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diff --git a/25158.txt b/25158.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c1cd06 --- /dev/null +++ b/25158.txt @@ -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." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUBBLE*** + + +******* This file should be named 25158.txt or 25158.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/1/5/25158 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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