the clouds were
+breaking and that the tip of the moon was showing through. Slowly the
+place was bathed in a silvery flood. Back slipped the shadows. Shapes
+that had been pressing, close at hand, receded and took the form of
+trees, of bushes, lurking there on the edge of the darkness. He saw
+the fence corner. He saw the two boards propped up against it, forming
+a cache. He saw the pool, a tiny little woodland pool. And then he
+caught again that glimmer of white by the foot of a huge beech tree.
+Slowly he made his way toward it with beating heart. Slowly it took
+shape, a huddled shadow, right on the edge of the light. He touched it
+with his foot, careful lest he step beyond. He stooped. He touched it
+with his hand. He turned it over. And the moonlight, slipping through
+the trees as though to help him, sent a feeble, flickering shaft
+down&mdash;upon the upturned face of Uncle Buzz. For a moment it
+rested there, as if to reassure him, bringing out in misty detail all
+that was necessary. The thing was hideously befouled, besmirched,
+lying there in that black swamp water, mute, helpless, utterly broken.
+But it was unmistakeable. He stretched out his arms and dragged it
+from the water, and the clouds, closing in again, obscured the moon,
+leaving all in darkness.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER VIII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">wo</span>
+days later they buried Mr. Mosby.</p>
+
+<p>Joe had kept his promise. At least he had kept it as well as it was
+possible to keep it. It was decided that Mr. Mosby had met his death
+by drowning. That is what "One Half of Rome" believed. The "Other Half
+of Rome" perhaps had various ideas. It could not be surmised from the
+set conventional expressions on the faces of those gathered together
+in the back parlour that hot Saturday afternoon just what the
+consensus was. There had been at first a surreptitious buzz of
+conversation and then deep silence as the Episcopal priest in his long
+white vestments came slowly in. Joe felt peculiarly outside of it all.
+He was in a sense neither spectator nor mourner. For Mrs. Mosby
+depended on the palsied arm of her brother for support. And then there
+were a few old ladies, friends of Mrs. Mosby's, and himself bringing
+up the rear&mdash;merely appended to the family, the last survivor of
+the discredited branch. He was conscious of a heavy scent of flowers
+banked about the close, dark room, a scent in which the cloying
+sweetness of jasmine prevailed. For a moment there was not a sound,
+and then the minister lifted his head and began the burial service.
+He, too, was feeling the heavy hand of time, and his voice, so long
+charged with the burden of emotion, emotion that had had to be
+summoned on short notice, seemed on the point of breaking. He was old
+and broken himself, wearied with futility, with his head raised,
+half-closed eyes lifted ceiling-ward, his fluttering draperies now
+billowy, now closely enwrapping his gaunt frame in the little breeze
+that came in from the hall. There was not much of comfort to be
+gained, not much of hope. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, Joe
+could get a glimpse of a wall of white, blank, expressionless faces
+and the silent waving of countless palm-leaf fans. Directly in front
+of him was the long, narrow back of Mr. Fawcette, and beside the
+latter, Aunt Loraine, sitting very straight and very stiff, her new
+black veil opaquely shielding from curious eyes the delicacy of her
+grief. The ruching was there, but the bangles had been laid aside. On
+went that quavering, faltering voice:</p>
+
+<p>"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of
+men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of
+birds."</p>
+
+<p>Of just what kind had been Uncle Buzz, he found himself wondering. A
+weaker kind, or at least, a kind ill suited to the world it had been
+thrown in.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I say, brethren," the voice went on, "that flesh and blood cannot
+inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit
+incorruption."</p>
+
+<p>What, thought Joe, were the chances of all those white, fleshy faces
+staring there, immovable? The crowd in the back parlour&mdash;a
+single, silent, pasty-faced, fan-waving convention, over which the
+fat, pasty white hand of death was significantly hovering, and about
+which the odour of jasmine was pressing. He felt suddenly stifled,
+suffocated. He wanted to get up and run away, out of doors, anywhere.
+The only thing that seemed to escape the stifling was his Uncle Buzz,
+lying there quietly, in acceptance. And then he knew that another link
+had been broken, a link that held him to the past. There was a little
+less friendliness, a little less cheer, a little less
+understandableness&mdash;he was conscious of it&mdash;a little less
+need of him.</p>
+
+<p>The service came to an end and a small fraction of the assembly filed
+out to the family burying ground on the hill behind the house. Here
+came a repetition of what had been enacted in the back parlour, only
+there was the distraction of the wind which would be playful and of a
+robin, perched on a near-by fence post, who would not be depressed but
+sang away its liquid, throaty warble as though the whole ceremony had
+been arranged for its own entertainment. It came quickly to an end.
+Mr. Mosby was sent on his way with all due convention and dispatch
+with a little of sentimentality thrown in for good measure. A few
+moments of grace after the last clods of earth were tossed on and
+patted down, and then everyone was hurrying away, back to his
+respective niche, cloaking haste with a thin layer of dignity. Mr.
+Burrus openly ran after a departing "Ford." It was Mr. Martin's, and
+the handy reserve carry-all of the "Golden Rule," and Mr. Burrus
+preferred a moment's haste to a long, hot walk at greater leisure. Joe
+remembered his face, there in the third row at the end, in the back
+parlour. Inscrutable it had seemed&mdash;a weazened, yellowing blank
+mask, slowly souring in the heat. What had he been thinking on? On the
+waste of some lost accounts, perhaps&mdash;or even on the amount of
+credit he might allow the widow. It might be that he contemplated the
+remote results of his own handiwork lying there in the black
+cloth-covered box. But if this latter, his face showed no sign. And
+"Neither Half of Rome," though it point an accusing finger, would
+pause for a moment as it passed him by.</p>
+
+<p>Joe did not go back to the house with the rest of the family. Instead,
+he struck out across the fields away from them. He climbed the back
+boundary fence and was soon walking up to his knees in grass and
+weeds. The air was hot and sticky and heavily charged with a
+shimmering white water vapour. There were a few sluggish clouds with
+sombre centres hanging about the valley to the southwest, and there
+was a drone and zip of flying creatures in swarms above the drying
+weeds and stubble. Coming to a large oak tree standing solitary in
+that wasting field, he threw himself face downward on the ground in
+its shadow, careless that the grass was scant, and that his bed was
+scratchy. For a moment he lay in utter relaxation, caring for and
+observing nothing. And then, the sharp edge of his fatigue being
+broken, he slowly turned on his side and leaned his head on his palm,
+his elbow resting on the ground. It was a barren prospect that
+stretched out before him: lazy, shiftless land clear over the brow of
+the hill that sloped away to the house. The Fawcette place had not
+been worked to capacity for years, and there it lay, the waste of Mr.
+Mosby's opportunity. Tiny creatures swarmed in the grass. Joe could
+see them scurrying up and down the withered and drying stalks. A
+little crowd of gnats was hovering about his head and occasionally one
+would light upon his face and stick there dejectedly. Above the grass,
+against the blue of the sky beyond, he could see the shimmering waves
+hang tremulous like the air above a hot wood-stove in winter, and
+there came to his ears the sudden whirring zip of a grasshopper in
+mid-flight. Directly there came another, and another, till the air
+seemed full of them. Summer had come. And about him lay the field in
+listless idleness.</p>
+
+<p>It was common talk that it should be worked, that it was a shame not
+to work it. But there had not been money enough. Money was needed for
+everything, everything that man wanted to do, money and something
+else. About him buzzed the gnats; all around him poured the sunshine;
+and in his ears was the drone of countless insects. This was Saturday.
+Another full day and would come Monday. Monday! He had not thought of
+it until now. He suddenly felt the uselessness of his bonds. And yet
+he could feel the stretching of his tether. Was everybody fastened to
+a tether? Was there no such thing as freedom? Singularly enough, this
+field in all its idleness, with all its heat, with its droning and
+buzzing, suggested freedom. In fact, the feel of the entire country,
+this country that he had known, about which his memories clustered
+thick, suggested freedom. And yet it was not above reproach. People
+spoke of it condescendingly. "Poor land&mdash;unproducing&mdash;a
+century behind the times." What was it? The land? The people? The
+times? There was Uncle Buzz, with his foothold on two hundred acres,
+and they had buried him in his one good suit. Buried beneath the force
+of circumstances, he had never once lifted his head&mdash;had died
+with it in a shallow pool of water. And <i>he</i> was no better. He could
+feel the shackles close about him, binding him hand and foot. What was
+one to do? His head dropped down upon the crook of his arm and he fell
+asleep.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he awoke. He felt hot and uncomfortable. He stretched
+himself and rolled over on his back. He gazed upward through the
+tangle of branches and tried to relax again. But the heat had become
+unbearable. He struggled to his feet and brushed the litter from his
+clothes. Away in each direction stretched the field. It was dry and
+dusty and covered with a short, cutting stubble beneath the upper
+surface of waving grass and weeds. It no longer held any allurement
+for him and yet he did not want to go back to the house. He looked at
+his watch. It was five o'clock. Some of the old ladies would still be
+there. They would be sitting about on the horsehair chairs making
+lugubrious conversation. Back toward the left stretched the pike,
+white and dusty enough. But there were trees along the edge of it, and
+he remembered the grass in the fence corners to be long and fresh and
+succulent as a rule, even in midsummer. Slowly he started in that
+direction. When he reached the boundary fence he was dripping with
+perspiration and his shoes and trouser hems were covered with the
+yellow dust. He climbed the fence, and as he stepped out into the road
+he saw an automobile approaching in the distance, dipping down a hill
+to the creek that broke the stretch toward Guests. It was not often
+that motors of any distinction saw fit to travel into Bloomfield; the
+pike was not good enough. But this approaching car seemed to be one of
+some distinction&mdash;was long and rather rakish, had a deep sound to
+the exhaust as it started up the hill toward him. Idly he watched it.
+There were two passengers, a man and a woman, slouched well down in
+the seats. What could they be doing in the heat of the afternoon with
+the top down and in all that blazing sunlight? He stepped over to the
+side of the road and dragged his feet, first one and then the other,
+in the grass to wipe off some of the dust. He knew that he was hot and
+dirty and dishevelled, but he did not care much. On came the car. As
+it came nearer it lost its interest to him and he sat down in the
+grass and plucked a blade to chew, paying it no further attention.
+Suddenly, to his surprise, he realized it was stopping and then the
+woman called to him.</p>
+
+<p>At first he did not recognize her. Her face was quite red from the sun
+and she had on a fetching little close-fitting motor-bonnet with
+fluttering lavender strings. A long lemon-coloured duster enveloped
+the rest of her. She was quite pretty, with the contrast of colour,
+with her hair all snugly tucked away. It did not look like Mary
+Louise, but it was. He felt very conscious of his dusty old suit and
+his wilting collar and his flushed and perspiring face, as he came and
+stood by the car.</p>
+
+<p>"This is Mr. Claybrook, Joe," she said, looking at him gravely.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered then the big, confident man that had joined them that
+unhappy night.</p>
+
+<p>"I just heard, Joe. It was terrible. I was awfully distressed."</p>
+
+<p>He looked into her eyes&mdash;she spoke so earnestly&mdash;and
+wondered if she were feeling all she might feel. Uncle Buzz had not
+received very charitable treatment at her hands. The picture of it
+all came before his mind and he said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"When is&mdash;when is the funeral?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's all over," he replied shortly. "This afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh."</p>
+
+<p>She turned and had a word with her companion. And then he leaned over,
+partly across her, smiling quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going right back in an hour or so. Be glad to have you go with
+us. There's plenty of room." His voice was big and rather pleasant and
+he had an air of careless assumption that everything would be all
+right.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do, Joe," Mary Louise put in. "I had John drive me up this
+afternoon. I wanted to get here in time for&mdash;&mdash;Aunt Susie
+wanted some things."</p>
+
+<p>It was quite natural the way she said, "I had John&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be better than going back on that morning
+train&mdash;to-morrow? And I suppose you'll have to be back at the
+office Monday?" He had never known her voice to be so solicitously
+sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, and he surprised himself, "I'm not going back." He had
+come to no such decision. But the idea was suddenly so utterly
+distasteful that it seemed impossible. And <i>she</i> having <i>him</i>,
+Claybrook, take him, Joe, back to work. The smart of it was
+intolerable. "No," he repeated firmly, "I'm not going back." And then
+he gazed off across the hood of the motor into the vacant field
+beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," she replied, rather softly, and he could feel that she was
+watching him and that Claybrook was, in a way, standing by in a
+condescending attitude, ready to do her bidding.</p>
+
+<p>He was anxious to be off, anxious to be alone. "Thank you very much,
+however," he said, and bowed to Claybrook. He avoided Mary Louise's
+eyes. He backed away from the car and lifted his hat. "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>Turning away, he set off down the road, away from Bloomfield, and
+shortly he heard the motor start and the grind of wheels. He looked
+back. He saw her lean over as though to speak to Claybrook. And then
+he saw Claybrook turn his face toward hers. They were probably talking
+about him.</p>
+
+<p>He trudged on down the road, although he had no idea of where he was
+going. There was a soreness deep down in his heart and it hurt all the
+more because he realized that he had been unreasonable. And he had
+said he was not going back. He caught his breath slightly at the
+thought. Well, he wouldn't go back. There was no reason why he
+should&mdash;absolutely no reason. With that he turned about and
+walked briskly back up the hill toward home.</p>
+
+<p>As he entered the front hall he could hear a low hum of conversation
+on the other side of the parlour doors. They were partly open, and he
+hurried past lest someone call for him to come in. He went upstairs,
+into the ell bedroom, and took off his coat. He looked at himself in
+the glass of the bureau. His face was red and streaked with
+perspiration and dust. And <i>they</i> had looked quite fresh&mdash;"smart"
+was the word. He proceeded to clean himself up and he spent quite a
+long time in the process.</p>
+
+<p>When he came downstairs again it was growing dark. He no longer heard
+the voices in the parlour. When he reached the foot, he paused for a
+moment in uncertainty. The walnut chairs were there, quite placid and
+content with themselves, and the hat-rack, and the old horsehair sofa.
+His aunt Loraine came out of another door, back in the passage. She
+had, of course, laid aside her veil and her face had been freshly
+powdered; she looked quite the same. There was a certain prim set to
+her mouth, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were calculatingly
+cool. She did not touch him but stood with her arms hanging rather
+stiffly by her sides.</p>
+
+<p>"Joseph," she said, "we want you to stay, if you will&mdash;as long as
+you feel you can."</p>
+
+<p>The tiny spark that he had felt died away. "We," she had said. He
+wondered who the "we" might be. Mr. Fawcette, perhaps; perhaps one of
+the old ladies. Aunt Lorry had evidently been looking ahead. There was
+no need for him here.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said rather quietly. "Thank you very much, Aunt Lorry. I
+must be getting back&mdash;first train to-morrow, I expect."</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly. "Very well. Make yourself at
+home while you stay." And she glided off with her queer, noiseless
+step, back into the shadow of the hall.</p>
+
+<p>He walked to the front door and out on to the wide verandah. He looked
+down the winding driveway to the gate, all mellowing in the dying
+sunlight. There was not a breath of air, not a sound. The gate was
+standing partly open; the last departing guest had neglected to shut
+it. On the driveway lay something white, somebody's handkerchief. It
+lay without moving, inert. There was nothing to pick it up, not even
+the slightest breeze. He gazed across the open country that dipped
+away to the west to the ridge of hills that was crowned with orange
+and purple mists, with the white road climbing to its crest. And as he
+watched, he could see a small blob of white dust moving, leaving a
+feathery tail behind it. And he turned quickly and went into the
+house.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h2>
+
+<h3>MYRTLE</h3>
+<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER IX</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span>
+sunlight was dazzling white. High winds during the night had chased
+all clouds to remote quarters and had with the morning suddenly gone,
+leaving the city to the entire mercy of the sun. It was August and
+very dry and in the corners of buildings huddled little heaps of dust
+and elusive trash, withered and powdery. On the pavements and walls
+the sunlight lay like white-hot gold and the shadows cast by the
+awnings of Bessire's department store were sharply chiselled as by a
+stencil. Mary Louise paused for a moment in their shelter and drew
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes work is a fattener. It is when, by virtue of its absorption,
+certain phases of the body are allowed to function naturally. It is
+true in the case of meddling minds, also in more or less conscientious
+natures. Mary Louise's nerves had temporarily ceased to feed upon her.
+She was getting plump. The lace frill at the bottom of her elbow
+sleeve lay flat against a curve that was full and round. In fact, one
+was conscious of a general well-roundedness about her. And her face,
+which was flushed, was likewise serene.</p>
+
+<p>The tea room had been making money. With the arrival of the intense
+heat had come generous patronage, especially for the noon meal. And
+the petty vexations had effaced themselves. For the past few weeks an
+atmosphere of expectancy had seemed to hover, such as is felt on
+trains arriving after a long journey, or in the completion of a work.
+It was the sense of accomplishment. Mary Louise felt her problem
+undergoing solution, and nothing else mattered. She now laughed at the
+dismay she had felt at paying ten dollars for a cook in Bloomfield.
+There was no price to be set on her freedom. And the careless streak
+in Maida was something to be accepted with good nature and not to be
+allowed to irritate. Maida was at least on the job, eternally on the
+job. Not much of a companion truly, nor for that matter a really good
+business partner. But she irradiated good nature and that was
+something.</p>
+
+<p>A sizzling hot pavement is not much of a place for reflection even if
+shaded by a striped awning. So Mary Louise passed on. The bundle of
+fresh-printed menus was getting heavy under her arm&mdash;she had just
+come from the printer's&mdash;and the soda fountain at the corner drug
+store tempted her. She yielded.</p>
+
+<p>She took a seat alongside a revolving electric fan and let the breeze
+play on her heated cheek. She felt suddenly lazy and allowed herself a
+delicious relaxation. Behind the counter two boys in spotless caps
+and aprons were working with desperate haste to cool the dusty throats
+lined up before them. One of them looked like Joe Hooper, except that
+he moved faster, was quicker with his hands. Poor Joe! How helpless
+and hopeless he had looked that afternoon. He was one of the kind that
+could not learn how. The other clerk stopped before her and asked her
+for her order. This one looked very much like the new cook Maida and
+she had just hired. So intent was she upon her observation that she
+forgot he was speaking to her. That new cook&mdash;he was a smart,
+sharp-looking boy&mdash;just out of the army a few months. It had
+seemed a bit incongruous having that type in the kitchen, but
+then&mdash;&mdash;She watched the face before her, hair sleek and
+parted in the middle with ears a little too prominent, features rather
+regular. The eyes were set too close together. He slid in and out
+without friction, made up almost two drinks to the other one's
+one&mdash;the one who looked like Joe. Probably made more money even
+than the real Joe.</p>
+
+<p>A tall frosty tumbler was placed before her. She dipped into it with a
+straw. It was delightfully cool and refreshing, with a blend of fruit
+odour and flavour beneath the sprig of mint that floated on the top.
+Slowly she sipped it. And then for a moment she let her eyes wander
+across the faces lined up before the counter beside her. Next to her
+was an old woman in a sleazy black dress with a turban-like hat all
+swathed with a long black veil hemmed with black. She had looped it
+back in anticipation of the drink she would soon get. The old face was
+white and limned with wrinkles, and one hand, as it rested timidly on
+the edge of the counter, was heavily veined and thin and swollen about
+the knuckles. There was a droop to the shoulders and a patient,
+haggard look about the eyes. Mary Louise wondered if the mourning were
+very real; she seemed so very tired that even a poignant grief might
+well be spent. As she looked, the old woman caught her eye and turned
+hurriedly away.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond her two young girls were making merry with the cherries in
+their glasses. At odd moments they would surreptitiously bid for the
+soda-jerker's attention. They had finely plucked eyebrows and were
+much powdered about the nose. One of them sat with her back partly
+turned to Mary Louise, who could catch the occasional lift of an
+alluring eyelash from the glass's brim in the direction of the clerk.
+She had her legs crossed, and once when she shifted her position Mary
+Louise could see the gleam of a bare knee. It made her feel a bit
+older somehow, but likewise complacent.</p>
+
+<p>She finished her drink and arose to go. Just then the big, raw-boned
+clerk, the one who looked a bit like Joe, dropped a glass on the
+counter and immediately there was a widening stain of red and a piece
+of glass rolled over the edge and fell to the floor. A woman sprang
+up and back from the counter in irritation. And a dull red flush crept
+into the boy's face as he quickly produced a rag and began to mop up
+the d&eacute;bris. As she walked to the door, the other clerk, the one
+with the close-set eyes, was saying something to him in a sharp tone.</p>
+
+<p>She paused a moment. Past her on the sidewalk pressed a steady stream
+in each direction. Hot, perspiring faces, flushed and lined with
+concentration, worry, or fatigue&mdash;all hurrying. She felt
+curiously complacent and aloof. Perhaps it was the momentary rest and
+cooling. Her thought returned again to Joe, being reminded perhaps by
+the little incident at the counter. She recalled Claybrook. She
+remembered Claybrook's words that afternoon&mdash;that afternoon she
+had gone to Bloomfield. It was just a few minutes after they had left
+Joe Hooper on the road; they were passing the old Mosby place. She had
+noticed the interest with which Claybrook had inspected the place as
+they rolled by. He had asked the name of the owner.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine old trees," he had said. And later, "Walnuts," in answer to her
+question as to which ones he had meant.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they had been fine old trees. Something enduring about them. They
+added to a place&mdash;trees. There was nothing artificial or upstart
+about their beauty, but the venerableness of dignity. The Mosby place
+had been noted for its walnuts.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell 'em," Claybrook had said, "I'll give 'em a nickle a foot for
+those trees right there on the ground. That is, if they are hard up,"
+he had added as if seeking to justify himself. She remembered the
+incident now with regret, a sort of complacent regret. Claybrook was a
+bit crude at times, or at least he was not quite awake to some of the
+finer sensibilities. But he was a kindly man and doing well. He was
+the sort you could depend on. Business was cruel. You had to overlook
+certain things, for instance&mdash;Maida. But Joe! Well, it was too
+bad. He just didn't have the knack.</p>
+
+<p>She crossed the street. The glare was terrific. Hugging the wall, to
+keep as far in the shelter of its shade as possible, she proceeded
+north. In spite of the heat the streets were crowded. She looked at
+her watch. It was eleven-thirty. She would have to be hurrying to get
+her menus back on time. She came to an alley and paused on the curb to
+look in either direction for traffic. By the curb at the corner of the
+alley stood a bright, shiny, new car. Something about it attracted her
+attention. She looked more closely and was conscious of a peculiar
+little catch or start somewhere deep down inside her. In the front
+seat, behind the steering wheel, sat Joe Hooper, with his arm flung
+negligently along the polished patent leather of the top brace. And
+such a Joe Hooper! He had on a new straw hat, and while Mary Louise
+could not trust herself to a very long inspection, she noticed the
+fresh creases in his coat sleeve. He was wearing a "shepherd plaid"
+suit that looked "bran spanking" new, and in his collar was knotted a
+pale lavender-hued tie. More than that, he seemed positively well
+groomed. Beside him sat a woman, back turned toward the curb. It was a
+most alluring back, in a soft, shimmering dark-blue dress with a lace
+collar and above it a gentle curve of neck with little provoking wisps
+of hair curling softly about it. That was all she took in in that
+flash of vision, except&mdash;as she looked, the creature raised a
+dainty, tapering hand and filliped a tiny feather under Joe's nose. He
+drew back slightly and smiled&mdash;she saw the whole thing&mdash;a
+quite restrained and, if anything, a condescending kind of smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise passed on inconspicuously across the alley, into the
+sheltering shade, of the shop awnings again. She wondered if he had
+seen her. And then she was tempted to turn around and reassure herself
+with another look. But she did not.</p>
+
+<p>A singular mixture of emotions surged through her. She felt as if
+someone were secretly laughing at her. Joe Hooper, she had decided,
+had been one of those people who could never learn how to do things.
+And yet, unless her eyes had deceived her, here he had burst
+gorgeously from his chrysalis. She was not sure she was glad of it,
+either. Charity, especially of thought, is frequently more of a luxury
+to the donor than to the recipient.</p>
+
+<p>She hurried on. The street was becoming more crowded and the heat, if
+anything, more intense. She began to feel just a bit angry with
+herself for exposing herself to it. Her face felt as if it were
+burning up. It had not been at all necessary. She could just as well
+have sent someone else. And here she was plugging along, with her
+clothes all sticky, her hair coming down in wisps about her ears, and
+her face as red as a beet. Funny, what had come over Joe. She was
+certain it had been he but it seemed improbable. And she had been
+sorry for him. He was the kind who could not "put anything across."</p>
+
+<p>All her complacency was gone as she opened the tea-room door. She was
+hot and tired and hurried. The little clock on the mantelshelf said a
+quarter to twelve as she closed the door behind her and then she saw
+that there was a customer at a far table in the corner and realized
+how late she was. A short, fat little woman was sitting tensely on the
+edge of a chair, looking about her with quick, restless, stabbing
+glances. She had on an atrocity of a hat that looked as though someone
+had plumped down on her head a flimsy crate of refuse blossoms and
+vegetables. It was a riot of colour and disorder. And her short,
+protuberant bosom rested on the table's edge while the face above it
+was marked with stern lines of dissatisfaction. Little folds of flesh
+hung down below her jaws.</p>
+
+<p>Giving Mary Louise a momentary appraising glance, us the latter came
+in with her bundle, she snapped out: "This place open, you suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise hastily laid down the menus. "Yes," she said, "it is.
+Haven't you been waited on?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the old lady, stirring in her chair and making as if to
+rise, though wild horses could not have pulled her away from even the
+prospect of food. "I've been sitting here ten minutes by your clock."
+She turned away and stared gloomily into space with her mouth sharply
+set in indignant endurance of such mistreatment.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise hurried across the room. She pushed open the swinging door
+into the passage that led to the kitchen. Everything was quiet. She
+wondered at it. As she stood there for an unappreciable instant, she
+heard a slight sound to her right, seemingly from the little pantry or
+storage room that was tucked in beneath the stairs. The door of it
+ordinarily stood open.</p>
+
+<p>She paused a moment then took one step forward and pushed open the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>Full beneath the light of the pendent lamp, leaning against the
+serving table for support, stretched the billowy form of Maida Jones,
+half reclining in the arms of the sleek-haired cook who sat on the
+table edge and faced the door. Her head was thrown back in complete
+abandonment and her hair was coming down about her shoulders. The
+boy's close-set eyes peered up sharply as Mary Louise opened the
+door. Then there was an immediate scurry, the lamp was switched off,
+and directly Maida emerged flushed and sullen.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise was stunned. Her ideas were chaotic and could take no
+form. But as they stood there facing each other, she was conscious of
+a rising sense of the ludicrous mingled with disgust. The memory of
+that momentary scene lingered in her mind like a piece of burlesque
+statuary. She stifled a desire to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>Then the other culprit began to stir about among the pans. Maida was
+staring at her with lips partly open, her breath still coming short
+and thick.</p>
+
+<p>"Turn on the light," said Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>And then as Maida made no move:</p>
+
+<p>"Go fix yourself up. There's someone in the room waiting to be
+served." Her voice was heavy with the scorn she felt.</p>
+
+<p>Maida recovered. She bit her lip. Then she laughed a short, nervous
+laugh. "Shocked to death, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," replied Mary Louise pleasantly. "It's quite charming, I
+assure you." She turned and entered the kitchen. The other cook and a
+maid were quietly attending to their work. She paid them no attention
+but went and stood by the back window over which was stretched a heavy
+wire screen, and through the thick dust of which she could see a dim,
+dusty, narrow courtyard and a pile of discarded boxes.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she stood there, with her hands folded one upon the
+other and resting limply upon a table. The world had taken on a
+grotesque slant. It was a strange place in which it was easy to lose
+one's way. Her assurance, her satisfaction, her enthusiasm had
+vanished. Nothing was well ordered; everything was haphazard. People
+did the most unexpected things. And there was ugliness and deceit
+parading about in broad daylight. She suddenly felt herself utterly
+incapable of passing judgment on anything.</p>
+
+<p>And as she stood staring out through that dingy window, with the
+bustle and sounds of feet behind her, two fat round tears welled from
+her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER X</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">eantime</span>,
+Joe had written his name at the top of a new sheet. He drew up to the
+curb on Broadway just below Fourth and stopped the motor. He leaned
+back against the tufted arm and stretched himself. Then he idly viewed
+the passing show before him. It was past mid-afternoon and dry and
+dusty. The keen edge of the sun had slightly dulled, but a Negro,
+seated high up on a pile of shabby furniture on a moving van, mopped a
+shining black face with the end of a very dirty undershirt sleeve. A
+boy came wavering along on a bicycle, swerved in to the curbing across
+the street, stopped, got off and went in to the Baptist Seminary,
+leaving the bicycle sprawling in the gutter. An old woman came out of
+nowhere; he heard her uncertain steps before he saw her as she
+approached him; the wide pavement the moment before had been entirely
+deserted. She walked as though she had no definite destination, not
+straight ahead in a plumb line. She had an old-fashioned bonnet with
+dangles on her head and a straw basket over one arm. Somehow he
+thought of his aunt Lorry. She came peering up at him from under her
+lashes. She seemed drawn by the brightness of the car. And her dim
+eyes seemed searching in the shadow of the top for a definite
+assurance. As she drew near, Joe smiled, a little absently; the rusty
+steel aigrette perched on top of the bonnet like the horn of a unicorn
+was nodding so gravely. The old thing caught the smile. Her face
+brightened. Her mouth spread in a toothless grin. She reached out a
+hand and touched the car lightly with a withered finger on the fender.</p>
+
+<p>"Such a pretty buggy," she said. The voice was tremulous and
+high-pitched and the articulation thick and indistinct.</p>
+
+<p>Then she looked at Joe; her rheumy gaze passed over him from the tips
+of his shiny new shoes to the crown of his hat. Admiration now spoke
+from her with perhaps greater eloquence even though her lips were
+still, parted a little. The pause had been but momentary.</p>
+
+<p>Joe reached over and threw the door open.</p>
+
+<p>"Climb in," he said. "I'll take you for a ride."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman shrank back from the car, wide-eyed in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on," he urged, quite gently, "I'm not a masher. I'll bring you
+right back here, all safe and right side up."</p>
+
+<p>The old face wrinkled in a shrewd, crafty grin. She lingered on the
+pavement for a moment in indecision, then came slowly forward and
+paused at the running board, peering upward into Joe's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Take me for a ride?" she lisped, tremulously eager.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," said Joe. "I'm selling 'em." He held the door open invitingly.
+"Maybe you'll buy one some day."</p>
+
+<p>Again the swift flash of a smile passed over the slack mouth and there
+was a gathering in the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Painfully
+she pulled herself up into the car and sank into the seat beside him.</p>
+
+<p>He switched on the motor, threw out the clutch, engaged the starting
+gear, and paused with his hand on the lever.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go around this way. It's not so crowded and I think the air's
+better."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at him confidently.</p>
+
+<p>They started. At the corner he swung around in a wide sweep. He caught
+a glance at her and saw her sitting with eyes glued intently on the
+street before them, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Then the
+block ahead was straight and smooth and free of traffic.</p>
+
+<p>He patted the chest of his coat.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just put an order away in here," he said. "It's very easy.
+They're scrambling over each other to buy these cars."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him a fleeting glance and returned to her desperate business
+of watching the road.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he was silent. They rounded another corner.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not really expecting you to buy a car&mdash;merely speak a good
+word for it with your friends. That is, if you like it. It is all
+right, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>At his questioning tone she again ventured a look at him and smiled
+again uncertainly, still gripping the edges of the seat.</p>
+
+<p>One more corner and they were on the return trip. Directly they were
+rolling up toward the curb from whence they had started. They stopped
+and Joe reached over and opened the door again. The old woman caught
+the import of the movement and clambered stiffly out, stooping low
+with her head to avoid the top brace. She stood on the curbing,
+bewildered and blinking, apparently lost.</p>
+
+<p>Joe reached out and handed her a card.</p>
+
+<p>"You're headed just the same way you were when I picked you up," he
+said. "And in the same spot." And as she made no move and apparently
+did not hear him, "Call on me if I can serve you. I can do other
+things besides sell motor cars.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," he said, tipping his hat and slamming the door shut. Then
+he moved away. He left her standing there, watching.</p>
+
+<p>He turned in Fourth Street and slowed down to about six miles an hour.
+The lengthening shadows were bringing out the ephemeral creatures that
+might otherwise wither in the heat. The west pavement was already
+crowded and there was a stream of motors idling along in a sluggish
+tide, southward. It was the time of day when the city, as it were,
+stretches itself after its siesta and takes long, lazy, satisfied
+looks at itself.</p>
+
+<p>Joe slumped in the seat. This lazy panorama had not begun to pall on
+him. He luxuriated in it. It was something of a holiday to him. The
+change that had come over his life was inexplicable; without effort he
+had lifted himself. The selection of an occupation had been haphazard;
+he had merely taken the first thing that had offered
+itself&mdash;selling automobiles. And there had been no difficulty in
+selling them, none whatever. The very first month his commissions had
+amounted to considerably more than twice the sum Bromley's had paid
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The motor was thrumming along slowly and regularly, giving out soft
+little ticks like a clock. Everything about it was shining and new.
+Everything about Joe was shining and new. He felt sleek, lazy, and
+comfortable. He made no effort to analyze the change that had come
+over him, merely accepted it as a matter of course. At times would
+come vague wonderings why he had been such a "chump" as to hang on in
+that treadmill of an office as long as he had.</p>
+
+<p>He thought about the old woman and her grenadier bonnet and her
+bewildered pleasure, and chuckled to himself. The old soul had
+probably never been in an automobile before. He had raised the
+standard of her desires. She might not be satisfied again until she
+had another ride, maybe many more. It might even stir her up. That
+was what it was. Ignorance was what kept most people down. They did
+not know what they were missing. And so they just plugged along taking
+things as they came, most of them. That was what had been the matter
+with him. Hard work never got a man anywhere, just hard work. He shut
+his mind resolutely on the thought and turned again to the inspection
+of the evening parade.</p>
+
+<p>As he came in sight of the windows of Bessire's Department Store he
+remembered that there was something there that he needed. And there
+was no need of his hurrying back to the office. He had done enough for
+the day. So he turned the corner and squeezed into an opening on the
+side street. He stepped out on to the pavement and indulged in a
+luxurious stretch of the arms. The sudden glare of the sun on the
+pavement made him sneeze. It was delightful. He walked lazily through
+the revolving doors of the department store.</p>
+
+<p>As he gained the interior a woman brushed past him so that he had to
+stop in his tracks. As she passed she looked into his eyes. Something
+in him stopped with a click like a notch on a reel.</p>
+
+<p>He gazed after her, trying to remember. But all there was was a faint
+lingering scent that was difficult and alluring. There was something
+familiar about the curve of the neck, something about the tilt of the
+hat, he had seen before. It disturbed him. All he had caught was a
+flicker of her eyes, as though she had thought to recognize him and
+then had changed her mind. She turned a corner into a distant aisle
+and was gone.</p>
+
+<p>He had a momentary impulse to follow to the end of that aisle and see
+where it led to, but he checked it. He gathered himself together and
+lazily strolled along in search of the counter he wanted. Quiet had
+descended upon the store. It was almost deserted of shoppers and the
+yellow light came streaming down the cross aisles heavy laden with
+dust particles. The little bundle girls leaned from their stalls
+behind the counters and chatted. There was a pleasant buzz in the air.</p>
+
+<p>He made his purchase and lingered for a moment at a counter of
+notions. Then he strolled back toward the door, steeped in the feeling
+of well being. A girl at a curved counter was tucking in a wisp of
+hair and taking off her paper sleeve protectors. Over beyond, there by
+the west entrance, they were already shutting the doors. He paused and
+watched the day's closing pleasantly settle down. Then he reached out
+a hand to push open the door before him. Somebody jostled against him.
+A small collection of paper bundles spilled out on to the floor at his
+feet and he mechanically stooped to pick them up. They were manifestly
+feminine. There were four of them, all small; he gathered them all up
+in one hand.</p>
+
+<p>Then he rose to his feet and turned to restore them to their owner.</p>
+
+<p>He looked into a pair of limpid violet eyes.</p>
+
+<p>They dropped and long lashes shaded them. A delicate colour rose and
+splashed the softest of cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>Joe stood, holding the bundles.</p>
+
+<p>Directly she looked at him again. It was a very timid, gentle,
+apologetic look. She seemed to be gathering courage.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she burst out in a sudden sweet abandonment to friendliness.
+"I'm so sorry." She paused then, uncertain what next to do or say.</p>
+
+<p>Joe held the door open for her, keeping tight hold of the packages. He
+felt a little warm behind the ears.</p>
+
+<p>She preceded him to the pavement. He got a good look at her as she
+passed through the door. Still the baffling resemblance!</p>
+
+<p>Then she turned and faced him on the pavement. Again she looked at him
+shyly, and there were little dimples in her cheeks as she tried hard
+not to smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew I'd get into trouble when I loaded myself down with all these
+bundles," she explained, reaching out for them.</p>
+
+<p>Confidence was returning to him. He felt the old lazy relaxation of
+being amused.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't I help you out of your difficulty&mdash;see that you get safely
+home with them?" he asked quietly. "I've my car here."</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyebrows, looked startled a moment, and then flushed
+slightly. "Oh, don't bother. I can get a taxi."</p>
+
+<p>She made no further resistance and directly he was slamming the door
+behind her. He had caught a glimpse of black-silk stocking above a
+white buckskin pump that somehow disturbed his poise. As he walked
+around to the other side of the car he was wondering where it was he
+had seen her before. He could not remember.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed into his place behind the steering wheel and observed her
+again. It was a setting that became her. Her shyness seemed to have
+all vanished. She was powdering her nose as he climbed in; a silver
+vanity case lay open on her lap. He noticed it, saw a hairpin and two
+nickles and a card or two. She had said she might take a taxi.</p>
+
+<p>Directly she was smiling into his eyes. It made him just a little bit
+giddy in spite of himself. How old was she, he wondered? For a moment
+he busied himself with the car. There was nothing made up about her;
+it was a clear case of good looks. And she knew how to wear her
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I'm terrible," she was saying.</p>
+
+<p>"How?" he answered, hardly hearing her.</p>
+
+<p>"Letting you take me up this way." She finished her renovation to her
+evident satisfaction and packed away the puff with a snap.</p>
+
+<p>"You couldn't expect to manage those bundles any other way," he
+assured confidently and quietly. It was an amusing game.</p>
+
+<p>She gazed off toward the corner and wetted her lips.</p>
+
+<p>He started the car. They turned the corner into Fourth Street and
+moved south. As if sensing the need of further explanation here on the
+esplanade, where all seemed acquainted, she began in a slightly more
+animated tone:</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, it's not like we had never met."</p>
+
+<p>He felt she was looking at him, but being busy with the car he was
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I really believe you've forgotten."</p>
+
+<p>He caught a glance at her. She looked charmingly provoked. The fact
+that she was centring her attention on him was in itself flattering.
+"Not at all," he assured her and wondered to what she referred.</p>
+
+<p>"It was at the American Legion Ball," she reminded him.</p>
+
+<p>And then he remembered. It all came back to him. It had been a dismal
+evening, way back in April. He had noticed her that evening. She had
+worn a weird thing of silver and black. She had even sat beside him on
+a sofa by the door&mdash;she and her partner. But he had not met her;
+he was sure of that. He had remarked, he remembered now, how curiously
+alert her eyes were, how alive, taking everything in.</p>
+
+<p>"You were in uniform," she continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he replied. Nearly every man present had been.</p>
+
+<p>For a few moments silence. Then reaching Broadway and less traffic
+they rolled along a little more easily, with less tension.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Myrtle Macomber," she at length essayed. "In case you had
+forgotten."</p>
+
+<p>Joe grinned. Then he turned to her, "And my name's Hooper."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him another one of her roguish glances through her lashes.</p>
+
+<p>"I was trying to remember," she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>Then he asked her the way home and she told him. After that she
+chatted more freely, made comments on some of the people they passed.
+The evening had turned out fine. Broad orange pennons streamed out of
+the west. The little fountain in the city park tinkled delightfully as
+they passed.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pretty car," she said once; "so roomy and comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply and wondered if his silence were reprehensible.</p>
+
+<p>Under her direction they turned into a quiet side street and stopped
+before a grayish frame house with a fancy bulbous tower at one corner
+and bilious green outside shutters. A woman was stooped over a flower
+bed in the centre of the yard. She arose stiffly at their approach.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Macomber turned to Joe, but he had already alighted from the car
+and gone around to help her out. As he held the door open for her she
+seemed a bit distrait. Slowly they walked across the pavement to the
+gate. The woman in the yard came forward to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's pause. And then: "This is Mr. Hooper, mama."</p>
+
+<p>The woman gave him an appraising look, glanced at the car, then smiled
+and held out her hand. It was damp and flabby.</p>
+
+<p>"Please excuse my appearance, Mr. Hooper," she smirked. "I was getting
+some flowers for the table, dearie," she added to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Joe wondered vaguely at the contrast. Here was another of nature's
+paradoxes. Mrs. Macomber looked worn and quite untidy. She was fat;
+her figure looked as though it had been allowed to run wild. Her face
+was heavily lined with wrinkles and was not too clean. And her eyes
+were tired. The house dress that she wore open at the neck and held
+together by a bleak-looking cameo pin might have been destined for
+dust rags in some families, and not extravagantly, either.</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at her daughter with open admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you so much, Mr. Hooper," said the latter, and as she spoke she
+barred the entrance through the wooden gate with a dainty arm in a
+long, white-silk glove. But she smiled at him archly. "Call me up
+sometime."</p>
+
+<p>And then she turned and, gently pushing the drab creature before her,
+went up the walk and into the house.</p>
+
+<p>Joe looked back over his shoulder at them as he drove away.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XI</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">he</span>
+rest of that troublous day passed hazily for Mary Louise. She avoided
+Maida, who in her turn seemed disposed to avoid her. She made a hasty
+escape after the tea-serving hour and hurried home.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was setting as she entered her room; the tall spire of the
+First Church was all ruddy with the glow of it as she threw open the
+window, and as she paused for a moment with palms on the sill, she
+looked down into the deepening shadows of back passages and alleys,
+nooks and recesses, where lurked ash and garbage cans and heaps of
+rubbish. A black cat came slinking around the corner of an old
+gray-brick stable, disappeared for a moment in a passage, and a moment
+later she saw him spring to the top of a rotting board fence, pause,
+and then lightly let himself down into the shadow of the other side.
+And just a hundred feet to the left&mdash;she could barely see past
+the front cornice of the four-story dwelling below her&mdash;Broadway
+was thronged with its sleek, pleasure-loving, home-going crowd. You
+could never tell the back from the front.</p>
+
+<p>She withdrew from the window, walked slowly across the room, and sank
+into a chair. She felt curiously ill at ease and sat staring blankly
+before her at the wall.</p>
+
+<p>For the difficulty, which in some ways was trivial enough, no solution
+presented itself. Maida Jones, her companion and business associate,
+had developed a side that had never been taken into account. Or
+perhaps she had merely presented it for the first time. So much the
+worse. If so, then her judgment had been all the more faulty.</p>
+
+<p>She had thought she had known Maida, known her well enough to count on
+her. She had known she was lazy, known she was a bit slipshod and
+indifferent. To offset this she was good-natured and compliant. She
+had had the money, enough for her share in floating the venture. There
+had been no complexity in the problem at the start.</p>
+
+<p>It was unfair for her to pan out so. Mary Louise felt in a way that
+she had been swindled. She had felt all along that she could dominate
+the tone of the establishment, and in fact she had done so. Maida was
+not made of the stuff to furnish opposition. That had been one of the
+considerations of the partnership. And in all the months of their
+association nothing positive had ever cropped out in her. Why, she did
+not have the strength to say "no." That was why&mdash;Mary Louise's
+thought checked itself sharply here and paused. For a while her mind
+wore itself out in short, futile meanderings of suppositions.
+Directly the dim headlines of the paper she had brought with her
+claimed her attention, and then tiring of that she dropped the paper
+and stared emptily out of the window. Why, she decided suddenly out of
+nowhere, she didn't even know the girl.</p>
+
+<p>A swinging white finger of light came feeling across the sky in her
+window. She watched it grope for the brass ball on the peak of the
+spire, saw it slip off and fumble and come feeling again, settle with
+a determined grasp as if to say, "There, I've got you," and then go
+wandering off eastward across the sky. It was the searchlight from the
+new Odeon theatre, she remembered. And it might be barely possible
+that it was entirely an honourable affair. They might really care for
+each other, grotesque as it might seem. Mary Louise granted for the
+moment that she had been a detached, impersonal sort of companion and
+such a thing might well be possible without her knowledge. But if such
+were the case, Maida needs must be apprised at once of the
+proprieties. The tea room was a business proposition purely. She would
+wait a bit until the proper time and straighten out the kinks.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat relieved in mind, she leaned back in the chair and rocked
+slowly. She began to grow restless, and thought for a moment to switch
+on the light. But the room was a bare sort of thing, had nothing of
+her in it, and the thought of its bleak primness was repellent. She
+decided that a walk was what she needed, to clear out the cobwebs.
+Slowly she arose to her feet and groping along the edge of the table,
+felt her way to the door. An hour's walk would be enough; she would
+not need her coat. Slowly and thoughtfully she opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>Just beyond the threshold in the dim-lit hall stood Maida, fumbling in
+her bag for her key. She looked up in alarm as Mary Louise opened the
+door. It was ludicrous, the expression on the flat face. Behind her
+stood the cook&mdash;the man from the army. He turned away as Mary
+Louise stepped out and pretended to look out the hall window.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise had decided on a more moderate course. She had decided to
+forget the matter for the time being. But the sight of the boy, there
+in the hall, was disconcerting. Nevertheless, it was with a forced
+cheeriness that she spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't need your key, after all. I was just going out for a little
+while." It was trite enough civility.</p>
+
+<p>Maida looked up at her dully, and Mary Louise stepped to the left and
+was on the point of passing on down the hall. As she walked away, the
+boy moved to the door, fingering his hat, and took one step across the
+threshold after Maida, who had preceded him, into the darkened room.</p>
+
+<p>And then Mary Louise turned around. At her step he paused and looked
+quickly up.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a chair by the window," she said, indicating a group of
+armchairs clustered there and a tall fern in a glazed pot on a
+pedestal. "You can wait there." She had spoken on the impulse, and her
+voice sounded strangely vibrant and remote even to herself, like the
+voice of a third person. She was trembling slightly.</p>
+
+<p>The boy looked at her, flushed a little, seemed undecided.</p>
+
+<p>The light switched on and Maida appeared at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on in, Tim," she said, looking strangely at Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>An overpowering anger came swelling in the latter's veins. She walked
+back to the door and stood before the placid bovine figure of her
+room-mate. For a moment she could not trust herself to speak, she was
+trembling so.</p>
+
+<p>"I said for him to wait outside&mdash;there," she repeated with
+quavering emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>Maida's face looked flat and large and sober. There was a great, vast,
+pasty blank of cheek from her sombre eyes to the downcast corner of
+her mouth. "I heard you," she replied. "Come in, Tim."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise felt impotent. She watched the face before her, stolid,
+immutable, expressionless. She felt suffocated for breath. She plucked
+at her skirts with her fingers. Finally she gasped out:</p>
+
+<p>"Not&mdash;not into my room. If he does, I'm through with it&mdash;and
+you. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>Maida shrugged her shoulders, and a slight smile curled the corners of
+her lips. She turned away.</p>
+
+<p>"That's your lookout, not mine. You're making an awful fool of
+yourself, McCallum."</p>
+
+<p>And then she closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise walked blindly down the hall. She stumbled into the
+elevator and did not answer when the elevator boy spoke to her. When
+she gained the street the rush of the night air against her face
+steadied her a bit. She turned off promptly north and struck out for
+the down-town district.</p>
+
+<p>By the time she had walked a block her faculties were returning. It
+had all been preposterous, crude. She had blindly lost her temper.
+Something kept crying out to her that she was an old maid. Perhaps she
+shouldn't have minded. She was finicky and squeamish. A girl had to
+have some privacy in the place she entertained her company. But
+Maida&mdash;and the cook! The thought of that flat, pasty, sullen face
+stirred in her a sudden repulsion.</p>
+
+<p>She crossed Broadway and turned west toward Fourth, walking rapidly.
+Maida! Maida! The girl she had known for eighteen months in the Red
+Cross tea room! The girl who had sat through a year of war without
+ever changing the vacuity of her smile! Sat&mdash;that was it,
+positively sat. A woman with a figure like that had no right to a
+lover. And a cook! An ordinary cook, hired out by the week! His beady,
+close-set eyes and hair sleeked back. Like a rat! And <i>she</i> was mixed
+directly up in it, <i>she</i>&mdash;Mary Louise McCallum, the daughter of
+Angus McCallum. She shuddered and hurried on.</p>
+
+<p>As she passed Chestnut Street they were going into the "movie"
+theatre. There was a long queue stringing out on the pavement. She was
+hardly aware of it but kept on walking straight north. More than one
+head was turned to watch her as she plunged resolutely on. Her
+apparent fixity of purpose was incongruous for that time of the
+evening.</p>
+
+<p>The preposterousness of the whole affair kept hammering at her
+thoughts. To think that she had tied herself up with such a creature.
+To think that she had been so blind to the coarseness, the commonness
+that must have been there all along. What would Aunt Susie think about
+it? What would they all think? And in her own room! The brazen,
+callous nerve of the creature! Like a big, fat, lumbering ox. She
+trembled all over with sensitiveness.</p>
+
+<p>Before she knew it she had come to Main Street. Beyond her dipped the
+hill that led to the river. The lamps were dim, and sparsely lighted
+the alleyways and loading platforms of the dark, forbidding
+warehouses. She realized suddenly that she must make some decision.
+She could not go back to the room. Slowly and thoughtfully she crossed
+the street and retraced her steps on the other side. What was she to
+do? She could not go back. Not under any circumstances. The friends
+she had were mere casual acquaintances; she could not call on them.</p>
+
+<p>She passed out into the more crowded district again. She began to be a
+little perturbed, forgot her anger; at least it was dimmed. Coming to
+Spruce Street she saw the usual crowd of men hanging about the door of
+the Ardmore. They always stood there, clustered about on the steps,
+with their cigarettes and their half-burned cigars and their flashy
+clothes and their burnt-out eyes and their appraising looks. For a
+moment she contemplated crossing the street to avoid running the
+gauntlet of their inspection. Where would she go then? Farther south
+it was darker and more unfriendly, with great stretches of shade and
+silence. She paused for a moment on the corner and watched the throng
+about the steps across the street. People were hurrying in and out;
+motors were humming; trolley gongs were clanging. She felt a sudden
+fear of it, that familiar neighbourhood with the tea room less than a
+block away. Hot, flushed, nervous, excited, she wanted to run
+somewhere, slink down into a cool, quiet shelter as had the cat she
+had seen from the window earlier in the evening. The world was a cruel
+place. One had to know how to get along in it. Every scrap of
+assurance seemed to have left her.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she turned to the right and walked down Spruce Street. She
+came to the lobby of the Patterson and walked boldly in. With her
+pulses hammering she went up to the desk, took the pen, and signed
+her name to the register.</p>
+
+<p>A level-eyed man with a very naked head came forward and considered
+her. His face was as cryptic as the outline on a mummy case. It was as
+easy to read his thoughts. He merely inclined his head and looked
+slightly away, suggesting that his ear was hers if she so desired.</p>
+
+<p>"Single room with bath," faltered Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>The clerk resumed his upright position. He looked at her gravely as
+though she had said, "What will you take for your hotel?" He looked
+past her into the vast stretches of the lobby and found there much for
+philosophic speculation. Thus absorbed, he asked vacantly, "Any
+luggage?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Mary Louise. "I&mdash;it will be here in the morning."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and stepped back into the sanctum of interwoven grilles and
+partitions.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise was desperately nervous. It seemed that a thousand eyes
+were watching her; her back felt peppered with them. She shifted one
+foot and leaned slightly against the desk. All about her men were
+pressing up for mail, keys, reservations, information. She dared not
+look around. There were no women in the constricted circle of her
+vision except the telephone operator over to her left.</p>
+
+<p>The clerk was taking a long time. She was getting even more anxious.
+Suddenly she heard her name called. It startled her even while it
+brought a tremendous sense of relief. She turned and Claybrook was
+standing by her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"How's tricks?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she could not answer, only look at him gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been out of town. Just got back. Was going to call you up this
+evening, but I didn't have the chance," he went on.</p>
+
+<p>She murmured something unintelligible.</p>
+
+<p>"Waiting here for something?" At her nod of assent he came and stood
+beside her, leaning his elbow on the desk, his gaze idly and
+comfortably sweeping the lobby. "Hot to-night," he said.</p>
+
+<p>The inscrutable clerk returned. Mary Louise felt his inspection before
+she actually saw him. She turned, expectant.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry," he murmured. "Can't do anything for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise received the blow standing. "But," she faltered, "Later
+on?&mdash;I'm not in a hurry. Are you really all filled up?"</p>
+
+<p>The clerk gravely smiled and shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him in desolate appeal. Her thoughts went rocketing off.
+What was she going to do?</p>
+
+<p>"How's this?" she heard Claybrook say. "Full up?" He had turned from
+his idle inspection of the lobby. "Not in two weeks. You can rent a
+floor in this hotel."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Mary Louise. "You want a room here?" He seemed a bit
+surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she stammered. "For the night."</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook turned to the clerk. "Tell McLean Miss McCallum wants a room
+here for the night," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;&mdash;" interrupted the clerk.</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook cut him off short, tossing a card across the desk. "Take
+that to McLean and tell him Miss McCallum wants a room. And give her
+the best service you've got."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk disappeared again. Mary Louise was hot and embarrassed and
+uncomfortable. She looked up and saw Claybrook regarding her
+quizzically but kindly. He seemed very big and she warmed to him. He
+asked her no questions. She was about to speak when the clerk returned
+again and, calling a bell-boy, tossed out a key to him, bowed, and
+murmured, "Six fourteen," indicating Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>Before following the waiting boy, she held out her hand impulsively to
+Claybrook and looked into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you so much," she said. "I don't know what I would have done
+without you. It's all so ridiculous. Tell you all about it sometime."</p>
+
+<p>She left him standing there in front of the desk, with a puzzled look
+upon his face, a big, reliant, kindly figure. He had not asked her a
+single question. He had come to her assistance when she needed it
+sorely. His was a friendship worth having.</p>
+
+<p>She waited until the bell-boy had left her in the room and then she
+closed the door and locked it. Then she threw herself face down upon
+the bed and buried her flushed cheeks in the pillow. What a
+disgraceful, disreputable affair it all was. All on account of her own
+blindness and folly. She felt like a little child helped out of a
+scrape. But all the mischief was not remedied. She at least could find
+other lodgings to-morrow. She would not wait another day. Thanks to
+Claybrook she was in off the street. Suppose she had had to spend the
+night on a park bench? Once that had had a humorous sound to it.
+Claybrook <i>was</i> a masterful person. He had made that clerk step
+around. How humiliating it had all been.</p>
+
+<p>She got up and switched off the lights. Then she lay down again and
+watched the twinkle of the lamps of an electric sign about a block
+away across the roofs. What was she going to do about Maida? What was
+she going to do about the tea room? Something would have to be done.
+It was impossible to go on with it any further.</p>
+
+<p>She would have to buy Maida out. She could force her to sell, she
+supposed. But where would she get the money? She was already in debt
+for part of her share. Perhaps Maida would buy her out. What would she
+do then? Go back to Bloomfield? Just when the venture was beginning
+to pan out nicely? Not without a struggle, she wouldn't. Back and
+forth she debated the question, her mind a welter of confused
+decisions.</p>
+
+<p>After a while she fell asleep....</p>
+
+<p>Two days later she met Claybrook again. Nothing had been decided.
+Maida had seemed utterly indifferent. "Perfectly satisfied with things
+as they are," she had said; there was a diabolical stubbornness in her
+manner. She made capital of her own inertia. She was as cool as if
+dealing with an entire stranger. Finally, after two days of backing
+and filling, of bickering and contesting, she had named her price.
+"Fifteen hundred," she had said and there was nothing in the way she
+said it that gave the slightest hope that it would be any less. It was
+a hold-up.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise met Claybrook; she was passing through the lobby of the
+Patterson where she still had her expensive room. He saw the trouble
+in her face and drew her to the lounge in the ladies' entrance.</p>
+
+<p>"What's wrong?" he said shortly. "You've been hard to catch
+lately&mdash;something's on your mind."</p>
+
+<p>"No, there isn't. Honestly," she protested. She saw that he was not to
+be put off. Moreover, she was feeling entirely weak and helpless, no
+longer the masterful and self-reliant female. And she told him the
+story&mdash;most of it.</p>
+
+<p>When she finished he smiled at her. He seemed genuinely amused. "It's
+quite a tragedy," he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>"And what am I going to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's just the point," he agreed. "Has the tea room been making you
+money? Does it look good to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said. "Too good to let go of." And then she launched into a
+digressive and rather vague prospectus of its activities and profits.</p>
+
+<p>"How much money would it take?" he asked at length.</p>
+
+<p>She told him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, forget it," he concluded. "I told you that if you got in
+a jam, to call on me. Well, I was not talking just to hear myself
+talk. I meant it." He paused and stared away at the opposite wall.
+"Meet me here this afternoon at three and I'll have a check for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise was for the moment incredulous. Then a great sense of
+relief flooded over her, and then a feeling of regret.</p>
+
+<p>"But I couldn't," she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Why couldn't you?" He rose to his feet and looked down at her.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't take money from you. You don't know what I'd do with it,
+don't know what sort of business woman I am, or anything."</p>
+
+<p>"I know enough to satisfy myself," Claybrook assured her soothingly.
+"And I'm not giving you the money. You can write me out a note for
+it. Six per cent. is better than four," he added. And then he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Two days later Maida Jones moved out and Mary Louise saw her no more.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">L</span><span class="smcap">oneliness</span>
+wages a Fabian warfare. It is likewise a craven. At the slightest
+opposition it turns tail and flees, frequently to steal back furtively
+and lurk slinking in the vicinity, clouding it. Only on rare occasions
+does it boldly come out and proclaim itself.</p>
+
+<p>Another week had passed. Joe was finding leisure. And in leisure there
+are echoes, as in all vast vaulted spaces, where slight sounds linger
+reverberating and faint shadows stretch away to void. There was time
+to see the drabness of his boarding place, so he changed it. The
+change cost him more money and left him more leisure. He took his
+meals wherever he happened to be. The town was full of people, kindly
+enough, but each with his own circle of interests. To some of these he
+sold motor cars. There would be a short period of contact, then that
+would pass and the customer would slip into the whirlpool of casuality
+and be swept away. None of the relationships seemed to last. Each one
+left him more alone than ever.</p>
+
+<p>He ran across Mrs. LeMasters. Mrs. LeMasters was an ancient lady with
+a penchant for lavender. The day he called on her she was wearing a
+flowered dress with a sash, with bits of lace about the neck and
+cuffs. She put on a bonnet of lavender straw before the glass in her
+front hall and bound it to her by yards of voluminous cream tulle,
+wrapped under her chin and about her neck with trembling fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Does it blow much in your car?" she called to him in a quavery voice.</p>
+
+<p>He assured her that it was quite desirably calm.</p>
+
+<p>"The Stokes car is most delightful," she said. "Just like sitting in
+my own room. Not the sign of a bump&mdash;and I could not realize we
+had been going twenty-five miles an hour."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled politely. "We'll see what this one will do."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been struggling to keep off this evil hour for, oh, so long,"
+she explained as she followed him timidly down the walk to the curb.
+"It was a terrible thing when the world went mad for haste and now has
+to be jerked around from place to place without ever drawing a sane
+breath. I've two horses and three carriages, one a Victoria that I
+bought in Paris. What am I going lo do with these if I buy your car,
+Mr. Hooper? Oh, what a pretty car!"</p>
+
+<p>She narrowed her sharp little eyes&mdash;she was quite near
+sighted&mdash;and stepped out into the street and around the rear of
+the automobile, caught sight of her image in the back panel, came
+around and felt of the leather in the seat, rubbed the polished
+surface of the bow socket as though she had bought motors for years.
+Then she turned to Joe: "And the engine? Is it a good engine?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is guaranteed to be the best." And then he went on quietly to tell
+her a few of the more spectacular things about it. He did not overdo
+it.</p>
+
+<p>As he was speaking she was watching his face with a dreamy, vague
+expression on her wrinkled features. When he had finished, she
+brightened and laid her hand on his arm. "And now let's go for a nice
+ride." She was as enthusiastic as a girl. "I'm sure this is a nice
+car."</p>
+
+<p>They went out in the country a short distance, out on the Bloomfield
+pike. She found he was from Bloomfield and trilled away in a high,
+shrill cackle that she loved every stick and stone in that adorable
+country. And when she found that he was the nephew of Mrs. Mosby, or,
+rather, Loraine Fawcette, that was, her ecstasy knew no bounds.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I took Tom LeMasters away from her," she giggled, and leaned
+over with her wrinkled and scented face close to his, grasping him by
+the arm.</p>
+
+<p>After that they were bosom friends. He told her about Bloomfield as it
+came back to him, rhapsodized over its meadows and woods and "purling
+streams," and felt a rising desire to taste its joys again. And all
+the while his voice would fall on deaf ears and her eyes would take on
+a misty look as though peering down dark, dusty corridors; and
+interrupting him, she would recall the circumstances of some famous
+party, summoning forth the creaking images of old men and women,
+yellow and withering, some of them long dead.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon passed swiftly away. They found themselves in a bit of
+lane that dipped down into a little grove of trees, just as the sun
+was gathering his cohorts for departure. A breath of fragrant breeze,
+heavy laden with clover and sweet with the stretch of cool, moist
+shade through which it had passed, came sweeping across the road, and
+the sounds of a farm hand whetting his scythe. Through a rift in the
+trees appeared a patch of delicate blue sky and the edge of a rosy
+cloud. Mrs. LeMasters came to the wistful end of an alluring and musty
+reminiscence and gazed regretfully at the tawdry beauties of the
+present. Then she turned her eyes upon Joe, and with a sigh that was
+sodden with romance: "How could you ever bear to leave that adorable
+spot?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe smiled in mellow acquiescence and almost agreed with her.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, the Stokes car never had a chance. Before he took his leave
+of her he had her signed order for a "Sedan" for immediate delivery.
+And she grasped his hand and held it, leaning coyly close. "We're
+going to have some wonderful times this fall. We'll drive to
+Bloomfield, just you and I. And what am I going to do about a
+chauffeur? What will I ever do with a strange creature who cares for
+nothing but speed? Why don't you stay with me and drive for me? We'll
+just not stay home a minute."</p>
+
+<p>He temporized, laughing, and finally tore himself away. And when he
+stepped from the car outside of Blake's Restaurant and was met by a
+blast of hot air, laden with the breath of fried onions, he felt
+himself very much alone. He ate his supper dreamily and
+retrospectively. The vacant chair across the little table added to the
+plaintiveness. He had liver and onions and a chocolate eclair and felt
+that he needed a woman to look after him.</p>
+
+<p>He got in the car and drove slowly south. When he came to Lytle Street
+he turned off to the right. It was not quite dark and people passing
+on the pavement seemed to him to peer out at him. He felt
+self-conscious and slowed down the car still more till he barely crept
+along, with headlights blazing two bright paths before him. Myrtle
+Macomber had told him he might come and he did not wish to seem to be
+too eager. But as he sought his bearings, watching the unfamiliar
+fronts of houses and clumps of shade, he suffered little tremblings of
+expectancy in spite of his restraint.</p>
+
+<p>Directly the house appeared; he had no difficulty in recognizing it.
+It stood out bleakly against the evening sky, with its pointed cupola
+thrust upward like a warning finger, with its wooden fence and gate.
+It bad no modest shrouding of trees and bushes in the shadow of which
+one might veil one's entrance. For a moment he was afraid lest he be
+too early, so he alighted, switched off the lamps, and proceeded
+across the pavement to the gate very slowly. Then from the shelter of
+the vines on the side porch he heard the hum of voices and a laugh.
+Grasping his dignity firmly like a walking stick, he stalked up the
+pavement to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Myrtle came to meet him. The dim outline of her in her filmy dress and
+the elusive scent of her presence stirred him again. Her voice was
+gentle as she laughed a greeting and she gave his hand an
+imperceptible squeeze as he came up the steps. His stiffness vanished,
+but the sound of voices from back in the shadow disturbed him. An
+absurd personality crowded to his lips as she led him forward, but he
+repressed it.</p>
+
+<p>He was introduced. There was quite a crowd assembled and in the dark
+he was conscious of only a blob of faces and the grip of one hand that
+was quite too hot. Even in the dark he felt embarrassed, as the
+conscious caller exposed nakedly to the world. What had she done this
+for? It was not too considerate of her. Perhaps it was purely
+accidental. He began to speculate on how soon the crowd might break
+up, and found himself dangling uncomfortably on the porch railing
+close beside the chair of a shadowy girl who was buried in its depths.
+He could look down into the place where he imagined her face might
+be. He was quite close to her and in the jabber of voices she was
+silent. No one seemed to pay him the slightest attention, and his
+interest mounted in a growing intimacy of silence with this girl in
+the chair. A door opened and he saw Myrtle's figure pass across the
+room within and busy herself with something on the table. In the faint
+light that now pervaded the porch he again peered down at the figure
+beside him. Instantly the glamour vanished. The face he saw was thin
+and sharp, with hair slicked back from the forehead and narrow,
+slanting sharp eyes. He caught a glimpse of neck and shoulders above a
+brazen filmy waist, and in the splash of light and shadow there was no
+softness of contour, but cruel bones and hollows.</p>
+
+<p>"Think you'll know me next time?" came a harsh voice and a laugh, and
+he straightened up and murmured an apology. He felt very much
+embarrassed and disturbed. His mellow complacence had fled
+precipitately. In his ears sounded the rattle of personalities. It was
+as harsh and as constant and as senseless as machine-gun fire. At
+least he could make an early "get-away."</p>
+
+<p>Myrtle came and stood beside him from somewhere in the darkness. The
+tip of her little finger barely touched his hand as she stood there,
+leaning against the railing and firing back some "chaff" into the
+darkness. There came a lull in the chatter and Joe was feeling a bit
+mollified. Suddenly, before he realized it, the crowd was leaving,
+and one by one they filed past him, each bidding good-night. There was
+the thin girl in the chair, then two boys who were entirely
+nondescript, with noisy throats cut out of the same copper plate, a
+soft billowy shadow of a woman under a floppy hat and exuding a
+ghastly sweet, cloying perfume. Her bare arm was as soft and flabby as
+jelly as she stretched it out to Myrtle. After her came another man,
+rather hesitantly, and keeping in the shadow. His voice was good,
+rather deep, rather strong. As he passed, he called Joe by name.
+Twisting around in the light, Joe saw that it was Hawkins, one of the
+owners of the "Kum-quik Tire Company," a rather taciturn, solemn sort
+of man to do business with. Joe was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>In a moment they were all gone and the porch was dark and still. Their
+passage was as inexplicable as their presence had been. A dim band of
+light lay across the floor of the porch and Myrtle stood before him,
+facing him. He could not see her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" she said, as though she had known him for years.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" he echoed uncertainly. Her tone had implied a question or
+perhaps it was a suggestion. She stood quite motionless; he could have
+reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder, "Suppose we go for a
+ride," he suggested lamely, not feeling quite sure of himself, feeling
+that perhaps it was not just the thing to propose on his first call.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she made no answer, but stood there looking at him. He
+could feel rather than see the fixity of her gaze. Suddenly she
+tripped away from him and ran into the house, calling back over her
+shoulder, "Have to get a wrap. Be back in a minute."</p>
+
+<p>After they had started he regretted the suggestion. It had shut off
+the prospect of a languorous evening. It was not in harmony with his
+mood; he had much rather loll back on a bench and steep himself in
+musings.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly, he turned away from town, keeping on quiet back streets.
+He did not even ask her where she wanted to go. The night was soft and
+dark with a sky that hung low like black velvet in which was sprinkled
+a soft studding of stars. The air wrapped about them, lazy and warm;
+it was not like night air at all. There was a peculiar exotic feel to
+it which kept the senses in a state of semi-coma yet alive to the
+slightest change. Joe half closed his eyes and leaned back against the
+cushion like an old cat getting her back scratched. The soft perfume
+of the girl's hair, the delicious mystery of the impenetrable sky
+above them, the caress of the air, all seemed to have been provided
+for his own especial enjoyment. He was suddenly exultant that he had
+escaped the house, that he was out and beneath the sky, and above all,
+that he had someone with him. The feeling of unfulfillment that had
+wracked him constantly was giving way. He imagined a sort of
+proprietary right to the conditions about him. Luxury, ease, pleasure,
+all that rolling along underneath those stars with an exquisite,
+beautiful thing beside him was symbolical of, seemed justly to have
+fallen to his lot. The dull, unfathomable ache of suppressed desire
+had vanished and he was complacent.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," a voice startled him. "Aren't you ever coming back to earth?"</p>
+
+<p>He was suddenly confused.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it's a bit nice, carrying me off and then thinking
+about some other girl. Aren't you ever going to say a word?"</p>
+
+<p>He recovered and found that they had travelled about two blocks. The
+spell faded. He regained mastery of himself. "I've been waitin' for
+permission to speak. Yon only said I might take you for a ride." He
+turned and gave her a personal look.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you taking me then?" Her liveliness seemed to be returning.
+"Do you have to have permission for everything you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sure," said Joe. "We're goin' to take a look at the river.
+That's my own idea."</p>
+
+<p>"How'd you know I wanted to? Perhaps I had rather do something else."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her suddenly, but before he could speak, she leaned
+toward him impulsively and laid her hand on his shoulder. "There, I
+was just kidding. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do. It's a
+heavenly night. And I like you for your silence. It takes a real
+person to be still at the right time. Go ahead and dream all you want.
+It's heavenly."</p>
+
+<p>She removed her hand, but in some way she seemed to remain nearer to
+him than she had been. A little, delightful shudder of appreciation
+ran through him. He no longer felt isolated. The proprietary sense was
+growing stronger.</p>
+
+<p>They wound in and out in a devious path, for the streets in the
+eastern part of the city were laid out in accordance with whim and not
+by plan. And the rows of cottages lining the streets had acquired
+something of mystery from the canopy of night, and even the squalid
+sheds that appeared on the edge of the city's virility were wrapped in
+a shadow that loaned them charm. There came a short stretch of
+hedge-encompassed road and a damp musty smell of water, beyond, in the
+blackness on both sides. Then they rolled out upon a clattering
+bridge, turned a corner, and before them lay the river.</p>
+
+<p>Joe slowed down the car. A tiny light flashed and then lay stretching
+its rays in a yellow ripple out into a blue-black immensity. A shadow,
+beyond it and entirely detached, appeared drifting slowly, and passed
+them, an empty "plop-plop" following vaguely in its wake. The road
+turned again, a little to the left this time, and swishing branches
+brushed the car, and then almost at their feet stretched away to the
+left a broad, black, moving shadow, matching the sky and studded
+likewise by tiny pin-pricks of light. Ahead, unwound the road, a
+straight ghostly ribbon fading away into a giant's mouth, and softly
+swept down upon them the river wind, almost imperceptible in its
+rustling and a little chill. Joe felt a quiver of happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"You're the noisiest man I ever knew," interrupted Myrtle plaintively.
+"Ooh! This place gives me the creeps."</p>
+
+<p>He could feel the warmth of her and he laughed. "Swampy here a bit
+from the creek bottom. Up ahead it is higher and better. That crowd
+all come to see you? You shouldn't have run them away."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it was time they were going. They knew I wanted to see you." He
+could almost feel her eyes and felt that she was making a play for
+him. It was a new and pleasing experience.</p>
+
+<p>"So you really did, did you? I'm flattered."</p>
+
+<p>There was a coaxing, cloying note in her voice when she spoke
+directly, that in some way coincided with the breath of the night and
+the feel of that velvet sky. He got her to talk just to hear the sound
+of her voice and she chattered on for a while about airy nothings that
+vibrated pleasantly in his ear: told him about a trip she had just had
+up to the Indiana lakes, regretted the ruining of a summer frock on a
+boating party, asked him his opinion of the necessity of chaperones
+on picnics. There was a suggestion of deference in her manner as well
+as lightness, a quality that stirred him a little more pleasantly even
+than the other qualities. She was different from others he knew.</p>
+
+<p>They mounted a slight rise in the road and then dipped into a cool
+hollow fringed about by the shadows of willows. She paused suddenly in
+her recital and gave a little ecstatic cry. Seizing his arm she
+pointed. Over beyond, through a gap in the willows, lay a stretch of
+shadowy river meadow reaching back for a great distance to the second
+rise and fringed about its edge by even blacker shadows. And above it
+danced a million fire-flies weaving ceaselessly to and fro, waving
+their soft lanterns. They hung, a cloud of twinkling radiance, upon a
+soft black curtain.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, stop the car," cried Myrtle. "The lovely things! Let's watch 'em
+from here."</p>
+
+<p>For some moments neither spoke. They were drawn up to one side of the
+road partly in the shelter of the willows that lined it and it was
+snug and pleasant and warm. The light breeze could not reach them. Joe
+felt exalted. In this communion of spirit he was experiencing
+something entirely new. It was as though he had known her always. He
+could feel sure about her. She liked the things he liked. She was
+alive and she was not aloof. There was a joy in living; she felt it
+and he felt it. And she was sitting very close. With an easy
+stretching of cramped muscles he slid his arm along the back of the
+seat and let it slip carelessly about her shoulder. There was a moment
+of delicious freedom and relaxation, of kindliness and friendliness
+and a thousand other little sensations, to say nothing of a spark of a
+thrill&mdash;when she moved easily forward, contracting her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go," she said dully.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly the illusion vanished. Back into his self-belittling he
+slipped and was silent. Away fled the ease and complacency, and the
+wind came up from the river and chilled his ankles.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later she asked him quite brightly, "<i>What</i> do you do?"</p>
+
+<p>He had been thinking upon his sin and was startled at the casualness
+of the question. He laughed, a bit nervous. "Why, didn't you know?
+What'd you imagine?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I don't know. Run some sort of plant, I would guess."</p>
+
+<p>"Nope," he replied, and his voice had not the low, ringing assurance
+he might have wished, but was a little too loud, a little too high.
+"Nothing but this car."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," she replied. "How do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm selling 'em. This is a demonstrator, and I am responsible for
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I see&mdash;well&mdash;isn't that nice!"</p>
+
+<p>And somehow from that time on the evening grew chilly and less
+pleasant and clouds came up and obscured the soft velvet sky. In a
+very few minutes they turned about and went home.</p>
+
+<p>She bid him a casual good-night.</p>
+
+<p>When he climbed the stairs to his room about thirty minutes later,
+they seemed endless. His breath was coming short as he gained the top
+and a vast, sudden, sickening weariness swooped down upon his body and
+consumed it. As he passed the open window in the hall the night breeze
+made him shiver and he went chattering to bed. He pulled the covers up
+beneath his chin and realized that he had made a fool of himself,
+which somehow didn't matter much; realized that he was
+alone&mdash;just as much alone as ever&mdash;which mattered quite a
+lot. All this and the chill shivering and the vast, aching weariness.
+He fell asleep and dreamed of desolate wastes and wanderings and
+parching heat.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XIII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="smcap">alf</span>
+of August had joined the past. And with it was passing Joe's
+complacency. Each day brought a certain routine: customers to be
+developed, doubtful and recalcitrant ones to be urged to the
+purchasing point. One day's work was very like the next. But each day
+passing brought a certain satisfaction, of being one day nearer to the
+day ahead.</p>
+
+<p>The day that he had taken Myrtle Macomber up the river road had been
+Tuesday. On Wednesday he had risen, sluggish and weary, with an ache
+in his bones. A half-hearted, spasmodic attempt at work had ended at
+eleven o'clock. He had called up Myrtle. They went that afternoon to a
+ball-game. Thursday morning came, bright with promise, and a
+profitable forenoon was spent in the old hammer-and-tongs manner. By
+noon he had two orders in his pocket and felt quite exhausted. The
+heat drank up the very marrow from one's bones. He met Myrtle on the
+street. They had lunch together. All that afternoon they paddled about
+in the river and came home with hair wet and nerves sagging. Friday
+passed, a long dreary day. By the time five o'clock arrived Joe would
+willingly have sunk down on the cement pavement in some shaded corner,
+just to take his mind from the grip of the traffic. There was nothing
+in the selling of motor cars to give his mind anything to bite on.
+What was it kept him going, he asked himself? The answer suggested
+itself to him, but he shook it off and mused on. Summer was a dreary
+time. That night he dragged himself to Lytle Street. He found Miss
+Macomber waiting for him on the porch. She was wearing a Nile green
+sports suit of soft flannel, with white facings, and white shoes and
+stockings and a stiff sailor hat of white straw. As he came up the
+walk and approached the steps, he heard a scurrying and moving of
+chairs, and as he gained the porch he caught a glimpse of a scuttling
+back in a baggy shirt with suspenders, a stooped fat neck that was
+collarless, and a frayed-out bald spot&mdash;just a glint of
+it&mdash;on the head above. From humble soil is sometimes nurtured the
+choicest of blooms. Joe had never met Mr. Macomber and the mother
+always seemed to keep discreetly in the background.</p>
+
+<p>They went that night to the amusement park on the river. Myrtle looked
+like a clipping from a style magazine; there was not a flaw in her.
+She drank up amusement like a thirsty sponge. They wandered about
+after the show. They drank lemonade. They danced in the pavilion. They
+wandered about some more, listened for a short time to the trillings
+of a robustious prima donna come upon evil days. They soon tired of
+this so easily attained diversion and feverishly set out for more.
+They danced again. They ran into a crowd of Myrtle's friends. They
+joined them in a series of mad dashes on the roller coaster. Myrtle's
+zest seemed fed from eternal springs. They danced a third time, or
+rather Myrtle did, with each clamouring swain, while the music bleated
+and whined away in expiring ecstasies and Joe leaned back against the
+window sill and gazed hollow-eyed at the ceiling or answered the
+fatuous banalities of some of the less fortunate ladies who were not
+dancing at the moment for various reasons. And as they went home that
+night, after twelve, they talked of the vast still places of the
+world, "where Nature leans a brooding ear" and "where one can be
+reposed and strong and silent and happy" and "just drink up the
+atmosphere in great gusty draughts, and steep oneself in calm. None of
+this terrible grind from day to day."</p>
+
+<p>Saturday, Myrtle went up-state. Saturday was hot and long and
+interminable. Sunday she motored, likewise up-state. It did not make
+the city streets the cooler, thinking of her. Sunday night produced a
+rain and a rising wind and a repetition of that chill, aching
+weariness for Joe when he dragged himself to bed. Just as relaxation
+slipped down between the covers upon his weary body the future came
+and stood at the foot of his bed and stared at him like a flat, empty
+sheet of yellow foolscap, without a mark on it, and away it stretched
+endless. It was a silly image; it stared so vacantly. But it roused
+him with a start and he tossed about restlessly on his bed and threw
+back the covers that had become oppressive and let the breeze from the
+window, a water-soaked breeze, blow in upon his bare chest. How long
+would he be selling motor cars? He shelved that question. How much
+would he have to make this month still, to pay all his bills? He
+shelved this one, too. What was the matter with him, that he felt so
+played out? Suddenly he shivered and was chilled to the marrow, and he
+pulled the sheet up under his chin and went to sleep in the absorbed
+contemplation of each minute bodily misery.</p>
+
+<p>Monday noon found them lunching together in the tea room. Joe spoke
+very distantly and formally to Mary Louise when once she came in,
+looked around at the tables, and then disappeared in the mysterious
+regions behind. Tuesday night they went on a moonlight picnic on a
+large river steamer and got back at half-past one. There had been a
+blissful hour of drifting black shadows, of gleaming ripples, and the
+heavy sonorous exhaust of benign boilers, spent on the topmost step of
+the pilot-house stairs, with a moon that dipped and swam in a turgid
+sea of drifting clouds. The rest had been rattle and bang of jazz and
+chatter, and bumping about on a hot, swaying floor into obstreperous
+shoulders, and the smell of sweetened popcorn and fresh paint and
+sickly perfume. Wednesday they went for a ride again and ended up at
+the "Ferry" and danced and drank lemonade. And they passed a table
+where sat old Mrs. LeMasters with a youngish boy with a very red,
+sunburned face, and she wagged her finger at Joe and looked long and
+critically at Myrtle. Thursday night he stayed home and felt
+solitarily virtuous.</p>
+
+<p>On Friday a picnic had been arranged. Joe "knocked off" work at four
+o'clock and went home and dressed by a window through which the sun
+streamed broiling hot. Before putting on his shoes he yielded to the
+lure of the bed and flung himself upon it. It was all he could do to
+drag himself forth and put on the finishing touches. Somehow the
+notion of the picnic did not thrill him. There would be the same crowd
+on hand, noisy, obstreperous, vulgar. They had no real "punch" to
+them. They were like beating a tin pan: all of it was right on the
+surface.</p>
+
+<p>He arrived twenty minutes late and was scolded. They loaded a stack of
+baskets into his car; all about his feet were cumbersome bundles; and
+they scratched the polished panel in the tonneau behind the front
+seat. He could hear the grating of the straw basket across the
+beautiful surface and he shrank from the sound. Into the seat beside
+him clambered the soft, fattish girl. Her name was Penny, he had
+learned. She smirked at him as she adjusted her skirts. There was a
+line of tiny beady perspiration upon her upper lip and her white
+slippers gaped at the sides and were not too clean. Her pink georgette
+cr&ecirc;pe waist clung to a flabby back with a suggestion of dampness
+and she simpered at him:</p>
+
+<p>"I hope Myrtle won't put poison in my ice-tea."</p>
+
+<p>He confessed that that would distress him exceedingly.</p>
+
+<p>Into the back seat clambered the two boys with the copper throats.
+Their names were Glotch and Trumpeter. They hailed Joe with acclaim,
+slapped Miss Penny on the bare neck, coyly, with little flips of the
+fingers, and when the slim, sour-faced girl&mdash;who was a Miss
+Ardle&mdash;with her slicked black hair, climbed in between them, they
+fell on her neck in ecstasies of greeting and threatened to kiss her
+and were slapped roundly for their pains amid loud guffaws. It ended
+by Miss Ardle coming around and sitting in the front seat to the
+rapturous discomfort of Miss Penny, whose fat leg was thereby squeezed
+against the gear-shifting lever where it was in Joe's way for the
+remainder of the trip.</p>
+
+<p>Just before they started, Mrs. Macomber came out of the house carrying
+a small package which she brought round and entrusted to Joe's care.
+She was wearing a stiffly starched apron and her hair had been
+plastered down and her face scrubbed so that the deep rings in the
+flabby flesh below her eyes were thereby accentuated. Very pointedly
+she looked at Joe and very definitely she spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"You'll see that they get back at a decent hour? And don't let 'em go
+in the water." It might have been the tone with which she exhorted Mr.
+Macomber. At any rate, Miss Penny pursed her lips and looked at Joe
+and then significantly at Miss Ardle, and ever after that made highly
+cryptic remarks half aloud, to herself, to the general effect that
+some folks' families always were so good to them and how unhappy it
+was to be an orphan.</p>
+
+<p>They went to a hot, stuffy little grove by the side of a disconsolate
+stream where mosquitoes hummed and tiny gnat creatures were vulgarly
+familiar. Joe carried the baskets down a steep and rocky path to the
+very edge of the brook, scratching his face with stinging briars and
+tough, elastic little switches from ubiquitous bushes. The two young
+men in the back seat ostentatiously assisted the ladies in the descent
+with much demonstration and much unnecessary pawing. Joe sat down and
+waited for Myrtle, who was coming with Hawkins, a look of resignation
+on his face.</p>
+
+<p>When at length she finally arrived she paid him no attention in spite
+of the fact that he had not seen her for over a whole day. Later on
+she gave him some directions in the arranging of the lunch and the
+building of the fire, in a strictly impersonal tone, very much the
+same as she had used with her mother. Joe was a bit puzzled, but he
+complied.</p>
+
+<p>They went straight to the business of the lunch. Everything was spread
+out on a white tablecloth, Mrs. Macomber's second best. There was a
+baffling variety of sandwiches, olive and peanut-butter, lettuce and
+cucumber&mdash;quite soggy and dangerous&mdash;devilled ham, thin
+bread and butter, and a small pile whose filling was made up chiefly
+of discarded chicken scraps. There was a highly indigestible chocolate
+cake sodden enough to serve as a boat's anchor, a great quantity of
+jumbo pickles, and a dozen bottles of near beer. This last Mr. Glotch
+welcomed with a stentorian shout ably echoed by Mr. Trumpeter, each of
+whom fell to and consumed a bottle with much assumption of inebriety.
+After dissembling complete disintegration and coma, Mr. Glotch raised
+his head from the ground and mourned, "Oh, boy! The guy that named
+this juice sure was a bum judge of distance." "You said it," echoed
+Mr. Trumpeter, and they were rewarded by a series of titters from the
+ladies which encouraged them into still further excesses.</p>
+
+<p>Joe felt weary. He was fortunately deaf to much of what went on about
+him, being concerned in the baffling mystery of Myrtle's behaviour.
+Was she provoked at him? Surely not. Was Hawkins, perhaps an erstwhile
+rival, putting in a bid for first honours? She was paying no attention
+to Hawkins whatever. Had he been talking too much with Miss Ardle or
+the coy Miss Penny? Perhaps all she needed was waking up.</p>
+
+<p>They had demolished the lunch and were sitting about the wreckage in
+mournful speculation of its vanished glories; Myrtle was seated
+between the two comedians; Joe between the two ladies; Hawkins some
+distance in the background, on a rock. With no warning whatever Joe
+sprang to his feet, strode over to the lovely Myrtle in her filmy
+white dress, and picked her bodily from the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go swimming," he shouted before a single member of the crowd
+could give utterance.</p>
+
+<p>He carried her in a couple of strides to the edge of the little stream
+and there held her threateningly over the bank. The two young men
+shouted approval and Myrtle began to squirm. At first she demanded
+coyly to be set down, and then with more sharpness in her tone. Joe
+looked into her eyes. They were unfathomable. Her peach-bloom cheeks
+were quite pink. But there were a few tiny wrinkles about her mouth
+that he had never seen before. Made her look older, somehow. He
+softened, for the lovely burden was becoming delightfully heavy.</p>
+
+<p>"Think I'd better not?" he addressed the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," urged Mr. Glotch.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well," he decided, "perhaps we'll only go in wading." He reached
+clumsily down to her foot for her slipper.</p>
+
+<p>She squirmed and flushed deeper. "Don't!" she cried. "Don't, Joe!"</p>
+
+<p>He disregarded her. Her foot dangled out in front, in full view; it
+was difficult to reach it without letting her slip and with her
+struggling. But he finally succeeded. He caught the French heel in a
+sudden swipe and the slipper went scudding off into the bushes.
+Immediately she drew the foot in to her and cried out. But not content
+he reached for the other.</p>
+
+<p>"If you take that off I'll never speak to you again," she cried. She
+looked bewitching, struggling there in his arms all flushed and red,
+with her hair coming down. He wanted to kiss her but he grabbed the
+remaining slipper instead and firmly disengaged it from its place. And
+then she began to cry. And as he held her, struggling no longer, with
+one foot dangling disconsolately below his arm, he saw the turn of
+shapely ankle all sleek in its sheathing of white silk, the high arch
+with the delicate dip to the instep, and below it the gleam of two
+pink toes boldly peeping from a malignant hole.</p>
+
+<p>Contrite, he set her down while the audience went hysterical. He set
+her down on a grassy mound and she threw him a red, angry look while
+the traces of tears were quickly drying. And he noticed that the other
+stocking was in the same condition. When he returned her the slippers
+she put them on without a word.</p>
+
+<p>The rest of the evening she spent on the rock beside Hawkins while
+the two young swains made merry with the other girls and Miss Penny
+simpered and Miss Ardle was correspondingly caustic. Joe sat back with
+his head against a tree and a hard, tired smile about his mouth, and a
+restlessness in the pit of his stomach. He tried not to look at Myrtle
+and Hawkins. And once when the crowd surged in a moment's
+boisterousness over to another part of the picnic grounds he stretched
+himself, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands to get the smart
+out of them, and muttered, "God, what a party!" all to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Later on, when they were gathering up the remains of the lunch and
+folding it up in the tablecloth and returning glasses and plates and
+cutlery to the basket, Joe found himself standing silently beside
+Hawkins, watching the preparations for leaving. The moonlight was
+streaming down in a silvery flood through the trees and the bit of
+green meadow glowed like a fairy ring. There were silvery ripples on
+the water of the little stream that slipped off with a tinkling
+chatter into the deep gloom of the shadow. Somewhere near a wild
+honeysuckle bloomed and the fragrance of its blooming came drifting to
+them. Hawkins spoke. He stood with eyes fixed on the stooping figures
+near the tablecloth and his lips barely moved.</p>
+
+<p>"How'd you get mixed up in this crowd?" he said. It was a curious
+question.</p>
+
+<p>Joe looked at him oddly; the fellow's manner was, always had been,
+peculiar. "How about yourself?" he replied.</p>
+
+<p>Without answering, Hawkins lifted his shoulders and threw out his
+hands. Then they were both called to come and help.</p>
+
+<p>Joe had the sole company of Miss Penny on the return trip. She was
+inclined to be quiet and answered his polite attempts with
+monosyllables. He wondered if by chance he might be being remiss in
+the customs of such an occasion, but he did not care much. The three
+on the back seat had lapsed into a strange silence that seemed out of
+place, like death in a boiler shop, and when they finally reached the
+city limits and passed beneath the glare of the first corner light, he
+took a look behind him and caught Miss Ardle kissing the imperious
+Glotch. He turned and looked at Miss Penny. She sat with her hands in
+her lap, looking demurely at them.</p>
+
+<p>He delivered them all to their respective destinations. And then,
+having the load of baskets and picnic utensils in the car, he returned
+to Lytle Street to see that they were properly handed over. He passed
+Hawkins' roadster as he turned the corner into Lytle Street and
+wondered if he were too late.</p>
+
+<p>But as he staggered up the walk with the baskets, Myrtle came to meet
+him at the top of the steps and showed him where to put them. And as
+he turned and would have gone, she stopped him with a soft word. On
+the top step she came and took hold of him by both elbows and looked
+up into his face with eyes that were swimming with sweetness. He
+gulped and was bitterly sorry for his folly. He started to speak, when
+she reached up with her hand and softly passed it across his forehead;
+the touch of it was as exquisite and as transient as a dream. He felt
+unmentionable depths.</p>
+
+<p>"Hope you're feeling better," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" he managed to ask. And then he remembered he had told her he
+had been unwell Thursday which accounted for his absence. And then:
+"Oh, I do. Much. All right now." An errant moonbeam came straggling in
+between a break in the screen of vines and lighted up her face,
+looking up into his, flooding it with a sort of holy wistfulness.
+Softly she moved away, out of the light.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he clambered into his car and drove away.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XIV</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="smcap">hat</span>
+a curious question, that of Hawkins, "How did you come to get mixed up
+in this crowd?" And the inane response he had made to the counter as
+though it all were a mystery too vast for solution. Oh, well, Hawkins
+was a queer bird, inexpressive and glum and commonplace. Could not be
+expected to register much. His thoughts probably were too rusty and
+old by the time they formed in his head to issue forth in sparkling
+deeds or words. Joe slipped a knot into his tie, gave his hair a final
+swipe with the brush, caught a quick glance at himself in the glass,
+and then rushed to the door and rattled down the stairs whistling.</p>
+
+<p>It was a fine morning, the kind that gave one lots of "pep," high
+cloudless sky, dazzling sun, hot and bracing. The morning paper had a
+column on the first page listing the names of those who had succumbed
+to the heat; but Joe had no eyes for such morbid news. A man never
+felt the heat when he had plenty of good work to do and was in good
+shape, and things were going well with him. Funny, how much suffering
+of any sort was due entirely to the state of mind. He whistled as he
+swung along on his way to the garage. And when he stepped into the
+door of the garage office he mopped his streaming face and shouted to
+the night man who was just leaving, "'D you get those gaskets put into
+the old boat, Harry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whadda you think this is?" growled the man, "a mad-house? This ain't
+no flivver fact'ry&mdash;build you a car while you change yer
+shirt&mdash;course I ain't changed them gaskets." Harry clumped
+sullenly out of the door and down the street, keeping close to the
+wall, in the shade. Harry was an old married man and his feet were
+leaden. Joe chuckled as he gazed after him speculatively. And then he
+passed through the door back into the shop.</p>
+
+<p>It was Saturday and only four hours till noon. There were no
+demonstrations scheduled for the afternoon. There was not a flaw in
+the sky. And yet the morning dragged. The streets were hot; great
+waves of heat came curling up from the asphalt, which was soft and
+gummy and showed the ruts of passing tires.</p>
+
+<p>Toward twelve things began to quicken. Two or three insignificant
+details brazenly presented themselves and Joe fell upon them with
+feverish irritation. For a time they threatened to encroach upon a
+golden afternoon. A lady had sent in an inquiry about a winter top;
+Mrs. LeMasters was having trouble with her doors squeaking. They could
+just as well have waited until Monday.</p>
+
+<p>It was two o'clock when he finally quieted Mrs. LeMasters, using a
+small oil can on the hinges and a few honeyed words upon her ruffled
+spirits. He drew a deep breath of exasperation and relief as he
+clambered into his car and drove away. He looked at his watch, paused
+a moment in deep thought, stopping his car dead in the middle of the
+street and was almost run over from behind by a nervous, excitable
+"flivver." The driver waved at him wildly, shouting obscenities as he
+swerved past and went careening down the street.</p>
+
+<p>He would not have time to eat lunch. There was so much to do.
+Inspired, he stopped at a corner drug store and gulped down a malted
+milk. Then with enforced calm, and with a glance at the clock, he
+brushed down his clothes, looked at himself in the glass above the
+counter, and walked with much careless aplomb out to the car. He had
+timed it to a nicety.</p>
+
+<p>When he got out of the car in front of the Macomber dwelling he had
+another struggle to keep from appearing self-conscious. As he
+approached the house a rosy little vision of the afternoon in prospect
+flitted into his mind. He glanced patronizingly at the sky. Never had
+there been serener blue. Descending a notch, he caught a surreptitious
+glimpse at upstairs windows. The one above the front door was chastely
+shrouded by inside shutters. But through a slight gap and beneath a
+raised sash he saw a flutter of white and turned away his eyes. It
+was <i>her</i> room. He pulled the old bell knob and stood thoughtfully
+humming to himself on the steps.</p>
+
+<p>No one came. Slightly jarred, he realized it and pulled the bell
+again. He stopped humming. Quite a while he waited, in growing
+irritation. The bell was probably broken. After many minutes&mdash;it
+may have been two&mdash;he stepped to the edge of the porch and
+speculated on going around to the back, when the door flew suddenly
+open and Mrs. Macomber stood peering at him through the screen.</p>
+
+<p>He jerked off his hat. "How do you do?" and gave her a radiant smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Macomber scowled. She was an impregnable griffin even in still
+life. She had on an untidy apron and her hair was squeezed back from
+her yellow, greasy face.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I've&mdash;er&mdash;Miss Myrtle?" sparkled Joe, conquering the
+vapours.</p>
+
+<p>"Not in," said Mrs. Macomber shortly.</p>
+
+<p>Joe fell back a step. The shadows swept down upon him. For a moment he
+was at a loss for words. "But&mdash;Mrs. Macomber&mdash;we were going
+to Stony Point this afternoon!" He was aghast, and he bared his
+feelings to the world before he sank in the engulfing sea of negation.
+"Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Macomber smiled grimly. "My eyes haven't gone back on me
+entirely, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>Joe stepped up to the level of the porch which stood inviting off to
+the right. "Listen, Mrs. Macomber," he began, striving to be
+respectful. "What's wrong?" In the face of the threatening debacle he
+could not calmly let matters drift. He felt himself rushing into
+action.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Macomber considered and then apparently made up her mind. She
+opened the door and stepped out upon the vine-covered porch. For a
+moment she stood facing him as if taking in her ground. There was
+something deep and lurking and resentful in her narrow eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll tell you," she began. "You've been taking up a mighty lot
+of Myrtle's time here, lately."</p>
+
+<p>He sinkingly realized the truth of this statement as he felt the
+fixity of her gaze. He was silent. The front door opened over to his
+left, but he was too absorbed to notice. There was a sound of someone
+stirring in the vestibule.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Macomber did not like his silence. She had decided on conflict.
+"A man's got no right to take up a girl's time unless he means right
+by her. Just because a girl's good lookin' 's no sign she's a
+play-thing for any Tom, Dick, or Harry comes along."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was stunned by the baldness of the statement.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mrs. Macomber," he managed to stammer, "I didn't know that's the
+way Myrtle&mdash;Miss Macomber felt about it. I'm awfully
+sorry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Keeps other men away," she interrupted him ruthlessly, determined to
+have her say. "Spoils everything for her. She's just a young
+girl&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, Ma," broke in a voice. Mr. Macomber joined the group, a
+sheepish, kindly look upon his face, and raising a restraining hand.
+He came and took Joe by the shoulder. There was something familiar in
+his round, stolid face. "Don't take on so. Gonna get a cigar. Wouldn't
+you like one?" he added casually to Joe, at the same time propelling
+him to the steps.</p>
+
+<p>Joe felt he was being manipulated. He turned again in a desperate
+effort to regain some of the lost ground and his tone was very
+respectful, quite abject.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Macomber, please accept my humble apologies. Perhaps I should
+have spoken to you." He struggled. A final shred of self-respect
+prevented him from laying bare the throbbings of his heart, or perhaps
+it was a tiny, rising suspicion of doubt. There were signs of dross in
+his vision of pure gold. "I hope," he concluded, "that you will give
+me a chance to square myself."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman glared at him, blocking the doorway, like a faithful
+dragon at the castle gates where sleeps the queen of beauty.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure you will," insisted Mr. Macomber, still urging him forward. He
+seemed distressed in a vague sort of way.</p>
+
+<p>They sauntered out of the gate, prisoner and captive, to the corner
+drug store. Joe mechanically selected a cigar from a proffered box.
+Mr. Macomber did likewise and gravely and deliberately clipped the end
+in the mechanical clipper on the counter, lighted it, and took a few
+ruminative puffs, gazing at the ceiling. Then he and Joe walked slowly
+to the street.</p>
+
+<p>"Women fly off the handle," he ventured at length without looking at
+Joe. "You mustn't mind what the old lady says."</p>
+
+<p>"She misunderstood," said Joe. "I suppose I was a bit too much on the
+job." It was not easy to express himself and he laughed nervously.
+"But I don't think you can blame me much." He looked at the old man
+for encouragement and found none. "What I can't understand is, that
+nothing was said to me before. It could have been prevented if it was
+so objectionable. You don't think there is anything wrong, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Macomber shook his head and Joe proceeded to vent the vials of his
+dismay. A taxi driver escaping from the drug store passed them as they
+were absorbed in their conversation and stared at them in curiosity.
+The old man stood chewing his cigar, his eyes on the ground, the
+breeze softly ruffing the nebulous hairs that fringed his bald head.</p>
+
+<p>Joe concluded his oration. There was nothing more he could add. And
+Mr. Macomber, raising his eyes, looked at him frankly. "Seen you
+before, ain't I? Used to be at Bromley's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm foreman there. Cultivator room."</p>
+
+<p>And Joe remembered. It did not exactly add to his satisfaction. "Sure
+you are," and he tried to make his voice heartily friendly.</p>
+
+<p>They walked slowly back toward the house. At the gate they paused for
+an awkward moment, and then Mr. Macomber held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"See you again," he said. "Don't worry about what the old lady said to
+you. It's the heat. It's all right. It's all right." He turned to go.
+He had made no reference to Myrtle at all.</p>
+
+<p>It was over. Joe stood on the curbing and watched the sturdy figure in
+its sagging vest and collarless shirt plod up the walk to the house.
+He could not help looking furtively for just a glance at that upstairs
+window and caught a flash of white and then vacuity. And then
+crestfallen and hot and sullen and ashamed, he sprang into the car and
+drove away.</p>
+
+<p>On his way down Broadway he had a puncture. Fortunately it occurred
+just half a block away from the "Kum-quik Tire Company's" repair shop.
+He covered that half block on a flat tire and went in for help.</p>
+
+<p>Hawkins came and stood silently beside him as a boy removed the tire.
+It was a solemn occasion. They stood there on the pavement,
+thoughtful, intently watching the operation. Hawkins was coatless; he
+had pink elastics holding up his sleeves and his hair stood up in a
+solemn pompadour and his high stiff collar had a spot of grease on it.</p>
+
+<p>"What was the idea of the question you asked me last night, Hawkins?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's silence. Then Hawkins looked up and smiled
+queerly. "Oh, nothing particular."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was not satisfied. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't be runnin'
+around in that crowd? What's the matter? Aren't they&mdash;isn't
+she&mdash;all right?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a quick, sudden turning of the slim hatchet face and Hawkins
+looked hard into his eyes. "It isn't that," he said brusquely. "I'm
+engaged to marry her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," replied Joe.</p>
+
+<p>The boy wrenched loose the tire and was rolling it into the shop.
+Slowly they followed him. Hawkins proceeded to the desk and picked up
+a pad of repair forms and started to scribble something on the top
+sheet. Joe watched his narrow, bent shoulders under the sleazy shirt.
+There was something pathetic in the proud crest of hair above his
+forehead and the pucker of lines in his brows.</p>
+
+<p>"How long have you been the lucky man?"</p>
+
+<p>Hawkins looked up from his paper. Faint surprise was written in his
+face. "Oh, a little over three years. Want to wait for this tube or
+will you come back for it? Man can put on your spare."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come hack for it Monday," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>A few moments later he drove away.</p>
+
+<p>For an hour he drove without thought of where he was going. Detail
+after detail of the affair presented itself to his mind in endless
+repetition. It had been a humiliating experience. The old woman's
+vulgarity; Macomber's stolid, iron hand clearing the air, like
+brushing trash from his doorstep; the consciousness of prying eyes at
+that upstairs window! "I've been a feeble cuckoo," he thought. "Mighta
+supposed two years in the army would have taught me better'n that.
+Played me for a good thing as long as it lasted and then the old lady
+called a showdown. Hawkins must stand in with the old lady. Poor
+Hawkins!"</p>
+
+<p>He discovered that he was rolling along on the Bloomfield pike about
+two miles from town.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny how these hard-workin' folks sink all their money in a
+butterfly like that. Bet she uses up the meat bill every month. And
+look what she gets out of it. Bet she's twenty-six if she's a day. And
+all she got was Hawkins. I must have looked good to her for a day or
+two."</p>
+
+<p>Bitterly he waited at the grade crossing while "Number Twenty-seven"
+went lumbering by. It shrieked a high, exasperating whistle as it
+passed, exulting in its trembling, shaking twenty-five miles per hour.</p>
+
+<p>On he drove. Hot blasts of air came crushing about him, with the
+sunlight shimmering white hot on the bare, dry pike. There was much
+dust from countless automobiles hurrying by in both directions. He was
+constantly churned up in clouds of fine white particles thrown back at
+him by passing tires, hurrying on in a mad drive to get somewhere. He
+was suddenly unbearably hot. But he drove on blindly.</p>
+
+<p>About five miles out he came to a shady lane. It ran like a cool brown
+gash between arching trees, off from the pike to the right. Away in
+the distance the fields dipped and rose to the skyline, a golden waste
+with here and there a patch of withering green. The lane was
+irresistible. He swung suddenly into it and was caught in a shifting,
+squirming quagmire of fine yellow sand. For a hundred yards he
+struggled on, with the car careening back and forth across the road
+and with much churning and slipping of tires. His shoulders began to
+ache and he wearied of the effort. It was a useless waste of energy.
+Spying a huge tree standing on the fence line on up ahead, he drew up
+to it and stopped in its shade. There was barely room for any one to
+pass on the other side of him.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he sat and dully stared out across the landscape. Then he
+got out of the car, climbed over the fence and threw himself down on
+the ground in the shade of the big tree.</p>
+
+<p>A stupor seemed to have come over him. There was the splotchy edge of
+shade just beyond his feet; there stretched a parched and drying
+furrow. Withered stubs of corn-stalks poked up forlorn heads at
+intervals in an endless row. Beyond them were more rows, and all about
+him lay the scarred and cracking earth in yellow heaps and clods, with
+the wind twisting fine spirals of dust from its rest and spewing it
+broadcast. In the air was a drone of drab creatures being happy in
+their drabness, rejoicing in the waste, thoughtless of the future.
+That was it, the whole field, unkept, idle, lazying, was thoughtless
+of the future. There stood the dead stubble, blackening and hopeless.
+Winter might come with its frost. Here was no worry over failing
+crops. One year's work had done for two. And the grasshoppers and the
+midges and the gnats and the flies were likewise quite content.</p>
+
+<p>He brushed the dust from a trouser leg. He looked at the trouser leg.
+The suit had cost him ninety dollars. And he was a creature of
+Bromley's rigged out like a butterfly and lying in the dust of a
+rotten old cornfield. Barely two months had passed and great changes
+had laid their hands upon him. Seemingly great changes. Three hundred
+dollars a month! Princely wages; but in what respect was he lifted? He
+had on a ninety-dollar suit, with dust from a cornfield fouling it. He
+had a few more bills in the haberdasher shops, an enamelled tub to
+bathe in, and more time to think about himself, to chase elusive
+lights and shadows. Otherwise, he was the same old Joe, the same tired
+old Joe. He realized how tired he was. In spite of the heat his face
+felt dry and parched, his lips were cracking, his bones ached, and his
+eyes burned. Well, he had caught up with himself; he would have to
+snap out of it. No use to lie around and gather dust on one's self and
+not lay anything by, like the farmer who owned this field, and like
+the gnats that buzzed around in the dust. He had no idea what he would
+do, but he would be careful&mdash;from now on.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed back across the fence and into the car. The lane was so
+narrow that he had to back clear to its juncture with the pike. It was
+slow, tedious, grinding work. "Glad I didn't go down a couple of
+miles," he thought. And as he backed slowly away, the dry, hot wind
+came in rattling gusts and swept the dust in yellow eddies after him,
+bearing the voice of the grasshoppers, the monotone of futility.</p>
+
+<p>When at six o'clock he passed through the cool, smelly garage entrance
+that was wet and shiny with grease and blue with the breathings of
+many cars, he was met by the "boss." The latter looked critically at
+the dust-bespattered panels and then at Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me you're spending a lot of time in the country. Don't need
+to take 'em all over the earth to show 'em what the car will do. You
+must be doing a lot of educating."</p>
+
+<p>"I have been," said Joe. "Guess I'll have to slow up on it a bit. Have
+to brush up my salesmanship."</p>
+
+<p>The "boss" grunted.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XV</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">ary</span>
+Louise was seeing quite a lot of Claybrook. First there had been the
+business of going over the books, although that had not taken much
+time. "Just to make sure how things stand," he had laughed and she had
+been only too eager to acquiesce. Then there was the business of
+making out the notes. Six months and one year they had been, ample
+time enough on considering the progress of the business. Of course it
+could have all been finished up in one session. But somehow it was a
+week or more before everything was entirely settled. She had taken a
+small apartment, in reality just a room and a bath, in a quiet family
+hotel-apartment that Claybrook had recommended. He had, of course,
+come in to see how she was installed. It was a dim, cool, hushed sort
+of place, where guests spoke in sibilant whispers when they crossed
+the parlour lobby. There was a faded blonde of doubtful age presiding
+over the tiny desk, who handed out mail and plugged in telephone calls
+in a small switchboard and kept the hotel porter in a constant state
+of agitated unrest. No one ever sat around in the lobby. Every now
+and then there would gather little groups of prim old ladies with
+shawls and magazines and embroidery frames, discussing whispered
+personalities and the weather, as they waited for the elevator.
+Careful, curious looks they always had for Mary Louise whenever she
+came upon them. An all-pervading atmosphere of stealth and secrecy and
+propriety seemed to hover about the place. Before she had been an
+inmate three hours she felt it and when Claybrook called that first
+evening, she had come rushing across the lobby to meet him, with a
+glad little cry of welcome. Immediately one of the little groups had
+ceased to function and had with one accord stared at her with grave
+eyes, and the blonde at the switchboard had lifted her head above the
+edge of the desk and peered over. And then in the lobby, over in a far
+corner, they had sat uncomfortably for an hour on the faded plush
+divan and discussed commonplaces in a low tone and felt irreparably
+guilty.</p>
+
+<p>But in spite of it all, Claybrook had come again; had come the next
+evening and the next. Most of the time he took her out for drives in
+his car. It began to be a regular thing, and she had come to look
+forward to his coming. The idea of staying alone in that whispery
+place was not a pleasant idea. Moreover, now that Maida was gone, she
+had double work to do in the tea room&mdash;which was running on as
+briskly as ever&mdash;and in the evening she felt invariably jaded
+and in need of some sort of diversion. So she welcomed Claybrook. And
+she got used to him.</p>
+
+<p>One evening&mdash;it was after two weeks of this sort of
+thing&mdash;as she was sitting in her room, looking out of the window
+at the tops of the trees in an adjacent yard, it struck her how much
+she had been seeing him. For a moment it made her uncomfortable. What
+was it leading to? Such suppositions must almost invariably come to a
+single woman. Ages of tradition have left their imprint upon the sex
+to the effect that single life is not an end in itself, and that
+somehow it needs must change. Of course, many a spinster has gone to a
+satisfied grave in complete contentment over a life of spinsterhood.
+But there is nothing to prevent the question from arising, especially
+when there is an attentive male hanging about unattached.</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook had given no indication of any serious intentions. Now that
+she had come to know him better, he seemed more like an overgrown boy
+with a healthy appetite for play. There was no cause for alarm. If he
+had been the kind to moon around in dark corners, wanting to sit alone
+with her in long interminable silences&mdash;but on the contrary he
+always wanted to go somewhere. She had met several of his friends and
+they were always going somewhere, both men and women. And he always
+had plenty to say, mostly about conditions in the mill, the increase
+in the cost of labour, the scarcity of good lumber, some little
+anecdotes about the men, drummers' tales. More like a business
+acquaintance he treated her, discussing gravely the problems of her
+tea room and that sort of thing. He had even begun to call her
+"Sister" in an odd little patronizing way. And she had seen him every
+night now for the past two weeks. She thoughtfully ran her hand across
+her mouth. That was too much speed. She would have to slow down.</p>
+
+<p>The graying light deepened and the chequered wavering of the boughs
+beneath her was slowly swallowed up in shadow so that the depth seemed
+interminable. A screen door slammed and there was the clatter of a pan
+on a brick pavement and the drawl of a soft Negro voice somewhere
+below. The help was going home. And then silence descending with only
+the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant clang and clatter of the
+city. She felt suddenly very much alone; and she wondered what her
+aunt Susie might be doing at this instant. Sitting alone in the ell
+sitting room, knitting, perhaps, with old Landy pottering about in the
+kitchen or on the back steps, with some fishing tackle or an odd bit
+of harness. A bit of sentimentality touched her lightly. It would be
+good to put the old place on its feet again, free it entirely of debt,
+with a little surplus so that there would not be that constant feeling
+of strain, of anxiety. This was no life to be living in spite of the
+glamour of the city. Every living creature felt the need of home. If
+only all she meant to do might not be accomplished too late.</p>
+
+<p>The sharp burr of the telephone startled her and she rose to answer
+it, dabbing at her eyes furtively with her handkerchief as she rose.</p>
+
+<p>She met Claybrook in the lobby.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi, there!" he said. "Get your hat. The Thompsons want us to come and
+play bridge with them." He squeezed her hand just a little as he
+smiled good-naturedly at her with patronizing approval.</p>
+
+<p>"To-night?" she echoed. "In August?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," he said. "Why not? It's plenty cool. They've a room on the top
+floor of the Ardmore and they keep all the windows open. Never seen
+the Thompsons' apartment, have you?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty swell dump. Like to know how much Tommy pays for it. Keeps it
+all the year too. They go to Florida for January and February. Want
+you to see it. Maybe when the business grows enough you'll be wanting
+one like it."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled wanly and pictured herself spending the balance of her days
+in a hotel.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurry up. Get your hat and powder your nose and pretty yourself up.
+Want you to feel at home. Mrs. Tom is <i>some</i> doll."</p>
+
+<p>She hastened back to the room. He was like a kind older brother
+wanting to show her a good time, wanting her to show to the best
+advantage. She smiled at him when she again joined him in the lobby.
+"That better?"</p>
+
+<p>He peered at her closely. "Much," he grunted and followed her through
+the swinging door.</p>
+
+<p>They played bridge with the Thompsons.</p>
+
+<p>Through the open windows the noise of the city came swelling up
+distractingly. The cards kept blowing from the table so that the men
+were busy gathering them up from the floor. Mrs. Thompson wore a lacy
+gown of lilac organdie cut quite low in the neck and her hair was
+arranged in an elaborate and immaculate coiffure that stuck out behind
+in huge, smooth, artificial-looking puffs. Her colour was high and not
+all her own. Her husband was of the type commonly called a "rough
+diamond," showing evident signs of hours spent in the barber's chair,
+with a sort of rawness about a blue-black chin, traces of talcum
+powder, and a lurking odour of toilet water. He was too big for his
+clothes, which were just a bit flashy, and he looked as though he
+might like to doff his coat.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise and Claybrook arrived at eight-thirty. At eight
+thirty-five Thompson produced a flask from a desk drawer and mixed up
+a couple of high balls with an air of grave deliberation. The glasses
+were placed on the folding bridge table and remained there throughout
+the evening, Mrs. Thompson stooping over and taking delicate sips
+from her husband's glass every now and then.</p>
+
+<p>The game languished. Mary Louise did not know much about it and the
+men would lapse into rather boisterous spells of conversation during
+which time the cards would lie on the table forgotten, and Mrs.
+Thompson would gaze at her husband with deep absorption and
+occasionally at Claybrook and sometimes at Mary Louise in a far-off,
+absent-minded way. And then they would ask each other whose deal it
+was and "How were the honours?" and then they would be at it again.
+Claybrook laughed at the slightest provocation, and seemed to pay a
+little too obsequious attention to whatever Thompson had to say, and
+after a while the conversation narrowed down entirely to the two men,
+with Mrs. Thompson contracting a glassy look in her pale-blue eyes
+beneath their fine-plucked brows. And at ten o'clock she stifled a
+yawn behind her handkerchief, threw down her cards, got up and went
+over to the corner where stood an expensive "Victrola."</p>
+
+<p>"Let's have a little jazz," she said brightly. The men were busy
+discussing the income tax and the ways of avoiding it and did not seem
+to mind at all. And Mary Louise welcomed the suggestion with relief.</p>
+
+<p>For another hour they sat back in deep chairs, relaxed, relieved of
+responsibility. And then Claybrook, straightening in his chair, said:
+"Think I'll have to get a new car. The old wagon's been losing
+compression. Hasn't any get-away at all these days." Then turning
+abruptly to Mary Louise who, sunk back in her chair, was absently
+dreaming, "What kind shall I get? You're the one to be pleased." The
+crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes gathered in tight little
+clusters and there was an odd pucker about his lips.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of herself she flushed fiery red. There was in the tone a
+suggestion of proprietary claim that jangled on her. Almost without
+thinking she replied, "Joe Hooper's selling the Marlowe. It's the best
+make, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Three pairs of eyes were regarding her, Claybrook's with a slight
+frown. He continued gazing at her for a moment, in consideration, and
+then, the topic changing to Florida in the winter, he apparently
+forgot her.</p>
+
+<p>At eleven o'clock they rose to go. Mrs. Thompson showed signs of
+relief, and there was more warmth in the farewells than in any
+previous interchange of amenities. Mr. Thompson laid his hand
+affectionately on Mary Louise's shoulder as they stood in the doorway
+into the hall. His manner was bluff and friendly:</p>
+
+<p>"John tells me you're running the tea room over on Spruce Street.
+Guess I'll have to drop in and see how you're doing."</p>
+
+<p>She murmured her gratitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't mind, will you, if I bring in anything on my hip? Tea's mighty
+weak for a growing boy."</p>
+
+<p>They all laughed, and as she and Claybrook made their way to the
+elevator, the Thompsons stood in the hall calling gibes and parting
+injunctions after them.</p>
+
+<p>"Great old scout," commented Claybrook as they descended to the ground
+floor. "Sure been a good friend to me."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise felt her taut nerves slowly relaxing.</p>
+
+<p>"What does he do?" she responded wearily.</p>
+
+<p>"Contractor. Biggest in town." And then when they reached the street
+and were climbing into the car, "Whadda you say to meeting me at five
+o'clock to-morrow afternoon? Look at that Marlowe car you say you
+like."</p>
+
+<p>He was looking into her eyes with an odd sort of questioning
+directness. She started to refuse, remembering her resolve to see him
+less often. But then the thought of Joe Hooper presented itself. She
+owed Joe a kindness or two. Perhaps if she delayed, Claybrook would
+change his mind. She hesitated a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," she assented.</p>
+
+<p>Claybrook laughed shortly. "You don't sound so keen, somehow. Don't
+know if I can afford a Marlowe or not. You've a pretty extravagant
+taste in automobiles. Only one of 'em higher priced than the
+Marlowe."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, is it? I didn't know." And then, "But I don't see what my taste
+has got to do with it. It's your affair, you know. I knew Joe Hooper,
+that's all."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent, but as he took leave of her at the doorway of her
+apartment, he again brought up the subject in a quiet tone. "Meet me
+at live to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," she agreed, and then went thoughtfully upstairs to bed.</p>
+
+<p>As she slowly undressed she thought of Joe Hooper in his new "shepherd
+plaid" suit and wondered if he were getting along. And she thought of
+the Thompsons living in their bleak finery on the top floor of the
+Ardmore, just sixty feet removed from the hideous clatter of the
+traffic. And she speculated on the appearance of Mrs. Thompson with
+all the hairs in her eyebrows that nature meant them to have. And then
+she thought upon Claybrook's boyishness in wanting her to help him go
+pick out a new toy. He was without guile, entirely without guile.
+Suddenly she laughed aloud and then she switched off the light and
+went smiling to bed.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XVI</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="smcap">hey</span>
+met at the Marlowe garage. When Mary Louise saw Claybrook and Joe
+Hooper standing together in absorbed conversation, leaning each with
+one foot propped on the running board of a big shiny new car in the
+display room, she suddenly knew she had no business there. She saw
+them through the big plate-glass window as she came along. It would be
+hard to make her arrival seem casual. And when Joe Hooper raised his
+head as she entered the doorway&mdash;he was wearing that gaudy
+suit&mdash;she was confused.</p>
+
+<p>But he did not seem to notice and greeted her cordially. He was
+looking a bit thin, with a high colour and a restless snap in his
+eyes. There was an alertness about him that was new to her and a
+something in his manner that was quite different. She stole a look at
+him while he and Claybrook were discussing lubrication and wondered in
+what way he had changed. A sureness? A steadiness? A bit of reserve
+that sat well upon him? All of these, surely. She had never seen him
+show to better advantage. Once he turned to her and asked her opinion
+about the leather. There was an air of quiet deference in the way he
+put the question. It was a trivial question and she was thinking of
+the impersonal note in his tone, just as though she might have been a
+total stranger to whom he owed courtesy, and she was wishing he had
+asked her something about herself. Her uneasiness about the
+unconventionality of her being there vanished, so completely were the
+two men absorbed in technical discussion. She noted the contrast:
+Claybrook rather beefy and a bit too red of face; Joe, on the other
+hand, quite slim and taut. His new clothes fitted him better; he had
+lost that raw-boned look.</p>
+
+<p>Joe asked her if she would not like to go for a ride.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up into his eyes from the chair which he had got for her
+and felt a childish pleasure, just as though he had shown her a
+personal attention.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd love to," she said.</p>
+
+<p>They waited at the curb for the demonstrating car to be brought around
+and she had a chance to ask him how things were at home.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't been back this summer," he replied, and looked away.</p>
+
+<p>Once, when she and Claybrook were standing a little apart, she caught
+Joe looking at them, she imagined, under lowered brows, and she had an
+impulse to go to him and tell him that she was bringing him this
+business, putting in a word for him. She did not hear what Claybrook
+was saying to her at all. And then the car came rolling up and
+stopped, and her chance was gone.</p>
+
+<p>She and Claybrook sat down in the back seat together, while Joe took
+the wheel. In about thirty minutes they were climbing a steep hill
+that lead out of Fenimore Park to one of the back lanes.</p>
+
+<p>"Takes the grade all right," commented Claybrook to her, and she
+wished that he would not continue to include her in the discussion.
+She strove to counteract the impression that might be formed by
+calling attention to the clouds that were gathering in the southwest.
+Dark and sombre they came rolling, like great billows of smoke,
+although the green of the park meadows was flooded with golden
+sunlight. At the crest of the hill Joe partly turned in his seat and
+with one arm thrown along the back of it pointed to the outline of a
+massive stone bridge that was being built across the creek far below
+them. The greenish brown blended subtly with the golden-green shadows
+of the trees and the dark pools of water beneath.</p>
+
+<p>"New bridge," he said. "Man that's buildin' it knows a thing or two
+about colour tones."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise bent eagerly forward to look. It seemed as though he were
+speaking directly to her. Claybrook remained leaning back in the
+corner. They turned a curve and the bridge passed out of view below.</p>
+
+<p>They gained the macadam of the lane that led out from the park gate
+into the country. Claybrook turned and asked her how she liked the
+car. His low, direct tone and intent gaze made her uncomfortable, made
+her nerves ruffle up in a most irritating manner. But she controlled
+herself and answered lightly, "Oh, ever so much."</p>
+
+<p>He looked as though he might say something more, but changed his mind
+and sank back against the cushions. For a time they rode on in
+silence. Claybrook had been strangely quiet ever since they had left
+the garage. She could feel him watching her and she tried not to
+notice it. So absorbed was she in trying to appear unconcerned that
+she did not see the approach of the storm; in fact, there was a
+supercharge of restraint on all three of them, and it startlingly
+broke upon them in a clap of thunder that sounded as if it had smashed
+a tree not fifty feet away.</p>
+
+<p>Joe stopped the car and scrambled back into the tonneau to adjust the
+side curtains. He murmured an apology as he brushed against
+her&mdash;just like a stranger. Quite sharply she felt the change that
+had come over their relations. When everything had been adjusted he
+resumed his seat and called over his shoulder, "Guess we had better go
+back, hadn't we? I'm sorry this rain had to come and spoil things."</p>
+
+<p>They turned slowly around in the narrow road and when they again
+faced the west, the rain came beating furiously down against the
+wind-shield so that the road ahead was barely visible. Never had she
+seen such blinding sheets of water. It tore at the roof, it whipped
+about the curtains, it threatened to engulf them all in a torrential
+flood. The car was moving slowly forward&mdash;she could see Joe's
+outline bent slightly over the wheel&mdash;and in spite of his care
+the rear wheels would slew gently from side to side. As she peered
+ahead she could see a yellow flood of water rushing down the road
+before them so that it did not look like a road at all but like an
+angry, muddy stream upon which they were floating. Once Claybrook
+leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He had been as silent as a mummy.</p>
+
+<p>"Got any chains?" he asked suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Think I have," replied Joe. "Under the seat."</p>
+
+<p>"Better put 'em on, don't you think?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise started. "Oh, John! In this rain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Guess I had at that," interposed Joe quickly.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped the car and lifted the cushion on which he was sitting.
+Directly he pulled forth a long, tangled confusion of links, opened
+the door, and stepped forth. As he thrust out his head Mary Louise
+called:</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you any coat?" and his answer came back cheerily from the
+outside, "Never mind me. It'll all come out in the wash."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at Claybrook reproachfully. He sat stolidly in the corner
+but there was a look of discomfort in his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't want us to slide off one of these hills into the creek, do
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>And she felt there was nothing more she could say.</p>
+
+<p>They sat in awkward silence, listening to the downpour and the wind.
+The thunder crashed incessantly and the air was alive with the
+lightning playing about them in livid flares. They could feel one side
+of the car lift slightly as Joe adjusted the chain, and then the other
+side; could dimly hear him struggling with the wheel jack. It seemed
+criminal to be exposed to such a rain. A wave of cold resentment
+against Claybrook came over her and she sat staring straight in front
+of her, lips tightly compressed, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed an interminable time; in reality, in about ten minutes Joe's
+head appeared at the door of the car and he climbed stiffly in.
+Drenched he was from top to toe. The water streaked down his checks in
+little streams; his clothes flapped and clung to him as though he had
+been flung into the river; his cap was a sodden, pulpy mass. But he
+chuckled as he slid over in behind the wheel.</p>
+
+<p>"Guess I'll remember to bring my coat along next time."</p>
+
+<p>She wanted to put her hand on his shoulder but she sat in stony
+silence. And she noticed that he no longer drove with the same care as
+before. She saw that he was giving little involuntary shivers,
+watched the water drip with silent monotony from his cap on to the
+back of the seat, making a slick, shiny spot there.</p>
+
+<p>And then Claybrook broke the silence. "How will you split commission
+with me if I take one of these cars?" He spoke heartily, as though he
+wished to be friendly and cheerful.</p>
+
+<p>Joe made no reply for a moment and when he did, his voice trembled
+just a little. "We're not allowed to make that kind of a deal."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know that, and all that sort of thing. But they all <i>do</i>, just
+the same." He reached over and gave Mary Louise a little shove on the
+elbow, from which she recoiled.</p>
+
+<p>Joe made no further reply; they waited for what he might say. And
+directly Claybrook tried again:</p>
+
+<p>"And how about my old car? Take that in, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll take it and do the best we can to sell it for you," said Joe,
+without looking back. The water still dripped from his cap on to the
+cushion.</p>
+
+<p>"Hum," muttered Claybrook, "Independent." And louder: "Two or three
+other concerns will allow me good money on my car."</p>
+
+<p>Joe made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>When they arrived at the garage again, the rain had about stopped and
+they drove in at the main entrance back into the general storage room.
+Joe stood holding the tonneau door open for them, a ludicrous object
+in his bedraggled clothes. He made no effort to assist Mary Louise but
+stood there holding the door with an abstracted look on his face. All
+the dash, all the sleekness was out of him. They both thanked him and
+then Claybrook led the way to his own car which someone had brought in
+out of the rain.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to Joe once more&mdash;"I'll see you later"&mdash;thanked
+him again, and started his motor.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise satisfied herself with waving her hand to him as they
+started. His aloofness forbade her to do anything more, though she
+would have liked to go to him and tell him how sorry she was and to be
+sure and hurry and put on some dry clothes. But she didn't and she saw
+him standing in the centre of the passage, a forlorn figure. It struck
+her as they rolled out on to the street that he had made no effort
+whatever to sell the car.</p>
+
+<p>"Cold-blooded crowd," broke out Claybrook at length as they hurried
+on.</p>
+
+<p>"I do hope he won't be sick," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>He grunted. "In the army, wasn't he? Guess he can stand a little
+water. Used to worse than that."</p>
+
+<p>And after apparently waiting for her to break the silence, he again
+ventured,</p>
+
+<p>"I like the car. Think I'll have to see if I can't make some sort of
+deal with them. They'll probably come down a little off their perch."
+His tone seemed to invite her opinion, but she offered none.</p>
+
+<p>They came into the stiff little parlour lobby of Mary Louise's
+apartment. It was quite dark as they got out of the automobile, and
+the stuffy room was dimly lit by a few feeble incandescent lamps in
+loose-jointed and rather forlorn gilt wall brackets. They made their
+way over to the elevator. The lobby was empty; even the blonde was
+absent from her post.</p>
+
+<p>As they passed the faded plush divan Claybrook laid a detaining hand
+on her arm: "Sit down here a minute. I want to talk to you." His voice
+sounded rather gentle and subdued.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and looked at him, wondering, and then obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," he began, and laid his hand quietly on hers. "Don't get sore
+at me because I was the cause of your friend's getting wet. It won't
+hurt him&mdash;just a little clothes-pressing bill&mdash;and I'd much
+rather he had that than for that car to slide off the
+cliff&mdash;especially when you were in it."</p>
+
+<p>She felt somewhat mollified. "Was that what you wanted to say to me?"
+She looked at his face and saw there an odd expression&mdash;a sort of
+dogged shamefacedness.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I was just getting to it." He was silent a moment, staring at his
+foot. Suddenly he looked up at her&mdash;she had withdrawn her hand.
+"When," he began, "when are we going to call this thing a game?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>He halted. "Well," he said. "How&mdash;when are you going to marry
+me?" He was looking into her face with that same queer, stubborn
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>Her heart stopped momentarily. "Why," she faltered, "I hadn't thought
+of it."</p>
+
+<p>They sat there in the hushed lobby as remote from the world as though
+shipwrecked on a desert island. It was Mary Louise who now looked at
+the floor. She could feel Claybrook's eyes upon her. He was waiting
+for her to speak, but she could not collect her thoughts. It had come
+upon her baldly, without preparation. She scarcely realized the import
+of his words.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he was saying, "think of it now."</p>
+
+<p>Another pause.</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes and looked at him squarely in spite of the
+trembling in her limbs. His face loomed big and blank before her,
+though his voice was very kind.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she heard herself saying. "You&mdash;I&mdash;it's come
+on me rather quickly."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he made no reply. A street car thundered past and made
+the windows rattle.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you're going to, aren't you? When?"</p>
+
+<p>She could not trust herself to look at him. Again he waited on her
+words. She could feel him edging a hit nearer.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know." The words choked in her throat. She felt cornered,
+hemmed in. She could not clear the tumult in her brain. A short time
+before she had felt tremendously irritated at him. Now she did not
+know how she felt. He was hammering at her with his insistence.</p>
+
+<p>"That can't be," he broke in on her confusion. "I'm not a stranger,
+you know. You've known me for over a year and, I think, seen enough of
+me to know what sort I am. We are not a couple of kids just out of
+school." His voice broke in a ridiculous quaver that somehow tempted
+her to laugh hysterically, but he mastered it and went on: "When shall
+it be? Next month? I'll buy that big car and we'll drive to
+California."</p>
+
+<p>He was groping for her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she said again. "I can't think. Can't we let things
+run on as they are?" She ventured a look at him, appealingly.</p>
+
+<p>He drew away just a little and she could see a grim little line
+gathering about his mouth and a frown about his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see any use in waiting to make up your mind. That's not the
+way <i>I</i> do business. What is it?" He went on quietly and firmly, "Yes
+or no?" and then more gently, "I think you can see I am willing to do
+things for you. It hasn't been one-sided, has it?"</p>
+
+<p>His words crystallized the turbulence in her mind. She was suddenly
+sure of herself. She looked up quickly. She could see the little folds
+of flesh about his collar, the fine little purplish lines in his
+cheeks, could hear his thick breathing, and yet his eyes were looking
+steadily and gravely into hers.</p>
+
+<p>"You're right," she said. "There's no use waiting. I'm sorry. I
+can't."</p>
+
+<p>Something faded from his face. He looked at her fixedly for a moment
+and then rose to his feet. "I wonder if you've fooled yourself as
+thoroughly as you have me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply, though she cringed slightly at the inference, and
+sat there watching him.</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his shoulders and let them sink heavily, and then he cast a
+look about the deserted lobby. Then he turned to her again and
+imperceptibly inclined his head. He did not offer his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," she echoed, her lips barely moving.</p>
+
+<p>She watched his broad, stolid back move slowly across the room, saw
+him pause for a moment at the door and then plunge resolutely through
+it, and then she was alone. Not a sound came to her ears. The desk by
+the switchboard was deserted. A bracket lamp on the wall opposite was
+crooked; one of the crystal pendants beneath it was broken short off.
+Someone had dropped a burnt match on the floor in front of the desk
+and it lay there in mute sacrilege. All at once the silence seemed
+fraught with a tumult of hateful suggestions, and, without ringing for
+the elevator, she sprang to her feet, rushed for the steps, and fled
+up to her room.</p>
+
+<p>She switched on the light and stood for a moment by the table
+fingering an ivory paper cutter. Then she went to the window and
+peered out. Not a sound came to her, not a single, friendly sound.
+Below her the leafy branches stretched out, inert, indifferent; and
+below them, darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"And this is the man," she thought, "from whom I have borrowed all
+that money."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III</h2>
+
+<h3>BLOOMFIELD</h3>
+<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">Top</a></span>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XVII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">F</span><span class="smcap">ate</span>
+smiled. An itinerant Swiss became interested in the tea room. There
+were a few days of sharp bargaining and on October the fourteenth it
+was sold to him. The price just barely covered the indebtedness. Mary
+Louise made haste to send Claybrook a check for the fifteen hundred
+dollars plus the interest. Two days later she got the notes through
+the mail with no comment and she tremblingly tore them into bits and
+scattered the bits from her window. Then she went to the bank and took
+up the note for the six hundred dollars she had originally borrowed.
+It left her nothing, but she was free. She had lived the summer and
+was where she had started. A little wan, feeling a little empty, she
+caught the train for Bloomfield. All during the trip she gazed from
+the window, dizzily conscious of the shifting landscape, dimly aware
+of her retreat....</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susan McCallum looked up from her rocking chair as Mary Louise
+entered the sitting room. There was no surprise in her greeting, and
+she suffered her cheek to be kissed in silence. Old Landy stuck his
+grizzled head in at the door at the unusual commotion and Mary
+Louise, unaccountably and suddenly touched by something subtly
+familiar and friendly, trilled:</p>
+
+<p>"I've come to look after you, Aunt Susie. Just couldn't stay away any
+longer. The countryside was perfectly beautiful as I came up this
+morning in the train. It's the loveliest October I've ever seen. Think
+of being cooped up in the city this time of year."</p>
+
+<p>Landy grinned and came shambling in with a greeting. Miss Susie's
+eyebrows went up and there was a suspicion of moisture on the lashes.
+"Well, you needn't have done it. Landy and I have been managing very
+well. But <i>you</i> look a little peaked." She turned and laid her
+knitting on the table by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Little Missy's a sight fo' so' eyes," interjected Landy and then
+withdrew. Directly they could hear him authoritatively ordering
+someone about.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie sighed and looked at Mary Louise. The latter was taking off
+her hat but she caught a hidden appeal in the pinched, weazened face
+that she had never before noticed. It made a sharp little tug at her
+heart, and throwing her hat on the table, she came over and sat on the
+stool at the older woman's feet.</p>
+
+<p>"How long will you be with us this time?"</p>
+
+<p>She reached up and took the hand and was startled at finding how hot
+it was. "Why&mdash;for all the time. Didn't you understand? I'm not
+going back at all."</p>
+
+<p>A strange expression came over Miss Susie's face. It was as though she
+all of a sudden let down. She stared into Mary Louise's eyes and the
+latter waited for some characteristic outburst. But none came.
+Directly the old lady reached over for her knitting again and busied
+herself with it, bending her head over it. Mary Louise, watching her,
+saw her throat contract, saw her moisten her lips softly with the tip
+of her tongue.</p>
+
+<p>Without, looking up, "What about your business? You're not leaving it
+for someone else to look after for you?" The tone was very low and the
+voice so husky that she finished the sentence with a little clearing
+of the throat.</p>
+
+<p>"I've given it up&mdash;given it up entirely. Not a thing in the world
+to keep me," replied Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>For a few moments complete silence settled down upon the room, with
+only the ticking of the clock on the mantel. It was dark and cool and
+sweet-smelling, a sort of "goodsy" smell. A blue-bottle fly began to
+buzz and bump against the glass of the window and now and then he
+would circle about the room, filling its silence with his droning. The
+sunlight came creeping slowly across the rag carpet, a widening orange
+pool, as the sun slipped around to the westward. Mary Louise could see
+the edge of it without turning her head. She felt suddenly guilty, as
+though she were in some way parading in false colours. There was an
+impenetrableness in the reserve.</p>
+
+<p>"I just couldn't stand it any longer," she burst out. "I want to be
+with my people and stay with my people, and look after you and live my
+life as it was intended." Somehow it was not exactly what she wanted
+to say, not the whole truth, but as if in explanation she began to
+stroke her aunt's knee very softly.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you plan to do?" Miss Susie looked up again and there was the
+same old look of withered sharpness. "There's nothing in Bloomfield,
+you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know. Nothing, if you mean opportunity. But everything in the
+way of living. We'll just rock along. I'll find something to do.
+Something to keep me out of mischief," she laughed. "Mr. Orpell ought
+to have somebody in his drug store. His soft-drink counter is
+atrocious. Then I can make preserves and sell 'em. I know where I can
+sell a lot&mdash;in the city. I just don't want to think&mdash;just
+rest a bit and let this blessed peace get a good hold of me again."
+Her voice rose sharp and eager and Miss Susie smiled a quizzical smile
+and the old order was again restored. A door slammed and Landy's voice
+came to them, this time in a wailing gospel hymn, and Mary Louise
+sprang to her feet. "I'll have to go get Zeke Thompson and have him
+fetch my trunk. There was nobody to bring it over from Guests and I
+didn't want to wait to hunt for someone."</p>
+
+<p>She skipped over to the table and picked up her hat again. Already she
+felt better&mdash;warmed and comforted. She paused for a moment,
+standing in front of Miss Susie, looking down at her as she sat there
+knitting placidly away with the fine firm lines about her mouth. "You
+won't mind if I go with him, will you? There's an excess baggage
+charge that I can't trust Zeke with, and I'll not be long."</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not. Since when have I been that I couldn't be left
+alone?" But she smiled and Mary Louise, rushing to her, kissed her
+again, rapturously upon the cheek, turned and whirled toward the door
+where she paused for a wave of the hand before plunging forth on her
+errand.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of the door closing behind her sobered her for a moment.
+Here she was, gone again. Would she never be content to settle down?
+But the wine of the autumnal weather came mounting to her head and as
+she opened the front gate and struck out up the street she raised her
+face, drinking it in.</p>
+
+<p>The rows of maples had been touched by the frost and were flaming
+scarlet and crimson. Over beyond, across the street, between the
+houses where a pasture land stretched down to the creek, the beeches
+were golden and rustling and shimmering in the mellow sunlight. There
+was a delicious tang in the air one moment and a soft mellow touch of
+indolent fruition the next. An automobile went scuttling across Main
+Street at the intersection, seeking its way westward, leaving a cloud
+of dust that hung lazily golden ere it settled. Even the dust was
+fragrant. The old tavern was quite deserted; the same green shutter
+hung by one hinge, and as she passed the town hall or meeting house
+she could hear the click of a typewriter through an open window, an
+incongruous touch of modernity in an otherwise immaculate antique
+setting. The sun was warm and came filtering through the shade to
+splotch the uneven brick pavement, bringing out its homely roughness
+in minute detail. She felt as if she recognized each upturned brick,
+and the worn patch of yellow earth where a grass plot was meant to be,
+up to the edge of the gnarled root of the oak stump that had been
+struck by lightning, was just as it had always been. She and Joe
+Hooper had played marbles there until he had grown too big to be
+playing marbles with girls. Queer little ecstatic sensations they
+were.</p>
+
+<p>She crossed the square. A solitary man was walking on the other side
+of the street, away from her. He was carrying three long poles over
+his shoulder and he walked stiffly and with a slight limp. He wore a
+suit of dusty blue "unionalls" and a battered felt hat. Curious that
+she should notice such things. A "Ford" backed away from the curbing,
+wheeled and went rattling around the corner down the road toward
+Guests. And then the street and the square and the whole town were
+quiet again, as deserted as a street or a town on canvas.</p>
+
+<p>She walked swiftly, but not too swiftly to catch up every sign of
+home. Her mind was aflood with impressions. What a narrow escape she
+had had. An exultant thought like a song arose in her. She had
+ventured forth, had had her taste, and it had cost her nothing. The
+city had not caught her even though it had reached forth strong,
+prehensile fingers. She knew now what she wanted, had the strength,
+the zest. And it was October and fair, and smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she ran almost headlong into Mrs. Mosby. That good lady came
+precipitately out of Orpell's Drug Store, and she was wearing her
+white ruching and her bangles and a trim little widow's bonnet with a
+semi-circle of black veil hanging down behind and accentuating the
+prim whiteness of her face.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mosby's was not a face to betray emotion; it was a well-behaved,
+studiously composed face. And her voice was level as she took Mary
+Louise by both hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear," she said. "What brings you here? I've heard you're an
+awfully busy woman. Hope there's nothing wrong at home."</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Mary Louise. Somehow she could never get it out of her
+head whenever she spoke to Mrs. Mosby that it was not still as a
+little girl to a personage&mdash;a personage to whom restraint and
+deference were due. "I'm not so busy as all that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but you are. I've heard all about you. We're very proud of you,
+my dear. Very. You've been doing so well&mdash;oh, I've
+heard&mdash;and your striking out into business quite alone was about
+the most courageous thing I know of. Why, the mere thought of such a
+thing takes my breath away."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'm not doing it any more. And there's nothing courageous in
+that," smiled Mary Louise.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mosby looked puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a fact. I've given it all up. Just got home to-day. And I'm
+going to settle down again with you all and be just folks."</p>
+
+<p>The mask again slipped over Mrs. Mosby's countenance. "Quite as
+courageous a thing to do as the other," she went on evenly. "Just to
+give up your splendid opportunity to come back and accept your duties
+here&mdash;well, I think it highly commendable." She was not to be
+robbed of her chance to be agreeable. "Your aunt Susan is, I trust,
+not unwell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, about the same, thank you, Mrs. Mosby." She wanted to ask about
+Joe, something in the rapprochement giving rise to thoughts of him,
+but she realized that Mrs. Mosby was doubtless entirely out of touch
+with her graceless nephew and would invent some mere plausibility. So
+she inquired instead after Mr. Fawcette.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother is not so well. Poor soul, he suffers terribly with his
+rheumatism." Mrs. Mosby lapsed into thoughtfulness and Mary Louise
+murmured her sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>A moment of this and Mrs. Mosby recovered herself and held out her
+hand again.</p>
+
+<p>"You must come and see me now&mdash;real often. I'm so much alone.
+Such a lot you must have to tell me and I want to hear it all." She
+took her prim, precise departure conscious of her graciousness.</p>
+
+<p>On her way, in the opposite direction, Mary Louise suffered another
+qualm, a feeling of insincerity. She was gathering credit that really
+was undeserved. Her return would doubtless be labelled in Bloomfield
+as a bit of pretty sacrifice. And the place was a very refuge. The sun
+dipped as she walked along, so that the tip of it reddened the ridge
+poles of the houses and the sky was as blue as indigo. She passed an
+open lot where weeds abounded and in the weeds the blackbirds were
+chattering noisily. At her approach they flew up in a black swarm to
+refuge in an old apple tree in the rear of the lot. On the ground near
+the sidewalk was an old wagon bed that had been there for
+years&mdash;she tried to remember how long. There were decided
+compensations in coming home.</p>
+
+<p>She found Zeke sitting on his doorstep, his chin on his hands, busily
+strengthening his restful philosophy. She quickly bargained with him
+and he hurried away to get out his old carry-all. When he found that
+she followed him, and found in addition that she intended accompanying
+him, his pleasure was quite evident.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait, Mis' Ma'y, ontil I gits a rag and wipes off de seat," he said
+at the door of the shed.</p>
+
+<p>She could not help feeling a bit self-conscious as she sat by Zeke's
+side and went rattling along the street, down into the square, into
+the very centre of Bloomfield life. But she held her head jauntily
+aloft and wondered if she were being noticed and being talked about.
+They met no one. They took the open road and the afternoon settled
+down upon her like a blessing. On either side of the road great
+patches of red and yellow streaked the hills, and the fields were
+taking on a soft golden brown, and soft purple mists gathered in the
+valleys blending in subtle fashion with the foreground. In spite of
+the riot of colour, the land was wrapped in a calm dignity. It wore
+its glories well. In the bits of woodland, through which the road
+occasionally digressed, there was a strong odour of beech and buckeye
+and there was a fragrant dampness rising.</p>
+
+<p>The thought of Claybrook came into her mind. She could not quite make
+up her mind about Claybrook. She felt momentarily sorry for him,
+regretted that their friendship had come to its abrupt close. And yet
+there was no reason why she should feel sorry for him, he had so much
+of everything. But he and his world were woven out of different
+fabric from this world about her. She could not keep one and still
+have the other. Anyway, she had made up her mind. She had escaped; her
+feeling was one of definite escape. She banished the thought of him.</p>
+
+<p>She got her trunk and Zeke loaded it upon the car where it threatened
+to crush its way through bottom, springs, frame, and all. She observed
+it skeptically but Zeke was quite brisk and cheerful about it. She
+bought a "Courier" from the station agent and with it in her hand
+climbed back into her seat and felt content, now that she had her
+goods about her and was about to go home again.</p>
+
+<p>Zeke started to crank the car when he took one reassuring look about
+to see if everything was all right. Not being quite satisfied with the
+way the trunk was riding, he departed to look for a bit of rope with
+which to lash it into place. While she waited, she opened up the paper
+in her lap and looked idly at the first page.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly something caught her eye; she started and then felt suddenly
+weak. She read on for a moment and then closed the paper and let it
+fall into her lap and stared off at the blue hills that rimmed the
+horizon. The station at Guests was about a half mile from the town and
+the road was quite deserted, with only the sound of someone moving a
+trunk around in the baggage room behind her. A flock of birds went
+winging across the sky and dipped down into a patch of red-and-gold
+woodland. She picked up the paper again and read some more.</p>
+
+<p>The "Courier" made no specialty of scare headlines or red type. Its
+most sensational news rarely ever rated more than single-column type,
+or at most two columns. The article that caught her attention was the
+usual one concerning misappropriation of public funds, malfeasance of
+office, bribery, and the like&mdash;a drab sort of story. The public
+had been "bilked" again. It sounded quite matter of fact. Involved
+were the city engineer and one J. K. Thompson, Contractor, and J. F.
+Claybrook, lumber man and dealer, all in collusion. All this was in
+the headlines&mdash;in neat, modest type. Below came the bald facts
+stating the amounts of money involved which somehow she did not notice
+and a somewhat cynically weary paragraph at the end remarking that the
+people were having quite too much of this sort of thing and that the
+courts should recognize their full duty.</p>
+
+<p>So that was where the new car and the trip to California was to come
+from. Perhaps that was where the fifteen hundred dollars had come
+from, too. But she had paid it back. She had just barely shaken the
+bird-catcher's lime from her wings. She shivered and closed the paper
+again.</p>
+
+<p>When Zeke returned with the rope she smiled at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's hurry back," she said.</p>
+
+<p>On the way back to Bloomfield she had no eyes for the beauties of the
+fast-falling October evening. But in a little while she began to feel
+warmer inside. At least she had shaken the dust of the city from her
+feet, the city where everyone wore a mask&mdash;of honesty and
+sobriety and right living&mdash;and lived otherwise. No wonder they
+called it a melting pot. She would be content from henceforth to live
+where the air and the living were cleaner and purer.</p>
+
+<p>So absorbed was she that she did not realize that Zeke had taken
+another route home. When she noticed, she remarked on it.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's a shoht cut," explained Zeke. "You said you wanted to get home
+quick."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at his responsiveness.</p>
+
+<p>They came suddenly around a bend in the road upon a gang of men, road
+mending. There was a huge concrete mixer and she wondered at the sight
+of it, a new sign of progress for Bloomfield. There was a stretch of
+loose rock and a wooden bar blocking the road. Zeke muttered his
+dismay but did not stop. They rolled right up to the barrier. A man in
+khaki breeches and flannel shirt and high lace boots came and waved
+them back.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to turn around," he called out cheerily, and she saw that
+it was Joe Hooper. As though in answer to the obvious question he
+added, as he in turn recognized her, "Like a bad penny&mdash;I'm
+turning up again."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him and stared. His face was very red and somehow he
+looked quite natural, more so than in his city clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"What in the world?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>He had come quite close and she could see he was smiling. That
+baffling, uncertain look had left his face and there was something
+open about it.</p>
+
+<p>"Got a man's job again," he said, still smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"And you're going to be in this part of the country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Till the job's finished," he replied. "And there's quite a lot of it,
+too. County's got a prosperous streak on. Means to have some real
+roads. It's about time."</p>
+
+<p>Zeke was slowly backing the car preparatory to turning around.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm back home now, myself," she called and reddened at once at her
+unnecessary confidence. What did he care where she was? But as they
+turned slowly in the narrow road she added, "Come and see me," and
+waved to him and wondered if he would.</p>
+
+<p>It was growing dusk as they came again to Bloomfield and a chill was
+settling down. The lights in the windows glowed cheerily against the
+purple twilight and in one kitchen someone was frying potato cakes.
+The odour was symbolical of hot suppers, and summer's passing, and
+home, and warmth, and cheer.</p>
+
+<p>She tipped Zeke a quarter even before he lugged her trunk through the
+kitchen door, and then she went briskly in.</p>
+
+<p>"Supper ready, Zenie?" she called.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie turned slowly around and looked at her from the biscuit board.
+She smiled wearily. "No'm. Not jes' yet it ain'. Terectly."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise looked at her watch. It was a quarter past six. She came
+to a sudden decision.</p>
+
+<p>"Zenie," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Zenie looked up hopefully.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess we'll not be needing you any more after this week."</p>
+
+<p>A slow, incredulous look met her. "Yas'm?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can go back and look after that husband of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm? He gettin' erlong all right."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, Zenie. You never can tell," Mary Louise went on,
+maliciously enjoying the havoc she was spreading. "I'll pay you for
+the week. You can leave whenever you want to. But let's have supper
+right away." And she walked resolutely through the kitchen into a
+darkened house, burning her bridges behind her.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER XVIII</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="smcap">t</span>
+was seven o'clock on Main Street. A very faint glow still lingered
+in the western sky and above it cool points of stars pricked a
+gray-blue curtain. Over to the left the moon was peeping above a
+gambrel roof and the near side was steely blue up to the shadow of the
+purple chimney. Joe walked along shuffling with his feet in the little
+hollows of dry leaves. They crunched cheerily, sending up a faint, dry
+fragrance. Up ahead was a dying fire with only here and there a tiny
+flame tongue; the rest, a black and smoking crust underlaid with dull
+embers. The smoke that curled upward from the fire was pale blue-gray
+and mixed with tiny dust particles, and it hung in thin motionless
+strata or came curling in feathery wisps almost invisible in the
+shadow but heavy laden with magic scent. Up slid the moon, till Main
+Street was a phantom cloister, the maple boles huge columns casting
+purple shadows on a milky floor. Fairy lights winked in hooded windows
+like deep-set eyes, and a soft warm haze lapped round him dreamily,
+lulling his senses.</p>
+
+<p>Joe had left the road-camp and tramped three miles into town. In the
+dusk he had come upon it unawares; it seemed quite deserted. Very
+quietly he had come through the back lanes, and now it lay before him,
+its heart open in a sort of whispered confidence. Crude, inert,
+makeshift sort of place it might betray itself to be in daylight, it
+now lay snug and warm and breathing in its cluster of trees. It had
+gathered its brood to it, its warm lights blinking red, and above,
+clear liquid moonlight. Joe walked along slowly, an outsider, and yet
+feeling himself slipping somehow into the warmth and protection of the
+street. The odour of the burning leaves was heady, a superdistillate
+of memories. October and moonlight and burning leaves! It meant nuts
+and wine-sap apples, lingering in the dusk, watching the bull-bats
+rise. It meant hot supper and a ravenous appetite and a slow roasting
+before an open fire. Sharp little pictures flashed before his eyes as
+he walked along, and he fancied he could hear the soft crunch of buggy
+wheels in the dried leaves and the pad-pad of hoofs. It all seemed
+wrapped up in the same parcel with his childhood, stored away
+somewhere in musty archives. You couldn't pull out one without
+stirring up all the others. He half closed his eyes and peered through
+his lashes down a sharp black line of roofs like a knife edge against
+a liquid, shimmering sky, down a broad ghostly band of silver white
+that was the road, all flecked and mottled with leaf shadows that
+moved slowly to and fro. He paused a moment. He scarcely dared breathe
+lest the whole thing vanish. A fairy touch on his arm, light as
+thistle-down, a subtle sense of warmth and a dim, intangible
+fragrance, and he started, blinking, and then walked on. Something was
+dry and dusty in his throat. "Golly, the old place sorta gets next to
+you on a night like this," he thought. "Guess I'd better get in.
+They'll think I'm nuts, mooning around on the street all night."</p>
+
+<p>He came to a long stretch of wooden picket fence, beyond it a silver
+plaque of moon-splashed grass, the house all hollow-eyed and gaunt,
+like a thing watching. As he approached the gate a man came hurrying
+out, his head hunched forward on his shoulders. Joe stood aside to let
+him pass. The man peered sharply at him from under his hat brim,
+grunted, and then passed on. It was Mr. Burrus. Joe had a sense of
+being too late. Over the house hung the stillness of death, and a
+thing like Burrus leaving! It was an ugly thought. He walked up to the
+porch and knocked softly on the door.</p>
+
+<p>A moment's silence and then it slowly opened. Someone stood in the
+doorway. A voice said, "Well?" in a low vibrant tone. There was
+blended in it the soft mistiness of the night, something of regret,
+something of purple shadows, something of stirring memories. He
+moistened his lips with his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it you?" the voice went on, and then Mary Louise came out.</p>
+
+<p>"I just heard to-day that Miss Susie had had another spell," he
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>She stood beside him on the porch and looked up into his face. He
+could see she was shivering a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to amount to anything," she said. "Aunt Susie has 'em
+periodically. She'll be all right in a day or two."</p>
+
+<p>Joe stood in indecision. There had come a high-pitched, nervous
+tension into her tone, an eagerness that he did not like. The other
+thing had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you sit down?" said Mary Louise. "I'd ask you in, but Aunt
+Susie's asleep and the sound of our voices might disturb her. She
+hasn't had much sleep the last few nights."</p>
+
+<p>Joe fingered his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you going to stay and tell me about yourself?" she urged.
+"It's been ages since we had a talk. Let's go down to the
+summerhouse."</p>
+
+<p>He felt doubtful. Already a chill was gathering in the air, and he
+fancied she spoke through set teeth. The charm was melting away and
+the moon, rising above the tops of the maples, seemed cheerless and
+cold. But he could not be unfriendly; she had had a lot to upset her.
+He had read about Claybrook in the paper and while the news had caused
+him no discomfort&mdash;if anything quite the contrary&mdash;still,
+it was different now. She was alone in that bleak, staring house,
+alone with a sick woman. So he followed her awkwardly across the grass
+that was already gathering dew.</p>
+
+<p>They sat facing each other in the summerhouse, sat on the edges of the
+chairs, bending slightly forward. Mary Louise was softly chafing her
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"So you've really come back," she began.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, three miles from 'back,'" he replied. She was making a pretty
+brave show; her voice sounded bright and cheery. If only she would
+stop rubbing her hands together&mdash;be still for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect we're meant for this place, Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes? How do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if you bend a twig young enough, the tree will grow that way."
+She laughed softly and he gave her a quick look.</p>
+
+<p>For a few moments they sat in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"How did you happen to make another change, Joe?" she asked at length,
+very quietly.</p>
+
+<p>He paused before replying. "Well," he began, "you see I've never had
+any real preparation for anything I was doin'. I never could have got
+anywhere. Those jobs I had in town&mdash;I just drifted into 'em.
+Anybody could have filled 'em. I&mdash;what was the use of 'em?" He
+paused and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded slowly. "I think you said something like that once before.
+I begin to see where you were right."</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply. Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped
+she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not
+feel in the mood for raking over ashes.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how
+surprised I was to see you with that road gang. I was riding along
+with Zeke, all wrapped up in my thoughts, and suddenly I looked up and
+saw you there&mdash;&mdash;" She trailed off and sat thinking.</p>
+
+<p>Again he was uneasy. Apparently the uncomfortable topic was not
+entirely buried yet. It might rise up exhumed, in its shroud, any
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said. "I'm used to that sort of thing&mdash;managin'
+niggers. Had 'em doin' most every sort of rough work in my time,
+diggin' ditches, mendin' roads, cuttin' fence posts&mdash;all that
+sort of thing. Guess it's about all I'm fit for." The effort died
+lugubriously and he sat, waiting. He hated personal confidences and
+there hung a most particularly uncomfortable one in the offing.</p>
+
+<p>The silence was like a living thing. It crushed down upon the
+summerhouse with huge, downy black wings. A very faint rustling
+started up in the dry leaves of the creeper on the roof and clammy
+little draughts of air came twisting through the cracks. All the
+languorous glamour of the night had passed. It was merely autumn
+moonlight, and too late in the year to be sitting out in a summerhouse
+mouthing inconsequentialities&mdash;two people who were old enough to
+know better. Joe stirred restlessly. Surely she must be convinced that
+he meant to be friendly. He leaned back and looked up at the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean to do, Joe?" Mary Louise began again.</p>
+
+<p>"Huh?" He recovered with a start. "Oh, I don't know. Think sometimes I
+will come back and try my hand at farmin'. Think maybe I'll be more of
+a real person doing that than anything else I know. But this road
+business is a necessary thing. Bloomfield needs a good road&mdash;all
+the way into the city. Something to put her on the map. Maybe with a
+good road we can get somewhere." Speaking out the idea seemed to
+crystallize it. He began to enthuse a little over it inwardly.
+"Mightn't be so bad. Might buy back the old place even, some day.
+Jenkins is not makin' too much speed with it, I hear."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise leaned forward toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Joe, I wish you would," she said. "I've been thinking a lot here
+lately and it seems to me it's just as essential for real men to
+settle and live in places like Bloomfield as anywhere else. Big people
+should spread their influence. Why should they all cluster in little
+knots and bunches like the cities? I think there's a better chance to
+grow&mdash;here. I really do." She turned away and sat with her chin
+on her hands, her face averted.</p>
+
+<p>Joe, carried momentarily away with the thought, did not notice her
+agitation; moreover, it was quite dark in the summerhouse, with only
+odds and ends of moonlight slipping through the roof. And he did not
+answer her, but sat thinking.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to," she continued after a bit, her voice sounding somewhat
+broken and muffled against her open hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Going to stay here and see what I can make out of it."</p>
+
+<p>She was groping for his friendship and he did not know it. A new line
+of thought had been stimulated and it brought up very pleasing
+pictures. After all, what could be better than a respectable life on a
+farm producing things, seeing the direct results of the work of his
+own hands, establishing his very own identity? By contrast, how much
+better than working for someone else, furnishing the effort while
+someone else worked out the plans, losing his identity completely in
+an economic machine? He could start modestly, pay off as he went, out
+of the profits. And meantime, he could be living&mdash;real life. Only
+first he must get a little money to make a start on.</p>
+
+<p>He realized Mary Louise had spoken, paused in his thought and then
+remembered. "Oh&mdash;yeah. Don't know but what it's about the best
+thing to do. Might try it myself&mdash;soon's I can get enough money
+together."</p>
+
+<p>She made no reply and he watched her dim profile. Her head drooped
+quite dejectedly. There was a little splash of moonlight on her cheek;
+tendrils of her hair curled about the line of her neck. "She's had a
+pretty heavy bump," he thought.</p>
+
+<p>He briskly rose to his feet. "Must be on my way," he said and stood
+looking down at the shadow of her. "It's three miles or more out to
+the camp. We get up at six."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she did not move, and then heavily she stood up. She made
+no protest and he could not see her face. If only he might get away,
+now that he had started, she might not be tempted to make any
+allusions to her affair. He shunned it instinctively as a dark closet
+containing a few unburied bones of his own skeleton.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly he walked slowly out upon the lawn and headed for the
+front gate. He could feel the dew lapping about his ankles through his
+socks and his shadow was clear cut and black on the grass, Mary Louise
+came and walked the short distance by his side, neither saying a word.
+They came to the gate and stood there in silence. Not a sound could be
+heard, the street stretching along before them a broad white ribbon,
+with splotches of mottled shade along the edges, the dark line of
+houses across the street like mysterious creatures crouching in the
+shadow.</p>
+
+<p>As they stood there, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came a
+distant sound, low and yet distinct, like the sound of one metal
+striking upon another. It was clear and somewhat musical, lingering in
+the air with a dying cadence. As the waves of sound died slowly away
+there came silence and then the soft rustle of the leaves overhead.</p>
+
+<p>"What was that?" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know. Sounded like the closin' of a door."</p>
+
+<p>Both stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "See you again
+sometime."</p>
+
+<p>She took the hand and held it for a moment. "Joe," she began, "let's
+be friends." She was forcing herself to talk. "I've made some mistakes
+but&mdash;I want everybody to like me here&mdash;especially you. You
+understand things, and you will overlook some of the things that have
+happened?" Spectres of uncharitableness were disturbing her and she
+sought to be shriven.</p>
+
+<p>He thought she was alluding to Claybrook and moved uneasily so that
+she dropped his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely. Surely I will. Good-night," he said again. Then he turned and
+walked briskly away.</p>
+
+<p>He had got but ten yards or so when out of the stillness came the
+sound again. He paused there on the sidewalk and listened. A faint,
+musical, metallic clang came surging toward him in clear beating
+waves. It sounded as if it were miles away, and the echo lingered
+pulsing on the silence. Slowly it died away to a whisper and then he
+heard distant shouts and footsteps echoing hollow. Men were running
+toward him down the brick sidewalk, their voices sounding nearer. At
+the corner they turned and went, westward, the sound of them growing
+fainter and fainter. He looked back, and at the gate he could see a
+shadow standing there waiting. There was a faint nimbus about the head
+and the face, turned toward him, was in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>He paused a moment in indecision and then turned and walked rapidly
+down the street westward, toward the camp.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XIX</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">M</span><span class="smcap">ary</span>
+Louise walked back to the house. At the side porch she paused and
+looked behind her. High overhead sailed the moon, a day or two past
+the first half. There was a tremulous movement in the leaves of the
+maples along the sidewalk, producing an indistinct, vibratory shimmer
+and shadow. By contrast the patches of darkness were jet black; the
+overhanging portico of the house was as yawning as a cavern. She
+listened, stood, her head bent slightly forward, listening. Not a
+sound could be heard. The sharp, crisp clack of Joe's footsteps had
+been swallowed up by the distance. She could hear the sound of her own
+breathing. An uneasiness came gradually upon her, a vague sort of
+dread of being left alone, entirely alone. How aloof he had seemed;
+how aloof everything seemed, and unreal! Those sinister trees waving
+there without a breath of wind; the lowering shadows of the
+summerhouse and the barn; that greasy moonlight that came slipping up
+to the very edge of the porch and lay there fearful and
+cold&mdash;were they all remembering her scorn and coming back to mock
+her loneliness?</p>
+
+<p>Softly she opened the door and went inside. Something scurried off
+into a corner and she fancied it turned about there and watched her in
+the darkness. The room seemed hot and close and there was a rhythmic
+rise and fall like the rising and falling of some vast invisible
+bosom, oppressed. She tiptoed over to the far door and stood
+listening. Not a sound could she hear. Old Landy was most probably
+asleep in his bed in the room up over the stable. She balanced on her
+feet and stood waiting, in indecision. She could not go back, so she
+opened the door softly and peered in.</p>
+
+<p>A glaring white patch caught her eye. The moonlight through the window
+lay cold and bright upon the counterpane. Just above the patch was a
+jumble of shadows, from which protruded, bare and yellow and weazened,
+an arm. She caught her breath and fought down the sudden rising of her
+heart. It was nothing&mdash;only lying there so detached in the
+moonlight, thrust up out of the shadow out of nowhere, it did look
+gruesome, like something dead, something completely and irrevocably
+dead. It lay without a sign of movement, with the fingers slightly
+curled up under the palm and clutching at the coverlet. Gradually, her
+calm returning, she listened with her head thrust around the corner of
+the door, and directly she caught the very faint sound of breathing, a
+far-away, fine-drawn, eerie whisper. Slowly she backed away and closed
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>She groped over to a chair in the sitting room and sat down. Through
+the squares of the window panes she could see the milky white patches
+of moonlight flooding the world outside, and the silence came creeping
+up all around until it seemed to squeeze the very walls inward.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what's going on?" she thought. Because of its very
+soundlessness, the universe about her seemed to be teeming with vague
+suggestions. That distant clamour, the hurry of footsteps, and then
+Joe, slipping away from her into the shadow. And now the deathlike
+stillness.</p>
+
+<p>She began to rock slowly to and fro. With an effort of the will she
+forced herself to think of cheerful things, housework and cooking, and
+sunlight and people. Suddenly she realized that there was no reason
+for her sitting up. She might just as well go to bed. She started to
+her feet, but something held her, something forced her back into her
+chair. There had been footsteps fading off into the darkness. She must
+wait until they came back again&mdash;out of the darkness. Something
+in the idea strangely excited her, left her tense. In all this silence
+she knew she could not sleep; she would be lying there waiting,
+waiting for something, she knew not what. So she settled back and
+rocked and waited, staring with wide-open eyes at the steel-blue patch
+that was the door. And the night settled down and drew close to her
+with its uncertainties.</p>
+
+<p>Time passed.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she was aware of sound. So gradually it had come that she
+realized she had been hearing it for some time. It was coming back.
+She riveted her gaze upon the door, watched it unblinking, waiting for
+it to open upon her with its secret any moment.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly she rocked to and fro. Gradually nearer and nearer came the
+sound. Rolling upward, gathering round and round into a ball, it took
+the shape of footsteps and a confused murmur of voices. On it swept.
+They were passing the house, would pass it, away into the darkness and
+silence again. Whither?</p>
+
+<p>She rose to her feet and hurried to the door. She groped for the knob
+and stumbled blindly out upon the porch. The sudden glare of the
+moonlight dazzled her and she could only make out dimly a little knot
+of black shadows moving along the pavement past the gate. There was a
+confused murmur of voices as of several persons trying to make
+themselves heard at once, and yet be quiet about it. As she watched,
+tried to get her eyes to focus, the little group passed on and was
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>She walked slowly to the gate and stood there looking into the
+darkness after it. Gradually she was recovering her sight; sounds
+sprang up, little normal sounds, and she began to feel cold. She
+turned and was about to go back to the house when the echo of
+footsteps again caught her ear, and she waited.</p>
+
+<p>It was a single person, apparently in a great hurry. She could hear
+him shuffling and stumbling along. She peered down the street into the
+darkness and directly could distinguish the shadow of a man hurrying
+toward her. On he came. He passed the fence corner&mdash;now he had
+reached the tree with the big fork&mdash;he was passing the gate. She
+saw it was Zeke.</p>
+
+<p>"What's going on?" she called to him.</p>
+
+<p>He started, stopped, and then came over to the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Mist' Burrus's bahn done cave in," he said, the whites of his eyes
+gleaming at her in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of his voice cheered her greatly. She felt suddenly so
+relieved that it was with difficulty that she kept herself from
+laughing out loud. "How do you mean? It didn't fall down of itself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm, hit did. Hit's de waehouse. Folks say he done load hit up too
+full and hit plum' give out." His voice sounded excited.</p>
+
+<p>"Anybody hurt?" She was beginning to enjoy it all, feeling exhilarated
+over the drama of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Mist' Joe&mdash;Mist' Joe Hoopah. He done fell offen de bridge into
+de ditch. Speck he done broke his laig."</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Dey done sen' me to git my cah. Said dey would lemme ketch up wid
+'em. But Lawsy, de cah won' run."</p>
+
+<p>"Was that him they were carrying past the house?" she managed to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas'm, I reckon. Dey aim to take him to Mis' Mosby's. Reckon I better
+hurry on."</p>
+
+<p>She reached over and seized him by the coat. "Was he much hurt? Did he
+seem much hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yas'm. No'm. Leasewise, he say he ain'. But he cain't stan' up.
+Hit's his laig. Dey done pull him outen de ditch, wid it dubble unner
+him."</p>
+
+<p>She let him go and listened to his retreating footsteps down the
+street into the darkness. She felt suddenly faint and weak. She walked
+back to the house, entered the sitting room, and lit a candle. Then
+she went to Miss Susie's door and opened it.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Susie's eyes were looking calmly at her from the bed as she
+entered. "What's the matter?" said Miss Susie's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"He was here just an hour ago. I saw him go down the street. And now
+they're bringing him back, broken. Just an hour! God knows what
+happened to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Who do you mean, child?" Miss Susie moved forward and raised up a
+little on her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"It just seems as if the hand of Fate was stretching out over this
+place, reaching down over us. It makes no difference what we
+do&mdash;we're helpless&mdash;all of us." She seemed to steady
+herself. She came over to the bedside and laid her hand on Miss
+Susie's forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you want me to bring you a drink of water?" she asked.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h4>CHAPTER XX</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="dropcap">D</span><span class="smcap">irectly</span>
+after breakfast she went to the Mosby place. The sunlight was making
+glaring white patches on the pavement, of which she was but dimly
+conscious as she walked along. The house looked very peaceful, with
+the mellowness of respectable old age, that fresh October morning. She
+climbed the steps to the front door, feeling a little self-conscious
+as she stood and waited. It was possible that she was borrowing
+trouble; the accident might not prove to have been a serious one at
+all and she might seem too solicitous.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and a very old Negro woman in a stiff, white, starched
+apron stood and peered forth at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Mosby in?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman ducked her head and held open the door. "I see." And
+then she waddled off. Half-way down the dim hallway she turned, paused
+a moment, and then came back. She went to a tall door, on the left
+side of the hall, and pushed it open, casting up a furtive eye at Mary
+Louise as she did so. A wave of clammy air rushed forth and there was
+a faint crackling as of dried leaves back in the darkness. "Won' you
+set down?" said the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise realized how early she had come; she had quite disturbed
+the usual order of things. "No, thank you," she said. "I'll just wait
+here in the hall."</p>
+
+<p>The woman waddled away again and disappeared through a back door which
+wheezed shut with a sort of sucking noise, and the hall was left in
+hushed silence. Mary Louise gazed up at the ceiling, then at the
+stairway reaching far back and into the depths of upstairs hall. Even
+in the soft light the place looked like a barn. It seemed to be
+watching her sullenly as a small child watches an intruder. Odd little
+crackings sounded in far corners, and a whispering, starting somewhere
+in that upstairs hall, came slinking down the wainscoting, across the
+hall carpet, and out beneath the front door. She wondered what might
+be going on back in those silent, unexplored depths.</p>
+
+<p>Then the door opened again and Mrs. Mosby came swishing forth, like an
+echo of the whisper that had preceded her. She was wearing the same
+ruching, the same bangles, the same everything&mdash;minus the bonnet
+with the veil&mdash;that she had worn that previous afternoon. There
+was an opaque flatness in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise rose to her feet. She was embarrassed as she met the older
+woman's quiet gaze, but she quickly threw off the feeling.</p>
+
+<p>"I just heard some indefinite but disturbing news about an accident
+last night," she said anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mosby smiled a ghostly little smile and inclined her head. "We
+had quite a time," she admitted. "Won't you sit down? Or won't you
+come in the parlour?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I've not long to stay. I&mdash;I felt so worried. I wanted to
+come first thing and find out, see if there was anything I could do."
+They sat down at opposite ends of the horsehair sofa, each
+reflectively watching the other.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mosby shook her head. "He's getting on as nicely as could be
+expected. Fortunately, Dr. Withers was got hold of right away, last
+night." She was gazing dreamily at Mary Louise as though the latter
+were a creature of another world come vaguely intruding.</p>
+
+<p>There was a curious atmosphere of restraint. Mary Louise sat waiting
+for the other woman to speak, her hands in her lap, her fingers slowly
+weaving in and out. After a momentary silence she asked in a politely
+casual tone, "What really did happen, Mrs. Mosby? Was he much hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Mosby continued staring for an instant before she replied: "It
+really was the strangest thing. You know I did not even know that
+Joseph was in this part of the country. And at ten o'clock last night
+they came carrying him in. Of course, I was terribly excited and
+upset, and I did not find out the particulars exactly." She paused
+and took a delicate little shuddering breath. "You see, Mr. Burrus'
+warehouse&mdash;the one down by the creek, you know? Well, something
+happened&mdash;the bank on which it stood caved in, in some way, and
+the rear wall collapsed, and from all I can understand there was quite
+a wreck, quite a lot of damage, for he had it crammed full of winter
+goods." She paused and looked intently at Mary Louise with eyes that
+were visualizing the events of the night before. "Well, to continue.
+It seems that someone with a lantern, investigating the place around
+the back, ran across poor Joseph lying in the creek in the water, with
+one leg doubled up under him. He told the man he had fallen off the
+bridge. That was all he said. Just what he could have been doing there
+at such a time I cannot imagine. It seems that he had been working
+with a road-construction company about three miles out on the road to
+Guests. I found that out from a perfect stranger." She paused again
+and the line of her mouth took on a grimmer straightness. "One of the
+men, who brought him in&mdash;a great rough boor he was&mdash;had the
+audacity to suggest that Joseph was around there seeing what he could
+pick up. I silenced him quickly enough. But can you imagine what
+brought him to such a place at such a time?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise drew herself together in an odd little shiver. "Some
+strange things can happen by coincidence, Mrs. Mosby. Was he badly
+hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fractured his left leg just below the knee, Dr. Withers
+says&mdash;poor Joseph! He's been an ambitious boy. So anxious to get
+ahead, and so self-sufficient. I feel right guilty about Joseph." She
+shook her head dolorously.</p>
+
+<p>"But there's no real danger, is there?" broke in Mary Louise, her
+heart momentarily sinking.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I suppose not. He is terribly run down. Like a ghost he looked
+when they carried him in last night, his eyes staring out before him
+all dumb and suffering. He must have been in that ice-cold water
+almost an hour before they found him. I might have been doing things
+for him all this time&mdash;looking after him&mdash;but you know how
+things have been in this house."</p>
+
+<p>The cold wall of her reserve seemed to be gradually letting down.
+Never before had she ever so much as alluded to the break in her
+family's fortunes. Mary Louise felt an odd, lifting feeling of
+hope&mdash;tremulous but dawning hope.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Mosby," she said. "Excuse me for speaking about something that
+is not my affair, but"&mdash;she hesitated and gazed at the polished
+marble slab of the hall tree&mdash;"it's only because I've known Joe
+so well, for such a long time"&mdash;the polished slab was gleaming
+faintly from an errant ray of sunshine that came through a dim,
+high-set hall window&mdash;"that I perhaps know a little more about
+him." She paused after this introduction, and having thus committed
+herself, plunged in. "Why don't you give Joe the chance he really
+wants? You have a lot of land here that is not being developed at all.
+Give Joe the chance to work it out&mdash;some of it, at least, on
+shares." She paused, breathless, and looked up timidly to see how her
+presumption fared.</p>
+
+<p>A slow, fatuous smile spread over Mrs. Mosby's face. Mary Louise
+watched it break&mdash;watched it play for a moment about her lips
+like a shaft of winter sunshine. Then she spoke, shaking her head in
+reminiscence:</p>
+
+<p>"I'd thought of that, myself. In fact, I'd spoken of it to Joseph. But
+he had other ideas. Many's the time I would have welcomed having
+someone who really cared, on whom I could depend. It's been a
+difficult time for me, my dear. Brother's so feeble. I couldn't call
+on him. No. Joseph doesn't care for farming. You're mistaken there.
+He's got an errant streak in him, like his father, I'm afraid." She
+sighed, and the sibilance of it echoed with a strange lingering note
+between those high gray walls. "Besides&mdash;though I've not let it
+be generally known&mdash;I've sold the place&mdash;to a Mr. Walcott of
+New York. He's very wealthy, I believe. He's taking it over the first
+of the year. I'm just not strong enough to hold on any longer."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise did not look up. The sunlight on the marble slab of the
+hall tree faded slowly away.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you want to go up and see him, my dear?" Mrs. Mosby said at
+length.</p>
+
+<p>She started. "No," she replied. "I must be getting on. I've so many
+things to do. Some other time, may I? Perhaps this afternoon." She
+rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door. She opened it and
+walked through, out on to the wide front porch, her thoughts in a
+turmoil. Rising above everything was an inexplicable conviction that
+Joe was closely akin to herself; in all the confusion of the world's
+ways, a kindred creature.</p>
+
+<p>She turned. Mrs. Mosby was standing in the open doorway watching her,
+on her face a set, wistful smile, that was as hard as stone. They
+exchanged good-byes and then the door slowly closed with its soft
+sucking noise and she found herself in the graying light of a
+gathering storm....</p>
+
+<p>It was not until late the following afternoon that she found time
+again to visit the Mosby home.</p>
+
+<p>The same old Negro woman admitted her and she stepped into the hall
+and stood waiting. Back in the shadow, in an open doorway, Mrs. Mosby
+and a stout, thickset man with stubbly black hair were talking in low
+tones. The Negro woman hurried past them back into the passage, and
+they moved aside a little as she passed. The last words of the
+conversation came faintly to Mary Louise's ears; the stout man was
+talking:</p>
+
+<p>"Must build him up," he was saying. "Keep the windows open, give him
+plenty to eat, all he wants." Then Mrs. Mosby's sibilant but inaudible
+reply. And then again, "He's used himself up. No reserve. Not prepared
+for an emergency like this."</p>
+
+<p>She sat dumbly wondering; it was most probably Dr. Withers, the new
+doctor. The monotonous hum of their voices suddenly ceased and he was
+walking past her toward the door, pursing his lips in an odd sort of
+way. He looked at her as he passed, and reached for his hat. She did
+not hear the door close after him. Mrs. Mosby was speaking to her with
+a slight frown on her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Just go on up, my dear. Ell bedroom, on the left. I'll be up
+directly."</p>
+
+<p>She climbed the stairs in a maze. The silence was the most noticeable
+thing about the place unless it was the clinging, indescribable odour.</p>
+
+<p>She found the door without difficulty and softly pushed it open. A
+draught of chill air greeted her, and there was a dim glow on the
+carpet from an open-grate fire in the wall opposite. Behind the door
+stood the bed, with its head against the wall, and in the bed lay Joe.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she could not realize it was he, the light was so dim,
+the figure so indistinct, so swathed in its covers. He turned his head
+at the sound of her footsteps and looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," he said weakly.</p>
+
+<p>All her reserves collapsed within her and she came and sat on the
+edge of the bed. She looked down into his face and could not speak; a
+change which she could not begin to detail had come over him. He
+smiled, "Was wondering about you to-day," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She reached out and took his hand. It was very hot. Two bright spots
+burned in his cheeks and his eyes had that peculiar, hollow, sunken
+look she had seen once or twice before. Two days had passed. The
+realization that it was but two days shocked her.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny," he was saying. "That night&mdash;you remember&mdash;I met old
+Burrus coming out of your house. I wondered then what he could be
+doing. Well&mdash;he was just on my trail. Fact."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said. "He brought Aunt Susie a hot-water bottle. But you
+mustn't talk too much, Joe." She squeezed his hand very softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he went on, as though intensely interested in the idea, "you
+know what he was for Uncle Buzz? Well, next he must put his jinx on
+me." He chuckled softly. "His kind always have it in for&mdash;my
+kind. It is funny. As I went down the road, after leaving your house,
+you remember?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I soon saw from the road that something had happened. I went
+down across the field up to the fence. Things were scattered all over
+the ground, and some of 'em floating down the creek&mdash;I could see
+in the moonlight. 'Serves you right, you old skinflint,' I said to
+myself. 'But it's none of your business.' So I turned about and went
+back to the road. Couldn't help feeling kinda glad about it." He
+paused and drew a deep, painful breath. "I guess it's all just
+retribution. Shouldn't have enjoyed a man's misfortune. I missed the
+edge of the road, slipped, and fell across the big eight by eight that
+ties the bridge to the bank, and that's all I remember. Old Burrus
+pulled me out of the creek himself."</p>
+
+<p>He withdrew his hand and moved slightly in the bed, as if easing
+himself somewhere. "It <i>was</i> funny, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>She gazed into his face. Something was stirring within her over which
+she seemed to have no control&mdash;a tenderness, a mothering
+instinct, a vast hurt deep within herself. She suddenly realized that
+she could have had him, although he had not offered himself. Nor had
+he ever asked for anything, probably never would. The realization
+singularly made him seem all the more her own. "You mustn't work
+yourself up, Joe. Be quiet. I want you to get well." Just how
+fervently she wished it, and with what anxiety, she suddenly knew. The
+sight of his peaked, upturned face, staring at the ceiling, with the
+bright red spots on his cheeks, was more than she could bear, and she
+rose to her feet and walked over to the open window.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was just sinking behind a broken bank of heavy, blue-gray
+clouds. On the inner surfaces through which streamed its last rays
+patches of blood-red lining showed. A lurid glow was thinly suffused
+over the stretch of land between, against which were outlined the gray
+top branches of trees, moving fitfully to and fro. She stood for a few
+moments, waiting, listening for Mrs. Mosby. The shadows deepened and
+lengthened; they came creeping over the grass toward her, in their van
+the fading glow. All at once, as it were out of the twilight, the
+sunlight settled momentarily on the field at the bottom of the hill
+before her. Stark upright and in serried rows stretched the waste of
+last year's cornfield, the withered stalks touched with a passing
+glory, standing quite proudly erect and then&mdash;blue-gray darkness.
+A mellow waste delivering a valedictory! Next year it would doubtless
+be ploughed up&mdash;prepared for a crop. Over beyond the crest of
+hills clouds were gathering like a smoke pall. She wondered if the
+factory chimneys were sending their beacons that far. There were forty
+miles between the two worlds.</p>
+
+<p>A voice spoke behind her, a strange, unknown voice. She turned and
+went back to the bedside. Joe lay staring straight before him and his
+lips were moving stiffly. The words came muffled and indistinct: "Tell
+you&mdash;got to have more money 'n that, Mr. Heston. 'Tisn't a
+question of just gettin' by. A man's got to get ahead." And then
+there was an unintelligible muttering. And then suddenly the voice
+rose, clear, querulous, and high-pitched: "Well you can go to hell
+with it. Needn't think you're doin' us a favour&mdash;payin' us a
+living&mdash;just because you've got it all. No, sir! I can go back
+home. Can live there without havin' to thank <i>you</i>!" The voice died
+away.</p>
+
+<p>She hung on the echo, shaken to the depths of her. Like a disembodied
+voice it had come out of the great silence. What was it all about? Who
+was Mr. Heston?</p>
+
+<p>Then in a flash it all came clear to her. The mists arose from the
+past and before her stood envisioned all in the proper relationship:
+herself, Claybrook, and Joe; Bloomfield, the city, all of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>Life was, after all, but one shrewd bargain; success a process of
+getting more than one gave; the survivors, shrewd bargainers,
+shouldering, edging, metamorphosed by a modern Circe, their forefeet
+and muzzles thrust eager and deep into the magic swill of her trough;
+and the others&mdash;creatures like Joe&mdash;untouched by the
+sorcery, going without and suffering discredit. Militant, her spirit
+rose in revolt. Was there no escape from the dilemma? She felt dried
+up, parched, athirst for something; her throat contracted in a burning
+ache.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She sat in
+silence with a great pain in her heart. Over beyond the window sill
+the glow was dying, and the gathering pall was rising and coming
+nearer. Like a blanket the relentless world the cog-world of personal
+interests, regulations, and restrictions&mdash;was coming, gathering
+up its wastage into its blue-gray depths.</p>
+
+<p>Joe was speaking again. His voice was suddenly clearer.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," he was saying, "if you'd mind goin' for Zeke Thompson and
+sendin' him up to me? I want him to go somewhere for me. And will
+you&mdash;will you call up Mr. Clausen of the Pulvia Company and tell
+him I'll get back on the job soon's I can? To-morrow'll do to call him
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely I will, Joe," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened softly from the hall and Mrs. Mosby appeared, shading
+a lamp with her hand. "Keep your seat." she exclaimed as Mary Louise
+rose to her feet. "I'm just getting ready to bring him his supper."
+Then she went back out again.</p>
+
+<p>Mary Louise bent over the bed. The lamp was directly behind her and
+she could not see for blurring.</p>
+
+<p>"Do take care of yourself, Joe," she whispered. "I'll come back again
+to-morrow," and then she slipped noiselessly from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Directly Mrs. Mosby returned with a steaming tray which she set on the
+little table by the bedside. "Has she gone?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Joe turned and looked with indifference at the tray, with its white
+napkins and egg-shell china. "Don't believe I want anything much, Aunt
+Lorry," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Come now, Joseph. You must. I've a soft-boiled egg and some milk
+toast and cocoa. Dr. Withers says you must keep up your strength."</p>
+
+<p>He turned languidly away. "And Aunt Lorry," he added.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't need anything&mdash;specially this sympathy stuff." He paused
+and frowned at the ceiling. "I don't&mdash;I don't want to have any
+company. Reckon I can get along all right."</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later she carried away the tray with the food on it but
+scarcely touched. And he lay in the gathering darkness, watching the
+ceiling, with the wavering circles from the open fire and the soft
+whisper of the wind in the withered leaves outside the window. There
+came a gentle patter of rain on the roof and night slipped down upon
+Bloomfield. He sighed gently, turned his head, and fell asleep....</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Some four blocks away a girl was walking&mdash;swiftly,
+her hands clenched so that the knuckles were
+white. Bright spots burned in her cheeks and her
+eyes were deep and starry with bright vision. A
+man, passing close, turned and watched her curiously,
+saw her enter a wooden gate. A few feet
+from a darkened porch she seemed to spring forward
+in her haste. He saw her run up the steps and disappear
+into the house....</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>There was the sound of water being poured from one vessel into
+another, in the downstairs back-hall, and then the shuffling of
+retiring feet. Mrs. Mosby stood outlined in the high doorway, a
+lighted candle in her hand, her eyes straining into the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, brother Rob," she called and waited.</p>
+
+<p>There was a muffled reply.</p>
+
+<p>"It will certainly be good," she went on, half to herself and
+pleasantly musing, "to have a real bathroom with hot water from a
+spigot. The city's pleasant in winter. I'm sorry we're waiting until
+January first. Come, brother Rob. The water's getting cold."</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,7932 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Stubble, by George Looms
+
+
+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: Stubble
+
+
+Author: George Looms
+
+
+
+Release Date: April 24, 2008  [eBook #25158]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUBBLE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Garcia, David T. Jones, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
+images generously made available by Kentuckiana Digital Library
+(http://kdl.kyvl.org/)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Kentuckiana Digital Library. See
+      http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=b92-225-31182911&view=toc
+
+
+
+
+
+STUBBLE
+
+by
+
+GEORGE LOOMS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Garden City    New York
+Doubleday, Page & Company
+1922
+
+Copyright, 1922, by
+Doubleday, Page & Company
+
+All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation
+into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian
+
+Printed in the United States
+at
+The Country Life Press, Garden City, N. Y.
+
+First Edition
+
+
+
+
+                               TO
+
+                           MIS' KATIE
+
+                        AND HER COURAGE
+
+
+
+
+                            CONTENTS
+
+
+                             PART I
+                                                         PAGE
+MARY LOUISE                                                 1
+
+                             PART II
+
+MYRTLE                                                    143
+
+                             PART III
+
+BLOOMFIELD                                                249
+
+
+
+
+
+PART I
+
+MARY LOUISE
+
+
+
+
+STUBBLE
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The front gate screaked, a slow, timid, almost furtive sort of screak,
+and then banged suddenly shut as though it despaired of further
+concealment. Mary Louise gathered her sewing to her, rose to her feet,
+and looked out. It was raining. Through the glass upper half of the
+door that opened from the sitting room upon the side porch she could
+see the swelling tendrils of the vines that crawled about the trellis,
+heavy and beady with the gathering moisture. It was one of those cold,
+drizzly, early April rains that dares you by its seeming futility to
+come forth and do weaponless battle and then sends you back
+discomfited and drenched. A woman was coming up the walk bent in a
+huddle over a bundle which she carried in her arms. Mary Louise gazed
+searchingly for a moment and then, as the figure would have passed the
+door, on around to the rear of the house, stepped out on the porch and
+called:
+
+"Zenie! Zenie! Come in this way. There's nobody around there."
+
+Zenie raised her head in mute surprise and then slowly obeyed. She
+shuffled across the porch, and at the door, which Mary Louise held
+open for her, paused and looked about her in indecision. She was a
+buxom creature, of the type that the Negroes about the station would
+call a "High Brown," but without the poise and aplomb that conscious
+membership in that class usually brings.
+
+"Mis' Susie in?" she ventured, after a careful survey of the room had
+assured her that such was not probable. And her care, relaxed for the
+moment, allowed the corner of the shawl to fall from the bundle in her
+arms, which forthwith set up a remote wailing, feeble and muffled,
+though determined.
+
+Mary Louise raised a skeptic eyebrow at the discredited Zenie.
+
+"Sshh!" dispassionately urged the latter, scorning for once public
+regard and continuing to gaze about the low-ceilinged room for the
+absent but much-desired Miss Susie.
+
+Such callous indifference baffled Mary Louise, even while it answered
+her innermost questionings, and for the moment she was voiceless.
+"What in the world----!" she said at length and hated herself for the
+vulgar surprise in her tone.
+
+Zenie turned away from the inspection and, finding herself and
+appendage the centre of interest, bridled with a timid pleasure, and
+then poked a ruminative finger into the swaddle of shawl and
+comforter.
+
+"Yas'm," she began in explanation. "Done brung 'im to show t' Mis'
+Susie. Didn' know you wuz home." Her manner had all the affable ease
+of a conscious equal.
+
+Mary Louise rubbed her eyes. Time was bringing changes; Zenie had once
+been humble. Her voice rang with an accusing hardness. "I thought
+you'd shut the door on that worthless Zeke of yours."
+
+Zenie did not raise her head but continued the aimless poking in the
+bundle, which strangely responded to the treatment and was quiet
+again. "No'm. He comes roun'. Eve' now an' then. Zeke's got a cah!" A
+momentary gleam from dark eyes lit like coals into a sudden flare, and
+Mary Louise was conscious of a pride that was fierce and strong, even
+if new. She felt suddenly strange, foreign, like an intruder.
+
+Their eyes met, and this time it was Mary Louise's that fell. She felt
+embarrassed at the question that arose in her. Of course Zeke was the
+father. Such a question to the emancipated Zenie would be paternally
+insulting. She countered skillfully:
+
+"What's--his name?"
+
+Zenie shifted the bundle in her arms and then reached over with her
+toe and thoughtfully pushed the stove door.
+
+"Name Nausea," she replied softly, still regarding the door which
+refused to shut entirely.
+
+"Name's what?"
+
+Zenie raised her eyes and smiled. It was a sudden unmasking of a
+battery in a peaceful landscape. "Nausea Zekiel Thompson," Zenie
+continued, gazing down into the bundle with the simplicity of a great
+emotion.
+
+For a moment silence descended upon the room. Mary Louise could not
+trust herself in the customary amenities. She stepped over to Zenie
+and the younger Thompson and peered into the bundle, conscious as she
+did so of a slowly opening door beyond them. A tiny weazened face and
+two beady blinking eyes were all she saw. Zenie was making a curious
+clucking noise.
+
+"Yas'm," Zenie went on, encouraged into an unwonted garrulity, "Mist'
+Joe done give 'im that name. Hit's from de Bible, ain't it?"
+
+"Mister Joe?"
+
+"Yas'm. Mist' Joe Hoopah." There was a cheery ring to Zenie's voice
+that had been wont to drag so dispiritedly. "He say hit come so
+unexpeckedly an' all you kin do is make the bes' of it." Her face was
+suddenly wreathed in an expansive smile. "Mist' Joe done hoorahin'
+us--Zeke an' me. Zeke don' min'. Nossuh. He say de baby look lak him."
+She held the bundle up and looked at it in rapt contemplation.
+
+Mary Louise's lips shut in a tight line. She turned away from the pair
+in distaste. But just then a light step sounded and her feeling was
+diverted. Zenie did not hear the advent of another character upon the
+scene so absorbed was she in holding the centre of the stage. "Think
+hit's a pritty name, don' you?"
+
+Receiving no answer she raised her eyes and beheld Miss Susie, whose
+critical gaze enveloped her sternly. Zenie dropped her eyes again.
+
+"So you've finally decided to show up again, Zenie?" Miss Susie
+clipped her words off short to everyone. She was a wisp of a woman
+with little hands as dry and yellow as parchment. Her voice had a
+quavering falsetto break in it and her laugh, when there was occasion,
+was dry and withery and short-lived like a piece of thistle-down.
+
+Mary Louise was watching with interest. Zenie struggled for a moment
+and then turned and faced the inevitable. There was a growing decision
+in her manner.
+
+"H'do, Mis' Susie! Yas'm. I 'cided I'd drop in on you-all. Show him to
+his white folks." She looked at Miss Susie and smiled a most uncertain
+smile.
+
+And then for the first time was the import of the visit brought fully
+to the visitee.
+
+"So," Miss Susie exploded, "that's where you've been. Out of town!
+Humph! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
+
+Zenie looked as though she would like to defend herself, but it was
+useless.
+
+Miss Susie went on inexorably, "That worthless Zibbie Tuttle has been
+tearing all my good linen and lace to pieces for the past three weeks.
+And now I suppose I'll have to put up with her for a few weeks
+longer."
+
+"Yas'm," Zenie replied weakly.
+
+"However"--Miss Susie pronounced it as though it were one syllable--"I
+suppose I can't help it. What is it? Boy or girl?"
+
+"Boy," said Zenie, and with growing decision, "but hit ain' him I come
+to see you-all about. No'm. Thank you jes' as much. I jes' aim to tell
+you I ain' take in no mo' wash. No'm. Zeke he don' want me to take in
+no mo' wash. No'm."
+
+"Zeke!" Miss Susie's snort was very ladylike. "Zeke!--and what has
+Zeke to do with what _you_ want to do?"
+
+"We'se ma'ied, ain' we, Mis' Susie?"
+
+This was irrefutable, but more so the changing viewpoint. Zenie had
+tasted emancipation. Miss Susie shrugged her shoulders and left the
+room with short hurried steps.
+
+Zenie turned to Mary Louise. "I'm tiahed of the ol' tub. 'Tain' no use
+my weahin' myself out fu nuthin'. 'Sides, this heah boy a heap o'
+trubbel." She shook her head doubtfully.
+
+Mary Louise disregarded the confidence. "D'you say Mister Joe--Mister
+Joe Hooper--named your baby? How could he? He's not even home."
+
+"Yas'm. Yas'm, he is. He come in t' see Zeke this mo'nin'. Mist' Joe
+lookin' mighty fine."
+
+Mary Louise felt a curious sinking feeling of being shoved into a
+discard. And then Miss Susie came hurrying back into the room. In her
+hand she carried a small bundle of red flannel cloth freshly cut from
+the bolt. Zenie eyed her uncertainly.
+
+"Here. Here's something to keep out the cold--next winter. And you
+oughtn't to bring _it_ out in such rainy weather." She went to the
+door and held it open in all finality. And Zenie, with much secret and
+inner scorning for a ritual so antiquated and a gift so obsolete,
+could do naught but depart. Miss Susie had somehow managed to keep the
+advantage, and the two white women watched the departing figure
+shuffle down the walk, out through the sagging, screaky gate. The
+clouds had broken in the west and a soft golden radiance suffused the
+row of maples that lined the fence along the street, and the swelling
+branches gleamed with promise. Over toward the east a patch of blue
+sky appeared, and then the tip of a sickle moon thrust itself through
+and floated entire for a moment on a tiny azure lake. A little breeze
+came round the corner of the porch from the sunset. It was as soft and
+warm as an unspoken promise, and it flipped back skirt hems and
+twisted hair tendrils most inoffensively.
+
+"Come, honey!" Miss Susie said at length, wrenching herself loose from
+the charm. "It's getting late."
+
+Mary Louise stepped slowly off the porch on to the spongy lawn that
+stretched out to a summerhouse partly covered with the skeleton of
+last summer's vines. "Just a minute, Aunt Susie," she answered,
+without looking back. "I want to see how the hydrangea is coming on."
+
+Miss Susie turned and closed the door behind her.
+
+Bloomfield had a quality of unchangeableness. Even in the dead of
+winter you could tell with half an eye how it would look bedecked in
+its summer finery. Down the stretch of years, past many an intervening
+milepost, it always stood clearly envisioned to its sons and daughters
+both natural and adopted. There was about four hundred yards of
+macadam street lined with oaks and maples as old as or older than the
+meeting house of early Post-Revolutionary days which stood at the
+cross-roads corner diagonally across from the glary white gasolene
+station. Half-way down the street, in a cluster of elms, stood the
+remnants of an ancient tavern, whose front wall, flush with the
+sidewalk, showed occasional bullet scars on the rough red brownstone
+surface. Green outside shutters lay inertly back from dull leaded
+panes which reflected metallically the orange glow of the setting sun,
+and over the door, which was squat and low and level with the
+pavement, an ancient four-sided lantern, hung from a bracket of rusty
+black iron, was gathering cobwebs in disuse. All this lay within Mary
+Louise's field of vision from the summerhouse and yet she saw it not.
+She was staring abstractedly at a wary robin that had stopped to rest
+on a fence post, his beak all frowzy with the debris from a recent
+drilling. The McCallum house--her father's--stood at the other end of
+the row of maples on the same side of the street as the meeting house
+and a hundred yards or so distant. There was quite an expanse of
+greening lawn in front and to the south, whereon stood the
+summerhouse, and a tangle of rose bushes hid the decaying board fence
+which marked the southern boundary. Along the brick sidewalk stretched
+a line of ageing wooden pickets and about midway in their extent hung
+the wooden gate with the screak. The house was frame, low and
+wide-stretching, with an inviting verandah about a cavernous front
+door that was dark and rarely open. People used the side door into the
+ell sitting room, and the brick walk leading in a curved sweep to this
+doorway was free from grass. A high wooden lattice separated the front
+lawn from the backyard and sheds and stables, and about this lattice
+sprawled in luxuriant freedom rose vines and honeysuckle, just now
+faintly budding into life.
+
+Mary Louise stooped and punched a hole in the soft earth with a little
+stick, unconsciously uprooting a tender shoot thereby. A black beetle
+came scurrying out of the decaying baseboard at this disturbance and
+was summarily filliped off into the greening wastes of lawn.
+Collecting herself, she next inspected the branches of the plant near
+by and finding sufficient promise of green, straightened up and flung
+back an escaping wisp of hair, with a sigh.
+
+There was nothing particularly noticeable about Mary Louise unless it
+might possibly be a certain fine-drawnness. Her eyes, which were
+brown, had a sort of set focus on the immediate, and there were some
+fine lines from the corners of her lips to her nose. She was slim and
+straight, with small hands and feet, and her arms, which were bare to
+the elbow, might have been soft and round, were it not for a sinuous
+tension that showed itself in little corded creases right where a
+girl's arms should be softest and roundest. And her hair had a way of
+coming down at all times and in all weathers. It had never been
+decided whether she were pretty or not. That was something that had
+never mattered--to her, at least.
+
+As she threw back her head she was conscious of a general escaping of
+hairpins and a loosening of hair. With a frown she dropped her stick
+and turned her attention from horticulture to coiffure. A low whistle
+sounded from somewhere beyond the rose vines, and as she turned, with
+her fingers in her hair and elbows protruding, she saw a man come
+swinging along the walk past the boundary fence, his eyes sweeping the
+house from upstairs windows to side porch.
+
+Mary Louise calmly proceeded with her toilette, making no sign. He
+caught sight of her, paused a moment, and then vaulted stiffly over
+the picket fence into the yard.
+
+"'Lo," he said.
+
+She had a hairpin in her mouth and returned the greeting with a slight
+lifting of eyebrows. As her head was lowered and her chin tucked in,
+this was a sufficiently effective reply.
+
+"Musta rained pretty hard here," he ventured, as, noticing the damage
+that the damp grass was doing to his trouser hems, he covered the
+remaining distance between them in a series of violent haphazard
+leaps.
+
+The hairpin rendered her response unintelligible.
+
+"How d'you find things?" gaining her side, and a bit more calmly.
+
+Mary Louise deliberately tucked in one last recalcitrant wisp and
+pinned it down, and then turned to him. "Pretty well." Her gaze was
+level and critical.
+
+"Aunt Sue better?"
+
+She nodded. Then she turned and slowly walked within the inclosure of
+the summerhouse and sat down. He followed her and stood framed in the
+doorway.
+
+"What's the gloom?" he asked directly, after a moment of silence.
+
+"Nothing," she said, a little too brightly.
+
+"Not interrupting anything, am I?"
+
+Disregarding this: "What are you doing in Bloomfield?"
+
+He laughed. "Aren't sorry I came, are you? This is Saturday. Times
+have changed. Maybe you don't know. Proletariat's riding high."
+
+"They're giving you the whole day now?" in a mildly dubious tone.
+
+He turned away. "No. But Uncle Buzz was in a jam, and--well, I thought
+I'd better come." He turned on her suddenly. "Keeping tab on me,
+aren't you? How'd you know?"
+
+"I reckon I'd better, Joe." And then more softly: "Think it's the best
+way to do? Uncle Buzz's been in deep water before." She rose to her
+feet and walked slowly to the opposite entrance. "How are things--at
+the works?"
+
+He was silent a moment. "Same old place. Take more'n a war to change
+'em." He came and stood beside her in the doorway. The sun was making
+a last desperate attempt to lighten the general gray of the sky with
+broad shafts of orange, and as they watched, it settled slowly and
+then dipped behind the dim blue of the distant hills. As at a signal,
+a bird in a thicket somewhere over beyond them began a long throaty
+warble. Another answered over to the left. Faint, liquid
+trip-hammerings, they were, upon brittle anvils.
+
+"It's a good thing some things don't change," she said at length, in a
+low tone.
+
+"I reckon."
+
+They watched the glow fade from the sky, the broad bands of orange
+receding swiftly westward, while the cloud rim above the horizon
+cooled softly into pink and coral and a sudden soft patter of rain
+upon the dried vines and leaves above their heads aroused them.
+Without a word, Mary Louise slipped past him and ran for the house. He
+followed.
+
+On the side porch she turned and waited for him, and he came and stood
+before her, hatless, in the rain. "I'd better be getting back before
+it gets any worse--see you in the morning?"
+
+"Let me get you an umbrella." She turned and was about to enter the
+house.
+
+"No. Can't use 'em. Get hung up in the trees. What time you want to
+start out? Nine o'clock? See you at nine."
+
+"That's too early. Make it ten. I'm busy. Besides, it's Sunday."
+
+"Comin' at nine," he called over his shoulder and started for the
+gate.
+
+She watched his retreating figure as he darted along through the
+shadow, and then she slowly turned and entered the sitting room. A dim
+yellow light from a single oil lamp on the table over against the
+right wall was feebly penetrating the deep shadows in far corners. The
+low-ceilinged room seemed huge and cavernous, with deep niches and
+crannies and bulky, shadowy objects. Miss Susie sat by the table with
+her knitting, her face yellower than ever, her hands feverishly
+restive. She raised her head as Mary Louise closed the door, and the
+tiny lines, accentuated by the lamplight, covered her face like
+markings upon an ancient scroll.
+
+"Why didn't he come in, honey?"
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Susie. He was in a hurry."
+
+"What's he doing in town? Thought he'd gone back to work in
+Louisville."
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Susie."
+
+Miss McCallum picked up her knitting. She sniffed. "No, I s'pose not."
+
+Mary Louise went over and kissed her aunt lightly upon the forehead,
+and then disappeared through a shadowy door back into shadowy depths.
+Directly came a sound of clattering tinware and then the faint echoes
+of a song, hummed, and slightly nasal. A smile flickered across Miss
+Susie's lips as she watched her fingers--the needles flitting swiftly
+in and out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+They drew rein on a hill which sloped gently away to the town a mile
+or so distant. Over to the right in a cluster of trees gleamed the
+white fences and buildings of the Bloomfield Fair Grounds like a blob
+of paint squeezed on a dark palette.
+
+Mary Louise turned in the saddle and took a long thirsty look at the
+western sky. "I love these days that are unplanned. They bring so much
+more when there isn't any promise."
+
+Joe took off his hat and wiped his forehead, keeping tight rein in the
+meantime with his other hand on his roan saddler, who, scenting the
+home stretch, was restless to be off. "After which original tribute to
+my day, I hesitate to tell you that it has been a hunch of mine for
+over a year--ever since that first spring in Texas. Made up my mind if
+ever I struck God's country alive and in one piece, I'd treat myself
+to a great bath of this sort of stuff. Unplanned! Humph!"
+
+Mary Louise's tight little mouth relaxed but she did not shift her
+gaze. "You forget. It was not planned--by me." On rare occasions Mary
+Louise could slip from her matter-of-fact self into coquetry and back
+again before one realized. It was like the play of a lightning
+shuttle, so quick that one rarely caught the flash of the back stroke.
+Joe had erred before. He was discreetly silent.
+
+"I love it," Mary Louise went on, flinging back her head, "every
+stick, every stone of it. That half mile of turf down Blue Bottle
+Lane! I'd give ten years of my life to gallop the rest of it through
+country like that." And then, as though startled, she bit her lip and
+was still.
+
+Joe smiled as he watched her narrowly. "A woman's a mess o'
+contradictions. Whoa! You, too," he called sharply to his mare.
+"Thought you wanted to eat grass a little. Whoa!" He reined up the
+tossing head with difficulty. And then to Mary Louise, "You're a sort
+of self-inflicted exile, aren't you?"
+
+Mary Louise turned from her musing and gave him a look of most
+effective scorn. "Put your hat on," she said coldly. "You talk better
+through it." She was backing her mount out from the thicket whence he
+had thrust his nose and was wheeling him about to point him toward
+home. "I suppose you'd leave your job in Louisville and come back here
+to live yourself--just because you loved the scenery!"
+
+"Not such a bad swap at that." But she was off and away. One rearing
+plunge and he was after her. Down across the grassy sweep of turf
+they fled, across a shallow ditch, past a stretch of willow thicket,
+around a jutting knob of rock, into an arching avenue of trees. It was
+like dropping into a cool, shadowy bowl, the first shoots and
+sproutings of baby leaves from the branches casting a delicate tracery
+of shadow on the golden-green shimmer of the grass. Through an open
+gate they shot, he close behind, out upon a hard metallic roadway of
+macadam. Here Mary Louise reined in her horse and Joe instantly drew
+up alongside.
+
+"It's lucky the street came along to help," he breathed. "Twenty yards
+more----"
+
+Mary Louise reached up a hand to her hair in a futile effort to stem
+the havoc there. A moment of furious attempt to quiet the racing in
+her veins, and then, quite calmly, "It's all as it should be. We've
+got to look out for such things and take advantage of them. There are
+no ifs and buts about being caught. You didn't--that's all."
+
+Joe opened his mouth to speak, stared at her a moment, and then turned
+away his eyes. They trotted along in silence, the shadows deepening
+and lengthening.
+
+Directly: "When does your tea room open?"
+
+"To-morrow. I'll be fine and stiff to start it off." Both question and
+answer had taken on a fine flavour of impersonality. Quiet again, with
+only the clatter of hoofs on the roadway. Directly they turned a wide
+sweeping curve and before them appeared a wooden gateway set at the
+end of an avenue of elms, at the other end of which showed, dim and
+forbidding, a house with columns and a green roof. Joe dismounted and,
+unlatching the gate, turned and stood grinning at her.
+
+"So you're really goin' to try it out?" His voice had the quality of
+self-questioning.
+
+It broke in on her musings and she seemed a bit impatient. "Of course
+I'm going to try it out. Only there isn't much 'try' to it. It's bound
+to make a go."
+
+"Some little difference between a merely commercial proposition and a
+popular charity like the Red Cross. There's no percentage in just
+guzzlin' tea for fun unless you're doin' it to keep Americans from
+starvin' or doughboys from itchin'. You know what I believe?" He
+turned on her suddenly. "You're just scrapin' up an excuse to--to----"
+He stammered, hesitated in indecision. "Tea!"
+
+"Don't be maudlin, Joe!" Her tone was very cold. "If you must know, we
+need the money and----Well, I guess I learned enough about _tea_ and
+_tea rooms_ in the past ten or eleven months to know whether one will
+pay or not--if it's properly run. Got awfully hardboiled while you
+were in the army, didn't you? Come, open the gate."
+
+He was silent. Mary Louise usually could put him in his place. But
+thus put in his place, Joe could assume all the irritable
+stick-to-itiveness of a child. "How about Miss Susie?"
+
+He watched the shot. For a moment it had no seeming effect, and then
+Mary Louise, turning loose all the pent-up outpourings to inner
+questionings, in a fury of righteous self-justification: "You needn't
+think I haven't thought about that. You needn't think I'm shirking my
+duty in any way. If you _knew_, you wouldn't ask such a question.
+Before you left we were just on the ragged edge, and now--well,
+somebody's got to do something to bring the money in. The place don't
+make it." Her voice quieted down a little. "It hasn't been an easy
+question to solve. Come, Joe! Open the gate."
+
+He watched her curiously. "But the servants? You've still got the
+servants, Matty, and Old Landy, and that half-baked gorilla, Omar. Why
+not----"
+
+"Yes, why not?" She turned on him. "Why not shut down the place, too,
+as well as dismiss all the servants, and live in one of the old stone
+quarters? Why not? Why not let your heels run down if they want to?
+It's much easier."
+
+Quietly he pushed the gate open and stood waiting, holding it for her.
+Something in his manner struck her, and she reached out her hand from
+her seat in the saddle and touched him lightly as her horse swerved
+past. "There, I'm sorry, Joe. But you just hounded me into it somehow.
+I didn't mean it's that way with you. You know I didn't. You see what
+I mean? One ought to try. Ought to try everything first, not just
+give up because everything doesn't seem just right. I _have_ thought
+about Aunt Susie, and it breaks me all up. But it can't be helped."
+She waited till he closed the gate and with a quick swing-up into the
+saddle drew alongside. Slowly they walked their horses up the avenue.
+
+"I s'pose you're right," he said at length. "Only--only it has seemed
+to me that there's a lot of good time wasted doing useless things.
+Would you rather run a tea room than do anything else in the world?"
+
+She looked at him but they were passing a bend in the road, and the
+sun, having dipped behind a jutting hill, no longer lighted up the
+dusky avenue, and Joe's face was in semi-shadow. "I'd rather hold on
+to what I've got than lose the tiniest portion of it," was all she
+said.
+
+Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. "If they could only see
+me now!"
+
+"They? Who, they?"
+
+His face sobered, but there was a momentary twinkle about the eyes.
+"Who? Oh, at the office." And then, as dismissing the thought, "Uncle
+Buzz know you're openin' the tea room?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you ought to tell him. Give you a lot of invaluable suggestions
+as to how to mix up little 'what-for-you's.' Get 'em comin' and goin'.
+Also, Uncle Buzz's got a mint bed that has parts."
+
+"There's some patronage we will be forced to do without," Mary Louise
+replied primly. They were nearing the house and as they approached,
+someone in one of the front rooms struck a light and it could be seen
+moving, the shadows dancing on the walls.
+
+"Don't overlook Uncle Buzz," said Joe with a chuckle. "Don't overlook
+any discriminatin' taste. You can't beat those horses of his."
+
+"No," agreed Mary Louise, "nor----" and then checked herself.
+
+The roadway turned sharply to the left and finished off in a circle,
+one arc of which touched the steps of an open porch. These steps were
+sagging and decayed, and the porch was swept by the gentle eddyings of
+leaves of past summers that had sought refuge there and had been
+undisturbed by the ruthless sweepings of winds or brooms. There was a
+haunting odour of pine and something else that was damp and old and
+weary and forgotten, and a shrivelled wisteria vine that clung with
+withered fingers to a trellis at the house corner began to whisper at
+their approach. A yellow bar of light shot for a moment across the
+porch floor to their feet, then disappeared. It was the lamp Mary
+Louise had seen farther down the driveway, and directly the side door
+opened and the mellow glow of it sent shadowy rings of light out
+toward them.
+
+"Joe! Joe!" called out an anxious voice. "Don't make noise. Keep 'way
+from the back." There was a moment's silence and as Joe made no
+reply: "Come in this way, why don't you? Better way come in."
+
+And then Mary Louise saw a hand shade the uppermost part of the lamp.
+Then there was a pause, and then a figure came across the porch, a
+short figure casting grotesque shadows, a bit stiff, a bit unsteady,
+like the rings of light that went out in circling waves behind it. It
+was Uncle Buzz. He came and stood on the topmost rotting step. He
+bowed. With one hand holding the wavering lamp, the other bravely
+cupped before his chest, he bowed.
+
+"Pardon," he said. "'N't know there were ladies."
+
+"Miss McCallum, Uncle Buzz," interposed Joe.
+
+"Honoured, 'm sure," Uncle Buzz responded with another bow, lower if
+anything than the first, so that the tip of his little goatee came
+within singeing distance of the lamp chimney, and he straightened back
+with a start, only to stare about him again, vaguely hurt. Collecting
+himself again, "Knew there was reason shouldn't go 'roun' th' back.
+Le' Zeke take horses. Zeke! Zeke!" he called in a falsetto quaver.
+"Come in this way, madam," he added with grave dignity, but curtailing
+the bow.
+
+For a moment Mary Louise was fascinated. Old Mr. Bushrod Mosby she had
+known for years--a veritable rustic macaroni, a piece of tinselled
+flotsam floating on backwater. He had always called her M'Lou; later
+occasionally Miss M'Lou. Now the rhythm of some ancient rout was
+stirring old memories, and the obligations of host sat pleasantly
+heavy upon his befogged consciousness. He bowed again.
+
+"No, thank you," she summoned her resources. "We'll be getting home.
+But we'll just leave the horses here," she added a bit hurriedly,
+anxious to be off. Echoes were sounding along a length of hallway and
+she was not desirous of the prospect of seeing Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
+Loraine--who was apt to prove a most discordant fly in the ointment of
+harmonious hospitality. So she turned to go, but turned too late. The
+door opened again and another figure appeared, a brisk figure, at
+which the dead leaves of the porch bestirred themselves in vague,
+uneasy rustlings. Uncle Buzz stepped meekly aside and Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
+Loraine--joined the group, giving him a momentary withering glance.
+She was an inexorable woman, an inch taller than Uncle Buzz, who stood
+five feet three, but she matched him whim for whim in her attire. Her
+hair looked black in the graying light; in reality it was splotched
+and streaked with a chestnut red, colour not so ill as misapplied. Her
+dress rustled as she swept forward and there were numberless faint
+clickings and clackings of chains and bangles about her. A high boned
+collar with white ruching helped her hold her head even more proudly
+straight, and the smile she shot Mary Louise was heavily fraught with
+a sickly sweet though rigorous propriety.
+
+"You must come in, my dear," she lisped. "Such exhausting exercise!
+You wouldn't think of going one step further without resting.
+Here"--she reached out one hand toward Mary Louise, testing the
+meanwhile the security of the upper step with the tip of a shiny
+shoe--"the man will attend to the horses."
+
+"Man! Yes," Uncle Buzz recollected with a start. "Zeke! Zeke!" he
+began to shout again. "Come here, suh!"
+
+"Bushrod! Be still!" hissed Mrs. Mosby.
+
+Almost was Mary Louise tempted to accept and stay, he looked so
+helpless, in such terrific danger, standing there blinking at them,
+his eyes vaguely trying to focus, and so mildly blue. His head with
+the graying hair so closely cropped gave him an odd appearance of
+boyishness, to which the smart little bow tie added not a little. He
+was trim, dapper, in spite of the fact that his standing collar was a
+size or two too large; in spite, too, of the tiny, well-trimmed
+goatee. He looked like a faun in trouble. With a shadow of distress
+crossing his face, he gave ground and backed away, the lamp tipping
+perilously in his grasp. Joe sprang forward and rescued it, setting it
+on the porch railing.
+
+"We'd better be going, I reckon, Aunt Lorry. Miss Susie's all alone,"
+he explained.
+
+Mary Louise recovered herself with a start. What could she be thinking
+of, letting Joe make her excuses for her? Somehow she felt a sharp
+little wave of irritation against him for it. She hastened to add,
+however, "Oh, no, Mrs. Mosby. Thank you so much. I really must be
+getting home. Aunt Susie _will_ be worried. It's quite dark."
+
+The little woman murmured something, and then, "And how is your Aunt
+Susie? I must call. Give her my love, be sure," all in one breath.
+
+"I will. You must," agreed Mary Louise, and turned to go. And as she
+did so she caught a most lugubrious expression on the face of Uncle
+Buzz, a gradual lengthening of all the muscles on one side of the
+face, resolving itself finally into a prodigious wink, deliberate and
+malign. Fortunately, it passed in the darkness the regard of the
+partner of his joys and sorrows and roused no answering spark.
+
+They made their adieus and passed on down the shaded avenue on foot.
+Mary Louise gave an odd little shiver as they walked out into the
+shadow, past the circle of the lamp on the railing. Uncle Buzz--Mr.
+Mosby--had seemed always just a piece of background, a harmless bit of
+scenery, a catalogue of amenities, a husk, a shell--she wondered how
+many other things. And now he was cropping out with a personality, had
+desires, problems, secret plottings, all behind the mask--a
+Machiavelli.
+
+She was aroused by a chuckle from Joe. The chuckle jarred. She turned
+and frowned at him in the darkness. Their shoes crunched in the small
+gravel of the roadway and then directly they came to the gate and
+turned along a wooden walk.
+
+"Uncle Buzz's sure ripe," Joe's voice came out of nowhere. "Been ripe
+for over two days. Time he was being picked," he continued.
+
+"Joe!"
+
+"Oh, don't get shocked. You aren't, you know. It's nothin' new!" He
+paused a moment as if to consider. "Reckon Aunt Lorry's busy with the
+pickin' now. She'll hate you," he added as an afterthought.
+
+"What for?" asked Mary Louise.
+
+"For seein' him." Joe chuckled again and relapsed into silence.
+
+They walked the rest of the way without speaking, around one corner
+past the old meeting house, beneath the low-branched maples, up to the
+McCallum gate. Mary Louise opened it and held it open, her arm barring
+the way.
+
+"Well! To-morrow's another day," said Joe, apparently disregarding it.
+
+"It's just as well," replied Mary Louise. "I'm not quite sure the
+army's helped you much, Joe."
+
+"The army? Helped me?--I don't get you," he tried to see her eyes,
+puzzled.
+
+"You're flippant--about things that are not trivial."
+
+"Oh!" he laughed. "It doesn't always rain when it clouds. Wait till we
+get into some real heavy weather. What's the harm, anyway? We should
+bother."
+
+"That's not the only thing. You were making fun of Zenie's baby--just
+like it was a little animal. They might find out some day _how_ you
+quoted from the Bible. Of course, there's no real harm done--but I
+don't like it."
+
+Joe slid his hand softly along the top bar of the wooden gate till it
+touched hers. She drew quietly away. "Perhaps!" he said. "The old
+world runs along pretty well whether we bother or whether we don't. It
+doesn't make much difference what we do or what we don't. The old
+fellow's heart's all right, I reckon, and as for the niggers!--just as
+good a name as Loraine. My Lord!"
+
+She stood silent, in thought. A faint reddish glow came to them from
+the curtained glass door of the ell sitting room. "Just a little
+sermon to start us out right--back to work. It _is_ a serious
+business, you know, Joe--reconstruction! It's a big task. Let's not
+fall down on it or be trivial--shirk any of the responsibilities.
+Good-night," she added suddenly, giving her hand. "It's been a
+glorious day. I'll see you--in the city."
+
+They parted, and he could hear her scrape her feet at the edge of the
+porch. The stars were winking through the branches of the maples and
+somewhere in the darkness a gutter was keeping up a monotonous
+dripping. He passed the corner and turned back to the road with the
+overlapping elms, walking with his hands thrust deep into his pockets,
+his eyes watching the road. "Humph!" he said after a while, out loud,
+and then began to whistle softly to himself, shuffling with his feet
+on the gravel in time to his whistling as he walked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Joe Hooper was not a handsome man. He was of that type so often seen
+in the South, tall, gangly, and very dark, with a sallow complexion
+and a general air of inertness that always misleads the stranger to
+the type. Insignificant looking, perhaps, but they will be found, on
+later acquaintance, to be worming themselves into general regard
+without effort. The law claims many of them and occasionally the
+raising of stock and the tilling of soil, though usually as
+proprietors only, it is true. Sometimes they are swept into strange
+waters where, if they float about long enough, they manage by some
+inherent mordant capacity to colour the entire complexion to their
+own. There are exceptions, of course.
+
+Joe's father had lost his farm through foreclosure. It killed him.
+This fact and the presence of some alien strain sent Joe to Louisville
+which had some of the elements of the melting pot and some traditional
+elements of opportunity. He was twenty-four when he made this change.
+For two years he had resisted fusion and escaped opportunity. He had
+fallen into a job with the Bromley Plow Company and risen to the
+exalted status of stock clerk when the war came. The war, or rather
+the idea of the war, had proved a great relief to his imagination and
+he had enlisted at once, as a matter of fact, on the second day. This
+notion of service had been the one thing stronger than the influence
+of Mary Louise, which had been, it must be confessed, the main reason
+for his sticking as long as two years. The Plow Works had seemed a
+rather tedious road to a _Restoration_ and the _Barebones Parliament_
+that sat in the inner office had seemed inexorably determined to make
+that road as devious and difficult as possible. He had escaped gladly.
+But the war had come to an end with him still in service on this side
+and he had at length returned with many things unsatisfied. One of
+these had been his idea about Mary Louise. She, too, had been swept
+into the vortex, into a mild eddy of it. The Red Cross had found her
+useful in the maintenance of a tea room for the enjoyment of the men
+at Camp Taylor. It had sounded innocent enough, but upon Joe's return
+he had found that she had in some way been galvanized. She was one of
+the war's changes; he, unfortunately, not so.
+
+He did not know clearly just what he had expected upon his return, but
+then he had not expected the kind of return that he had experienced.
+There had been nothing epochal in it. Even his job was waiting for
+him; it seemed to him even the same routine details. One file of
+correspondence that he had found upon his desk that first morning had
+had a singularly familiar look. It would always stick in his memory.
+First there had been a moment of high anticipation at the station with
+the taxi-men calling out the names of the hotels, and stretched across
+Main Street he remembered seeing a large banner flanked with bunting
+and with "Welcome Home" inscribed thereon. Then he had watched the
+familiar landmarks as he rolled southward in the street car with an
+odd little feeling of "Hello, there you are again"; and the Works,
+looming up in the distance at the end of the line, with its tall brick
+stack, was a sort of culmination. Not exactly a culmination, either,
+for he was conscious of a jarring note. Then the oak-panelled lobby,
+with the time clock, a sombre monitor, took just another grain of
+carefree satisfaction from the sum total of his feelings; and
+finally--his desk, and the worn, thumb-edged file! The first letter
+therein! "Recent shipments castings EE23, G143, F47, and J29 have come
+to us unannealed. J29 shows fins and sprues; the hole in EE23 is in
+most cases completely closed; and G143 and F47 are so rough that they
+will not fit into their respective sockets without machining. Will
+return same via local freight to-day." That was all. An Homeric
+welcome into very deep water! Such had been Joe Hooper's homecoming.
+
+As for Mary Louise:--well, there had been nothing quite so definite.
+He had met her at the tea room--there had been one final week of
+closing after his arrival--and he had not quite made up his mind about
+her before she had left for Bloomfield, beyond a certain stiffening of
+fibre, an aloofness that was new, and a business-like air that seemed
+to say "Come across," that he did not exactly like. But then a week is
+not a very long time to get down to bed-rock with a person, especially
+when that person is busy ten hours out of the day and thinking the
+other fourteen about the ten that have just passed.
+
+Four weeks had rolled around. It was the first of May. Joe sat at his
+desk absently fingering a stack of paper slips. They were reports from
+the various assembling shops advising him of the number of bolts of
+certain styles and sizes used in those respective shops that day. He
+was supposed to post these amounts in a stock ledger against the
+various sizes and styles and note the approaching shortages wherever
+they came. There were between fifty and a hundred slips. The window
+was open opposite his desk and a delightful breeze was curling up the
+edges of some papers which had been thoughtfully weighted down. Joe
+gazed, heavy lidded, through the window. An automobile, a long,
+slouchy black one, went whirling by with the tonneau full of girls.
+Their veils were streaming and fluttering out behind, many-hued and
+flimsy. They were all gazing at the office windows as they passed.
+"One might think it was a reformatory or the county workhouse or
+something," he thought. He turned dully to the stack of reports and
+began to count them. He felt stale--flat.
+
+He heard his name called, and turning, saw Mr. Boner standing at the
+corner of the partition looking at him over his spectacles. Mr. Boner
+was a tall, heavy man with nervous twitchings and anxious eyes that
+were eternally shifting about beneath their brows for something
+disturbing. He was responsible for keeping the warehouse filled, the
+warehouse whose books Joe kept, and it was his further duty to keep it
+filled as cheaply as possible. The threat of failure in either was
+what caused that eternal shifting. It was a sort of high-tension
+vigilance.
+
+Joe rose to his feet, obeying the monosyllabic summons, and followed
+Mr. Boner around the partition. Mr. Boner rated a private office,
+where he could worm information, trade secrets, and occasional
+concessions from travelling salesmen. There was nothing social about
+the place. As Joe turned the partition corner and stood in the
+doorway, the old man had already seated himself at the desk. His fat
+hips completely filled the chair. He was apparently staring at
+something on the desk before him, but Joe could catch the occasional
+shifting glimmer of his eyes at the corners and knew he was looking
+at him. Suddenly Mr. Boner turned to the inner corner of the desk,
+started to speak, strangled, and with difficulty recovered himself.
+His voice, when finally he did recover it, was so loud that it
+startled even himself, and just as suddenly he lowered it to
+confidential pitch. Joe had been a witness to this procedure many
+times before but it never failed to interest him. In fact, Mr. Boner
+was himself a study. There was an old-fashioned golf cap perched on
+the top of his graying head and his close-clipped moustache was
+silvery white, in marked contrast to the pink-and-white mottle of his
+cheeks, which hung down over his collar in folds, like some dependable
+old foxhound's. One hand lay fat and puffy on the desk, clutching a
+pencil in a nervous grip. And the middle of him--he seemed to bulk and
+fill out the entire chair--so incongruous with his little feet and
+mincing gait! It was as though as much as possible of his body were
+seeking to escape that all-devouring tension in relapse. How familiar
+it all was! Even during those months at camp the picture would recur
+and Joe would laugh softly to himself. Poor old duffer! He was a
+product of the plant just as much as ploughs and tillage implements
+were. How soon would _he_ begin to show the indelible imprint?
+
+The voice rose sharply. Joe realized that Mr. Boner was speaking to
+him--was speaking with great feeling. He came back to realities with a
+jerk.
+
+"Out of carriage bolts two one half one quarter," he was saying. It
+was probably the second time he had said it. He choked with emotion
+and had to seek refuge again in the receptacle on the floor at the
+left-hand corner of his desk.
+
+Joe seemed unmoved.
+
+"Book shows been out since April nineteenth." The old man turned to
+observe the effect of his damnation.
+
+Joe quivered but showed no sign.
+
+"Make out memorandum cut down one thousand five one half by one
+quarter." He spoke it explosively, keeping a furtive eye on that
+left-hand corner. "Have a surplus eleven thousand of them."
+
+Joe guiltily felt that the old man knew the stock books better than he
+himself. A little spot of red appeared in each cheek.
+
+Mr. Boner shoved two sheets of yellow paper across the desk toward
+him. "I've reordered replacement one thousand five one half,
+cancellation one thousand two one half." This with an air of
+satisfaction. There was nothing more to be done, patently. "Waste
+stock," Mr. Boner muttered.
+
+Joe turned to go.
+
+Mr. Boner exploded again. This was not all, apparently. "Blue annealed
+sheets," he called, sputtered, gripped the arms of his chair
+convulsively, recovered, and sat glaring helplessly.
+
+Joe availed himself of the opportunity. "Have a memo for you on the
+desk." In spite of himself his voice sounded nervous. "Just out of two
+sizes to-day." He waited.
+
+The old man turned and bent his head over his work. _That_ was over.
+Joe returned to his desk, got the memo, and entered the little office
+again. As he slipped the paper across an intervening table, Mr. Boner
+straightened from a stooping inspection of a lower desk drawer, and
+Joe saw him furtively wipe a knife blade on the leg of his trousers
+and then turn upon him a look of mildest blue. There was a bulge in
+his left cheek as round as an acorn. Neither spoke. A privacy had been
+violated. Joe felt like a "Peeping Tom."
+
+Noiselessly he slipped around the corner, back to his desk. The breeze
+was still blowing merrily through the window and two clerks at desks
+across the aisle were shoving pencils and rulers and like equipment
+into their proper drawers with a smug sort of satisfaction shining in
+their drawn faces. He looked at his watch. It lacked a minute of
+five-thirty. Then he looked at the stack of reports again, paused, and
+with an air of sudden decision dropped them into an open drawer.
+Opening another drawer he swept all the movable articles on his desk
+thereinto, careless of the confusion he caused, seized his hat from a
+peg behind him, and strode across the office, out through the door,
+into the oak-panelled lobby. For a moment he stood before the clock.
+Its hands showed five twenty-nine. He paused, then deliberately
+punched his number, descended the steps, and went out through the door
+on to the street. The whistle was blowing as he went down the walk.
+The street was deserted. He felt eyes somewhere on his back but walked
+on in apparent unconcern. He was conscious of a peculiar mixture of
+emotions, a little guilt, a little shame, a little furtiveness, and
+more than any, a lifting sense of relief, freedom. The air was light,
+cool, and invigorating. There was a pleasant crunch of dry dusty
+cinders beneath his feet. And then he saw a venturesome bluebird come
+darting across the open fields to the west and perch for a moment on
+the top strand of the barbed-wire fence of the Plow Works, a few yards
+ahead of him. It sat there swaying and watching him and, as he
+approached nearer, it took wing and darted across the Plow Company's
+grounds eastward toward the city. Joe filliped a wire paper clip after
+it.
+
+"You had better turn around and go back where you came from," he
+called after it softly.
+
+He proceeded homeward.
+
+As he climbed the boarding-house stairs to his room he felt listless.
+For four weeks he had climbed those listless stairs. There had been
+one brief respite--the two days of Bloomfield with its easy
+relaxation. What lay at the end of the road? Whither was he tending?
+Mr. Boner's shoes? His desk was the step next below the little
+private office. He laughed shortly to himself as he opened a bureau
+drawer and selected a clean white shirt. The touch of the clean linen
+encouraged him a little. He began to whistle. He had a "date on" with
+Mary Louise. He had asked her to go to the vaudeville. Two or three
+hours of pleasant forgetfulness, anyway. Mary Louise--the thought of
+her brought a vague feeling of unrest. For over two weeks he had tried
+to get her over the 'phone. She had either been out when he had called
+or had pleaded some other engagement. Finally he had got the
+engagement for to-night three days ahead. And she had as good as
+promised to see him right off, immediately after that week-end in
+Bloomfield. Stranger! Stranger in the city! That did not sound very
+much as if she were a stranger. He wondered what she could have been
+doing. She had met a good many people while she was doing Red Cross,
+probably, people in the army--men--officers, now in civilian life. Why
+not? And yet he had felt the least bit irritated and a little bit
+lonely. For _his_ friends had scattered, it seemed. And then they had
+not mattered much. And he had rather looked forward to the coming
+summer with Mary Louise in town. Now he didn't so much. It was
+foolish, too. There wasn't any reason for it. A man shouldn't pin his
+resources down to one spot.
+
+He washed, dressed, and then went to dinner at a dairy lunch around
+the corner. The boarding place furnished breakfasts only. Then there
+was an hour and a half to kill before he could go for her. She had a
+room in a down-town apartment, not over three blocks away, and that
+would take but a very short time. He wandered over to the public
+square. Some old men were sitting on a row of iron benches lining the
+sidewalk, facing the street. They surveyed him critically as he passed
+by. He walked up and idly inspected the kiosk where the weather-bureau
+reports were posted. He noticed it predicted continued fair. Then he
+turned and walked in the street for about a block, gazing in shop
+windows. There was nothing in any of them that he particularly wanted.
+He stopped at a street corner and looked up and down both streets. A
+few desultory pedestrians went walking hither and yon, leisurely, with
+no apparent purpose. It was the lull of supper hour and there was an
+orange glow that penetrated even down to the streets which were mere
+canyons between sombre, artificial cliffs of masonry. To the west a
+small patch of open sky glowed sulphurously through a smoke pall. A
+city _was_ a poor place to spend time in--really live in, he thought.
+And Mary Louise--he wondered if she thought so, too, she who had been
+raised in the greenest of all green country, in the widest and
+cleanest of spaces. Probably not. At least, it didn't look like it. A
+city was a good place to work in. One could work anywhere--if the work
+was all right. She had seemed keen about her work. She probably had
+had a lot to do, getting things started. She'd probably not had much
+time. He might have missed her during her leisure hours. It was
+possible she was as desirous of some outdoors, of some clean air, some
+blue sky, as he was.
+
+Almost with the force of a decision he turned and walked back to the
+square and sat down. He looked at the clock. It said five minutes
+after seven. There was still an hour.
+
+He sat and deliberately waited.
+
+The time eventually passed, and before he had really gathered together
+his thoughts into orderly array she was meeting him at the door of her
+apartment, a little flushed, a little hurried, quite brisk and
+apparently eager to be at the business at hand. There was also an air
+of preoccupation as if she were revolving over in her mind some
+previous matters of which the threads still remained untangled. In
+this respect there was change. The old Mary Louise had been as open as
+a wild rose, as freshly and sweetly receptive to whatever wind came
+along. She had gathered complexity, was more serious, laughed less,
+frowned more.
+
+They walked along the street in the gathering darkness soberly, he
+returning monosyllabic answers to the perfunctory questions which she
+fired at him, brightly crisp. Like the questionnaire of a superior
+officer he felt. Then for nearly a block they said nothing. Glancing
+sidewise at her he caught the straight, almost grim line of her mouth
+and the little pucker between her brows. As if realizing she was being
+observed she suddenly asked:
+
+"What are you doing out at the Works?"
+
+Joe paused a moment before replying. "When I was in Texas," he began,
+"out in the sticks, we had a flood, and the road from headquarters was
+in danger of being washed away. Culverts too small. Had one nigger
+standing on the bank of one stream by the head of a culvert catching
+the sticks and brush and dragging them up on the bank so they wouldn't
+clog up the hole." He spoke in a quietly reminiscent tone.
+
+She turned and looked at him curiously. "But I said, 'What are _you_
+doing _now_ at the Works?'"
+
+"I know," he continued, in the same tone. "That's what I'm doing at
+the Plow Factory. Keeping the water running."
+
+She smiled, just a flash of a smile. "Doesn't sound so bad, even if
+you are secretive about it. How did the nigger take care of his job?"
+
+Joe looked up quickly. "Oh--he? He fell asleep. And then he fell in
+the creek."
+
+Mary Louise was watching him, waiting for him to finish. At last he
+seemed to have got her entire attention. "And then?"
+
+"Then he got pneumonia--and died."
+
+They crossed the street. Up ahead the lights of the theatre gleamed
+dazzling white. The crowd was getting almost too thick to permit
+conversation.
+
+"You don't like your job then?"
+
+He flared into sudden unexpected defense of it. "Well, I haven't gone
+to sleep on it yet."
+
+They said no more, for the task of passing the ticket chopper and then
+of getting settled in their seats was all absorbing. And then directly
+the curtain rose and Joe found himself slipping into a delightfully
+relaxed forgetfulness. He was being amused. His good humour was
+returning. He got an occasional glance at Mary Louise, sometimes
+during contagious gales of laughter that would sweep the audience, and
+saw her smiling slightly, mostly with her eyes; and was puzzled, for
+the humour was not that sort. Had he stopped to think, or had he been
+more experienced, he would not have been thus puzzled, for he would
+have realized that the sudden putting on of sophistication is always a
+puzzling thing.
+
+But he banished the question and gave himself up entirely to
+enjoyment. And when the final curtain fell he rose to his feet with a
+faint inner sigh of regret. It was with high good humour that he
+gained his companion's side outside the theatre.
+
+"We'll get a bite to eat down in the Rathskeller," he suggested gaily.
+
+"No, Joe, let's not. This is enough for one evening." She turned as if
+to start southward, toward home, but he seized her arm, laughing:
+
+"Maybe it's enough for you, but it's not enough for me. Come on. Be a
+sport. You've been dodging me long enough."
+
+"Dodging you?" She was all hurt surprise as he hurried her along.
+
+Joe's method was improving. "Well, come along, then--if you don't want
+me to think so."
+
+Mary Louise let it go at that. She came.
+
+A revolving door that swept outward musty and yet alluring odours
+swept them inward. They descended a flight of winding steps to a
+subterranean anteroom of stone. Dim lights winked at them from stone
+niches and from a cleft in the rock to one side a prim little maid in
+a ruched white cap took Joe's hat. There should have been a troglodyte
+attendant, instead. On the other side of swinging glass doors was much
+clatter and laughter and the indistinct voice of a woman above a
+rhythmic strumming and the bleat of a saxophone. The transition to
+this other side was sudden and bewildering. The glimmer burst into a
+glare, the dim echo swelled into a roar as the door opened, and Joe
+stood blinking, asking for a table for two. As he threaded his way
+between tables, past careening waiters swinging aloft perilous trays,
+a girl in a crimson evening frock came wandering carelessly through
+the aisle toward him, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes
+searching the crowd sitting about her. Her figure was short and pudgy
+and so violently compressed into her crimson gown that she seemed to
+be oozing out of a scanty chalice. She was singing a most provocative
+song and, catching sight of Joe as he struggled along, face uptilted,
+and, looking into his eyes most impudently, let him have the full
+import of her words.
+
+Joe gave her a deliberate, knowing wink. With a careless shrug she
+moved away in search of more promising and sensitive material.
+
+He passed, the toxine of gaiety mounting to his head, to a small table
+tucked into a remote corner, where the waiter was holding out a chair
+for him.
+
+"Won't do, George," he said, refusing the proffered chair. "We can't
+be buried way back here. We aren't dead ones, you know."
+
+The waiter raised a deprecating shoulder but Mary Louise broke in,
+"Oh, don't bother! This is all right, Joe." She had already seated
+herself and was drawing off her gloves. Her face looked hot and weary,
+and long wisps of hair were clinging damply to her temples.
+
+"Wish we could have had a table over there," indicating two or three
+vacant ones near the orchestra and the base of the jongleur's
+operations. "We're out of it here. Well, at any rate, what are you
+going to have?"
+
+She turned from a weary inspection of adjoining tables. "Oh, anything.
+Some lemonade, I suppose."
+
+"Don't want to celebrate? This is our first party." His eyes and smile
+were eager.
+
+"No. Of course not, Joe. You know better than that."
+
+"Two lemonades," he said to the waiter regretfully. Somehow it seemed
+like a waste of atmosphere, a waste of fuel, pulling a rowboat with a
+turbine--to be drinking lemonade in a place like this. Many bitter
+similes occurred to him, but he banished them.
+
+"The old girl looks like a rash, doesn't she?" he said, indicating the
+singer who was wandering about amongst the tables in another part of
+the room.
+
+Mary Louise looked at him suspiciously. "How's that?"
+
+"She's a-breakin' out."
+
+Neither paid any further attention to this atrocity; she, because she
+willed otherwise; he, because he was blissfully unaware.
+
+But her apathy was noticeable. He made one or two violent efforts to
+spur her flagging spirits and then, becoming touched by the contagion
+of her reserve, lapsed himself into silence. They sat and sipped their
+lemonades, thoughtfully inspecting their straws, dolefully ruminative.
+Their little table was like a blot on a snow-white expanse of joy.
+
+Joe came to the bottom of his glass and made a vicious noise in the
+residue of cracked ice. He looked up to see how she might be taking
+it and saw a gleam of pleasure pass across her face. It quickly
+subsided and gave way to a look of preoccupation. He was watching her
+intently now. And then she smiled and looked beyond him, stretching
+her hand out in recognition. Someone touched the back of his chair. He
+looked over his shoulder, saw a man's figure standing there, and then
+he rose to his feet.
+
+Dimly he heard Mary Louise's introduction. It was a Mr. Claybrook or
+something like that.
+
+"Won't you pull your chair up?" Joe invited.
+
+Mr. Claybrook decided he would. He was a big man, a grave man, a man
+of considerable poise, and possessed of whimsical crow's-feet in the
+corners of his eyes. Mary Louise's apathy seemed to retire a little at
+his approach.
+
+"Glad to see you survived last night," he said to her with a faint
+smile.
+
+She flushed, and Joe felt a little roughness under his collar.
+
+"How's the tea room coming? Roused out any hard drinkers yet?"
+
+"Oh, we're not looking for that. We hope to make a few steady friends,
+but we're depending on the ebb and flow." Her colour was mounting, and
+had not Joe been so uncomfortable he would have seen how pretty she
+was. But he sank deeper and deeper into a sullen and unreasoning
+discomfort. The two had evidently had considerable in common before.
+He felt awkward--knew of nothing to say. Claybrook, on the other
+hand, was enjoying himself.
+
+And apparently sensing the tension in Joe's mind, and seeking to
+lighten it a bit, she volunteered:
+
+"Captain Claybrook is going to help us put the tea room across. He was
+one of our best little patrons in Camp Taylor."
+
+Claybrook looked self-conscious; Joe even more embarrassed. And
+suddenly a strange look crossed her face and she broke off her
+explanation. Joe turned and looked in the direction toward which she
+was staring wide-eyed.
+
+And across the room, weaving through the labyrinth of tables and
+bearing straight down upon them, came a strange apparition. With
+unsteady gait, his hand stretched out in caution before him and a
+watery smile upon his lips, came Uncle Buzz. An incongruously
+picturesque figure amidst smartness and glitter. His head was as sleek
+as ever and he had waxed the tips of his moustaches so that they stuck
+out jauntily as did the tips of his black bow tie. But his jacket was
+short and rusty and in need of pressing, of which fact he seemed
+blissfully unaware. For, having sighted them, he was coming on
+steadfastly, past pitfalls that yawned, with a smile upon his face.
+
+Joe felt a peculiar exulting glow pass over him, whether at the sight
+of a familiar, friendly face or for some less creditable reason.
+Distress was plainly written on the face of Mary Louise. Claybrook
+talked on, unconscious of what was coming.
+
+And then Mr. Mosby drew up alongside and favoured them with an
+elaborate bow from the centre of the aisle. A hurrying waiter, being
+thus perilously presented with an unexpected hazard, made a desperate
+swerve in mid-flight and menaced an adjoining table with the contents
+of his tray. A glass crashed, a woman shrieked, and Uncle Buzz
+serenely proceeded.
+
+"Don't get up. Pray, don't get up," he said to Joe and Claybrook. "Saw
+you from the door and merely came to pay my respects. Miss Mary
+Louise, we miss you in the old town." He turned to her gracefully, and
+Joe could catch the faint aroma of Bourbon, thus immediately
+accounting to his own satisfaction for the easy poise and manner. Mary
+Louise was lost. She watched Claybrook, who seemed amused, and Uncle
+Buzz went on, turning his attention to Joe. "And by the way, Joseph,
+if you can arrange to, your Aunt Loraine and I would like for you to
+spend Saturday and Sunday with us."
+
+Joe knew how much his Aunt Loraine would subscribe to this courtesy.
+It meant work to do, that was all. But he was amused, felt singularly
+light-hearted instead of embarrassed. Who can say he was depraved? His
+voice was kind and cajoling as he replied:
+
+"What are you doing in town, Uncle Buzz? Isn't the store open to-day?
+Mr. Claybrook! Mr. Mosby!"
+
+Uncle Buzz acknowledged the honour and then he turned on Joe a
+dignified but hurt surprise. "I come to town quite frequently," he
+said, clipping his words. "A Mr. Forbes of Boston wrote me to meet him
+here about some saddle horses." This was said quietly but with proper
+emphasis. Joe wondered how far it strayed from the truth. There were
+only two saddlers left, he knew. Uncle Buzz was swaying slightly to
+and fro and the little table was rapidly becoming the cynosure of all
+eyes. Mary Louise looked about her desperately. Uncle Buzz, smiling
+sweetly in the aisle, and threatening at any moment to shatter the
+illusion by falling prostrate, was entirely ignorant of her distress.
+The tables were reversed. Claybrook was silent; Joe held the centre of
+the conversational stage.
+
+Suddenly Mary Louise arose. "We must be going," she said. She paused,
+gave them all an uncertain smile, and then she started rapidly for the
+door. Old Mr. Mosby looked mildly surprised, then accepted the
+situation as one too complex for his muddled brain. And Joe, after a
+first flare of anger, followed her in silence, leaving Claybrook and
+Uncle Buzz to contest the honours after him.
+
+They parted in the lobby; Mary Louise with a bright spot on either
+cheek and her lips set in their tightest line; Claybrook suave and
+genial; Uncle Buzz bewildered and in some way wistfully regretful.
+His watery blue eyes held in them an unanswered question that seemed
+too ponderous for utterance. Joe was silent.
+
+He took her home, along the deserted streets as quickly as possible.
+For a long time neither spoke. Then it was some trivial amenity that
+she uttered to which he made even shorter reply. Up in the elevator
+they went, silently watching the floor. At the door of her apartment
+he inclined his head. "Good-night," he said, without offering to shake
+hands.
+
+"What's the matter, Joe?" she asked, suddenly coming to herself and
+realizing the oversight.
+
+"Not a thing," he said. "It's perfectly all right with me." He turned
+to go.
+
+"Oh!" The exclamation was almost involuntary. She shrank back a little
+into the shadow. "It was a nice party."
+
+He made no reply but acknowledged this with another slight inclination
+of the head. And then he started down the hall.
+
+For a moment she stood and listened to the muffled sound of his
+footsteps upon the thick hall carpet, and then she softly closed the
+door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Joe had been right. There was a difference between an enterprise
+backed by popular sentiment and practically the same elements with the
+backing removed. In the first place, the patronage of the new tea room
+was not so brisk and what there was was more skeptically critical.
+There was not that carefree acceptance of things that overlooked
+deficiencies in the light of the cause they existed under. In fact,
+the helpful pressure that had held it all cemented had loosened. At
+the end of the first week the two cooks suggested a raise in pay
+amounting to ten dollars a month apiece. They did this in accord. And
+then, contrary to what might be expected now that the war was over,
+there was an insidious rising in the cost of everything, from table
+napkins to canned asparagus. Mary Louise began to feel that profits
+might not be so easy to estimate, after all.
+
+Her coordinate, too, was constitutionally apathetic. She was a bovine
+creature who positively refused to get ruffled over obstacles,
+criticisms, or fate. Her name was Maida Jones. Two large pans of buns
+had burned. Mary Louise, seeking to fix the responsibility, had failed
+in doing so and was wracked at the prospect of frequently recurring
+waste. Responsibility to be effective must be undivided. Maida had
+only laughed. And Mary Louise removed herself from the scene of her
+defeat and stood in the doorway of the tea room proper and stared
+bleakly across a vista of deserted tables at a languid and heat-ridden
+thoroughfare. It was going to be a "hit-or-miss" proposition, a
+careless, slipshod affair--this tea room--unless she did something to
+prevent it--and it was too hot. That was what was the matter. It was
+too hot. She brushed back the hair from her face and slumped. Behind
+her came the clatter of dishes. And then someone laughed, a coarse,
+raucous laugh. Mary Louise shuddered. The post-office clock boomed six
+and she suddenly realized that the day was over. There would be no
+belated custom, for the service stopped at six and the room was empty.
+Irritation gave way to discouragement. The day's receipts had been
+slim indeed. Just then she noticed an automobile roll up to the curb
+outside, and a man got out. She saw him start for the door, and for a
+moment she pondered whether she would accomodate him or turn him away.
+He opened the door. It was Claybrook.
+
+"Hullo," he said, catching sight of her. "Afraid I'd be too late. Come
+take a ride."
+
+That was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can't," she said. "I have
+to wait till they get through back there," indicating with a jerk of
+the head those uncertain regions which had become suddenly quiet.
+
+"Oh, let them take care of themselves. What is help for if you have to
+watch it every minute? Come on. It's too hot to work any longer,
+anyway."
+
+She yielded. First she spent a moment or two before a mirror, tidying
+herself up, feeling as she did so a little thrill of anticipation. And
+then she stuck her head through the kitchen door and announced that
+she was leaving. "Don't burn the whole place up, Maida," she cautioned
+with a laugh as she caught sight of her sitting, humped forward in a
+kitchen chair, fat elbows resting on a table, placidly viewing a vast
+clutter of dishes that had not yet been put away.
+
+Mary Louise escaped and clambered into the waiting car, into the
+vacant seat beside the driver.
+
+They whirled away, turned a corner sharply, and soon were leaving the
+narrow, restricted streets of the down-town district which had been
+pulsing and glowering with heat all day. She caught a look at
+Claybrook in the seat beside her. He was as fresh and cool as though
+he had not been exposed to the weather at all. Instinctively she
+reached a restraining hand to her hair. It was blowing in wild
+disarray. A sudden stretch of stately old houses sitting well back on
+either side of the street, partly hidden by double rows of trees,
+caused her fresh doubts as to the fitness of her attire. In her
+shirtwaist and skirt she felt like an intruder.
+
+A man from the sidewalk bowed to them. So busy was she with her hat
+that she could not see who it was.
+
+"There goes Wilkes," said Claybrook. "You remember Wilkes out at Camp?
+Had charge of the Post Exchange."
+
+She hoped she had escaped recognition. As if for protection she
+slipped farther down in the seat and was less troubled by the wind.
+The neighbourhood through which they were passing was becoming even
+more fashionable, and aristocratic nurse-maids with their aristocratic
+charges, alike in white, starchy, frilly things, were dotting the
+sidewalks on either side of the street, supplying a live motif to a
+prospect that might otherwise seem too orderly and remote. The lawns
+were beautiful, close cropped and freshly green, and frequent
+fountains sent a delightful mist across the pavement even to the
+street. It was all very cool and refreshing. She began to see where
+certain phases of city life might prove to be quite pleasant. The
+modern fleshpots may seem alluring not alone in retrospect.
+
+At length they passed from the asphalt paving on to a roadway of
+yellow-red gravel, and up ahead, Mary Louise could see a stretch of
+open country and beyond, a ridge of misty blue hills. There was a
+double line of young maples on either side of the boulevard and the
+fresh young leaves were rustling vigorously in the evening breeze as
+they passed. Claybrook settled down in his seat us they gained the
+boundary between paving and roadway with what seemed almost like a
+sigh of relief. He turned upon his companion a satisfied smile,
+meanwhile cutting down their speed appreciably.
+
+"This is something like it," he said. "Pretty hot down your way
+to-day?"
+
+"Terrible," admitted Mary Louise. "I don't believe those walls will
+get cool again before Christmas."
+
+He smiled without answering, being occupied at the moment with a
+little difficulty in the traffic. Directly he was free.
+
+"Rare old boy--the other night," he said, still watching the road.
+
+For a moment she did not catch the reference.
+
+"Down in the Rathskeller," he added.
+
+A hot rush of confusion struck her and she made no reply, but he went
+on:
+
+"I've often wondered what these people were like fifty years
+ago--living on top of the world, best farm land anywhere, fine old
+homes, lots of servants--nothing to do but enjoy life. Let it slip
+away from them, didn't they? Must not have known what they had." He
+had relaxed and was driving comfortably. And as though wrapped in a
+mist of his own musing he continued, his eyes fixed on the road before
+him, "I've often thought that if I ever got to the point where I
+could afford it I would get me one of those old places--lot of
+land--stock it up well, fix up the house. I'd like to leave something
+like that to my family." He chuckled. "They might not appreciate it as
+much as I do, however."
+
+"They might," she replied. "They might have just as hard a time trying
+to keep it as--as we have. Conditions might change again in the next
+fifty years."
+
+He turned and smiled at her. "Hadn't thought of that." The crow's feet
+were thick about his eyes. "Who was the boy?--the one you were with
+the other night."
+
+Mary Louise flushed in spite of herself. "Joe--Joe Hooper. You've
+heard me speak of him."
+
+"Oh, yes. Lives in Bloomfield, doesn't he?"
+
+"He did. Works here in town now--out at Bromley's."
+
+He made no further reply, but somehow she felt an unuttered
+conviction, on the part of the man there beside her, of Joe's loss of
+heritage. And yet a certain compunction prevented her from making any
+explanation--that it was not Joe's fault. There was a sort of sacred
+inviolability about it. A hot little wave of feeling swept over her.
+She had treated Joe miserably. She had yielded to her feelings like a
+child. She ought to have been good sport enough to hide what she had
+felt. But she hadn't. She was a snob. She had hoped to conceal that
+she was not their sort--Joe and Mr. Mosby. In a sense, she had been
+going back on her own people. As if she were trying to pass
+them--trying to keep up with the procession. And yet that was exactly
+what she was doing. But to show it!
+
+The straight level path of the boulevard came abruptly to an end and
+the road diverged to the left and mounted swiftly, skirting the
+incline of a white, chalky hill densely covered with a tangle of scrub
+oak, buckeye, cedar, and much underbrush. The slanting rays of the sun
+were shut off abruptly as by a shutter and they rolled between
+stretches of shade that were mistily fragrant and cool. Even the upper
+air currents in the spaces above the road, up toward the sky, seemed
+shadowy and unharried by the fierceness of the passing sunlight. The
+motor settled down to the business of climbing, and once Claybrook
+turned to her with a look of appreciation.
+
+"Some park, this."
+
+She hardly heard him, so intent was she on watching the road and the
+occasional glimpses, through the tangle, of declivitous stretches
+strewn with trunks of fallen trees and rank vegetation, down which the
+wind went wandering with vague whisperings. They had been suddenly
+transported out of the world of people into the world of hopes. The
+city had been left leagues behind.
+
+They made a quick, sharp turn to the right, the road almost doubling
+back upon itself, and there was a steep grade for a short distance,
+during which time Mary Louise caught herself leaning forward and
+holding her breath in an instinctive impulse to help the labouring
+car. And then they gained the top. Before them lay a tableland of many
+acres thickly covered with trees. The grass, in the open spaces
+between, was sparse, and there was much moss and lichen and drifts of
+withered leaves, dried by the sun of more than one summer; and here
+and there in the northern shadow of some gnarled trunk and in dipping
+hollows the leaves were packed close in a damp and moulding compress.
+Great streamers of wild grape-vine hung precariously from weary limbs
+and swayed to and fro gently in the wind that came mounting up the
+slope from the west and went dipping away to the eastward, leaving a
+soft, shuddering wake. It was as if a mellower spirit hovered about
+the old giant knob resting there, watching with its head all venerably
+gray, though the sunlight ere it faded was elfishly splashing the
+shadow with golden green, and little flecks of crimson and orange came
+flashing through the tangle of branches as they passed, making light
+mockery. And then the trees suddenly opened and they came out upon a
+flat bare knoll, where the road, making a loop, signified that its
+journey was over. Around the outside edge was a wall of loose stones
+from which the hill sloped steeply in all directions, and before them,
+stretching away for miles, lay the country through which they had
+passed, till soft and green and gray in the distance. A huge smoke
+pall, its feathery top drifting slowly eastward, hung over a
+cup-shaped depression, and below it stretched a darker line, from
+which occasionally emerged a solitary stack, or above which a church
+spire, caught by an errant ray from the setting sun, would flash a
+momentary beacon. Slowly the mantle seemed to fade and mingle with the
+twilight, and even as they watched, a light flashed out, a single
+pin-prick of a light, and then another and another, as night,
+gathering in its intensity, swept over the valley, until it was met by
+an ever-increasing challenge. It was like a myriad host of fairy
+fire-flies, each diamond pointed, flickering, blinking, never still.
+And there settled on the under side of the smoke pall a lurid glow as
+of banked fires, waiting for the work of another day.
+
+Mary Louise breathed a soft little sigh.
+
+"It does get next to one, some way, doesn't it?" he said.
+
+Rather to her thoughts she replied aloud: "To think of all those
+people living there, almost in the grasp of the hand. Think of them
+moving, scurrying about among those lights. It makes one feel it would
+be so easy to do things for them, move them about at one's will--from
+here. And yet----" She was silent a moment, thinking. "And yet even to
+be able to raise one's head above it all, to see--and be seen!
+Well----"
+
+"That's what I mean to do." He spoke almost as if she were not there,
+and his voice, which was as though disembodied, and jarring a bit with
+its resonance, brought her back to the present.
+
+"It's a hard thing to do and I've come to think it takes sometimes a
+lifetime, but--it can be done." He had turned and she could feel his
+warm breath in her ear. There was a note of assurance in his words
+and, as she watched, a change came over the scene before her and it
+all seemed like a huge graying blanket punched full of tiny, bright
+flat holes. Something had receded, escaped back into the darkness
+behind it all.
+
+She made no reply.
+
+"I wanted to tell you and it's about as good a time as any. You may be
+needing some help. It's not all so easy down there. And--well, if you
+need any help--make the way any easier for you--why, don't hesitate to
+call on me."
+
+"That's good of you," she replied, and wondered at the lack of warmth
+in her own voice. "Perhaps I shall." But she could not help feeling
+that in some way she had seen what she had seen--alone.
+
+They sat a little longer in silence, and then Mary Louise straightened
+in her seat and called to him briskly:
+
+"We _must_ be going. Why, it must be eight o'clock. What have I been
+thinking of?"
+
+"That's what I'd like to know," he laughed.
+
+"Come, take me home, man. Maida will think--all sorts of things."
+
+"You don't have to answer to her, do you?"
+
+"No. But let's go."
+
+He stooped over and switched on the lights and immediately two long,
+ghostly streamers went searching out across the wall and rested
+lightly in the tops of some ragged trees on the slopes, bringing them
+grotesquely into focus, while myriads of tiny motes danced down the
+twin circular paths off into space. Directly there was a roar of the
+engine, with an occasional sputtering cough--for the night air was
+cool--and then Claybrook's voice again:
+
+"There really isn't any great hurry. We can stop at the Gardens at the
+foot of the hill and get a bite to eat."
+
+"No, not to-night. Thank you ever so much."
+
+"But why not? We needn't hurry then. It's a pretty good place." He
+seemed insistent, waiting, stooped there over the steering wheel.
+
+"No," she said again. "I must get home. Maida will be waiting for me
+and I've some work to do. And besides, I don't want to go anywhere
+looking like this. I'm a fright, I know."
+
+He muttered something to himself as he threw the car into gear, and
+they went whirling around the circle of the road in reckless disregard
+for the menace of the rock wall. It was pitch dark as they made their
+way across the level top of the knob, with occasional shadows of
+spectral limbs projecting their silhouettes against the sky, and once
+the jagged edge of a trailing creeper swished close to her head as
+they whirled along. Above the noise of the motor there was not a
+sound. Claybrook suddenly laughed:
+
+"Some of the niggers down at the mill say this old hill is haunted."
+
+She clung to the hand-grip of her seat, her mind filled with a tangle
+of impressions, with a shrinking from the sepulchral depths below
+them, and an effort to recall in detail that vision of the city.
+
+"I have to shake it off before I can be any more good. It's like being
+moon-struck." He took another sharp curve at reckless speed, the tires
+grinding on the gravel, the brakes screeching.
+
+Mary Louise held her breath for a moment and waited. And then she
+touched him lightly on the elbow. "Oh, please!"
+
+He laughed and for a short time was more careful, slowing down at the
+curves which came every hundred yards or so. "Feels like they're
+coming after me. Like to get down to the level road again." He made a
+quick swerve to avoid a pointed rock. "Must have been great, driving
+to the top of this with a horse and buggy. Not for me."
+
+And they were off again as swiftly as before. Twice they grazed the
+projecting roots of trees on the outside edge of the road by the
+scantiest of margins and once a board in a culvert snapped ominously
+as they swept across it, and Claybrook laughed aloud. And Mary Louise,
+wide-eyed, sat in a frenzy of preparedness, her gaze glued to the
+winding, ever-dipping road in fascination.
+
+Suddenly a shadow seemed to leap out upon them, out of the
+darkness--the shadow of a man. There was a moment's hideous clamour of
+the brakes, a sickening swerve of the machine, a man's shout, a sudden
+instant's flash of gleaming trunks brought sharply into focus, and
+then a slow, gradual letting down of her side of the car, inch by
+inch. She grasped the arm beside her to keep from falling, and then
+all was still.
+
+A moment later she could see that they were balanced on the edge of a
+culvert; to her right was the darkness; up ahead, the lights were
+glaring impotently off into space. And then she realized that an arm
+was encircling her waist in an iron grip and that the motor was still
+thrumming and that someone was running around in front of the car and
+then peering off down the slope where they tipped so perilously. These
+things came to her in just that order. And directly she was on the
+road, trembling just a little and feeling very helpless, and
+Claybrook's voice somewhere over in the darkness was giving
+directions, sharp, irritated. To her knowledge he had not uttered a
+word during it all. She could hear them somewhere over there crashing
+about in the underbrush, an occasional word, an occasional suppressed
+shout. Very unreal it was, with the stars shining faintly overhead,
+the black shadows all around, and those two shafts of light poking out
+into nowhere. She walked back to the inside edge of the road and sat
+down, and bye-and-bye she felt quieter. It had been such a childishly
+foolish thing to do and so useless. The minutes passed and she began
+to wonder what time it was getting to be. And then she felt a growing
+irritation and suddenly she was hungry. All she could hear was the
+threshing about of the brush and the sound of heavy dragging. Once she
+went around the rear of the car and peered down. She could dimly see
+that the rear wheel had passed completely over the brink, and below it
+lay a pile of sticks and brush. A little more and they might have
+rolled over, down into the darkness. She returned to her seat by the
+side of the road.
+
+Just like a little boy he was, she thought--reckless, irresponsible,
+"full of the fullness of living." And his tone, when she had spoken of
+the dead-level of life in the city below them and the problem of
+raising one's head--"That's what I mean to do"--had seemed so like the
+confident tones of a child on the threshold of life. Were we all like
+that, after all--lifted up for a moment so that we could see;
+blundering forward the next, blindly, into pitfalls of our own making?
+His very offer of help, there on the hilltop, had been naive, and yet
+she was troubled by it. Why was he thrusting his stick into the still
+waters of her life? And yet she had felt very much alone and in need
+of the realization of another presence.
+
+And then suddenly she realized why and how it was she liked him. She
+liked to think of him as standing by, liked the realization of his
+strength, his confidence. He was big, he was good-looking, and there
+was a tonic freshness about him. He was good as a friend. And he
+needed watching over, needed guiding, himself. That made it all the
+better. And then she felt hungry again. But she was no longer
+irritated.
+
+The roar of the motor roused her from her musings. There was a
+ripping, grinding noise and she could see the outline of the car move,
+sink back, and then lurch forward again. There was another whirring
+and grinding and then Claybrook's triumphant shout. She rose to her
+feet and walked over to him. They had succeeded. The car was standing,
+all four wheels on the hard, level surface, the engine racing like
+mad.
+
+"Hop in," Claybrook called to her a bit shortly.
+
+She complied and he reached forward to throw in the gear, when the man
+walked around in front of the car and held up a restraining hand. She
+saw then, for the first time, that he was a park policeman.
+
+"Let's have your name before you go, friend," he said.
+
+"But what for? There's no harm done. I thought I made it all right
+with you?"
+
+"You did--with me. But then you're pretty dangerous on these roads
+and I'll have to turn you in so that they can be looking out for you."
+
+Claybrook sullenly complied. And then, throwing the car into gear,
+they slipped quickly out of sight. After they had rounded the curve,
+he turned suddenly to Mary Louise. "That's a new one on me. I tipped
+him for helping me get the car out, and then he turns and takes my
+name. You can't count on anybody these days--ever since the war."
+
+"I think he has a sense of humour," she replied, laughing softly.
+
+As they passed the road-house he suggested once again that they stop
+for a bite to eat, but upon her refusal he made no comment. The night
+was no longer clear; gathering clouds on the western horizon were
+gradually spreading across the sky, and as they crossed the line on to
+the asphalt paving again, it began to rain, a few scattering drops. At
+which she teased him about his altered driving. He laughed but made no
+answer.
+
+But the shower did not come and directly they drew up at the curb
+outside her apartment.
+
+"Don't stop," she said. "Don't bother. You must get in before the
+rain." She felt singularly good humoured.
+
+"I'm sorry I made such a mess of things," he began clumsily,
+"and--and--you were pretty decent about it." It was a concession, but
+she could see he was rankled about something.
+
+"I hope they won't fine you too much," she called after him as he
+started off. And then she walked thoughtfully into the hallway and
+stepped into the elevator and was carried swiftly upward.
+
+"You've got to make allowances for them all," she decided mentally.
+"Yes," she added force to that decision, half aloud.
+
+"What d'you say, Miss Mac?" inquired the elevator boy.
+
+"I said, 'Seventh,'" she smiled at him.
+
+She was met at the door by Maida with her hair in curl papers and a
+most prodigious yawning and rubbing of eyes. The ideal night life for
+Maida was that spent comfortably in bed.
+
+"Thought you'd eloped," she ventured sleepily and then turned and
+shuffled off to the inner room. At the door she called over her
+shoulder, "There's a note someone left for you--about two hours ago."
+
+Mary Louise looked on the table and, lying on a pile of magazines and
+newspaper supplements, was a plain, thin, white envelope. She picked
+it up and looked at it curiously, wondering from whom it could be.
+There was no address. She tore it open and read, and as she read she
+reached over one hand and steadied herself against the table. The note
+was from Joe, and laconic:
+
+    "They phoned me this evening your Aunt Susie had
+    had another stroke. They said you had better come."
+
+That was all it said. There was no expression of regret. There was no
+offer of help. She had a sudden rush of anxiety. But behind the
+anxious feeling was one of wonder and a tiny one of hurt. She laid the
+letter down upon the table and slowly and thoughtfully took off her
+hat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Things had changed for Joe. It was as though he had been told that he
+had not amounted to much, that what he had come from had not amounted
+to much, and that in all probability he would never amount to much.
+Just how much had actually been suggested to him, and how much he had
+supplied out of the whole cloth of his imagination it is doubtful if
+even he could have said.
+
+It was not the weather certainly. For the morning of the second day of
+May opened wide with promise. There was a lightness about the air and
+a clarity as Joe emerged from his lodging house from the ready-made
+breakfast which they doled out as though breakfasts were just like
+linen and towels and soap. The day would have made countless
+insinuations to a normal man. To some, it said golf; to others, a
+motor trip out to where a plethora of such bounties as it suggested
+might be available; and to others less fortunate--why, there was the
+"Ferry" just opening to hesitant crowds, with its band stand, its
+scenic railway, its forty-five minutes of vaudeville that was anything
+but mentally exhausting. It was an eloquent morning. But Joe turned a
+deaf ear.
+
+His walk to the factory lay for a short distance along a pretty little
+park where, when the weather was proper, squirrels and babies and
+numerous other smaller, crawly things were wont to mingle together in
+democratic unconcern. But to him, this morning, it was just so much
+pavement.
+
+He punched the time clock viciously as he passed through the office
+lobby and barely escaped collision with Mr. Boner as he turned the
+corner of the partition en route to his desk. Mr. Boner merely
+grunted. He bore in his hand a sheaf of orders for the mailing desk.
+He believed in getting an early start.
+
+Joe sat down before his desk and gazed listlessly out of the window.
+The day arose before him in prospect, drab, desolate, and dreary. High
+up overhead, through the dingy panes, he could see the little fleecy
+clouds floating about in peaceful unconcern. May was a slack month.
+And at its end came June--June, with its four weeks' inventory period
+wherein each stick and stone of the entire plant, each ten-penny nail,
+each carriage bolt, would have to be listed, valued, and carried into
+an imposing total. It meant working late into the night under a
+pitiless glare with handkerchief tied about one's neck like a washer.
+It meant cramped fingers, and hot dry eyes, and a back that ached when
+it didn't feel crawly with infinitesimal bugs, and bugs that bumped
+and buzzed and then fell sprawling across one's paper. Each item had
+to be entered upon the sheet. Each item had to be valued. Discounts
+had to be figured, extensions had to be made, figures had to be
+checked meticulously, and the whole thing eventually bound up in six
+or eight huge volumes which were then allowed to languish in the
+Company safe. He had been through it before. And the thought of it was
+intolerable. This was June. June and inventory and Mr. Boner seemed to
+him to be cut from the same piece. For neither did Mr. Boner escape.
+Instead, he came earlier, stayed later, and worked with more furious
+rapidity than ever. And he was Mr. Boner's successor--that is, if he
+hit the ball and worked hard enough to deserve it. The thought of the
+little boy whose mother gave him a nickle every time he took his
+castor oil manfully came to his mind as he sat and gazed out the
+window. When asked what he did with the nickles, the Spartan youth had
+replied: "Buy more castor oil with it." Joe wearily dragged one of his
+stock ledgers from the rack and opened it.
+
+All that day, as he made his entries and checked his totals, came the
+thought, "Why am I doing this? What is it all for?" He was feeling the
+double edge of scorn no less keenly because only implied. Why wasn't
+he doing a man's work? Why was he humbly taking his turn in a servile
+and remote succession, where death's was the only hand that moved the
+pawns? Why had he come back to it? He dared not confess the reason.
+The best he could do was admit to himself he had been mistaken. The
+rose tints had vanished from his sky and the path he had chosen was
+disclosed in all its drab ugliness. He had chosen it fatuously. The
+rose tints had been of his own making. He viciously snapped his mind
+shut on the thought. For a while he would feverishly clamp his
+attention to his work, while outside the sky continued serenely blue,
+and the breeze that drifted through his window was languorous and
+soft. But the work was too light. There was not enough of it, nor was
+it of the nature that demanded his absorbed concentration. He thought
+of Mr. Mosby, the unwitting cause of it all. And yet he did not blame
+Uncle Buzz in the least. Rather he sided with him. They were both
+inferior animals--not to be mentioned in the same breath with
+progress, thrift, success.
+
+Uncle Buzz had his troubles, too. He was bookkeeper of the general
+store in Bloomfield, but he had never got to the point where he was
+absolutely sure of his trial balances. Nor had Aunt Loraine ever got
+to the point where she was absolutely sure of him, and he had had only
+the slightest hand in the management of what was left of the farm. The
+farm was Aunt Loraine's. But she always took what was necessary from
+what Uncle Buzz got from the store to make both ends meet on the farm,
+and that was, of late, becoming an ever-increasing distance. Uncle
+Buzz felt a proprietor's interest. He liked to speak about it as "his
+farm." Uncle Buzz would have loved to raise horses, thoroughbreds and
+saddlers, but for obvious reasons that had been impossible. But he
+went his jaunty way, waxing his moustaches, squandering his money on
+fancy neckties, taking his surreptitious nip with all the gay bravado
+of thirty years before, and getting seedier and seedier. He was a
+dandelion withering on the stalk. He had long since given up hope of
+being anything else but bookkeeper in the "Golden Rule," and indeed it
+was only the stock which he held in that institution that insured him
+the place such as it was. For Uncle Buzz was with age becoming more
+unreliable. His mind would play queer tricks on him. The figures would
+occasionally assume a demonic elusiveness and he could no longer carry
+his liquor with his former assurance. While outwardly he was the same
+suave, debonair old beau, he was beginning to have inner doubtings and
+despairs. And Joe, who had, as it were, taken up the pen when he had
+cast aside the sword, became for him a potential straw adrift on the
+downward current.
+
+Uncle Buzz's message in the Rathskeller the night before had been
+cryptic to the others but plain enough to Joe. Uncle Buzz was in
+trouble again. Trial balance, maybe. There was no telling. As Joe
+finished footing up a long column of figures he smiled. It meant
+another trip to Bloomfield on Saturday. And Saturday was the day after
+to-morrow. Thus the day wore on.
+
+On Saturday, which was a day of the same pattern as its predecessors,
+at eleven o'clock Joe quietly rose from his desk, took his hat, and
+unostentatiously walked out of the office. He punched the time clock
+gently so that it would attract the attention of only the most
+observant of clerks, and hurried away, feeling that this repeated
+dereliction was bound to bring him some notice, even if the first
+offense had not. But for some reason he felt singularly indifferent.
+
+An hour later he had forgotten it all. The dumpy accommodation train
+was bumping itself along at a great rate, puffing stertorously up the
+long grade past "Sassafras Hill," and then swinging itself around the
+curves that followed the river so desperately that passengers and
+freight alike--for it was a combination train as well as
+accommodation--were like to be flung from it, hurled into space as
+useless encumbrances to its desperate need of getting there. It would
+rush along madly for a mile or two, then give a wild shriek and stop,
+and after a great puffing and snorting, start up again.
+
+It was such an enthusiastic train that Joe could not long escape the
+contagion of its enthusiasm. Ten miles out they came into a stretch of
+rolling meadow where the shadows of trees were like purple splotches
+upon the shimmering mist of the grass. A high wind had arisen that set
+the countless blades vibrating so that each bit of sun-swept meadow
+was naught but a silverish blurr, with the tree tops above it tossing
+wildly about. A little girl, holding open a gate for an old man in a
+buggy behind a placid old white horse, was all fluttering ribbon ends,
+and as they passed, her sunbonnet was torn from her grasp and flung
+over the fence, far afield. Joe could see her running after it as they
+rounded a curve out of sight.
+
+At twelve thirty-five they reached Guests where Joe alighted. He was
+the only passenger of like mind, and aside from the station master who
+made a hurried exchange of sundry small express packages and mail
+there was no one at the station but a fat little old man in a brown
+derby and a red sweater, and with a very dirty face. This latter
+gentleman accosted Joe with a warning gesture, lifting his arm and
+pointing to the sky, and at the same time giving him a significant
+look, and then scuttling over to a disreputable motor car that stood
+beside the station platform. Arriving there he twisted his fat neck
+half around to see if his prey was following him, and being thus
+assured, clambered in. The car was very aged and trembling from some
+violent internal disorder, while the top was bellying off sidewise
+with a great flapping of loose straps and curtain ends till it seemed
+doubtful if the whole thing might hold together for another minute.
+
+"High wind," suggested the Jehu, in a fat wheezy voice as Joe crawled
+into the seat beside him. Joe agreed without qualification. The old
+man paused a minute, gave him a sober, reflective look of far-away
+intensity, and then suddenly turned and spat precariously into the
+wind.
+
+"Bloomfield?" he suggested with increased lightness of manner.
+
+"Bloomfield," Joe agreed again. It was a pleasant bit of procedure,
+invested with the dignity of a formula, for there was no other town
+within a radius of many miles and no other road over which such
+traffic was possible. Still it had to be gone through with.
+
+They started with a rush, being ably seconded by a more severe gust of
+wind than usual, and for eight miles it was a stalemate between the
+wind and the motor as to which could make the most noise. But in spite
+of it all Joe was enjoying it. There was a freedom in the uproar, in
+the wildly tossing tree tops, in the white clouds that went scudding
+high overhead. He had an insane desire to fling his hat high up in the
+air, as they rolled along, and see how far the wind would carry it.
+
+At length they arrived. Out of courtesy, perhaps, the wind abated;
+perhaps it was because nothing boisterous would be tolerated along
+those silent old streets. But as they passed the tavern, one green
+shutter could be seen hanging by one hinge, moving softly to and fro,
+and against the iron stair railing of the meeting house an old,
+yellowing newspaper clung for a moment and then dropped to the
+pavement. A very old man in a linen suit, followed by an old hound,
+was going through the door as they passed, and he pivoted on his stick
+and watched them. Here was the very essence of stability.
+
+Reaching the central square, the driver swung his car in a majestic
+arc around the traffic post in the centre of the street and drew up at
+the curb in front of the post-office. There was a liberal sprinkling
+of small motors of the same general classification as the one in which
+they were arriving, parked with their noses headed toward the curb, at
+an angle. Uncle Buzz's figure suddenly appeared, hurrying from behind
+one of these, his face set in an earnest frown. He had evidently seen
+them from the "Golden Rule," diagonally opposite, and had come the
+most direct route, through the traffic.
+
+"Well, Joseph, this is a surprise."
+
+This, thought Joe, might mean anything. Either his Aunt Loraine had
+not been apprised of his expected arrival, or perhaps the old man had
+already extricated himself from his trouble.
+
+"Any bags?"
+
+"No. No bags." Joe was still holding the out-stretched hand of
+welcome.
+
+Uncle Buzz turned to the driver and dropped a coin in that worthy
+gentleman's greasy palm as it lay inertly on the seat, beside him.
+"That will be all," he said with great dignity.
+
+The driver gave him a long look, heavy lidded--a critical look, a
+deeply thoughtful look--sniffed, and then turned to Joe, "Goin' back?"
+he asked shortly, as though there were nothing more now for any one to
+stay for.
+
+"No," said Joe. "Not to-day."
+
+The driver pondered this in his heart for a moment, came to a sudden
+decision, sniffed again, and turned his back on them both and
+proceeded to stretch himself out as far as the narrow confines of the
+seat would permit. Business was apparently over for the day.
+
+Uncle Buzz led Joe across the street to the busy side. The contrast of
+their figures was striking, for Joe was over a head taller, and loose
+where Uncle Buzz was stiff.
+
+Mr. Mosby turned at the curbing and with a confidential air: "We'll
+just get a bite to eat in here," indicating a tiny little lunch room
+crammed in between two ramshackle old frame buildings. "Your Aunt
+Loraine was a bit indisposed this morning."
+
+This established one conclusion. He was at least not expected at home.
+More than that, he could not decide without further premises.
+
+They occupied stools at a high counter covered with oilcloth. Uncle
+Buzz ordered rolls and coffee. Joe took rolls and coffee. There was a
+period of silence as they waited.
+
+Directly Mr. Mosby began talking in a low tone: "It's a rather
+fortunate thing you came up this week-end, Joseph. I was rather afraid
+you mightn't." He paused and Joe, while he felt reasonably sure of
+just what would come next, listened with polite interest.
+
+"I've been troubled with frightful headaches this past week," he
+continued, "so severe that I could scarcely see the open page before
+me."
+
+Joe murmured his regret over the cup's brim.
+
+The old man paused and seemed to consider. Then hesitantly continuing:
+"If you could spare an hour or two this afternoon----?"
+
+"Surely I can, Uncle Buzz. Easiest thing you know."
+
+The old man breathed deep and long and set down his coffee cup. "It is
+a trifling matter of some forty-six dollars. Would you like to go out
+to Montgomery's this afternoon? He has a couple of two-year-olds that
+he will be shipping down for the Derby now pretty soon."
+
+"I'd be very pleased to, Uncle Buzz."
+
+And thus was the matter broached, and the matter accepted, without any
+bald reference to necessity, without the slightest violation to the
+tenets of hospitality. No reference was made to a previous
+understanding. Joe's visit was established on a purely social basis,
+and as such it would be presented to Mrs. Mosby, whose penchant for
+alarm might thus escape stimulus.
+
+They finished their lunch hurriedly and made their way across to the
+"Golden Rule," where Uncle Buzz led his charge with swift, silent
+steps back to the little private office in the rear of the store. Once
+inside, the door was closed and the books quickly opened upon the
+table. "They are always a bit impatient for the balance this time of
+the year," Mr. Mosby offered in explanation.
+
+An hour's work sufficed to find the trouble. It was in the carrying
+forward of a single account. Once found, the rest was very simple, and
+at three o'clock Uncle Buzz slammed the ledger shut with an air of
+complete satisfaction, walked confidently through the door into the
+adjoining office with his little sheaf of papers, and returning
+reached for his hat. "Burrus is out," he said crisply. "We won't
+wait."
+
+Joe likewise reached for his hat.
+
+At the door the old man turned, and with a reminiscent smile and in a
+confidential tone, "There is a lot of personal jealousy in this firm."
+
+Joe expressed no surprise.
+
+"He's just been elected deacon in the church." His old eyes began to
+twinkle. "Great changes can take place in a man's habits once you
+hitch him up with apron strings. His wife has never thought so much of
+Loraine. And now he doesn't think so much of me." He chuckled. "We
+were raised together, and I have a good memory." He opened the door
+and walked slowly toward the front of the store. It was empty of
+customers. A clerk stood leaning idly across a glass counter of
+notions looking into the street. Uncle Buzz proceeded calmly on,
+giving the clerk a pleasant nod. "She came from a farm back in the
+county. They say she had never seen a railroad until she was
+twenty-one years old."
+
+The clerk inspected Joe thoroughly and critically and made no sign of
+having heard anything. And still Joe felt a bit dubious; indiscretion
+is like other normal weapons: it kills when one doesn't know it is
+loaded.
+
+But Mr. Mosby was in rising spirits. They emerged to the street and
+turned the corner into the less populous thoroughfare, known commonly
+throughout Bloomfield as Pearl Street, and there they came upon Uncle
+Buzz's horse and buggy, standing as if carved from one and the same
+block of immutable immobility. Even the flies found little of
+excitement in lighting about the front section of the combination, and
+only one or two were buzzing about in the general neighbourhood in a
+dispirited manner.
+
+The horse opened his eyes and lifted one ear as Uncle Buzz climbed in
+the buggy and took up the lines. But being complacent and particularly
+indisposed to anything as much like effort as resistance, the starting
+was quite without ceremony.
+
+Eventually, and not too much so, they left the city streets, and soon
+were jogging down a winding little lane of the softest, yellowest
+earth imaginable. On either side, between the edge of the roadside and
+the snake rail fence, was a little bank all a-tangle with blackberry
+bushes, and here and there, with its roots protruding out into space,
+a gaunt and bare thorn tree or an occasional walnut thrusting its
+branches over the road. Beyond, the fields lay in cool, serrated rows,
+deep brown and freshly fragrant. The woodland which hung about in the
+background beyond the fields would occasionally sweep down and cross
+the road, and then would come a stretch of checkered shade on the
+yellow earth, and the lifting, expectant sound of high wind in top
+branches. And sometimes, in the heart of such an arm of woodland, the
+old horse's hoofs would echo hollow on the warped and mellowing boards
+of a tiny bridge, and there would be a momentary slip and gurgle of
+water underneath, on down through the ferns. Joe felt steeped in calm.
+
+Mr. Montgomery was not at home. Nor were the horses. They found they
+were a week late. An old Negro whom they encountered just within the
+paddock gate so informed them: "Yessuh. They done took 'em down t'
+Louisville, las' Monday."
+
+They left him scratching his kinky gray pate in meditation.
+
+Uncle Buzz was disappointed. The little excursion was thus deprived
+of its sparkle. There was a something about going out to see
+racehorses----Well, at any rate, Uncle Buzz was disappointed. He
+showed it on the way home. Perhaps the fading sunlight, the
+lengthening shadows, had something to do with it. And the wind, too,
+that had come with the morning and kept up its bluster all day, had
+died to a whisper, so that a cluster of last year's corn-stalks
+standing in a fence corner were merely indifferently waggling. It may
+have been just a reflection of mood, but as they were rounding the
+brow of the hill above Bloomfield and could see the dip of the meadows
+to the creek and the white fences and outbuildings of the Fair Grounds
+away off to the right, the old horse stopped and gently switched his
+tail. And Uncle Buzz let him stop.
+
+"Do you know," he said, and his voice was reminiscent and uncertain,
+"I've been thinking lately we ought to sell the place and move to
+town."
+
+Joe looked up at him curiously. "Why do you think that, Uncle Buzz?"
+
+Mr. Mosby pondered, as the horse, feeling perhaps the slight pricks of
+conscience, resumed his way at an imperceptible walk. "Well," he said,
+"this country is not what it used to be. All the other towns, Guests,
+Fillmore--all the rest of them--are on the railroad or interurban.
+They have the advantage of us."
+
+Joe was watching him unperceived. The old man's face had lost its
+aggressive jauntiness. There was an odd pucker about the brows. His
+mouth, above the well-trimmed goatee, seemed small and indecisive. Joe
+could see the clear blue veins on the back of the hand as it
+listlessly held the lines.
+
+"Business has been a bit slack this past year. Seems like it never got
+over the war. And prices are high, too. Can't get a nigger to do a
+day's work for you for less than three dollars now," he added
+fiercely. And then lapsing into his former vein again, "I wonder----"
+
+Joe waited. "Wonder what, Uncle Buzz?"
+
+The sun made one of its perceptible drops, just as though its setting
+was a matter of notches. A little cool breeze came up to meet them
+from the creek bottom as they moved slowly downward.
+
+"Why couldn't you get me something to do in Louisville? How about the
+Plow Company? They must employ a great many men." He laughed a bit
+shrilly. "I've always thought I would like to live in Louisville."
+
+Joe was aghast. He felt as if it might be some old lady demanding of
+him pink tights and a place in the front row of the ballet. However,
+he checked the exclamation that rose to his lips. But for a moment he
+did not know what to say. Uncle Buzz--wanting to go to work at
+Bromley's!--An ancient and decrepit Whittington!
+
+"But you've been here so long, Uncle Buzz!" he managed at length.
+
+"So I have. All the more reason. I'm getting in a rut. Besides, I'm
+getting tired of Burrus. Narrow-minded scoundrel! He throws out hints
+about Zeke bringing me my whiskey over from Fillmore. As if it were
+any of his business!" He subsided and silently contemplated the depths
+of Burrus' degradation.
+
+Joe laughed softly and at the same time felt the sharp little warning
+edge of an intuition. Uncle Buzz was slipping, and he knew it.
+
+"I wouldn't be in a hurry," he suggested at length, "Bromley's is full
+up. All those men coming back from the army, you know--I'll keep an
+eye open for you if you want me." It was most incongruous, the
+patronizing air that had crept into his voice, the tone that
+invariably greets the unemployed, wherever or whoever he be.
+
+Uncle Buzz brightened. "Do," he said.
+
+They drove through the gate and up to the house. Aunt Loraine
+profusely reproached her husband for not advising her of Joseph's
+arrival. "It's a shame. Here at the last minute. You might have at
+least sent me word, Bushrod."
+
+"We had to go out in the country," Uncle Buzz replied with decision.
+
+And so they supped meagrely on fried chicken and rice and gravy and
+hot biscuits and coffee. And afterward they sat in the high-ceilinged
+back parlour, in candlelight, and watched the glow die from the
+western sky. And Aunt Loraine asked him about the "season" in
+Louisville, and once she asked him about Mary Louise. And bye-and-bye
+Uncle Buzz began to nod just like a sleepy little boy, and with the
+prospect of a long, well-filled to-morrow, Joe suggested that they go
+to bed. And then there was a moment's pausing upon the threshold of a
+yawning black door beyond which things smelled mustily sweet, with
+dusty shadows that crept across the matting from a shielded lamp; and
+later a most delicious yielding of one's self to the cool envelope of
+soft white sheets, and a moment's wide-eyed staring at the ceiling;
+and then forgetfulness.
+
+Sometime later--it seemed hours--Joe was awakened by the clatter of an
+automobile somewhere beneath his window. For a moment he lay still and
+wondered and then, the bustle continuing, only in a much subdued and
+muffled manner, he got up and in his bare feet walked over to the
+window across the matting and looked out. He saw an oil lantern
+sitting on the edge of the side steps, and he saw the open screen
+door. And then from a black shadow a short distance away, behind the
+old lilac bush he remembered so well, he saw a figure emerge, carrying
+a glass jug. The figure was Zeke's, stooped over and shuffling, in the
+same old peaked cap he had always worn. And in the jug was the
+apotheosis of Mr. Mosby's contempt for Mr. Burrus, and as it passed
+the light it gleamed and sparkled with a deep golden malevolence. And
+hearing steps on the porch, and voices, and fearing lest he might be
+seen spying at the window, Joe crept back to bed. And directly he
+heard the familiar roaring clatter of a car starting up somewhere down
+below there in the darkness, and after a while--silence. He fell into
+a deep and satisfying sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Mary Louise had the power of concentration over her determinations as
+well as over her desires. Once having decided on a course she could
+keep herself driving at it without ceasing. If she made a digression,
+it was with eyes set on the goal, and for the reason that to so
+digress was to find a more facile path and save time in the end. Her
+past attainments had been gained apparently without effort, for in the
+little world she had known at Bloomfield all had been hers to do with
+as she desired. And then had come the eighteen months in Louisville,
+with its awakenings, its gradual undermining of her old standards and
+conceptions, and its whetting of the keen edge of her desire.
+
+She had been made to see her facts in another light. Those things that
+had been wont to be considered as axioms and irrefutable postulates in
+her daily acceptance were suddenly seen as the most ephemeral
+hypotheses. The desirability of Bloomfield and the lustre about the
+name "McCallum"--two rocks upon which she had builded the edifice of
+her confidence--were found of a sudden to be but shifting sands,
+hard-packed enough on the surface, but subjected to the most
+insidious and devastating undertow. Many a weaker spirit would have
+thrown up his arms and dived with desperation overboard in search of
+solid footing. But not so Mary Louise. She had a momentary whirl at
+negation and then a firm and ever-increasing determination to build
+her own footing. If Bloomfield and the McCallum family were not all
+they should be, she would make them so, to her own satisfaction at
+least. Money was the one thing needed, she soon found or thought she
+found, and money was the thing she was determined to get, enough of it
+to accomplish her purpose. When she had started the tea room she had
+not had the slightest idea that she could possibly fail to do just
+exactly what she wanted.
+
+As she read the note that Joe had left for her, the news of Miss
+Susie's illness caused her temporary distress. But her mind did not
+dwell for long on the distressing part of it, but got busy with the
+problem in hand, went into conference with itself over it, analyzed
+and dissected it to its complete satisfaction, and then put out the
+resulting dicta on the bulletin board of her consciousness. The
+particular "Thou must" was in this case "Go to Bloomfield." And
+inasmuch as Mary Louise never under any circumstances thought of
+disregarding these highly accurate mental dicta, go to Bloomfield she
+did. She went the following morning, which was Friday. And it must be
+said that in spite of the attention which was focused on the
+immediate difficulty before her, which was, "What to do with Miss
+Susie," her mind kept straining at this barrier for continued and
+reassuring glimpses of the ultimate goal ahead. Still, she loved her
+aunt, and the realization of her suffering was to her genuine pain.
+
+As she entered the sitting-room door, she found the little old lady
+propped in a rocking chair just inside the doorway with a patchwork
+quilt across her lap, tucking her in. There was no appreciable change.
+She was as yellow, as parchment like as ever. Her eyes perhaps were
+brighter; indeed they seemed almost to have a heat of their own as
+Mary Louise stooped to kiss the cheek held up to her.
+
+"Why didn't you let me know sooner?" she chided.
+
+"There was no reason for you to come at all," Miss Susie responded
+briskly. "Some people haven't enough questions to decide for
+themselves. Have to go about hunting for other people's problems."
+
+"But you weren't going to sit up here and not let me know anything
+about it?" Mary Louise took off her hat and came over to the rocking
+chair, toward which she dragged another, and seated herself. She
+reached out and took one of the little blue-veined hands and stroked
+it gently. "You weren't going to sit up here and let me know nothing
+about it? That's not what you promised."
+
+Miss Susie's fixed, inexorable expression did not change. But she was
+pleased--was feeling softer. Unconsciously she liked Mary Louise to
+assume that patronizing, superior air toward her. She said nothing and
+began to rock softly to and fro, staring through the doorway.
+
+Mary Louise continued the gentle stroking. Bye-and-bye she ventured
+softly, "You're right sure you're feeling all right now? What did the
+doctor say?"
+
+Miss Susie turned on her, mouth snapping shut. "Doctor! Who said I had
+to have a doctor?" The look in her eyes, as she turned them full upon
+the girl, was one in which defiance mingled with alarm and struggled
+for mastery. For Miss Susie had waged a long and losing warfare with
+disease and she quailed before the emblems of surrender if not from
+the enemy itself.
+
+Mary Louise for the moment let it go at that. After the air had
+appreciably cooled she ventured again: "I don't suppose Mrs. Mosby
+knew how to reach me?" Miss Susie looked puzzled and she continued in
+explanation, "I had a note from Joe Hooper saying you had had a little
+spell--I suppose Mrs. Mosby 'phoned him."
+
+Miss Susie gave a little snort. "And what would Loraine Mosby be doing
+meddling in my affairs? She hasn't called on me for years. Like as not
+it was that fool Lavinia Burrus. You would think she owned and was
+running the town. The salvation of Bloomfield weighs mighty heavy on
+her shoulders these days--with her '_Dear_ Miss McCallum,' and her
+'Poor dear Mrs. Hamilton!' I've a mind to tell her that charity, even
+of thought, begins at home--where it's needed."
+
+Mary Louise felt a sudden sort of displeasure. She had adopted the
+devious method of getting at the true state of affairs, for that was
+the only way any one could get anything out of Miss Susie. And now she
+found herself getting interested on her own account. She had once
+supposed that it had been through Mrs. Mosby's agency that she had
+been apprised. It now appeared that someone else--an outsider and a
+parvenu at that--had linked her name with that of Joe Hooper's to send
+her word through him. It gave her rank displeasure. To be officially
+tagged as "Such and such" by a "one-horse" little town. Yes it was a
+"one-horse" little town. Her assurance slipped from her and in
+confusion she sought to investigate no further.
+
+"Where's Mattie? You ought to have something about your shoulders."
+She rose to her feet and began poking about on the wardrobe shelf.
+
+"Mattie's not here," said Miss Susie.
+
+Mary Louise turned around. "Mattie's not here?--And what's the reason
+she's not here?"
+
+Miss Susie's voice was acquiring calm. "She decided that this wasn't
+good enough place for her. She couldn't bear to think of all the money
+servants were getting down in Louisville--so she left."
+
+Mary Louise came back and stood before her chair. She looked at her
+aunt intently. "You mean to say she _left_ you?"
+
+"She did."
+
+It was too much for Mary Louise's comprehension and she contemplated
+the fact bleakly. "Why, her people have been here on the place for
+four generations!"
+
+Miss Susie's face was grim. "Ten dollars a week was too much for her."
+
+Slowly the conviction was taking root. "And she has really left?"
+
+Miss Susie nodded.
+
+"And taken Omar with her?"
+
+Miss Susie nodded again.
+
+"And Landy?"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Miss Susie, it seemed, would for the
+dramatic effect have preferred that the defection had been universal.
+"No," she said half regretfully, "Landy's stayed with me."
+
+"And done the cooking, I suppose?"
+
+"He did--after Wednesday."
+
+"And Wednesday? _You_ tried it until then, I suppose?" Mary Louise's
+tone was all reproach.
+
+Miss Susie did not deny it.
+
+They sat for a moment in dismal accord. Mary Louise had a sudden
+feeling as though the family were breaking up. All during the war the
+little corps of servants had remained intact. She had felt that, the
+war over, the danger point had been passed. Also the reason for Miss
+Susie's little spell was now apparent.
+
+Directly she asked more briskly, "D' you try to get any one
+else?--Zibbie Tuttle?"
+
+"Zibbie's gone to town, too."
+
+Another moment's depressed silence.
+
+"And how about Zenie? She used to cook."
+
+Miss Susie sighed. "Zenie's got her head all full of fool notions. She
+thinks she has to stay home and look after that worthless Zeke."
+
+"And she won't come? You've tried her?"
+
+Miss Susie shook her head grimly.
+
+Mary Louise suddenly laughed. It was a dry, mirthless sort of laugh.
+"Looks like the Negroes are getting all the latest notions of
+progress, too. I must have put the idea into their heads."
+
+"All except Zenie," amended Miss Susie. "She's old-fashioned."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better be coming back." She stood by the door, musing.
+
+Miss Susie reached over for her spectacles. There was an almost
+imperceptible flash in her eyes. "And be like Zenie?"
+
+The shot missed. Mary Louise was turning over many things in her mind.
+Her little plans were being threatened and by circumstances which she
+had previously scorned to notice. Irritation and a restless desire to
+be up and at her obstacles were prevailing over all other feelings.
+For several moments she pondered, gazing through the glass half of the
+sitting-room door, and then with a hurried, "I'll be back," she bolted
+from the room, out toward the kitchen.
+
+When she returned some fifteen minutes later there was a look of
+settled calm on her face, and she busied herself making Miss Susie
+comfortable; for she had reached a decision and could think about
+other things. And the things that old Landy had told her had sobered
+her while they strengthened that decision.
+
+That night she lay on a restless pillow. The sudden change from the
+rattle and bang of the city where all the little noises were swallowed
+up in a general roar was hard on her ravelled nerves. She missed the
+noise. She found herself painfully acute to all the little tickings
+and crackings and buzzings that an open country window brings to one's
+ears. There was an unpleasant smell of damp matting there in the dark
+room. And the wind, as it came soughing down from the hill behind,
+caught a loose end of the roof somewhere over her head and made as
+though to roll it back. But it never did. Her bed was lumpy. It had
+never seemed so before. And there was not enough ventilation in the
+room. The two windows, placed side by side in the eaves, allowed no
+circulation. People in the country did not know how to live. Now she
+would knock that partition away. There was no use having a hall at
+the head of the stairs, a hall that led nowhere except into one room.
+She would knock that partition away and make a single big room of the
+whole attic. And then the window in the hall would serve for
+additional light and air for the one room. Or would it be better to
+cut another window and run the partition lengthwise, thus making two
+rooms of it? That might be better. Two rooms were better than one
+great big barn of a room. Later on, perhaps, she would have it done.
+She fell asleep over the complexity of the problem.
+
+The next morning she set out with dispatch to carry out her plan. She
+went to see Zenie Thompson.
+
+She found that much maligned and misunderstood woman cheerily rocking
+her leisure away at the front door of her home. The air was warm and
+Zenie had, contrary to the tenets of her race's religion, thrown open
+all the front of her house, windows and all. The neck of her waist,
+which was a very old white one of Mary Louise's, was likewise frankly
+open, and as there was considerable difference in the respective
+sizes, Zenie seemed on the point of bursting from its doubtful
+whiteness into all her full-blown coffee-coloured creamness. She
+hastily pinned up the bosom of it a little as Mary Louise turned in at
+her gate.
+
+"How do, Mis' Ma'y Louise," she beamed, rising to her feet and holding
+her offspring clutched at a precarious angle to her shoulder. She
+stood with one hand resting on the doorpost and in her eyes
+expectancy. "Won' you-all come in?"
+
+"Just for a minute," said Mary Louise, refusing the proffered chair
+and giving the room a hasty, critical look. Even in that critical look
+she could find naught to criticize. The cabin was a small three-room
+affair, set back from the street, between two vacant old storehouses.
+Zeke had whitewashed it without and calcimined it within, and with the
+free air that circulated the place this treatment was enough to make
+the front rooms passable. Over the iron mantel hung Zeke's "Knights of
+Macabre" sword in its scabbard. Mary Louise looked for the
+white-plumed hat but it had evidently been put away. On the left wall,
+in a brilliant gilt frame, hung a coloured portrait of Admiral Dewey.
+The artist had in some way inspired a look of malign cunning on the
+face by shifting the position of the left eye a hair's breadth below
+normal, but the mouth and smile were benign. On a table to the right
+reposed a glass case with a base of felt and a rounded top--the
+mausoleum for an ancient bird creature that looked like a prairie
+chicken, very droopy and, in spite of its interment, quite dingy with
+dust. It was vaguely familiar to her somehow.
+
+Zenie was watching the inspection with an eager, expectant look. When
+Mary Louise had apparently finished and turned to her again, she
+smiled.
+
+"You ain' eveh see ouh house befo', is you?"
+
+Mary Louise admitted she never had. And then to disarm any suspicion
+that she might have come for social reasons only, she attacked the
+matter in hand with characteristic vigour:
+
+"Zeke's not home much, is he?"
+
+"Right smaht he ain', no'm." Zenie's face was all expectant smiles.
+Not a shadow seemed to linger near it.
+
+Mary Louise allowed her gaze to travel about the room. In the entire
+atmosphere of the place was no besmirching suggestion of toil. She
+returned again to Zenie. The latter was like some tropical flower in
+full bloom. She began, selecting carefully her ground: "You haven't
+any place to put your baby, no one to watch him while you work, have
+you?" This was spoken with all the force of conviction.
+
+Zenie's face wreathed itself in another smile. "I ain' do no mo'
+wuk--not ontil Zeke he come home."
+
+Mary Louise paused and drew breath. She began again: "If there was
+somewhere you could put him, someone who could look out for him, or if
+it was so that you could keep an eye on him yourself--why, you could
+go to work again, like you used to."
+
+The brightness of Zenie's smile began to fade. "Yas'm. Yas'm, reckon I
+could." She turned her attention to the child in her arms and her
+voice, as she continued, was liquid soft. "Zeke's doin' so good--I
+ain' aim to wuk out no mo'. Jes' keep house heah fo' him."
+
+Then Mary Louise, sensing defeat, struck; struck unerringly for her
+objective which she judged to be the vulnerable spot; struck with
+characteristic vigour and direct: "I'll give you six dollars a week if
+you'll come and do the cooking for Miss Susie, for this summer." She
+paused and observed the effect.
+
+Zenie had suddenly acquired all the coy graces of a maid receiving a
+long-expected proposal. She cast her eyes discreetly down, toyed at
+the rocker edge with her shoe, and smiled.
+
+"You won't have to clean up the house. Landy does that. You won't have
+to do a single thing but cook." The speech ended with a rising
+inflection. Mary Louise's eloquent picture inspired even herself with
+hope.
+
+"Mis' Burrus done offa me seven."
+
+There was a momentary silence, during which time Mary Louise
+marshalled her routed forces. Directly she gallantly renewed the
+attack: "I'll give you seven then. And you can have all the time off
+you want, whenever you get through with the dishes." She had come, in
+a way, prepared for shocks, but the whirlwind manner of her
+recklessness was leaving her a bit breathless.
+
+Zenie's face at once assumed a look of concern and lifting her head
+she pondered far-off possibilities. "Zeke, he home so little," she
+began, and her voice had an ineffable sadness, "I likes to be home
+when he come."
+
+"But you _can_ be at home when he comes," Mary Louise explained with a
+patience which she far from felt. "You can get off directly dishes are
+done--seven o'clock every evening, I'm sure."
+
+"I know," responded Zenie, still doubting. "But Zeke, he gone at
+night. Mos' eve' night. He home in de day, mos' de day."
+
+It ended by Mary Louise's offering and Zenie's accepting ten dollars a
+week, and with a promise of starting in on the following Monday. Mary
+Louise descended the cabin steps with the hollow pomp of one who has
+bought his victory too dearly. Zenie, from the steps, called cheerily:
+"Mis' Ma'y Louise. You bring me some goods fuh a dress? Sometime when
+you come up ag'in?"
+
+Mary Louise paused at the gate and speculated on the humble creature
+on whom she had wreaked her will. "I guess I might, Zenie. What kind
+do you want?"
+
+Zenie beamed. "Oh, mos' any kin'. Whateveh you think is pritty. I pay
+you fo' it."
+
+Mary Louise promised and departed. She walked home very thoughtfully.
+Ten dollars a week! Ten dollars just to get the cooking done! She had
+had her eyes fixed very clearly indeed on the coveted goal to brush
+aside such an expensive obstacle.
+
+That afternoon, as she busied herself with little chores about the
+house--she was sweeping the side porch at the time--she chanced to
+look up and saw Joe Hooper driving by in a low-swung phaeton behind a
+sleepy old horse. Beside him sat Mr. Mosby, very prim and very erect,
+and Joe's arm lay along the back of the seat behind him. The street
+was rather shady and it was quite a distance from where she was to
+where he was passing. But somehow it seemed to her that there was a
+singularly cheerful, quite happy expression on his face as he lolled
+back against the cushion. And he did not look in as he passed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Two weeks passed. Joe felt himself gradually slipping into an abyss of
+resignation. Nearer and nearer came June. Less and less he seemed to
+care. He took interest in nothing. He ate and slept and plodded. He
+ate and slept and plodded as though all that life consisted of was
+eating and sleeping and plodding. Most of us have seen in some quiet
+fence corner, just behind the barn, under some old tree with gnarled
+trunk and droopy branches, an old gray horse, with eyes closed, muzzle
+resting on the top rail, one hind leg slightly bent and propped by the
+tip of a cracked and drying hoof. Most of us have seen such a horse,
+seemingly on the gradual slip into oblivion, whose very tail-switching
+was so rhythmic and regular as to fit in, in absolute harmony, with
+the swelling waves of sleep and measured breathing and all that sort
+of thing. And that very horse might well be on the brink of a day's
+exhausting labour. And furthermore he might well know it. Certainly
+his experience might tell him--easily enough. Yet he stands there
+switching in a sort of self-imposed numbness. It is probably nature's
+way of anaesthetizing him from the pain of unlimited drabness. It is
+the only way a sensitive nature can face such a prospect without going
+mad. Such was Joe.
+
+He had slumped. He no longer cared. He no longer cared if skies were
+blue and if breezes were lazy and outdoors was calling. He no longer
+cared when the quitting whistle blew. He no longer cared that June was
+only two weeks off. He would not even have cared if June had been the
+end of it all. He had settled into his stupor.
+
+And then one morning at about eleven o'clock he was summoned to the
+telephone by the switchboard operator. It was a drowsy morning, full
+of dronings and rustlings, and he was very heavy lidded as he stepped
+into the booth reserved for such calls. He had been expecting a
+message from Indianapolis about some shipment that had gone astray and
+for which he was putting in a claim. He sank heavily down upon the
+hard, polished little stool. The air was stuffy and foul about him.
+
+"This Mr. Hooper?" he heard a voice say.
+
+He said it was.
+
+"Well, this is----" He had not the slightest idea what the name was.
+But it made not the slightest difference. It might have been the
+president or it might have been the shipping clerk. All that mattered
+was that it was a tiresome sack of castings giving him some extra
+trouble. And so he stretched a little and yawned a little and replied:
+"Yes. All right."
+
+And then the voice went on a little hurriedly--too hurriedly for him
+to catch it all. And instead of "sack of castings," the voice kept on
+crazily alluding to "your uncle" and "all night"--and phrases that
+were jumbled as in a dream. He came to himself suddenly with a start
+and then the connection was broken off and there was nothing but a
+confused buzzing and rattling. He straightened up on the stool, waited
+a minute, and then jiggled the receiver. He felt very queer. He felt
+to blame for his stupidness. He felt someway as though he had been
+caught up with. And he could not understand.
+
+Directly the exchange called his name and he responded quite sharply
+and briskly. Then her "Just a minute," and he was feeling suddenly
+taut and tense. And then the voice was switched on again.
+
+Like a dream it came. He could barely make out the syllables. The
+voice was broken--seemed very far-away--very weak. It was telling him
+that his uncle--his uncle, Mr. Mosby--"Brrr! Brrr!"--and had not been
+seen since. There was a moment's pause.
+
+And then--would he come?
+
+Another pause and he had vague notions that that was all. And yet he
+had not heard. Yes, he would come.
+
+There was a click and then silence, and there he was, sitting just as
+though he had dreamed it all. Then a voice called, "Did you get
+them?" And he mechanically put up the receiver without a word.
+Something had happened--just what, he could only guess--make out
+piecemeal. There was trouble--he could feel that. Uncle Buzz had
+somehow stepped beyond the pale. He had heard the words "all night"
+and "no trace of him." This was no ordinary trouble. This was not a
+matter of trial balance.
+
+He opened the door and stepped out into the office. It was a changed
+place. Over there was his long flat-topped desk with the opened ledger
+upon it. A sheet of paper had blown to the floor and was sliding over
+toward him, its edges curling lazily. These seemed live, vibrant
+features. One of the clerks across the way had thought of something
+humorous and was leaning forward to tell his vis-a-vis. It had been so
+vital that he had laid his pen down to tell it. He was talking with
+half-shut lips, with eyes that shifted back and forth alert for a
+glance of disfavour. His rusty black derby sat on the back of his
+head: his white pique tie had slipped away from a bright brass collar
+button....
+
+Through the open door he could see Mr. Boner hunched up over his desk
+and as he watched, that gentleman suddenly plunged his head in a
+ducking motion toward the cuspidor on the floor and just as quickly
+bent down again over the desk. Like fire-flashes of consciousness all
+these things were. These were things going on outside of him. There
+was a world moving on outside of him, a world that took little count
+of the creatures in its path. All this--all this about him--was like a
+bit of stale, flat, slightly greenish backwater--the big wheels
+churning away just beyond and paying it no attention, letting it grow
+staler and staler. Some day there would come a change--as though the
+miller had opened up another sluice--and a few vigorous splashings and
+all would be changed even here. He viewed it speculatively, as one
+outside it all. He suddenly felt that for him it was all over. And he
+went into Mr. Boner's office.
+
+Mr. Boner looked up sidewise.
+
+"I've had a 'phone call from home."
+
+Mr. Boner's eyes rolled slightly, showing the whites.
+
+"There's some trouble there. I'll have to go."
+
+A moment's pause. Mr. Boner cleared his throat. "All right," he said.
+And then he bent back over his work.
+
+He went and got his hat. With his hand on the swinging door he paused
+and looked back. Not a head was raised. In the air there hovered a
+droning, a rustling. It was like a vast, drowsy, slothful thing,
+ignorant, dull, hateful. He pulled open the door. And then he left it.
+
+Three hours later he was standing in the "Golden Rule" at Bloomfield.
+Before him was a glass counter wherein were displayed knives and
+cleavers and scissors and other cutlery. Above the counter, peering
+at him rather anxiously over steel-rimmed spectacles, were the head
+and shoulders of Mr. Burrus. Burrus! It had come to him on the train.
+That was the name he had not caught. Burrus! Who else?
+
+"And you say that the last time you saw him was when he got into his
+buggy and drove away--last night? What makes you think he's gone
+away?"
+
+Mr. Burrus had been thoughtfully eyeing his stock of knives through
+the case and as Joe finished he cast a quick, sidewise glance up at
+him. Joe caught the flicker of it through the spectacles. "Well," he
+began, and hesitated a little, "it's what I woulda done--under the
+circumstances." Mr. Burrus' manner, usually so brisk and
+business-like, seemed suddenly to have changed. He scratched his head
+with a long and bony finger and looked up again at Joe. What he saw
+seemed not to reassure him, for Joe had all of a sudden grown beyond
+Bloomfield's conception of him. He towered above the cutlery
+case--seemed to fill out his clothes. There was a set look about his
+mouth and a steadiness about his eyes. Mr. Burrus paused again.
+
+"Circumstances?" said Joe. "Under what circumstances?"
+
+Mr. Burrus gazed off into the clear blue of the sky patch outlined by
+his front door. "Well," he began cautiously, "I weren't callatin' to
+say anything about this to anybody, but--I had to let Bushrod go."
+The little weazened body with its scrawny neck rising out of the
+gaping rubber collar, the shiny bald head with its fringe of graying
+hair about the edge, the white shirt sleeves with the frayed cuffs and
+the skinny brown hands--a most incongruous disguise for Nemesis to
+take in passing a pronunciamento.
+
+"Why?" Joe repeated after him softly. "Wasn't he doing his work?"
+
+Another flash-like glance up through the steel-rimmed spectacles. Mr.
+Burrus appeared to be weighing his words. "No," he considered, "it
+weren't that." He drummed with his fingers on the glass counter. "He
+was drunk," he snapped out, and stared sternly off into space. And
+then as if he felt it becoming of him, he frowned and his adam's-apple
+moved up and down with quick, spasmodic jerks. But he would not look
+at Joe.
+
+A moment's silence descended on the shop and the odours of the place,
+as though set free by that silence, came drifting to Joe's nostrils as
+he stood there waiting--waiting for the story. There was a blending of
+the smells of coal oil and fresh cloth on bolts and the indefinable
+metallic smell of tinware, and behind it all an overtone of odour, as
+it were, of sweet growing things--hay and grain--and the
+fields--Someone dropped a pan in the rear of the shop and Mr. Burrus
+looked around fiercely. When he again faced Joe, the harassed look was
+gone.
+
+Joe had been gradually making up his mind. "You'd seen him drunk
+before?--That wasn't the first time?"
+
+Mr. Burrus looked up. "Well!" he began tartly. "So much the worse,
+isn't it?"
+
+"No," said Joe, "it's not. If you'd fired him the first time there'd
+have been some reason for it. It was because he wasn't the kind of man
+you wanted in your office, wasn't it?"
+
+"That was it, exactly," agreed Mr. Burrus.
+
+"It was because he didn't see things as he should, didn't do things as
+he should--in a general way--that he wasn't fit for the job, Mr.
+Burrus?" Joe went on.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"And if he had--had been of a piece with yourself--so that you could
+have jiggled him around in your fingers like a hunk of putty, it would
+have been all right. It was not his drinking--it was his drinking in
+spite of your wanting him not to--that got him in bad, wasn't it, Mr.
+Burrus?"
+
+Mr. Burrus fidgeted and then turned sharply on Joe. "This ain't no
+third degree."
+
+"And you think he's gone away?" Joe continued as though not hearing
+him.
+
+"Of course he's gone away. What else was there for him to do?"
+
+There was no obvious alternative.
+
+Joe took his leave and went to see Mrs. Mosby. As he stood waiting in
+the cool, high-ceilinged hall, he was struck by the quiet of the
+place. It had an air of waiting. What for? There was a high walnut
+hat-rack with a mirror and a marble slab with a card tray on it, and
+two high-backed chairs, likewise black walnut and elaborately carved
+and atrocious, and in the dim recesses of the stair a horsehair sofa,
+all just as they had been for years. They were mute but they seemed
+expectant. What could they be waiting for? They were on the outside
+edge of things--where life was passing. What could be in store for
+them? And yet, as he stood in the hall, with the sound of his
+breathing so fine, so distinct in his ears, they seemed to be part of
+another presence waiting there with him, a mute presence as to sound,
+but in some way eloquent voiced, clamorous to be heard.
+
+A faint rustling came to his ears and then steps, and looking up, he
+saw his aunt Loraine coming down the stairs. Her bangles and her
+trinkets gave out hushed little clickings and he could hear her
+breathing as she came across the carpet to meet him.
+
+"Joseph," she said, and he could see beneath her shell that she was
+agitated. "Joseph! What do you suppose can have happened?" Her
+toilette, like an ancient ritual observed in every sacred detail,
+included her manner and deportment. The voice, the inflection, the
+bearing--all went with the ruching and the bangles. Joe had once
+wondered if she put them all in the same box when she went to bed.
+
+"I don't know, Aunt Lorry, I'm sure." Catching a haggard look about
+her eyes he added more gently: "But I wouldn't be too worried. He's
+probably gone to Louisville."
+
+She shook her head, and in spite of herself her voice broke a little.
+"He's never done that without telling me."
+
+Joe stood for a moment in thought. "There was no business that would
+take him anywhere--business about the farm?"
+
+"No," she said. "Won't you come in and sit down in the parlour? I was
+so upset----"
+
+He looked at her kindly. It was perhaps the first time in his
+experience he had ever done so. Somehow the shell did not seem so to
+cover her. She was such a tight little body, a close-bound fagot of
+reserves and inhibitions. She had never exuded the slightest humanity.
+And now the shell was cracking and little glints were showing through.
+"No, Aunt Lorry," he said. "Not now. There's nothing to be gained by
+talking--unless you have any ideas as to where--where he might have
+gone."
+
+Her eyes looked haggard but they remained stoically dry. She shook her
+head.
+
+He turned to go and took a few steps toward the door. And she came and
+laid her hand on his arm. It was as light and feathery as a dead leaf,
+but he could feel the warmth through his sleeve.
+
+"Don't," she said, "don't let anything get out if--if there's
+anything should be kept quiet." She looked him earnestly in the eyes.
+"I'll depend on you?"
+
+He promised and ran lightly down the front steps. Behind him the front
+door closed, ponderous and grave. And as he passed around the curve of
+the driveway to the gate he looked back and the shadows of the old
+house were stretching out toward him on the grass.
+
+He had had a sudden idea. There in the front hall it had occurred to
+him that there was one person at least who might know something. He
+had recalled that last night spent in the upstairs ell bedroom, the
+voices, the clatter of a car. Zeke was probably closer to his uncle
+Buzz than any other living soul. And just as suddenly he had decided
+that it would be time wasted to talk with his aunt Loraine--time that
+could be well spent elsewhere. And so his departure had been
+precipitate. And now as he hurried along the plank walk, beneath the
+arching branches, with the world so fresh and green and hopeful about
+him, he felt how incongruous everything was. Over beyond the hedge the
+blackbirds were hopping about on the grass looking for worms, giving
+occasional satisfied clucks. Across an intersecting road, on up ahead,
+an old buggy passed, drawn by a jogging horse with hanging head. Like
+the Mosby turnout--very. And that very morning he had been at his
+desk, drugged, overwhelmed with the hopelessness of monotony.
+
+He passed on to the other side of town, keeping to the back streets,
+for he did not wish to meet any one or talk to any one. It was nearing
+six o'clock as he approached the gate of Zeke Thompson's cabin, and
+there was that golden glow in the sky which so often follows a spell
+of dampness. It had rained the night before--the road looked dark and
+cool--and about the western sky the clouds were hovering as if
+undecided. But the sunlight streamed bravely through and all was fresh
+and clean and cool.
+
+The front door was open and as Joe passed through the gate he saw no
+one. Softly he climbed the steps and passed over the threshold. The
+room was empty, but an apron thrown carelessly over the back of a
+rocking chair gave evidence of its having been vacated not long since.
+The door to the next room was standing ajar.
+
+Joe stood and pondered. Just what should he ask Zeke? Should he tell
+him what had happened? Zeke might probably have heard, if the news was
+about. Standing there, waiting, there came to his ears a peculiar
+sound, faint, high-pitched, and monotonous. He listened. Someone was
+singing in the next room in a voice not much louder than a whisper.
+Curious, he walked softly over to the door and peered through.
+
+There in a tiny rocking chair sat a little figure rocking to and fro.
+Its back was half turned toward him, but he could see a kinky head
+which was bent over something held in its arms, which it was most
+evidently lulling to sleep. The room was darkening, with only a single
+patch of orange-coloured sunlight upon the bare floor. Back and forth
+went the little body. He could see the bare feet with the stubby toes,
+escaping as by miracle the ever-threatening rocker. There was a small
+square of blue-calico-covered back, two little pigtails of hair
+tightly tied with scraps of baby-blue ribbon, and--the voice. It was
+as fine and high as wind blowing across a hair and with a curious,
+lifting minor note. He listened.
+
+First there would be a gentle hushing and then the refrain--the melody
+was unappreciable and elusive, though constant:--
+
+    "Grasshopper set on sweet tater vine,
+    On sweet tater vine,
+    On sweet tater vine.
+    Big turkey gobbler come up behime
+    And nip him off that sweet tater vine."
+
+With the word "nip" would come a crescendo, swelling to a sharp little
+monosyllabic quaver, and then the whole thing would die away most
+mournfully.
+
+Twice he heard it sung through to the faint accompaniment of the tiny
+screaking rocker. It was a very solemn abjuration against the
+promiscuous sitting about of casual creatures. And oddly enough it
+seemed to him in a way that something was speaking through that
+feeble, quavering voice to him; that this was of the same parcel with
+what had happened, was happening. He felt singularly tense--had not
+the slightest desire to laugh. And as he watched, the orange patch on
+the floor began to fade, until the room was bathed in shadow. And the
+song came suddenly to an end and he heard a gentle little "Hush," and
+then a sigh, and then silence. Slowly he backed away on tiptoe from
+the door.
+
+He had barely gained the security of the front room--somehow he felt
+it as security--when he heard the gate screak and, turning suddenly,
+saw a man dart like a shadow around the side of the house. For a
+moment he stood in indecision; then he walked softly to the open front
+door and stood waiting on the threshold. It would be easier to explain
+his presence there. The sky had grown darker; curling billows of cloud
+rolling in from the south had chased away the orange glow and their
+under surface was lit by a pale-green luminance as they came. Shifting
+wisps of vapour slid twisting and writhing on up ahead, like outriders
+on reconnaissance. It was singularly still.
+
+Joe stood and waited. Directly he heard a sound, and then steps echoed
+on the walk around the side of the cabin, and then a man came hurrying
+around the corner, took one step up on the cabin stair, and then fell
+back with a low cry: "Fo' de Lawd."
+
+It was Zeke. The smoothness of his skin turned an ashen colour and the
+whites of his eyes were rolling. He pushed back away from the doorway
+and stared at Joe. Gradually the terror began to fade out of his face
+and it was superseded by a sickly grin. Joe was watching him closely.
+
+"You plum skeered me to deff," he finally managed to say, his breath
+coming fast and thick. "Thought you wuz a ghos'." The grin was very
+weak and it quickly subsided.
+
+Zeke was a gaunt "darky" of that peculiar transparent blackness that
+looks as though it is put on only one layer deep, and yet is black,
+not brown. He was thin and shambling, with high and prominent
+cheekbones and eyes that showed a lot of white at all times. Across
+one cheek was a long, purplish scar reaching up to the corner of one
+eye. It gave him a look of cunning from that quarter. But on the whole
+he was an ineffectual, shiftless looking Negro, with hands that were
+always dangling and feet that always dragged.
+
+"Ain' seen you fo' a long time, Mist' Joe."
+
+"No. I've been away--down in the city." He paused a moment,
+considering the best way to begin. "Where were you and Mr. Bushrod
+last night?" he ventured on a bold stroke.
+
+Zeke's eyes opened wide. "Why, we wusn' no place, Mist' Joe, Mist'
+Bushrod, he--I was to bring him--he and I wuz to have a little bisnis
+ovah to de house, but I couldn' come." His face clouded and took on
+an anxious look. "Dey ain' no trubbel, is dey, Mist' Joe?"
+
+Joe made no reply and Zeke watched his thoughtful, serious face with
+growing anxiety. Here was one more avenue of possible solution
+blocked. Since yesterday afternoon no one had apparently seen
+him--Uncle Buzz. It was as though the world had swallowed him up. He
+would have to seek elsewhere. He was on the point of dismissing the
+matter, of going elsewhere, when a thought suddenly came to him.
+
+"You and he were to have some business last night?" he said, looking
+at Zeke intently.
+
+Zeke grinned a sheepish grin. "Yessuh, we wuz--we had a little
+bisnis."
+
+"But you didn't meet him? Sure you didn't meet him?"
+
+"Sho I neveh. I ain' able to git de--I was detain'." Zeke had learned
+from experience and considerable instinct to hedge his utterances
+about with much generality. It was a good principle. It meant less to
+retract.
+
+Joe thought another moment. "Take me," he said suddenly, "to the place
+where you get the business." There he might find a connecting link in
+his chain, he felt growingly certain.
+
+"Oveh to Mist' Bushrod's?" The inflection was perfectly naive.
+
+"No. Of course not--out where you get it. Over to Fillmore or wherever
+it is."
+
+"Now, Mist' Joe," very reproachfully and with a quick, nervous
+flashing of the eyes.
+
+Joe frowned. "You needn't put on anything with me, Zeke. I'm not going
+to give you away. Let's go get your car." He stretched out his arm as
+though to sweep Zeke into doing his bidding and started for the door.
+
+"But I ain' eveh had no bisnis to Fillmo'," Zeke began in a last
+effort to stem the tide. "They ain' no bisnis theh."
+
+"That's more like it. That may be the truth," said Joe pressing him
+on. And Zeke reluctantly passed out and descended the steps.
+
+As Joe turned to close the front door behind him he caught a look back
+in the room. Framed in the doorway stood a very small pickaninny,
+barely reaching to the knob. She was barefoot, in a blue calico dress,
+with her hair done in two kinky braids that stood out in front like
+diminutive horns. In her arms she held tightly clutched an old corn
+shock wrapped in a red rag. One hand grasped the doorpost. And she was
+watching him wide eyed and very gravely.
+
+"That's good advice you gave me," Joe said to her, as he closed the
+door.
+
+They made their way around a corner to a ramshackle shed, Joe urging
+on the reluctant Zeke by the menace of an encroaching shoulder. Zeke
+paused at the entrance. He groped in his pocket and directly pulled
+forth a key on a very dirty, greasy string. Fumblingly he inserted it
+in the lock. Then he paused again and lifting his eyes, thoughtfully
+inspected the sky.
+
+"Look powahful lak rain," he reflected dubiously.
+
+"Get the car out," said the inexorable Joe. "We can put the top up."
+
+Zeke opened the door and went in. For several minutes there was the
+metallic slip and catch of the crank and Zeke's laboured breathing.
+Then there issued forth a reverberating roar as of a monster released
+in travail, and then slowly there emerged, back end first, a perfect
+scarecrow of an automobile, mud stained and rust streaked, with an
+arrangement on the back like a discarded chicken crate, with fenders
+that were battered and twisted as though torn by some elemental
+tempest, and with a sagging and flopping top over the front seat that
+looked as though at any moment it might collapse from sheer
+decrepitude. Slowly the thing backed out of the shed, in a curve to
+the road, with much groaning and roaring, and then came to a stop. The
+whites of two eyes peered out of the shadow of the enveloping bonnet
+as Joe approached.
+
+He took one more look at the sky before he climbed in. The racing
+forerunners of storm had in some inexplicable manner vanished and
+there remained a lowering canopy of gray and black with here and there
+a patch of grayish green. Over in the west was a thin line of greening
+yellow, and the shadows were darkening over the back lanes through the
+trees.
+
+"Let's go," said Joe, climbing in.
+
+With much panting and sputtering and popping the car started slowly
+forward and they were off. Neither spoke. They came to an intersecting
+street and Zeke slowed down the car.
+
+"Which way, Mist' Joe?" he asked.
+
+Joe was suddenly irritated. "To Fillmore. You know where I mean.
+Wherever you've been going for the stuff."
+
+Zeke made a sudden turn to the left, narrowly escaping the projecting
+roots of a tree. Joe clung to the top brace for support. Down a
+darkening street they rolled, with the trees arching, sombre overhead,
+and on either side, back in the shadows, the darker shapes of houses
+with here and there the passing glow of a lighted lamp. Night
+descended upon them as they left the town and a few splashes of rain
+appeared on the dirty glass of the wind-shield. Joe settled stoically
+down to wait. There was so much time to be passed until he could be of
+further use and until then there was no need of making any effort. The
+thought of the morning came back to him. It did not seem possible that
+the same day was passing. Singularly, the idea of Bromley's was the
+thing that obsessed him rather than the business in hand. It was as
+though he had been released on furlough. "Grind, grind, grind," said
+the car. "You will be back at it all to-morrow. This is not real. This
+is a dream you're having." He shook himself. He was getting sleepy,
+felt utterly fagged.
+
+And then Mary Louise flashed across his mind. "Come on," she seemed to
+say. "You're slipping. You're getting behind. They're all getting
+ahead of you. You're not keeping up. Let's get in a little
+more--little more--little more." He lurched against the top brace,
+blinked, and straightened up. Beside him was the shadow bent a little
+over the wheel. He could see the outline of the peak of the old golf
+cap and the dim tracing of Zeke's face, about it a faint gleam, and
+then the flash of an eye. He pondered. Here was Zeke doing his
+work--playing his part in the scheme of things. _He_ was not bothered
+by any notions of obligation. _He_ was not concerned with working out
+his destiny. _He_ played his cards as he got them. "Sometime they roll
+seven--and sometime they roll two," he remembered the words of a
+philosopher of the rolling rubes a year ago--or was it a lifetime?
+Bromley's! The Golden Rule! Mary Louise! All alike. "Shape yourself to
+this pattern. Fill this niche. You've got to," said one. "Be like me.
+Do as I do. Or get out," said another. "It costs so much to live this
+way. And you have to. Or it's not worth living," said the third. How
+about his way of looking at it?
+
+He turned suddenly to the inscrutable face beside him.
+
+"You don't let anybody cramp your style, do you, Zeke?" he said.
+
+Zeke started. The sudden voice for a moment terrified him. "Nossuh, I
+doesn'," he stammered, anxious to agree.
+
+Joe's voice was kindly encouraging. "Well, don't you let them, ever."
+
+"Nossuh, I won'." And singularly he spoke the truth.
+
+They came to a stretch of sand and the car slowed down appreciably. In
+addition there was a grade. And then came a flash of lightning over in
+the west, straight ahead of them, and another, fan-shaped, like the
+slow opening of a hand. In the momentary glare they saw the outlines
+of a hill up before them, with the road clipping it in two. A
+telephone pole on the crest stretched out spectral arms and leaned
+away. And then darkness again.
+
+Joe decided he had better tell Zeke the object of their mission. It
+really didn't matter much, but then he wanted to talk.
+
+"Do you reckon Mr. Bushrod's in Fillmore, Zeke?" he began, trying to
+make it as conversational as possible.
+
+"I dunno. Mist' Joe. He might could." This offered no encouragement.
+
+"He's been gone--ever since last night. Reckon he is in Fillmore?" He
+caught the gleam of two eyes as Zeke partly turned to look at him.
+
+"I dunno, Mist' Joe. Wheh you reckon he gone?" As yet the import had
+failed to reach him.
+
+For a short while they rolled along in silence, silence save for the
+rattling labour of the car. The grade was growing steeper. On both
+sides of the road the woods were encroaching and the only light was
+the feeble one cast by the single uncertain lamp of the car. It barely
+seemed to puncture the black.
+
+"Mist' Bushrod ain' been home?" came Zeke's voice. The idea was
+beginning to have effect.
+
+"Not since yesterday morning."
+
+For another interval, silence, and then: "Whuh Mist' Bushrod gone?
+Reckon he gone to Louisville?" Perhaps the faint stirrings of a cell
+of conscience. Who can say?
+
+"Don't know, Zeke. Perhaps."
+
+As though satisfied by this mutual exchange of confidence, Zeke lapsed
+again into silence, and for a time nothing was heard save the voice of
+the car and occasional sighing bursts of wind high up in the
+tree-tops. Then there came a black line of shadow stretching across
+their way, on up ahead, and above it a yellowish, greenish streak of
+light where the clouds were breaking. Faint wisps of vapour went
+curling slowly across the streak and there was a patch of blue, very
+deep, and the momentary gleam of a star, and then they plunged into
+the shadow.
+
+The air grew cooler, almost cold. The woods had swept down upon the
+road and engulfed it. Even the noise of the motor seemed quieter, and
+above it could be heard whisperings and occasional crackings.
+Something started up from a thicket by the side of the road and they
+could hear it scurrying through the underbrush. Zeke moved up the
+throttle and they began to move faster. And on either side of them
+came down the darkness, sweeping past them, pressing close, and before
+them wavered the faltering light, and the cool damp air came fingering
+and touched their faces.
+
+Zeke stopped the car. The rushing darkness stopped. The breeze was
+still.
+
+"Heah's de place," he said, and his voice was lower; Joe could barely
+hear him.
+
+"I thought it was Fillmore. This isn't Fillmore."
+
+"I know," said Zeke. "I doesn' go to Fillmo'. Dis is de place whuh I
+gets it. Up de paff a piece."
+
+Joe was on the point of telling him to go on--on to Fillmore, where
+proper inquiry might be made, when a sense of curiosity prompted him
+to stop. He would see where the illegal traffic was being carried on.
+Zeke was trustingly letting him in on his business and he might not
+understand. After all, it was getting down in a way to the heart of
+the business--in a way getting closer to Uncle Buzz. He had never
+bothered much before. He climbed out of the car and Zeke shut off the
+motor.
+
+The silence, as he followed Zeke down the narrow path, was oppressive.
+There would come a vast sighing like a wave of sound, and a settling,
+a few crackings far off, and then silence. The ground was soft with a
+matting of fallen leaves, damp and mouldy, and once as Zeke turned his
+pocket flashlight from the path there came a gleam of water. Briars
+flicked his face and scratched his hands, and once a low-hanging
+branch struck him across the eyes and he stumbled from the path and
+stepped into slime. He kept close behind his guide, for the darkness
+was intense and the path was tortuous. Directly Zeke stopped. The
+pocket light made a small circle on the ground.
+
+"Heah 'tis," Zeke whispered, and pointed with the light.
+
+A thicket of blackberry bushes crowded into a corner of an old
+snake-rail fence and two old boards were all that was visible in the
+narrow compass of the light--that, and a pool of dark water over to
+one side. Up above, there was a break in the trees and a suggestion,
+beyond, of open fields. He stood for a minute. Nothing else was
+visible, nothing from the hand of man, as Zeke moved the light back
+and forth in slow-sweeping arcs. It had been a waste of time; there
+was nothing to see, nothing but the crude assignation place of a troop
+of spectral whiskey jugs, and the seat of a profitable industry. He
+turned to go, his mind shifting to other things. He heard Zeke
+fumbling in the bushes, saw the light switch into the fence corner,
+then across the pool; and then he heard a cry, a low cry of terror,
+and caught a glimpse of something white--on the ground, near a big
+tree. And then Zeke's voice, "Fo' Gawd!" and the light switched off
+and someone came hurrying toward him in the darkness.
+
+"Come on, Mist' Joe. Le's git away fum heah!"
+
+Zeke brushed past him in an agony of haste. He heard his footsteps on
+the leaf carpet, saw the crazy flickerings of the light through the
+trees, and had a sudden intense desire to follow. But he paused,
+curious, mastering his fear. And then the outline of the clearing came
+slowly to his eyes, and looking up he saw that the clouds were
+breaking and that the tip of the moon was showing through. Slowly the
+place was bathed in a silvery flood. Back slipped the shadows. Shapes
+that had been pressing, close at hand, receded and took the form of
+trees, of bushes, lurking there on the edge of the darkness. He saw
+the fence corner. He saw the two boards propped up against it, forming
+a cache. He saw the pool, a tiny little woodland pool. And then he
+caught again that glimmer of white by the foot of a huge beech tree.
+Slowly he made his way toward it with beating heart. Slowly it took
+shape, a huddled shadow, right on the edge of the light. He touched it
+with his foot, careful lest he step beyond. He stooped. He touched it
+with his hand. He turned it over. And the moonlight, slipping through
+the trees as though to help him, sent a feeble, flickering shaft
+down--upon the upturned face of Uncle Buzz. For a moment it rested
+there, as if to reassure him, bringing out in misty detail all that
+was necessary. The thing was hideously befouled, besmirched, lying
+there in that black swamp water, mute, helpless, utterly broken. But
+it was unmistakeable. He stretched out his arms and dragged it from
+the water, and the clouds, closing in again, obscured the moon,
+leaving all in darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+Two days later they buried Mr. Mosby.
+
+Joe had kept his promise. At least he had kept it as well as it was
+possible to keep it. It was decided that Mr. Mosby had met his death
+by drowning. That is what "One Half of Rome" believed. The "Other Half
+of Rome" perhaps had various ideas. It could not be surmised from the
+set conventional expressions on the faces of those gathered together
+in the back parlour that hot Saturday afternoon just what the
+consensus was. There had been at first a surreptitious buzz of
+conversation and then deep silence as the Episcopal priest in his long
+white vestments came slowly in. Joe felt peculiarly outside of it all.
+He was in a sense neither spectator nor mourner. For Mrs. Mosby
+depended on the palsied arm of her brother for support. And then there
+were a few old ladies, friends of Mrs. Mosby's, and himself bringing
+up the rear--merely appended to the family, the last survivor of the
+discredited branch. He was conscious of a heavy scent of flowers
+banked about the close, dark room, a scent in which the cloying
+sweetness of jasmine prevailed. For a moment there was not a sound,
+and then the minister lifted his head and began the burial service.
+He, too, was feeling the heavy hand of time, and his voice, so long
+charged with the burden of emotion, emotion that had had to be
+summoned on short notice, seemed on the point of breaking. He was old
+and broken himself, wearied with futility, with his head raised,
+half-closed eyes lifted ceiling-ward, his fluttering draperies now
+billowy, now closely enwrapping his gaunt frame in the little breeze
+that came in from the hall. There was not much of comfort to be
+gained, not much of hope. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, Joe
+could get a glimpse of a wall of white, blank, expressionless faces
+and the silent waving of countless palm-leaf fans. Directly in front
+of him was the long, narrow back of Mr. Fawcette, and beside the
+latter, Aunt Loraine, sitting very straight and very stiff, her new
+black veil opaquely shielding from curious eyes the delicacy of her
+grief. The ruching was there, but the bangles had been laid aside. On
+went that quavering, faltering voice:
+
+"All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of
+men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of
+birds."
+
+Of just what kind had been Uncle Buzz, he found himself wondering. A
+weaker kind, or at least, a kind ill suited to the world it had been
+thrown in.
+
+"Now I say, brethren," the voice went on, "that flesh and blood cannot
+inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit
+incorruption."
+
+What, thought Joe, were the chances of all those white, fleshy faces
+staring there, immovable? The crowd in the back parlour--a single,
+silent, pasty-faced, fan-waving convention, over which the fat, pasty
+white hand of death was significantly hovering, and about which the
+odour of jasmine was pressing. He felt suddenly stifled, suffocated.
+He wanted to get up and run away, out of doors, anywhere. The only
+thing that seemed to escape the stifling was his Uncle Buzz, lying
+there quietly, in acceptance. And then he knew that another link had
+been broken, a link that held him to the past. There was a little less
+friendliness, a little less cheer, a little less understandableness--he
+was conscious of it--a little less need of him.
+
+The service came to an end and a small fraction of the assembly filed
+out to the family burying ground on the hill behind the house. Here
+came a repetition of what had been enacted in the back parlour, only
+there was the distraction of the wind which would be playful and of a
+robin, perched on a near-by fence post, who would not be depressed but
+sang away its liquid, throaty warble as though the whole ceremony had
+been arranged for its own entertainment. It came quickly to an end.
+Mr. Mosby was sent on his way with all due convention and dispatch
+with a little of sentimentality thrown in for good measure. A few
+moments of grace after the last clods of earth were tossed on and
+patted down, and then everyone was hurrying away, back to his
+respective niche, cloaking haste with a thin layer of dignity. Mr.
+Burrus openly ran after a departing "Ford." It was Mr. Martin's, and
+the handy reserve carry-all of the "Golden Rule," and Mr. Burrus
+preferred a moment's haste to a long, hot walk at greater leisure. Joe
+remembered his face, there in the third row at the end, in the back
+parlour. Inscrutable it had seemed--a weazened, yellowing blank mask,
+slowly souring in the heat. What had he been thinking on? On the waste
+of some lost accounts, perhaps--or even on the amount of credit he
+might allow the widow. It might be that he contemplated the remote
+results of his own handiwork lying there in the black cloth-covered
+box. But if this latter, his face showed no sign. And "Neither Half of
+Rome," though it point an accusing finger, would pause for a moment as
+it passed him by.
+
+Joe did not go back to the house with the rest of the family. Instead,
+he struck out across the fields away from them. He climbed the back
+boundary fence and was soon walking up to his knees in grass and
+weeds. The air was hot and sticky and heavily charged with a
+shimmering white water vapour. There were a few sluggish clouds with
+sombre centres hanging about the valley to the southwest, and there
+was a drone and zip of flying creatures in swarms above the drying
+weeds and stubble. Coming to a large oak tree standing solitary in
+that wasting field, he threw himself face downward on the ground in
+its shadow, careless that the grass was scant, and that his bed was
+scratchy. For a moment he lay in utter relaxation, caring for and
+observing nothing. And then, the sharp edge of his fatigue being
+broken, he slowly turned on his side and leaned his head on his palm,
+his elbow resting on the ground. It was a barren prospect that
+stretched out before him: lazy, shiftless land clear over the brow of
+the hill that sloped away to the house. The Fawcette place had not
+been worked to capacity for years, and there it lay, the waste of Mr.
+Mosby's opportunity. Tiny creatures swarmed in the grass. Joe could
+see them scurrying up and down the withered and drying stalks. A
+little crowd of gnats was hovering about his head and occasionally one
+would light upon his face and stick there dejectedly. Above the grass,
+against the blue of the sky beyond, he could see the shimmering waves
+hang tremulous like the air above a hot wood-stove in winter, and
+there came to his ears the sudden whirring zip of a grasshopper in
+mid-flight. Directly there came another, and another, till the air
+seemed full of them. Summer had come. And about him lay the field in
+listless idleness.
+
+It was common talk that it should be worked, that it was a shame not
+to work it. But there had not been money enough. Money was needed for
+everything, everything that man wanted to do, money and something
+else. About him buzzed the gnats; all around him poured the sunshine;
+and in his ears was the drone of countless insects. This was Saturday.
+Another full day and would come Monday. Monday! He had not thought of
+it until now. He suddenly felt the uselessness of his bonds. And yet
+he could feel the stretching of his tether. Was everybody fastened to
+a tether? Was there no such thing as freedom? Singularly enough, this
+field in all its idleness, with all its heat, with its droning and
+buzzing, suggested freedom. In fact, the feel of the entire country,
+this country that he had known, about which his memories clustered
+thick, suggested freedom. And yet it was not above reproach. People
+spoke of it condescendingly. "Poor land--unproducing--a century behind
+the times." What was it? The land? The people? The times? There was
+Uncle Buzz, with his foothold on two hundred acres, and they had
+buried him in his one good suit. Buried beneath the force of
+circumstances, he had never once lifted his head--had died with it in
+a shallow pool of water. And _he_ was no better. He could feel the
+shackles close about him, binding him hand and foot. What was one to
+do? His head dropped down upon the crook of his arm and he fell
+asleep.
+
+An hour later he awoke. He felt hot and uncomfortable. He stretched
+himself and rolled over on his back. He gazed upward through the
+tangle of branches and tried to relax again. But the heat had become
+unbearable. He struggled to his feet and brushed the litter from his
+clothes. Away in each direction stretched the field. It was dry and
+dusty and covered with a short, cutting stubble beneath the upper
+surface of waving grass and weeds. It no longer held any allurement
+for him and yet he did not want to go back to the house. He looked at
+his watch. It was five o'clock. Some of the old ladies would still be
+there. They would be sitting about on the horsehair chairs making
+lugubrious conversation. Back toward the left stretched the pike,
+white and dusty enough. But there were trees along the edge of it, and
+he remembered the grass in the fence corners to be long and fresh and
+succulent as a rule, even in midsummer. Slowly he started in that
+direction. When he reached the boundary fence he was dripping with
+perspiration and his shoes and trouser hems were covered with the
+yellow dust. He climbed the fence, and as he stepped out into the road
+he saw an automobile approaching in the distance, dipping down a hill
+to the creek that broke the stretch toward Guests. It was not often
+that motors of any distinction saw fit to travel into Bloomfield; the
+pike was not good enough. But this approaching car seemed to be one of
+some distinction--was long and rather rakish, had a deep sound to the
+exhaust as it started up the hill toward him. Idly he watched it.
+There were two passengers, a man and a woman, slouched well down in
+the seats. What could they be doing in the heat of the afternoon with
+the top down and in all that blazing sunlight? He stepped over to the
+side of the road and dragged his feet, first one and then the other,
+in the grass to wipe off some of the dust. He knew that he was hot and
+dirty and dishevelled, but he did not care much. On came the car. As
+it came nearer it lost its interest to him and he sat down in the
+grass and plucked a blade to chew, paying it no further attention.
+Suddenly, to his surprise, he realized it was stopping and then the
+woman called to him.
+
+At first he did not recognize her. Her face was quite red from the sun
+and she had on a fetching little close-fitting motor-bonnet with
+fluttering lavender strings. A long lemon-coloured duster enveloped
+the rest of her. She was quite pretty, with the contrast of colour,
+with her hair all snugly tucked away. It did not look like Mary
+Louise, but it was. He felt very conscious of his dusty old suit and
+his wilting collar and his flushed and perspiring face, as he came and
+stood by the car.
+
+"This is Mr. Claybrook, Joe," she said, looking at him gravely.
+
+He remembered then the big, confident man that had joined them that
+unhappy night.
+
+"I just heard, Joe. It was terrible. I was awfully distressed."
+
+He looked into her eyes--she spoke so earnestly--and wondered if she
+were feeling all she might feel. Uncle Buzz had not received very
+charitable treatment at her hands. The picture of it all came before
+his mind and he said nothing.
+
+"When is--when is the funeral?"
+
+"It's all over," he replied shortly. "This afternoon."
+
+"Oh."
+
+She turned and had a word with her companion. And then he leaned over,
+partly across her, smiling quietly.
+
+"We're going right back in an hour or so. Be glad to have you go with
+us. There's plenty of room." His voice was big and rather pleasant and
+he had an air of careless assumption that everything would be all
+right.
+
+"Yes, do, Joe," Mary Louise put in. "I had John drive me up this
+afternoon. I wanted to get here in time for----Aunt Susie wanted some
+things."
+
+It was quite natural the way she said, "I had John----"
+
+"It will be better than going back on that morning train--to-morrow?
+And I suppose you'll have to be back at the office Monday?" He had
+never known her voice to be so solicitously sweet.
+
+"No," he said, and he surprised himself, "I'm not going back." He had
+come to no such decision. But the idea was suddenly so utterly
+distasteful that it seemed impossible. And _she_ having _him_,
+Claybrook, take him, Joe, back to work. The smart of it was
+intolerable. "No," he repeated firmly, "I'm not going back." And then
+he gazed off across the hood of the motor into the vacant field
+beyond.
+
+"I see," she replied, rather softly, and he could feel that she was
+watching him and that Claybrook was, in a way, standing by in a
+condescending attitude, ready to do her bidding.
+
+He was anxious to be off, anxious to be alone. "Thank you very much,
+however," he said, and bowed to Claybrook. He avoided Mary Louise's
+eyes. He backed away from the car and lifted his hat. "Good-bye."
+
+Turning away, he set off down the road, away from Bloomfield, and
+shortly he heard the motor start and the grind of wheels. He looked
+back. He saw her lean over as though to speak to Claybrook. And then
+he saw Claybrook turn his face toward hers. They were probably talking
+about him.
+
+He trudged on down the road, although he had no idea of where he was
+going. There was a soreness deep down in his heart and it hurt all the
+more because he realized that he had been unreasonable. And he had
+said he was not going back. He caught his breath slightly at the
+thought. Well, he wouldn't go back. There was no reason why he
+should--absolutely no reason. With that he turned about and walked
+briskly back up the hill toward home.
+
+As he entered the front hall he could hear a low hum of conversation
+on the other side of the parlour doors. They were partly open, and he
+hurried past lest someone call for him to come in. He went upstairs,
+into the ell bedroom, and took off his coat. He looked at himself in
+the glass of the bureau. His face was red and streaked with
+perspiration and dust. And _they_ had looked quite fresh--"smart" was
+the word. He proceeded to clean himself up and he spent quite a long
+time in the process.
+
+When he came downstairs again it was growing dark. He no longer heard
+the voices in the parlour. When he reached the foot, he paused for a
+moment in uncertainty. The walnut chairs were there, quite placid and
+content with themselves, and the hat-rack, and the old horsehair sofa.
+His aunt Loraine came out of another door, back in the passage. She
+had, of course, laid aside her veil and her face had been freshly
+powdered; she looked quite the same. There was a certain prim set to
+her mouth, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were calculatingly
+cool. She did not touch him but stood with her arms hanging rather
+stiffly by her sides.
+
+"Joseph," she said, "we want you to stay, if you will--as long as you
+feel you can."
+
+The tiny spark that he had felt died away. "We," she had said. He
+wondered who the "we" might be. Mr. Fawcette, perhaps; perhaps one of
+the old ladies. Aunt Lorry had evidently been looking ahead. There was
+no need for him here.
+
+"No," he said rather quietly. "Thank you very much, Aunt Lorry. I
+must be getting back--first train to-morrow, I expect."
+
+She lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly. "Very well. Make yourself at
+home while you stay." And she glided off with her queer, noiseless
+step, back into the shadow of the hall.
+
+He walked to the front door and out on to the wide verandah. He looked
+down the winding driveway to the gate, all mellowing in the dying
+sunlight. There was not a breath of air, not a sound. The gate was
+standing partly open; the last departing guest had neglected to shut
+it. On the driveway lay something white, somebody's handkerchief. It
+lay without moving, inert. There was nothing to pick it up, not even
+the slightest breeze. He gazed across the open country that dipped
+away to the west to the ridge of hills that was crowned with orange
+and purple mists, with the white road climbing to its crest. And as he
+watched, he could see a small blob of white dust moving, leaving a
+feathery tail behind it. And he turned quickly and went into the
+house.
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+MYRTLE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The sunlight was dazzling white. High winds during the night had
+chased all clouds to remote quarters and had with the morning suddenly
+gone, leaving the city to the entire mercy of the sun. It was August
+and very dry and in the corners of buildings huddled little heaps of
+dust and elusive trash, withered and powdery. On the pavements and
+walls the sunlight lay like white-hot gold and the shadows cast by the
+awnings of Bessire's department store were sharply chiselled as by a
+stencil. Mary Louise paused for a moment in their shelter and drew
+breath.
+
+Sometimes work is a fattener. It is when, by virtue of its absorption,
+certain phases of the body are allowed to function naturally. It is
+true in the case of meddling minds, also in more or less conscientious
+natures. Mary Louise's nerves had temporarily ceased to feed upon her.
+She was getting plump. The lace frill at the bottom of her elbow
+sleeve lay flat against a curve that was full and round. In fact, one
+was conscious of a general well-roundedness about her. And her face,
+which was flushed, was likewise serene.
+
+The tea room had been making money. With the arrival of the intense
+heat had come generous patronage, especially for the noon meal. And
+the petty vexations had effaced themselves. For the past few weeks an
+atmosphere of expectancy had seemed to hover, such as is felt on
+trains arriving after a long journey, or in the completion of a work.
+It was the sense of accomplishment. Mary Louise felt her problem
+undergoing solution, and nothing else mattered. She now laughed at the
+dismay she had felt at paying ten dollars for a cook in Bloomfield.
+There was no price to be set on her freedom. And the careless streak
+in Maida was something to be accepted with good nature and not to be
+allowed to irritate. Maida was at least on the job, eternally on the
+job. Not much of a companion truly, nor for that matter a really good
+business partner. But she irradiated good nature and that was
+something.
+
+A sizzling hot pavement is not much of a place for reflection even if
+shaded by a striped awning. So Mary Louise passed on. The bundle of
+fresh-printed menus was getting heavy under her arm--she had just come
+from the printer's--and the soda fountain at the corner drug store
+tempted her. She yielded.
+
+She took a seat alongside a revolving electric fan and let the breeze
+play on her heated cheek. She felt suddenly lazy and allowed herself a
+delicious relaxation. Behind the counter two boys in spotless caps
+and aprons were working with desperate haste to cool the dusty throats
+lined up before them. One of them looked like Joe Hooper, except that
+he moved faster, was quicker with his hands. Poor Joe! How helpless
+and hopeless he had looked that afternoon. He was one of the kind that
+could not learn how. The other clerk stopped before her and asked her
+for her order. This one looked very much like the new cook Maida and
+she had just hired. So intent was she upon her observation that she
+forgot he was speaking to her. That new cook--he was a smart,
+sharp-looking boy--just out of the army a few months. It had seemed a
+bit incongruous having that type in the kitchen, but then----She
+watched the face before her, hair sleek and parted in the middle with
+ears a little too prominent, features rather regular. The eyes were
+set too close together. He slid in and out without friction, made up
+almost two drinks to the other one's one--the one who looked like Joe.
+Probably made more money even than the real Joe.
+
+A tall frosty tumbler was placed before her. She dipped into it with a
+straw. It was delightfully cool and refreshing, with a blend of fruit
+odour and flavour beneath the sprig of mint that floated on the top.
+Slowly she sipped it. And then for a moment she let her eyes wander
+across the faces lined up before the counter beside her. Next to her
+was an old woman in a sleazy black dress with a turban-like hat all
+swathed with a long black veil hemmed with black. She had looped it
+back in anticipation of the drink she would soon get. The old face was
+white and limned with wrinkles, and one hand, as it rested timidly on
+the edge of the counter, was heavily veined and thin and swollen about
+the knuckles. There was a droop to the shoulders and a patient,
+haggard look about the eyes. Mary Louise wondered if the mourning were
+very real; she seemed so very tired that even a poignant grief might
+well be spent. As she looked, the old woman caught her eye and turned
+hurriedly away.
+
+Beyond her two young girls were making merry with the cherries in
+their glasses. At odd moments they would surreptitiously bid for the
+soda-jerker's attention. They had finely plucked eyebrows and were
+much powdered about the nose. One of them sat with her back partly
+turned to Mary Louise, who could catch the occasional lift of an
+alluring eyelash from the glass's brim in the direction of the clerk.
+She had her legs crossed, and once when she shifted her position Mary
+Louise could see the gleam of a bare knee. It made her feel a bit
+older somehow, but likewise complacent.
+
+She finished her drink and arose to go. Just then the big, raw-boned
+clerk, the one who looked a bit like Joe, dropped a glass on the
+counter and immediately there was a widening stain of red and a piece
+of glass rolled over the edge and fell to the floor. A woman sprang
+up and back from the counter in irritation. And a dull red flush crept
+into the boy's face as he quickly produced a rag and began to mop up
+the debris. As she walked to the door, the other clerk, the one with
+the close-set eyes, was saying something to him in a sharp tone.
+
+She paused a moment. Past her on the sidewalk pressed a steady stream
+in each direction. Hot, perspiring faces, flushed and lined with
+concentration, worry, or fatigue--all hurrying. She felt curiously
+complacent and aloof. Perhaps it was the momentary rest and cooling.
+Her thought returned again to Joe, being reminded perhaps by the
+little incident at the counter. She recalled Claybrook. She remembered
+Claybrook's words that afternoon--that afternoon she had gone to
+Bloomfield. It was just a few minutes after they had left Joe Hooper
+on the road; they were passing the old Mosby place. She had noticed
+the interest with which Claybrook had inspected the place as they
+rolled by. He had asked the name of the owner.
+
+"Fine old trees," he had said. And later, "Walnuts," in answer to her
+question as to which ones he had meant.
+
+Yes, they had been fine old trees. Something enduring about them. They
+added to a place--trees. There was nothing artificial or upstart about
+their beauty, but the venerableness of dignity. The Mosby place had
+been noted for its walnuts.
+
+"Tell 'em," Claybrook had said, "I'll give 'em a nickle a foot for
+those trees right there on the ground. That is, if they are hard up,"
+he had added as if seeking to justify himself. She remembered the
+incident now with regret, a sort of complacent regret. Claybrook was a
+bit crude at times, or at least he was not quite awake to some of the
+finer sensibilities. But he was a kindly man and doing well. He was
+the sort you could depend on. Business was cruel. You had to overlook
+certain things, for instance--Maida. But Joe! Well, it was too bad. He
+just didn't have the knack.
+
+She crossed the street. The glare was terrific. Hugging the wall, to
+keep as far in the shelter of its shade as possible, she proceeded
+north. In spite of the heat the streets were crowded. She looked at
+her watch. It was eleven-thirty. She would have to be hurrying to get
+her menus back on time. She came to an alley and paused on the curb to
+look in either direction for traffic. By the curb at the corner of the
+alley stood a bright, shiny, new car. Something about it attracted her
+attention. She looked more closely and was conscious of a peculiar
+little catch or start somewhere deep down inside her. In the front
+seat, behind the steering wheel, sat Joe Hooper, with his arm flung
+negligently along the polished patent leather of the top brace. And
+such a Joe Hooper! He had on a new straw hat, and while Mary Louise
+could not trust herself to a very long inspection, she noticed the
+fresh creases in his coat sleeve. He was wearing a "shepherd plaid"
+suit that looked "bran spanking" new, and in his collar was knotted a
+pale lavender-hued tie. More than that, he seemed positively well
+groomed. Beside him sat a woman, back turned toward the curb. It was a
+most alluring back, in a soft, shimmering dark-blue dress with a lace
+collar and above it a gentle curve of neck with little provoking wisps
+of hair curling softly about it. That was all she took in in that
+flash of vision, except--as she looked, the creature raised a dainty,
+tapering hand and filliped a tiny feather under Joe's nose. He drew
+back slightly and smiled--she saw the whole thing--a quite restrained
+and, if anything, a condescending kind of smile.
+
+Mary Louise passed on inconspicuously across the alley, into the
+sheltering shade, of the shop awnings again. She wondered if he had
+seen her. And then she was tempted to turn around and reassure herself
+with another look. But she did not.
+
+A singular mixture of emotions surged through her. She felt as if
+someone were secretly laughing at her. Joe Hooper, she had decided,
+had been one of those people who could never learn how to do things.
+And yet, unless her eyes had deceived her, here he had burst
+gorgeously from his chrysalis. She was not sure she was glad of it,
+either. Charity, especially of thought, is frequently more of a luxury
+to the donor than to the recipient.
+
+She hurried on. The street was becoming more crowded and the heat, if
+anything, more intense. She began to feel just a bit angry with
+herself for exposing herself to it. Her face felt as if it were
+burning up. It had not been at all necessary. She could just as well
+have sent someone else. And here she was plugging along, with her
+clothes all sticky, her hair coming down in wisps about her ears, and
+her face as red as a beet. Funny, what had come over Joe. She was
+certain it had been he but it seemed improbable. And she had been
+sorry for him. He was the kind who could not "put anything across."
+
+All her complacency was gone as she opened the tea-room door. She was
+hot and tired and hurried. The little clock on the mantelshelf said a
+quarter to twelve as she closed the door behind her and then she saw
+that there was a customer at a far table in the corner and realized
+how late she was. A short, fat little woman was sitting tensely on the
+edge of a chair, looking about her with quick, restless, stabbing
+glances. She had on an atrocity of a hat that looked as though someone
+had plumped down on her head a flimsy crate of refuse blossoms and
+vegetables. It was a riot of colour and disorder. And her short,
+protuberant bosom rested on the table's edge while the face above it
+was marked with stern lines of dissatisfaction. Little folds of flesh
+hung down below her jaws.
+
+Giving Mary Louise a momentary appraising glance, us the latter came
+in with her bundle, she snapped out: "This place open, you suppose?"
+
+Mary Louise hastily laid down the menus. "Yes," she said, "it is.
+Haven't you been waited on?"
+
+"No," said the old lady, stirring in her chair and making as if to
+rise, though wild horses could not have pulled her away from even the
+prospect of food. "I've been sitting here ten minutes by your clock."
+She turned away and stared gloomily into space with her mouth sharply
+set in indignant endurance of such mistreatment.
+
+Mary Louise hurried across the room. She pushed open the swinging door
+into the passage that led to the kitchen. Everything was quiet. She
+wondered at it. As she stood there for an unappreciable instant, she
+heard a slight sound to her right, seemingly from the little pantry or
+storage room that was tucked in beneath the stairs. The door of it
+ordinarily stood open.
+
+She paused a moment then took one step forward and pushed open the
+door.
+
+Full beneath the light of the pendent lamp, leaning against the
+serving table for support, stretched the billowy form of Maida Jones,
+half reclining in the arms of the sleek-haired cook who sat on the
+table edge and faced the door. Her head was thrown back in complete
+abandonment and her hair was coming down about her shoulders. The
+boy's close-set eyes peered up sharply as Mary Louise opened the
+door. Then there was an immediate scurry, the lamp was switched off,
+and directly Maida emerged flushed and sullen.
+
+Mary Louise was stunned. Her ideas were chaotic and could take no
+form. But as they stood there facing each other, she was conscious of
+a rising sense of the ludicrous mingled with disgust. The memory of
+that momentary scene lingered in her mind like a piece of burlesque
+statuary. She stifled a desire to laugh.
+
+Then the other culprit began to stir about among the pans. Maida was
+staring at her with lips partly open, her breath still coming short
+and thick.
+
+"Turn on the light," said Mary Louise.
+
+And then as Maida made no move:
+
+"Go fix yourself up. There's someone in the room waiting to be
+served." Her voice was heavy with the scorn she felt.
+
+Maida recovered. She bit her lip. Then she laughed a short, nervous
+laugh. "Shocked to death, aren't you?"
+
+"Not at all," replied Mary Louise pleasantly. "It's quite charming, I
+assure you." She turned and entered the kitchen. The other cook and a
+maid were quietly attending to their work. She paid them no attention
+but went and stood by the back window over which was stretched a heavy
+wire screen, and through the thick dust of which she could see a dim,
+dusty, narrow courtyard and a pile of discarded boxes.
+
+For a long time she stood there, with her hands folded one upon the
+other and resting limply upon a table. The world had taken on a
+grotesque slant. It was a strange place in which it was easy to lose
+one's way. Her assurance, her satisfaction, her enthusiasm had
+vanished. Nothing was well ordered; everything was haphazard. People
+did the most unexpected things. And there was ugliness and deceit
+parading about in broad daylight. She suddenly felt herself utterly
+incapable of passing judgment on anything.
+
+And as she stood staring out through that dingy window, with the
+bustle and sounds of feet behind her, two fat round tears welled from
+her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Meantime, Joe had written his name at the top of a new sheet. He drew
+up to the curb on Broadway just below Fourth and stopped the motor. He
+leaned back against the tufted arm and stretched himself. Then he idly
+viewed the passing show before him. It was past mid-afternoon and dry
+and dusty. The keen edge of the sun had slightly dulled, but a Negro,
+seated high up on a pile of shabby furniture on a moving van, mopped a
+shining black face with the end of a very dirty undershirt sleeve. A
+boy came wavering along on a bicycle, swerved in to the curbing across
+the street, stopped, got off and went in to the Baptist Seminary,
+leaving the bicycle sprawling in the gutter. An old woman came out of
+nowhere; he heard her uncertain steps before he saw her as she
+approached him; the wide pavement the moment before had been entirely
+deserted. She walked as though she had no definite destination, not
+straight ahead in a plumb line. She had an old-fashioned bonnet with
+dangles on her head and a straw basket over one arm. Somehow he
+thought of his aunt Lorry. She came peering up at him from under her
+lashes. She seemed drawn by the brightness of the car. And her dim
+eyes seemed searching in the shadow of the top for a definite
+assurance. As she drew near, Joe smiled, a little absently; the rusty
+steel aigrette perched on top of the bonnet like the horn of a unicorn
+was nodding so gravely. The old thing caught the smile. Her face
+brightened. Her mouth spread in a toothless grin. She reached out a
+hand and touched the car lightly with a withered finger on the fender.
+
+"Such a pretty buggy," she said. The voice was tremulous and
+high-pitched and the articulation thick and indistinct.
+
+Then she looked at Joe; her rheumy gaze passed over him from the tips
+of his shiny new shoes to the crown of his hat. Admiration now spoke
+from her with perhaps greater eloquence even though her lips were
+still, parted a little. The pause had been but momentary.
+
+Joe reached over and threw the door open.
+
+"Climb in," he said. "I'll take you for a ride."
+
+The old woman shrank back from the car, wide-eyed in alarm.
+
+"Come on," he urged, quite gently, "I'm not a masher. I'll bring you
+right back here, all safe and right side up."
+
+The old face wrinkled in a shrewd, crafty grin. She lingered on the
+pavement for a moment in indecision, then came slowly forward and
+paused at the running board, peering upward into Joe's face.
+
+"Take me for a ride?" she lisped, tremulously eager.
+
+"Sure," said Joe. "I'm selling 'em." He held the door open invitingly.
+"Maybe you'll buy one some day."
+
+Again the swift flash of a smile passed over the slack mouth and there
+was a gathering in the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Painfully
+she pulled herself up into the car and sank into the seat beside him.
+
+He switched on the motor, threw out the clutch, engaged the starting
+gear, and paused with his hand on the lever.
+
+"We'll go around this way. It's not so crowded and I think the air's
+better."
+
+She smiled at him confidently.
+
+They started. At the corner he swung around in a wide sweep. He caught
+a glance at her and saw her sitting with eyes glued intently on the
+street before them, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. Then the
+block ahead was straight and smooth and free of traffic.
+
+He patted the chest of his coat.
+
+"I've just put an order away in here," he said. "It's very easy.
+They're scrambling over each other to buy these cars."
+
+She gave him a fleeting glance and returned to her desperate business
+of watching the road.
+
+For a moment he was silent. They rounded another corner.
+
+"I'm not really expecting you to buy a car--merely speak a good word
+for it with your friends. That is, if you like it. It is all right,
+isn't it?"
+
+At his questioning tone she again ventured a look at him and smiled
+again uncertainly, still gripping the edges of the seat.
+
+One more corner and they were on the return trip. Directly they were
+rolling up toward the curb from whence they had started. They stopped
+and Joe reached over and opened the door again. The old woman caught
+the import of the movement and clambered stiffly out, stooping low
+with her head to avoid the top brace. She stood on the curbing,
+bewildered and blinking, apparently lost.
+
+Joe reached out and handed her a card.
+
+"You're headed just the same way you were when I picked you up," he
+said. "And in the same spot." And as she made no move and apparently
+did not hear him, "Call on me if I can serve you. I can do other
+things besides sell motor cars.
+
+"Good-bye," he said, tipping his hat and slamming the door shut. Then
+he moved away. He left her standing there, watching.
+
+He turned in Fourth Street and slowed down to about six miles an hour.
+The lengthening shadows were bringing out the ephemeral creatures that
+might otherwise wither in the heat. The west pavement was already
+crowded and there was a stream of motors idling along in a sluggish
+tide, southward. It was the time of day when the city, as it were,
+stretches itself after its siesta and takes long, lazy, satisfied
+looks at itself.
+
+Joe slumped in the seat. This lazy panorama had not begun to pall on
+him. He luxuriated in it. It was something of a holiday to him. The
+change that had come over his life was inexplicable; without effort he
+had lifted himself. The selection of an occupation had been haphazard;
+he had merely taken the first thing that had offered itself--selling
+automobiles. And there had been no difficulty in selling them, none
+whatever. The very first month his commissions had amounted to
+considerably more than twice the sum Bromley's had paid him.
+
+The motor was thrumming along slowly and regularly, giving out soft
+little ticks like a clock. Everything about it was shining and new.
+Everything about Joe was shining and new. He felt sleek, lazy, and
+comfortable. He made no effort to analyze the change that had come
+over him, merely accepted it as a matter of course. At times would
+come vague wonderings why he had been such a "chump" as to hang on in
+that treadmill of an office as long as he had.
+
+He thought about the old woman and her grenadier bonnet and her
+bewildered pleasure, and chuckled to himself. The old soul had
+probably never been in an automobile before. He had raised the
+standard of her desires. She might not be satisfied again until she
+had another ride, maybe many more. It might even stir her up. That
+was what it was. Ignorance was what kept most people down. They did
+not know what they were missing. And so they just plugged along taking
+things as they came, most of them. That was what had been the matter
+with him. Hard work never got a man anywhere, just hard work. He shut
+his mind resolutely on the thought and turned again to the inspection
+of the evening parade.
+
+As he came in sight of the windows of Bessire's Department Store he
+remembered that there was something there that he needed. And there
+was no need of his hurrying back to the office. He had done enough for
+the day. So he turned the corner and squeezed into an opening on the
+side street. He stepped out on to the pavement and indulged in a
+luxurious stretch of the arms. The sudden glare of the sun on the
+pavement made him sneeze. It was delightful. He walked lazily through
+the revolving doors of the department store.
+
+As he gained the interior a woman brushed past him so that he had to
+stop in his tracks. As she passed she looked into his eyes. Something
+in him stopped with a click like a notch on a reel.
+
+He gazed after her, trying to remember. But all there was was a faint
+lingering scent that was difficult and alluring. There was something
+familiar about the curve of the neck, something about the tilt of the
+hat, he had seen before. It disturbed him. All he had caught was a
+flicker of her eyes, as though she had thought to recognize him and
+then had changed her mind. She turned a corner into a distant aisle
+and was gone.
+
+He had a momentary impulse to follow to the end of that aisle and see
+where it led to, but he checked it. He gathered himself together and
+lazily strolled along in search of the counter he wanted. Quiet had
+descended upon the store. It was almost deserted of shoppers and the
+yellow light came streaming down the cross aisles heavy laden with
+dust particles. The little bundle girls leaned from their stalls
+behind the counters and chatted. There was a pleasant buzz in the air.
+
+He made his purchase and lingered for a moment at a counter of
+notions. Then he strolled back toward the door, steeped in the feeling
+of well being. A girl at a curved counter was tucking in a wisp of
+hair and taking off her paper sleeve protectors. Over beyond, there by
+the west entrance, they were already shutting the doors. He paused and
+watched the day's closing pleasantly settle down. Then he reached out
+a hand to push open the door before him. Somebody jostled against him.
+A small collection of paper bundles spilled out on to the floor at his
+feet and he mechanically stooped to pick them up. They were manifestly
+feminine. There were four of them, all small; he gathered them all up
+in one hand.
+
+Then he rose to his feet and turned to restore them to their owner.
+
+He looked into a pair of limpid violet eyes.
+
+They dropped and long lashes shaded them. A delicate colour rose and
+splashed the softest of cheeks.
+
+Joe stood, holding the bundles.
+
+Directly she looked at him again. It was a very timid, gentle,
+apologetic look. She seemed to be gathering courage.
+
+"Oh," she burst out in a sudden sweet abandonment to friendliness.
+"I'm so sorry." She paused then, uncertain what next to do or say.
+
+Joe held the door open for her, keeping tight hold of the packages. He
+felt a little warm behind the ears.
+
+She preceded him to the pavement. He got a good look at her as she
+passed through the door. Still the baffling resemblance!
+
+Then she turned and faced him on the pavement. Again she looked at him
+shyly, and there were little dimples in her cheeks as she tried hard
+not to smile.
+
+"I knew I'd get into trouble when I loaded myself down with all these
+bundles," she explained, reaching out for them.
+
+Confidence was returning to him. He felt the old lazy relaxation of
+being amused.
+
+"Can't I help you out of your difficulty--see that you get safely home
+with them?" he asked quietly. "I've my car here."
+
+She raised her eyebrows, looked startled a moment, and then flushed
+slightly. "Oh, don't bother. I can get a taxi."
+
+She made no further resistance and directly he was slamming the door
+behind her. He had caught a glimpse of black-silk stocking above a
+white buckskin pump that somehow disturbed his poise. As he walked
+around to the other side of the car he was wondering where it was he
+had seen her before. He could not remember.
+
+He climbed into his place behind the steering wheel and observed her
+again. It was a setting that became her. Her shyness seemed to have
+all vanished. She was powdering her nose as he climbed in; a silver
+vanity case lay open on her lap. He noticed it, saw a hairpin and two
+nickles and a card or two. She had said she might take a taxi.
+
+Directly she was smiling into his eyes. It made him just a little bit
+giddy in spite of himself. How old was she, he wondered? For a moment
+he busied himself with the car. There was nothing made up about her;
+it was a clear case of good looks. And she knew how to wear her
+clothes.
+
+"I think I'm terrible," she was saying.
+
+"How?" he answered, hardly hearing her.
+
+"Letting you take me up this way." She finished her renovation to her
+evident satisfaction and packed away the puff with a snap.
+
+"You couldn't expect to manage those bundles any other way," he
+assured confidently and quietly. It was an amusing game.
+
+She gazed off toward the corner and wetted her lips.
+
+He started the car. They turned the corner into Fourth Street and
+moved south. As if sensing the need of further explanation here on the
+esplanade, where all seemed acquainted, she began in a slightly more
+animated tone:
+
+"Of course, it's not like we had never met."
+
+He felt she was looking at him, but being busy with the car he was
+silent.
+
+"I really believe you've forgotten."
+
+He caught a glance at her. She looked charmingly provoked. The fact
+that she was centring her attention on him was in itself flattering.
+"Not at all," he assured her and wondered to what she referred.
+
+"It was at the American Legion Ball," she reminded him.
+
+And then he remembered. It all came back to him. It had been a dismal
+evening, way back in April. He had noticed her that evening. She had
+worn a weird thing of silver and black. She had even sat beside him on
+a sofa by the door--she and her partner. But he had not met her; he
+was sure of that. He had remarked, he remembered now, how curiously
+alert her eyes were, how alive, taking everything in.
+
+"You were in uniform," she continued.
+
+"Yes," he replied. Nearly every man present had been.
+
+For a few moments silence. Then reaching Broadway and less traffic
+they rolled along a little more easily, with less tension.
+
+"I'm Myrtle Macomber," she at length essayed. "In case you had
+forgotten."
+
+Joe grinned. Then he turned to her, "And my name's Hooper."
+
+She gave him another one of her roguish glances through her lashes.
+
+"I was trying to remember," she laughed.
+
+Then he asked her the way home and she told him. After that she
+chatted more freely, made comments on some of the people they passed.
+The evening had turned out fine. Broad orange pennons streamed out of
+the west. The little fountain in the city park tinkled delightfully as
+they passed.
+
+"It's a pretty car," she said once; "so roomy and comfortable."
+
+He made no reply and wondered if his silence were reprehensible.
+
+Under her direction they turned into a quiet side street and stopped
+before a grayish frame house with a fancy bulbous tower at one corner
+and bilious green outside shutters. A woman was stooped over a flower
+bed in the centre of the yard. She arose stiffly at their approach.
+
+Miss Macomber turned to Joe, but he had already alighted from the car
+and gone around to help her out. As he held the door open for her she
+seemed a bit distrait. Slowly they walked across the pavement to the
+gate. The woman in the yard came forward to meet them.
+
+There was a moment's pause. And then: "This is Mr. Hooper, mama."
+
+The woman gave him an appraising look, glanced at the car, then smiled
+and held out her hand. It was damp and flabby.
+
+"Please excuse my appearance, Mr. Hooper," she smirked. "I was getting
+some flowers for the table, dearie," she added to the girl.
+
+Joe wondered vaguely at the contrast. Here was another of nature's
+paradoxes. Mrs. Macomber looked worn and quite untidy. She was fat;
+her figure looked as though it had been allowed to run wild. Her face
+was heavily lined with wrinkles and was not too clean. And her eyes
+were tired. The house dress that she wore open at the neck and held
+together by a bleak-looking cameo pin might have been destined for
+dust rags in some families, and not extravagantly, either.
+
+She gazed at her daughter with open admiration.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Hooper," said the latter, and as she spoke she
+barred the entrance through the wooden gate with a dainty arm in a
+long, white-silk glove. But she smiled at him archly. "Call me up
+sometime."
+
+And then she turned and, gently pushing the drab creature before her,
+went up the walk and into the house.
+
+Joe looked back over his shoulder at them as he drove away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The rest of that troublous day passed hazily for Mary Louise. She
+avoided Maida, who in her turn seemed disposed to avoid her. She made
+a hasty escape after the tea-serving hour and hurried home.
+
+The sun was setting as she entered her room; the tall spire of the
+First Church was all ruddy with the glow of it as she threw open the
+window, and as she paused for a moment with palms on the sill, she
+looked down into the deepening shadows of back passages and alleys,
+nooks and recesses, where lurked ash and garbage cans and heaps of
+rubbish. A black cat came slinking around the corner of an old
+gray-brick stable, disappeared for a moment in a passage, and a moment
+later she saw him spring to the top of a rotting board fence, pause,
+and then lightly let himself down into the shadow of the other side.
+And just a hundred feet to the left--she could barely see past the
+front cornice of the four-story dwelling below her--Broadway was
+thronged with its sleek, pleasure-loving, home-going crowd. You could
+never tell the back from the front.
+
+She withdrew from the window, walked slowly across the room, and sank
+into a chair. She felt curiously ill at ease and sat staring blankly
+before her at the wall.
+
+For the difficulty, which in some ways was trivial enough, no solution
+presented itself. Maida Jones, her companion and business associate,
+had developed a side that had never been taken into account. Or
+perhaps she had merely presented it for the first time. So much the
+worse. If so, then her judgment had been all the more faulty.
+
+She had thought she had known Maida, known her well enough to count on
+her. She had known she was lazy, known she was a bit slipshod and
+indifferent. To offset this she was good-natured and compliant. She
+had had the money, enough for her share in floating the venture. There
+had been no complexity in the problem at the start.
+
+It was unfair for her to pan out so. Mary Louise felt in a way that
+she had been swindled. She had felt all along that she could dominate
+the tone of the establishment, and in fact she had done so. Maida was
+not made of the stuff to furnish opposition. That had been one of the
+considerations of the partnership. And in all the months of their
+association nothing positive had ever cropped out in her. Why, she did
+not have the strength to say "no." That was why--Mary Louise's thought
+checked itself sharply here and paused. For a while her mind wore
+itself out in short, futile meanderings of suppositions. Directly the
+dim headlines of the paper she had brought with her claimed her
+attention, and then tiring of that she dropped the paper and stared
+emptily out of the window. Why, she decided suddenly out of nowhere,
+she didn't even know the girl.
+
+A swinging white finger of light came feeling across the sky in her
+window. She watched it grope for the brass ball on the peak of the
+spire, saw it slip off and fumble and come feeling again, settle with
+a determined grasp as if to say, "There, I've got you," and then go
+wandering off eastward across the sky. It was the searchlight from the
+new Odeon theatre, she remembered. And it might be barely possible
+that it was entirely an honourable affair. They might really care for
+each other, grotesque as it might seem. Mary Louise granted for the
+moment that she had been a detached, impersonal sort of companion and
+such a thing might well be possible without her knowledge. But if such
+were the case, Maida needs must be apprised at once of the
+proprieties. The tea room was a business proposition purely. She would
+wait a bit until the proper time and straighten out the kinks.
+
+Somewhat relieved in mind, she leaned back in the chair and rocked
+slowly. She began to grow restless, and thought for a moment to switch
+on the light. But the room was a bare sort of thing, had nothing of
+her in it, and the thought of its bleak primness was repellent. She
+decided that a walk was what she needed, to clear out the cobwebs.
+Slowly she arose to her feet and groping along the edge of the table,
+felt her way to the door. An hour's walk would be enough; she would
+not need her coat. Slowly and thoughtfully she opened the door.
+
+Just beyond the threshold in the dim-lit hall stood Maida, fumbling in
+her bag for her key. She looked up in alarm as Mary Louise opened the
+door. It was ludicrous, the expression on the flat face. Behind her
+stood the cook--the man from the army. He turned away as Mary Louise
+stepped out and pretended to look out the hall window.
+
+Mary Louise had decided on a more moderate course. She had decided to
+forget the matter for the time being. But the sight of the boy, there
+in the hall, was disconcerting. Nevertheless, it was with a forced
+cheeriness that she spoke:
+
+"Don't need your key, after all. I was just going out for a little
+while." It was trite enough civility.
+
+Maida looked up at her dully, and Mary Louise stepped to the left and
+was on the point of passing on down the hall. As she walked away, the
+boy moved to the door, fingering his hat, and took one step across the
+threshold after Maida, who had preceded him, into the darkened room.
+
+And then Mary Louise turned around. At her step he paused and looked
+quickly up.
+
+"There's a chair by the window," she said, indicating a group of
+armchairs clustered there and a tall fern in a glazed pot on a
+pedestal. "You can wait there." She had spoken on the impulse, and her
+voice sounded strangely vibrant and remote even to herself, like the
+voice of a third person. She was trembling slightly.
+
+The boy looked at her, flushed a little, seemed undecided.
+
+The light switched on and Maida appeared at the door.
+
+"Come on in, Tim," she said, looking strangely at Mary Louise.
+
+An overpowering anger came swelling in the latter's veins. She walked
+back to the door and stood before the placid bovine figure of her
+room-mate. For a moment she could not trust herself to speak, she was
+trembling so.
+
+"I said for him to wait outside--there," she repeated with quavering
+emphasis.
+
+Maida's face looked flat and large and sober. There was a great, vast,
+pasty blank of cheek from her sombre eyes to the downcast corner of
+her mouth. "I heard you," she replied. "Come in, Tim."
+
+Mary Louise felt impotent. She watched the face before her, stolid,
+immutable, expressionless. She felt suffocated for breath. She plucked
+at her skirts with her fingers. Finally she gasped out:
+
+"Not--not into my room. If he does, I'm through with it--and you. You
+understand?"
+
+Maida shrugged her shoulders, and a slight smile curled the corners of
+her lips. She turned away.
+
+"That's your lookout, not mine. You're making an awful fool of
+yourself, McCallum."
+
+And then she closed the door.
+
+Mary Louise walked blindly down the hall. She stumbled into the
+elevator and did not answer when the elevator boy spoke to her. When
+she gained the street the rush of the night air against her face
+steadied her a bit. She turned off promptly north and struck out for
+the down-town district.
+
+By the time she had walked a block her faculties were returning. It
+had all been preposterous, crude. She had blindly lost her temper.
+Something kept crying out to her that she was an old maid. Perhaps she
+shouldn't have minded. She was finicky and squeamish. A girl had to
+have some privacy in the place she entertained her company. But
+Maida--and the cook! The thought of that flat, pasty, sullen face
+stirred in her a sudden repulsion.
+
+She crossed Broadway and turned west toward Fourth, walking rapidly.
+Maida! Maida! The girl she had known for eighteen months in the Red
+Cross tea room! The girl who had sat through a year of war without
+ever changing the vacuity of her smile! Sat--that was it, positively
+sat. A woman with a figure like that had no right to a lover. And a
+cook! An ordinary cook, hired out by the week! His beady, close-set
+eyes and hair sleeked back. Like a rat! And _she_ was mixed directly
+up in it, _she_--Mary Louise McCallum, the daughter of Angus McCallum.
+She shuddered and hurried on.
+
+As she passed Chestnut Street they were going into the "movie"
+theatre. There was a long queue stringing out on the pavement. She was
+hardly aware of it but kept on walking straight north. More than one
+head was turned to watch her as she plunged resolutely on. Her
+apparent fixity of purpose was incongruous for that time of the
+evening.
+
+The preposterousness of the whole affair kept hammering at her
+thoughts. To think that she had tied herself up with such a creature.
+To think that she had been so blind to the coarseness, the commonness
+that must have been there all along. What would Aunt Susie think about
+it? What would they all think? And in her own room! The brazen,
+callous nerve of the creature! Like a big, fat, lumbering ox. She
+trembled all over with sensitiveness.
+
+Before she knew it she had come to Main Street. Beyond her dipped the
+hill that led to the river. The lamps were dim, and sparsely lighted
+the alleyways and loading platforms of the dark, forbidding
+warehouses. She realized suddenly that she must make some decision.
+She could not go back to the room. Slowly and thoughtfully she crossed
+the street and retraced her steps on the other side. What was she to
+do? She could not go back. Not under any circumstances. The friends
+she had were mere casual acquaintances; she could not call on them.
+
+She passed out into the more crowded district again. She began to be a
+little perturbed, forgot her anger; at least it was dimmed. Coming to
+Spruce Street she saw the usual crowd of men hanging about the door of
+the Ardmore. They always stood there, clustered about on the steps,
+with their cigarettes and their half-burned cigars and their flashy
+clothes and their burnt-out eyes and their appraising looks. For a
+moment she contemplated crossing the street to avoid running the
+gauntlet of their inspection. Where would she go then? Farther south
+it was darker and more unfriendly, with great stretches of shade and
+silence. She paused for a moment on the corner and watched the throng
+about the steps across the street. People were hurrying in and out;
+motors were humming; trolley gongs were clanging. She felt a sudden
+fear of it, that familiar neighbourhood with the tea room less than a
+block away. Hot, flushed, nervous, excited, she wanted to run
+somewhere, slink down into a cool, quiet shelter as had the cat she
+had seen from the window earlier in the evening. The world was a cruel
+place. One had to know how to get along in it. Every scrap of
+assurance seemed to have left her.
+
+Suddenly she turned to the right and walked down Spruce Street. She
+came to the lobby of the Patterson and walked boldly in. With her
+pulses hammering she went up to the desk, took the pen, and signed
+her name to the register.
+
+A level-eyed man with a very naked head came forward and considered
+her. His face was as cryptic as the outline on a mummy case. It was as
+easy to read his thoughts. He merely inclined his head and looked
+slightly away, suggesting that his ear was hers if she so desired.
+
+"Single room with bath," faltered Mary Louise.
+
+The clerk resumed his upright position. He looked at her gravely as
+though she had said, "What will you take for your hotel?" He looked
+past her into the vast stretches of the lobby and found there much for
+philosophic speculation. Thus absorbed, he asked vacantly, "Any
+luggage?"
+
+"No," said Mary Louise. "I--it will be here in the morning."
+
+He turned and stepped back into the sanctum of interwoven grilles and
+partitions.
+
+Mary Louise was desperately nervous. It seemed that a thousand eyes
+were watching her; her back felt peppered with them. She shifted one
+foot and leaned slightly against the desk. All about her men were
+pressing up for mail, keys, reservations, information. She dared not
+look around. There were no women in the constricted circle of her
+vision except the telephone operator over to her left.
+
+The clerk was taking a long time. She was getting even more anxious.
+Suddenly she heard her name called. It startled her even while it
+brought a tremendous sense of relief. She turned and Claybrook was
+standing by her elbow.
+
+"How's tricks?" he inquired.
+
+For a moment she could not answer, only look at him gratefully.
+
+"I've been out of town. Just got back. Was going to call you up this
+evening, but I didn't have the chance," he went on.
+
+She murmured something unintelligible.
+
+"Waiting here for something?" At her nod of assent he came and stood
+beside her, leaning his elbow on the desk, his gaze idly and
+comfortably sweeping the lobby. "Hot to-night," he said.
+
+The inscrutable clerk returned. Mary Louise felt his inspection before
+she actually saw him. She turned, expectant.
+
+"Sorry," he murmured. "Can't do anything for you."
+
+Mary Louise received the blow standing. "But," she faltered, "Later
+on?--I'm not in a hurry. Are you really all filled up?"
+
+The clerk gravely smiled and shook his head.
+
+She stared at him in desolate appeal. Her thoughts went rocketing off.
+What was she going to do?
+
+"How's this?" she heard Claybrook say. "Full up?" He had turned from
+his idle inspection of the lobby. "Not in two weeks. You can rent a
+floor in this hotel."
+
+He looked at Mary Louise. "You want a room here?" He seemed a bit
+surprised.
+
+"Yes," she stammered. "For the night."
+
+Claybrook turned to the clerk. "Tell McLean Miss McCallum wants a room
+here for the night," he said.
+
+"But----" interrupted the clerk.
+
+Claybrook cut him off short, tossing a card across the desk. "Take
+that to McLean and tell him Miss McCallum wants a room. And give her
+the best service you've got."
+
+The clerk disappeared again. Mary Louise was hot and embarrassed and
+uncomfortable. She looked up and saw Claybrook regarding her
+quizzically but kindly. He seemed very big and she warmed to him. He
+asked her no questions. She was about to speak when the clerk returned
+again and, calling a bell-boy, tossed out a key to him, bowed, and
+murmured, "Six fourteen," indicating Mary Louise.
+
+Before following the waiting boy, she held out her hand impulsively to
+Claybrook and looked into his eyes.
+
+"Thank you so much," she said. "I don't know what I would have done
+without you. It's all so ridiculous. Tell you all about it sometime."
+
+She left him standing there in front of the desk, with a puzzled look
+upon his face, a big, reliant, kindly figure. He had not asked her a
+single question. He had come to her assistance when she needed it
+sorely. His was a friendship worth having.
+
+She waited until the bell-boy had left her in the room and then she
+closed the door and locked it. Then she threw herself face down upon
+the bed and buried her flushed cheeks in the pillow. What a
+disgraceful, disreputable affair it all was. All on account of her own
+blindness and folly. She felt like a little child helped out of a
+scrape. But all the mischief was not remedied. She at least could find
+other lodgings to-morrow. She would not wait another day. Thanks to
+Claybrook she was in off the street. Suppose she had had to spend the
+night on a park bench? Once that had had a humorous sound to it.
+Claybrook _was_ a masterful person. He had made that clerk step
+around. How humiliating it had all been.
+
+She got up and switched off the lights. Then she lay down again and
+watched the twinkle of the lamps of an electric sign about a block
+away across the roofs. What was she going to do about Maida? What was
+she going to do about the tea room? Something would have to be done.
+It was impossible to go on with it any further.
+
+She would have to buy Maida out. She could force her to sell, she
+supposed. But where would she get the money? She was already in debt
+for part of her share. Perhaps Maida would buy her out. What would she
+do then? Go back to Bloomfield? Just when the venture was beginning
+to pan out nicely? Not without a struggle, she wouldn't. Back and
+forth she debated the question, her mind a welter of confused
+decisions.
+
+After a while she fell asleep....
+
+Two days later she met Claybrook again. Nothing had been decided.
+Maida had seemed utterly indifferent. "Perfectly satisfied with things
+as they are," she had said; there was a diabolical stubbornness in her
+manner. She made capital of her own inertia. She was as cool as if
+dealing with an entire stranger. Finally, after two days of backing
+and filling, of bickering and contesting, she had named her price.
+"Fifteen hundred," she had said and there was nothing in the way she
+said it that gave the slightest hope that it would be any less. It was
+a hold-up.
+
+Mary Louise met Claybrook; she was passing through the lobby of the
+Patterson where she still had her expensive room. He saw the trouble
+in her face and drew her to the lounge in the ladies' entrance.
+
+"What's wrong?" he said shortly. "You've been hard to catch
+lately--something's on your mind."
+
+"No, there isn't. Honestly," she protested. She saw that he was not to
+be put off. Moreover, she was feeling entirely weak and helpless, no
+longer the masterful and self-reliant female. And she told him the
+story--most of it.
+
+When she finished he smiled at her. He seemed genuinely amused. "It's
+quite a tragedy," he admitted.
+
+"And what am I going to do?"
+
+"That's just the point," he agreed. "Has the tea room been making you
+money? Does it look good to you?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "Too good to let go of." And then she launched into a
+digressive and rather vague prospectus of its activities and profits.
+
+"How much money would it take?" he asked at length.
+
+She told him.
+
+"Well, then, forget it," he concluded. "I told you that if you got in
+a jam, to call on me. Well, I was not talking just to hear myself
+talk. I meant it." He paused and stared away at the opposite wall.
+"Meet me here this afternoon at three and I'll have a check for you."
+
+Mary Louise was for the moment incredulous. Then a great sense of
+relief flooded over her, and then a feeling of regret.
+
+"But I couldn't," she faltered.
+
+"Why couldn't you?" He rose to his feet and looked down at her.
+
+"I couldn't take money from you. You don't know what I'd do with it,
+don't know what sort of business woman I am, or anything."
+
+"I know enough to satisfy myself," Claybrook assured her soothingly.
+"And I'm not giving you the money. You can write me out a note for
+it. Six per cent. is better than four," he added. And then he smiled.
+
+Two days later Maida Jones moved out and Mary Louise saw her no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Loneliness wages a Fabian warfare. It is likewise a craven. At the
+slightest opposition it turns tail and flees, frequently to steal back
+furtively and lurk slinking in the vicinity, clouding it. Only on rare
+occasions does it boldly come out and proclaim itself.
+
+Another week had passed. Joe was finding leisure. And in leisure there
+are echoes, as in all vast vaulted spaces, where slight sounds linger
+reverberating and faint shadows stretch away to void. There was time
+to see the drabness of his boarding place, so he changed it. The
+change cost him more money and left him more leisure. He took his
+meals wherever he happened to be. The town was full of people, kindly
+enough, but each with his own circle of interests. To some of these he
+sold motor cars. There would be a short period of contact, then that
+would pass and the customer would slip into the whirlpool of casuality
+and be swept away. None of the relationships seemed to last. Each one
+left him more alone than ever.
+
+He ran across Mrs. LeMasters. Mrs. LeMasters was an ancient lady with
+a penchant for lavender. The day he called on her she was wearing a
+flowered dress with a sash, with bits of lace about the neck and
+cuffs. She put on a bonnet of lavender straw before the glass in her
+front hall and bound it to her by yards of voluminous cream tulle,
+wrapped under her chin and about her neck with trembling fingers.
+
+"Does it blow much in your car?" she called to him in a quavery voice.
+
+He assured her that it was quite desirably calm.
+
+"The Stokes car is most delightful," she said. "Just like sitting in
+my own room. Not the sign of a bump--and I could not realize we had
+been going twenty-five miles an hour."
+
+He smiled politely. "We'll see what this one will do."
+
+"I've been struggling to keep off this evil hour for, oh, so long,"
+she explained as she followed him timidly down the walk to the curb.
+"It was a terrible thing when the world went mad for haste and now has
+to be jerked around from place to place without ever drawing a sane
+breath. I've two horses and three carriages, one a Victoria that I
+bought in Paris. What am I going lo do with these if I buy your car,
+Mr. Hooper? Oh, what a pretty car!"
+
+She narrowed her sharp little eyes--she was quite near sighted--and
+stepped out into the street and around the rear of the automobile,
+caught sight of her image in the back panel, came around and felt of
+the leather in the seat, rubbed the polished surface of the bow
+socket as though she had bought motors for years. Then she turned to
+Joe: "And the engine? Is it a good engine?"
+
+"It is guaranteed to be the best." And then he went on quietly to tell
+her a few of the more spectacular things about it. He did not overdo
+it.
+
+As he was speaking she was watching his face with a dreamy, vague
+expression on her wrinkled features. When he had finished, she
+brightened and laid her hand on his arm. "And now let's go for a nice
+ride." She was as enthusiastic as a girl. "I'm sure this is a nice
+car."
+
+They went out in the country a short distance, out on the Bloomfield
+pike. She found he was from Bloomfield and trilled away in a high,
+shrill cackle that she loved every stick and stone in that adorable
+country. And when she found that he was the nephew of Mrs. Mosby, or,
+rather, Loraine Fawcette, that was, her ecstasy knew no bounds.
+
+"Why, I took Tom LeMasters away from her," she giggled, and leaned
+over with her wrinkled and scented face close to his, grasping him by
+the arm.
+
+After that they were bosom friends. He told her about Bloomfield as it
+came back to him, rhapsodized over its meadows and woods and "purling
+streams," and felt a rising desire to taste its joys again. And all
+the while his voice would fall on deaf ears and her eyes would take on
+a misty look as though peering down dark, dusty corridors; and
+interrupting him, she would recall the circumstances of some famous
+party, summoning forth the creaking images of old men and women,
+yellow and withering, some of them long dead.
+
+The afternoon passed swiftly away. They found themselves in a bit of
+lane that dipped down into a little grove of trees, just as the sun
+was gathering his cohorts for departure. A breath of fragrant breeze,
+heavy laden with clover and sweet with the stretch of cool, moist
+shade through which it had passed, came sweeping across the road, and
+the sounds of a farm hand whetting his scythe. Through a rift in the
+trees appeared a patch of delicate blue sky and the edge of a rosy
+cloud. Mrs. LeMasters came to the wistful end of an alluring and musty
+reminiscence and gazed regretfully at the tawdry beauties of the
+present. Then she turned her eyes upon Joe, and with a sigh that was
+sodden with romance: "How could you ever bear to leave that adorable
+spot?"
+
+Joe smiled in mellow acquiescence and almost agreed with her.
+
+Of course, the Stokes car never had a chance. Before he took his leave
+of her he had her signed order for a "Sedan" for immediate delivery.
+And she grasped his hand and held it, leaning coyly close. "We're
+going to have some wonderful times this fall. We'll drive to
+Bloomfield, just you and I. And what am I going to do about a
+chauffeur? What will I ever do with a strange creature who cares for
+nothing but speed? Why don't you stay with me and drive for me? We'll
+just not stay home a minute."
+
+He temporized, laughing, and finally tore himself away. And when he
+stepped from the car outside of Blake's Restaurant and was met by a
+blast of hot air, laden with the breath of fried onions, he felt
+himself very much alone. He ate his supper dreamily and
+retrospectively. The vacant chair across the little table added to the
+plaintiveness. He had liver and onions and a chocolate eclair and felt
+that he needed a woman to look after him.
+
+He got in the car and drove slowly south. When he came to Lytle Street
+he turned off to the right. It was not quite dark and people passing
+on the pavement seemed to him to peer out at him. He felt
+self-conscious and slowed down the car still more till he barely crept
+along, with headlights blazing two bright paths before him. Myrtle
+Macomber had told him he might come and he did not wish to seem to be
+too eager. But as he sought his bearings, watching the unfamiliar
+fronts of houses and clumps of shade, he suffered little tremblings of
+expectancy in spite of his restraint.
+
+Directly the house appeared; he had no difficulty in recognizing it.
+It stood out bleakly against the evening sky, with its pointed cupola
+thrust upward like a warning finger, with its wooden fence and gate.
+It bad no modest shrouding of trees and bushes in the shadow of which
+one might veil one's entrance. For a moment he was afraid lest he be
+too early, so he alighted, switched off the lamps, and proceeded
+across the pavement to the gate very slowly. Then from the shelter of
+the vines on the side porch he heard the hum of voices and a laugh.
+Grasping his dignity firmly like a walking stick, he stalked up the
+pavement to the house.
+
+Myrtle came to meet him. The dim outline of her in her filmy dress and
+the elusive scent of her presence stirred him again. Her voice was
+gentle as she laughed a greeting and she gave his hand an
+imperceptible squeeze as he came up the steps. His stiffness vanished,
+but the sound of voices from back in the shadow disturbed him. An
+absurd personality crowded to his lips as she led him forward, but he
+repressed it.
+
+He was introduced. There was quite a crowd assembled and in the dark
+he was conscious of only a blob of faces and the grip of one hand that
+was quite too hot. Even in the dark he felt embarrassed, as the
+conscious caller exposed nakedly to the world. What had she done this
+for? It was not too considerate of her. Perhaps it was purely
+accidental. He began to speculate on how soon the crowd might break
+up, and found himself dangling uncomfortably on the porch railing
+close beside the chair of a shadowy girl who was buried in its depths.
+He could look down into the place where he imagined her face might
+be. He was quite close to her and in the jabber of voices she was
+silent. No one seemed to pay him the slightest attention, and his
+interest mounted in a growing intimacy of silence with this girl in
+the chair. A door opened and he saw Myrtle's figure pass across the
+room within and busy herself with something on the table. In the faint
+light that now pervaded the porch he again peered down at the figure
+beside him. Instantly the glamour vanished. The face he saw was thin
+and sharp, with hair slicked back from the forehead and narrow,
+slanting sharp eyes. He caught a glimpse of neck and shoulders above a
+brazen filmy waist, and in the splash of light and shadow there was no
+softness of contour, but cruel bones and hollows.
+
+"Think you'll know me next time?" came a harsh voice and a laugh, and
+he straightened up and murmured an apology. He felt very much
+embarrassed and disturbed. His mellow complacence had fled
+precipitately. In his ears sounded the rattle of personalities. It was
+as harsh and as constant and as senseless as machine-gun fire. At
+least he could make an early "get-away."
+
+Myrtle came and stood beside him from somewhere in the darkness. The
+tip of her little finger barely touched his hand as she stood there,
+leaning against the railing and firing back some "chaff" into the
+darkness. There came a lull in the chatter and Joe was feeling a bit
+mollified. Suddenly, before he realized it, the crowd was leaving,
+and one by one they filed past him, each bidding good-night. There was
+the thin girl in the chair, then two boys who were entirely
+nondescript, with noisy throats cut out of the same copper plate, a
+soft billowy shadow of a woman under a floppy hat and exuding a
+ghastly sweet, cloying perfume. Her bare arm was as soft and flabby as
+jelly as she stretched it out to Myrtle. After her came another man,
+rather hesitantly, and keeping in the shadow. His voice was good,
+rather deep, rather strong. As he passed, he called Joe by name.
+Twisting around in the light, Joe saw that it was Hawkins, one of the
+owners of the "Kum-quik Tire Company," a rather taciturn, solemn sort
+of man to do business with. Joe was surprised.
+
+In a moment they were all gone and the porch was dark and still. Their
+passage was as inexplicable as their presence had been. A dim band of
+light lay across the floor of the porch and Myrtle stood before him,
+facing him. He could not see her face.
+
+"Well?" she said, as though she had known him for years.
+
+"Well?" he echoed uncertainly. Her tone had implied a question or
+perhaps it was a suggestion. She stood quite motionless; he could have
+reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder, "Suppose we go for a
+ride," he suggested lamely, not feeling quite sure of himself, feeling
+that perhaps it was not just the thing to propose on his first call.
+
+For a moment she made no answer, but stood there looking at him. He
+could feel rather than see the fixity of her gaze. Suddenly she
+tripped away from him and ran into the house, calling back over her
+shoulder, "Have to get a wrap. Be back in a minute."
+
+After they had started he regretted the suggestion. It had shut off
+the prospect of a languorous evening. It was not in harmony with his
+mood; he had much rather loll back on a bench and steep himself in
+musings.
+
+Accordingly, he turned away from town, keeping on quiet back streets.
+He did not even ask her where she wanted to go. The night was soft and
+dark with a sky that hung low like black velvet in which was sprinkled
+a soft studding of stars. The air wrapped about them, lazy and warm;
+it was not like night air at all. There was a peculiar exotic feel to
+it which kept the senses in a state of semi-coma yet alive to the
+slightest change. Joe half closed his eyes and leaned back against the
+cushion like an old cat getting her back scratched. The soft perfume
+of the girl's hair, the delicious mystery of the impenetrable sky
+above them, the caress of the air, all seemed to have been provided
+for his own especial enjoyment. He was suddenly exultant that he had
+escaped the house, that he was out and beneath the sky, and above all,
+that he had someone with him. The feeling of unfulfillment that had
+wracked him constantly was giving way. He imagined a sort of
+proprietary right to the conditions about him. Luxury, ease, pleasure,
+all that rolling along underneath those stars with an exquisite,
+beautiful thing beside him was symbolical of, seemed justly to have
+fallen to his lot. The dull, unfathomable ache of suppressed desire
+had vanished and he was complacent.
+
+"Well," a voice startled him. "Aren't you ever coming back to earth?"
+
+He was suddenly confused.
+
+"I don't think it's a bit nice, carrying me off and then thinking
+about some other girl. Aren't you ever going to say a word?"
+
+He recovered and found that they had travelled about two blocks. The
+spell faded. He regained mastery of himself. "I've been waitin' for
+permission to speak. Yon only said I might take you for a ride." He
+turned and gave her a personal look.
+
+"Where are you taking me then?" Her liveliness seemed to be returning.
+"Do you have to have permission for everything you do?"
+
+"I'm not sure," said Joe. "We're goin' to take a look at the river.
+That's my own idea."
+
+"How'd you know I wanted to? Perhaps I had rather do something else."
+
+He looked at her suddenly, but before he could speak, she leaned
+toward him impulsively and laid her hand on his shoulder. "There, I
+was just kidding. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do. It's a
+heavenly night. And I like you for your silence. It takes a real
+person to be still at the right time. Go ahead and dream all you want.
+It's heavenly."
+
+She removed her hand, but in some way she seemed to remain nearer to
+him than she had been. A little, delightful shudder of appreciation
+ran through him. He no longer felt isolated. The proprietary sense was
+growing stronger.
+
+They wound in and out in a devious path, for the streets in the
+eastern part of the city were laid out in accordance with whim and not
+by plan. And the rows of cottages lining the streets had acquired
+something of mystery from the canopy of night, and even the squalid
+sheds that appeared on the edge of the city's virility were wrapped in
+a shadow that loaned them charm. There came a short stretch of
+hedge-encompassed road and a damp musty smell of water, beyond, in the
+blackness on both sides. Then they rolled out upon a clattering
+bridge, turned a corner, and before them lay the river.
+
+Joe slowed down the car. A tiny light flashed and then lay stretching
+its rays in a yellow ripple out into a blue-black immensity. A shadow,
+beyond it and entirely detached, appeared drifting slowly, and passed
+them, an empty "plop-plop" following vaguely in its wake. The road
+turned again, a little to the left this time, and swishing branches
+brushed the car, and then almost at their feet stretched away to the
+left a broad, black, moving shadow, matching the sky and studded
+likewise by tiny pin-pricks of light. Ahead, unwound the road, a
+straight ghostly ribbon fading away into a giant's mouth, and softly
+swept down upon them the river wind, almost imperceptible in its
+rustling and a little chill. Joe felt a quiver of happiness.
+
+"You're the noisiest man I ever knew," interrupted Myrtle plaintively.
+"Ooh! This place gives me the creeps."
+
+He could feel the warmth of her and he laughed. "Swampy here a bit
+from the creek bottom. Up ahead it is higher and better. That crowd
+all come to see you? You shouldn't have run them away."
+
+"Oh, it was time they were going. They knew I wanted to see you." He
+could almost feel her eyes and felt that she was making a play for
+him. It was a new and pleasing experience.
+
+"So you really did, did you? I'm flattered."
+
+There was a coaxing, cloying note in her voice when she spoke
+directly, that in some way coincided with the breath of the night and
+the feel of that velvet sky. He got her to talk just to hear the sound
+of her voice and she chattered on for a while about airy nothings that
+vibrated pleasantly in his ear: told him about a trip she had just had
+up to the Indiana lakes, regretted the ruining of a summer frock on a
+boating party, asked him his opinion of the necessity of chaperones
+on picnics. There was a suggestion of deference in her manner as well
+as lightness, a quality that stirred him a little more pleasantly even
+than the other qualities. She was different from others he knew.
+
+They mounted a slight rise in the road and then dipped into a cool
+hollow fringed about by the shadows of willows. She paused suddenly in
+her recital and gave a little ecstatic cry. Seizing his arm she
+pointed. Over beyond, through a gap in the willows, lay a stretch of
+shadowy river meadow reaching back for a great distance to the second
+rise and fringed about its edge by even blacker shadows. And above it
+danced a million fire-flies weaving ceaselessly to and fro, waving
+their soft lanterns. They hung, a cloud of twinkling radiance, upon a
+soft black curtain.
+
+"Oh, stop the car," cried Myrtle. "The lovely things! Let's watch 'em
+from here."
+
+For some moments neither spoke. They were drawn up to one side of the
+road partly in the shelter of the willows that lined it and it was
+snug and pleasant and warm. The light breeze could not reach them. Joe
+felt exalted. In this communion of spirit he was experiencing
+something entirely new. It was as though he had known her always. He
+could feel sure about her. She liked the things he liked. She was
+alive and she was not aloof. There was a joy in living; she felt it
+and he felt it. And she was sitting very close. With an easy
+stretching of cramped muscles he slid his arm along the back of the
+seat and let it slip carelessly about her shoulder. There was a moment
+of delicious freedom and relaxation, of kindliness and friendliness
+and a thousand other little sensations, to say nothing of a spark of a
+thrill--when she moved easily forward, contracting her shoulders.
+
+"Let's go," she said dully.
+
+Instantly the illusion vanished. Back into his self-belittling he
+slipped and was silent. Away fled the ease and complacency, and the
+wind came up from the river and chilled his ankles.
+
+A moment later she asked him quite brightly, "_What_ do you do?"
+
+He had been thinking upon his sin and was startled at the casualness
+of the question. He laughed, a bit nervous. "Why, didn't you know?
+What'd you imagine?"
+
+"Of course I don't know. Run some sort of plant, I would guess."
+
+"Nope," he replied, and his voice had not the low, ringing assurance
+he might have wished, but was a little too loud, a little too high.
+"Nothing but this car."
+
+"I don't understand," she replied. "How do you mean?"
+
+"I'm selling 'em. This is a demonstrator, and I am responsible for
+it."
+
+"Oh, I see--well--isn't that nice!"
+
+And somehow from that time on the evening grew chilly and less
+pleasant and clouds came up and obscured the soft velvet sky. In a
+very few minutes they turned about and went home.
+
+She bid him a casual good-night.
+
+When he climbed the stairs to his room about thirty minutes later,
+they seemed endless. His breath was coming short as he gained the top
+and a vast, sudden, sickening weariness swooped down upon his body and
+consumed it. As he passed the open window in the hall the night breeze
+made him shiver and he went chattering to bed. He pulled the covers up
+beneath his chin and realized that he had made a fool of himself,
+which somehow didn't matter much; realized that he was alone--just as
+much alone as ever--which mattered quite a lot. All this and the chill
+shivering and the vast, aching weariness. He fell asleep and dreamed
+of desolate wastes and wanderings and parching heat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Half of August had joined the past. And with it was passing Joe's
+complacency. Each day brought a certain routine: customers to be
+developed, doubtful and recalcitrant ones to be urged to the
+purchasing point. One day's work was very like the next. But each day
+passing brought a certain satisfaction, of being one day nearer to the
+day ahead.
+
+The day that he had taken Myrtle Macomber up the river road had been
+Tuesday. On Wednesday he had risen, sluggish and weary, with an ache
+in his bones. A half-hearted, spasmodic attempt at work had ended at
+eleven o'clock. He had called up Myrtle. They went that afternoon to a
+ball-game. Thursday morning came, bright with promise, and a
+profitable forenoon was spent in the old hammer-and-tongs manner. By
+noon he had two orders in his pocket and felt quite exhausted. The
+heat drank up the very marrow from one's bones. He met Myrtle on the
+street. They had lunch together. All that afternoon they paddled about
+in the river and came home with hair wet and nerves sagging. Friday
+passed, a long dreary day. By the time five o'clock arrived Joe would
+willingly have sunk down on the cement pavement in some shaded corner,
+just to take his mind from the grip of the traffic. There was nothing
+in the selling of motor cars to give his mind anything to bite on.
+What was it kept him going, he asked himself? The answer suggested
+itself to him, but he shook it off and mused on. Summer was a dreary
+time. That night he dragged himself to Lytle Street. He found Miss
+Macomber waiting for him on the porch. She was wearing a Nile green
+sports suit of soft flannel, with white facings, and white shoes and
+stockings and a stiff sailor hat of white straw. As he came up the
+walk and approached the steps, he heard a scurrying and moving of
+chairs, and as he gained the porch he caught a glimpse of a scuttling
+back in a baggy shirt with suspenders, a stooped fat neck that was
+collarless, and a frayed-out bald spot--just a glint of it--on the
+head above. From humble soil is sometimes nurtured the choicest of
+blooms. Joe had never met Mr. Macomber and the mother always seemed to
+keep discreetly in the background.
+
+They went that night to the amusement park on the river. Myrtle looked
+like a clipping from a style magazine; there was not a flaw in her.
+She drank up amusement like a thirsty sponge. They wandered about
+after the show. They drank lemonade. They danced in the pavilion. They
+wandered about some more, listened for a short time to the trillings
+of a robustious prima donna come upon evil days. They soon tired of
+this so easily attained diversion and feverishly set out for more.
+They danced again. They ran into a crowd of Myrtle's friends. They
+joined them in a series of mad dashes on the roller coaster. Myrtle's
+zest seemed fed from eternal springs. They danced a third time, or
+rather Myrtle did, with each clamouring swain, while the music bleated
+and whined away in expiring ecstasies and Joe leaned back against the
+window sill and gazed hollow-eyed at the ceiling or answered the
+fatuous banalities of some of the less fortunate ladies who were not
+dancing at the moment for various reasons. And as they went home that
+night, after twelve, they talked of the vast still places of the
+world, "where Nature leans a brooding ear" and "where one can be
+reposed and strong and silent and happy" and "just drink up the
+atmosphere in great gusty draughts, and steep oneself in calm. None of
+this terrible grind from day to day."
+
+Saturday, Myrtle went up-state. Saturday was hot and long and
+interminable. Sunday she motored, likewise up-state. It did not make
+the city streets the cooler, thinking of her. Sunday night produced a
+rain and a rising wind and a repetition of that chill, aching
+weariness for Joe when he dragged himself to bed. Just as relaxation
+slipped down between the covers upon his weary body the future came
+and stood at the foot of his bed and stared at him like a flat, empty
+sheet of yellow foolscap, without a mark on it, and away it stretched
+endless. It was a silly image; it stared so vacantly. But it roused
+him with a start and he tossed about restlessly on his bed and threw
+back the covers that had become oppressive and let the breeze from the
+window, a water-soaked breeze, blow in upon his bare chest. How long
+would he be selling motor cars? He shelved that question. How much
+would he have to make this month still, to pay all his bills? He
+shelved this one, too. What was the matter with him, that he felt so
+played out? Suddenly he shivered and was chilled to the marrow, and he
+pulled the sheet up under his chin and went to sleep in the absorbed
+contemplation of each minute bodily misery.
+
+Monday noon found them lunching together in the tea room. Joe spoke
+very distantly and formally to Mary Louise when once she came in,
+looked around at the tables, and then disappeared in the mysterious
+regions behind. Tuesday night they went on a moonlight picnic on a
+large river steamer and got back at half-past one. There had been a
+blissful hour of drifting black shadows, of gleaming ripples, and the
+heavy sonorous exhaust of benign boilers, spent on the topmost step of
+the pilot-house stairs, with a moon that dipped and swam in a turgid
+sea of drifting clouds. The rest had been rattle and bang of jazz and
+chatter, and bumping about on a hot, swaying floor into obstreperous
+shoulders, and the smell of sweetened popcorn and fresh paint and
+sickly perfume. Wednesday they went for a ride again and ended up at
+the "Ferry" and danced and drank lemonade. And they passed a table
+where sat old Mrs. LeMasters with a youngish boy with a very red,
+sunburned face, and she wagged her finger at Joe and looked long and
+critically at Myrtle. Thursday night he stayed home and felt
+solitarily virtuous.
+
+On Friday a picnic had been arranged. Joe "knocked off" work at four
+o'clock and went home and dressed by a window through which the sun
+streamed broiling hot. Before putting on his shoes he yielded to the
+lure of the bed and flung himself upon it. It was all he could do to
+drag himself forth and put on the finishing touches. Somehow the
+notion of the picnic did not thrill him. There would be the same crowd
+on hand, noisy, obstreperous, vulgar. They had no real "punch" to
+them. They were like beating a tin pan: all of it was right on the
+surface.
+
+He arrived twenty minutes late and was scolded. They loaded a stack of
+baskets into his car; all about his feet were cumbersome bundles; and
+they scratched the polished panel in the tonneau behind the front
+seat. He could hear the grating of the straw basket across the
+beautiful surface and he shrank from the sound. Into the seat beside
+him clambered the soft, fattish girl. Her name was Penny, he had
+learned. She smirked at him as she adjusted her skirts. There was a
+line of tiny beady perspiration upon her upper lip and her white
+slippers gaped at the sides and were not too clean. Her pink georgette
+crepe waist clung to a flabby back with a suggestion of dampness and
+she simpered at him:
+
+"I hope Myrtle won't put poison in my ice-tea."
+
+He confessed that that would distress him exceedingly.
+
+Into the back seat clambered the two boys with the copper throats.
+Their names were Glotch and Trumpeter. They hailed Joe with acclaim,
+slapped Miss Penny on the bare neck, coyly, with little flips of the
+fingers, and when the slim, sour-faced girl--who was a Miss
+Ardle--with her slicked black hair, climbed in between them, they fell
+on her neck in ecstasies of greeting and threatened to kiss her and
+were slapped roundly for their pains amid loud guffaws. It ended by
+Miss Ardle coming around and sitting in the front seat to the
+rapturous discomfort of Miss Penny, whose fat leg was thereby squeezed
+against the gear-shifting lever where it was in Joe's way for the
+remainder of the trip.
+
+Just before they started, Mrs. Macomber came out of the house carrying
+a small package which she brought round and entrusted to Joe's care.
+She was wearing a stiffly starched apron and her hair had been
+plastered down and her face scrubbed so that the deep rings in the
+flabby flesh below her eyes were thereby accentuated. Very pointedly
+she looked at Joe and very definitely she spoke:
+
+"You'll see that they get back at a decent hour? And don't let 'em go
+in the water." It might have been the tone with which she exhorted Mr.
+Macomber. At any rate, Miss Penny pursed her lips and looked at Joe
+and then significantly at Miss Ardle, and ever after that made highly
+cryptic remarks half aloud, to herself, to the general effect that
+some folks' families always were so good to them and how unhappy it
+was to be an orphan.
+
+They went to a hot, stuffy little grove by the side of a disconsolate
+stream where mosquitoes hummed and tiny gnat creatures were vulgarly
+familiar. Joe carried the baskets down a steep and rocky path to the
+very edge of the brook, scratching his face with stinging briars and
+tough, elastic little switches from ubiquitous bushes. The two young
+men in the back seat ostentatiously assisted the ladies in the descent
+with much demonstration and much unnecessary pawing. Joe sat down and
+waited for Myrtle, who was coming with Hawkins, a look of resignation
+on his face.
+
+When at length she finally arrived she paid him no attention in spite
+of the fact that he had not seen her for over a whole day. Later on
+she gave him some directions in the arranging of the lunch and the
+building of the fire, in a strictly impersonal tone, very much the
+same as she had used with her mother. Joe was a bit puzzled, but he
+complied.
+
+They went straight to the business of the lunch. Everything was spread
+out on a white tablecloth, Mrs. Macomber's second best. There was a
+baffling variety of sandwiches, olive and peanut-butter, lettuce and
+cucumber--quite soggy and dangerous--devilled ham, thin bread and
+butter, and a small pile whose filling was made up chiefly of
+discarded chicken scraps. There was a highly indigestible chocolate
+cake sodden enough to serve as a boat's anchor, a great quantity of
+jumbo pickles, and a dozen bottles of near beer. This last Mr. Glotch
+welcomed with a stentorian shout ably echoed by Mr. Trumpeter, each of
+whom fell to and consumed a bottle with much assumption of inebriety.
+After dissembling complete disintegration and coma, Mr. Glotch raised
+his head from the ground and mourned, "Oh, boy! The guy that named
+this juice sure was a bum judge of distance." "You said it," echoed
+Mr. Trumpeter, and they were rewarded by a series of titters from the
+ladies which encouraged them into still further excesses.
+
+Joe felt weary. He was fortunately deaf to much of what went on about
+him, being concerned in the baffling mystery of Myrtle's behaviour.
+Was she provoked at him? Surely not. Was Hawkins, perhaps an erstwhile
+rival, putting in a bid for first honours? She was paying no attention
+to Hawkins whatever. Had he been talking too much with Miss Ardle or
+the coy Miss Penny? Perhaps all she needed was waking up.
+
+They had demolished the lunch and were sitting about the wreckage in
+mournful speculation of its vanished glories; Myrtle was seated
+between the two comedians; Joe between the two ladies; Hawkins some
+distance in the background, on a rock. With no warning whatever Joe
+sprang to his feet, strode over to the lovely Myrtle in her filmy
+white dress, and picked her bodily from the ground.
+
+"Let's go swimming," he shouted before a single member of the crowd
+could give utterance.
+
+He carried her in a couple of strides to the edge of the little stream
+and there held her threateningly over the bank. The two young men
+shouted approval and Myrtle began to squirm. At first she demanded
+coyly to be set down, and then with more sharpness in her tone. Joe
+looked into her eyes. They were unfathomable. Her peach-bloom cheeks
+were quite pink. But there were a few tiny wrinkles about her mouth
+that he had never seen before. Made her look older, somehow. He
+softened, for the lovely burden was becoming delightfully heavy.
+
+"Think I'd better not?" he addressed the crowd.
+
+"Go on," urged Mr. Glotch.
+
+"Oh, well," he decided, "perhaps we'll only go in wading." He reached
+clumsily down to her foot for her slipper.
+
+She squirmed and flushed deeper. "Don't!" she cried. "Don't, Joe!"
+
+He disregarded her. Her foot dangled out in front, in full view; it
+was difficult to reach it without letting her slip and with her
+struggling. But he finally succeeded. He caught the French heel in a
+sudden swipe and the slipper went scudding off into the bushes.
+Immediately she drew the foot in to her and cried out. But not content
+he reached for the other.
+
+"If you take that off I'll never speak to you again," she cried. She
+looked bewitching, struggling there in his arms all flushed and red,
+with her hair coming down. He wanted to kiss her but he grabbed the
+remaining slipper instead and firmly disengaged it from its place. And
+then she began to cry. And as he held her, struggling no longer, with
+one foot dangling disconsolately below his arm, he saw the turn of
+shapely ankle all sleek in its sheathing of white silk, the high arch
+with the delicate dip to the instep, and below it the gleam of two
+pink toes boldly peeping from a malignant hole.
+
+Contrite, he set her down while the audience went hysterical. He set
+her down on a grassy mound and she threw him a red, angry look while
+the traces of tears were quickly drying. And he noticed that the other
+stocking was in the same condition. When he returned her the slippers
+she put them on without a word.
+
+The rest of the evening she spent on the rock beside Hawkins while
+the two young swains made merry with the other girls and Miss Penny
+simpered and Miss Ardle was correspondingly caustic. Joe sat back with
+his head against a tree and a hard, tired smile about his mouth, and a
+restlessness in the pit of his stomach. He tried not to look at Myrtle
+and Hawkins. And once when the crowd surged in a moment's
+boisterousness over to another part of the picnic grounds he stretched
+himself, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands to get the smart
+out of them, and muttered, "God, what a party!" all to himself.
+
+Later on, when they were gathering up the remains of the lunch and
+folding it up in the tablecloth and returning glasses and plates and
+cutlery to the basket, Joe found himself standing silently beside
+Hawkins, watching the preparations for leaving. The moonlight was
+streaming down in a silvery flood through the trees and the bit of
+green meadow glowed like a fairy ring. There were silvery ripples on
+the water of the little stream that slipped off with a tinkling
+chatter into the deep gloom of the shadow. Somewhere near a wild
+honeysuckle bloomed and the fragrance of its blooming came drifting to
+them. Hawkins spoke. He stood with eyes fixed on the stooping figures
+near the tablecloth and his lips barely moved.
+
+"How'd you get mixed up in this crowd?" he said. It was a curious
+question.
+
+Joe looked at him oddly; the fellow's manner was, always had been,
+peculiar. "How about yourself?" he replied.
+
+Without answering, Hawkins lifted his shoulders and threw out his
+hands. Then they were both called to come and help.
+
+Joe had the sole company of Miss Penny on the return trip. She was
+inclined to be quiet and answered his polite attempts with
+monosyllables. He wondered if by chance he might be being remiss in
+the customs of such an occasion, but he did not care much. The three
+on the back seat had lapsed into a strange silence that seemed out of
+place, like death in a boiler shop, and when they finally reached the
+city limits and passed beneath the glare of the first corner light, he
+took a look behind him and caught Miss Ardle kissing the imperious
+Glotch. He turned and looked at Miss Penny. She sat with her hands in
+her lap, looking demurely at them.
+
+He delivered them all to their respective destinations. And then,
+having the load of baskets and picnic utensils in the car, he returned
+to Lytle Street to see that they were properly handed over. He passed
+Hawkins' roadster as he turned the corner into Lytle Street and
+wondered if he were too late.
+
+But as he staggered up the walk with the baskets, Myrtle came to meet
+him at the top of the steps and showed him where to put them. And as
+he turned and would have gone, she stopped him with a soft word. On
+the top step she came and took hold of him by both elbows and looked
+up into his face with eyes that were swimming with sweetness. He
+gulped and was bitterly sorry for his folly. He started to speak, when
+she reached up with her hand and softly passed it across his forehead;
+the touch of it was as exquisite and as transient as a dream. He felt
+unmentionable depths.
+
+"Hope you're feeling better," she murmured.
+
+"Why?" he managed to ask. And then he remembered he had told her he
+had been unwell Thursday which accounted for his absence. And then:
+"Oh, I do. Much. All right now." An errant moonbeam came straggling in
+between a break in the screen of vines and lighted up her face,
+looking up into his, flooding it with a sort of holy wistfulness.
+Softly she moved away, out of the light.
+
+An hour later he clambered into his car and drove away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+What a curious question, that of Hawkins, "How did you come to get
+mixed up in this crowd?" And the inane response he had made to the
+counter as though it all were a mystery too vast for solution. Oh,
+well, Hawkins was a queer bird, inexpressive and glum and commonplace.
+Could not be expected to register much. His thoughts probably were too
+rusty and old by the time they formed in his head to issue forth in
+sparkling deeds or words. Joe slipped a knot into his tie, gave his
+hair a final swipe with the brush, caught a quick glance at himself in
+the glass, and then rushed to the door and rattled down the stairs
+whistling.
+
+It was a fine morning, the kind that gave one lots of "pep," high
+cloudless sky, dazzling sun, hot and bracing. The morning paper had a
+column on the first page listing the names of those who had succumbed
+to the heat; but Joe had no eyes for such morbid news. A man never
+felt the heat when he had plenty of good work to do and was in good
+shape, and things were going well with him. Funny, how much suffering
+of any sort was due entirely to the state of mind. He whistled as he
+swung along on his way to the garage. And when he stepped into the
+door of the garage office he mopped his streaming face and shouted to
+the night man who was just leaving, "'D you get those gaskets put into
+the old boat, Harry?"
+
+"Whadda you think this is?" growled the man, "a mad-house? This ain't
+no flivver fact'ry--build you a car while you change yer shirt--course
+I ain't changed them gaskets." Harry clumped sullenly out of the door
+and down the street, keeping close to the wall, in the shade. Harry
+was an old married man and his feet were leaden. Joe chuckled as he
+gazed after him speculatively. And then he passed through the door
+back into the shop.
+
+It was Saturday and only four hours till noon. There were no
+demonstrations scheduled for the afternoon. There was not a flaw in
+the sky. And yet the morning dragged. The streets were hot; great
+waves of heat came curling up from the asphalt, which was soft and
+gummy and showed the ruts of passing tires.
+
+Toward twelve things began to quicken. Two or three insignificant
+details brazenly presented themselves and Joe fell upon them with
+feverish irritation. For a time they threatened to encroach upon a
+golden afternoon. A lady had sent in an inquiry about a winter top;
+Mrs. LeMasters was having trouble with her doors squeaking. They could
+just as well have waited until Monday.
+
+It was two o'clock when he finally quieted Mrs. LeMasters, using a
+small oil can on the hinges and a few honeyed words upon her ruffled
+spirits. He drew a deep breath of exasperation and relief as he
+clambered into his car and drove away. He looked at his watch, paused
+a moment in deep thought, stopping his car dead in the middle of the
+street and was almost run over from behind by a nervous, excitable
+"flivver." The driver waved at him wildly, shouting obscenities as he
+swerved past and went careening down the street.
+
+He would not have time to eat lunch. There was so much to do.
+Inspired, he stopped at a corner drug store and gulped down a malted
+milk. Then with enforced calm, and with a glance at the clock, he
+brushed down his clothes, looked at himself in the glass above the
+counter, and walked with much careless aplomb out to the car. He had
+timed it to a nicety.
+
+When he got out of the car in front of the Macomber dwelling he had
+another struggle to keep from appearing self-conscious. As he
+approached the house a rosy little vision of the afternoon in prospect
+flitted into his mind. He glanced patronizingly at the sky. Never had
+there been serener blue. Descending a notch, he caught a surreptitious
+glimpse at upstairs windows. The one above the front door was chastely
+shrouded by inside shutters. But through a slight gap and beneath a
+raised sash he saw a flutter of white and turned away his eyes. It
+was _her_ room. He pulled the old bell knob and stood thoughtfully
+humming to himself on the steps.
+
+No one came. Slightly jarred, he realized it and pulled the bell
+again. He stopped humming. Quite a while he waited, in growing
+irritation. The bell was probably broken. After many minutes--it may
+have been two--he stepped to the edge of the porch and speculated on
+going around to the back, when the door flew suddenly open and Mrs.
+Macomber stood peering at him through the screen.
+
+He jerked off his hat. "How do you do?" and gave her a radiant smile.
+
+Mrs. Macomber scowled. She was an impregnable griffin even in still
+life. She had on an untidy apron and her hair was squeezed back from
+her yellow, greasy face.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"I've--er--Miss Myrtle?" sparkled Joe, conquering the vapours.
+
+"Not in," said Mrs. Macomber shortly.
+
+Joe fell back a step. The shadows swept down upon him. For a moment he
+was at a loss for words. "But--Mrs. Macomber--we were going to Stony
+Point this afternoon!" He was aghast, and he bared his feelings to the
+world before he sank in the engulfing sea of negation. "Are you sure?"
+
+Mrs. Macomber smiled grimly. "My eyes haven't gone back on me
+entirely, I reckon."
+
+Joe stepped up to the level of the porch which stood inviting off to
+the right. "Listen, Mrs. Macomber," he began, striving to be
+respectful. "What's wrong?" In the face of the threatening debacle he
+could not calmly let matters drift. He felt himself rushing into
+action.
+
+Mrs. Macomber considered and then apparently made up her mind. She
+opened the door and stepped out upon the vine-covered porch. For a
+moment she stood facing him as if taking in her ground. There was
+something deep and lurking and resentful in her narrow eyes.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you," she began. "You've been taking up a mighty lot
+of Myrtle's time here, lately."
+
+He sinkingly realized the truth of this statement as he felt the
+fixity of her gaze. He was silent. The front door opened over to his
+left, but he was too absorbed to notice. There was a sound of someone
+stirring in the vestibule.
+
+Mrs. Macomber did not like his silence. She had decided on conflict.
+"A man's got no right to take up a girl's time unless he means right
+by her. Just because a girl's good lookin' 's no sign she's a
+play-thing for any Tom, Dick, or Harry comes along."
+
+Joe was stunned by the baldness of the statement.
+
+"But, Mrs. Macomber," he managed to stammer, "I didn't know that's the
+way Myrtle--Miss Macomber felt about it. I'm awfully sorry----"
+
+"Keeps other men away," she interrupted him ruthlessly, determined to
+have her say. "Spoils everything for her. She's just a young girl----"
+
+"There, there, Ma," broke in a voice. Mr. Macomber joined the group, a
+sheepish, kindly look upon his face, and raising a restraining hand.
+He came and took Joe by the shoulder. There was something familiar in
+his round, stolid face. "Don't take on so. Gonna get a cigar. Wouldn't
+you like one?" he added casually to Joe, at the same time propelling
+him to the steps.
+
+Joe felt he was being manipulated. He turned again in a desperate
+effort to regain some of the lost ground and his tone was very
+respectful, quite abject.
+
+"Mrs. Macomber, please accept my humble apologies. Perhaps I should
+have spoken to you." He struggled. A final shred of self-respect
+prevented him from laying bare the throbbings of his heart, or perhaps
+it was a tiny, rising suspicion of doubt. There were signs of dross in
+his vision of pure gold. "I hope," he concluded, "that you will give
+me a chance to square myself."
+
+The old woman glared at him, blocking the doorway, like a faithful
+dragon at the castle gates where sleeps the queen of beauty.
+
+"Sure you will," insisted Mr. Macomber, still urging him forward. He
+seemed distressed in a vague sort of way.
+
+They sauntered out of the gate, prisoner and captive, to the corner
+drug store. Joe mechanically selected a cigar from a proffered box.
+Mr. Macomber did likewise and gravely and deliberately clipped the end
+in the mechanical clipper on the counter, lighted it, and took a few
+ruminative puffs, gazing at the ceiling. Then he and Joe walked slowly
+to the street.
+
+"Women fly off the handle," he ventured at length without looking at
+Joe. "You mustn't mind what the old lady says."
+
+"She misunderstood," said Joe. "I suppose I was a bit too much on the
+job." It was not easy to express himself and he laughed nervously.
+"But I don't think you can blame me much." He looked at the old man
+for encouragement and found none. "What I can't understand is, that
+nothing was said to me before. It could have been prevented if it was
+so objectionable. You don't think there is anything wrong, do you?"
+
+Mr. Macomber shook his head and Joe proceeded to vent the vials of his
+dismay. A taxi driver escaping from the drug store passed them as they
+were absorbed in their conversation and stared at them in curiosity.
+The old man stood chewing his cigar, his eyes on the ground, the
+breeze softly ruffing the nebulous hairs that fringed his bald head.
+
+Joe concluded his oration. There was nothing more he could add. And
+Mr. Macomber, raising his eyes, looked at him frankly. "Seen you
+before, ain't I? Used to be at Bromley's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm foreman there. Cultivator room."
+
+And Joe remembered. It did not exactly add to his satisfaction. "Sure
+you are," and he tried to make his voice heartily friendly.
+
+They walked slowly back toward the house. At the gate they paused for
+an awkward moment, and then Mr. Macomber held out his hand.
+
+"See you again," he said. "Don't worry about what the old lady said to
+you. It's the heat. It's all right. It's all right." He turned to go.
+He had made no reference to Myrtle at all.
+
+It was over. Joe stood on the curbing and watched the sturdy figure in
+its sagging vest and collarless shirt plod up the walk to the house.
+He could not help looking furtively for just a glance at that upstairs
+window and caught a flash of white and then vacuity. And then
+crestfallen and hot and sullen and ashamed, he sprang into the car and
+drove away.
+
+On his way down Broadway he had a puncture. Fortunately it occurred
+just half a block away from the "Kum-quik Tire Company's" repair shop.
+He covered that half block on a flat tire and went in for help.
+
+Hawkins came and stood silently beside him as a boy removed the tire.
+It was a solemn occasion. They stood there on the pavement,
+thoughtful, intently watching the operation. Hawkins was coatless; he
+had pink elastics holding up his sleeves and his hair stood up in a
+solemn pompadour and his high stiff collar had a spot of grease on it.
+
+"What was the idea of the question you asked me last night, Hawkins?"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Then Hawkins looked up and smiled
+queerly. "Oh, nothing particular."
+
+Joe was not satisfied. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't be runnin'
+around in that crowd? What's the matter? Aren't they--isn't she--all
+right?"
+
+There was a quick, sudden turning of the slim hatchet face and Hawkins
+looked hard into his eyes. "It isn't that," he said brusquely. "I'm
+engaged to marry her."
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Joe.
+
+The boy wrenched loose the tire and was rolling it into the shop.
+Slowly they followed him. Hawkins proceeded to the desk and picked up
+a pad of repair forms and started to scribble something on the top
+sheet. Joe watched his narrow, bent shoulders under the sleazy shirt.
+There was something pathetic in the proud crest of hair above his
+forehead and the pucker of lines in his brows.
+
+"How long have you been the lucky man?"
+
+Hawkins looked up from his paper. Faint surprise was written in his
+face. "Oh, a little over three years. Want to wait for this tube or
+will you come back for it? Man can put on your spare."
+
+"I'll come hack for it Monday," said Joe.
+
+A few moments later he drove away.
+
+For an hour he drove without thought of where he was going. Detail
+after detail of the affair presented itself to his mind in endless
+repetition. It had been a humiliating experience. The old woman's
+vulgarity; Macomber's stolid, iron hand clearing the air, like
+brushing trash from his doorstep; the consciousness of prying eyes at
+that upstairs window! "I've been a feeble cuckoo," he thought. "Mighta
+supposed two years in the army would have taught me better'n that.
+Played me for a good thing as long as it lasted and then the old lady
+called a showdown. Hawkins must stand in with the old lady. Poor
+Hawkins!"
+
+He discovered that he was rolling along on the Bloomfield pike about
+two miles from town.
+
+"Funny how these hard-workin' folks sink all their money in a
+butterfly like that. Bet she uses up the meat bill every month. And
+look what she gets out of it. Bet she's twenty-six if she's a day. And
+all she got was Hawkins. I must have looked good to her for a day or
+two."
+
+Bitterly he waited at the grade crossing while "Number Twenty-seven"
+went lumbering by. It shrieked a high, exasperating whistle as it
+passed, exulting in its trembling, shaking twenty-five miles per hour.
+
+On he drove. Hot blasts of air came crushing about him, with the
+sunlight shimmering white hot on the bare, dry pike. There was much
+dust from countless automobiles hurrying by in both directions. He was
+constantly churned up in clouds of fine white particles thrown back at
+him by passing tires, hurrying on in a mad drive to get somewhere. He
+was suddenly unbearably hot. But he drove on blindly.
+
+About five miles out he came to a shady lane. It ran like a cool brown
+gash between arching trees, off from the pike to the right. Away in
+the distance the fields dipped and rose to the skyline, a golden waste
+with here and there a patch of withering green. The lane was
+irresistible. He swung suddenly into it and was caught in a shifting,
+squirming quagmire of fine yellow sand. For a hundred yards he
+struggled on, with the car careening back and forth across the road
+and with much churning and slipping of tires. His shoulders began to
+ache and he wearied of the effort. It was a useless waste of energy.
+Spying a huge tree standing on the fence line on up ahead, he drew up
+to it and stopped in its shade. There was barely room for any one to
+pass on the other side of him.
+
+For a moment he sat and dully stared out across the landscape. Then he
+got out of the car, climbed over the fence and threw himself down on
+the ground in the shade of the big tree.
+
+A stupor seemed to have come over him. There was the splotchy edge of
+shade just beyond his feet; there stretched a parched and drying
+furrow. Withered stubs of corn-stalks poked up forlorn heads at
+intervals in an endless row. Beyond them were more rows, and all about
+him lay the scarred and cracking earth in yellow heaps and clods, with
+the wind twisting fine spirals of dust from its rest and spewing it
+broadcast. In the air was a drone of drab creatures being happy in
+their drabness, rejoicing in the waste, thoughtless of the future.
+That was it, the whole field, unkept, idle, lazying, was thoughtless
+of the future. There stood the dead stubble, blackening and hopeless.
+Winter might come with its frost. Here was no worry over failing
+crops. One year's work had done for two. And the grasshoppers and the
+midges and the gnats and the flies were likewise quite content.
+
+He brushed the dust from a trouser leg. He looked at the trouser leg.
+The suit had cost him ninety dollars. And he was a creature of
+Bromley's rigged out like a butterfly and lying in the dust of a
+rotten old cornfield. Barely two months had passed and great changes
+had laid their hands upon him. Seemingly great changes. Three hundred
+dollars a month! Princely wages; but in what respect was he lifted? He
+had on a ninety-dollar suit, with dust from a cornfield fouling it. He
+had a few more bills in the haberdasher shops, an enamelled tub to
+bathe in, and more time to think about himself, to chase elusive
+lights and shadows. Otherwise, he was the same old Joe, the same tired
+old Joe. He realized how tired he was. In spite of the heat his face
+felt dry and parched, his lips were cracking, his bones ached, and his
+eyes burned. Well, he had caught up with himself; he would have to
+snap out of it. No use to lie around and gather dust on one's self and
+not lay anything by, like the farmer who owned this field, and like
+the gnats that buzzed around in the dust. He had no idea what he would
+do, but he would be careful--from now on.
+
+He climbed back across the fence and into the car. The lane was so
+narrow that he had to back clear to its juncture with the pike. It was
+slow, tedious, grinding work. "Glad I didn't go down a couple of
+miles," he thought. And as he backed slowly away, the dry, hot wind
+came in rattling gusts and swept the dust in yellow eddies after him,
+bearing the voice of the grasshoppers, the monotone of futility.
+
+When at six o'clock he passed through the cool, smelly garage entrance
+that was wet and shiny with grease and blue with the breathings of
+many cars, he was met by the "boss." The latter looked critically at
+the dust-bespattered panels and then at Joe.
+
+"Seems to me you're spending a lot of time in the country. Don't need
+to take 'em all over the earth to show 'em what the car will do. You
+must be doing a lot of educating."
+
+"I have been," said Joe. "Guess I'll have to slow up on it a bit. Have
+to brush up my salesmanship."
+
+The "boss" grunted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Mary Louise was seeing quite a lot of Claybrook. First there had been
+the business of going over the books, although that had not taken much
+time. "Just to make sure how things stand," he had laughed and she had
+been only too eager to acquiesce. Then there was the business of
+making out the notes. Six months and one year they had been, ample
+time enough on considering the progress of the business. Of course it
+could have all been finished up in one session. But somehow it was a
+week or more before everything was entirely settled. She had taken a
+small apartment, in reality just a room and a bath, in a quiet family
+hotel-apartment that Claybrook had recommended. He had, of course,
+come in to see how she was installed. It was a dim, cool, hushed sort
+of place, where guests spoke in sibilant whispers when they crossed
+the parlour lobby. There was a faded blonde of doubtful age presiding
+over the tiny desk, who handed out mail and plugged in telephone calls
+in a small switchboard and kept the hotel porter in a constant state
+of agitated unrest. No one ever sat around in the lobby. Every now
+and then there would gather little groups of prim old ladies with
+shawls and magazines and embroidery frames, discussing whispered
+personalities and the weather, as they waited for the elevator.
+Careful, curious looks they always had for Mary Louise whenever she
+came upon them. An all-pervading atmosphere of stealth and secrecy and
+propriety seemed to hover about the place. Before she had been an
+inmate three hours she felt it and when Claybrook called that first
+evening, she had come rushing across the lobby to meet him, with a
+glad little cry of welcome. Immediately one of the little groups had
+ceased to function and had with one accord stared at her with grave
+eyes, and the blonde at the switchboard had lifted her head above the
+edge of the desk and peered over. And then in the lobby, over in a far
+corner, they had sat uncomfortably for an hour on the faded plush
+divan and discussed commonplaces in a low tone and felt irreparably
+guilty.
+
+But in spite of it all, Claybrook had come again; had come the next
+evening and the next. Most of the time he took her out for drives in
+his car. It began to be a regular thing, and she had come to look
+forward to his coming. The idea of staying alone in that whispery
+place was not a pleasant idea. Moreover, now that Maida was gone, she
+had double work to do in the tea room--which was running on as briskly
+as ever--and in the evening she felt invariably jaded and in need of
+some sort of diversion. So she welcomed Claybrook. And she got used to
+him.
+
+One evening--it was after two weeks of this sort of thing--as she was
+sitting in her room, looking out of the window at the tops of the
+trees in an adjacent yard, it struck her how much she had been seeing
+him. For a moment it made her uncomfortable. What was it leading to?
+Such suppositions must almost invariably come to a single woman. Ages
+of tradition have left their imprint upon the sex to the effect that
+single life is not an end in itself, and that somehow it needs must
+change. Of course, many a spinster has gone to a satisfied grave in
+complete contentment over a life of spinsterhood. But there is nothing
+to prevent the question from arising, especially when there is an
+attentive male hanging about unattached.
+
+Claybrook had given no indication of any serious intentions. Now that
+she had come to know him better, he seemed more like an overgrown boy
+with a healthy appetite for play. There was no cause for alarm. If he
+had been the kind to moon around in dark corners, wanting to sit alone
+with her in long interminable silences--but on the contrary he always
+wanted to go somewhere. She had met several of his friends and they
+were always going somewhere, both men and women. And he always had
+plenty to say, mostly about conditions in the mill, the increase in
+the cost of labour, the scarcity of good lumber, some little anecdotes
+about the men, drummers' tales. More like a business acquaintance he
+treated her, discussing gravely the problems of her tea room and that
+sort of thing. He had even begun to call her "Sister" in an odd little
+patronizing way. And she had seen him every night now for the past two
+weeks. She thoughtfully ran her hand across her mouth. That was too
+much speed. She would have to slow down.
+
+The graying light deepened and the chequered wavering of the boughs
+beneath her was slowly swallowed up in shadow so that the depth seemed
+interminable. A screen door slammed and there was the clatter of a pan
+on a brick pavement and the drawl of a soft Negro voice somewhere
+below. The help was going home. And then silence descending with only
+the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant clang and clatter of the
+city. She felt suddenly very much alone; and she wondered what her
+aunt Susie might be doing at this instant. Sitting alone in the ell
+sitting room, knitting, perhaps, with old Landy pottering about in the
+kitchen or on the back steps, with some fishing tackle or an odd bit
+of harness. A bit of sentimentality touched her lightly. It would be
+good to put the old place on its feet again, free it entirely of debt,
+with a little surplus so that there would not be that constant feeling
+of strain, of anxiety. This was no life to be living in spite of the
+glamour of the city. Every living creature felt the need of home. If
+only all she meant to do might not be accomplished too late.
+
+The sharp burr of the telephone startled her and she rose to answer
+it, dabbing at her eyes furtively with her handkerchief as she rose.
+
+She met Claybrook in the lobby.
+
+"Hi, there!" he said. "Get your hat. The Thompsons want us to come and
+play bridge with them." He squeezed her hand just a little as he
+smiled good-naturedly at her with patronizing approval.
+
+"To-night?" she echoed. "In August?"
+
+"Sure," he said. "Why not? It's plenty cool. They've a room on the top
+floor of the Ardmore and they keep all the windows open. Never seen
+the Thompsons' apartment, have you?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Pretty swell dump. Like to know how much Tommy pays for it. Keeps it
+all the year too. They go to Florida for January and February. Want
+you to see it. Maybe when the business grows enough you'll be wanting
+one like it."
+
+She smiled wanly and pictured herself spending the balance of her days
+in a hotel.
+
+"Hurry up. Get your hat and powder your nose and pretty yourself up.
+Want you to feel at home. Mrs. Tom is _some_ doll."
+
+She hastened back to the room. He was like a kind older brother
+wanting to show her a good time, wanting her to show to the best
+advantage. She smiled at him when she again joined him in the lobby.
+"That better?"
+
+He peered at her closely. "Much," he grunted and followed her through
+the swinging door.
+
+They played bridge with the Thompsons.
+
+Through the open windows the noise of the city came swelling up
+distractingly. The cards kept blowing from the table so that the men
+were busy gathering them up from the floor. Mrs. Thompson wore a lacy
+gown of lilac organdie cut quite low in the neck and her hair was
+arranged in an elaborate and immaculate coiffure that stuck out behind
+in huge, smooth, artificial-looking puffs. Her colour was high and not
+all her own. Her husband was of the type commonly called a "rough
+diamond," showing evident signs of hours spent in the barber's chair,
+with a sort of rawness about a blue-black chin, traces of talcum
+powder, and a lurking odour of toilet water. He was too big for his
+clothes, which were just a bit flashy, and he looked as though he
+might like to doff his coat.
+
+Mary Louise and Claybrook arrived at eight-thirty. At eight
+thirty-five Thompson produced a flask from a desk drawer and mixed up
+a couple of high balls with an air of grave deliberation. The glasses
+were placed on the folding bridge table and remained there throughout
+the evening, Mrs. Thompson stooping over and taking delicate sips
+from her husband's glass every now and then.
+
+The game languished. Mary Louise did not know much about it and the
+men would lapse into rather boisterous spells of conversation during
+which time the cards would lie on the table forgotten, and Mrs.
+Thompson would gaze at her husband with deep absorption and
+occasionally at Claybrook and sometimes at Mary Louise in a far-off,
+absent-minded way. And then they would ask each other whose deal it
+was and "How were the honours?" and then they would be at it again.
+Claybrook laughed at the slightest provocation, and seemed to pay a
+little too obsequious attention to whatever Thompson had to say, and
+after a while the conversation narrowed down entirely to the two men,
+with Mrs. Thompson contracting a glassy look in her pale-blue eyes
+beneath their fine-plucked brows. And at ten o'clock she stifled a
+yawn behind her handkerchief, threw down her cards, got up and went
+over to the corner where stood an expensive "Victrola."
+
+"Let's have a little jazz," she said brightly. The men were busy
+discussing the income tax and the ways of avoiding it and did not seem
+to mind at all. And Mary Louise welcomed the suggestion with relief.
+
+For another hour they sat back in deep chairs, relaxed, relieved of
+responsibility. And then Claybrook, straightening in his chair, said:
+"Think I'll have to get a new car. The old wagon's been losing
+compression. Hasn't any get-away at all these days." Then turning
+abruptly to Mary Louise who, sunk back in her chair, was absently
+dreaming, "What kind shall I get? You're the one to be pleased." The
+crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes gathered in tight little
+clusters and there was an odd pucker about his lips.
+
+In spite of herself she flushed fiery red. There was in the tone a
+suggestion of proprietary claim that jangled on her. Almost without
+thinking she replied, "Joe Hooper's selling the Marlowe. It's the best
+make, isn't it?"
+
+Three pairs of eyes were regarding her, Claybrook's with a slight
+frown. He continued gazing at her for a moment, in consideration, and
+then, the topic changing to Florida in the winter, he apparently
+forgot her.
+
+At eleven o'clock they rose to go. Mrs. Thompson showed signs of
+relief, and there was more warmth in the farewells than in any
+previous interchange of amenities. Mr. Thompson laid his hand
+affectionately on Mary Louise's shoulder as they stood in the doorway
+into the hall. His manner was bluff and friendly:
+
+"John tells me you're running the tea room over on Spruce Street.
+Guess I'll have to drop in and see how you're doing."
+
+She murmured her gratitude.
+
+"Won't mind, will you, if I bring in anything on my hip? Tea's mighty
+weak for a growing boy."
+
+They all laughed, and as she and Claybrook made their way to the
+elevator, the Thompsons stood in the hall calling gibes and parting
+injunctions after them.
+
+"Great old scout," commented Claybrook as they descended to the ground
+floor. "Sure been a good friend to me."
+
+Mary Louise felt her taut nerves slowly relaxing.
+
+"What does he do?" she responded wearily.
+
+"Contractor. Biggest in town." And then when they reached the street
+and were climbing into the car, "Whadda you say to meeting me at five
+o'clock to-morrow afternoon? Look at that Marlowe car you say you
+like."
+
+He was looking into her eyes with an odd sort of questioning
+directness. She started to refuse, remembering her resolve to see him
+less often. But then the thought of Joe Hooper presented itself. She
+owed Joe a kindness or two. Perhaps if she delayed, Claybrook would
+change his mind. She hesitated a moment.
+
+"All right," she assented.
+
+Claybrook laughed shortly. "You don't sound so keen, somehow. Don't
+know if I can afford a Marlowe or not. You've a pretty extravagant
+taste in automobiles. Only one of 'em higher priced than the
+Marlowe."
+
+"Oh, is it? I didn't know." And then, "But I don't see what my taste
+has got to do with it. It's your affair, you know. I knew Joe Hooper,
+that's all."
+
+He was silent, but as he took leave of her at the doorway of her
+apartment, he again brought up the subject in a quiet tone. "Meet me
+at live to-morrow?"
+
+"Surely," she agreed, and then went thoughtfully upstairs to bed.
+
+As she slowly undressed she thought of Joe Hooper in his new "shepherd
+plaid" suit and wondered if he were getting along. And she thought of
+the Thompsons living in their bleak finery on the top floor of the
+Ardmore, just sixty feet removed from the hideous clatter of the
+traffic. And she speculated on the appearance of Mrs. Thompson with
+all the hairs in her eyebrows that nature meant them to have. And then
+she thought upon Claybrook's boyishness in wanting her to help him go
+pick out a new toy. He was without guile, entirely without guile.
+Suddenly she laughed aloud and then she switched off the light and
+went smiling to bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+They met at the Marlowe garage. When Mary Louise saw Claybrook and Joe
+Hooper standing together in absorbed conversation, leaning each with
+one foot propped on the running board of a big shiny new car in the
+display room, she suddenly knew she had no business there. She saw
+them through the big plate-glass window as she came along. It would be
+hard to make her arrival seem casual. And when Joe Hooper raised his
+head as she entered the doorway--he was wearing that gaudy suit--she
+was confused.
+
+But he did not seem to notice and greeted her cordially. He was
+looking a bit thin, with a high colour and a restless snap in his
+eyes. There was an alertness about him that was new to her and a
+something in his manner that was quite different. She stole a look at
+him while he and Claybrook were discussing lubrication and wondered in
+what way he had changed. A sureness? A steadiness? A bit of reserve
+that sat well upon him? All of these, surely. She had never seen him
+show to better advantage. Once he turned to her and asked her opinion
+about the leather. There was an air of quiet deference in the way he
+put the question. It was a trivial question and she was thinking of
+the impersonal note in his tone, just as though she might have been a
+total stranger to whom he owed courtesy, and she was wishing he had
+asked her something about herself. Her uneasiness about the
+unconventionality of her being there vanished, so completely were the
+two men absorbed in technical discussion. She noted the contrast:
+Claybrook rather beefy and a bit too red of face; Joe, on the other
+hand, quite slim and taut. His new clothes fitted him better; he had
+lost that raw-boned look.
+
+Joe asked her if she would not like to go for a ride.
+
+She looked up into his eyes from the chair which he had got for her
+and felt a childish pleasure, just as though he had shown her a
+personal attention.
+
+"I'd love to," she said.
+
+They waited at the curb for the demonstrating car to be brought around
+and she had a chance to ask him how things were at home.
+
+"I haven't been back this summer," he replied, and looked away.
+
+Once, when she and Claybrook were standing a little apart, she caught
+Joe looking at them, she imagined, under lowered brows, and she had an
+impulse to go to him and tell him that she was bringing him this
+business, putting in a word for him. She did not hear what Claybrook
+was saying to her at all. And then the car came rolling up and
+stopped, and her chance was gone.
+
+She and Claybrook sat down in the back seat together, while Joe took
+the wheel. In about thirty minutes they were climbing a steep hill
+that lead out of Fenimore Park to one of the back lanes.
+
+"Takes the grade all right," commented Claybrook to her, and she
+wished that he would not continue to include her in the discussion.
+She strove to counteract the impression that might be formed by
+calling attention to the clouds that were gathering in the southwest.
+Dark and sombre they came rolling, like great billows of smoke,
+although the green of the park meadows was flooded with golden
+sunlight. At the crest of the hill Joe partly turned in his seat and
+with one arm thrown along the back of it pointed to the outline of a
+massive stone bridge that was being built across the creek far below
+them. The greenish brown blended subtly with the golden-green shadows
+of the trees and the dark pools of water beneath.
+
+"New bridge," he said. "Man that's buildin' it knows a thing or two
+about colour tones."
+
+Mary Louise bent eagerly forward to look. It seemed as though he were
+speaking directly to her. Claybrook remained leaning back in the
+corner. They turned a curve and the bridge passed out of view below.
+
+They gained the macadam of the lane that led out from the park gate
+into the country. Claybrook turned and asked her how she liked the
+car. His low, direct tone and intent gaze made her uncomfortable, made
+her nerves ruffle up in a most irritating manner. But she controlled
+herself and answered lightly, "Oh, ever so much."
+
+He looked as though he might say something more, but changed his mind
+and sank back against the cushions. For a time they rode on in
+silence. Claybrook had been strangely quiet ever since they had left
+the garage. She could feel him watching her and she tried not to
+notice it. So absorbed was she in trying to appear unconcerned that
+she did not see the approach of the storm; in fact, there was a
+supercharge of restraint on all three of them, and it startlingly
+broke upon them in a clap of thunder that sounded as if it had smashed
+a tree not fifty feet away.
+
+Joe stopped the car and scrambled back into the tonneau to adjust the
+side curtains. He murmured an apology as he brushed against her--just
+like a stranger. Quite sharply she felt the change that had come over
+their relations. When everything had been adjusted he resumed his seat
+and called over his shoulder, "Guess we had better go back, hadn't we?
+I'm sorry this rain had to come and spoil things."
+
+They turned slowly around in the narrow road and when they again
+faced the west, the rain came beating furiously down against the
+wind-shield so that the road ahead was barely visible. Never had she
+seen such blinding sheets of water. It tore at the roof, it whipped
+about the curtains, it threatened to engulf them all in a torrential
+flood. The car was moving slowly forward--she could see Joe's outline
+bent slightly over the wheel--and in spite of his care the rear wheels
+would slew gently from side to side. As she peered ahead she could see
+a yellow flood of water rushing down the road before them so that it
+did not look like a road at all but like an angry, muddy stream upon
+which they were floating. Once Claybrook leaned forward, his eyes
+narrowing. He had been as silent as a mummy.
+
+"Got any chains?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"Think I have," replied Joe. "Under the seat."
+
+"Better put 'em on, don't you think?"
+
+Mary Louise started. "Oh, John! In this rain?"
+
+"Guess I had at that," interposed Joe quickly.
+
+He stopped the car and lifted the cushion on which he was sitting.
+Directly he pulled forth a long, tangled confusion of links, opened
+the door, and stepped forth. As he thrust out his head Mary Louise
+called:
+
+"Haven't you any coat?" and his answer came back cheerily from the
+outside, "Never mind me. It'll all come out in the wash."
+
+She looked at Claybrook reproachfully. He sat stolidly in the corner
+but there was a look of discomfort in his face.
+
+"Don't want us to slide off one of these hills into the creek, do
+you?"
+
+And she felt there was nothing more she could say.
+
+They sat in awkward silence, listening to the downpour and the wind.
+The thunder crashed incessantly and the air was alive with the
+lightning playing about them in livid flares. They could feel one side
+of the car lift slightly as Joe adjusted the chain, and then the other
+side; could dimly hear him struggling with the wheel jack. It seemed
+criminal to be exposed to such a rain. A wave of cold resentment
+against Claybrook came over her and she sat staring straight in front
+of her, lips tightly compressed, waiting.
+
+It seemed an interminable time; in reality, in about ten minutes Joe's
+head appeared at the door of the car and he climbed stiffly in.
+Drenched he was from top to toe. The water streaked down his checks in
+little streams; his clothes flapped and clung to him as though he had
+been flung into the river; his cap was a sodden, pulpy mass. But he
+chuckled as he slid over in behind the wheel.
+
+"Guess I'll remember to bring my coat along next time."
+
+She wanted to put her hand on his shoulder but she sat in stony
+silence. And she noticed that he no longer drove with the same care as
+before. She saw that he was giving little involuntary shivers,
+watched the water drip with silent monotony from his cap on to the
+back of the seat, making a slick, shiny spot there.
+
+And then Claybrook broke the silence. "How will you split commission
+with me if I take one of these cars?" He spoke heartily, as though he
+wished to be friendly and cheerful.
+
+Joe made no reply for a moment and when he did, his voice trembled
+just a little. "We're not allowed to make that kind of a deal."
+
+"Oh, I know that, and all that sort of thing. But they all _do_, just
+the same." He reached over and gave Mary Louise a little shove on the
+elbow, from which she recoiled.
+
+Joe made no further reply; they waited for what he might say. And
+directly Claybrook tried again:
+
+"And how about my old car? Take that in, I suppose?"
+
+"We'll take it and do the best we can to sell it for you," said Joe,
+without looking back. The water still dripped from his cap on to the
+cushion.
+
+"Hum," muttered Claybrook, "Independent." And louder: "Two or three
+other concerns will allow me good money on my car."
+
+Joe made no reply.
+
+When they arrived at the garage again, the rain had about stopped and
+they drove in at the main entrance back into the general storage room.
+Joe stood holding the tonneau door open for them, a ludicrous object
+in his bedraggled clothes. He made no effort to assist Mary Louise but
+stood there holding the door with an abstracted look on his face. All
+the dash, all the sleekness was out of him. They both thanked him and
+then Claybrook led the way to his own car which someone had brought in
+out of the rain.
+
+He turned to Joe once more--"I'll see you later"--thanked him again,
+and started his motor.
+
+Mary Louise satisfied herself with waving her hand to him as they
+started. His aloofness forbade her to do anything more, though she
+would have liked to go to him and tell him how sorry she was and to be
+sure and hurry and put on some dry clothes. But she didn't and she saw
+him standing in the centre of the passage, a forlorn figure. It struck
+her as they rolled out on to the street that he had made no effort
+whatever to sell the car.
+
+"Cold-blooded crowd," broke out Claybrook at length as they hurried
+on.
+
+"I do hope he won't be sick," she replied.
+
+He grunted. "In the army, wasn't he? Guess he can stand a little
+water. Used to worse than that."
+
+And after apparently waiting for her to break the silence, he again
+ventured,
+
+"I like the car. Think I'll have to see if I can't make some sort of
+deal with them. They'll probably come down a little off their perch."
+His tone seemed to invite her opinion, but she offered none.
+
+They came into the stiff little parlour lobby of Mary Louise's
+apartment. It was quite dark as they got out of the automobile, and
+the stuffy room was dimly lit by a few feeble incandescent lamps in
+loose-jointed and rather forlorn gilt wall brackets. They made their
+way over to the elevator. The lobby was empty; even the blonde was
+absent from her post.
+
+As they passed the faded plush divan Claybrook laid a detaining hand
+on her arm: "Sit down here a minute. I want to talk to you." His voice
+sounded rather gentle and subdued.
+
+She turned and looked at him, wondering, and then obeyed.
+
+"Listen," he began, and laid his hand quietly on hers. "Don't get sore
+at me because I was the cause of your friend's getting wet. It won't
+hurt him--just a little clothes-pressing bill--and I'd much rather he
+had that than for that car to slide off the cliff--especially when you
+were in it."
+
+She felt somewhat mollified. "Was that what you wanted to say to me?"
+She looked at his face and saw there an odd expression--a sort of
+dogged shamefacedness.
+
+"No. I was just getting to it." He was silent a moment, staring at his
+foot. Suddenly he looked up at her--she had withdrawn her hand.
+"When," he began, "when are we going to call this thing a game?"
+
+"I don't understand what you mean."
+
+He halted. "Well," he said. "How--when are you going to marry me?" He
+was looking into her face with that same queer, stubborn expression.
+
+Her heart stopped momentarily. "Why," she faltered, "I hadn't thought
+of it."
+
+They sat there in the hushed lobby as remote from the world as though
+shipwrecked on a desert island. It was Mary Louise who now looked at
+the floor. She could feel Claybrook's eyes upon her. He was waiting
+for her to speak, but she could not collect her thoughts. It had come
+upon her baldly, without preparation. She scarcely realized the import
+of his words.
+
+"Well," he was saying, "think of it now."
+
+Another pause.
+
+She raised her eyes and looked at him squarely in spite of the
+trembling in her limbs. His face loomed big and blank before her,
+though his voice was very kind.
+
+"I don't know," she heard herself saying. "You--I--it's come on me
+rather quickly."
+
+For a moment he made no reply. A street car thundered past and made
+the windows rattle.
+
+"Well, you're going to, aren't you? When?"
+
+She could not trust herself to look at him. Again he waited on her
+words. She could feel him edging a hit nearer.
+
+"I don't know." The words choked in her throat. She felt cornered,
+hemmed in. She could not clear the tumult in her brain. A short time
+before she had felt tremendously irritated at him. Now she did not
+know how she felt. He was hammering at her with his insistence.
+
+"That can't be," he broke in on her confusion. "I'm not a stranger,
+you know. You've known me for over a year and, I think, seen enough of
+me to know what sort I am. We are not a couple of kids just out of
+school." His voice broke in a ridiculous quaver that somehow tempted
+her to laugh hysterically, but he mastered it and went on: "When shall
+it be? Next month? I'll buy that big car and we'll drive to
+California."
+
+He was groping for her hand.
+
+"I don't know," she said again. "I can't think. Can't we let things
+run on as they are?" She ventured a look at him, appealingly.
+
+He drew away just a little and she could see a grim little line
+gathering about his mouth and a frown about his eyes.
+
+"I don't see any use in waiting to make up your mind. That's not the
+way _I_ do business. What is it?" He went on quietly and firmly, "Yes
+or no?" and then more gently, "I think you can see I am willing to do
+things for you. It hasn't been one-sided, has it?"
+
+His words crystallized the turbulence in her mind. She was suddenly
+sure of herself. She looked up quickly. She could see the little folds
+of flesh about his collar, the fine little purplish lines in his
+cheeks, could hear his thick breathing, and yet his eyes were looking
+steadily and gravely into hers.
+
+"You're right," she said. "There's no use waiting. I'm sorry. I
+can't."
+
+Something faded from his face. He looked at her fixedly for a moment
+and then rose to his feet. "I wonder if you've fooled yourself as
+thoroughly as you have me," he said.
+
+She made no reply, though she cringed slightly at the inference, and
+sat there watching him.
+
+He lifted his shoulders and let them sink heavily, and then he cast a
+look about the deserted lobby. Then he turned to her again and
+imperceptibly inclined his head. He did not offer his hand.
+
+"Good-bye," he said.
+
+"Good-bye," she echoed, her lips barely moving.
+
+She watched his broad, stolid back move slowly across the room, saw
+him pause for a moment at the door and then plunge resolutely through
+it, and then she was alone. Not a sound came to her ears. The desk by
+the switchboard was deserted. A bracket lamp on the wall opposite was
+crooked; one of the crystal pendants beneath it was broken short off.
+Someone had dropped a burnt match on the floor in front of the desk
+and it lay there in mute sacrilege. All at once the silence seemed
+fraught with a tumult of hateful suggestions, and, without ringing for
+the elevator, she sprang to her feet, rushed for the steps, and fled
+up to her room.
+
+She switched on the light and stood for a moment by the table
+fingering an ivory paper cutter. Then she went to the window and
+peered out. Not a sound came to her, not a single, friendly sound.
+Below her the leafy branches stretched out, inert, indifferent; and
+below them, darkness.
+
+"And this is the man," she thought, "from whom I have borrowed all
+that money."
+
+
+
+
+PART III
+
+BLOOMFIELD
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Fate smiled. An itinerant Swiss became interested in the tea room.
+There were a few days of sharp bargaining and on October the
+fourteenth it was sold to him. The price just barely covered the
+indebtedness. Mary Louise made haste to send Claybrook a check for the
+fifteen hundred dollars plus the interest. Two days later she got the
+notes through the mail with no comment and she tremblingly tore them
+into bits and scattered the bits from her window. Then she went to the
+bank and took up the note for the six hundred dollars she had
+originally borrowed. It left her nothing, but she was free. She had
+lived the summer and was where she had started. A little wan, feeling
+a little empty, she caught the train for Bloomfield. All during the
+trip she gazed from the window, dizzily conscious of the shifting
+landscape, dimly aware of her retreat....
+
+Miss Susan McCallum looked up from her rocking chair as Mary Louise
+entered the sitting room. There was no surprise in her greeting, and
+she suffered her cheek to be kissed in silence. Old Landy stuck his
+grizzled head in at the door at the unusual commotion and Mary
+Louise, unaccountably and suddenly touched by something subtly
+familiar and friendly, trilled:
+
+"I've come to look after you, Aunt Susie. Just couldn't stay away any
+longer. The countryside was perfectly beautiful as I came up this
+morning in the train. It's the loveliest October I've ever seen. Think
+of being cooped up in the city this time of year."
+
+Landy grinned and came shambling in with a greeting. Miss Susie's
+eyebrows went up and there was a suspicion of moisture on the lashes.
+"Well, you needn't have done it. Landy and I have been managing very
+well. But _you_ look a little peaked." She turned and laid her
+knitting on the table by her side.
+
+"Little Missy's a sight fo' so' eyes," interjected Landy and then
+withdrew. Directly they could hear him authoritatively ordering
+someone about.
+
+Miss Susie sighed and looked at Mary Louise. The latter was taking off
+her hat but she caught a hidden appeal in the pinched, weazened face
+that she had never before noticed. It made a sharp little tug at her
+heart, and throwing her hat on the table, she came over and sat on the
+stool at the older woman's feet.
+
+"How long will you be with us this time?"
+
+She reached up and took the hand and was startled at finding how hot
+it was. "Why--for all the time. Didn't you understand? I'm not going
+back at all."
+
+A strange expression came over Miss Susie's face. It was as though she
+all of a sudden let down. She stared into Mary Louise's eyes and the
+latter waited for some characteristic outburst. But none came.
+Directly the old lady reached over for her knitting again and busied
+herself with it, bending her head over it. Mary Louise, watching her,
+saw her throat contract, saw her moisten her lips softly with the tip
+of her tongue.
+
+Without, looking up, "What about your business? You're not leaving it
+for someone else to look after for you?" The tone was very low and the
+voice so husky that she finished the sentence with a little clearing
+of the throat.
+
+"I've given it up--given it up entirely. Not a thing in the world to
+keep me," replied Mary Louise.
+
+For a few moments complete silence settled down upon the room, with
+only the ticking of the clock on the mantel. It was dark and cool and
+sweet-smelling, a sort of "goodsy" smell. A blue-bottle fly began to
+buzz and bump against the glass of the window and now and then he
+would circle about the room, filling its silence with his droning. The
+sunlight came creeping slowly across the rag carpet, a widening orange
+pool, as the sun slipped around to the westward. Mary Louise could see
+the edge of it without turning her head. She felt suddenly guilty, as
+though she were in some way parading in false colours. There was an
+impenetrableness in the reserve.
+
+"I just couldn't stand it any longer," she burst out. "I want to be
+with my people and stay with my people, and look after you and live my
+life as it was intended." Somehow it was not exactly what she wanted
+to say, not the whole truth, but as if in explanation she began to
+stroke her aunt's knee very softly.
+
+"What do you plan to do?" Miss Susie looked up again and there was the
+same old look of withered sharpness. "There's nothing in Bloomfield,
+you know."
+
+"Oh, I know. Nothing, if you mean opportunity. But everything in the
+way of living. We'll just rock along. I'll find something to do.
+Something to keep me out of mischief," she laughed. "Mr. Orpell ought
+to have somebody in his drug store. His soft-drink counter is
+atrocious. Then I can make preserves and sell 'em. I know where I can
+sell a lot--in the city. I just don't want to think--just rest a bit
+and let this blessed peace get a good hold of me again." Her voice
+rose sharp and eager and Miss Susie smiled a quizzical smile and the
+old order was again restored. A door slammed and Landy's voice came to
+them, this time in a wailing gospel hymn, and Mary Louise sprang to
+her feet. "I'll have to go get Zeke Thompson and have him fetch my
+trunk. There was nobody to bring it over from Guests and I didn't
+want to wait to hunt for someone."
+
+She skipped over to the table and picked up her hat again. Already she
+felt better--warmed and comforted. She paused for a moment, standing
+in front of Miss Susie, looking down at her as she sat there knitting
+placidly away with the fine firm lines about her mouth. "You won't
+mind if I go with him, will you? There's an excess baggage charge that
+I can't trust Zeke with, and I'll not be long."
+
+"No, of course not. Since when have I been that I couldn't be left
+alone?" But she smiled and Mary Louise, rushing to her, kissed her
+again, rapturously upon the cheek, turned and whirled toward the door
+where she paused for a wave of the hand before plunging forth on her
+errand.
+
+The sound of the door closing behind her sobered her for a moment.
+Here she was, gone again. Would she never be content to settle down?
+But the wine of the autumnal weather came mounting to her head and as
+she opened the front gate and struck out up the street she raised her
+face, drinking it in.
+
+The rows of maples had been touched by the frost and were flaming
+scarlet and crimson. Over beyond, across the street, between the
+houses where a pasture land stretched down to the creek, the beeches
+were golden and rustling and shimmering in the mellow sunlight. There
+was a delicious tang in the air one moment and a soft mellow touch of
+indolent fruition the next. An automobile went scuttling across Main
+Street at the intersection, seeking its way westward, leaving a cloud
+of dust that hung lazily golden ere it settled. Even the dust was
+fragrant. The old tavern was quite deserted; the same green shutter
+hung by one hinge, and as she passed the town hall or meeting house
+she could hear the click of a typewriter through an open window, an
+incongruous touch of modernity in an otherwise immaculate antique
+setting. The sun was warm and came filtering through the shade to
+splotch the uneven brick pavement, bringing out its homely roughness
+in minute detail. She felt as if she recognized each upturned brick,
+and the worn patch of yellow earth where a grass plot was meant to be,
+up to the edge of the gnarled root of the oak stump that had been
+struck by lightning, was just as it had always been. She and Joe
+Hooper had played marbles there until he had grown too big to be
+playing marbles with girls. Queer little ecstatic sensations they
+were.
+
+She crossed the square. A solitary man was walking on the other side
+of the street, away from her. He was carrying three long poles over
+his shoulder and he walked stiffly and with a slight limp. He wore a
+suit of dusty blue "unionalls" and a battered felt hat. Curious that
+she should notice such things. A "Ford" backed away from the curbing,
+wheeled and went rattling around the corner down the road toward
+Guests. And then the street and the square and the whole town were
+quiet again, as deserted as a street or a town on canvas.
+
+She walked swiftly, but not too swiftly to catch up every sign of
+home. Her mind was aflood with impressions. What a narrow escape she
+had had. An exultant thought like a song arose in her. She had
+ventured forth, had had her taste, and it had cost her nothing. The
+city had not caught her even though it had reached forth strong,
+prehensile fingers. She knew now what she wanted, had the strength,
+the zest. And it was October and fair, and smiling.
+
+Suddenly she ran almost headlong into Mrs. Mosby. That good lady came
+precipitately out of Orpell's Drug Store, and she was wearing her
+white ruching and her bangles and a trim little widow's bonnet with a
+semi-circle of black veil hanging down behind and accentuating the
+prim whiteness of her face.
+
+Mrs. Mosby's was not a face to betray emotion; it was a well-behaved,
+studiously composed face. And her voice was level as she took Mary
+Louise by both hands.
+
+"Well, my dear," she said. "What brings you here? I've heard you're an
+awfully busy woman. Hope there's nothing wrong at home."
+
+"No," replied Mary Louise. Somehow she could never get it out of her
+head whenever she spoke to Mrs. Mosby that it was not still as a
+little girl to a personage--a personage to whom restraint and
+deference were due. "I'm not so busy as all that."
+
+"Oh, but you are. I've heard all about you. We're very proud of you,
+my dear. Very. You've been doing so well--oh, I've heard--and your
+striking out into business quite alone was about the most courageous
+thing I know of. Why, the mere thought of such a thing takes my breath
+away."
+
+"But I'm not doing it any more. And there's nothing courageous in
+that," smiled Mary Louise.
+
+Mrs. Mosby looked puzzled.
+
+"It's a fact. I've given it all up. Just got home to-day. And I'm
+going to settle down again with you all and be just folks."
+
+The mask again slipped over Mrs. Mosby's countenance. "Quite as
+courageous a thing to do as the other," she went on evenly. "Just to
+give up your splendid opportunity to come back and accept your duties
+here--well, I think it highly commendable." She was not to be robbed
+of her chance to be agreeable. "Your aunt Susan is, I trust, not
+unwell?"
+
+"Oh, about the same, thank you, Mrs. Mosby." She wanted to ask about
+Joe, something in the rapprochement giving rise to thoughts of him,
+but she realized that Mrs. Mosby was doubtless entirely out of touch
+with her graceless nephew and would invent some mere plausibility. So
+she inquired instead after Mr. Fawcette.
+
+"Brother is not so well. Poor soul, he suffers terribly with his
+rheumatism." Mrs. Mosby lapsed into thoughtfulness and Mary Louise
+murmured her sympathy.
+
+A moment of this and Mrs. Mosby recovered herself and held out her
+hand again.
+
+"You must come and see me now--real often. I'm so much alone. Such a
+lot you must have to tell me and I want to hear it all." She took her
+prim, precise departure conscious of her graciousness.
+
+On her way, in the opposite direction, Mary Louise suffered another
+qualm, a feeling of insincerity. She was gathering credit that really
+was undeserved. Her return would doubtless be labelled in Bloomfield
+as a bit of pretty sacrifice. And the place was a very refuge. The sun
+dipped as she walked along, so that the tip of it reddened the ridge
+poles of the houses and the sky was as blue as indigo. She passed an
+open lot where weeds abounded and in the weeds the blackbirds were
+chattering noisily. At her approach they flew up in a black swarm to
+refuge in an old apple tree in the rear of the lot. On the ground near
+the sidewalk was an old wagon bed that had been there for years--she
+tried to remember how long. There were decided compensations in coming
+home.
+
+She found Zeke sitting on his doorstep, his chin on his hands, busily
+strengthening his restful philosophy. She quickly bargained with him
+and he hurried away to get out his old carry-all. When he found that
+she followed him, and found in addition that she intended accompanying
+him, his pleasure was quite evident.
+
+"Wait, Mis' Ma'y, ontil I gits a rag and wipes off de seat," he said
+at the door of the shed.
+
+She could not help feeling a bit self-conscious as she sat by Zeke's
+side and went rattling along the street, down into the square, into
+the very centre of Bloomfield life. But she held her head jauntily
+aloft and wondered if she were being noticed and being talked about.
+They met no one. They took the open road and the afternoon settled
+down upon her like a blessing. On either side of the road great
+patches of red and yellow streaked the hills, and the fields were
+taking on a soft golden brown, and soft purple mists gathered in the
+valleys blending in subtle fashion with the foreground. In spite of
+the riot of colour, the land was wrapped in a calm dignity. It wore
+its glories well. In the bits of woodland, through which the road
+occasionally digressed, there was a strong odour of beech and buckeye
+and there was a fragrant dampness rising.
+
+The thought of Claybrook came into her mind. She could not quite make
+up her mind about Claybrook. She felt momentarily sorry for him,
+regretted that their friendship had come to its abrupt close. And yet
+there was no reason why she should feel sorry for him, he had so much
+of everything. But he and his world were woven out of different
+fabric from this world about her. She could not keep one and still
+have the other. Anyway, she had made up her mind. She had escaped; her
+feeling was one of definite escape. She banished the thought of him.
+
+She got her trunk and Zeke loaded it upon the car where it threatened
+to crush its way through bottom, springs, frame, and all. She observed
+it skeptically but Zeke was quite brisk and cheerful about it. She
+bought a "Courier" from the station agent and with it in her hand
+climbed back into her seat and felt content, now that she had her
+goods about her and was about to go home again.
+
+Zeke started to crank the car when he took one reassuring look about
+to see if everything was all right. Not being quite satisfied with the
+way the trunk was riding, he departed to look for a bit of rope with
+which to lash it into place. While she waited, she opened up the paper
+in her lap and looked idly at the first page.
+
+Instantly something caught her eye; she started and then felt suddenly
+weak. She read on for a moment and then closed the paper and let it
+fall into her lap and stared off at the blue hills that rimmed the
+horizon. The station at Guests was about a half mile from the town and
+the road was quite deserted, with only the sound of someone moving a
+trunk around in the baggage room behind her. A flock of birds went
+winging across the sky and dipped down into a patch of red-and-gold
+woodland. She picked up the paper again and read some more.
+
+The "Courier" made no specialty of scare headlines or red type. Its
+most sensational news rarely ever rated more than single-column type,
+or at most two columns. The article that caught her attention was the
+usual one concerning misappropriation of public funds, malfeasance of
+office, bribery, and the like--a drab sort of story. The public had
+been "bilked" again. It sounded quite matter of fact. Involved were
+the city engineer and one J. K. Thompson, Contractor, and J. F.
+Claybrook, lumber man and dealer, all in collusion. All this was in
+the headlines--in neat, modest type. Below came the bald facts stating
+the amounts of money involved which somehow she did not notice and a
+somewhat cynically weary paragraph at the end remarking that the
+people were having quite too much of this sort of thing and that the
+courts should recognize their full duty.
+
+So that was where the new car and the trip to California was to come
+from. Perhaps that was where the fifteen hundred dollars had come
+from, too. But she had paid it back. She had just barely shaken the
+bird-catcher's lime from her wings. She shivered and closed the paper
+again.
+
+When Zeke returned with the rope she smiled at him.
+
+"Let's hurry back," she said.
+
+On the way back to Bloomfield she had no eyes for the beauties of the
+fast-falling October evening. But in a little while she began to feel
+warmer inside. At least she had shaken the dust of the city from her
+feet, the city where everyone wore a mask--of honesty and sobriety and
+right living--and lived otherwise. No wonder they called it a melting
+pot. She would be content from henceforth to live where the air and
+the living were cleaner and purer.
+
+So absorbed was she that she did not realize that Zeke had taken
+another route home. When she noticed, she remarked on it.
+
+"Hit's a shoht cut," explained Zeke. "You said you wanted to get home
+quick."
+
+She smiled at his responsiveness.
+
+They came suddenly around a bend in the road upon a gang of men, road
+mending. There was a huge concrete mixer and she wondered at the sight
+of it, a new sign of progress for Bloomfield. There was a stretch of
+loose rock and a wooden bar blocking the road. Zeke muttered his
+dismay but did not stop. They rolled right up to the barrier. A man in
+khaki breeches and flannel shirt and high lace boots came and waved
+them back.
+
+"You'll have to turn around," he called out cheerily, and she saw that
+it was Joe Hooper. As though in answer to the obvious question he
+added, as he in turn recognized her, "Like a bad penny--I'm turning up
+again."
+
+She looked at him and stared. His face was very red and somehow he
+looked quite natural, more so than in his city clothes.
+
+"What in the world?" she said.
+
+He had come quite close and she could see he was smiling. That
+baffling, uncertain look had left his face and there was something
+open about it.
+
+"Got a man's job again," he said, still smiling.
+
+"And you're going to be in this part of the country?"
+
+"Till the job's finished," he replied. "And there's quite a lot of it,
+too. County's got a prosperous streak on. Means to have some real
+roads. It's about time."
+
+Zeke was slowly backing the car preparatory to turning around.
+
+"I'm back home now, myself," she called and reddened at once at her
+unnecessary confidence. What did he care where she was? But as they
+turned slowly in the narrow road she added, "Come and see me," and
+waved to him and wondered if he would.
+
+It was growing dusk as they came again to Bloomfield and a chill was
+settling down. The lights in the windows glowed cheerily against the
+purple twilight and in one kitchen someone was frying potato cakes.
+The odour was symbolical of hot suppers, and summer's passing, and
+home, and warmth, and cheer.
+
+She tipped Zeke a quarter even before he lugged her trunk through the
+kitchen door, and then she went briskly in.
+
+"Supper ready, Zenie?" she called.
+
+Zenie turned slowly around and looked at her from the biscuit board.
+She smiled wearily. "No'm. Not jes' yet it ain'. Terectly."
+
+Mary Louise looked at her watch. It was a quarter past six. She came
+to a sudden decision.
+
+"Zenie," she said.
+
+Zenie looked up hopefully.
+
+"I guess we'll not be needing you any more after this week."
+
+A slow, incredulous look met her. "Yas'm?"
+
+"You can go back and look after that husband of yours."
+
+"Yas'm? He gettin' erlong all right."
+
+"I don't know, Zenie. You never can tell," Mary Louise went on,
+maliciously enjoying the havoc she was spreading. "I'll pay you for
+the week. You can leave whenever you want to. But let's have supper
+right away." And she walked resolutely through the kitchen into a
+darkened house, burning her bridges behind her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+It was seven o'clock on Main Street. A very faint glow still lingered
+in the western sky and above it cool points of stars pricked a
+gray-blue curtain. Over to the left the moon was peeping above a
+gambrel roof and the near side was steely blue up to the shadow of the
+purple chimney. Joe walked along shuffling with his feet in the little
+hollows of dry leaves. They crunched cheerily, sending up a faint, dry
+fragrance. Up ahead was a dying fire with only here and there a tiny
+flame tongue; the rest, a black and smoking crust underlaid with dull
+embers. The smoke that curled upward from the fire was pale blue-gray
+and mixed with tiny dust particles, and it hung in thin motionless
+strata or came curling in feathery wisps almost invisible in the
+shadow but heavy laden with magic scent. Up slid the moon, till Main
+Street was a phantom cloister, the maple boles huge columns casting
+purple shadows on a milky floor. Fairy lights winked in hooded windows
+like deep-set eyes, and a soft warm haze lapped round him dreamily,
+lulling his senses.
+
+Joe had left the road-camp and tramped three miles into town. In the
+dusk he had come upon it unawares; it seemed quite deserted. Very
+quietly he had come through the back lanes, and now it lay before him,
+its heart open in a sort of whispered confidence. Crude, inert,
+makeshift sort of place it might betray itself to be in daylight, it
+now lay snug and warm and breathing in its cluster of trees. It had
+gathered its brood to it, its warm lights blinking red, and above,
+clear liquid moonlight. Joe walked along slowly, an outsider, and yet
+feeling himself slipping somehow into the warmth and protection of the
+street. The odour of the burning leaves was heady, a superdistillate
+of memories. October and moonlight and burning leaves! It meant nuts
+and wine-sap apples, lingering in the dusk, watching the bull-bats
+rise. It meant hot supper and a ravenous appetite and a slow roasting
+before an open fire. Sharp little pictures flashed before his eyes as
+he walked along, and he fancied he could hear the soft crunch of buggy
+wheels in the dried leaves and the pad-pad of hoofs. It all seemed
+wrapped up in the same parcel with his childhood, stored away
+somewhere in musty archives. You couldn't pull out one without
+stirring up all the others. He half closed his eyes and peered through
+his lashes down a sharp black line of roofs like a knife edge against
+a liquid, shimmering sky, down a broad ghostly band of silver white
+that was the road, all flecked and mottled with leaf shadows that
+moved slowly to and fro. He paused a moment. He scarcely dared breathe
+lest the whole thing vanish. A fairy touch on his arm, light as
+thistle-down, a subtle sense of warmth and a dim, intangible
+fragrance, and he started, blinking, and then walked on. Something was
+dry and dusty in his throat. "Golly, the old place sorta gets next to
+you on a night like this," he thought. "Guess I'd better get in.
+They'll think I'm nuts, mooning around on the street all night."
+
+He came to a long stretch of wooden picket fence, beyond it a silver
+plaque of moon-splashed grass, the house all hollow-eyed and gaunt,
+like a thing watching. As he approached the gate a man came hurrying
+out, his head hunched forward on his shoulders. Joe stood aside to let
+him pass. The man peered sharply at him from under his hat brim,
+grunted, and then passed on. It was Mr. Burrus. Joe had a sense of
+being too late. Over the house hung the stillness of death, and a
+thing like Burrus leaving! It was an ugly thought. He walked up to the
+porch and knocked softly on the door.
+
+A moment's silence and then it slowly opened. Someone stood in the
+doorway. A voice said, "Well?" in a low vibrant tone. There was
+blended in it the soft mistiness of the night, something of regret,
+something of purple shadows, something of stirring memories. He
+moistened his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Is it you?" the voice went on, and then Mary Louise came out.
+
+"I just heard to-day that Miss Susie had had another spell," he
+explained.
+
+She stood beside him on the porch and looked up into his face. He
+could see she was shivering a little.
+
+"Not to amount to anything," she said. "Aunt Susie has 'em
+periodically. She'll be all right in a day or two."
+
+Joe stood in indecision. There had come a high-pitched, nervous
+tension into her tone, an eagerness that he did not like. The other
+thing had vanished.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" said Mary Louise. "I'd ask you in, but Aunt
+Susie's asleep and the sound of our voices might disturb her. She
+hasn't had much sleep the last few nights."
+
+Joe fingered his hat.
+
+"Aren't you going to stay and tell me about yourself?" she urged.
+"It's been ages since we had a talk. Let's go down to the
+summerhouse."
+
+He felt doubtful. Already a chill was gathering in the air, and he
+fancied she spoke through set teeth. The charm was melting away and
+the moon, rising above the tops of the maples, seemed cheerless and
+cold. But he could not be unfriendly; she had had a lot to upset her.
+He had read about Claybrook in the paper and while the news had caused
+him no discomfort--if anything quite the contrary--still, it was
+different now. She was alone in that bleak, staring house, alone with
+a sick woman. So he followed her awkwardly across the grass that was
+already gathering dew.
+
+They sat facing each other in the summerhouse, sat on the edges of the
+chairs, bending slightly forward. Mary Louise was softly chafing her
+hands.
+
+"So you've really come back," she began.
+
+"Well, three miles from 'back,'" he replied. She was making a pretty
+brave show; her voice sounded bright and cheery. If only she would
+stop rubbing her hands together--be still for a moment.
+
+"I expect we're meant for this place, Joe."
+
+"Yes? How do you mean?"
+
+"Oh, if you bend a twig young enough, the tree will grow that way."
+She laughed softly and he gave her a quick look.
+
+For a few moments they sat in silence.
+
+"How did you happen to make another change, Joe?" she asked at length,
+very quietly.
+
+He paused before replying. "Well," he began, "you see I've never had
+any real preparation for anything I was doin'. I never could have got
+anywhere. Those jobs I had in town--I just drifted into 'em. Anybody
+could have filled 'em. I--what was the use of 'em?" He paused and was
+silent.
+
+She nodded slowly. "I think you said something like that once before.
+I begin to see where you were right."
+
+He made no reply. Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped
+she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not
+feel in the mood for raking over ashes.
+
+"Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack.
+
+"Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how
+surprised I was to see you with that road gang. I was riding along
+with Zeke, all wrapped up in my thoughts, and suddenly I looked up and
+saw you there----" She trailed off and sat thinking.
+
+Again he was uneasy. Apparently the uncomfortable topic was not
+entirely buried yet. It might rise up exhumed, in its shroud, any
+moment.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I'm used to that sort of thing--managin' niggers. Had
+'em doin' most every sort of rough work in my time, diggin' ditches,
+mendin' roads, cuttin' fence posts--all that sort of thing. Guess it's
+about all I'm fit for." The effort died lugubriously and he sat,
+waiting. He hated personal confidences and there hung a most
+particularly uncomfortable one in the offing.
+
+The silence was like a living thing. It crushed down upon the
+summerhouse with huge, downy black wings. A very faint rustling
+started up in the dry leaves of the creeper on the roof and clammy
+little draughts of air came twisting through the cracks. All the
+languorous glamour of the night had passed. It was merely autumn
+moonlight, and too late in the year to be sitting out in a summerhouse
+mouthing inconsequentialities--two people who were old enough to know
+better. Joe stirred restlessly. Surely she must be convinced that he
+meant to be friendly. He leaned back and looked up at the sky.
+
+"What do you mean to do, Joe?" Mary Louise began again.
+
+"Huh?" He recovered with a start. "Oh, I don't know. Think sometimes I
+will come back and try my hand at farmin'. Think maybe I'll be more of
+a real person doing that than anything else I know. But this road
+business is a necessary thing. Bloomfield needs a good road--all the
+way into the city. Something to put her on the map. Maybe with a good
+road we can get somewhere." Speaking out the idea seemed to
+crystallize it. He began to enthuse a little over it inwardly.
+"Mightn't be so bad. Might buy back the old place even, some day.
+Jenkins is not makin' too much speed with it, I hear."
+
+Mary Louise leaned forward toward him.
+
+"Oh, Joe, I wish you would," she said. "I've been thinking a lot here
+lately and it seems to me it's just as essential for real men to
+settle and live in places like Bloomfield as anywhere else. Big people
+should spread their influence. Why should they all cluster in little
+knots and bunches like the cities? I think there's a better chance to
+grow--here. I really do." She turned away and sat with her chin on her
+hands, her face averted.
+
+Joe, carried momentarily away with the thought, did not notice her
+agitation; moreover, it was quite dark in the summerhouse, with only
+odds and ends of moonlight slipping through the roof. And he did not
+answer her, but sat thinking.
+
+"I'm going to," she continued after a bit, her voice sounding somewhat
+broken and muffled against her open hand.
+
+"Goin' to what?"
+
+"Going to stay here and see what I can make out of it."
+
+She was groping for his friendship and he did not know it. A new line
+of thought had been stimulated and it brought up very pleasing
+pictures. After all, what could be better than a respectable life on a
+farm producing things, seeing the direct results of the work of his
+own hands, establishing his very own identity? By contrast, how much
+better than working for someone else, furnishing the effort while
+someone else worked out the plans, losing his identity completely in
+an economic machine? He could start modestly, pay off as he went, out
+of the profits. And meantime, he could be living--real life. Only
+first he must get a little money to make a start on.
+
+He realized Mary Louise had spoken, paused in his thought and then
+remembered. "Oh--yeah. Don't know but what it's about the best thing
+to do. Might try it myself--soon's I can get enough money together."
+
+She made no reply and he watched her dim profile. Her head drooped
+quite dejectedly. There was a little splash of moonlight on her cheek;
+tendrils of her hair curled about the line of her neck. "She's had a
+pretty heavy bump," he thought.
+
+He briskly rose to his feet. "Must be on my way," he said and stood
+looking down at the shadow of her. "It's three miles or more out to
+the camp. We get up at six."
+
+For a moment she did not move, and then heavily she stood up. She made
+no protest and he could not see her face. If only he might get away,
+now that he had started, she might not be tempted to make any
+allusions to her affair. He shunned it instinctively as a dark closet
+containing a few unburied bones of his own skeleton.
+
+Accordingly he walked slowly out upon the lawn and headed for the
+front gate. He could feel the dew lapping about his ankles through his
+socks and his shadow was clear cut and black on the grass, Mary Louise
+came and walked the short distance by his side, neither saying a word.
+They came to the gate and stood there in silence. Not a sound could be
+heard, the street stretching along before them a broad white ribbon,
+with splotches of mottled shade along the edges, the dark line of
+houses across the street like mysterious creatures crouching in the
+shadow.
+
+As they stood there, each occupied with his own thoughts, there came a
+distant sound, low and yet distinct, like the sound of one metal
+striking upon another. It was clear and somewhat musical, lingering in
+the air with a dying cadence. As the waves of sound died slowly away
+there came silence and then the soft rustle of the leaves overhead.
+
+"What was that?" she whispered.
+
+"Don't know. Sounded like the closin' of a door."
+
+Both stood listening intently, but the sound was not repeated.
+
+"Well, good-bye," he said, holding out his hand. "See you again
+sometime."
+
+She took the hand and held it for a moment. "Joe," she began, "let's
+be friends." She was forcing herself to talk. "I've made some mistakes
+but--I want everybody to like me here--especially you. You understand
+things, and you will overlook some of the things that have happened?"
+Spectres of uncharitableness were disturbing her and she sought to be
+shriven.
+
+He thought she was alluding to Claybrook and moved uneasily so that
+she dropped his hand.
+
+"Surely. Surely I will. Good-night," he said again. Then he turned and
+walked briskly away.
+
+He had got but ten yards or so when out of the stillness came the
+sound again. He paused there on the sidewalk and listened. A faint,
+musical, metallic clang came surging toward him in clear beating
+waves. It sounded as if it were miles away, and the echo lingered
+pulsing on the silence. Slowly it died away to a whisper and then he
+heard distant shouts and footsteps echoing hollow. Men were running
+toward him down the brick sidewalk, their voices sounding nearer. At
+the corner they turned and went, westward, the sound of them growing
+fainter and fainter. He looked back, and at the gate he could see a
+shadow standing there waiting. There was a faint nimbus about the head
+and the face, turned toward him, was in the darkness.
+
+He paused a moment in indecision and then turned and walked rapidly
+down the street westward, toward the camp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+Mary Louise walked back to the house. At the side porch she paused and
+looked behind her. High overhead sailed the moon, a day or two past
+the first half. There was a tremulous movement in the leaves of the
+maples along the sidewalk, producing an indistinct, vibratory shimmer
+and shadow. By contrast the patches of darkness were jet black; the
+overhanging portico of the house was as yawning as a cavern. She
+listened, stood, her head bent slightly forward, listening. Not a
+sound could be heard. The sharp, crisp clack of Joe's footsteps had
+been swallowed up by the distance. She could hear the sound of her own
+breathing. An uneasiness came gradually upon her, a vague sort of
+dread of being left alone, entirely alone. How aloof he had seemed;
+how aloof everything seemed, and unreal! Those sinister trees waving
+there without a breath of wind; the lowering shadows of the
+summerhouse and the barn; that greasy moonlight that came slipping up
+to the very edge of the porch and lay there fearful and cold--were
+they all remembering her scorn and coming back to mock her
+loneliness?
+
+Softly she opened the door and went inside. Something scurried off
+into a corner and she fancied it turned about there and watched her in
+the darkness. The room seemed hot and close and there was a rhythmic
+rise and fall like the rising and falling of some vast invisible
+bosom, oppressed. She tiptoed over to the far door and stood
+listening. Not a sound could she hear. Old Landy was most probably
+asleep in his bed in the room up over the stable. She balanced on her
+feet and stood waiting, in indecision. She could not go back, so she
+opened the door softly and peered in.
+
+A glaring white patch caught her eye. The moonlight through the window
+lay cold and bright upon the counterpane. Just above the patch was a
+jumble of shadows, from which protruded, bare and yellow and weazened,
+an arm. She caught her breath and fought down the sudden rising of her
+heart. It was nothing--only lying there so detached in the moonlight,
+thrust up out of the shadow out of nowhere, it did look gruesome, like
+something dead, something completely and irrevocably dead. It lay
+without a sign of movement, with the fingers slightly curled up under
+the palm and clutching at the coverlet. Gradually, her calm returning,
+she listened with her head thrust around the corner of the door, and
+directly she caught the very faint sound of breathing, a far-away,
+fine-drawn, eerie whisper. Slowly she backed away and closed the
+door.
+
+She groped over to a chair in the sitting room and sat down. Through
+the squares of the window panes she could see the milky white patches
+of moonlight flooding the world outside, and the silence came creeping
+up all around until it seemed to squeeze the very walls inward.
+
+"I wonder what's going on?" she thought. Because of its very
+soundlessness, the universe about her seemed to be teeming with vague
+suggestions. That distant clamour, the hurry of footsteps, and then
+Joe, slipping away from her into the shadow. And now the deathlike
+stillness.
+
+She began to rock slowly to and fro. With an effort of the will she
+forced herself to think of cheerful things, housework and cooking, and
+sunlight and people. Suddenly she realized that there was no reason
+for her sitting up. She might just as well go to bed. She started to
+her feet, but something held her, something forced her back into her
+chair. There had been footsteps fading off into the darkness. She must
+wait until they came back again--out of the darkness. Something in the
+idea strangely excited her, left her tense. In all this silence she
+knew she could not sleep; she would be lying there waiting, waiting
+for something, she knew not what. So she settled back and rocked and
+waited, staring with wide-open eyes at the steel-blue patch that was
+the door. And the night settled down and drew close to her with its
+uncertainties.
+
+Time passed.
+
+Suddenly she was aware of sound. So gradually it had come that she
+realized she had been hearing it for some time. It was coming back.
+She riveted her gaze upon the door, watched it unblinking, waiting for
+it to open upon her with its secret any moment.
+
+Slowly she rocked to and fro. Gradually nearer and nearer came the
+sound. Rolling upward, gathering round and round into a ball, it took
+the shape of footsteps and a confused murmur of voices. On it swept.
+They were passing the house, would pass it, away into the darkness and
+silence again. Whither?
+
+She rose to her feet and hurried to the door. She groped for the knob
+and stumbled blindly out upon the porch. The sudden glare of the
+moonlight dazzled her and she could only make out dimly a little knot
+of black shadows moving along the pavement past the gate. There was a
+confused murmur of voices as of several persons trying to make
+themselves heard at once, and yet be quiet about it. As she watched,
+tried to get her eyes to focus, the little group passed on and was
+gone.
+
+She walked slowly to the gate and stood there looking into the
+darkness after it. Gradually she was recovering her sight; sounds
+sprang up, little normal sounds, and she began to feel cold. She
+turned and was about to go back to the house when the echo of
+footsteps again caught her ear, and she waited.
+
+It was a single person, apparently in a great hurry. She could hear
+him shuffling and stumbling along. She peered down the street into the
+darkness and directly could distinguish the shadow of a man hurrying
+toward her. On he came. He passed the fence corner--now he had reached
+the tree with the big fork--he was passing the gate. She saw it was
+Zeke.
+
+"What's going on?" she called to him.
+
+He started, stopped, and then came over to the gate.
+
+"Mist' Burrus's bahn done cave in," he said, the whites of his eyes
+gleaming at her in the darkness.
+
+The sound of his voice cheered her greatly. She felt suddenly so
+relieved that it was with difficulty that she kept herself from
+laughing out loud. "How do you mean? It didn't fall down of itself?"
+
+"Yas'm, hit did. Hit's de waehouse. Folks say he done load hit up too
+full and hit plum' give out." His voice sounded excited.
+
+"Anybody hurt?" She was beginning to enjoy it all, feeling exhilarated
+over the drama of it.
+
+"Mist' Joe--Mist' Joe Hoopah. He done fell offen de bridge into de
+ditch. Speck he done broke his laig."
+
+She caught her breath.
+
+"Dey done sen' me to git my cah. Said dey would lemme ketch up wid
+'em. But Lawsy, de cah won' run."
+
+"Was that him they were carrying past the house?" she managed to ask.
+
+"Yas'm, I reckon. Dey aim to take him to Mis' Mosby's. Reckon I better
+hurry on."
+
+She reached over and seized him by the coat. "Was he much hurt? Did he
+seem much hurt?"
+
+"Well, yas'm. No'm. Leasewise, he say he ain'. But he cain't stan' up.
+Hit's his laig. Dey done pull him outen de ditch, wid it dubble unner
+him."
+
+She let him go and listened to his retreating footsteps down the
+street into the darkness. She felt suddenly faint and weak. She walked
+back to the house, entered the sitting room, and lit a candle. Then
+she went to Miss Susie's door and opened it.
+
+Miss Susie's eyes were looking calmly at her from the bed as she
+entered. "What's the matter?" said Miss Susie's voice.
+
+"He was here just an hour ago. I saw him go down the street. And now
+they're bringing him back, broken. Just an hour! God knows what
+happened to him."
+
+"Who do you mean, child?" Miss Susie moved forward and raised up a
+little on her elbow.
+
+"It just seems as if the hand of Fate was stretching out over this
+place, reaching down over us. It makes no difference what we do--we're
+helpless--all of us." She seemed to steady herself. She came over to
+the bedside and laid her hand on Miss Susie's forehead.
+
+"Don't you want me to bring you a drink of water?" she asked.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Directly after breakfast she went to the Mosby place. The sunlight was
+making glaring white patches on the pavement, of which she was but
+dimly conscious as she walked along. The house looked very peaceful,
+with the mellowness of respectable old age, that fresh October
+morning. She climbed the steps to the front door, feeling a little
+self-conscious as she stood and waited. It was possible that she was
+borrowing trouble; the accident might not prove to have been a serious
+one at all and she might seem too solicitous.
+
+The door opened and a very old Negro woman in a stiff, white, starched
+apron stood and peered forth at her.
+
+"Mrs. Mosby in?" she asked.
+
+The old woman ducked her head and held open the door. "I see." And
+then she waddled off. Half-way down the dim hallway she turned, paused
+a moment, and then came back. She went to a tall door, on the left
+side of the hall, and pushed it open, casting up a furtive eye at Mary
+Louise as she did so. A wave of clammy air rushed forth and there was
+a faint crackling as of dried leaves back in the darkness. "Won' you
+set down?" said the old woman.
+
+Mary Louise realized how early she had come; she had quite disturbed
+the usual order of things. "No, thank you," she said. "I'll just wait
+here in the hall."
+
+The woman waddled away again and disappeared through a back door which
+wheezed shut with a sort of sucking noise, and the hall was left in
+hushed silence. Mary Louise gazed up at the ceiling, then at the
+stairway reaching far back and into the depths of upstairs hall. Even
+in the soft light the place looked like a barn. It seemed to be
+watching her sullenly as a small child watches an intruder. Odd little
+crackings sounded in far corners, and a whispering, starting somewhere
+in that upstairs hall, came slinking down the wainscoting, across the
+hall carpet, and out beneath the front door. She wondered what might
+be going on back in those silent, unexplored depths.
+
+Then the door opened again and Mrs. Mosby came swishing forth, like an
+echo of the whisper that had preceded her. She was wearing the same
+ruching, the same bangles, the same everything--minus the bonnet with
+the veil--that she had worn that previous afternoon. There was an
+opaque flatness in her eyes.
+
+Mary Louise rose to her feet. She was embarrassed as she met the older
+woman's quiet gaze, but she quickly threw off the feeling.
+
+"I just heard some indefinite but disturbing news about an accident
+last night," she said anxiously.
+
+Mrs. Mosby smiled a ghostly little smile and inclined her head. "We
+had quite a time," she admitted. "Won't you sit down? Or won't you
+come in the parlour?"
+
+"No. I've not long to stay. I--I felt so worried. I wanted to come
+first thing and find out, see if there was anything I could do." They
+sat down at opposite ends of the horsehair sofa, each reflectively
+watching the other.
+
+Mrs. Mosby shook her head. "He's getting on as nicely as could be
+expected. Fortunately, Dr. Withers was got hold of right away, last
+night." She was gazing dreamily at Mary Louise as though the latter
+were a creature of another world come vaguely intruding.
+
+There was a curious atmosphere of restraint. Mary Louise sat waiting
+for the other woman to speak, her hands in her lap, her fingers slowly
+weaving in and out. After a momentary silence she asked in a politely
+casual tone, "What really did happen, Mrs. Mosby? Was he much hurt?"
+
+Mrs. Mosby continued staring for an instant before she replied: "It
+really was the strangest thing. You know I did not even know that
+Joseph was in this part of the country. And at ten o'clock last night
+they came carrying him in. Of course, I was terribly excited and
+upset, and I did not find out the particulars exactly." She paused
+and took a delicate little shuddering breath. "You see, Mr. Burrus'
+warehouse--the one down by the creek, you know? Well, something
+happened--the bank on which it stood caved in, in some way, and the
+rear wall collapsed, and from all I can understand there was quite a
+wreck, quite a lot of damage, for he had it crammed full of winter
+goods." She paused and looked intently at Mary Louise with eyes that
+were visualizing the events of the night before. "Well, to continue.
+It seems that someone with a lantern, investigating the place around
+the back, ran across poor Joseph lying in the creek in the water, with
+one leg doubled up under him. He told the man he had fallen off the
+bridge. That was all he said. Just what he could have been doing there
+at such a time I cannot imagine. It seems that he had been working
+with a road-construction company about three miles out on the road to
+Guests. I found that out from a perfect stranger." She paused again
+and the line of her mouth took on a grimmer straightness. "One of the
+men, who brought him in--a great rough boor he was--had the audacity
+to suggest that Joseph was around there seeing what he could pick up.
+I silenced him quickly enough. But can you imagine what brought him to
+such a place at such a time?"
+
+Mary Louise drew herself together in an odd little shiver. "Some
+strange things can happen by coincidence, Mrs. Mosby. Was he badly
+hurt?"
+
+"Fractured his left leg just below the knee, Dr. Withers says--poor
+Joseph! He's been an ambitious boy. So anxious to get ahead, and so
+self-sufficient. I feel right guilty about Joseph." She shook her head
+dolorously.
+
+"But there's no real danger, is there?" broke in Mary Louise, her
+heart momentarily sinking.
+
+"No. I suppose not. He is terribly run down. Like a ghost he looked
+when they carried him in last night, his eyes staring out before him
+all dumb and suffering. He must have been in that ice-cold water
+almost an hour before they found him. I might have been doing things
+for him all this time--looking after him--but you know how things have
+been in this house."
+
+The cold wall of her reserve seemed to be gradually letting down.
+Never before had she ever so much as alluded to the break in her
+family's fortunes. Mary Louise felt an odd, lifting feeling of
+hope--tremulous but dawning hope.
+
+"Mrs. Mosby," she said. "Excuse me for speaking about something that
+is not my affair, but"--she hesitated and gazed at the polished marble
+slab of the hall tree--"it's only because I've known Joe so well, for
+such a long time"--the polished slab was gleaming faintly from an
+errant ray of sunshine that came through a dim, high-set hall
+window--"that I perhaps know a little more about him." She paused
+after this introduction, and having thus committed herself, plunged
+in. "Why don't you give Joe the chance he really wants? You have a lot
+of land here that is not being developed at all. Give Joe the chance
+to work it out--some of it, at least, on shares." She paused,
+breathless, and looked up timidly to see how her presumption fared.
+
+A slow, fatuous smile spread over Mrs. Mosby's face. Mary Louise
+watched it break--watched it play for a moment about her lips like a
+shaft of winter sunshine. Then she spoke, shaking her head in
+reminiscence:
+
+"I'd thought of that, myself. In fact, I'd spoken of it to Joseph. But
+he had other ideas. Many's the time I would have welcomed having
+someone who really cared, on whom I could depend. It's been a
+difficult time for me, my dear. Brother's so feeble. I couldn't call
+on him. No. Joseph doesn't care for farming. You're mistaken there.
+He's got an errant streak in him, like his father, I'm afraid." She
+sighed, and the sibilance of it echoed with a strange lingering note
+between those high gray walls. "Besides--though I've not let it be
+generally known--I've sold the place--to a Mr. Walcott of New York.
+He's very wealthy, I believe. He's taking it over the first of the
+year. I'm just not strong enough to hold on any longer."
+
+Mary Louise did not look up. The sunlight on the marble slab of the
+hall tree faded slowly away.
+
+"Don't you want to go up and see him, my dear?" Mrs. Mosby said at
+length.
+
+She started. "No," she replied. "I must be getting on. I've so many
+things to do. Some other time, may I? Perhaps this afternoon." She
+rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door. She opened it and
+walked through, out on to the wide front porch, her thoughts in a
+turmoil. Rising above everything was an inexplicable conviction that
+Joe was closely akin to herself; in all the confusion of the world's
+ways, a kindred creature.
+
+She turned. Mrs. Mosby was standing in the open doorway watching her,
+on her face a set, wistful smile, that was as hard as stone. They
+exchanged good-byes and then the door slowly closed with its soft
+sucking noise and she found herself in the graying light of a
+gathering storm....
+
+It was not until late the following afternoon that she found time
+again to visit the Mosby home.
+
+The same old Negro woman admitted her and she stepped into the hall
+and stood waiting. Back in the shadow, in an open doorway, Mrs. Mosby
+and a stout, thickset man with stubbly black hair were talking in low
+tones. The Negro woman hurried past them back into the passage, and
+they moved aside a little as she passed. The last words of the
+conversation came faintly to Mary Louise's ears; the stout man was
+talking:
+
+"Must build him up," he was saying. "Keep the windows open, give him
+plenty to eat, all he wants." Then Mrs. Mosby's sibilant but inaudible
+reply. And then again, "He's used himself up. No reserve. Not prepared
+for an emergency like this."
+
+She sat dumbly wondering; it was most probably Dr. Withers, the new
+doctor. The monotonous hum of their voices suddenly ceased and he was
+walking past her toward the door, pursing his lips in an odd sort of
+way. He looked at her as he passed, and reached for his hat. She did
+not hear the door close after him. Mrs. Mosby was speaking to her with
+a slight frown on her face.
+
+"Just go on up, my dear. Ell bedroom, on the left. I'll be up
+directly."
+
+She climbed the stairs in a maze. The silence was the most noticeable
+thing about the place unless it was the clinging, indescribable odour.
+
+She found the door without difficulty and softly pushed it open. A
+draught of chill air greeted her, and there was a dim glow on the
+carpet from an open-grate fire in the wall opposite. Behind the door
+stood the bed, with its head against the wall, and in the bed lay Joe.
+
+For a moment she could not realize it was he, the light was so dim,
+the figure so indistinct, so swathed in its covers. He turned his head
+at the sound of her footsteps and looked at her.
+
+"Hullo," he said weakly.
+
+All her reserves collapsed within her and she came and sat on the
+edge of the bed. She looked down into his face and could not speak; a
+change which she could not begin to detail had come over him. He
+smiled, "Was wondering about you to-day," he said.
+
+She reached out and took his hand. It was very hot. Two bright spots
+burned in his cheeks and his eyes had that peculiar, hollow, sunken
+look she had seen once or twice before. Two days had passed. The
+realization that it was but two days shocked her.
+
+"Funny," he was saying. "That night--you remember--I met old Burrus
+coming out of your house. I wondered then what he could be doing.
+Well--he was just on my trail. Fact."
+
+"Yes," she said. "He brought Aunt Susie a hot-water bottle. But you
+mustn't talk too much, Joe." She squeezed his hand very softly.
+
+"Well," he went on, as though intensely interested in the idea, "you
+know what he was for Uncle Buzz? Well, next he must put his jinx on
+me." He chuckled softly. "His kind always have it in for--my kind. It
+is funny. As I went down the road, after leaving your house, you
+remember?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Well, I soon saw from the road that something had happened. I went
+down across the field up to the fence. Things were scattered all over
+the ground, and some of 'em floating down the creek--I could see in
+the moonlight. 'Serves you right, you old skinflint,' I said to
+myself. 'But it's none of your business.' So I turned about and went
+back to the road. Couldn't help feeling kinda glad about it." He
+paused and drew a deep, painful breath. "I guess it's all just
+retribution. Shouldn't have enjoyed a man's misfortune. I missed the
+edge of the road, slipped, and fell across the big eight by eight that
+ties the bridge to the bank, and that's all I remember. Old Burrus
+pulled me out of the creek himself."
+
+He withdrew his hand and moved slightly in the bed, as if easing
+himself somewhere. "It _was_ funny, wasn't it?"
+
+She gazed into his face. Something was stirring within her over which
+she seemed to have no control--a tenderness, a mothering instinct, a
+vast hurt deep within herself. She suddenly realized that she could
+have had him, although he had not offered himself. Nor had he ever
+asked for anything, probably never would. The realization singularly
+made him seem all the more her own. "You mustn't work yourself up,
+Joe. Be quiet. I want you to get well." Just how fervently she wished
+it, and with what anxiety, she suddenly knew. The sight of his peaked,
+upturned face, staring at the ceiling, with the bright red spots on
+his cheeks, was more than she could bear, and she rose to her feet and
+walked over to the open window.
+
+The sun was just sinking behind a broken bank of heavy, blue-gray
+clouds. On the inner surfaces through which streamed its last rays
+patches of blood-red lining showed. A lurid glow was thinly suffused
+over the stretch of land between, against which were outlined the gray
+top branches of trees, moving fitfully to and fro. She stood for a few
+moments, waiting, listening for Mrs. Mosby. The shadows deepened and
+lengthened; they came creeping over the grass toward her, in their van
+the fading glow. All at once, as it were out of the twilight, the
+sunlight settled momentarily on the field at the bottom of the hill
+before her. Stark upright and in serried rows stretched the waste of
+last year's cornfield, the withered stalks touched with a passing
+glory, standing quite proudly erect and then--blue-gray darkness. A
+mellow waste delivering a valedictory! Next year it would doubtless be
+ploughed up--prepared for a crop. Over beyond the crest of hills
+clouds were gathering like a smoke pall. She wondered if the factory
+chimneys were sending their beacons that far. There were forty miles
+between the two worlds.
+
+A voice spoke behind her, a strange, unknown voice. She turned and
+went back to the bedside. Joe lay staring straight before him and his
+lips were moving stiffly. The words came muffled and indistinct: "Tell
+you--got to have more money 'n that, Mr. Heston. 'Tisn't a question of
+just gettin' by. A man's got to get ahead." And then there was an
+unintelligible muttering. And then suddenly the voice rose, clear,
+querulous, and high-pitched: "Well you can go to hell with it. Needn't
+think you're doin' us a favour--payin' us a living--just because
+you've got it all. No, sir! I can go back home. Can live there without
+havin' to thank _you_!" The voice died away.
+
+She hung on the echo, shaken to the depths of her. Like a disembodied
+voice it had come out of the great silence. What was it all about? Who
+was Mr. Heston?
+
+Then in a flash it all came clear to her. The mists arose from the
+past and before her stood envisioned all in the proper relationship:
+herself, Claybrook, and Joe; Bloomfield, the city, all of mankind.
+
+Life was, after all, but one shrewd bargain; success a process of
+getting more than one gave; the survivors, shrewd bargainers,
+shouldering, edging, metamorphosed by a modern Circe, their forefeet
+and muzzles thrust eager and deep into the magic swill of her trough;
+and the others--creatures like Joe--untouched by the sorcery, going
+without and suffering discredit. Militant, her spirit rose in revolt.
+Was there no escape from the dilemma? She felt dried up, parched,
+athirst for something; her throat contracted in a burning ache.
+
+She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She sat in
+silence with a great pain in her heart. Over beyond the window sill
+the glow was dying, and the gathering pall was rising and coming
+nearer. Like a blanket the relentless world the cog-world of personal
+interests, regulations, and restrictions--was coming, gathering up its
+wastage into its blue-gray depths.
+
+Joe was speaking again. His voice was suddenly clearer.
+
+"I wonder," he was saying, "if you'd mind goin' for Zeke Thompson and
+sendin' him up to me? I want him to go somewhere for me. And will
+you--will you call up Mr. Clausen of the Pulvia Company and tell him
+I'll get back on the job soon's I can? To-morrow'll do to call him
+up."
+
+"Surely I will, Joe," she replied.
+
+The door opened softly from the hall and Mrs. Mosby appeared, shading
+a lamp with her hand. "Keep your seat." she exclaimed as Mary Louise
+rose to her feet. "I'm just getting ready to bring him his supper."
+Then she went back out again.
+
+Mary Louise bent over the bed. The lamp was directly behind her and
+she could not see for blurring.
+
+"Do take care of yourself, Joe," she whispered. "I'll come back again
+to-morrow," and then she slipped noiselessly from the room.
+
+Directly Mrs. Mosby returned with a steaming tray which she set on the
+little table by the bedside. "Has she gone?" she asked.
+
+Joe turned and looked with indifference at the tray, with its white
+napkins and egg-shell china. "Don't believe I want anything much, Aunt
+Lorry," he said.
+
+"Come now, Joseph. You must. I've a soft-boiled egg and some milk
+toast and cocoa. Dr. Withers says you must keep up your strength."
+
+He turned languidly away. "And Aunt Lorry," he added.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I don't need anything--specially this sympathy stuff." He paused and
+frowned at the ceiling. "I don't--I don't want to have any company.
+Reckon I can get along all right."
+
+Ten minutes later she carried away the tray with the food on it but
+scarcely touched. And he lay in the gathering darkness, watching the
+ceiling, with the wavering circles from the open fire and the soft
+whisper of the wind in the withered leaves outside the window. There
+came a gentle patter of rain on the roof and night slipped down upon
+Bloomfield. He sighed gently, turned his head, and fell asleep....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some four blocks away a girl was walking--swiftly, her hands clenched
+so that the knuckles were white. Bright spots burned in her cheeks and
+her eyes were deep and starry with bright vision. A man, passing
+close, turned and watched her curiously, saw her enter a wooden gate.
+A few feet from a darkened porch she seemed to spring forward in her
+haste. He saw her run up the steps and disappear into the house....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was the sound of water being poured from one vessel into
+another, in the downstairs back-hall, and then the shuffling of
+retiring feet. Mrs. Mosby stood outlined in the high doorway, a
+lighted candle in her hand, her eyes straining into the darkness.
+
+"Come, brother Rob," she called and waited.
+
+There was a muffled reply.
+
+"It will certainly be good," she went on, half to herself and
+pleasantly musing, "to have a real bathroom with hot water from a
+spigot. The city's pleasant in winter. I'm sorry we're waiting until
+January first. Come, brother Rob. The water's getting cold."
+
+
+
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