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diff --git a/29245-h/29245-h.htm b/29245-h/29245-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c55d55 --- /dev/null +++ b/29245-h/29245-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10738 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Breath of Prairie and Other Stories, by Will Lillibridge.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + a {text-decoration: none;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + hr.p10 {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:10%; margin:10px auto} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + table.toc {margin: -5px auto -3px 0; clear: both;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + hr.minor {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:6em; margin: 3px auto;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by +Will Lillibridge + +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: A Breath of Prairie and other stories + +Author: Will Lillibridge + +Illustrator: J. N. Marchand + +Release Date: June 26, 2009 [EBook #29245] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREATH OF PRAIRIE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</h1> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>AND OTHER STORIES</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table summary='booklist' style='width:27em; border:1px solid black; padding:20px; font-size:smaller;'> + +<tr><td align='center'> +<p style='font-size:larger; text-align:center;'>By WILL LILLIBRIDGE</p> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'> +<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>THE DOMINANT DOLLAR. Illustrated in color by Lester Ralph. Crown 8vo . . . $1.50</p> + +<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>BEN BLAIR, PLAINSMAN. Frontispiece in color by Maynard Dixon. <i>Seventieth thousand.</i> Crown 8vo . . . $1.50</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<p style='margin-left:1em; text-indent: -1em'>QUERCUS ALBA: The Veteran of the Ozarks. With frontispiece. 16mo. Net . . . $.50</p> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='minor' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'> +A. C. MCCLURG & CO., Publishers<br />CHICAGO +</td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='425' height='609' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him. [See “Journey’s End.”]<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.0em;margin-top:40px;'>A</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.0em;'>BREATH <i>of</i> PRAIRIE</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>AND OTHER STORIES</p> + +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>WILL LILLIBRIDGE</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:40px;'>AUTHOR OF “BEN BLAIR,” “THE DOMINANT DOLLAR,” ETC.</p> + +<p class='tp' >WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR<br /> +BY J. N. MARCHAND</p> + +<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-tpg.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' >CHICAGO</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>A. C. McCLURG & CO.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>1911</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-top:20px;'>Copyright<br /> +A. C. McCLURG & CO.<br /> +1911</p> + +<hr class='p10' /> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>Published April, 1911</p> + +<hr class='p10' /> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:20px;margin-top:60px;'>W. J. Hall Printing Company<br /> +Chicago</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_v' name='page_v'></a>v</span></div> +<h3>A TRIBUTE</h3> +<p>It is an accepted truth, I believe, that every novelist +embodies in the personalities of his heroes some of +his own traits of character. Those who were intimately +acquainted with William Otis Lillibridge could not fail to +recognize this in a marked degree. To a casual reader, +the heroes of his five novels might perhaps suggest five +totally different personalities, but one who knows them +well will inevitably recognize beneath the various disguises +the same dominant characteristics in them all. +Whether it be Ben Blair the sturdy plainsman, Bob McLeod +the cripple, Dr. Watson, Darley Roberts, or even +How Landor the Indian, one finds the same foundation +stones of character,––repression, virility, firmness of purpose, +an abhorrence of artificiality or affectation,––love +of Nature and of Nature’s works rather than things man-made. +And these were unquestionably the pronounced +traits of Will Lillibridge’s personality. Markedly reserved, +silent, forceful, he was seldom found in the places +where men congregate, but loved rather the company of +books and of the great out-doors. Living practically his +entire life on the prairies it is undoubtedly true that he +was greatly influenced by his environment. And certain +it is that he could never have so successfully painted the +various phases of prairie-life without a sympathetic, personal +knowledge.</p> +<p>The story of his life is characteristically told in this +brief autobiographical sketch, written at the request of an +interested magazine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_vi' name='page_vi'></a>vi</span></p> +<p>“I was born on a farm in Union County, Iowa, near +the boundary of the then Dakota Territory. Like most +boys bred and raised in an atmosphere of eighteen hours +of work out of twenty-four, I matured early. At twelve +I was a useful citizen, at fifteen I was to all practical +purposes a man,––did a man’s work whatever the need. +In this capacity I was alternately farmer, rancher, cattleman. +Something prompted me to explore a university +and I went to Iowa, where for six years I vibrated between +the collegiate, dental, and medical departments. After +graduating from the dental in 1898 I drifted to Sioux +Falls and began to practise my profession. As the years +passed the roots sank deeper and I am still here.</p> +<p>“Work? My writing is done entirely at night. The +waiting-room,––the plum-tree,––requires vigorous shaking +in the daytime. After dinner,––I have a den, telephone-proof, +piano-proof, friend-proof. What transpires +therein no one knows because no one has ever seen.</p> +<p>“Recreation? I have a mania, by no means always +gratified,––to be out of doors. Once each summer ‘the +Lady’ and I go somewhere for a time,––and forget it +absolutely. In this way we’ve been able to travel a bit. +We,––again ‘the Lady’ and I,––steal an hour when +we can, and drive a gasoline car, keeping within the speed +laws when necessary. Once each Fall, when the first +frost shrivels the corn-stalk and when, if you chance to be +out of doors after dark you hear, away up overhead, invisible, +the accelerating, throbbing, diminishing purr of +wings that drives the sportsman mad,––the town knows +me no more.”</p> +<p>Every novel may have a happy close, but a real life’s +story has but one inevitable ending,––Death.</p> +<p>And to “the Lady” has been left the sorrowful task +of writing “Finis” across the final page. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_vii' name='page_vii'></a>vii</span></p> +<p>January 29, 1909, he died at his home in Sioux Falls +after a brief illness. But thirty-one years of age, he had +won a place in literature so gratifying that one might +well rest content with a recital of his accomplishments. +But his youth suggests a tale that is only partly told and +the conjecture naturally arises,––“What success might +he not have won?” Five novels, “Ben Blair,” “Where +the Trail Divides,” “The Dissolving Circle,” “The +Quest Eternal,” and “The Dominant Dollar,” besides +magazine articles, and a number of short stories +(many of them appearing in this volume) were all written +in the space of eight years’ time, and, as he said, were +entirely produced after nightfall.</p> +<p>While interested naturally in the many phases of his +life,––as a professional man, as an author, as the chief +factor in the domestic drama,––yet most of all it pleases +me to remember him as he appeared when under the spell +of the prairies he loved so well. Tramping the fields in +search of prairie-chicken or quail, a patient watcher in the +rushes of a duck-pond, or merely lying flat on his back in +the sunshine,––he was a being transformed. For he +had in him much of the primitive man and his whole +nature responded to the “call of the wild.” But you +who know his prairie-tales must have read between the +lines,––for who, unless he loved the “honk” of the +wild geese, could write, “to those who have heard it year +by year it is the sweetest, most insistent of music. It is +the spirit of the wild, of magnificent distances, of freedom +impersonate”?</p> +<p>To the late Mrs. Wilbur Teeters I am indebted for the +following tribute, which appeared in the “Iowa Alumnus.”</p> +<p>“Dr. Lillibridge’s field of romance was his own. +Others have told of the Western mountains and pictured +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_viii' name='page_viii'></a>viii</span> +the great desert of the Southwest, but none has painted +with so masterful a hand the great prairies of the Northwest, +shown the lavish hand with which Nature pours +out her gifts upon the pioneer, and again the calm cruelty +with which she effaces him. In the midst of these scenes +his actors played their parts and there he played his own +part, clean in life and thought, a man to the last, slipping +away upon the wings of the great storm which had just +swept over his much-loved land, wrapped in the snowy +mantle of his own prairies.”</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span class='smcap'>Edith Keller-Lillibridge</span><br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_ix' name='page_ix'></a>ix</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-weight:bold;'>CONTENTS</p> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE'>13</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE DOMINANT IMPULSE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE'>61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE STUFF OF HEROES</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>ARCADIA IN AVERNUS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS'>109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>I</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Prelude</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>II</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Leap</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>III</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Wonder of Prairie</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IV</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>A Revelation</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>V</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Dominance of the Evolved</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>By a Candle’s Flame</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Price of the Leap</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JOURNEY’S END</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#JOURNEYS_END'>239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A PRAIRIE IDYL</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_PRAIRIE_IDYL'>265</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS'>279</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>I</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Sandford the Exemplary</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>II</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Presage of the Wings</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>III</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Other Man</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IV</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Capitulation</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>V</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Anticipation</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>“Mark the Right, Sandford!”</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Bacon What Am!</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>VIII</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Feathered Bullets</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>IX</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Oblivion</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>X</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>Upon “Wiping the Eye”</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><table class='toc' summary=''><tr><td><span style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Chapter</span></td><td align='right' style='width:1.52em;'>XI</td><td align='left'><span style='font-variant:small-caps;margin-left:.52em;'>The Cold Gray Dawn</span></td></tr></table></td> + <td /> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION'>309</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE CUP THAT O’ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE'>339</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>UNJUDGED</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#UNJUDGED'>347</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE TOUCH HUMAN</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_TOUCH_HUMAN'>367</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A DARK HORSE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_DARK_HORSE'>373</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE WORTH OF THE PRICE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE'>393</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xi' name='page_xi'></a>xi</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-weight:bold;'>ILLUSTRATIONS</p> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>She wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“You’ll apologize.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The two men went East together.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>326</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>He heard a voice ... and glanced back.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>388</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<h2>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller;'>AND OTHER STORIES</span></h2> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE' id='A_BREATH_OF_PRAIRIE'></a> +<h2>A BREATH OF PRAIRIE</h2> +</div> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>Dense darkness of early morning +wrapped all things within and without +a square, story-and-a-half prairie farm-house. +Silence, all-pervading, dense as the darkness, +its companion, needed but a human ear to become +painfully noticeable.</p> +<p>Up-stairs in the half-story attic was Life. +From one corner of the room deep, regular +breathing marked the unvarying time of healthy +physical life asleep. Nearby a clock beat loud +automatic time, with a brassy resonance––healthy +mechanical life awake. Man and machine, +side by side, punctuated the passage of +time.</p> +<p>Alone in the darkness the mechanical mind +of the clock conceived a bit of fiendish pleasantry. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +With violent, shocking clamor, its +deafening alarm suddenly shattered the stillness.</p> +<p>The two victims of the outrage sat up in bed +and blinked sleepily at the dark. The younger, +in a voice of wrath, relieved his feelings with +a vigorously expressed opinion of the applied +uses of things in general, and of alarm-clocks +and milk pans in particular. He thereupon +yawned prodigiously, and promptly began +snoring away again, as though nothing had +interrupted.</p> +<p>The other man made one final effort, and +came down hard upon the middle of the floor. +Rough it was, uncarpeted, cold with the damp +chill of early morning. He groped for a match, +and dressed rapidly in the dim light, his teeth +chattering a diminishing accompaniment until +the last piece was on.</p> +<p>Deep, regular breathing still came from the +bed. The man listened a moment, irresolutely; +then with a smile on his face he drew a feather +from a pillow, and, rolling back the bed-clothes, +he applied the feather’s tip to the sleeper’s bare +soles, where experience had demonstrated it to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +be the most effective. Dodging the ensuing +kick, he remarked simply, “I’ll leave the light, +Jim. Better hurry––this is going to be a +busy day.”</p> +<p>Outside, a reddish light in the sky marked +east, but over all else there lay only starlight, +as, lantern in hand, he swung down the frozen +path. With the opening barn door there came +a puff of warm animal breath. As the first +rays of light entered, the stock stood up with +many a sleepy groan, and bright eyes shining +in the half-light swayed back and forth in the +narrow stalls, while their owners waited patiently +for the feed they knew was coming.</p> +<p>Jim, still sleepy, appeared presently; together +the two went through the routine of +chores, as they had done hundreds of times +before. They worked mechanically, being still +stiff and sore from the previous day’s work, but +swiftly, in the way mechanical work is sometimes +done.</p> +<p>Side by side, with singing milk pails between +their knees, Jim stopped long enough to ask, +“Made up your mind yet what you’ll do, +Guy?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<p>The older brother answered without a break +in the swish of milk through foam:</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t, Jim. If it wasn’t for you +and father and mother and––” he diverted with +a redoubled clatter of milk on tin.</p> +<p>“Be honest, Guy,” was the reproachful +caution.</p> +<p>“––and Faith,” added the older brother +simply.</p> +<p>The reddish glow in the east had spread and +lit up the earth; so they put out the lantern, +and, bending under the weight of steaming milk +pails, walked single file toward the house and +breakfast. Far in the distance a thin jet of +steam spreading broadly in the frosty air +marked the location of a threshing crew. The +whistle,––thin, brassy,––spoke the one word +“Come!” over miles of level prairie, to the +scattered neighbors.</p> +<p>Four people, rough, homely, sat down to a +breakfast of coarse, plain cookery, and talked +of common, homely things.</p> +<p>“I see you didn’t get so much milk as usual +this morning, Jim,” said the mother. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>“No, the line-backed heifer kicked over a +half-pailful.”</p> +<p>“Goin’ to finish shuckin’ that west field this +week, Guy?” asked the father.</p> +<p>“Yes. We’ll cross over before night.”</p> +<p>Nothing more was said. They were all +hungry, and in the following silence the jangle +of iron on coarse queensware, and the aspiration +of beverages steaming still though undergoing +the cooling medium of saucers, filled in +all lulls that might otherwise have seemed to +require conversation.</p> +<p>Not until the boys got up to go to work did +the family bond draw tight enough to show. +Then the mother, tenderly as a surgeon, dressed +the chafed spots on her boys’ hands, saying low +in words that spoke volumes, “I’ll be so glad +when the corn’s all husked”; and the father +followed them out onto the little porch to add, +“Better quit early so’s to hear the speakin’ to-night, +Guy.”</p> +<p>“How are you feeling to-day, father?” +asked the young man, in a tone he attempted +to make honestly interested, but which an infinite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +number of repetitions had made almost +automatic.</p> +<p>The father hesitated, and a look of sadness +crept over his weathered face.</p> +<p>“No better, Guy.” He laid his hand on the +young man’s shoulder, looking down into the +frank blue eyes with a tenderness that made his +rough features almost beautiful.</p> +<p>“It all depends upon you now, Guy, my +boy.” Unconsciously his voice took on the incomparable +pathos of age displaced. “I’m out +of the race,” he finished simply.</p> +<p>The heavy, weather-painted lumber wagon +turned at the farm-yard, and rumbled down a +country road, bound hard as asphalt in the fall +frosts. The air cut sharply at the ears of the +man in the box, as he held the lines in either +hand alternately, swinging its mate with vigor. +The sun was just peeping from the broad lap +of the prairie, casting the beauty of color and +of sparkle over all things. Ahead of the wagon +coveys of quail broke and ran swiftly in the +track until tired, when, with a side movement +the tall grass by the border absorbed them. +Flocks of prairie-chickens, frightened by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +clatter, sprang winging from the roadside, and +together sailed away on spread wings. The +man in the wagon looked about him and forgetting +all else in the quick-flowing blood of +morning, smiled gladly.</p> +<p>He stopped at the edge of the field, tying +the reins loosely and building up the sideboards, +gradually shorter, each above the other, +pyramid-like, until they reached higher than +his own head as he stood in the wagon-box. +Stiff from the jolting and inactivity of the +drive, he jumped out upon the uneven surface +of the corn-field.</p> +<p>Slowly at first, as sore fingers rebelled against +the roughness of husks, he began work, touching +the frosty ears gingerly; then as he warmed +to the task, stopping at nothing. The frost, +dense, all-covering, shook from the stalks as +he moved, coloring the rusty blue of his +overalls white, and melting ice-cold, wet him +through to the skin on arms and shoulders and +knees. Swiftly, two motions to the ear, he kept +up a tapping like the regular blows of a hammer, +as the ears struck the sideboard. Fifteen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +taps to the minute, you would have counted; a +goodly man’s record.</p> +<p>This morning, though, Landers’ mind was +not upon his work. The vague, uncertain restlessness +that marked the birth of a desire for +broader things than he had known heretofore, +was taking form in his brain. He himself could +not have told what he wanted, what he planned; +he simply felt a distaste for the things of Now; +an unrest that prevented his sitting quiet; that +took him up very early at morning; that made +him husk more bushels of corn, and toss more +bundles of grain into the self-feed of a threshing +machine than any other man he knew; that +kept him awake thinking at night until the discordant +snores of the family sent him to bed, +with the covers over his ears in self-defence.</p> +<p>A vague wonder that such thoughts were in +his mind at all was upon him. He was the son +of his parents; his life so far had been their +life: why should he not be as content as they?</p> +<p>He could not answer, yet the distaste grew. +Irresistibly he had acquired a habit of seeing +unpleasant things: the meanness and the smallness +of his surroundings; the uncouth furnishings +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +of his home; the lack of grace in his parents +and acquaintances; the trifling incidents that +required so many hours of discussion; and in all +things the absence of that sense of humor and +appreciation of the lighter side of life which, +from reading, he had learned to recognize.</p> +<p>Try as he might, he could not recollect even +the faint flash of a poor pun coming originally +from his parents. Was he to be as they? A +feeling of intense repugnance swept over him +at the thought––a repugnance unaccountable, +and of which he felt much ashamed.</p> +<p>Self-suspicion followed. Was it well for +him to read the books and think the thoughts of +the past year? He could not escape except by +brutally tearing himself by the roots from his +parents’ lives. It was all so hopelessly selfish +on his part!</p> +<p>“True,” answered the hot spirit of resentment, +“but is it not right that you should think +first of Self? Is not individual advancement +the first law of Nature? If there is something +better, why should you not secure it?”</p> +<p>The innate spirit of independence, the intense +passion of pride and equality inborn with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +the true country-bred, surged warmly through +his body until he fairly tingled.</p> +<p>Why should others have things, think +thoughts, enjoy pleasures of which he was to +remain in ignorance? The mood of rebellion +was upon him and he swore he would be as +they. Of the best the world contained, he, +Guy Landers, would partake.</p> +<p>With the decision came an exultant consciousness +of the graceful play of his own +muscles in rapid action. The self-confidence +of the splendid animal was his. He would +work and advance himself. The world must +move, and he would help. He would do things, +great things, of which he and the world would +be proud.</p> +<p>Unconsciously he worked faster and faster +as thought travelled. The other wagons +dropped behind, the tapping of corn ears on +their sideboards making faint music in the +clear air.</p> +<p>The sun rose swiftly, warming and drying +the earth. Instead of frost the dust of weathered +husks fell thickly over him. Overflowing +with life and physical power, he worked through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +the long rows to the end, then mounted the +wagon and looked around. Silently he noted +the gain over the other workers, and a smile lit +up the sturdy lines of his face.</p> +<p>Evening was approaching. The rough lumber +wagon, heavily loaded from the afternoon’s +work, groaned loudly over the uneven ground. +Instead of the east, the west was now red, +glorious. High up in the sky, surrounding the +glow, a part of it as well, narrow luminous +sun-dogs presaged uncertain weather to follow.</p> +<p>Guy Landers mounted the wagon wearily, +and looked ahead. The end of the two loaded +corn-rows which he was robbing was in sight, +and he returned doggedly to his task. The +ardor of the morning had succumbed to the +steady grind of physical toil, and he worked +with the impassive perseverance of a machine.</p> +<p>Night and the stillness thereof settled fast. +The world darkened so swiftly that the change +could almost be distinguished. The rows ahead +grew shadowy, and in their midst, by contrast, +the corn-ears stood out white and distinct. The +whole world seemed to draw more closely together. +The low vibrant hum that marked the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +location of the distant threshing crew, sounded +now almost as near as the voice of a friend. A +flock of prairie-chickens flew low overhead, +their flatly spread wings cutting the air with +a sound like whips. They settled nearby, and +out of the twilight came anon the confused +murmur of their voices.</p> +<p>Landers stopped the impatient horses at the +end of the field, and shook level the irregular, +golden heap in the wagon-box. Slowly he +drew on coat and top-coat, and mounted the +full load, sitting sideways with legs hanging +over the bulging wagon-box. It was dark now, +but he was not alone. Other wagons were +groaning homeward as well. Suddenly, thin +and brassy, out of the distance came the sound +of a steam whistle; and when it was again silent +the hum of the thresher had ceased. From a +field by the roadside, a solitary prairie-rooster +gave once, twice, its lone, restless call.</p> +<p>The man stretched back full length on the +corn bed and looked up where the stars sparkled +clear and bright. It all appealed to him, and a +moisture formed in his eyes. A new side to the +problem of the morning came to him. These +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +sounds––he realized now how he loved them. +Verily they were a part of his life. Mid them +he had been bred; of them as of food he had +grown. That whistle, thin and unmusical; that +elusive, indescribable call of prairie male; all +these homely sounds that meant so much to him––could +he leave them?</p> +<p>The moisture in his eyes deepened and a +tightness gripped his throat. Slowly two great +tears fought their way down through the dust +on his face, and dropped lingeringly, one after +the other amid the corn-ears.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>The little, low, weather-white school-house +stood glaring solitarily in the bright starlight, +from out its setting of brown, hard-trodden +prairie. Within, the assembled farmers were +packed tight and regular in the seats and aisles, +like kernels on an ear of corn. In the front +of the room a little space had been shelled bare +for the speaker, and the displaced human kernels +thereto incident were scattered crouching +in the narrow hall and anteroom. From without, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +groups of men denied admittance, thrust +hairy faces in at the open windows. A row of +dusty, grease-covered lamps flanked by composition +metal reflectors, concentrated light +upon the shelled spot, leaving the remainder +of the room in variant shadow. The low murmur +of suppressed conversation, accompanied +by the unconscious shuffling of restless feet, +sounded through the place. Becoming constantly +more noticeable, an unpleasant, penetrating +odor, of the unclean human animal +filled the room.</p> +<p>Guy Landers sat on a crowded back seat, +where, leaning one elbow on his knee, he shaded +his eyes with his hand. On his right a big, +sweaty farmer was smoking a stale pipe. The +smell of the cheap, vile tobacco, bad as it was, +became a welcome substitute for the odor of +the man himself.</p> +<p>At his left were two boys of his own age, +splendid, both of them, with the overflowing +vitality that makes all young animals splendid. +They were talking––of women. They spoke +low, watching sheepishly whether any one was +listening, and snickering suppressedly together. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>The young man’s head dropped in his hands. +It all depressed him like a weight. From the +depths of his soul he despised them for their +vulgarity, and hated himself for so doing, for +he was of their life and work akin. He shut +his eyes, suffering blindly.</p> +<p>Consciousness returned at the sound of a +strangely soft voice, and he looked up a little +bewildered. A swarm of night-bugs encircled +each of the greasy lamps, blindly beating out +their lives against the hot chimney; but save +this and the soft voice there was no other sound. +The man at the right held his pipe in his hand; +to the left the boys had ceased whispering; one +and all were listening to the speaker with the +stolid, expressionless gaze of interested animals.</p> +<p>Guy Landers could not have told why he +had come that night. Perhaps it was in response +to that gregarious instinct which prompts us all +at times to mingle with a crowd; certainly he +had not expected to be interested. Thus it was +with almost a feeling of rebellious curiosity that +he caught himself listening intently.</p> +<p>The speech was political, the speaker a +college man. What he said was immaterial––not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +a listener but had heard the same arguments +a dozen times before; it was the man +himself that held them.</p> +<p>What the farmers in that dingy little room +saw was a smooth-faced young man, with blue +eyes set far apart and light hair that exposed +the temples far back; they heard a soft voice +which made them forget for a time that they +were very tired––forget all else but that he +was speaking.</p> +<p>Landers saw further: not a single man, but +a type; the concrete illustration of a vague +ideal he had long known. He realized as the +others did not, that the speaker was merely +practising on them––training, as the man himself +would have said. When Landers was +critically conscious, he was not deceived; yet, +with this knowledge, at times he forgot and +moved along with the speaker, unconsciously.</p> +<p>It was all deliriously intoxicating to the +farmer––this first understanding glimpse of +things he had before merely dreamed of––and +he waited exultantly for those brief moments +when he felt, sympathetically with the speaker, +the keen joy of mastery in perfect art; that joy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +beside which no other of earth can compare, +the compelling magnetism which carries another’s +mind irresistibly along with one’s own.</p> +<p>The speaker finished and sat down wearily, +and almost simultaneously the hairy faces left +the windows. The shuffling of feet and the +murmur of rough voices once more sounded +through the room; again the odor of vile +tobacco filled the air. Several of the older men +gathered around the speaker, in turn holding +his hand in a relentless grip while they struggled +bravely for words to express the broadest +of compliments. Young boys stood wide-eyed +under their fathers’ arms and looked at the +college man steadily, like young calves.</p> +<p>The reaction was on the slender young +speaker, and though the experience was new, +he shook hands wearily. In spite of himself a +shade of disgust crept into his face. He was +not bidding for these farmers’ votes, and the +big sweaty men were foully odorous. He +worked his way steadily out into the open air.</p> +<p>Landers, in response to a motive he made no +attempt to explain even to himself, walked over +and touched the chairman on the shoulder. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>“’Evening, Ross,” he greeted perfunctorily. +“Pretty good talk, wasn’t it?” Without waiting +for a reply he went on, “Suppose you’re +not hankering for a drive back to town to-night? +I’ll see that”––a swift nod toward +the departing group––“he gets back home, if +you wish.”</p> +<p>Ross looked up in pleased surprise. He +was tired and sleepy and only too glad to accept +the suggestion.</p> +<p>“Thank you, Guy,” he answered gratefully. +“I’ll do as much for you some time.”</p> +<p>Landers waited silently until the last eulogist +had lingeringly departed, leaving the bewildered +speaker gazing about for the chairman.</p> +<p>“I’m to take you to town,” said Landers, +simply, as he led the way toward his wagon. +He then added, as an afterthought: “If +you’re tired and prefer, you may stay with +me to-night.”</p> +<p>The collegian, looking up to decline, met the +countryman’s eye, and for the first time the two +studied each other steadily.</p> +<p>“I will stay with you, if you please,” he said +in sudden change of mind. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>They drove out, slowly, into the frosty night, +the sound of the other wagons rattling over +frozen roads coming pleasantly to their ears. +Overhead countless stars lit up the earth and +sky, almost as brightly as moonlight.</p> +<p>“I suppose you are husking corn these days,” +initiated the collegian, perfunctorily.</p> +<p>“Yes,” was the short answer.</p> +<p>They rode on again in silence, the other +wagons rumbling slowly away into the distance +until their sound came only as a low +humming from the frozen earth.</p> +<p>“Prices pretty good this season?” questioned +the college man, tentatively.</p> +<p>Landers flashed around on him almost +fiercely.</p> +<p>“In Heaven’s name, man,” he protested, +“give me credit for a thought outside my +work––” He paused, and his voice became +natural: “––a thought such as other people +have,” he finished, sadly.</p> +<p>The two men looked steadily at each other, +a multitude of conflicting emotions on the face +of the collegian. He could not have been more +surprised had a clothing dummy raised its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +voice and spoken. Landers turned away and +looked out over the frosty prairie.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,”––wearily. “You’re +not to blame for thinking––as everybody else +thinks.” His companion started to interrupt +but Landers raised his hand in silencing motion. +“Let us be honest––with ourselves, at least,” +he anticipated.</p> +<p>“I know we of the farm are dull, and crude, +and vulgar, and our thoughts are of common +things. You of the other world patronize us; +you practise on us as you did to-night, thinking +we do not know. But some of us do, and it +hurts.”</p> +<p>The other man impulsively held out his hand; +a swift apology came to his lips, but as he looked +into the face before him, he felt it would be +better left unsaid. Instead, he voiced the question +that came uppermost to his mind.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you leave––this––and go to +school?” he asked abruptly. “You have an +equal chance with the rest. We’re each what +we make ourselves.”</p> +<p>Landers broke in on him quickly.</p> +<p>“We all like to talk of equality, but in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +reality we know there is none. You say ‘leave’ +without the slightest knowledge of what in my +case it means.” He gave the collegian a quick +look.</p> +<p>“I’m talking as though I’d known you all +my life.” A question was in his voice.</p> +<p>“I’m listening,” said the man, simply.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what it means, then. It means +that I divorce myself from everything of +Now; that I unlive my past life; that I +leave my companionship with dumb things––horses +and cattle and birds––and I love them, +for they are natural. This seems childish to +you; but live with them for years, more than +with human beings, and you will understand.</p> +<p>“More than all else it means that I must +become as a stranger to my family; and they +depend upon me. My friends of now would +not be my friends when I returned; they +would be as I am to you now––a thing to be +patronized.”</p> +<p>He hesitated, and then went recklessly on:</p> +<p>“I’ve told you so much, I may as well tell +you everything. On the next farm to ours +there’s a little, brown-eyed girl––Faith’s her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +name––and––and––” His new-found flow +of words failed, and he ended in unconscious +apostrophe:</p> +<p>“To think of growing out of her life, and +strange to my father and mother––it’s all so +selfish, so hideously selfish!”</p> +<p>“I think I understand,” said the soft voice +at his side.</p> +<p>They drove on without a word, the frost-bound +road ringing under the horses’ feet, the +stars above smiling sympathetic indulgence at +this last repetition of the old, old tale of man.</p> +<p>The gentle voice of the collegian broke the +silence.</p> +<p>“You say it would be selfish to leave. Is it +not right, though, and of necessity, that we +think first of self?” He paused, then boldly +sounded the keynote of the universe.</p> +<p>“Is not selfishness the first law of nature?” +he asked.</p> +<p>Landers opened his lips to answer, but closed +them without a word. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>Brown, magnetic Fall, with her overflow of +animal activity, shaded gradually into the white +of lethic Winter; then in slow dissolution relinquished +supremacy to the tans and mottled +greens of Springtime. Unsatisfied as man, the +mighty cycle of the seasons’ evolution moved on +until the ripe yellow of harvest and of corn-field +wrote “Autumn” on the broad page of +the prairies.</p> +<p>Of an evening in early September, Guy Landers +turned out from the uncut grass of the +farm-yard into the yellow, beaten dust of the +country road. He walked slowly, for it was +his last night on the farm, and it would be long +ere he passed that way again. This was the +road that led to the district school-house, and +with him every inch had been familiar from +childhood. As a boy he had run barefoot in its +yellow dust, and paddled joyously in the soft +mud of its summer showers. The rows of tall +cottonwoods that bordered it on either side he +had helped plant, watching them grow year by +year, as he himself had grown, until now the +whispering of prairie night winds in their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +loosely hung leaves spoke a language as +familiar as his native tongue.</p> +<p>He walked down the road for a half-mile, +and turned in between still other tall cottonwoods +at another weather-stained, square farm-house, +scarcely distinguishable from his own.</p> +<p>“’Evening, Mr. Baker.” He nodded to the +round-shouldered man who sat smoking on the +doorstep.</p> +<p>The farmer moved to one side, making generous +room beside him.</p> +<p>“’Evening, Guy,” he echoed. “Won’t y’ +set down?”</p> +<p>“Not to-night, Mr. Baker. I came over to +see Faith.” He hesitated, then added as an +afterthought: “I go away to-morrow.”</p> +<p>The man on the steps smoked silently for a +minute, the glow from the corn-cob bowl emphasizing +the gathering twilight. Slowly he +took the pipe from his mouth, and, standing +up, seized the young man’s hand in the grip of +a vise.</p> +<p>“I heerd y’ were goin’, Guy.” He looked +down through the steadiest of mild blue eyes. +“Good-bye, my boy.” An uncertain catch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +came into his voice, and he shook the hand +harder than before. “We’ll all miss ye.”</p> +<p>He dropped his arm, and sat down on the +step, impassively resuming his pipe. Without +raising his eyes, he nodded toward the back +yard.</p> +<p>“Faith’s back there with her posies,” he said.</p> +<p>The young man hesitated, swallowing fiercely +at the lump in his throat.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Baker,” he faltered at +length.</p> +<p>He walked slowly around the corner of the +house, stopping a moment to pat the friendly +collie that wagged his tail, welcomingly, in the +path. A large mixed orchard-garden, surrounded +by a row of sturdy soft maples, +opened up before him; and, coming up its +side path, with the most cautious of gingerly +treads, was the big hired man, bearing a huge +striped watermelon. He nodded in passing, +and grinned with a meaning hospitality on the +visitor.</p> +<p>At one corner of the garden an oblong mound +of earth, bordered with bright stones and river-clam +shells, marked the “posy” bed. Within +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +its boundaries a collection of overgrown house +plants, belated pinks, and seeding sweet-peas, +fought for life with the early fall frosts. +Landers looked steadily down at the sorry +little garden. Like everything else he had seen +that night, it told its pathetic tale of things that +had been but would be no more.</p> +<p>As he looked, a multitude of homely blossoms +that he had plucked in the past flowered +anew in his memory. The mild faces of violets +and pansies, the gaudy blotches of phlox, stood +out like nature. He could almost smell the +heavy odor of mignonette. A mist gathered +over his eyes, and again, as at the good-bye of +a moment ago, the lump rose chokingly in his +throat.</p> +<p>He turned away from the tiny, damaged bed +to send a searching look around the garden.</p> +<p>“Faith!” he called gently.</p> +<p>“Faith!”––louder.</p> +<p>A soft little sound caught his ear from the +grass-plot at the border. He started swiftly +toward it, but stopped half-way, for the sound +was repeated, and this time came distinctly––a +bitter, half-choked sob. With a motion of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +weariness and of pain the man passed his hand +over his eyes, then walked on firmly, his footsteps +muffled in the short grass.</p> +<p>A dainty little figure in the plainest of calico, +lay curled up on the sod beneath the big maple. +Her face was buried in both arms; her whole +body trembled, as she struggled hard against +the great sobs.</p> +<p>“Faith––” interrupted the man softly, +“Faith––”</p> +<p>The sobs became more violent.</p> +<p>“Go away, Guy,” pleaded a tearful, muffled +voice between the breaks. “Please go +away, please––”</p> +<p>The man knelt swiftly down on the grass; +irresistibly his arm spread over the dainty, +trembling, little woman. Then as suddenly he +drew back with a face white as moonlight, and +a sound in his throat that was almost a groan.</p> +<p>He knelt a moment so, then touched her +shoulder gently––as he would have touched +earth’s most sacred thing.</p> +<p>“Faith––” he repeated uncertainly.</p> +<p>The girl buried her head more deeply.</p> +<p>“I won’t, I tell you,” she cried chokingly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +“I won’t––” she could say no more. There +were no words in her meagre vocabulary to +voice her bitterness of heart.</p> +<p>The man got to his feet almost roughly, face +and hands set like a lock. He stood a second +looking passionately down at her.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Faith,” he said, and his trembling +voice was the gentlest of caresses. He +started swiftly away down the path.</p> +<p>The girl listened a moment to the retreating +steps, then raised a tear-stained face above her +arms.</p> +<p>“Guy!” she called chokingly, “Guy!”</p> +<p>The man quickened his steps at the sound, +but did not turn.</p> +<p>The girl sprang to her feet.</p> +<p>“Oh, Guy! Guy!” pleadingly, desperately. +“Guy!”</p> +<p>The man had reached the open. With a +motion that was almost insane, he clapped his +hands over his ears, and ran blindly down the +dusty path until he was tired, then dropped +hopelessly by the roadside.</p> +<p>Overhead the big cottonwoods whispered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +softly in the starlight, and a solitary catbird +sang its lonely night song.</p> +<p>The man flung his arms around the big, +friendly tree, and sobbed wildly––as the girl +had sobbed.</p> +<p>“Oh, Faith!” he groaned.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p>A month had passed by, bringing to Guy +Landers a new Heaven and a new earth. Already +the prosy old university town had begun +to assume an atmosphere of home. The well-clipped +campus, with its huge oaks and its +limestone walks, had taken on the familiar +possessive plural “our campus,” and the solitary +red squirrel which sported fearlessly in its +midst had likewise become “our squirrel.” The +imposing, dignified college buildings had +ceased to elicit open-mouthed observance, and +among the student-body surnames had yielded +precedence to Christian names––oftener, +though, to some outlandish sobriquet which +satirized an idiosyncrasy of temperament or outward +aspect. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>Meantime the farmer had learned many +things. Prominent among these was a conception +of the preponderant amount he had yet +to learn. Another matter of illumination involved +the relation of clothes to man. He had +been reared in the delusion that the person who +gave thought to that which he wore, must necessarily +think of nothing else. Very confusing, +therefore, was the experience of having representatives +of this same class immeasurably outdistance +him in the quiz room.</p> +<p>Again, on the athletic field he saw men of +much lighter weight excel him in a way that +made his face burn with a redness not of physical +exertion. It was a wholesome lesson that he +was learning––that there are everywhere scores +of others, equally or better fitted by Nature for +the struggle of life than oneself, and who can +only be surpassed by the indomitable application +and determination that wins all things.</p> +<p>Landers’ nature though was that of the born +combatant. The class that laughed openly at +his first tremblingly bashful, and ludicrously +inapt answer at quiz, was indelibly photographed +upon his memory. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>“Before this session is complete––” he challenged +softly to himself, and glared at those +members nearest him in a way that made them +suddenly forget the humor of the situation.</p> +<p>But youth is ever tractable, and even this +short time had accomplished much. Already +the warm, contagious, college comradeship possessed +him. Violent attacks of homesickness +that made gray the brightest fall days, like +the callous spots on his palms, were becoming +more rare. The old existence was already a +dream, as yet a little sad, but none the less a +thing without a substance. The new life was +a warm, magnetic reality; the future glowed +bright with limitless promise.</p> +<p>“The first day of the second month,” remarked +Landers, meeting a fellow-classman +on the way to college hall one morning.</p> +<p>“Yes, an auspicious time to quit––this,” +completed the student with a suggestive shuffle +of his feet. “We’ve furnished our share of +amusement.”</p> +<p>Landers looked up questioningly.</p> +<p>“Is that from the class president?” he asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the other, “hadn’t you +heard? No more dancing, ‘his nibs’ says.”</p> +<p>They had reached the entrance to the big +college building, and at that moment a great +roar of voices sounded from out the second-floor +windows. Simultaneously the two freshmen +quickened their pace.</p> +<p>“The fun’s on,” commented Landers’ informant +excitedly, as together they broke for +the lecture-room, two stairs at the jump.</p> +<p>The large department amphitheatre opened +up like a fan––the handle in the centre of the +building on the entrance floor, the spread edge, +nearly a complete half-circle, marked by the +boundary walls of the building, a full story +higher. The intervening space, at an inclination +of thirty odd degrees, was a field of +seats, cut into three equal parts by two aisles +that ran from the entrance, divergently upward. +The small space at the entrance––popularly +dubbed “the pit”––was professordom’s +own particular region. From this point, by an +unwritten law, the classes ranged themselves +according to the length of their university life; +the seniors at the extreme apex of the angle, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +other classes respectively above, leaving the +freshmen far beyond in space.</p> +<p>As guardians of the two narrow aisles, the +seniors dealt lightly with juniors and “sophs,” +but demanded insatiable toll of every freshman +before he was allowed to ascend.</p> +<p>That a first-year man must dance was irrevocable. +It had the authority of precedent in +uncounted graduate classes. To be sure, it was +neither required nor expected that all applicants +be masters of the art; but, agitate his feet in +some manner, every able-bodied male member +must, or remain forever a freshman.</p> +<p>When Landers and his companion arrived at +the top of the stairs they found the hall packed +close with fellow-classmates. The lower rows +of seats were already filled with triumphant +seniors, waiting for the throng that crowded +pit and lobby to come within their reach. With +regular tapping of feet and clapping of hands +in unison, the class as one man beat the steady +time of one who marches.</p> +<p>“Dance, freshies!” they repeated monotonously. +“Dance!”</p> +<p>“Clear the pit for a rush,” yelled the president +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +of the besieging freshmen, elbowing his +way back into the mass.</p> +<p>A lull fell upon the room, as both sides gathered +themselves together.</p> +<p>“Now––all at once!” yelled the president, +and pandemonium broke loose.</p> +<p>“Rush ’em! Shove, behind there!” shrieked +the struggling freshmen at the front.</p> +<p>“Dance, freshies! Dance!” challenged the +seniors, as they locked arms across the narrow +aisle.</p> +<p>“Hold ’em, fellows! Hold ’em!” encouraged +the men of the upper seats, bracing +themselves against the broad backs below.</p> +<p>The classes met like water against a wall. To +go up was impossible; advantage of gravity and +of position was all with the seniors. For an +instant, at the centre, there were frantic yelling +and pulling of loose wearing apparel; then, +packed like cotton in a bale, they could only +scream for mercy.</p> +<p>“Loosen up, back there! Back!” they +panted, squirming impotently as they gasped +for breath.</p> +<p>Slowly the reaction came amid the triumphant, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +“Dance, freshies!” of the conquering +hosts.</p> +<p>The jam loosened; the seniors’ opportunity +came. Like a big machine, the occupants of +the front row leaned forward, and seized upon +a circle of unsuspecting, retreating freshmen, +among the number the class president.</p> +<p>“Pass ’em up! Pass ’em up!” insisted the +men above, reaching out eager hands to aid; +and with an irresistibility that seemed miraculous, +the squirming, kicking, struggling freshmen +found themselves rolling upward––head +foremost, feet foremost, position unclassified––over +the heads of the upper classmen; bumping +against seats, and scattering the contents of +their pockets loosely along the way.</p> +<p>“Up with them,” repeated the denizens of +the front row as they reached forward for a +fresh supply.</p> +<p>But there was no more material available; the +besieging party had retreated. On the top row +the dishevelled president was confusedly pulling +himself together, and grinning sheepishly. +The rebellion was over.</p> +<p>“Dance, freshies,” resumed the seniors mockingly; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +and once more the regular tap of feet and +clapping of hands beat slow march-time.</p> +<p>One by one the freshmen came forward, and, +shuffling a few steps to the encouraging “well +done” of the seniors, mounted the steps between +the rows of laughing upper classmen.</p> +<p>It happened that Landers came last. He +wore heavy shoes and walked with an undeniable +clump.</p> +<p>“He’s Dutch, make him clog,” called a man +from an upper row.</p> +<p>The class caught the cry. “Clog! Clog!” +they commanded.</p> +<p>A big fellow next the aisle made an addition. +“Clog there, hayseed,” he grumbled.</p> +<p>Landers stopped as though the words were +a blow. That one word “hayseed” with all that +it meant to him––to be thrown at him now, +tauntingly, before the whole class! His face +grew white beneath the remaining coat of tan, +and he stepped up to the big senior with a +swiftness of which no one would have suspected +him capable.</p> +<p>“Take that back!” he blazed into the man’s +face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>The senior hesitated; the room grew breathlessly +quiet.</p> +<p>“Take it back, I say!”</p> +<p>The big fellow tried to laugh, but his voice +only grated.</p> +<p>“Damned if I will––hayseed,” he retorted +with a meaning pause and accent.</p> +<p>Before the words were out of his mouth +Landers had the man by the collar, and they +were fighting like cats.</p> +<p>For a time things in that pit were very confused +and very noisy. Both students were big +and both were furiously angry. By rule they +would have been very evenly matched, but in a +rough-and-tumble scrimmage there was no comparison. +The classes made silent and neutral +spectators, as Landers swung the man around +in the narrow pit like a whirlwind, and finally +pushed him back into his seat.</p> +<p>“Now will you take it back!” he roared +breathlessly, vigorously shaking his victim.</p> +<p>The hot lust of battle was upon the farmer, +and he forgot that several hundred students +were watching his every motion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“Take it back,” he repeated, “or I’ll––” +and he lifted the man half out of the seat.</p> +<p>The senior seized both arms of the chair, and +looked up in a dazed sort of way.</p> +<p>“I––” he began weakly.</p> +<p>“Louder––” interrupted Landers.</p> +<p>“I––beg your pardon,” said the reluctant, +trembling voice.</p> +<p>That instant the amphitheatre went wild. +“Bravo!” yelled a hundred voices over the +clamor of cheering hands.</p> +<p>“Three cheers for the freshman!” shrilled a +voice over the tumult; and the “rah, rah, rah” +that followed made the skylight rattle.</p> +<p>Landers stepped back and looked up bewildered; +then a realization of the thing came to +him and his face burned as no sun could make +it burn, and his knees grew weak. He gladly +would have given all his present earthly belongings, +and all in prospect for the immediate +future for a kindly earth to open suddenly and +swallow him. Perspiration stood out on his +face as he went slowly up the stairs, at every +step a row of friendly hands grasping him in +congratulation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Slowly the room became quiet. The whole +confusion had not taken up even the time of +grace at the beginning of the hour; and a great +burst of applause greeted the mild old dean as +he came absently in, as was his wont, at the tap +of the ten-minute bell. He looked up innocently +at the unusual greeting, and the cheer +was repeated with interest. As first in authority +he was supposed to report all such inter-class +offences; but in effect he invariably happened +to be conveniently absent at such times––the +times of the freshman rebellion. He began +lecturing now without a word of comment, and +on the instant the peaceful scratching of fountain +pens on notebooks replaced the clamors +of war.</p> +<p>The lecture was about half over when there +was a tap on the entrance door; and the white-haired +dean, answering, stepped out into the +hall. In a second he returned carrying a thin, +yellow envelope.</p> +<p>“A message for––,” he studied the writing +with near-sighted eyes, “––for Guy Landers,” +he announced slowly.</p> +<p>The message went up the incline, hand over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +hand toward the top row, and the boy who +waited felt the room growing gradually close +and dark. To him a telegram could mean but +one thing.</p> +<p>The class sat watching silently until they +saw him take the paper from his neighbor; then +in kindness they turned away at the look on +his face. In the pit below the mild old dean +began talking absently.</p> +<p>Landers tried to open the envelope, but his +nervous hands rebelled. He laid the broad +side firmly against his knee and tore open the +end raggedly, drawing out the inclosed sheet +with a trembling rustle that could be heard all +over the room.</p> +<p>The open page was before him; but the +letters only danced before his eyes. He spread +the paper as before, flat upon his knee, ere he +could read.</p> +<p>The one short line, the line of which every +word was as he expected, stood clear before +him. He felt now a vague sort of wonder that +the brief, picked sentences should have affected +him as they had. He had already known what +they told for so long––ever since his name was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +spoken at the door––ages ago. He looked +hesitatingly around the room. Several students +were scrutinizing him curiously, as though expecting +something. Oh, yes––that recalled +him. He must go––home. He hated to interrupt +the lecture, but he must. He got up +unsteadily, and started down the stair, groping +his way uncertainly, as a man walks in the +dark.</p> +<p>The kind old dean waited in silence until +Landers had passed hesitatingly through the +door; then followed him out into the hall. A +moment, and he returned, standing abstractedly +by the lecture table. He picked up his +scattered notes absently, shaking the ends even +with a painstaking hand; then as carefully +scattered them as before. He looked up at the +silent, waiting class, and those who were near +saw the tears sparkling in the mild old eyes.</p> +<p>“Landers’ father is dead,” came the simple, +hushed announcement.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p>The bright afternoon sun of late October +shone slantingly on the train of weathered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +wagons that stretched out like an uncoiling +spring from the group collected in front of +the little farm-house. From near and afar the +neighbors had gathered; and now, falling +slowly into line, they formed a chain a full +quarter-mile in length.</p> +<p>Guy Landers was glad that at last it was +over and they were out in the sunshine once +more. He turned into the carefully reserved +place at the head of the procession with almost +a sense of relief. He was tired, fiercely tired, +of the well-meant but insistent pity which +dogged him with a tenacity that drove him +desperate. They would not even allow him to +think.</p> +<p>He rode alone on the front seat of the open +wagon. Behind him, his mother and Jim sat +stiffly, hand in hand. They gazed dully at the +black thing ahead, and sobbed softly, now +singly, now together. Both––himself as well––were +dressed in complete black; old musty +black, gotten out of the dark, hurriedly, and +with the close smell of the closet still upon it. +Even the horses conformed to the sober shade. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +They had been supplied by a neighbor on +account of their sombre color.</p> +<p>A heavy black tassel swung back and forth +with the motion of the uneven road just ahead +of the horses’ heads, and Landers sat watching +it idly. He even caught himself counting the +vibrations, as though it were a pendulum, dividing +the beats into minutes. Very slow time +it was; but somehow it did not surprise him. +It all conformed so perfectly with the brown, +quiet prairie, and the sun shining, slanting and +sleepy.</p> +<p>The swinging tassel grew indistinct, and the +<i>patter</i>, <i>patter</i>, <i>patter</i> of the teams behind came +as from a distance. He closed his eyes, and the +events of the past two days drifted through +his mind. Already they seemed indistinct, as +a dream. He wondered dully that they could +be true and yet seem so foreign to his life, now. +He even began to doubt their verity, and opened +his eyes slowly, half expecting to see the cool, +green campus, and the big college buildings. +The slanting sunlight met him full in the face, +and the black pendant swung monotonously, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +from side to side, as before. He wearily closed +his eyes again.</p> +<p>Only two days since he had heard the taunting +“Dance, freshy!” of the seniors, and felt +the mighty rush of the freshman hosts; since +the “rah, rah, rah, Landers!” had shook the +old amphitheatre and the dozens of welcoming +hands had greeted him; and then––the darkness––the +hesitating leave-taking of the building, +and the lingering walk across the deserted +campus toward his room––the walk he knew so +well he would take no more. A brief time of +waiting––a blank––and then the bitter, thumping +ride across two States toward his home, +when he could only think, and think, and try +to adjust himself––and fail; and at last the +end. And again, at the little station, when he +felt the touch of his mother’s hand, and heard +her choking “Guy, my boy––” that spoke so +much of love and of trust; when he heard his +own voice answering cheerily, with a firmness +which surprised him even then, speaking that +which all through the long ride he had known +he must speak––but could not: “It’s all right, +mother; don’t worry; I’ll not leave you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +again!”––it all came back to him now, and +he lived it over again and again.</p> +<p>The big, black tassel danced tantalizingly +in front of him. Yes, he had said that he would +never leave again. He dully repeated the words +now to himself: “never again.” It was so fitting; +quite in accordance with the rest of the +black pageant. His dream of life, his new-felt +ambitions––all were dead, dead, like his father +before him, where the black plume nodded.</p> +<p>They passed up through the little town and +the shop-keepers came out to look. Some were +in their shirt sleeves; the butcher had his white +apron tucked up around his belt. They gathered +together in twos and groups, nodding toward +the procession, their lips moving as in pantomime. +One man walked out to the crossing, +counting aloud as the teams went by. “One, +two, three, four, five, six––” he intoned. To +him it was all a thing to amuse, like a circus +parade,––interesting in proportion to its +length.</p> +<p>Landers looked almost curiously at the stolid +shopmen. It required no flush of inspiration +to tell him that but a few years of this life were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +necessary to make him as impassive as they. +He who had sworn to make the world move +would be contentedly sitting on an empty goods +box, diligently numbering a passing procession!</p> +<p>The biting humor of the thought appealed +to him. He smiled grimly to himself.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p>Once more on an early evening, a man turned +out from a weather-stained prairie farm-house, +through the frosted grass, arriving presently +at the dusty public road. As before, he walked +slowly along between the tall cottonwoods; but +not, as on a memorable former occasion, because +it would be for the last time. He was +tired, tired with that absolute abandon of youth +that sees no hope in the future, and has no +philosophy to support it. Only thirty odd days +since he went that way before! That many +years would not add more to his life in the +future.</p> +<p>Unconsciously he searched along the way for +the landmarks he had watched with so much +interest the past summer. He found the nest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +where the quail had reared their brood, empty +now, and covered thick with the scattered dust +of passing teams. Forgetful that he was weary +he climbed well up the bole of a shaggy old +friend, to peep in at the opening of a deserted +woodpecker’s home. He came to the big tree +at whose roots, on that other night he remembered +so well, he had thrown himself hopelessly. +With a stolid sort of curiosity he looked +down at the spot. Yes, there was the place. A +few fallen leaves were scattered upon the earth +where his body had pressed tightly against the +tree-trunk, and there were the hollows where +his clenched hands had found hold. A dull +rebellion crept over him as he looked. It had +been needless to torture him so!</p> +<p>He came in sight of the familiar little farm-house +and turned in slowly at the break between +the trees. It was growing dark now, but the +odor of tobacco was on the air, and looking +closely, he could catch the gleam from a glowing +pipe-bowl in the doorway. He passed his +hand across his brow, almost doubting––it was +all so like––before––</p> +<p>A light step came tapping quickly down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +pathway toward him. “Guy!” a voice called +softly. “Guy, is that you?”</p> +<p>The voice was quite near him now, and he +stopped short, a big maple above him.</p> +<p>“Yes, Faith.”</p> +<p>She came up close, peering into the shadow.</p> +<p>“Guy––” she repeated, “Guy, where are +you?”</p> +<p>He reached out and clasped her hand; then +again, and took both hands. Her breath came +quickly. Slowly his arm slipped about her +waist, she struggling a little against her own +will; then her head fell forward on his breast, +and he could feel her whole body tremble.</p> +<p>The man looked out through the rifts in the +half-naked trees; into the sky, clear and sparkling +beyond; on his face an expression of +sadness, of joy, of abandon––all blended indescribably.</p> +<p>Two soft arms crept gently about his neck, +and a mass of fluffy hair caressed his face.</p> +<p>“Oh! Guy! Guy!” sobbed the girl, “it’s +wicked, I know, but I’m so glad––so glad––”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +<a name='THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE' id='THE_DOMINANT_IMPULSE'></a> +<h2>THE DOMINANT IMPULSE</h2> +</div> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>Calmar Bye was a writer. That is +to say, writing was his vocation and his +recreation as well.</p> +<p>As yet, unfortunately, he had been unable +to find publishers; but for that deficiency no +reasonable person could hold him responsible. +He had tried them all––and repeatedly. A +certain expressman now smiled when he saw +the long, slim figure approaching with a package +under his arm, which from frequent reappearances +had become easily recognizable; but +as a person becomes accustomed to a physical +deformity, Calmar Bye had ceased to notice +banter.</p> +<p>Of but one thing in his life he was positively +certain; and that was if Nature had fashioned +him for any purpose in particular, it was to do +the very thing he was doing now. The reason for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +this certainty was that he could do nothing else +with even moderate satisfaction. He had tried, +frequently, to break away, and had even succeeded +for a month at a time in an endeavor +to avoid writing a word; but inevitably there +came a relapse and a more desperate debauch +in literature. Try as he might he could not +avoid the temptation. An incident, a trifle out +of the ordinary in his commonplace life, a +sudden thrill at the reading of another man’s +story, a night of insomnia, and resolution was +in tatters, and shortly thereafter Calmar Bye’s +pencil would be coursing with redoubled vigor +over a sheet of virgin paper.</p> +<p>To be sure, Calmar did other things besides +write. Being a normal man with a normal appetite, +he could not successfully evade the +demands of animal existence, and when his +finances became unbearably low, he would proceed +to their improvement by whatever means +came first to hand. Book-keeping, clerical +work, stenography––anything was grist for his +mill at such times, and for a period he would +work without rest. No better assistant could +be found anywhere––until he had satisfied his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +few creditors and established a small surplus +of his own. Then, presto, change!––and on the +surface reappeared Bye, the long, slender, +blue-eyed, dreaming, dawdling, irresponsible +writer.</p> +<p>Being what he was, the tenor of Calmar’s +life was markedly uneven. At times the lust +to write, the spirit of inspiration, as he would +have explained to himself in the privacy of his +own study, would come upon him strong, and +for hours or days life would be a joyous thing, +his fellow-men dear brothers of a happy family, +the obvious unhappiness and injustice about +him not reality, but mere comedy being enacted +for his particular delectation.</p> +<p>Then at last, his work finished, would +come inevitable reaction. The product of his +hand and brain, completed, seemed inadequate +and commonplace. He would smile grimly as +with dogged persistence he started this latest +child of his fancy out along the trail so thickly +bestrewn with the skeletons of elder offspring. +In measure, as badinage had previously passed +him harmlessly by, it now cut deeply. No one +in the entire town thought him a more complete +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +failure than he considered himself. Skies, from +being sunny, grew suddenly sodden; not a tenement +or alley but thrust obtrusively forward +its tale of misery.</p> +<p>“Think of me,” he confided to his friend +Bob Wilson one evening as during his transit +through a particularly dismal slough of despond +they in company were busily engaged in blazing +the trail with empty bottles; “One such as I, +a man of thirty and of good health, without a +dollar or the prospect of a dollar, an income or +the prospect of an income, a home or the prospect +of a home, following a cold scent like the +one I am now on!” He snapped his finger +against the rim of his thin drinking glass until +it rang merrily.</p> +<p>“The idea, again, of a man such as I, untravelled, +penniless, self-educated, thinking to +compete with others who journey the world +over to secure material, and who have spent a +fortune in preparation for this particular +work.” He excitedly drained the contents of +the glass.</p> +<p>“It’s preposterous, childlike!”––he brought +the frail trifle down to the table with an emphasis +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +which was all but its destruction––“imbecile! +I tell you I’m going to quit.</p> +<p>“Quit for good,” he repeated at the expression +on the other’s face.</p> +<p>Bob Wilson scrutinized his companion with +a critical eye.</p> +<p>“Waiter,” he said, speaking over his shoulder, +“waiter, kindly tax our credit further to +the extent of a couple of Havanas.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sah,” acknowledged the waiter.</p> +<p>Silence fell; but Bob’s observation of his +friend continued.</p> +<p>“So you are going to quit the fight?” he +commented at last.</p> +<p>“I am,”––decidedly.</p> +<p>Wilson lit his cigar.</p> +<p>“You have completed that latest––production +on which you were engaged, I suppose?”</p> +<p>The writer scratched a match.</p> +<p>“This afternoon.”</p> +<p>“And sent it on?”</p> +<p>A nod. “Yes, on to the furnace room.”</p> +<p>A smile which approached a grin formed +over Bob’s big face.</p> +<p>“You have hope of its acceptance, I trust?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>Calmar Bye blew a cloud of smoke far +toward the ceiling, and the smile, a shade grim, +was reflected.</p> +<p>“More than hope,” laconically. “I have +certainty at last.”</p> +<p>Another pause followed and slowly the smile +vanished from the faces of both.</p> +<p>“Bob,” and the long Calmar straightened +in his chair, “I’ve been an ass. It’s all apparent, +too apparent, now. I’ve tried to compete +with the entire world, and I’m too small. +It’s enough for me to work against local competition.” +He meditatively flicked the ash +from his cigar with his little finger.</p> +<p>“I realize that a lot of my friends––women +friends particularly––will say they always +knew I had no determination, wouldn’t stay +in the game until I won. They’re all alike in +this one particular, Bob; all sticklers for the +big lower jaw.</p> +<p>“But I don’t care. I’ve been shooting into +a covey of publishers for twelve years and never +have touched a feather. Perseverance is a good +quality, but there is such a thing as insanity.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +He stared unconsciously at the portieres of the +booth.</p> +<p>“Once and for all, I tell you I’m through,” +he repeated.</p> +<p>“What are you going at?” queried Bob, +sympathetically, a shade quizzically.</p> +<p>The long Calmar reached into his pocket with +deliberation.</p> +<p>“Read that.” He tossed a letter across the +tiny table.</p> +<p>Bob poised the epistle in his hand gingerly.</p> +<p>“South Dakota,” he commented, as he observed +the postmark. “Humph, I can’t make +out the town.”</p> +<p>“It’s not a town at all, only a postoffice. +Immaterial anyway,” explained Calmar, irritably.</p> +<p>The round-faced man unfolded the letter +slowly and read aloud:––</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“<span class='smcap'>My Dear Sir</span>:––</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“Your request, coming from a stranger, is +rather unusual; but if you really mean business, +I will say this: Provided you’re willing +to take hold and stay right with me, I’ll take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +you in and at the end of a half-year pay $75.00 +per month. You can then put into the common +fund whatever part of your savings you wish +and have a proportionate interest in the herd. +Permit me to observe, however, that you will +find your surroundings somewhat different +from those amid which you are living at present, +and I should advise you to consider carefully +before you make the change.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 2.34375em;'>“Very truly yours,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'>“<span class='smcap'>E. J. Douglass.</span>”</span><br /></p> +<p>Bob slowly folded the sheet, and tossed it +back.</p> +<p>“In what particular portion of that desert, +if I may ask, does your new employer reside?” +There was uncertainty in the speaker’s voice, +as of one who spoke of India or the islands of +the Pacific. “Likewise––pardon my ignorance––is +that herd he mentions––buffalo?”</p> +<p>Calmar imperturbably returned the letter to +his pocket.</p> +<p>“I’m serious, Robert. Douglass is a cattle +man west of the river.”</p> +<p>“The river!” apostrophized Bob. “The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +man juggles with mysteries. What river, +pray?”</p> +<p>“The Missouri, of course. Didn’t you ever +study geography?”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” in humble apology. +“Is that,” vaguely, “what they call the Bad +Lands?”</p> +<p>Bye looked across at his friend, of a mind to +be indignant; then his good-nature triumphed.</p> +<p>“No, it’s not so bad as that,” with a feeble +attempt at a pun. He paused to light a cigar, +and absent-minded as usual, continued in digression.</p> +<p>“I’ve dangled long enough, old man; too +long. I’m going to do something now. I start +to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Bob Wilson the skeptic, looked at his friend +again critically. Resolutions of reconstruction +he had heard before––and later watched +their downfall; but this time somehow there +was a new element introduced. Perhaps, after +all––</p> +<p>“Waiter,” he called, “we’ll trifle with another +quart of extra-dry, if you please.”</p> +<p>“To your success,” he added to his companion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +across the table, when the waiter had +returned from his mission.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>A year passed around, as years have a +way of doing, and found Calmar Bye, the +city man, metamorphosed indeed. Bronzed, +bearded, corduroy-clothed, cigarette-smoking,––for +cigars fifty miles from a railroad are a +curiosity,––as the seasons are dissimilar, so +was he unlike his former inconsequent self. +In his every action now was a directness +and a purpose of which he had not even a +conception in his former existence.</p> +<p>Very, very thin upon us all is the veneer of +civilization; very, very swift is the reversion +to the primitive when opportunity presents. +Only twelve short months and this man, end +product of civilization, doer of nothing practical, +dreamer of dreams and recorder of fancies, +had become a positive force, a contributor +to the world’s food supply, a producer of meat. +What a satire, in a period of time of which +the shifting seasons could be counted upon one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +hand, to have vibrated from manuscript to beef, +and for the change to be seemingly unalterable!</p> +<p>To be sure there had been a struggle; a +period of travail while readjustment was being +established; a desperate sense of homesickness +at first view of the undulating, grass-covered, +horizon-bounded prairies; an insatiable need +of the shops, the theatres, the telephones, the +<i>cafés</i>, the newspapers, all of which previously +had constituted everything that made life worth +living. But these emotions had passed away. +What evolvement of civilization could equal +the beauty of a dew-scented, sun-sparkling +prairie morning, or the grandeur of a soundless, +star-dotted prairie night, wherein the very limitlessness +of things, their immensity, was a never +ending source of wonder? Verily, all changes +and conditions of life have their compensations.</p> +<p>Calmar Bye, the one time listless, had +learned many things in this unheard-of world.</p> +<p>First of all, most insistent of all, he was impressed +with the overwhelming predominance +of the physical over the mental. Later, in practical +knowledge, he grew inured to the “feel” +of a native bucking broncho and the sound of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +mocking, human laughter after a stunning fall; +in direct evolution, the method of throwing a +steer and the odor of burnt hair and hide which +followed the puff of smoke where the branding +iron touched ceased to be cruel.</p> +<p>Last of all, highest evolvement of all, came +the absorption of revolver-lore under the instruction +of experts who made but pastime of +picking a jack-rabbit in its flight, or bringing a +kite, soaring high in air, tumbling precipitate +to earth. A wild life it was and a rough, but +fascinating nevertheless in its demonstration of +the overwhelming superiority of man, the animal, +in nerve and endurance over every other +live thing on earth.</p> +<p>At the end of the year, with the hand of +winter again pressed firmly upon the land, it +seemed time could do no more; that the adaptation +of the exotic to his new surroundings was +complete. Already the past life seemed a +thing interesting but aloof from reality, like +the fantastic exploits of a hero of fiction, and +the present, the insistently active, vital present, +the sole consideration of importance.</p> +<p>In the appreciation of the stoic indifference +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +of the then West it was a slight incident which +overthrew. One cowboy, “Slim” Rawley, had +a particularly vicious broncho, which none but +he had ever been able to control, and which in +consequence, he prized as the apple of his eye. +During his temporary absence from the ranch +one day a <i>confrère</i>, “Stiff” Warwick, had, in +a spirit of bravado, roped the “devil” and +instituted a contest of wills. The pony was +stubborn, the man likewise, and a battle royal +followed. As a buzzard scents carrion, other +cowboys anticipated sport, and a group soon +gathered. Ere minutes had passed the blood +of the belligerents was up, and they were battling +as for life, with a dogged determination +which would have lasted upon the part of either, +the man or the beast, until death. Rough +scenes and inhuman, Bye had witnessed until +<i>blasé</i>; but nothing before like this. The man +used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a fiend. +The pony, panting, quivering, bucking, struggling, +covered with foam and streaming with +blood, shrilled with the impotent anger of a +demon. Even the impassive cowboy spectators +from chaffing lapsed into silence. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>Of a sudden, loping easily over the frost-bound +prairie and following the winding trail +of a cowpath, appeared the approaching figure +of a horse and rider. It came on steadily, clear +to the gathered group, and stopped. An instant +and the newcomer understood the scene +and a curse sprang to his lips. Another instant +and his own mustang was spurred in close by +the strugglers. His right hand raised in air +and bearing a heavy quirt, descended; not +upon the broncho, but far across the cursing, +devilish face of the man, its rider. Then +swift as thought and simultaneously as twin +machines, the hands of the intruder and of the +struggling “buster” went to their hips.</p> +<p>The spectators held their breaths; not one +stirred. Before them they saw the hands +which had gone to hips flash up and forward +like pistons from companion cylinders, and +they saw two puffs of smoke like escaping +steam.</p> +<p>Smoothly, as a scene in a rehearsed play, +the reports mingled, the riders, scarcely ten +feet apart, tottered in their saddles, and slowly, +unconsciously resistant even in death, the two +bodies slipped to earth.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-074.jpg' alt='' title='' width='417' height='618' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +They saw the hands which had gone to hips flash up and forward<br /> +like pistons, and two puffs of smoke like escaping steam.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>But there the unison ended. The mustang +which “Slim” Rawley rode stood still in its +tracks; but before the spectators could rush +in, the “devil” broncho, relieved of the hand +upon the curb, sprang away, and with the +“buster’s” foot caught fast in the stirrup ran +squealing, kicking, crazy mad out over the +prairie, dragging by its side the limp figure of +its unseated enemy.</p> +<p>Calmar Bye watched the whole spectacle as +in a dream. So swift had been the action, so +fantastic the denouement, that he could not at +first reconcile it all with reality. He went +slowly over to the prostrate “Slim” Rawley, +whom the others had laid out decently upon the +ground, half expecting him to leap up and +laugh in their faces; but the already stiffening +figure with the fiendish scowl upon its face, was +convincing.</p> +<p>Besides,––gods, the indifference of these +men to death! The party of onlookers were +already separating––one division, mounted, +starting in pursuit of the escaping broncho, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +along the narrow trail made by the dragged +man; the others impassively reconnoitring for +spades and shovels, were stolidly awaiting the +breaking of the lock of frost-bound earth at +the hands of a big, red-shirted cowboy with a +pick!</p> +<p>“Here, Bye,” suggested one toiler, “you’re +an eddicated man; say a prayer er something, +can’t ye, before we plant old ‘Slim.’ He wa’nt +sech a bad sort.”</p> +<p>The tenderfoot complied, and said something––he +never knew just what––as the dry clods +thumped dully upon the huddled figure in the +old gunny sack. What he said must have been +good, for those present resisted with difficulty +a disposition to applaud.</p> +<p>This labor complete, the cowboys scattered, +miles apart, each to his division of the herd, +which for better range had been distributed +over a wide territory. Bye was in charge of the +home bunch, and sat long after the others had +left, upon the new-formed mound in the ranch +dooryard.</p> +<p>Far over the broad, rolling prairies, as yet +bare and frost-bound, the sun shone brightly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +A half-mile away he could see his own herd +scattered and grazing. The stillness after the +sudden excitement was almost unbelievable. +Minutes passed by which dragged into an hour. +Over the face of the sun a faint haze began to +form and, unnoticeable to one not prairie-trained, +the air took on a sympathetic feel, +almost of dampness. A native would have +sensed a warning; but Calmar Bye, one time +writer, paid no heed. An instinct of his life, +one he had thought suppressed, a necessity imperative +as hunger, was gathering upon him +strongly––the overwhelming instinct to portray +the unusual.</p> +<p>Under its guidance, as in a maze, he made his +way into the rough, unplastered shanty. Automatically +he found a pencil and collected some +scraps of coarse wrapping paper. Already the +opening words of the tale he had to tell were in +his mind, and sitting down by the greasy pine-board +table, he began to write.</p> +<p>Hours passed. Over the sun the haze thickened. +The whole sky grew sodden, the earth a +corresponding grayish hue. Now and anon +puffs of wind, like sudden breaths, stirred the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +dull air, and the short buffalo grass trembled +in anticipation. The puffs increased until their +direction became definite, and at last here and +there big, irregular feathers of snow drifted +languidly to earth.</p> +<p>Within the shanty the man wrote unceasingly. +Many fragments he covered and deposited, +an irregular heap, at his right hand. +At his left an adolescent mound of cigarette +stumps grew steadily larger. A cloud of tobacco +smoke over his head, driven here and +there by vagrant currents of air, gathered +denser and denser.</p> +<p>As the light failed, the writer unconsciously +moved the rough table nearer and nearer the +window until, blocked, it could go no farther. +To one less preoccupied the grating over the +uneven floor would have been startling. Once +just outside the door the waiting pony neighed +warningly––and again. Upon the ledge beneath +the window-pane a tiny mound of snowflakes +began to take form; around the shanty +the rising wind mourned dismally.</p> +<p>The light failed by degrees, until the paper +was scarcely visible, and, brought to consciousness, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +the man rose to light a lamp. One look +about and he passed his hand over his forehead, +absently. Striding to the door, he flung it wide +open.</p> +<p>“Hell!” he muttered in complex apostrophe.</p> +<p>To put on hat and top-coat was the act of a +moment. To release the tethered pony the work +of another; then swift as a great brown shadow, +out across the whitening prairie to the spot he +remembered last to have seen the herd, the delinquent +urged the willing broncho––only to +find emptiness; not even the suggestion of a +trail.</p> +<p>Back and forth, through miles and miles of +country, in semi-circles ever widening, through +a storm ever increasing and with daylight +steadily diminishing, Calmar Bye searched +doggedly for the departed herd; searched until +at last even he, ignorant of the supreme terrors +of a South Dakota blizzard, dared not remain +out longer.</p> +<p>That he found his way back to the ranch yard +was almost a miracle. As it was, groping at +last in utter darkness, blinded by a sleet which +cut like dull knives, and buffeted by a wind like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +a hurricane, more dead than alive he stumbled +upon the home shanty and opening the door +drew the weary broncho in after him. Man and +beast were brothers on such a night.</p> +<p>Of the hours which followed, of moaning +wind and drifting sleet, nature kindly gave him +oblivion. Dead tired, he slept. And morning, +crisp, smiling, cloudless, was about him when +he awoke.</p> +<p>Rising, and scarcely stopping for a lunch, +the man again sallied forth upon his search, +wading through drifts blown almost firm +enough to bear the pony’s weight and alternate +spots wind-swept bare as a floor; while all about, +gorgeous as multiple rainbows, flashed mocking +bright the shifting sparkle from innumerable +frost crystals.</p> +<p>All the morning he searched, farther and +farther away, until the country grew rougher +and he was full ten miles from home. At last, +stopping upon a small hill to reconnoitre, the +searcher heard far in the distance a sound +he recognized and which sent his cheek pale––the +faint dying wail of a wounded steer. It +came from a deep draw between two low hills, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +one cut into a steep ravine by converged floods +and hidden by the tall surrounding weeds. Bye +knew the place well and the significance of the +sound he heard. In a cattle country, after a +sudden blizzard, it could have but one meaning, +and that the terror of all time to animals wild +or domestic––the end of a stampede.</p> +<p>Only too soon thereafter the searcher found +his herd. Upon the brow of a hill overlooking +the ravine he stopped. Below him, bellowing, +groaning, struggling, wounded, dying, and +dead––a great mass of heavy bodies, mixed +indiscriminately––bruised, broken, segmented, +blood-covered, horrible, lay the observer’s +trust, the wealth of his employer, his own hope +of regeneration, worse now than worthless +carrion. And the cause of it all, the sole excuse +for this delinquency, lay back there upon +a greasy table in the shanty––a short scrawling +tale scribbled upon a handful of scrap +paper!</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>“Yes, I’m back, Bob.”</p> +<p>The tall, thin Calmar Bye leaned back in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +chair and looked listlessly about the familiar +<i>café</i>, without a suggestion of emotion. It +seemed to him hardly credible that he had been +away from it all for a year and more. Nothing +was changed. Across the room the same +mirrors repeated the reflections he had observed +so many times before. Nearby were the same +booths and from within them came the same +laughter and chatter and suppressed song. Opposite +the tiny table the same man with the +broad, good-natured face was making critical, +smiling observation, as of yore. As ever, the +look recalled the visionary to the present.</p> +<p>“Back for good, Bob,” he repeated slowly.</p> +<p>The speaker’s attitude was far from being +that of a conquering hero returned; the sympathies +of the easy-going Robert, ever responsive, +were roused.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, old man?” he queried +tentatively. “Weren’t you a success as a +broncho-buster?”</p> +<p>“A success!” Calmar Bye stroked a long, +thin face with a long, thin hand. “A success!” +he repeated. “I couldn’t have been a worse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +failure, Bob.” He paused a moment, smoothing +the table-cloth absently with his finger tips.</p> +<p>“Success!” once more, bitterly. “I’m not +even a mediocre at anything unless it is at what +I’m doing now, dangling and helping spend +the money some one else has worked all day to +earn.” He looked his astonished friend fair in +the eyes.</p> +<p>“You don’t know what an idiot, a worse +than idiot, I’ve made of myself,” and he began +the story of the past year.</p> +<p>Monotonously, unemotionally he told the +tale, omitting nothing, adding nothing; while +about him the sounds of the restaurant, the +tinkling of glassware, the ring of silver, the +familiar muffled pop of extracted corks, played +a soft accompaniment. Occasionally Bob +would make a comment or ask explanation of +something to him entirely new; but that was all +until near the end,––where the delinquent +herder, coming swiftly to the brow of the hill, +looked down upon the scene in the ravine below. +Then Bob, the care-free, the pleasure-seeking, +raised a hand in swift protest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p> +<p>“Don’t describe it, please, old man,” he requested. +“I’d rather not hear.”</p> +<p>The speaker’s voice ceased; over his thin features +fell the light of a queer little half-smile +which, instead of declaring itself, only provoked +Bob Wilson’s curiosity. In the silence +Bye, with a hand unaccustomed to the exercise, +made the familiar gesture that brought one of +the busy attendants to his side.</p> +<p>“And the story you wrote––?” suggested +Wilson while they waited.</p> +<p>For answer Calmar Bye drew an envelope +from his pocket and tossed it across the table +to his friend. Wilson first noted that it bore +the return address of one of the country’s foremost +magazines; he then unfolded the letter +and read aloud:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“<span class='smcap'>Dear Mr. Bye</span>:––</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“The receipt of your two stories, ‘Storm +and Stampede’ and ‘The Lonely Grave,’ has +settled a troublesome question for us, namely: +What has become of Mr. Calmar Bye?</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“No doubt you will recall that our criticisms +of the material which you have submitted from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +time to time in the past, were directed chiefly +against faults arising out of your unfamiliarity +with your subjects. The present manuscripts +bear the best testimony that you have been +gathering your material at first hand. We +have the feeling, as we read, that every sentence +flows straight from the heart.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“Now we want just such vivid, gripping, +red-blooded cross-sections of life as these, your +two latest accomplishments; in fact, we can’t +get enough of them. Therefore, instead of +making you a cash offer for these two stories, +we suggest that you first call at our office at +your earliest convenience. If agreeable, we +should like to arrange for a series of Western +stories and articles, the evolving of which should +keep you engaged for some time to come.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.78125em;'>“Cordially,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'>“––––”</span><br /></p> +<p>The hands of the two friends clasped across +the table. No word disturbed the silence until +the forgotten waiter broke in impatiently:</p> +<p>“Yo’ o’der, sahs?”</p> +<p>“Champagne”––this time it was Calmar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +Bye who gave it––“a quart. And be lively +about it, too.”</p> +<p>“Well, well!” Bob Wilson’s admiration +burst forth. “It is worth a whole herd of +steers.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES' id='THE_STUFF_OF_HEROES'></a> +<h2>THE STUFF OF HEROES</h2> +</div> +<p>Springtime on the prairies of South +Dakota. It is early morning, the sun is +not yet up, but all is light and even and soft +and all-surrounding, so that there are no +shadows. In every direction the gently rolling +country is dotted brown and white from the +incomplete melting of winter’s snows. In the +low places tiny streams of snow-water, melted +yesterday, sing low under the lattice-work +blanket the frost has built in the night. Nearby +and in the distance prairie-chickens are calling, +lonely, uncertain. Wild ducks in confused +masses, mere specks in the distance, follow low +over the winding curves of the river. High +overhead, flocks of geese in regular black +wedges, and brant, are flying northward, and +the breezy sound of flapping wings and of +voices calling, mingle in the sweetest of all +music to those who know the prairies––Nature’s +morning song of springtime. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p> +<p>“What a country! Look there!” The big +man in the front seat of the rough, low wagon +pointed east where the sun rose slowly from +the lap of the prairie. The other men cleared +their throats as if to speak, but said nothing.</p> +<p>“And I’ve lived sixty years without knowing,” +continued the first voice, musingly.</p> +<p>“I’ve never been West before, either,” admitted +De Young, simply.</p> +<p>They drove on, the trickling of snow-water +sounding around the wagon wheels.</p> +<p>The third man, Clark, pointed back in the +direction they had come.</p> +<p>“Did any one back there inquire what we +were doing?” he asked.</p> +<p>“A fellow ‘lowed,’ with a rising inflection, +that we were hunting ducks,” said De Young. +“I temporized; made him forget that I hadn’t +answered. You know what will happen once +the curiosity of the natives is aroused.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t approached,” Morris joined in, +without turning. The corners of the big man’s +mouth twitched, as the suggested picture +formed swiftly in his mind.</p> +<p>After a pause, De Young spoke again. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></p> +<p>“I gave the postmaster a specially good tip +to see that we got our mail out promptly.”</p> +<p>“So did I,” Clark admitted.</p> +<p>The face of the serious man lighted; and, +their eyes meeting, the three friends smiled all +together.</p> +<p>The sun rose higher, without a breath of +wind from over the prairies, and one after another +the men removed their top-coats. The +horses’ hoofs splashed at each step in slush +and running water, sending drops against the +dashboard with a sound like rain.</p> +<p>The trail which they were following could +now scarcely be seen, except at intervals on +higher ground, where hoof-prints and the +tracks of wheels were scored in the soft mud, +and with each mile these marks grew deeper +and broader as the partly frozen earth +softened.</p> +<p>The air of solemnity which had hung about +the men for days, and which lifted from time +to time only temporarily, now silenced them +again. Indeed, had there been anybody +present to observe, he doubtless would have +been impressed most of all with the unwonted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +soberness of the wagon’s occupants, a gravity +strangely at variance with the rampant, fecund +season.</p> +<p>And the object of their journeying into this +unknown world was in all truth a matter for +silence rather than speech; its influence was +toward deep and earnest meditation, to which +the joyous, awakening world could do no more +than chant in a minor key a melancholy accompaniment. +Never did a soldier advancing +upon a breach in the enemy’s breastworks +more certainly confront the grinning face of +Death, than did this trio in their progress +across the singing prairie; but where the +plaudits of the world spelled glory for the +one, the three in the wagon knew that for +them Death meant oblivion, extinction, a +blotting out that must needs be utter and +inevitable.</p> +<p>The thoughts of each dwelt upon some aspect +of two scenes which had happened only +a brief fortnight previously. There had been +a notable convention of physicians in a city +many miles to the east. One delegate, a man +young, slender, firm of jaw, his face shining +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +with zeal and the spirit which courts self-immolation, +had addressed the body. His +speech had made a profound impression––after +its first effect of sensation had subsided––upon +the hundreds gathered there, who +hearkened amazedly; but of those hundreds +only two had been moved to lay aside the tools +of their calling and follow him.</p> +<p>And whither was he leading them? Into +the Outer Darkness, each firmly believed. +For them the future was spelled <i>nihil</i>; for +the world, salvation––perhaps.</p> +<p>The inspired voice still rang in memory.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen, I repeat, it is a challenge.... +The flag of the enemy is hung up +boldly, flauntingly, in every public place.... +Are we to permit this? Are we to +sit idle and acknowledge ourselves beaten in +the great struggle against Death? No, no, no! +The Nation––yea, the whole civilized world––shrinks +and shudders in terror before the sound +of one dread word––<i>tuberculosis</i>!</p> +<p>“Our professional honor––our personal +honor as well, gentlemen––is at stake. A +solemn charge is laid upon us.... We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +must die if need be; but we must conquer this +monstrous scourge, which is the single cause of +more than one death in every ten.”</p> +<p>And then, the deep silence which had +marked the closing words:</p> +<p>“Gentlemen, I can cure consumption,” came +the simple declaration. “If there are those +among you who value Science more than gain; +who are willing to dare with me, willing to pay +the extreme price, if necessary––if there are +any such among you, and I believe there are, +meet with me in my rooms this evening.”</p> +<p>To the eight who accepted that invitation, +Dr. De Young disclosed the details of his Great +Experiment. It included, among many other +things which no one but a physician can appreciate, +the lending of their bodies to the Experiment’s +exemplification. Of the eight, two had +agreed to follow him to the end. Each of the +three had placed his house in order, and here +they were, nearing that end, whatever it was +to be.</p> +<p>An hour passed, and now ahead in the distance +a rough shanty came into view. It was +the only house in sight, and the three men knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +it was to be theirs. In silence they drew up +where the men were unpacking their goods.</p> +<p>“Good morning for ducks––saw a big flock +of mallards back here in a pond,” observed the +man who took their team.</p> +<p>The three doctors alighted without answering, +and watching them, the man stroked a +stubby red whisker in meditation.</p> +<p>“Lord, they’re a frost!” he commented.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Night had come, and the stars shone early +from a sky yet light and warm. In the low +places the waters sang louder than before, with +the increase of a day’s thawing. Looking away, +the white spots were smaller and the brown +patches larger; otherwise, all was the same, the +prairie of yesterday, of to-day, and to-morrow.</p> +<p>Tired with a day of settling, the three men +stood in the doorway and for the first time +viewed the country at night. They were not +talkers at best, and now the immensity of the +broad prairies held them silent. The daily +struggle of life, the activity and rivalry and +ambition which before to-night had seemed so +great to these city-bred men, here alone with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +Nature and Nature’s God, where none other +might see, assumed their true worth. The +tangled web of life loosened and many foreign +things caught and held therein, fell out. Man, +introspecting, saw himself at his real worth, and +was not proud.</p> +<p>The absolute quiet, so unusual, made them +wakeful, and though tired, they sat long in the +doorway, smoking, thinking. Small talk +seemed to them profanation, and of that +which was uppermost in each man’s mind, +none cared first to speak. A subtle understanding, +called telepathy, was making of their +several minds a thing united.</p> +<p>“No, not to-night, it’s too beautiful,” said +De Young at length, and the protesting voice +sounded to his own ears as that of a stranger.</p> +<p>The men started at the sound, and the glowing +tips of three cigars described partial arcs in +the half light as they turned each to each. No +one answered. They were face to face with +fundamentals at last.</p> +<p>Minutes, an hour, passed. The cigars burned +out, and as the pleasant odor of tobacco died +away, there came the chill night air of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +prairie. The two older men rose stiffly, and +with a low good-night, stumbled into the darkness +of the shanty.</p> +<p>De Young sat alone in the doorway. He +realized that it was the supreme hour of his life. +In his mind, memory of past and hope of future +met on the battlefield of the present, and meeting, +mingled in chaos. Thoughts came crowding +upon each other thick––the thoughts which +come to few more than once in life, to multitudes, +never; the thoughts which writers in every +language, during all time, have sought words to +express, and in vain.</p> +<p>Everywhere the snow-streams sang lower and +lower. A fog, dense, penetrating, born of early +morning, wrapped all things about, uniting and +at the same time setting apart. Shivering, he +shut the door on the night and the damp, and as +by instinct crept into bed. Listening in the +darkness, the sound of the sleepers soothed him. +Happier thoughts came, thoughts which made +his heart beat more swiftly and his eyes grow +tender; for he was yet young, and love untold +ever dwelleth near heaven. Thus he fell asleep +with a smile. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>“Choose, please. We’ll take our turns in the +order of length,” said De Young, holding up +the ends of three paper strips. Each man drew, +and in the silence that followed, without a word +Morris turned away, preparing swiftly for the +operation.</p> +<p>“Give me chloroform,” he said, stretching +himself horizontally,––adding as the others +bent over him, “Inoculate deep, please. Let’s +not waste time.”</p> +<p>Swiftly, with the precision of absolute knowledge, +the two physicians did their work. A mist +was over their eyes, so that all the room looked +dim, as to old men; and hands which had not +known a tremor for years, shook as they emptied +the contents of the little syringe, teeming with +tiny, unseen, living rods. Clark’s forehead was +damp with a perspiration that physical pain +could not have brought, and on De Young’s +face, time marked those minutes as months.</p> +<p>It was all done with the habit of years. The +two doctors carefully sterilized their instruments +and replaced them in cases, then, silently, +drawn nearer together than ever before, the +two friends watched the return of consciousness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +And Morris awakening, things real and of +dreamland still confused to his senses, heard the +soft voice which a legion of patients had thus +heard and blessed, saying cheerily, “Wake up! +wake up, my friend!”</p> +<p>Thus the day passed. In turn, the men, hours +apart, with active brains, and eyes wide open, +sent their challenges to Death––each man his +own messenger.</p> +<p>The months slipped by. Suns became torrid +hot, and cooled until it seemed there was light +but not heat on earth. Days grew longer, and +in unison, earth waxed greener; then in descending +scale, both together waned. Migratory +wings fluttering at night, and passing voices +calling in the darkness––most lonely sounds of +earth––gave place to singers of the day. The +robin, the meadow-lark, the ubiquitous catbird, +all born of prairie and of summer, came and +went. Blackbirds in countless flocks followed. +Again the calling of prairie-chickens was heard +at eve and morning, and anon frost glistened in +the air.</p> +<p>At last throughout the land no sound of +animal voice was heard, for winter bound all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +things firm and white. Another cycle was complete; +yet, almost ere the record could be made, +there appeared, moving far in the distance, a +black triangle. Passing swiftly, with the sound +of wings and calling voices, there sprang anew +in all things animate a mixed feeling of gladness +and unrest, which was the spirit of returned +spring.</p> +<p>Thus twice the cycle of the seasons passed, +and again the sun of early spring, shining +bright, set the tiny snow-streams singing. It +glistened over the prairie on snow-drift and +frost; it lit up the few scattered shingled roofs +of settlers newly come; and shone in at the +open door of a rough cabin we know, touching +without pity the faces of the two men who +watched its rise. Shining low, even with the +prairie, it touched in vivid contrast an oblong +mound of fresh earth, heaped up target distance +from the cabin door.</p> +<p>The mound had not been there long; neither +snow or rain had yet touched it; it was still +strange to the men in the doorway, who saw it +vividly now, at time of sunrise. Though thus +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +early, each man sat idly smoking, an open book +reversed on the knee.</p> +<p>De Young first broke the silence.</p> +<p>“We must do something, or else decide to do +nothing about Clark’s mail.” He shifted in his +seat, looking away from the open door.</p> +<p>“I don’t know––whether––it would be +kinder to tell them or not.”</p> +<p>A coughing fit shook Morris, and answering, +a twitch as of pain tightened the corners of his +companion’s eyes. Minutes passed, and Morris +sat limply in his chair, before he answered,</p> +<p>“I thought at first we’d better write; now it +seems different. Let’s wait until we go back.”</p> +<p>Neither of the men looked at the other. They +seldom did now; it was useless pain. Filled with +the incomparable optimism of the consumptive, +neither man realized his own condition, but +marked the days of his friend. Morris, unbelieving, +spoke of his friend’s return; yet, growing +weaker each day himself, spoke in all hope +and conviction of his future work, recording +each day his mode of successful treatment, despite +interruptions of coughing which left him +breathless and trembling for minutes. De +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +Young saw, and in pity marvelled; yet, seeing, +and as a physician knowing, he not for a moment +applied the gauge to himself.</p> +<p>Nature, in sportive mood, commands the +Angel of Death, who with matchless legerdemain, +keeps the mirror of illusion, unsuspected, +before the consumptive’s eyes; and, seeing, in +derision the satirist smiles.</p> +<p>Unavoidably acting parts, the two friends +found a barrier of artificiality separating them, +making each happier when alone. Thus day +after day, monotonous, unchanging, went by. +Not another person entered their door. From +the little town a man at periods brought provisions +and their mail, but the house was acquiring +an uncanny reputation. They were +not understood, and such are ever foreign. +With the passage of time and the coming of +the mound in the dooryard, the feeling had +developed into positive fear, and travellers +avoided the place as though warned by a scarlet +placard.</p> +<p>Morris grew weaker daily. At last the disillusionment +that precedes death came to him. +The artificial slipped from both men and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +nearness like that of brothers, joined them. +They spoke not of the future but of the past. +Years slipped aside and left them back in the +midst of active, brain-satisfying practice. Over +again they performed operations, where life +and death were separated but by a hair’s +width. Again, with eyes that brightened and +breath that came more quickly, they lived their +successes, and hand in hand, as children in the +dark, told of their failures, and the tale was +long, for they were but men.</p> +<p>The end came quietly. A hemorrhage, a +big spot of blood on the cover, a firm hand +pressure, and Morris’s parting words,</p> +<p>“Save my notes.”</p> +<p>That night De Young knew no sleep. “I +must finish the work,” he said, in lame excuse. +Well he knew there could be no rest for him +that night. He did his task thoroughly, making +record of things that had passed, with the precision +of a physician who knows a patient but +as material.</p> +<p>A tramp, who, unknowing, had taken shelter +in an outbuilding, waking in the night, saw the +light. Moved by curiosity, he crawled up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +softly in the darkness, and peeped in at the +window. In the half light he saw on the bed +a thin, white face motionless in the expression +which even he knew was death; and at the +table, writing rapidly with manuscript all +about, a man whose eyes shone with the brilliancy +of disease, and with a face as pale as the +face on the pillow. In the blank, unreasoning +terror of superstition, he fled until Nature rebelled +and would carry him no farther. Next +day to all he saw, he told the tale of supernatural +things which lingers yet around a +prairie ruin, in whose dooryard are mounds +built of man.</p> +<p>The mail carrier calling next day saw a man +with spots of scarlet heightening the contrast +of a face pale as death, digging in the dooryard. +The man worked slowly, for he coughed +often and must rest. In kindness the carrier +offered help, but was refused with words that +brought to the listener’s eyes a moisture unknown +since boyhood, and the thought of which +in days that followed, kept him silent concerning +what he had seen.</p> +<p>Summer, with the breath of warm life and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +the odor of growing things; with days made +dreamy and thoughtful by the purring of the +soft wind and the droning of insects; and nights +when all was good; with stars above and crickets +singing below––summer had come and was +passing.</p> +<p>De Young could no longer deceive himself. +The personal faith that had upheld him so long––when +friends had failed––could fight the +inevitable no longer. With eyes wide open, +he saw at last clearly, and, seeing, realized the +end. He cared not for death; he was too strong +for that; but it must needs be that, now, with +the shadow of defeat lying dark over the future, +the problem of motive, the great “why,” +should come uppermost in his mind demanding +an answer.</p> +<p>Once before, at the time when other men +read from their lives, he caught glimpses of +something beyond. Now again the mood returned, +and he knew why he was as he was; +that with him love was, and had been, stronger +than Science and all else beside. He knew that +whatever he might have done, the entering +into his life of The Woman, and the knowledge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +that followed her coming, had inspired the +supreme motive that thenceforth drove him forward. +With this realization came a new life, +a happier and a sadder life, in which all things +underwent readjustment.</p> +<p>Regret came as sadness, regret that he had +not told this woman all; that in his blind confidence +he had not written, but had waited––waited +for this. He would wait no longer. He +would tell her now. A thousand new thoughts +came to his mind; a thousand new feelings +surged over him as a flood, and he poured them +out on paper. The man himself, not the physician, +was unfolded for the first time in his life, +and the writing of that letter which told all, +his life, his love, that ended with a good-bye +which was forever, was the sweetest labor of +his life. He sealed the letter and sat for hours +looking at it, dreaming.</p> +<p>It was summer and the nights were short, +so that with the writing and the dreams, morning +had come. He could scarce wait that day +for the carrier; time to him had become suddenly +a thing most precious; and when at last +the man appeared. De Young twice exacted the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +promise that the letter should be mailed special +delivery.</p> +<p>The reaction was on and all the world was +dark. Fool that he was, two years had passed +since he had heard from her. She also was a +consumptive; might not––?</p> +<p>The very thought was torture; perspiration +started at every pore, and with the little +strength that was left he paced up and down +the room like a caged animal. A fit of coughing, +such as he had never known before, seized +him, and he dropped full length upon the bed.</p> +<p>The limit was reached; he slept.</p> +<p>As he had worked one night before to forget, +so he spent the following days. It was the +end, and he knew it; but he no longer cared. +His future was centred on one event––the +coming of a letter. Beyond that all was +shadow, and he cared not to explore. He +worked all that Nature would allow, carrying +to completion his observations, admitting his +mistake with a candor which now caused no +personal pain. He spent much time at his +journal, writing needless things: his actions, +his very thoughts,––things which could not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +have been wrung from him before; but he was +lonely and desperate. He must not think––’t +was madness. So he wrote and wrote and +wrote.</p> +<p>He watched for the carrier all the daylight +hours. His mail was light, and the coming infrequent. +There had been time for an answer, +and the watcher could no longer compose himself +to write. All day he sat in the doorway, +looking across the two mounds, down the road +whence the carrier would come.</p> +<p>And at last he came. Far down the road +toward town one morning a familiar moving +figure grew distinct. De Young watched as +though fascinated. He wanted to shout, to +laugh, to cry. With an effort that sent his +finger nails deep into his palms, he kept quiet, +waiting.</p> +<p>A letter was in the carrier’s hand. Struck +by the look on De Young’s face, the postman +did not turn, but stood near by watching. The +exile, once the immovable, seized the missive +feverishly, then paused to examine. It was a +man’s writing he held, and he winced as at a +blow, but with a hand that was nerved too +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +high to tremble, he tore open the envelope. He +read the few words, and read again; then in a +motion of weariness and hopelessness indescribable, +hands and paper dropped.</p> +<p>“My God! And she never knew,” he whispered.</p> +<p>When next the carrier came, he shaped the +third mound.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +<a name='ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS' id='ARCADIA_IN_AVERNUS'></a> +<h2>ARCADIA IN AVERNUS</h2> +</div> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>“<i>For they have sown the wind, and<br /> +they shall reap the whirlwind.</i>”<br /></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter I––Prelude</span></h3> +<p>Silence, the silence of double doors and +of padded walls was upon the private room +of the down-town office. Across the littered, +ink-stained desk a man and a woman faced +each other. Threads of gray lightened the hair +of each. Faint lines, delicate as pencillings, +marked the forehead of the woman and radiated +from the angles of her eyes. A deep fissure +unequally separated the brows of the man, +and on his shaven face another furrow added +firmness to the mouth. Their eyes met squarely, +without a motion from faces imperturbable in +middle age and knowledge of life.</p> +<p>The man broke silence slowly.</p> +<p>“You mean,” he hesitated, “what that would +seem to mean?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></p> +<p>“Why not?” A shade of resentment was +in the answering voice.</p> +<p>“But you’re a woman––”</p> +<p>“Well––”</p> +<p>“And married––”</p> +<p>The note of resentment became positive. +“What difference does that make?”</p> +<p>“It ought to.” The man spoke almost mechanically. +“You took oath before man and +higher than man––”</p> +<p>The woman interrupted him shortly.</p> +<p>“Another took oath with me and broke it.” +She leaned gracefully forward in the big chair +until their eyes met. “I’m no longer bound.”</p> +<p>“But I––”</p> +<p>“I love you!” she interjected.</p> +<p>The man’s eyebrows lifted.</p> +<p>“Love?” he inflected.</p> +<p>“Yes, love. What is love but good friendship––and +sex?”</p> +<p>The man was silent.</p> +<p>A strong white hand slid under the woman’s +chin and her elbow met the desk.</p> +<p>“I meant what you thought,” she completed +slowly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“But I cannot––”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“It destroys all my ideas of things. Your +promise to another––”</p> +<p>“I say he’s broken his promise to me.”</p> +<p>“But your being a woman––”</p> +<p>“Why do you expect more of me because +I’m a woman? Haven’t I feelings, rights, as +well as you who are a man?” She waited until +he looked up. “I ask you again, won’t you +come?”</p> +<p>The man arose and walked slowly back and +forth across the narrow room. At length he +stopped by her chair.</p> +<p>“I cannot.”</p> +<p>In swift motion his companion stood up +facing him.</p> +<p>“Don’t you wish to?” she challenged.</p> +<p>The hand of the man dropped in outward +motion of deprecation.</p> +<p>“The question is useless. I’m human.”</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t we do what pleases us, +then?” The voice was insistent. “What is +life for if not for pleasure?”</p> +<p>“Would it be pleasure, though? Wouldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +the future hold for us more of pain than of +pleasure?”</p> +<p>“No, never.” The words came with a slowness +that meant finality. “Why need to-morrow +or a year from now be different from +to-day unless we make it so?”</p> +<p>“But it would change unconsciously. We’d +think and hate ourselves.”</p> +<p>“For what reason? Isn’t it Nature that attracts +us to each other and can Nature be +wrong?”</p> +<p>“We can’t always depend upon Nature,” +commented the man absently.</p> +<p>“That’s an artificial argument, and you +know it.” A reprimand was in her voice. “If +you can’t depend upon Nature to tell you what +is right, what other authority can you consult?”</p> +<p>“But Nature has been perverted,” he evaded.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it possible your judgment instead is +at fault?”</p> +<p>“It can’t be at fault, here.” The voice was +neutral as before. “Something tells us both +it would be wrong––to do––as we want to do.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></p> +<p>Once more they sat down facing each other, +the desk between them as at first.</p> +<p>“Artificial convention, I tell you again.” +In motion graceful as nature the woman extended +her hand, palm upward, on the polished +desk top. “How could we be other than right? +What do we mean by right, anyway? Is there +any judge higher than our individual selves, +and don’t they tell us pleasure is the chief aim +of life and as such must be right?”</p> +<p>The muscles at the angle of the man’s jaw +tightened involuntarily.</p> +<p>“But pleasure is not the chief end of life.”</p> +<p>“What is, then?”</p> +<p>“Development––evolution.”</p> +<p>“Evolution to what?” she insisted.</p> +<p>“That we cannot answer as yet. Future +generations must and will give answer.”</p> +<p>“It’s for this then that you deny yourself?” +A shade almost of contempt was in the questioning +voice.</p> +<p>The taunt brought no change of expression +to the man’s face.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>The woman walked over to a bookcase, and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +drawing out a volume, turned the pages absently. +Without reading a word, she came +back and looked the man squarely in the face.</p> +<p>“Will denying yourself help the world to +evolve?”</p> +<p>“I think so.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“My determination makes me a positive +force. It is my Karma for good, that makes +my child stronger to do things.”</p> +<p>“But you have no child,”––swiftly.</p> +<p>Their eyes met again without faltering.</p> +<p>“I shall have––sometime.”</p> +<p>Silence fell upon them.</p> +<p>“Where were you a century ago?” digressed +the woman.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t born.”</p> +<p>“Where will your child be a hundred years +from now?”</p> +<p>“Dead likewise, probably; but the force for +good, the Karma of the life, will be passed on +and remain in the world.”</p> +<p>Unconsciously they both rose to their feet.</p> +<p>“Was man always on the earth?” she asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></p> +<p>The question was answered almost before +spoken.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Will he always be here?”</p> +<p>“Science says ‘no.’”</p> +<p>The woman came a step forward until they +almost touched.</p> +<p>“What then becomes of your life of denial?” +she challenged.</p> +<p>“You make it hard for me,” said the man, +simply.</p> +<p>“But am I not right?” She came toward +him passionately. “I come near you, and you +start.” She laid her hand on his. “I touch +you, and your eyes grow warm. Both our +hearts beat more quickly. Look at the sunshine! +It’s brighter when we’re so close together. +What of life? It’s soon gone––and +then? What of convention that says ‘no’? +It’s but a farce that gives the same thing we +ask––at the price of a few words of mummery. +Our strongest instincts of nature call for each +other. Why shouldn’t we obey them when +we wish?” She hesitated, and her voice became +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +tender. “We would be very happy together. +Won’t you come?”</p> +<p>The man broke away almost roughly.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know,” he demanded, “it’s madness +for us to be talking like this? We’ll be +taking it seriously, and then––”</p> +<p>The woman made a swift gesture of protest.</p> +<p>“Don’t. Let’s be honest––with each other, +at least. I’m tired of pretending to be other +than I am. Why did you say ‘being true to +my husband’? You know it’s mockery. Is it +being true to live with a man I hate because +man’s law demands it, rather than true to you +whom Nature’s law sanctions? Don’t speak to +me of society’s right and wrong! I despise it. +There is no other tribunal than Nature, and +Nature says ‘Come.’”</p> +<p>The man sat down slowly and dropped his +head wearily into his hands.</p> +<p>“I say again, I cannot. I respect you too +much. We’re intoxicated now being together. +In an hour, after we’re separate––”</p> +<p>She broke in on him passionately.</p> +<p>“Do you think a woman says what I have +said on the spur of the moment? Do you think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +I merely happened to see you to-day, merely +happened to say what I’ve said? You know +better. This has been coming for months. I +fought it hard at first; with convention, with +your idea of right and wrong. Now I laugh +at them both. Life is life, and short, and beyond +is darkness. Think what atoms we are; +and we struggle so hard. Our life that seems +to us so short––and so long! A thousand, +perhaps ten thousand such, end to end, and we +have the life of a world. And what is that? +A cycle! A thing self-created, self-destructive: +then of human life––nothingness. Oh, +it’s humorous! Our life, a ten thousandth +part of that nothingness; and so full of tiny––great +struggles and worries!” She was +silent a moment, her throat trembling, a multitude +of expressions shifting swiftly on her +face.</p> +<p>“Do you believe in God?” she questioned +suddenly.</p> +<p>“I hardly know. There must be––”</p> +<p>“Don’t you suppose, then, He’s laughing at +us now?” She hesitated again and then went +on, almost unconsciously. “I had a dream a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +few nights ago.” The voice was low and very +soft. “It seemed I was alone in a desert place, +and partial darkness was about me. I was +conscious only of listening and wondering, for +out of the shadow came sounds of human suffering. +I waited with my heart beating +strangely. Gradually the voices grew louder, +until I caught the meaning of occasional words +and distinctly saw coming toward me the figure +of a man and a woman bearing a great burden, +a load so great that both together bent beneath +the weight and sweat stood thick upon their +brows. The edges of the burden were very +sharp so that the hands of the man and the +woman bled from the wounds and their shoulders +were torn grievously where the load had +shifted: those of the woman more than the +man, for she bore more of the weight. I +marvelled at the sight.</p> +<p>“Suddenly an intense brightness fell about +me and I saw, near and afar, other figures each +bearing similar burdens. The light passed +away, and I drew near the man and questioned +him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>“‘What rough load is that you carry?’ I +asked.</p> +<p>“‘The burden of conventionality,’ answered +the man, wearily and with a note of surprise +in his voice.</p> +<p>“‘Why do you bear it needlessly?’ I remonstrated.</p> +<p>“‘We dare not drop it,’ said the woman, +hopelessly, ‘lest that light, which is the searchlight +of public opinion, return, showing us different +from the others.’</p> +<p>“Even as she spoke the illumination again +fell upon us, and by its brightness I saw a drop +of blood gather slowly from the wounds on the +woman’s hand and fall into the dust at her +feet.”</p> +<p>A silence fell upon the inmates of the tiny +muffled office.</p> +<p>“But the burden isn’t useless,” said the man, +gently. “The condemnation of society is an +hourly reality. From the patronage of others +we live. The sun burns us, but we submit, for +in return it gives life.”</p> +<p>The woman arose with an abrupt movement, +and looked down at him coldly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>“Are you a man, and use those arguments?” +An expression akin to contempt formed about +her mouth. “Are you afraid of a united voice +the individuals of which you despise?”</p> +<p>The first hint of restrained passion was in +the answering voice.</p> +<p>“You taunt me in safety, for you know I +love you.” He looked up at her unhesitatingly. +“Man’s law is artificial, that I know; but it’s +made for conditions which are artificial, and +for such it’s right. Were we as in the beginning, +Nature’s law, which beside the law of man +is no law, would be right; but we’re of the +world as it is now. Things are as they are, and +we must conform or pay the price.” He hesitated. +His face settled back into a mask. “And +that price of non-conformity is too high,” he +completed steadily.</p> +<p>The eyes of the woman blazed and her hands +tightened convulsively.</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re frozen––fossilized, man! I +called you man! You’re not a man at all, but +a nineteenth century machine! You’re run +like a motor, from a power house; by the force +of conventional thought, over wires of red +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +tape. Fie on you! I thought to meet a human +being, not a lifeless thing.” She looked at him +steadily, her chin in the air, a world of scorn +in her face. “Go on sweating beneath the useless +load! Go on building your structure of +artificiality that ends centuries from now in +nothingness! Here’s happiness to you in your +empty life of self-effacement, with your machine +prompted acts, years considered!” Without +looking at him, one hand made scornful +motion of dismissal. “Good-bye, ghost of man; +I wash my hands of you.”</p> +<p>“Wait, Eleanor!” The man sprang to his +feet, the mask lifting from his face, and there +stood revealed a multitude of emotions, unseen +of the world, that flashed from the depths of +his brown eyes and quivered in the angles of +his mouth. He came quickly over and took her +hand between his own.</p> +<p>“I’m proud of you,”––a world of tenderness +was in his voice––“unspeakably proud––for +I love you. I’ve done my best to keep us +apart, yet all the time I believed with you. +Nature is higher than man, and no power on +earth can prove it otherwise.” He looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +into the softest of brown eyes, and his voice +trembled. “Beside you the world is nothing. +Its approval or its condemnation are things to +be laughed at. With you I challenge +conventionality––society––everything.” He bent +over her hand almost reverently and touched +it softly with his lips.</p> +<p>“Farewell––until I come,” he said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter II––The Leap</span></h3> +<p>A man and a woman emerged from the +dilapidated day-car as it drew up before +the tiny, sanded station which marked the +terminus of the railway. The man was tall, +clean-shaven, quick of step and of glance. The +woman was likewise tall, well-gloved, and, +strange phenomenon at a country station, carried +no parcels.</p> +<p>Though easily the centre of attention, the +couple were far from being alone. On the +contrary, the car and platform fairly swarmed +with humanity. Men mostly composed the +throng that alighted––big, weather-stained +fellows in rough jeans and denims. In the +background, as spectators moved or lounged a +sprinkling of others: thinner, lighter, enveloped +in felt, woollen and buckskin, a fringe of heavy +hair peeping out at their backs beneath the +broad hat-brims. A few women were intermingled. +Coarsely gowned, sun-browned, they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +stood; themselves like suns, but each the centre +of a system of bleach-haired minor satellites. It +was into this heterogeneous mass that the tall +man elbowed his way, a neat grip in either hand; +the woman following closely in his wake, her +skirts carefully lifted.</p> +<p>Clear of the out-flowing stream the man put +down the satchels, and looked over the heads of +the motley crowd into the still more motley +street beyond. Two short rows of one-story +buildings, distinctive by the brightness of new +lumber on their sheltered side, bordered a narrow +street, half clogged by the teams of visiting +farmers. Not the faintest clue to a hostelry +was visible, and the eyes of the man wandered +back, interrupting by the way another pair of +eyes frankly inquisitive.</p> +<p>The curious one was short; by comparison +his face was still shorter, and round. From his +chin a tiny tuft of whiskers protruded, like the +handle of a gourd. Never was countenance +more unmistakably labelled good-humored, +Americanized German.</p> +<p>The eyes of the tall man stopped. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p> +<p>“Is there a hotel in this”––he groped for a +classification––“this city?” he asked.</p> +<p>A rattling sound, startlingly akin to the agitated +contents of over-ripe vegetables, came +from somewhere in the internal mechanism of +the small man. Inferentially, the inquiry was +amusing to the questioned, likewise the immediately +surrounding listeners who became suddenly +silent, gazing at the stranger with the +wonder of young calves.</p> +<p>At length the innate spirit of courtesy in the +German triumphed over his amusement.</p> +<p>“Hans Becher up by the postoffice takes +folks in.” The inward commotion showed indications +of resumption. “I never heard, +though, that he called his place a hotel!”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” and the circle of silence +widened.</p> +<p>The man and the woman walked up the +street. Beneath their feet the cottonwood sidewalk, +despite its newness, was warped in agony +under sun and storm. Big puddles of water +from a recent rain stood in the hollows of the +roadway, side by side with tufts of native +grasses fighting bravely for life against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +intruder––Man. A fresh, indescribable odor +was in their nostrils; an odor which puzzled +them then, but which later they learned to +recognize and never forgot––the pungent +scent of buffalo grass. A stillness, deeper than +of Sabbath, unbelievable to urban ears, wrapped +all things, and united with an absence of broken +sky line, to produce an all-pervading sense of +loneliness.</p> +<p>Hans Becher did not belie his name. He was +very German. Likewise the little woman who +courtesied at his side. Ditto the choice assortment +of inquisitive tow-heads, who stared wide-eyed +from various corners. He shook hands +at the door with each of his guests,––which +action also was unmistakably German.</p> +<p>“You would in my house––put up, you +call it?” he inquired in labored English, while +the little woman polished two speckless chairs +with her apron, and with instinctive photographic +art placed them stiffly side by side for +the visitors.</p> +<p>“Yes, we’d like to stay with you for a time,” +corroborated the tall man.</p> +<p>The little German ran his fingers uncertainly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +through his hair for a moment; then his round +face beamed.</p> +<p>“We should then become to each other +known. Is it not so?” Without pausing for +an answer, he put out a big hand to each in turn. +“I am Hans Becher, and this”––with elaborate +indications––”this my wife is––Minna.”</p> +<p>Minna courtesied dutifully, lower than before. +The little Bechers were not classified, +but their connection was apparent. They +calmly sucked their thumbs.</p> +<p>The lords of creation obviously held the rostrum. +It was the tall man who responded.</p> +<p>“My name is Maurice, Ichabod Maurice.” +He looked at the woman, his companion, from +the corner of his eye. “Allow me, Camilla, to +present Mr. Becher.” Then turning to his +hosts, “Camilla Maurice: Mr. and Mrs. +Becher.”</p> +<p>The tall lady shook hands with each.</p> +<p>“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and smiled +a moment into their eyes. Thus Camilla Maurice +made friends.</p> +<p>There were a few low-spoken words in German +and Minna vanished. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p> +<p>“She will dinner make ready,” Hans explained.</p> +<p>The visitors sat down in their chairs, with +Hans opposite studying them narrowly; singly +and together.</p> +<p>“The town is very new,” suggested Ichabod.</p> +<p>“One year ago it was not.” The German’s +short legs crossed each other nervously and +their owner seized the opportunity to make +further inspection. “It is very new,” he repeated +absently.</p> +<p>Camilla Maurice stood up.</p> +<p>“Might we wash, Mr. Becher?” she asked.</p> +<p>The ultimate predicament was all at once +staring the little man in the face.</p> +<p>“To be sure.... I might have known.... +You will a room––desire.” ... +He ran his fingers through his hair, and inspiration +came. “Mr. Maurice,” he motioned, +“might I a moment with you––speak?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Mr. Becher.”</p> +<p>The German saw light, and fairly beamed +as he sought the safe seclusion of the doorway.</p> +<p>“She is your sister or cousin––<i>nein</i>?” he +asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p> +<p>There was the faintest suggestion of a smile +in the corners of Ichabod’s mouth.</p> +<p>“No, she is neither my sister nor my cousin, +Mr. Becher.”</p> +<p>Hans heaved a sigh of relief: it had been a +close corner.</p> +<p>“She is your wife. One must know,” and +he mopped his brow.</p> +<p>“Certainly––one must know,” very soberly.</p> +<p>Alone together in the little unfinished room +under the rafters, the woman sat down on the +corner of the bed, physical discomfort forgotten +in feminine curiosity.</p> +<p>“Those names––where did you get them?” +she queried.</p> +<p>“They came to me––at the moment,” smiled +the man.</p> +<p>“But the cold-blooded horror of them!... +Ichabod!”</p> +<p>“The glory has departed.”</p> +<p>His companion started, and the smile left +the man’s face.</p> +<p>“And Camilla?”––slowly.</p> +<p>“Attendant at a sacrifice.”</p> +<p>Of a sudden the room became very still. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></p> +<p>Ichabod, exploring, discovered a tiny wash +basin and a bucket of water.</p> +<p>“You wished to wash, Camilla?”</p> +<p>The woman did not move.</p> +<p>“They were very kind”––she looked +through the window with the tiny panes: +“have we any right to––lie to them?”</p> +<p>“We have not lied.”</p> +<p>“Tacitly.”</p> +<p>“No. I’m Ichabod Maurice and you’re +Camilla Maurice. We have not lied.”</p> +<p>“But––”</p> +<p>“The past is dead, dead!”</p> +<p>The woman’s face dropped into her hands. +Woman ever weeps instinctively for the dead.</p> +<p>“You are sorry that it is––so?” There +was no bitterness in the man’s voice, but he did +not look at her, and Camilla misunderstood.</p> +<p>“Sorry!” She came close, and a soft warm +face pressed tightly against his face. “Sorry!” +Her arms were around him. “Sorry!” again +repeated. “No! No! No! No, without end! +I’m not sorry. I’m Camilla Maurice, the happiest +woman in the world!”</p> +<p>Later they utilized the tin basin and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +mirror with a crack across its centre. Dinner +was waiting when they went below.</p> +<p>To a casual observer, Hans had been very +idle while they were gone. He sat absently on +the doorstep, watching the grass that grew +almost visibly in the warm spring sun. Occasionally +he tapped his forehead with his finger +tips. It helped him to think, and just now he +sadly needed assistance.</p> +<p>“Who were these people, anyway?” he +wondered. Not farmers, certainly. Farmers +did not have hands that dented when you +pressed them, and farmers’ wives did not lift +their skirts daintily from behind. Hans had +been very observant as his visitors came up the +muddy street. No, that was not the way of +farmers’ wives: they took hold at the sides +with both hands, and splashed right through +on their heels.</p> +<p>Hans pulled the yellow tuft on his chin. +What could they be, then? Not summer +boarders. It was only early spring; and, besides, +although the little German was an +optimist, even he could not imagine any one +selecting a Dakota prairie for an outing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +Yet ... No, they could not be summer +boarders.</p> +<p>But what then? In his intensity Hans +actually forgot the grass and, unfailing producer +of inspiration, ran his fingers frantically +through his mane.</p> +<p>“Ah––at last––of course!” The round +face beamed and a hard hand smote a harder +knee, joyously. That he had not remembered +at once! It was the new banker, to be sure. He +would tell Minna, quite as a matter of fact, for +there could be no mistake. Hank Judge, the +machine agent, and Eli Stevens, the proprietor +of the corner store, had said only yesterday +there was to be a bank. Looking up the street +the little man spied a familiar figure, and +sprang to his feet as though released by a +spring, his hand already in the air. There was +Hank Judge, now, and he didn’t know––</p> +<p>“Dinner, Hans,” announced Minna at his +elbow.</p> +<p>Holding the child of his brain hard in both +hands lest it should escape prematurely, the +little German went inside to preside over a repast, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +the distinctively German incense of which +ascended most appetizingly.</p> +<p>Hans, junior, in a childish treble, spoke +an honest little German blessing, beginning +“<i>Mein Vater von Himmel</i>,” and emphasized by +the raps of Hans senior’s knuckles on certain +other small heads to keep their owners quiet.</p> +<p>“Fresh lettuce and radishes!” commented +Camilla, joyously.</p> +<p>“Raised in our own garden <i>hinein</i>,” bobbed +Minna, in ecstasy.</p> +<p>“And sauerkraut––” began Ichabod.</p> +<p>“From cabbages so large,” completed Hans, +spreading his arms to designate an imaginary +vegetable of heroic proportions.</p> +<p>“They must have grown very fast to be so +large in May,” commented Camilla.</p> +<p>Hans and Minna exchanged glances––pitying, +superior glances––such as we give behind +the backs of the infirm, or the very old; and the +subject of vegetables dropped.</p> +<p>“A great country for a bank, this,” commented +Mr. Becher, with infinite <i>finesse</i> and +between intermittent puffs at a hot potato.</p> +<p>“Is that so?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>Hans nodded violent confirmation, then +words, English words, being valuable to him, +he came quickly to the test.</p> +<p>“You will build for the bank yourself, is it +not so?”</p> +<p>It was not the German and Minna who exchanged +glances this time.</p> +<p>“No, I shall not build for the bank myself, +Mr. Becher.”</p> +<p>“You will rent, perhaps?” Hans’s faith +was beautiful.</p> +<p>“No, I shall not rent.”</p> +<p>The German’s face fell. To have wasted all +that thought; for after all it was not the banker!</p> +<p>Minna, senior, stared in surprise, and her attention +being diverted, Minna the younger +seized the opportunity to inundate herself with +a cup of hot coffee.</p> +<p>The spell was broken.</p> +<p>“I’m going to take a homestead,” explained +Ichabod.</p> +<p>Hans’s fork paused in mid-air and his mouth +forgot to close. At the point where the German +struck, the earth was very hard.</p> +<p>“So?” he interrogated, weakly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p>At this juncture the difference between the +two Minnas, which had been transferred from +the table to the kitchen, was resumed; and although +Ichabod ate the remaining kraut to the +last shred, and Camilla talked to Hans of the +<i>Vaterland</i> in his native German, each knew +the occasion was a failure. An ideal had been +raised, the ideal of a Napoleon of finance, a +banker; and that ideal materializing, lo there +stood forth a farmer! <i>Ach Gott von Himmel!</i></p> +<p>After dinner Hans stood in the doorway and +pointed out the land-office. Ichabod thanked +him, and under the impulse of habit felt in his +pocket for a cigar. None was there, and all at +once he remembered Ichabod Maurice did not +smoke. Strange he should have such an abominable +inclination to do so just then; but nevertheless +the fact remained. Ichabod Maurice +never had smoked.</p> +<p>He started up the street.</p> +<p>A small man, with very high boots and a very +long moustache, sat tipped back in the sun in +front of the land-office. He was telling a story; +a good one, judging from the attention of the +row of listeners. He grasped the chair tightly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +with his left hand while his right, holding a cob +pipe, gesticulated actively. The story halted +abruptly as Ichabod came up.</p> +<p>“Howdy!” greeted the little man.</p> +<p>Maurice nodded.</p> +<p>“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he temporized.</p> +<p>“Not at all,” courtesied the teller of stories, +as he led the way inside. “I’ve told that one +until I’m tired of it, anyway.” He tapped the +ashes from his pipe-bowl, meditatively. “A +fellow has to kill the time some way, though, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know,” acquiesced Ichabod.</p> +<p>The agent took a chair behind the battered +pine desk, and pointed to another opposite.</p> +<p>“Any way I can help you?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Maurice. “I’m thinking +of taking a homestead.”</p> +<p>The agent looked his visitor up and down and +back again; then, being native born, his surprise +broke forth in idiom.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m jiggered!” he avowed.</p> +<p>It was Ichabod’s turn to make observation.</p> +<p>“I believe you; you look it,” he corroborated +at length. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></p> +<p>Again the little man stared; and in the silence +following, a hungry-looking bird-dog thrust his +thin muzzle in at the door, and sniffed.</p> +<p>“Get out,” shouted the owner at the intruder, +adding in extenuation: “I’m busy.” He certainly +was “jiggered.”</p> +<p>Ichabod came to the rescue.</p> +<p>“I called to learn how one goes at it to take +a claim,” he explained. “The <i>modus operandi</i> +isn’t exactly clear in my mind.”</p> +<p>The agent braced up in his chair.</p> +<p>“I suppose you’ll say it’s none of my business,” +he commented, “but as a speculation +you’d do a lot better to buy up the claims of +poor cusses who have to relinquish, than to +settle yourself.”</p> +<p>“I’m not speculating. I expect to build a +house, and live here.”</p> +<p>“As a friend, then, let me tell you you’ll +never stand it.” A stubby thumb made motion +up the narrow street. “You see this town. I +won’t say what it is––you realize for yourself; +but bad as it is, it’s advanced civilization alongside +of the country. You’ll have to go ten miles +out to get any land that’s not taken.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +stopped and lit his pipe. “Do you know what +it means to live alone ten miles out on the +prairie?”</p> +<p>“I’ve never lived in the country.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, then, what it means.” He put +down his pipe and looked out at the open door. +His face changed; became softer, milder, +younger. His voice, when he spoke, added to +the impression of reminiscence, bearing an almost +forgotten tone of years ago.</p> +<p>“The prairie!” he apostrophized. “It +means the loneliest place on God’s earth. It +means that living there, in life you bury yourself, +your hopes, your ambitions. It means you +work ever to forget the past––and fail. It +means self, always; morning, noon, night; until +the very solitude becomes an incubus. It means +that in time you die, or, from being a man, become +as the cattle.” The speaker turned for +the first time to the tall man before him, his big +blue eyes wide open and round, his voice an +entreaty.</p> +<p>“Don’t move into it, man. It’s death and +worse than death to such as you! You’re too +old to begin. One must be born to the life; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +must never have known another. Don’t do it, +I say.”</p> +<p>Ichabod Maurice, listening, read in that appeal, +beneath the words, the wild, unsatisfied +tale of a disappointed human life.</p> +<p>“You are dissatisfied, lonesome––There +was a time years ago perhaps––”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.” The glow had passed and +the face was old again, and heavy. “I remember +nothing. I’m dead, dead.” He drew a +rough map from his pocket and spread it out +before him.</p> +<p>“If you’ll move close, please, I’ll show you +the open lands.”</p> +<p>For an hour he explained homesteads, preemptions +and tree claims, and the method of +filing and proving up. At parting, Ichabod +held out his hand.</p> +<p>“I thank you for your advice,” he said.</p> +<p>The man behind the desk puffed stolidly.</p> +<p>“But don’t intend to follow it,” he completed.</p> +<p>Instinctively, metaphor sprang to the lips of +Ichabod Maurice.</p> +<p>“A small speck of circumstance, which is +near, obliterates much that is in the distance.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +He turned toward the door. “I shall not be +alone.”</p> +<p>The little agent smoked on in silence for +some minutes, gazing motionless at the doorway +through which Ichabod had passed out. +Again the lean bird-dog thrust in an apologetic +head, dutifully awaiting recognition. At length +the man shook his pipe clean, and leaned back +in soliloquy.</p> +<p>“Man, woman, human nature; habit, solitude, +the prairie.” He spoke each word slowly, +and with a shake of his head. “He’s mad, mad; +but I pity him”––a pause––“for I know.”</p> +<p>The dog whined an interruption from the +doorway, and the man looked up.</p> +<p>“Come in, boy,” he said, in recognition. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter III––The Wonder of Prairie</span></h3> +<p>Ichabod and Camilla selected their +claim together. A fair day’s drive it was +from the little town; a half-mile from the +nearest neighbor, a Norwegian, without two-score +English words in his vocabulary. Level +it was, as the surface of a lake or the plane of +a railroad bed.</p> +<p>Together, too, they chose the spot for their +home. Camilla sobbed over the word; but she +was soon dry-eyed and smiling again. Afterwards, +side by side, they did much journeying +to and from the nearest sawmill––each trip +through a day and a night––thirty odd miles +away. The mill was a small, primitive affair, +almost lost in the straggling box-elders and soft +maples that bordered the muddy Missouri, producing, +amid noisy protestations, the most despisable +of all lumber on the face of the globe––twisting, +creeping, crawling cottonwood.</p> +<p>Having the material on the spot, Ichabod +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +built the house himself, after a plan never before +seen of man; joint product of his and +Camilla’s brains. It took a month to complete; +and in the meantime, each night they threw +their tired bodies on the brown earth, indifferent +to the thin canvas, which alone was spread +between them and the stars.</p> +<p>Too utterly weary for immediate sleep, they +listened to the sounds of animal life––wholly +unfamiliar to ears urban trained––as they stood +out distinct by contrast with a silence otherwise +absolute as the grave.</p> +<p>... The sharp bark of the coyote, near or +far away; soft as an echo, the gently cadenced +tremolo of the prairie owl. To these, the mere +opening numbers of the nightly concerts, the +two exotics would listen wonderingly; then, of a +sudden, typical, indescribable, lonely as death, +there would boom the cry which, as often +as it was repeated, recalled to Ichabod’s mind +the words of the little man in the land-office, +“loneliest sound on earth”––the sound which, +once heard, remains forever vivid––the night +call of the prairie rooster. Even now, new and +fascinating as it all was, at the last wailing cry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +the two occupants of the tent would reach out +in the darkness until their hands met. Not till +then would they sleep.</p> +<p>In May, they finished and moved their few +belongings into the odd little two-room house. +True to instinct, Ichabod had built a fireplace, +though looking in any direction until the earth +met the sky, not a tree was visible; and Camilla +had added a cozy reading corner, which soon +developed into a sleeping corner,––out-of-door +occupations in sun and wind being insurmountable +obstacles to mental effort.</p> +<p>But what matter! One straggling little folio, +the local newspaper, made its way into the +corner each week––and that was all. They had +cut themselves off from the world, deliberately, +irrevocably. It was but natural that they +should sleep. All dead things sleep!</p> +<p>Month after month slipped by, and the first +ripple of local excitement and curiosity born of +their advent subsided. Ichabod knew nothing +of farming, but to learn was simple. It needed +only that he watch what his neighbors were +doing, and proceed to do likewise. He learned +soon to hold a breaking-plough in the tough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +prairie sod, and to swear mightily when it +balked at an unusually tough root. As well, +he came to know the oily feel of flax as he scattered +it by hand over the brown breaking. Later +he learned the smell of buckwheat blossoms, and +the delicate green coloring of sod corn, greener +by contrast with its dark background.</p> +<p>Nor was Camilla idle. The dresses she had +brought with her, dainty creations of foreign +make, soon gave way to domestic productions +of gingham and print. In these, the long brown +hands neatly gloved, she struggled with a tiny +garden, becoming in ratio as passed the weeks, +warmer, browner, and healthier.</p> +<p>“Are you happy?” asked Ichabod, one day, +observing her thus amid the fruits of her hands.</p> +<p>Camilla hesitated. Catching her hand, +Ichabod lifted her chin so that their eyes met.</p> +<p>“Tell me, are you happy?” he repeated.</p> +<p>Another pause, though her eyes did not +falter.</p> +<p>“Happier than I ever thought to be.” She +touched his sleeve tenderly. “But not completely +so, for––” she was not looking at him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +now,––“for I love you, and––and––I’m a +woman.”</p> +<p>They said no more; and though Ichabod went +back to his team, it was not to work. For many +minutes he stood motionless, a new problem of +right and wrong throbbing in his brain.</p> +<p>Fall came slowly, bringing the drowsy, hazy +days of so-called Indian Summer. It was the +season of threshing, and all day long to the +drowse of the air was added, near and afar, all-pervading +through the stillness, the sleepy hum +of the separator. Typical voice of the prairie +was that busy drone, penetrating to the ears as +the ubiquitous odor of the buffalo grass to the +nostril, again bearing resemblance in that, once +heard, memory would reproduce the sound +until recollection was no more.</p> +<p>Winter followed, and they, who had thought +the earth quiet before, found it still now indeed. +Even the voice of the prairie-chicken was +hushed; only the sharp knife-like cutting of +spread wings told of a flock’s passage at night. +The level country, mottled white with occasional +drifts, and brown from spots blown bare +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +by the wind, stretched out seemingly interminable, +until the line of earth and sky met.</p> +<p>Idle perforce, the two exotics would stand for +hours in the sunshine of their open doorway, +shading their eyes from the glare and looking +out, out into the distance that was as yet only a +name––and that the borrowed name of an +Indian tribe.</p> +<p>“What a country!” Camilla would say, +struck each time anew with a never-ending +wonder.</p> +<p>“Yes, what a country,” Ichabod would echo, +unconscious that he had repeated the same +words in the same way a score of times before.</p> +<p>In January, a blizzard settled upon them, and +for two days and nights they took turns keeping +the big kitchen stove red hot. The West knows +no such storms, now. Man has not only changed +the face of the earth, but, in so doing, has annihilated +that terror of the past––the Dakota +blizzard.</p> +<p>In those days, though, it was very real, as +Ichabod learned. He had prepared for winter, +by hauling a huge pile of cordwood and stacking +it, as a protection to windward, the full length +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +of the little cabin, thinking the spot always accessible; +but he had builded in ignorance.</p> +<p>The snow first commenced falling in the +afternoon. By the next morning the tiny house +was buried to the window sashes. Looking out, +there could be seen but an indistinct slanting +white wall, scarcely ten feet away: a screen +through which the sunlight filtered dimly, like +the solemn haze of a church. The earth was not +silent, now. The falling of the sleet and snow +was as the striking of fine shot, and the sound +of the wind a steady unceasing moan, resembling +the sigh of a big dynamo at a distance.</p> +<p>Slowly, inch by inch, during that day the +snow crept up the window panes until, before +the coming of darkness without, it fell within. +Banked though they were on three sides, on the +fourth side, unprotected, the cold penetrated +bitterly,––a cold no living thing could withstand +without shelter. Then it was that +Ichabod and Camilla feared to sleep, and +that the long vigil began.</p> +<p>By the next morning there was no light from +the windows. The snow had drifted level with +the eaves. Ichabod stood in the narrow window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +frame, and, lowering the glass from the top, +beat a hole upward with a pole to admit air. +Through the tunnel thus formed there filtered +the dull gray light of day: and at its end, obstructing, +there stood revealed a slanting drab +wall,––a condensed milky way.</p> +<p>The storm was yet on, and he closed the +window. To get outside for fuel that day was +impossible, so with an axe Ichabod chopped a +hole through the wall into the big pile, and on +wood thus secured sawed steadily in the tiny +kitchen, while the kerosene lamp at his side +sputtered, and the fire crackled in a silence, like +that surrounding a hunted animal in its den.</p> +<p>Many usual events had occurred in the lives +of the wandering Ichabod and Camilla, which +had been forgotten; but the memory of that +day, the overwhelming, incontestible knowledge +of the impotency of wee, restless, inconsequent +man, they were never to forget.</p> +<p>“Tiny, tiny, mortal!” laughed the storm. +“To think you would combat Nature, would +defy her, the power of which I am but one of +many, many manifestations!” And it laughed +again. The two prisoners, listening, their ears +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +to the tunnel, heard the sound, and felt to the +full its biting mockery.</p> +<p>Next day the siege was raised, and the sun +smiled as only the sun can smile upon miles and +miles of dazzling snow crystals. Ichabod +climbed out––by way of the window route––and +worked for hours with a shovel before he +had a channel from the tiny, submerged shanty +to the light of day beyond. Then together he +and Camilla stood side by side in the doorway, +as they had done so many times before, looking +about them at the boundless prairie, drifted in +waves of snow like the sea: the wonder of it all, +ever new, creeping over them.</p> +<p>“What a country!” voiced Camilla.</p> +<p>“What a country, indeed,” echoed Ichabod.</p> +<p>“Lonely and mysterious as Death.”</p> +<p>“Yes, as Death or––Life.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IV––A Revelation</span></h3> +<p>Time, unchanging automaton, moved on +until late spring. Paradox of nature, the +warm brown tints of chilly days gave place +under the heat of slanting suns to the cool green +of summer. All at once, sudden as though +autochthonal, there appeared meadow-larks and +blackbirds: dead weeds or man-erected posts +serving in lieu of trees as vantage points from +which to sing. Ground squirrels whistled cheerily +from newly broken fields and roadways. +Coveys of quail, tame as barn-yard fowls, +played about the beaten paths, and ran pattering +in the dust ahead of each passing team. +Again, from its winter’s rest, lonely, uncertain +as to distance, came the low, booming call of the +prairie rooster. Nature had awakened, and the +joy of that awakening was upon the land.</p> +<p>Of a morning in May the faded, dust-covered +day-coach drew in at the tiny prairie village. A +little man alighted. He stood a moment on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +platform, his hands deep in his pockets, a big +black cigar between his teeth, and looked out +over the town. The coloring of the short straggling +street was more weather-stained than +a year ago, yet still very new, and the newcomer +smiled as he looked; a big broad smile that +played about his lips, turning up the corners of +his brown moustache, showing a flash of white +teeth, and lighting a pair of big blue eyes which +lay, like a woman’s, beneath heavy lashes. In +youth, that smile would have been a grin; but +it was no grin now. The man was far from +youth, and about the mouth and eyes were deep +lines, which told of one who knew of the world.</p> +<p>Slowly the smile disappeared, and as it faded +the little man puffed harder at the cigar. Evidently +something he particularly wished to +explain would not become clear to his mind.</p> +<p>“Of all places,” he soliloquized, “to have +chosen––this!”</p> +<p>He started up the street, over the irregular +warping sidewalk.</p> +<p>“Hotel, sir-r?” The formula was American, +the trilling r’s distinctly German.</p> +<p>The traveller turned at the sound, to make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +acquaintance with Hans Becher; for it was +Hans Becher, very much metamorphosed from +the retiring German of a year ago. He made +the train regularly now.</p> +<p>The small man nodded and held out his grip; +together they walked up the street. In front +of the hotel they stopped, and the stranger +pulled out his watch.</p> +<p>“Is there a livery here?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes; at the street end––the side to the left +hand.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. I’ll be back with you this +evening.”</p> +<p>Hans Becher stared, open-mouthed, as the +man moved off.</p> +<p>“You will not to dinner return?”</p> +<p>The little man stopped, and smiled without +apparent reason.</p> +<p>“No. Keep the grip. I expect to lunch,” +again he smiled without provocation, “elsewhere. +By the way,” he added, as an afterthought, +“can you tell me where Mr. Maurice––Ichabod +Maurice––lives?”</p> +<p>The German nodded violent confirmation of +a direction indicated by his free hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“Straight out, eight miles. Little house with +<i>paint</i>”––strong emphasis on the last––“<i>white</i> +paint.”</p> +<p>“Thanks.”</p> +<p>Hans saw the escape of an opportunity.</p> +<p>“They are friends of yours, perhaps?”––he +grasped at it.</p> +<p>The little man did not turn, but the smile that +seemed almost a habit, sprang to his face.</p> +<p>“Yes, they’re––friends of mine,” he corroborated.</p> +<p>Hans, personification of knowledge, stood +bobbing on the doorstep, until the trail of smoke +vanished from sight, then brought the satchel +inside and set it down hard.</p> +<p>“Her brother has come,” he announced to +the wide-eyed Minna.</p> +<p>“<i>Wessen Bruder?</i>” Minna was obviously +excited, as attested by the lapse from English.</p> +<p>“Are we not now Americans naturalized?” +rebuked Hans, icily. Suddenly he thawed. +“Whose brother! The brother of Camilla +Maurice, to be sure.”</p> +<p>Minna scrutinized the bag, curiously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>“Did he so––inform you?” she questioned +unadvisedly.</p> +<p>“It was not necessary. I have eyes.”</p> +<p>Offended masculine dignity clumped noisily +toward the door; instinctive feminine diplomacy +sprang to the rescue.</p> +<p>“You are so wise, Hans!”</p> +<p>And Peace, sweet Peace, returned to the +household of Becher.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the little man had secured a +buggy, and was jogging out into the country. +He drove very leisurely, looking about him curiously. +Of a sudden he threw down his cigar, +and sniffed at the air.</p> +<p>“Buffalo grass, I’ll wager! I’ve heard of +it,” and in the instinctive action of every newcomer +he sniffed again.</p> +<p>Camilla Maurice sat in front of her tiny +house, the late morning sun warm about her; +one hand supported a book, slanted carefully to +avoid the light, the other held the crank of a +barrel-churn. As she read, she turned steadily, +the monotonous <i>chug!</i> <i>chug!</i> of the tumbling +cream drowning all other sounds.</p> +<p>Suddenly the shadow of a horse passed her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +and a rough livery buggy stopped at her side. +She looked up. Instinctively her hand dropped +the crank, and her face turned white; then +equally involuntarily she returned to her work, +and the <i>chug!</i> <i>chug!</i> continued.</p> +<p>“Does Ichabod Maurice,” drawling emphasis +on the name, “live here?” asked a voice.</p> +<p>“He does.” Camilla’s chin was trembling; +her answer halted abruptly.</p> +<p>The man looked down at her, genuine amusement +depicted upon his face.</p> +<p>“Won’t you please stop your work for a +moment, Camilla?”</p> +<p>With the name, one hand made swift movement +of deprecation. “Pardon if I mistake, +but I take it you’re Camilla Maurice?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m Camilla Maurice.”</p> +<p>“Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old +chums together in college––all that sort of +thing; consequently I’ve always wanted to +meet––”</p> +<p>The woman stood up. Her face still was +very white, but her chin did not tremble now.</p> +<p>“Let’s stop this farce,” she insisted. “What +is it you wish?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>The man in the buggy again made a motion +of deprecation.</p> +<p>“I was just about to say, that happening to +be in town, and incidentally hearing the name, +I wondered if it were possible.... But, +pardon, I haven’t introduced myself. Allow +me––” and he bowed elaborately. “Arnold, +Asa Arnold.... You’ve heard Ichabod +mention my name, perhaps?”</p> +<p>The woman held up her hand.</p> +<p>“Again I ask, what do you wish?”</p> +<p>“Since you insist, first of all I’d like to +speak a moment with Ichabod.” His face +changed suddenly. “For Heaven’s sake, +Eleanor, if he must alter his name, why did he +choose such a barbaric substitute as Ichabod?”</p> +<p>“Were he here”––evenly––“he’d doubtless +explain that himself.”</p> +<p>“He’s not here, then?” No banter in the +voice now.</p> +<p>“Never fear”––quickly––“he’ll return.”</p> +<p>A moment they looked into each other’s eyes; +challengingly, as they had looked unnumbered +times before.</p> +<p>“As you suggest, Eleanor,” said the man, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +slowly, “this farce has gone far enough. Where +may I tie this horse? I wish to speak with +you.”</p> +<p>Camilla pointed to a post, and silently went +toward the house. Soon the man followed her, +stopping a moment to take a final puff at his +cigar before throwing it away.</p> +<p>Within the tiny kitchen they sat opposite, +a narrow band of warm spring sunshine creeping +in at the open door separating them. The +woman looked out over the broad prairie, her +color a trifle higher than usual, the lids of her +eyes a shade nearer together––that was all. +The man crossed his legs and waited, looking so +small that he seemed almost boyish. In the silence, +the drone of feeding poultry came from +the back-yard, and the sleepy breathing of the +big collie on the steps sounded plainly through +the room.</p> +<p>A minute passed. Neither spoke. Then, +with a shade of annoyance, the man shifted in +his chair.</p> +<p>“I thought, perhaps, you’d have something +you wished to say. If not, however––” He +paused meaningly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>“You said a moment ago, you wished to +speak to <i>me</i>.”</p> +<p>“As usual, you make everything as difficult +as possible.” The shade of annoyance became +positive. “Such being the case, we may as well +come to the point. How soon do you contemplate +bringing this––this incident to a close?”</p> +<p>“The answer to that question concerns me +alone.”</p> +<p>An ordinary man would have laughed; but +Asa Arnold was not an ordinary man––not at +this time.</p> +<p>“As your husband, I can’t agree with you.”</p> +<p>Camilla Maurice took up his words, quickly.</p> +<p>“You mistake. You’re the husband of +Eleanor Owen. I’m not she.”</p> +<p>The man went on calmly, as though there had +been no interruption.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to be hard on you, Eleanor. +I don’t think I have been hard on you. A year +has passed, and I’ve known you were here from +the first day. But this sort of thing can’t go +on indefinitely; there’s a limit, even to good +nature. I ask you again, when are you coming +back?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>The woman looked at her companion, for the +first time steadily. Even she, who knew him so +well, felt a shade of wonder at the man who +could adjust all the affairs of his life in the +same voice with which he ordered his dinner. +Before, she had always thought this attitude of +his pure affectation. Now she knew better, +knew it mirrored the man himself. He had +done this thing. Knowing her whereabouts all +the time, he had allotted her the past year, as an +employer would grant a holiday to an assistant. +Now he asked her to return to the old life, as +calmly as one returns in the fall to the city home +after an outing! Only one man in the world +could have done that thing, and that man +was before her––her husband by law––Asa +Arnold!</p> +<p>The wonder of it all crept into her voice.</p> +<p>“I’m not coming back, can’t you understand? +I’m never coming back,” she repeated.</p> +<p>The man arose and stood in the doorway.</p> +<p>“Don’t say that,” he said very quietly. “Not +yet. I won’t begin, now, after all these years +to make protestations of love. The thing +called Love we’ve discussed too often already, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +and without result. Anyway, that’s not the +point. We never pretended to be lovers, even +when we were married. We were simply useful, +very useful to each other.”</p> +<p>Camilla started to interrupt him, but, preventing, +he held up his hand.</p> +<p>“We talked over a certain possibility––one +now a reality––before we were married.” He +caught the look upon her face. “I don’t say it +was ideal. It simply <i>was</i>,” he digressed slowly +in answer, then hurried on: “That was only +five years ago, Eleanor, and we were far from +young.” He looked at her, searchingly. +“You’ve not forgotten the contract we drew +up, that stood above the marriage obligation, +above everything, supreme law for you and +me?” Instinctively his hand went to an inner +pocket, where the rustle of a paper answered +his touch. “Remember; it’s not a favor I ask of +you, but the fulfilment of your own word. +Think a moment before you say you’ll never +return.”</p> +<p>Camilla Maurice found an answer very +difficult. Had he been angry, or abusive, it +would have been easy; but as it was–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p> +<p>“You overlook the fact of change. A lifetime +isn’t required for that.”</p> +<p>“I overlook nothing.” The man went back +to his chair. “You remember, as well as I, that +we considered the problem of change––and +laughed at it. I repeat, we’re no longer in +swaddling clothes.”</p> +<p>“Be that as it may, I tell you the whole +world looks different to me now.” The speaker +struggled bravely, but the ghastliness of such a +discussion wore on her nerves, and her face +twitched. “No power on earth could make me +keep that contract since I’ve changed.”</p> +<p>The suggestion of a smile played about the +man’s mouth.</p> +<p>“You’ve succeeded, perhaps, in finding that +for which we searched so long in vain, an +æsthetic, non-corporeal love?”</p> +<p>“I refuse to answer a question which was +intended as an insult.”</p> +<p>The words out of her mouth, the woman +regretted them.</p> +<p>“Though quick yourself to take offence, you +seem at no great pains to avoid giving affront +to another.” The man voiced the reprimand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +without the twitch of an eyelid, and finished +with another question: “Have you any reason +for doing as you’ve done, other than the one +you gave?”</p> +<p>“Reason! Reason!” Camilla Maurice stared +again. “Isn’t it reason enough that I love him, +and don’t love you? Isn’t it sufficient reason +to one who has lived until middle life in darkness +that a ray of light is in sight? Of all +people in the world, you’re the one who should +understand the reason best!”</p> +<p>“Would any of those arguments be sufficient +to break another contract?”</p> +<p>“No, but one I didn’t mention would. Even +when I lived with you, I was of no more importance +than a half-dozen other women.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t protest at time of the agreement. +You knew then my belief and,” Arnold +paused meaningly, “your own.”</p> +<p>A memory of the past came to the woman; +the dark, lonely past, which, even yet, after so +many years, came to her like a nightmare; the +time when she was a stranger in a strange town, +without joy of past or hope of future; most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +lonely being on God’s earth, a woman with an +ambition––and without friends.</p> +<p>“I was mad––I see it now––lonely mad. I +met you. Our work was alike, and we were +very useful to each other.” One white hand +made motion of repugnance at the thought. “I +was mad, I say.”</p> +<p>“Is that your excuse for ignoring a solemn +obligation?” Arnold looked her through. “Is +that your excuse for leaving me for another, +without a word of explanation, or even the conventional +form of a divorce?”</p> +<p>“It was just that explanation––this––I +wished to avoid. It’s hard for us both, and +useless.”</p> +<p>“Useless!” The man quickly picked up the +word. “Useless! I don’t like the suggestion +of that word. It hints of death, and old age, +and hateful things. It has no place with the +living.”</p> +<p>He drew a paper from his pocket, slowly, and +spread it on his knee.</p> +<p>“Pardon me for again recalling past history, +Eleanor; but to use a word that is dead!... +You must have forgotten––” The writing, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +dainty, feminine hand, was turned toward her, +tauntingly, compellingly.</p> +<p>The man waited for some response; but +Camilla Maurice was silent. That bit of paper, +the shadow of a seemingly impossible past, +made her, for the time, question her identity, +almost doubt it.</p> +<p>Five years ago, almost to the day, high up +in a city building, in a dainty little room, half +office, half <i>atelier</i>, a man and a woman had +copied an agreement, each for the other, and +had sworn an oath ever to remain true to that +solemn bond.... She had brought nothing +to him, but herself; not even affection. He, +on the other hand, had saved her from a life of +drudgery by elevating her to a position where, +free of the necessity of struggling for a bare +existence, she might hope to consummate the +fruition of at least a part of her dreams. On +her part....</p> +<p>“<i>Witnesseth: The said Eleanor Owen is at +liberty to follow her own inclinations as she may +see fit; she is to remain free of any and all responsibilities +and restrictions such as customarily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +attach to the supervision of a household, +excepting as she may elect to exercise her wifely +prerogatives; being absolutely free to pursue +whatsoever occupation or devices she may desire +or choose, the same as if she were yet a +spinster....</i></p> +<p>“<i>In Consideration of Which: The said Eleanor +Owen agrees never so to comport herself +that by word or conduct will she bring ridicule.... +dishonor upon the name....</i>”</p> +<p>Recollection of it all came to her with a rush; +but the words ran together and swam in a maddening +blur––the roar from the street below, +dull with distance; the hum of the big building, +with its faint concussions of closing doors; the +air from the open window, not like the sweet +prairie air of to-day, but heavy, smoky, typical +breath of the town, yet pregnant with the indescribable +throb of spring, impossible to efface +or to disguise! The compelling intimacy and +irrevocability of that memory overwhelmed her, +now; a dark, evil flood that blotted out the sunshine +of the present. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></p> +<p>The paper rustled, as the man smoothed it +flat with his hand.</p> +<p>“Shall I read?” he asked.</p> +<p>The woman’s face stood clear––cruelly clear––in +the sunlight; about her mouth and eyes +there was an expression which, from repetition, +we have learned to associate with the circle surrounding +a new-made grave: an expression +hopelessly desperate, desperately hopeless.</p> +<p>Of a sudden her chin trembled and her face +dropped into her hands.</p> +<p>“Read, if you wish”; and the smooth brown +head, with its thread of gray, trembled uncontrollably.</p> +<p>“Eleanor!” with a sudden vibration of tenderness +in his voice. “Eleanor,” he repeated.</p> +<p>But the woman made no response.</p> +<p>The man had taken a step forward; now he +sat down again, looking through the open doorway +at the stretch of green prairie, with the +road, a narrow ribbon of brown, dividing it fair +in the middle. In the distance a farmer’s +wagon was rumbling toward town, a trail of +fine dust, like smoke, suspended in the air +behind. It rattled past, and the big collie on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +the step woke to give furious chase in its wake, +then returned slowly, a little conscious under the +stranger’s eye, to sleep as before. Asa Arnold +sat through it all, still as one devitalized; an +expression on his face no man had ever seen +before; one hopeless, lonely, akin to that of the +woman.</p> +<p>“Read, if you wish,” repeated Camilla, +bitterly.</p> +<p>For a long minute her companion made no +motion.</p> +<p>“It’s unnecessary,” he intoned at last. “You +know as well as I that neither of us will ever +forget one word it contains.” He hesitated and +his voice grew gentle. “Eleanor, you know I +didn’t come here to insult you, or to hurt you +needlessly;––but I’m human. You seem to +forget this. You brand me less than a man, and +then ask of me the unselfishness of a God!”</p> +<p>Camilla’s white face lifted from her hands.</p> +<p>“I ask nothing except that you leave me +alone.”</p> +<p>For the first time the little man showed his +teeth.</p> +<p>“At last you mention the point I came here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +to arrange. Were you alone, rest assured I +shouldn’t trouble you.”</p> +<p>“You mean––”</p> +<p>“I mean just this. I wouldn’t be human if I +did what you ask––if I condoned what you’ve +done and are still doing.” He was fairly started +now, and words came crowding each other; reproachful, +tempestuous.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you ever stop to think of the past––think +what you’ve done, Eleanor?” He +paused without giving her an opportunity to +answer. “Let me tell you, then. You’ve +broken every manner of faith between man and +woman. If you believe in God, you’ve broken +faith with Him as well. Don’t think for a +moment I ever had respect for marriage as a +divine institution, but I did have respect for +you, and at your wish we conformed. You’re +my wife now, by your own choosing. Don’t +interrupt me, please. I repeat, God has no +more to do with ceremonial marriage now than +he had at the time of the Old Testament and +polygamy. It’s a man-made bond, but an +obligation nevertheless, and as such, at the +foundation of all good faith between man and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +woman. It’s this good faith you’ve broken.” +A look of bitterness flashed over his face.</p> +<p>“Still, I could excuse this and release you at +the asking, remaining your friend, your best +friend as before; but to be thrown aside without +even a ‘by your leave,’ and that for another +man––” He hesitated and finished slowly:</p> +<p>“You know me well enough, Eleanor, to +realize that I’m in earnest when I say that while +I live the man has yet to be born who can take +something of mine away from me.”</p> +<p>Camilla gestured passionately.</p> +<p>“In other words: while growling hard at the +dog who approached your bone, you have no +hesitation in stealing from another!” The accumulated +bitterness of years of repression +spoke in the taunt.</p> +<p>Across the little man’s face there fell an impenetrable +mask, like the armor which dropped +about an ancient ship of war before the shock +of battle.</p> +<p>“I’m not on trial. I’ve not changed my +name––” he nodded significantly toward the +view beyond the open door,––“and sought seclusion.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>Again the bitterness of memory prompted +Camilla to speak the harshest words of her life.</p> +<p>“No, you hadn’t the decency. It was more +pleasure to thrust your shame daily in my face.”</p> +<p>Arnold’s color paled above the dark beard +line; but the woman took no heed.</p> +<p>“Why did you wait a year,” continued the +bitter voice, “to end in––this? If it must +have been––why not before?”</p> +<p>“I repeat, I’m not on trial. If you’ve anything +to say, I’ll listen.”</p> +<p>Something new in the man’s face caught Camilla’s +attention, softened the tone of her voice.</p> +<p>“I’ve only this to say. You’ve asked for an +explanation and a promise; but I can give you +neither. If there ever comes a time when I feel +they’re due you, and I’m able to comply, I’ll +give them both gladly.” The absent look of the +past returned to her eyes. “Even if I wished, +I couldn’t give you an explanation now. I can’t +make myself understand the contradiction. +Somehow, knowing you so long, your beliefs +crept insistently into my loneliness. It seems +hideous now, but I was honest then. I believed +them, too. I don’t blame you; I only pity you. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +You were the embodiment of protest against the +established, of the non-responsibility of the individual, +of skepticism in everything. Your eternal +‘why’ covered my horizon. Every familiar +thing came to bear a question I couldn’t answer. +My whole life seemed one eternal doubt. One +thing I’d never known, and I questioned it most +of all; the one thing I know now to be the truth,––the +greatest truth in the world.” For an instant +the present crowded the past from Camilla’s +mind, but only for an instant. “Whatever I +was at the time, you’d made me––with your +deathless ‘why.’ When I signed the obligation +of that day, I believed it was of my own free +will; but I know now it was you who wrote it +for both of us––you, with your perpetual interrogation. +I don’t accuse you of doing this +deliberately, maliciously. We were both deceived; +but none the less the fact remains.” A +shadow, almost of horror, passed over her face.</p> +<p>“Time passed, and though you didn’t know, +I was in Hell. Reason told me I was right. Instinct, +something, called me a drag. I tried to +compromise, and we were married. Then, for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +the first time, came realization. We were the +best of friends,––but only friends.”</p> +<p>“You wonder how I knew. I didn’t tell you +then. I couldn’t. I could only feel, and that +not clearly. The shadow of your ‘why’ was +still dark upon me. What I vaguely felt then, +though, I know now; as I recognize light or cold +or pain.” Her voice assumed the tone of one who +speaks of mysteries; slow, vibrant. “In every +woman’s mind the maternal instinct should be +uppermost; before everything, before God,––unashamed, +inevitable. It’s unmistakably the +distinction of a good woman from a bad. The +choosing of the father of her child is a woman’s +unfailing test of love.”</p> +<p>The face of the man before her dropped into +his hands, but she did not notice.</p> +<p>“Gropingly I felt this, and the knowledge +came almost as an inspiration. It gave a clue +to––”</p> +<p>“Stop!” The man’s eyes blazed, as he +leaped from his chair. “Stop!”</p> +<p>He took a step forward, his hand before him, +his face twitching uncontrollably. The collie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +on the step awoke, and seeing his mistress +threatened, growled ominously.</p> +<p>“Stop, I tell you!” Arnold choked for +words. This the man of “why,” whom nothing +before could shake!</p> +<p>Camilla paled as her companion arose, and +the dog, bristling, came inside the room.</p> +<p>“Get out!” blazed the man, with a threatening +step, and the collie fled.</p> +<p>The interruption loosed words which came +tumbling forth in a torrent, as Arnold returned +to face her.</p> +<p>“You think I’m human, and yet tell me that +to my face?” His voice was terrible. “You +women brand men cruel! No man on earth +would speak as you have spoken to a woman +he’d lived with for four years!” The sentences +crowded over each other, like water over a fall––his +eyes flashing like a spray.</p> +<p>“I told you before, I’m not on trial; that it +was not my place to defend. I don’t do so now; +but since you’ve spoken, I’ll answer your question. +You ask why I didn’t come a year ago, +hinting that I wanted to be more cruel. God! +the blindness and injustice of you women! Because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +we men don’t show––Bah!... I +was paying my own price. We weren’t living +by the marriage vow; it was but a farce. Our +own contract was the vital thing, and it had said––But +I won’t repeat. God, it was bitter! But +I thought you’d come back. I loved you still.” +He paused for words, breathing hard.</p> +<p>“You say, I’ll never know what love is. +Blind! I’ve always loved you until this moment, +when you killed my love. You say I was +untrue. It’s false. I swear it before––you, as +you were once,––when you were my god. Had +you trusted me, as I trusted you, there’d have +been no thought of unfaithfulness in your +mind.”</p> +<p>The woman sank back in the chair, her face +covered, her whole body trembling; but Asa +Arnold went on like the storm.</p> +<p>“Yes, I was ever true to you. From the first +moment we met, and against my own beliefs. +You didn’t see. You expected me to protest it +daily: to repeat the tale as a child repeats its +lesson for a comfit. Blind, I say, blind! You’ll +charge that I never told you that I loved you. +You wouldn’t have believed me, even had I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +done so. Besides, I didn’t realize that you +doubted, until the time when you were learning––” +he walked jerkily across the room and +took up his hat,––“learning the thing you +threw in my face.” He started to leave, but +stopped in the doorway, without looking back. +“You tell me you’ve suffered. For the first +time in my life I say to another human being: +I hope so.” He turned, unsteadily, down the +steps.</p> +<p>“Wait,” pleaded the woman. “Wait!”</p> +<p>The man did not stop, or turn.</p> +<p>Camilla Maurice sank back in the chair, weak +as one sick unto death, her mind a throbbing, +whirling chaos,––as of a patient under an +anæsthetic. Something she knew she ought to +do, intended doing, and could not. She groped +desperately, but overwhelming, insistent, there +had developed in her a sudden, preventing tumult––in +paradox, a confusion in rhythm––like +the beating of a great hammer on an anvil, +only incredibly more swift than blows from human +hands. Over and over again she repeated +to herself the one word: “wait,” “wait,” +“wait,” but mechanically now, without thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +as to the reason. Then, all at once, soft, all-enfolding, +kindly Nature wrapped her in +darkness.</p> +<p>She awoke with the big collie licking her +hand, and a numbness of cramped limbs that +was positive pain. A long-necked pullet was +standing in the doorway, with her mouth open; +others stood wondering, beyond. The sun had +moved until it no longer shone in at the tiny +south windows, and the shadow of the house had +begun to lengthen.</p> +<p>Camilla stood up in the doorway; uncertain, +dazed. A great lump was on her forehead, +which she stroked absently, without surprise at +its presence. She looked about the yard, and, her +breath coming more quickly, at the prairie. A +broad green plain, parted by the road squarely +in the centre, smiled at her in the sunlight. +That was all. She stepped outside and shaded +her eyes with her hand. Not a wagon nor a +human being was in sight.</p> +<p>Again the weakness and the blackness came +stealing over her; she sank down on the doorstep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“O God, what have I done!” she wailed.</p> +<p>The hens returned to their search for bugs; +but the big collie stayed by her side, whimpering +and fondling her hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter V––The Dominance of the Evolved</span></h3> +<p>The keen joy of life was warmly flooding +Ichabod Maurice this spring day. Not +life for the sake of an ambition or a duty, but +delight in the mere animal pleasure of existence. +He had risen early, and, a neighbor with him, +they had driven forth: stars all about, perpendicular, +horizontal, save in the reddening east, +upon their long day’s drive to the sawmill. The +two teams plodded along steadily, their footfall +muffled in the soft prairie loam; the earth elsewhere +soundless, with a silence which even yet +was a marvel to the city man.</p> +<p>The majesty of it held him silent until day +dawned, and with the coming of the sun there +woke in unison the chorus of joyous animal life. +Then Ichabod, his long legs dangling over the +dashboard, lifted up a voice untrained as the +note of a loon, and sang lustily, until his companion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +on the wagon ahead,––boy-faced, man-bodied,––grinned +perilously.</p> +<p>The long-visaged man was near happiness +that morning,––unbelievably near. By nature +unsocial, by habit, city inbred, artificially taciturn, +there came with the primitive happiness of +the moment the concomitant primitive desire for +companionship. He smiled self-tolerantly +when, obeying an instinct, he wound the lines +around the seat, and went ahead to the man, +who grinned companionably as he made room +beside him.</p> +<p>“God’s country, this.” Ichabod’s hand made +an all-including gesture, as he seated himself +comfortably, his hat low over his eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” and the grin was repeated.</p> +<p>The tall man reflected. Sunburned, roughly +dressed, unshaven as he, Maurice, was, this boy-man +never failed the word of respect. Ichabod +examined him curiously out of his shaded lids. +Big brown hands; body strong as a bull; powerful +shoulders; neck turned like a model; a soft +chin under a soft, light beard; gentle blue eyes––all +in all, a face so open that its very legibility +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +seemed a mark. It reddened now, under +the scrutiny.</p> +<p>“Pardon,” said Ichabod. “I was thinking +how happy you are.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.” And the face reddened again.</p> +<p>Ichabod smiled.</p> +<p>“When is it to be, Ole?”</p> +<p>The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.</p> +<p>“As soon as the house is built,”––confusedly.</p> +<p>“You’re building very fast, eh?”</p> +<p>The Swede grinned confirmation. Words +were of value to Ole.</p> +<p>“I see the question was superfluous,” and +Ichabod likewise smiled in genial comradery. A +moment later, however, the smile vanished.</p> +<p>“You’re very content as it is, Ole,” he +digressed, equivocally; “but––supposing––Minna +were already the wife of a friend?”</p> +<p>The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.</p> +<p>“She isn’t, though” he gasped at length in +startled protest.</p> +<p>“But supposing––”</p> +<p>“It would be so. I couldn’t help it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p> +<p>“You’d do nothing?” rank anarchy in the +suggestion.</p> +<p>“What would there be to do?”</p> +<p>Ichabod temporized.</p> +<p>“Supposing again, she loved you, and didn’t +love her husband?” Ole scratched his head, seeing +very devious passages beyond. “That +would be different,” and he crossed his legs.</p> +<p>Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature +is fashioned from one mould.</p> +<p>“Supposing, once more, it’s a year from now,––five +years from now. You’ve married +Minna, but you’re not happy. She’s grown to +hate you,––to love another man?”</p> +<p>Ole’s faith was beautiful.</p> +<p>“It’s not to be thought of. It’s impossible!”</p> +<p>“But supposing,” urged Ichabod.</p> +<p>The boy-man was silent for a very long minute; +then his face darkened, and the soft jaw +grew hard.</p> +<p>“I don’t know––” he said slowly,––“I don’t +know, but I think I kill that man.”</p> +<p>Ichabod did not smile this time.</p> +<p>“We’re all much alike, Ole. I think you +would.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></p> +<p>They drove on; far past the town, now; the +sun high in the sky; dew sparkling like prisms +innumerable; the prairie colorings soft as a +rug––its varied greens of groundwork blending +with the narrow line of fresh breaking rolling +at their feet.</p> +<p>“You were born in this country?” asked +Ichabod suddenly.</p> +<p>“In Iowa. It’s much like this––only +rougher.”</p> +<p>“You’ll live here, always?”</p> +<p>The Swede shook his head and the boy’s +face grew older.</p> +<p>“No; some day, we’re going to the city––Minna +and I. We’ve planned.”</p> +<p>Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.</p> +<p>“I’m a friend of yours, Ole.”</p> +<p>“A very good friend,” repeated the mystified +Swede.</p> +<p>“Then, listen, and don’t forget.” The voice +was vibrant, low, but the boy heard it clearly +above the noise of the wagon. “Don’t do it, +Ole; in God’s name, don’t do it! Stay here, +you’ll be happy.” He looked the open-mouthed +listener deep in the eyes. “If you ever say a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +prayer, let it be the old one, even though it be an +insult to a just God:––‘Lead us not into temptation.’ +Avoid, as you would avoid death, the +love of money, the fever of unrest, the desire to +become greater than your fellows, the thirst to +know and to taste all things, which is the spirit +of the city. Live close to Nature, where all is +equal and all is good; where sleep comes in the +time of sleep, and work when it is day. Do that +labor which comes to you at the moment, leaving +to-morrow to Nature.” He crossed his long legs, +and pressed his hat down over his eyes. “Accept +life as Nature gives it, day by day. Don’t +question, and you’ll find it good.” He repeated +himself slowly. “That’s the secret. Don’t +doubt, or question anything.”</p> +<p>In the Swede’s throat there was a rattling, +which presaged speech, but it died away.</p> +<p>“Do you love children, Ole?” asked Ichabod, +suddenly.</p> +<p>The boy face flushed. Ole was very young.</p> +<p>“I––” he lagged.</p> +<p>“Of course you do. Every living human being +does. It’s the one good instinct, which even +the lust of gain doesn’t down. It’s the tie that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +binds,––the badge of brotherhood which makes +the world one.” He gently laid his hand on the +broad shoulder beside him.</p> +<p>“Don’t be ashamed to say you love children, +boy, though the rest of the world laugh,––for +they’re laughing at a lie. They’ll tell you the +parental instinct is dying out with the advance +of civilization; that the time will come when +man will educate himself to his own extinction. +It’s false, I tell you, absolutely false.” Ichabod +had forgotten himself, and he rushed on, +far above the head of the gaping Swede.</p> +<p>“There’s one instinct in the world, the instinct +of parenthood, which advances eternal, +stronger, infinitely, as man’s mind grows +stronger. So unvarying the rule that it’s almost +an index of civilization itself, advancing from +a crude instinct of the body-base and animal––until +it reaches the realm of the mind: the highest, +the holiest of man’s desires: yet stronger immeasurably, +as with the educated, things of the +mind are stronger than things of the body. +Those who deny this are fools, or imposters,––I +know not which. To do so is to strike at the +very foundation of human nature,––but impotently,––for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +in fundamentals, human nature +is good.” Unconsciously, a smile flashed over +the long face.</p> +<p>“Talk about depopulating the earth! All +the wars of primitive man were inadequate. The +vices of civilization have likewise failed. Even +man’s mightiest weapon, legislation, couldn’t +stay the tide for a moment, if it would. While +man is man, and woman is woman, that long, +above government, religion,––life and death +itself,––will reign supreme the eternal instinct +of parenthood.”</p> +<p>Ichabod caught himself in his own period and +stopped, a little ashamed of his earnestness. He +sat up in the seat preparatory to returning to +his own wagon, then dropped his hand once +more on the boy’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“I’m old enough to be your father, boy, and +have done, in all things, the reverse of what I +advised you. Therefore, I know I was wrong. +We may sneer and speak of poetry when the +words proceed from another, my boy; but, as +inevitable as death, there comes to every man +the knowledge that he stands accursed of Nature, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +who hasn’t heard the voice of his own +child call ‘father!’”</p> +<p>He clambered down, leaving the speechless +Ole sprawling on the wagon-seat. Back in his +own wagon, he smiled broadly to himself.</p> +<p>“Strange, how easily the apple falls when +it’s ripe,” he soliloquized.</p> +<p>They drove on clear to the mill without another +word; without even a grin from the broad-faced +Ole, who sat in ponderous thought in the +wagon ahead. To a nature such as his the infrequency +of a new idea gives it the force of a +cataclysm; during its presence, obliterating +everything else.</p> +<p>It was nearly noon when they reached the +narrow fringe of trees and underbrush––deciduous +and wind-tortured all––which bordered +the big, muddy, low-lying Missouri; and soon +they could hear the throb of the engine at the +mill, and the swish of the saw through the green +lumber; a sound that heard near by, inevitably +carries the suggestion of scalpel and living +flesh. Nothing but green timber was sawed +thereabout in those days. The country was settling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +rapidly, lumber was imperative, and available +timber very, very limited.</p> +<p>Returning, the heavy loads grumbled slowly +along, so slowly that it was nearly evening, and +their shadows preceded them by rods when they +reached the little prairie town. They stopped +to water their teams; and Ole, true to the instincts +of his plebeian ancestry, went in search +of a glass of beer. He returned, quickly, his +face very red.</p> +<p>“A fellow in there is talking about––about +Mrs. Maurice,” he blurted.</p> +<p>“In the saloon, Ole?”</p> +<p>The Swede repeated the story, watching the +tall man from the corner of his eye.</p> +<p>A man, very drunk, was standing by the bar, +and telling how, in coming to town, he had seen +a buggy drive away from the Maurice home +very fast. He had thought it was the doctor’s +buggy and had stopped in to see if any one was +sick.</p> +<p>The fellow had grinned here and drank some +more, before finishing the story; the surrounding +audience winking at each other meanwhile, +and drinking in company. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p> +<p>Then he went on to tell how Camilla Maurice +had sat just inside the doorway, her face in +her hands, sobbing,––so hard she hadn’t noticed +him; and––and––it wasn’t the doctor who had +been there at all!</p> +<p>Ichabod had been holding a pail of water so +that a horse might drink. At the end he motioned +Ole very quietly, to take his place.</p> +<p>“Finish watering them, and––wait for me, +please.”</p> +<p>It was far from what the Swede had expected; +but he accepted the task, obediently.</p> +<p>The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly +opposite Hans Becher’s place, flush with +the street. A long, low building, communicating +with the outer world by one door––sans +glass––its single window in front and at the +rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and now at +early evening made faces almost indistinguishable, +and cast kindly shadow over the fly specks +and smoke stains of a low roof. A narrow pine +bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable +passing “schooners,” stretched the entire +length of the room at one side; and back of it, +in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +typical bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod +saw as he stepped inside; then, himself in +shadow, he studied the group before him.</p> +<p>Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up +the gathering, with a scant sprinkling of farmers +and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed +fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the +benefit of a newcomer; the narrative moving +jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.</p> +<p>“––I drew up to th’ house quick, an’ went +up th’ path quiet like,”––he tapped thunderously +on the bar with a heavy glass for silence––“quiet––sh-h––like; +an’ when I come t’ th’ +door, ther’ ’t was open, an’––as I hope––hope +t’ die,... drink on me, b’ys, aller y’––set +’m up, Barney ol’ b’y, m’ treat,... hope +t’ die, ther’ she sat, like this––” He +looked around mistily for a chair, but none was +convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their +midst, his face in his hands, blubbering dismally +in imitation.... “Sat (hic) like this; +rockin’ an’ moanin’ n’ callin’ his name: Asa––Asa––Asa––(hic) +Arnold––’shure ’s I’m a +sinner she––”</p> +<p>He did not finish. Very suddenly the surrounding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +group had scattered, and he peered up +through maudlin tears to learn the cause. One +man alone stood above him. The room had +grown still as a church.</p> +<p>The drunken one blinked his watery eyes and +showed his yellow teeth in a convivial grin.</p> +<p>“G’d evnin’, pard.... Serve th’––th’ +gem’n, Barney; m’ treat.” Again the teeth obtruded. +“Was jes’––”</p> +<p>“Get up!”</p> +<p>He of the story winked harder than before.</p> +<p>“Bless m’––” He paused for an expletive, +hiccoughed, and forgetting what had caused the +halt, stumbled on:––“Didn’ rec’gniz’ y’ b’fore. +Shake, ol’ boy. S––sh-sorry for y’.” +Tears rose copiously. “Tough––when feller’s +wife––”</p> +<p>Interrupting suddenly a muffled sound like +the distant exhaust of a big engine––the meeting +of a heavy boot with an obstacle on the +floor. “Get up!”</p> +<p>A very mountain of human brawn resolved +itself upward; a hand on its hips; a curse on its +lips.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-190.jpg' alt='' title='' width='423' height='612' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“You’ll apologize.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></div> +<p>“You damned lantern-faced––” No hiccough now, +but a pause from pure physical impotence, +pending a doubtful struggle against a +half-dozen men.</p> +<p>“Order, gentlemen!” demanded the bar-keeper, +adding emphasis by hammering a heavy +bottle on the bar.</p> +<p>“Let him go,” commanded Ichabod very +quietly; but they all heard through the confusion. +“Let him go.”</p> +<p>The country was by no means the wild West +of the story-papers, but it was primitive, and no +man thought, then, of preventing the obviously +inevitable.</p> +<p>Ichabod held up his hand, suggestively, imperatively, +and the crowd fell back, silent,––leaving +him facing the big man.</p> +<p>“You’ll apologize!” The thin jaw showed +clear, through the shade of brown stubble on +Ichabod’s face.</p> +<p>For answer, the big man leaning on the bar +exhibited his discolored teeth and breathed +hard.</p> +<p>“How shall it be?” asked Ichabod.</p> +<p>A grimy hand twitched toward a grimier hip.</p> +<p>“You’ve seen the likes of this––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p> +<p>Ichabod turned toward the spectators.</p> +<p>“Will any man lend me––”</p> +<p>“Here––”</p> +<p>“Here––”</p> +<p>“And give us a little light.”</p> +<p>“Outside,” suggested the saloon-keeper.</p> +<p>“We’re not advertising patent medicine,” +blazed Ichabod, and the lamps were lit immediately.</p> +<p>Once more the long-visaged man appealed to +the group lined up now against the bar.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen––I never carried a revolver a +half-hour in my life. Is it any more than fair +that I name the details?”</p> +<p>“Name ’m and be quick,” acquiesced his big +opponent before the others could speak.</p> +<p>“Thanks, Mr. Duggin,” with equal swiftness. +“These, then, are the conditions.” For +three seconds, that seemed a minute, Ichabod +looked steadily between his adversary’s bushy +eyebrows. “The conditions,” he repeated, “are, +that starting from opposite ends of the room, +we don’t fire until our toes touch in the middle +line.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></p> +<p>“Good!” commended a voice; but it was not +big Duggin who spoke.</p> +<p>“I’ll see that it’s done, too,”––added a listening +cattleman, grasping Ichabod by the hand.</p> +<p>“And I.”</p> +<p>The building had been designed as a bowling-alley +and was built the entire length of the lot. +With an alacrity born of experience, the long +space opposite the bar was cleared, and the belligerents +stationed one at either end, their faces +toward the wall. Midway between them a +heavy line had been drawn with chalk, and beside +it stood a half-dozen grim men, their hands +resting suggestively on their hips. The room +was again very quiet, and from out-of-doors +penetrated the shrill sound of a schoolboy +whistling “Annie Laurie” with original variations. +So exotic seemed the entire scene in its +prairie setting, that it might have been transferred +bodily from the stage of a distant theatre +and set down here,––by mistake.</p> +<p>“Now,” directed a voice. “You understand, +men. You’re to face and walk to the line. +When your feet touch––fire; and,” warningly––“remember, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +not before. Ready, gentlemen. +Turn.”</p> +<p>Ichabod faced about, the cocked revolver in +his hand, the name Asa Arnold singing in his +ears. A terrible cold-white anger was in his +heart against the man opposite, who had publicly +caused the resurrection of this hated, +buried thing. For a moment it blotted out all +other sensations; then, rushing, crowding came +other thoughts,––vision from boyhood down. +In the space of seconds, faded scenes of the +dead past took on sudden color and as suddenly +vanished. Faces, he had forgotten for years, +flashed instantaneously into view. Voices long +hushed in oblivion, re-embodied, spoke in accents +as familiar as his own. Inwardly he was +seething with the myriad shifting pictures of a +drowning man. Outwardly he walked those +half-score steps to the line, unflinchingly; came +to certain death,––and waited: personification +of all that is cool and deliberate––of the sudden +abundant nerve in emergencies which +comes only to the highly evolved.</p> +<p>Duggin, the big man, turned likewise at the +word and came part way swiftly; then stopped, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +his face very pale. Another step he took, with +another pause, and with great drops of perspiration +gathering on his face, and on the backs of +his hands. Yet another start, and he came very +near; so near that he gazed into the blue of +Ichabod’s eyes. They seemed to him now devil’s +eyes, and he halted, looking at them, fingering +the weapon in his hand, his courage oozing at +every pore.</p> +<p>Out of those eyes and that long, thin face +stared death; not hot, sudden death, but nihility, +cool, deliberate, that waited for one! The big +beads on his forehead gathered in drops and ran +down his cheeks. He tried to move on, but his +legs only trembled beneath him. The hopeless, +unreasoning terror of the frightened animal, the +raw recruit, the superstitious negro, was upon +him. The last fragment of self-respect, of +bravado even, was in tatters. No object on +earth, no fear of hereafter, could have made +him face death in that way, with those eyes +looking into his.</p> +<p>The weapon shook from Duggin’s hand to +the floor,––with a sound like the first clatter of +gravel on a coffin lid; and in abasement absolute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +he dropped his head; his hands nerveless, his +jaw trembling.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon––and your wife’s,” he +faltered.</p> +<p>“It was all a lie? You were drunk?” Ichabod +crossed the line, standing over him.</p> +<p>A rustle and a great snort of contempt went +around the room; but Duggin still felt those +terrible eyes upon him.</p> +<p>“I was very drunk. It was all a lie.”</p> +<p>Without another word Ichabod turned away, +and almost immediately the other men followed, +the door closing behind them. Only the bar-keeper +stood impassive, watching.</p> +<p>That instant the red heat of the liquor returned +to the big man’s brain and he picked up +the revolver. Muttering, he staggered over +to the bar.</p> +<p>“D––n him––the hide-faced––” he cursed. +“Gimme a drink, Barney. Whiskey, straight.”</p> +<p>“Not a drop.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Never another drop in my place so long as +I live.”</p> +<p>“Barney, damn you!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p> +<p>“Get out! You coward!”</p> +<p>“But, Barney––”</p> +<p>“Not another word. Go.”</p> +<p>Again Duggin was sober as he stumbled out +into the evening.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ichabod moved slowly up the street, months +aged in those last few minutes. Reaction was +inevitable, and with it the future instead of the +present, stared him in the face. He had +crowded the lie down the man’s throat, but +well he knew it had been useless. The story +was true, and it would spread; no power of +his could prevent. He could not deceive himself, +even. That name! Again the white anger +born of memory, flooded him. Curses on the +name and on the man who had spoken it! Why +must the fellow have turned coward at the last +moment? Had they but touched feet over the +line––</p> +<p>Suddenly Ichabod stopped, his hands pressed +to his head. Camilla, home––alone! And he +had forgotten! He hurried back to the waiting +Swede, an anathema that was not directed at +another, hot on his lips. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>“All ready, Ole,” he announced, clambering +to the seat.</p> +<p>The boy handed up the lines lingeringly.</p> +<p>“Here, sir.” Then uncontrollable, long-repressed +curiosity broke the bounds of deference. +“You––heard him, sir?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Ole edged toward his own wagon.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t so?”</p> +<p>“Duggin swore it was a lie.”</p> +<p>“He––”</p> +<p>“He swore it was false, I say.”</p> +<p>They drove out into the prairie and the night; +the stars looking down, smiling, as in the morning +which was so long ago, the man had smiled,––looking +upward.</p> +<p>“Tiny, tiny mortal,” they twinkled, each to +the other. “So small and hot, and rebellious. +Tiny, tiny, mortal!”</p> +<p>But the man covered his face with his hands, +shutting them out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VI––By a Candle’s Flame</span></h3> +<p>Asa Arnold sat in the small upstairs +room at the hotel of Hans Becher. It +was the same room that Ichabod and Camilla +had occupied when they first arrived; but he +did not know that. Even had he known, however, +it would have made slight difference; +nothing could have kept them more constantly +in his mind than they were at this time. He +had not slept any the night before; a fact which +would have spoken loudly to one who knew him +well; and this morning he was very tired. He +lounged low in the oak chair, his feet on the +bed, the usual big cigar in his mouth.</p> +<p>This morning, the perspective of the little +man was anything but normal. Worse than +that, he could not reduce it to the normal, try +as he might.</p> +<p>His meeting with Camilla yesterday had +produced a deep and abiding shock; for either +of them to have been so moved signified the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +stirring of dangerous forces. They––and +especially himself––who had always accepted +life, even crises, so calmly; who had heretofore +laughed at all display of emotion––for them +to have acted as they had, for them to have +spoken to each other the things they had spoken, +the things they could not forget, that he never +could forgive––it was unbelievable! It upset +all the established order of things!</p> +<p>His anger of yesterday against Camilla had +died out. She was not to blame; she was a +woman, and women were all alike. He had +thought differently before; that she was an +exception; but now he knew better. One and +all they were mere puppets of emotion, and +fickle.</p> +<p>In a measure, though, as he had excused +Camilla he had incriminated Ichabod. Ichabod +was the guilty one, and a man. Ichabod had +filched from him his possession of most value; +and without even the form of a by-your-leave. +The incident of last evening at the saloon (for +he had heard of it in the hour, as had every one +in the little town) had but served to make more +implacable his resentment. By the satire of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +circumstances it had come about that he again, +Asa Arnold, had been the cause of another’s +defending the honor of his own wife,––for she +was his wife as yet,––and that other, the defender, +was Ichabod Maurice!</p> +<p>The little man’s face did not change at the +thought. He only smoked harder, until the +room was blue; but though he did not put +the feeling in words even to himself, he knew in +the depths of his own mind that the price of +that last day was death. Whether it was his +own death, or the death of Ichabod, he did not +know; he did not care; but that one of them +must die was inevitable. Horrible as was the +thought, it had no terror for him, now. He +wondered that it did not have; but, on the contrary, +it seemed to him very ordinary, even +logical––as one orders a dinner when he is +hungry.</p> +<p>He lit another cigar, calmly. It was this very +imperturbability of the little man which made +him terrible. Like a great movement of +Nature, it was awful from its very resistlessness; +its imperviability to appeal. Steadily, as +he had lit the cigar, he smoked until the air +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +became bluer than before. In a ghastly way, +he was trying to decide whose death it should +be,––as one decides a winter’s flitting, whether +to Florida or California; only now the question +was: should it be suicide, or,––as in the saloon +yesterday,––leave the decision to Chance? For +the time the personal equation was eliminated; +the man weighed the evidence as impartially as +though he were deciding the fate of another.</p> +<p>He sat long and very still; until even in the +daylight the red cigar-end grew redder in the +haze. Without being conscious of the fact, he +was probably doing the most unselfish thinking +of his life. What the result of that thought +would have been no man will ever know, for of +a sudden, interrupting, Hans Becher’s round +face appeared in the doorway.</p> +<p>“Ichabod Maurice to see you,” coughed the +German, obscured in the cloud of smoke which +passed out like steam through the opening.</p> +<p>It cannot be said that Asa Arnold’s face +grew impassive; it was that already. Certain it +was, though, that behind the mask there occurred, +at that moment, a revolution. Born of +it, the old mocking smile sprang to his lips. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>“The devil fights for his own,” he soliloquized. +“I really believe I,”––again the smile,––“I +was about to make a sacrifice.”</p> +<p>“Sir?”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Hans.”</p> +<p>The German’s jaw dropped in inexpressible +surprise.</p> +<p>“Sir?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“You made a decision for me, then. Thank +you.”</p> +<p>“I do not you understand.”</p> +<p>“Tell Mr. Maurice I shall be pleased to see +him.”</p> +<p>The round face disappeared from the door.</p> +<p>“<i>Donnerwetter!</i>” commented the little landlord +in the safe seclusion of the stairway. Later, +in relating the incident to Minna, he tapped his +forehead, suggestively.</p> +<p>Ichabod climbed the stair alone. “To your +old room,” Hans had said; and Ichabod knew +the place well. He knocked on the panel, a voice +answered: “Come,” and he opened the door. +Arnold had thrown away his cigar and opened +the window. The room was clearing rapidly.</p> +<p>Ichabod stepped inside and closed the door +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +carefully behind him. A few seconds he stood +holding it, then swung it open quickly and +glanced down the hallway. Answering, there +was a sudden, scuttling sound, not unlike the +escape of frightened rats, as Hans Becher precipitately +disappeared. The tall man came +back and for the second time slowly closed the +door.</p> +<p>Asa Arnold had neither moved nor spoken +since that first word,––“come”; and the self-invited +visitor read the inaction correctly. No +man, with the knowledge Ichabod possessed, +could have misunderstood the challenge in that +impassive face. No man, a year ago, would have +accepted that challenge more quickly. Now––But +God only knew whether or no he would +forget,––now.</p> +<p>For a minute, which to an onlooker would +have seemed interminable, the two men faced +each other. Up from the street came the ring +of a heavy hammer on a sweet-voiced anvil, as +Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, sharpened anew +the breaking ploughs which were battling the +prairie sod for bread. In the street below, a +group of farmers were swapping yarns, an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +occasional chorus of guffaws interrupting to +punctuate the narrative. The combatants +heard it all, as one hears the drone of the cicada +on a sleepy summer day; at the moment, as a +mere colorless background which later, Time, +the greater adjuster, utilizes to harmonize the +whole memory.</p> +<p>Ichabod had been standing; now he sat down +upon the bed, his long legs stretched out before +him.</p> +<p>“It would be useless for us to temporize,” he +initiated. “I’ve intruded my presence in order +to ask you a question.” The long fingers locked +slowly over his knees. “What is your object +here?”</p> +<p>The innate spirit of mockery sprang to the +little man’s face.</p> +<p>“You’re mistaken,” he smiled; “so far mistaken, +that instead of your visit being an intrusion, +I expected you”––an amending memory +came to him––“although I wasn’t looking for +you quite so soon, perhaps.” He paused for an +instant, and the smile left his lips.</p> +<p>“As to the statement of object. I think”––slowly––“a +disinterested observer would have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +put the question you ask into my mouth.” He +stared his tall visitor up and down critically, +menacingly. Of a sudden, irresistibly, a very +convulsion shot over his face. “God, man, +you’re brazen!” he commented cumulatively.</p> +<p>Ichabod had gambled with this man in the +past, and had seen him lose half he possessed +without the twitch of an eyelid. A force which +now could cause that sudden change of expression––no +man on earth knew, better than +Ichabod, its intensity. Perhaps a shade of the +same feeling crept into his own answering voice.</p> +<p>“We’ll quarrel later, if you wish,”––swiftly. +“Neither of us can afford to do +so now. I ask you again, what are your intentions?”</p> +<p>“And I repeat, the question is by right mine. +It’s not I who’ve changed my name and––and +in other things emulated the hero of the yellow-back.”</p> +<p>Ichabod’s face turned a shade paler, though +his answer was calm.</p> +<p>“We’ve known each other too well for either +to attempt explanation or condemnation. You +wish me to testify first.” The long fingers unclasped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +from over his knee. “You know the +story of the past year: it’s the key to the +future.”</p> +<p>A smile, sardonic, distinctive, lifted the tips +of Arnold’s big moustaches.</p> +<p>“Your faith in your protecting gods is certainly +beautiful.”</p> +<p>Ichabod nursed a callous spot on one palm.</p> +<p>“I understand,”––very slowly. “At least, +you’ll answer my question now, perhaps,” he +suggested.</p> +<p>“With pleasure. You intimate the future +will be but a repetition of the past. It’ll be my +endeavor to give that statement the lie.”</p> +<p>“You insist on quarrelling?”</p> +<p>“I insist on but one thing,”––swiftly. “That +you never again come into my sight, or into the +sight of my wife.”</p> +<p>One of Ichabod’s long hands extended in +gesture.</p> +<p>“And I insist you shall never again use the +name of Camilla Maurice as your wife.”</p> +<p>The old mocking smile sprang to Asa +Arnold’s face.</p> +<p>“Unconsciously, you’re amusing,” he derided. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +“The old story of the mouse who forbids +the cat.... You forget, man, she is +my wife.”</p> +<p>Ichabod stood up, seemingly longer and +gaunter than ever before.</p> +<p>“Good God, Arnold,” he flashed, “haven’t +you the faintest element of pride, or of consistency +in your make-up? Is it necessary for a +woman to tell you more than once that she hates +you? By your own statement your marriage, +even at first, was merely of convenience; but +even if this weren’t so, every principle of the +belief you hold releases her. Before God, or +man, you haven’t the slightest claim, and you +know it.”</p> +<p>“And you––”</p> +<p>“I love her.”</p> +<p>Asa Arnold did not stir, but the pupils of +his eyes grew wider, until the whole eye seemed +black.</p> +<p>“You fool!” he accented slowly. “You +brazen egoist! Did it never occur to you that +others than yourself could love?”</p> +<p>Score for the little man. Ichabod had been +pinked first. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“You dare tell me to my face you loved +her?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“You lie!” blazed Ichabod. “Every word +and action of your life gives you the lie!”</p> +<p>Not five minutes had passed since he came +in and already he had forgotten!</p> +<p>Asa Arnold likewise was upon his feet and +they two faced each other,––a bed length between; +in their minds the past and future a +blank, the present with its primitive animal +hate blazing in their eyes.</p> +<p>“You know what it means to tell me that.” +Arnold’s voice was a full note higher than usual. +“You’ll apologize?”</p> +<p>“Never. It’s true. You lied, and you know +you lied.”</p> +<p>The surrounding world turned dark to the +little man, and the dry-goods box with the tin +dipper on its top, danced before his eyes. For +the first time in his memory he felt himself +losing self-control, and by main force of will he +turned away to the window. For the instant +all the savage of his nature was on the surface, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +and he could fairly feel his fingers gripping at +the tall man’s throat.</p> +<p>A moment he stood in the narrow south +window, full in the smiling irony of Nature’s +sunshine; but only a moment. Then the mocking +smile that had become an instinctive part of +his nature spread over his face.</p> +<p>“I see but one way to settle this difficulty,” +he intimated.</p> +<p>A taunt sprang to Ichabod’s tongue, but was +as quickly repressed.</p> +<p>“There is but one, unless––” with meaning +pause.</p> +<p>“I repeat, there is but one.”</p> +<p>Ichabod’s long face held like wood.</p> +<p>“Consider yourself, then, the challenged +party.”</p> +<p>They were both very calm, now; the immediate +exciting cause in the mind of neither. It +seemed as if they had been expecting this time +for years, had been preparing for it.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, as yesterday, in the saloon?” The +points of the big moustaches twitched ironically. +“I promise you there’ll be no procrastination +as––at certain cases recorded.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>The mockery, malice inspired, was cleverly +turned, and Ichabod’s big chin protruded ominously, +as he came over and fairly towered +above the small man.</p> +<p>“Most assuredly it’ll not be as yesterday. +If we’re going to reverse civilization, we may +as well roll it away back. We’ll settle it alone, +and here.”</p> +<p>Asa Arnold smiled up into the blue eyes.</p> +<p>“You’d prefer to make the adjustment with +your hands, too, perhaps? There’d be less risk, +considering––” He stopped at the look on the +face above his. No man <i>vis-à-vis</i> with Ichabod +Maurice ever made accusation of cowardice. +Instead, instinctive sarcasm leaped to his lips.</p> +<p>“Not being of the West, I don’t ordinarily +carry an arsenal with me, in anticipation of such +incidents as these. If you’re prepared, however,––” +and he paused again.</p> +<p>Ichabod turned away; a terrible weariness +and disgust of it all––of life, himself, the little +man,––in his face. A tragedy would not be +so bad, but this lingering comedy of death––One +thing alone was in his mind: to have it over, +and quickly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>“I didn’t expect––this, either. We’ll find +another way.”</p> +<p>He glanced about the room. A bed, the improvised +commode, a chair, a small table with a +book upon it, and a tallow candle––an idea +came to him, and his search terminated.</p> +<p>“I may––suggest––” he hesitated.</p> +<p>“Go on.”</p> +<p>Ichabod took up the candle, and, with his +pocket-knife, cut it down until it was a mere +stub in the socket, then lit a match and held the +flame to the wick, until the tallow sputtered +into burning.</p> +<p>“You can estimate when that light will go +out?” he intimated impassively.</p> +<p>Asa Arnold watched the tall man, steadily, +as the latter returned the candle to the table and +drew out his watch.</p> +<p>“I think so,” <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> +<p>Ichabod returned to his seat on the bed.</p> +<p>“You are not afraid, perhaps, to go into the +dark alone?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“By your own hand?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<p>“No,” again, very slowly. Arnold understood +now.</p> +<p>“You swear?” Ichabod flashed a glance +with the question.</p> +<p>“I swear.”</p> +<p>“And I.”</p> +<p>A moment they both studied the sputtering +candle.</p> +<p>“It’ll be within fifteen minutes,” randomed +Ichabod.</p> +<p>Arnold drew out his watch slowly.</p> +<p>“It’ll be longer.”</p> +<p>That was all. Each had made his choice; a +trivial matter of one second in the candle’s life +would decide which of these two men would die +by his own hand.</p> +<p>For a minute there was no sound. They +could not even hear their breathing. Then +Arnold cleared his throat.</p> +<p>“You didn’t say when the loser must pay his +debt,” he suggested.</p> +<p>Ichabod’s voice in answer was a trifle husky.</p> +<p>“It won’t be necessary.” A vision of the +future flashed, sinister, inevitable. “The man +who loses won’t care to face the necessity long.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p> +<p>Five minutes more passed. Down the street +the blacksmith was hammering steadily. Beneath +the window the group of farmers had +separated; their departing footsteps tapping +into distance and silence.</p> +<p>Minna went to the street door, calling loudly +for Hans, Jr., who had strayed,––and both +men started at the sound. The quick catch of +their breathing was now plainly audible.</p> +<p>Arnold shifted in his chair.</p> +<p>“You swear––” his voice rang unnaturally +sharp, and he paused to moisten his throat,––“you +swear before God you’ll abide by this?”</p> +<p>“I swear before God,” repeated Ichabod +slowly.</p> +<p>A second, and the little man followed in echo.</p> +<p>“And I––I swear, I, too, will abide.”</p> +<p>Neither man remembered that one of this +twain, who gave oath before the Deity, was an +agnostic, the other an atheist!</p> +<p>A lonely south wind was rising, and above +the tinkle of the blacksmith’s hammer there +sounded the tap of the light shade as it flapped +in the wind against the window-pane. Low, +drowsy, moaning,––typical breath of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +prairie,––it droned through the loosely built house, +with sound louder, but not unlike the perpetual +roar of a great sea-shell.</p> +<p>Ten minutes passed, and the men sat very +still. Both their faces were white, and in the +angle of the jaw of each the muscles were locked +hard. Ichabod was leaning near the candle. It +sputtered and a tiny globule of hot tallow +struck his face. He winced and wiped the drop +off quickly. Observing, Arnold smiled and +opened his lips as if to make comment; then +closed them suddenly, and the smile passed.</p> +<p>Two minutes more the watches ticked off; +very, very slowly. Neither of the men had +thought, beforehand, of this time of waiting. +Big drops of sweat were forming on both their +faces, and in the ears of each the blood sang +madly. A haze, as from the dropping of a +shade, seemed to have formed and hung over +the room, and in unison sounds from without +acquired a certain faintness, like that born of +distance. Through it all the two men sat +motionless, watching the candle and the time, +as the fascinated bird watches its charmer; as +the subject watches the hypnotist,––as if the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +passive exercise were the one imperative thing +in the world.</p> +<p>“Thirteen minutes.”</p> +<p>Unconsciously, Arnold was counting aloud. +The flame was very low, now, and he started to +move his chair closer, then sank back, a smile, +almost ghastly, upon his lips. The blaze had +reached the level of the socket, and was growing +smaller and smaller. Two minutes yet to burn! +He had lost.</p> +<p>He tried to turn his eyes away, but they +seemed fastened to the spot, and he powerless. +It was as though death, from staring him in the +face, had suddenly gripped him hard. The +panorama of his past life flashed through his +mind. The thoughts of the drowning man, of +the miner who hears the rumble of crumbling +earth, of the prisoner helpless and hopeless +who feels the first touch of flame,––common +thought of all these were his; and in a space of +time which, though seeming to him endless, was +in reality but seconds.</p> +<p>Then came the duller reaction and the events +of the last few minutes repeated themselves, impersonally, +spectacularly,––as though they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +were the actions of another man; one for +whom he felt very sorry. He even went into +the future and saw this same man lying down +with a tiny bottle in his hand, preparing for +the sleep from which there would be no awakening,––the +sleep which, in anticipation, seemed +so pleasant.</p> +<p>Concomitant with this thought the visionary +shaded into the real, and there came the determination +to act at once, this very afternoon, as +soon as Ichabod had gone. He even felt a little +relief at the decision. After all, it was so much +simpler than if he had won, for then––then––He +laughed gratingly at the thought. Cursed +if he would have known what to have done, +then!</p> +<p>The sound roused him and he looked at his +watch. A minute had passed, fourteen from +the first and the flame still sputtered. Was it +possible after all––after he had decided––that +he was not to lose, that the decision was unnecessary? +There was not in his mind the slightest +feeling of personal elation at the prospect, but +rather a sense of injury that such a scurvy trick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +should be foisted off upon him. It was like +going to a funeral and being confronted, suddenly, +with the grinning head of the supposed +dead projecting through the coffin lid. It was +unseemly!</p> +<p>Only a minute more: a half now––yes, he +would win. For the first time he felt that his +forehead was wet, and he mopped his face with +his handkerchief jerkily; then sank back in the +chair, instinctively shooting forward his cuffs +in motion habitual.</p> +<p>“Fifteen seconds.” There could be no question +now of the result; and the outside world, +banished for the once, returned. The blacksmith +was hammering again, the strokes two +seconds apart, and the fancy seized the little +man to finish counting by the ring of the anvil.</p> +<p>“Twelve, ten, eight,” he counted slowly. +“Six” was forming on the tip of the tongue +when of a sudden the tiny flame veered far over +toward the holder, sputtered and went out. For +the first time in those interminable minutes, +Arnold looked at his companion. Ichabod’s +face was within a foot of the table, and in line +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +with the direction the flame had veered. Swift +as thought the small man was on his feet, white +anger in his face.</p> +<p>“You blew that candle!” he challenged.</p> +<p>Ichabod’s head dropped into his hands. An +awful horror of himself fell crushingly upon +him; an abhorrence of the selfishness that could +have forgotten––what he forgot; and for so +long,––almost irrevocably long. Mingled with +this feeling was a sudden thanksgiving for the +boon of which he was unworthy; the memory +at the eleventh hour, in time to do as he had +done before his word was passed. Arnold +strode across the room, his breath coming fast, +his eyes flashing fire. He shook the tall man +by the shoulder roughly.</p> +<p>“You blew that flame, I say!”</p> +<p>Ichabod looked up at the furious, dark face +almost in surprise.</p> +<p>“Yes, I blew it,” he corroborated absently.</p> +<p>“It would have burned longer.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps––I don’t know.”</p> +<p>Arnold moved back a step and the old smile, +mocking, maddening, spread over his face; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +tilting, perpendicular, the tips of the big +moustaches.</p> +<p>“After all––” very slowly––“after all, +then, you’re a coward.”</p> +<p>The tall man stood up; six-feet-two, long, +bony, immovable: Ichabod himself again.</p> +<p>“You know that’s a lie.”</p> +<p>“You’ll meet me again,––another way, +then?”</p> +<p>“No, never!”</p> +<p>“I repeat, you’re a cursed coward.”</p> +<p>“I’d be a coward if I did meet you,” quickly.</p> +<p>Something in Ichabod’s voice caught the little +man’s ear and held him silent, as, for a long +half-minute, the last time in their lives, the two +men looked into each other’s eyes.</p> +<p>“You’ll perhaps explain.” Arnold’s voice +was cold as death. “You have a reason?”</p> +<p>Ichabod walked slowly over to the window +and leaned against the frame. Standing there, +the spring sunshine fell full upon his face, +drawing clear the furrows at the angles of his +eyes and the gray threads of his hair. He +paused a moment, looking out over the broad +prairie shimmering indistinctly in the heat, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +the calm of it all took hold of him, shone in his +face.</p> +<p>“I’ve a reason,” very measuredly, “but it’s +not that I fear death, or you.” He took up his +hat and smoothed it absently. “In future I +shall neither seek, nor avoid you. Do what you +wish––and God judge us both.” Without a +glance at the other man, he turned toward the +door.</p> +<p>Arnold moved a step, as if to prevent him +going.</p> +<p>“I repeat, it’s my right to know why you +refuse.” His feet shifted uneasily upon the +floor. “Is it because of another––Eleanor?”</p> +<p>Ichabod paused.</p> +<p>“Yes,” very slowly. “It’s because of +Eleanor––<i>and</i> another.”</p> +<p>The tall man’s hand was upon the knob, but +this time there was no interruption. An instant +he hesitated; then absently, slowly, the door +opened and closed. A moment later indistinct, +descending steps sounded on the stairway.</p> +<p>Alone, Asa Arnold stood immovable, looking +blindly at the closed door, listening until the +tapping feet had passed into silence. Then, in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +a motion indescribable, of pain and of abandon, +he sank back into the single chair.</p> +<p>His dearest enemy would have pitied the +little man at that moment! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VII––The Price of the Leap</span></h3> +<p>In the chronology of the little town, day +followed day, as monotonously as ticks the +tall clock on the wall. Only in multiple they +merged into the seasons which glided so +smoothly, one into the other, that the change +was unnoticed, until it had taken place.</p> +<p>Thus three months passed by, and man’s +work for the year was nearly done. The face +of the prairie had become one of many colors; +eternal badge of civilization as opposed to Nature, +who paints each season with its own hue. +Beside the roadways great, rank sunflowers +turned their glaring yellow faces to the light. +In every direction stretched broad fields of flax; +unequally ripening, their color scheme ranging +from sky blue of blossoms to warm browns of +maturity. Blotches of sod corn added here and +there a dash of green to the picture. Surrounding +all, a setting for all, the unbroken virgin +prairie, mottled green and brown, stretched, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +smiling, harmonious, beneficent; a land of +promise and of plenty for generations yet +unborn.</p> +<p>All through the long, hot summer Asa +Arnold had stayed in town, smoking a big +pipe in front of the hotel of Hans Becher. +Indolent, abnormally indolent, a stranger seeing +him thus would have commented; but, save +Hans the confiding, none other of the many +interested observers were deceived. No man +merely indolent sleeps neither by night nor by +day; and it seemed the little man never slept. +No man merely indolent sits wide-eyed hour +after hour, gazing blankly at the earth beneath +his feet––and uttering never a word. Brooding, +not dreaming, was Asa Arnold; brooding +over the eternal problem of right and wrong. +And, as passed the slow weeks, he moved back––back +on the trail of civilization, back until +Passion and not Reason was the god enthroned; +back until one thought alone was with him +morning, noon, and night,––and that thought +preponderant, overmastering, deadly hate.</p> +<p>Observant Curtis, the doctor, shrugged his +shoulders. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></p> +<p>“The old, old trail,” he satirized.</p> +<p>It was to Bud Evans, the little agent, that he +made the observation.</p> +<p>“Which has no ending,” completed the latter.</p> +<p>The doctor shrugged afresh.</p> +<p>“That has one inevitable termination,” he +refuted.</p> +<p>“Which is––”</p> +<p>“Madness––sheer madness.”</p> +<p>The agent was silent a moment.</p> +<p>“And the end of that?” he suggested.</p> +<p>Curtis pursed his lips.</p> +<p>“Tragedy, or a strait-jacket. The former, +in this instance.”</p> +<p>Evans was silent longer than before.</p> +<p>“Do you really mean that?” he queried at +last, significantly.</p> +<p>“I’ve warned Maurice,”––sententiously. “I +can do no more.”</p> +<p>“And he?” quickly.</p> +<p>“Thanked me.”</p> +<p>“That was all?”</p> +<p>“That was all.”</p> +<p>The two friends looked at each other, +steadily; yet, though they said no more, each +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +knew the thought of the other, each knew that +in future no move of Asa Arnold’s would pass +unnoticed, unchallenged.</p> +<p>Again, weeks, a month, passed without incident. +It was well along in the fall and of an +early evening that a vague rumor of the unusual +passed swiftly, by word of mouth, +throughout the tiny town. Only a rumor it +was, but sufficient to set every man within +hearing in motion.</p> +<p>On this night Hans Becher had eaten his +supper and returned to the hotel office, as was +his wont, for an evening smoke, when, without +apparent reason, Bud Evans and Jim Donovan, +the blacksmith, came quietly in and sat down.</p> +<p>“Evening,” they nodded, and looked about +them.</p> +<p>A minute later Dr. Curtis and Hank Judge, +the machine man, dropped unostentatiously +into chairs. They likewise muttered “Evening,” +and made observation from under their +hat-brims. Others followed rapidly, until the +room was full and dark figures waited outside. +At last Curtis spoke. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>“Your boarder, Asa Arnold, where is he, +Hans?”</p> +<p>The unsuspecting German blew a cloud of +smoke.</p> +<p>“He a while ago went out.” Then, as an +afterthought: “He will return soon.”</p> +<p>Silence once more for a time, and a steadily +thickening haze of smoke in the room.</p> +<p>“Did he have supper, Hans?” queried Bud +Evans, impatiently.</p> +<p>Again the German’s face expressed surprise.</p> +<p>“No, it is waiting for him. He went to shoot +a rabbit he saw.”</p> +<p>The men were on their feet.</p> +<p>“He took a gun, Hans?”</p> +<p>“A rifle, to be sure.” The mild brown eyes +glanced up reproachfully. “A man does not +go hunting without––... What is this!” +he completed in consternation, as, finding himself +suddenly alone, he hurried outside and +stood confusedly scratching his bushy poll, in +the block of light surrounding the open doorway.</p> +<p>The yard was deserted. As one snuffs a +candle, the men had vanished. Hans’ pipe had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +gone out and he went inside for a match. +Though the stars fell, the German must needs +smoke. Only a minute he was gone, but during +that time a group of horsemen had gathered in +the street. Others were coming across lots, and +still others were emerging from the darkness of +alleys. Some were mounted; some led by the +rein, wiry little bronchos. Watching, it almost +seemed to the German that they sprang from +the ground.</p> +<p>“Are you all ready?” called a voice, Bud +Evans’ voice.</p> +<p>“Here––”</p> +<p>“Here––”</p> +<p>“All ready?”</p> +<p>“Yes––”</p> +<p>“We’re off, then.”</p> +<p>There was a sudden, confused trampling, as +of cattle in stampede; a musical creaking of +heavy saddles; a knife-like swish of many quirts +through the air; a chorus of dull, chesty groans +as the rowels of long spurs bit the flanks of the +mustangs, and they were gone––down the narrow +street, out upon the prairie, their hoof beats +pattering <i>diminuendo</i> into silence; a cloud of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +dust, grayish in the starlight, marking the way +they had taken.</p> +<p>Jim Donovan, the blacksmith, came running +excitedly up from a side street. He stopped in +front of the hotel, breathlessly. Holding his +sides, he followed with his eyes the trail of dust +leading out into the night.</p> +<p>“Have they gone?” he panted. “I can’t +find another horse in town.”</p> +<p>“Where is it to?” sputtered the German.</p> +<p>“Have they gone, I say?”</p> +<p>Hans gasped.</p> +<p>“Yes, to be sure.”</p> +<p>“They’ll never make it.” The blacksmith +mopped his brow with conviction. “He has an +hour’s start.”</p> +<p>Hans grasped the big man by the coat.</p> +<p>“Who is too late?” he emphasized. “Where +are they going?”</p> +<p>Jim Donovan turned about, great pity for +such density in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Is it possible you don’t understand? It’s +to Ichabod Maurice’s they’re going, to tell him +of Arnold.” The speaker mopped his face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +anew. “It’s useless though. They’re too late,” +he completed.</p> +<p>“But Arnold is not there,” protested the +German. “He went for a rabbit, out on the +breaking. He so told me.”</p> +<p>“He lied to you. He’s mad. I tell you +they’re too late,” repeated the smith, obstinately.</p> +<p>Hans clung tenaciously to the collar.</p> +<p>“Some one knew and told them?” He +pointed in the direction the dust indicated.</p> +<p>“Yes, Bud Evans; but they wouldn’t believe +him at first, and”––bitterly––“and +waited.” Donovan shook himself free, and +started down the walk. “I’m going to bed,” +he announced conclusively.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the cloud of dust was moving +out over the prairie like the wind. The pace +was terrific, and the tough little ponies were +soon puffing steadily. Small game, roused +from its sleep by the roadside, sprang winging +into the night. Once a coyote, surprised, ran a +distance confusedly ahead in the roadway; then, +an indistinct black ball, it vanished amongst the +tall grass. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p> +<p>Well out on the prairie, Bud Evans, the +leader, raised in his stirrups and looked ahead. +There was no light beyond where the little cottage +should be. The rowels of his spur dug +anew at the flank of his pony as he turned a +voice like a fog-horn back over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“The place is dark, boys,” he called. +“Hurry.”</p> +<p>Answering, a muttering sound, not unlike an +approaching storm, passed along the line, and +in accompaniment the quirts cut the air anew.</p> +<p>Silent as the grave was the little farmstead +when, forty odd minutes from the time of starting, +they steamed up at the high fence bounding +the yard. One of Ichabod’s farm horses +whinnied a lone greeting from the barn as they +hastily dismounted and swarmed within the +inclosure.</p> +<p>“We’re too late,” prophesied a voice.</p> +<p>“I’m glad my name’s not Arnold, if we are,” +responded another, threateningly.</p> +<p>Hurrying up the path in advance, the little +land-agent stumbled over a soft, dark object, +and a curse fell from his lips as he recognized +the dead body of the big collie. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p> +<p>“Yes, we’re too late,” he echoed.</p> +<p>The door of the house swung ajar, creaking +upon its hinges; and, as penetrates the advance +wave of a flood, the men swarmed through the +doorway inside, until the narrow room was +blocked. Simultaneously, like torches, lighted +matches appeared aloft in their hands, and the +tiny whitewashed room flashed into light. As +simultaneously there sprang from the mouth of +each man an oath, and another, and another. +Waiting outside, not a listener but knew the +meaning of that sound; and big, hairy faces +crowded tightly to the one small window.</p> +<p>For a moment not a man in the line stirred. +Death was to them no stranger; but death such +as this––</p> +<p>In more than one hand the match burned +down until it left a mark like charcoal, and +without calling attention. One and all they +stood spellbound, their eyes on the floor, their +lips unconsciously uttering the speech universal +of anger and of horror, the instinctive language +of anathema.</p> +<p>On the floor, sprawling, as falls a lifeless +body, lay the long Ichabod. On his forehead, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +almost geometrically near the centre, was a tiny, +black spot, around it a lighter red blotch; his +face otherwise very white; his hair, on the side +toward which he leaned, a little matted; that +was all.</p> +<p>Prostrate across him, in an attitude of utter +abandon, reposed the body of a woman, soft, +graceful, motionless now as that of the man: +the body of Camilla Maurice. One hand had +held his head and was stained dark. On her lips +was another stain, but lighter. The meaning of +that last mark came as a flash to the spectators, +and the room grew still as the figures on the +floor.</p> +<p>Suddenly in the silence the men caught their +breath, with the quick guttural note that announces +the unexpected. That there was no +remaining life they had taken for granted––and +Camilla’s lips had moved! They stared as +at sight of a ghost; all except Curtis, the +physician.</p> +<p>“A lamp, men,” he demanded, pressing his +ear to Camilla’s chest.</p> +<p>“Help me here, Evans,” he continued without +turning. “I think she’s fainted is all,” and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +together they carried their burden into the tiny +sleeping-room, closing the door behind.</p> +<p>That instant Ole, the Swede, thrust a curious +head in at the outer doorway. He had noticed +the light and the gathering, and came to ascertain +their meaning. Wondering, his big eyes +passed around the waiting group and from them +to the floor. With that look self-consciousness +left him; he crowded to the front, bending over +the tall man and speaking his name.</p> +<p>“Mr. Maurice,” he called. “Mr. Maurice.”</p> +<p>He snatched off his own coat, rolling it under +Ichabod’s head, and with his handkerchief +touched the dark spot on the forehead. It +was clotted already and hardening, and realization +came to the boy Swede. He stood up, +facing the men, the big veins in his throat +throbbing.</p> +<p>“Who did this?” he thundered, crouching +for a spring like a great dog. “Who did this, I +say?”</p> +<p>It was the call to action. In the sudden +horror of the tragedy the big fellows had momentarily +forgotten their own grim epilogue. +Now, at the words, they turned toward the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +door. But the Swede was in advance, blocking +the passage.</p> +<p>“Tell me first who did this thing,” he challenged, +threateningly.</p> +<p>A hand was laid gently upon his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Asa Arnold, my boy,” answered a quiet +voice, which continued, in response to a sudden +thought, “You live near here; have you seen +him to-night?”</p> +<p>The Swede dropped the bar.</p> +<p>“The little man who stays with Hans +Becher?”</p> +<p>The questioner nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes, a half-hour ago.” The boy-man understood +now. “He stopped at my house, +and––”</p> +<p>“Which direction did he go?”</p> +<p>Ole stepped outside, his arm stretched over +the prairie, white now in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“That way,” he indicated. “East.”</p> +<p>As there had been quiescence before, now +there was action. No charge of cavalry was +ever more swift than their sudden departure.</p> +<p>“East, toward Schooner’s ranch,” was called +and repeated as they made their way back to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +road; and, following, the wiry little bronchos +groaned in unison as the back cinch to each one +of the heavy saddles, was, with one accord, +drawn tight. Then, widening out upon the +reflected whiteness of prairie, there spread a +great black crescent. A moment later came +silence, broken only by the quivering call of a +lone coyote.</p> +<p>Ole watched them out of sight, then turned +back to the door; the mood of the heroic passed, +once more the timid, retiring Swede. But now +he was not alone. Bud Evans was quietly working +over the body on the floor, laying it out +decently as the quick ever lay out the dead.</p> +<p>“Evans,” called the doctor from the bedroom. +As the agent responded, Ole heard the +smothered cry of a woman in pain.</p> +<p>The big boy hesitated, then sat down on the +doorstep. There was nothing now for him +to do, and suddenly he felt very tired. His +head dropped listlessly into his hands; like a +great dog, he waited, watching.</p> +<p>Minutes passed. On the table the oil lamp +sputtered and burned lower. Out in the stable +the horse repeated its former challenging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +whinny. Once again through the partition the +listener caught the choking wail of pain, and +the muffled sound of the doctor’s voice in +answer.</p> +<p>At last Bud Evans came to the door, his face +very white. “Water,” he requested, and Ole ran +to the well and back. Then, impassive, he sat +down again to wait.</p> +<p>Time passed, so long a time it seemed to the +watcher that the riders must soon be returning. +Finally Evans emerged from the side room, +walking absently, his face gray in the lamplight.</p> +<p>The Swede stood up.</p> +<p>“Camilla Maurice, is she hurt?” he asked.</p> +<p>The little agent busied himself making a fire.</p> +<p>“She’s dead,” he answered slowly.</p> +<p>“Dead, you say?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dead,”––very quietly.</p> +<p>The fire blazed up and lit the room, shining +unpityingly upon the face of the man on the +floor.</p> +<p>Evans noticed, and drawing off his own coat +spread it over the face and hands, covering them +from sight; then, uncertain, he returned and sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +down, mechanically holding his palms to the +blaze.</p> +<p>A moment later Dr. Curtis appeared at +the tiny bedroom entrance; and, emerging +as the little man had done before him, he closed +the door softly behind. In his arms he carried +a blanket, carefully rolled. From the depths of +its folds, as he slowly crossed the room toward +the stove, there escaped a sudden cry, muffled, +unmistakable.</p> +<p>The doctor sank down wearily in a chair. +Ole, the boy-faced, without a question brought +in fresh wood, laying it down on the floor very, +very softly.</p> +<p>“Will he––live?” asked Bud Evans, suddenly, +with an uncertain glance at the obscuring +blanket; and hearing the query, the Swede +paused in his work to listen.</p> +<p>The big doctor hesitated, and cleared his +throat.</p> +<p>“I think so; though––God forgive me––I +hope not.” And he cleared his throat again.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +<a name='JOURNEYS_END' id='JOURNEYS_END'></a> +<h2>JOURNEY’S END</h2> +</div> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>“Steve!” It was the girl who spoke, but +the man did not seem to hear. He was +staring through the window, unseeingly, into +the heart of his bitter foe, Winter. He sat silent, +helpless.</p> +<p>“Steve!”</p> +<p>At last he awoke.</p> +<p>“Mollie!––girlie!”</p> +<p>An hour had passed since he left the doctor’s +office to reel and stagger drunkenly through the +slush and the sleet, and the icy blasts, which bit +cruelly into his very vitals.</p> +<p>Now he and Mollie were alone in the tiny +library. Babcock had been warmed, washed, +fed. Seemingly without volition on his part, +he was before the hard-coal blaze, his feet on the +fender, the light carefully shaded from his eyes. +Once upon a time–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>But Steve Babcock, master mechanic, had +not lost his nerve––once upon a time.</p> +<p>“Steve”––the voice was as soft as the wide +brown eyes, as the dainty oval chin––“Steve, +tell me what it is.”</p> +<p>The man’s hand, palm outward, dropped +wearily, eloquently. That was all.</p> +<p>“But tell me,” the girl’s chair came closer, so +that she might have touched him, “you went to +see the doctor?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And he––?”</p> +<p>Again the silent, hopeless gesture, more fear-inspiring +than words.</p> +<p>“Don’t keep me in suspense, please.” A +small hand was on the man’s knee, now, frankly +unashamed. “Tell me what he said.”</p> +<p>For an instant there was silence, then Babcock +shrugged awkwardly, in an effort at nonchalance.</p> +<p>“He said I was––was––” in spite of himself, +the speaker paused to moisten his lips––“a +dead man.”</p> +<p>“Steve!”</p> +<p>Not a word this time; not even a shrug. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>“Steve, you––you’re not––not joking with +me?”</p> +<p>Lower and lower, still in silence, dropped the +man’s chin.</p> +<p>“Steve,” in a steadier voice, “please answer +me. You’re not joking?”</p> +<p>“Joking!” At last the query had pierced +the fear-dulled brain. “Joking! God, no! +It’s real, real, deadly real, that’s what ... +Oh, Mollie––!” Instinctively, as a child, the +man’s head had gone to the girl’s lap. Though +never before had they spoken of love or of marriage, +neither noted the incongruity now. “It’s +all over. We’ll never be married, never again +get out into the country together, never even see +the green grass next Spring––at least I won’t––never.... +Oh, Mollie, Mollie!” The +man’s back rose and fell spasmodically. His +voice broke. “Mollie, make me forget; I can’t +bear to think of it. Can’t! Can’t!”</p> +<p>Not a muscle of the girl’s body stirred; she +made no sound. No one in advance would have +believed it possible, but it was true. Five minutes +passed. The man became quiet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></p> +<p>“Steve,” the voice was very even, “what else +did the doctor say?”</p> +<p>“Eh?” It was the doddering query of an +old man.</p> +<p>The girl repeated the question, slowly, with +infinite patience, as though she were speaking +to a child.</p> +<p>“What else did the doctor say?”</p> +<p>Her tranquillity in a measure calmed the man.</p> +<p>“Oh, he said a lot of things; but that’s all I +remember––what I told you. It was the last +thing, and he kind of tilted back in his chair. +The spring needed oil; it fairly screamed. I +can hear it now.</p> +<p>“‘Steve Babcock,’ said he, ‘you’ve got to go +some place where it’s drier, where the air’s pure +and clean and sweet the year round. Mexico’s +the spot for you, or somewhere in the Far West +where you can spend all your time in the open––under +the roof of Heaven.’</p> +<p>“He leaned forward, and again that cursed +spring interrupted.</p> +<p>“‘If you don’t go, and go right away,’ he +said, ‘as sure as I’m talking to you, you’re a +dead man.’” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>Babcock straightened, and, leaden-eyed, +looked dully into the blaze.</p> +<p>“Those,” he whispered, “were his last +words.”</p> +<p>“And if you do go?”––very quietly.</p> +<p>“He said I had a chance––a fighting +chance.” Once more the hopeless, deprecatory +gesture.</p> +<p>“But what’s the use? You know, as well as +I, that I haven’t a hundred dollars to my name. +He might just as well have told me to go to the +moon.</p> +<p>“We poor folks are like rats in a trap when +they turn the water on––helpless. We––”</p> +<p>Babcock had wandered on, forgetting, for +the moment, that it was his own case he was +analyzing. Now of a sudden it recurred to him, +cumulatively, crushingly and, as before, his +head instinctively sought refuge.</p> +<p>“We can’t do anything but take our medicine, +Mollie––just take our medicine.”</p> +<p><i>Patter</i>, <i>patter</i> sounded the sleet against the +window-panes, mingling with the roar of the +wind in the chimney, with the short, quick +breaths of the man. In silence he reached out, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +took one of the girl’s hands captive, and held it +against his cheek.</p> +<p>For a minute––five minutes––she did not +stir, did not utter a sound; only the soft oval +face tightened until its gentle outlines grew +sharp, and the brown skin almost white.</p> +<p>All at once her lips compressed; she had +reached a decision.</p> +<p>“Steve, sit up, please; I can talk to you better +so.” Pityingly, protectingly, she placed an +arm around him and drew him close; not as man +to maid, but––ah, the pity of it!––as a feeble +child to its mother.</p> +<p>“Listen to what I say. To-day is Thursday. +Next Monday you are going West, as the +doctor orders.”</p> +<p>“What––what did you say, Mollie?”</p> +<p>“Next Monday you go West.”</p> +<p>“You mean, after all, I’m to have a chance? +I’m not going to die like––like a rat?”</p> +<p>For a moment, a swiftly passing moment, it +was the old vital Steve who spoke; the Babcock +of a year ago; then, in quick recession, the mood +passed.</p> +<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +girl. I can’t go, I tell you. I haven’t the +money.”</p> +<p>“I’ll see that you have the money, Steve.”</p> +<p>“You?”</p> +<p>“I’ve been teaching for eight years, and living +at home all the while.”</p> +<p>The man, surprised out of his self centredness, +looked wonderingly, unbelievingly, at her.</p> +<p>“You never told me, Mollie.”</p> +<p>“No, I never saw the need before.”</p> +<p>The man’s look of wonder passed. Another––fearful, +dependent, the look of a child in the +dark––took its place.</p> +<p>“But––alone, Mollie! A strange land, a +strange people, a strange tongue! Oh, I hate +myself, girl, hate myself! I’ve lost my nerve. +I can’t go alone. I can’t.”</p> +<p>“You’re not going alone, Steve.” There was +a triumphant note in her voice that thrilled the +man through and through. She continued:</p> +<p>“Only this morning––I don’t know why I +did it; it seems now like Providence pointing +the way––I read in the paper about the rich +farm lands in South Dakota that are open for +settlement. I thought of you at the time, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +Steve; how such a life might restore your +health; but it seemed so impossible, so impracticable, +that I soon forgot about it.</p> +<p>“But––Steve––we can each take up a +quarter-section––three hundred and twenty +acres, altogether. Think of it! We’ll soon be +rich. There you will have just the sort of outdoor +life the doctor says you need.”</p> +<p>He looked at her, marvelling.</p> +<p>“Mollie––you don’t mean it––now, when +I’m––this way!” He arose, his breath coming +quick, a deep blot of red in the centre of +each cheek. “It can’t be true when––when +you’d never let me say anything before.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Steve, it’s true.”</p> +<p>She was so calm, so self-possessed and withal +so determined, that the man was incredulous.</p> +<p>“That you’ll marry me? Say it, Mollie!”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ll marry you.”</p> +<p>“Mollie!” He took a step forward, then of +a sudden, abruptly halted.</p> +<p>“But your parents,” in swift trepidation. +“Mollie, they––”</p> +<p>“Don’t let’s speak of them,”––sharply. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +Then in quick contrition, her voice softened; +once more it struck the maternal note.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, I’m very tired. Come. We +have a spare room; you mustn’t go home to-night.”</p> +<p>The man stopped, coughed, advanced a step, +then stopped again.</p> +<p>“Mollie, I can’t thank you; can’t ever repay +you––”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t talk of repaying me,” she said +shyly, her dark face coloring. It was the first +time during the interview that she had shown a +trace of embarrassment.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said, meeting his look again, her +hand on the door; “it’s getting late. You must +not venture out.”</p> +<p>A moment longer the man hesitated, then +obeyed. Not until he was very near, so near +that he could touch her, did a vestige of his +former manhood appear. He paused, and their +eyes were locked in a soul-searching look. Then +all at once his arm was round her waist, his face +beside her face.</p> +<p>“Mollie, girl, won’t you––just once?”</p> +<p>“No, no––not that! Don’t ask it.” Passionately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +the brown hands flew to the brown cheeks, +covering them protectingly. But at once came +thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition +for the involuntary repulse.</p> +<p>“Forgive me, Steve; I’m unaccountable to-night.” +Her voice, her manner were constrained, +subdued. She accepted his injured +look without comment, without further defence. +She saw the perplexed look on his thin face; +then she reached forward––up––and her two +soft hands brought his face down to the level of +her own.</p> +<p>Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair +upon the lips.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>The sun was just peering over the rim of the +prairie, when Mrs. Warren turned in from the +dusty road, picked her way among the browning +weeds to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like +structure which marked the presence of a homesteader. +Except to the east, where stood the +tents and shacks of the new railroad’s construction +gang, not another human habitation broke +the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the +rough boards of the door.</p> +<p>A full half-minute she waited; then she +glared petulantly at the unresponsive barrier, +and pounded upon it again.</p> +<p>Ordinarily she would have waited patiently, +for the multitude of duties of one day often +found Mrs. Babcock still weary with the dawning +of the next––especially since Steve had +allied himself with Jack Warren’s engineering +corps.</p> +<p>Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians +had reached the stage of desperation where +they were driven to acknowledge failure, when +Jack Warren happened along, in the van of +the new railroad.</p> +<p>The work of home-building, from the raw +material, had been too much for Steve’s enfeebled +physique; so it happened that Mollie +performed most of his share, as well as all of +her own. Yet Steve toiled to the limit of his +endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung +himself upon his blanket, spread beneath the +stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling with weariness. +But he soon developed a prodigious appetite, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +and, after the first few weeks, slept each +night like a dead man, until sunrise.</p> +<p>This morning Annie Warren was too full of +her errand to pause an instant. She stood a +moment listening, one ear to the splintery, +unfinished boards, then––</p> +<p>“Mollie,” she ventured, “are you awake?”</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>“Mollie”––more insistent, “wake up and let +me in.”</p> +<p>Still no response.</p> +<p>“Mollie,” for the third time, “it is I, Annie; +may I enter?”</p> +<p>“Come.” The voice was barely audible.</p> +<p>Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the +visitor impetuously crossed the earthen floor +half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall, +then paused, her round, childlike face soberly +lengthening.</p> +<p>“Mollie, you have been crying!” she charged, +resentfully, as if the act constituted a personal +offence. “You can’t deceive me. The pillow is +soaked, and your eyes are red.” She came forward, +impulsively, and threw herself on the bed, +her arm about the other. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>“What is it? Tell me––your friend––Annie.”</p> +<p>Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock +made a motion of deprecation, almost of repugnance.</p> +<p>“It is nothing. Please don’t pay any attention +to me.”</p> +<p>“But it <i>is</i> something. Am I not your +friend?”</p> +<p>For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren +all at once became conscious that the other +woman was looking at her in a way she had +never done before.</p> +<p>“Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But +just the same, it’s nothing.” The look altered +until it became a smile.</p> +<p>“Tell me, instead, why you are here,” Mollie +went on. “It is not usual at this time of day.”</p> +<p>Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was +hurt.</p> +<p>“It is nothing.” The visitor was on her feet, +her voice again resentful; her chin was held +high, while her long lashes drooped. “Pardon +me for intruding, for––”</p> +<p>“Annie!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p> +<p>No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red +lip.</p> +<p>“Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn’t for +the world hurt you; but it is so hard, what you +ask.” Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise. +“However, if you wish––”</p> +<p>“No, no!” The storm was clearing. “It +was all my fault. I know you’d rather not.” +She had grasped Mollie’s arms, and was forcing +her backward, toward the bunk, gently, +smilingly. “Be still. I’ve something to tell +you. Are you quite ready to listen?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m quite ready.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t the slightest idea what it is? +You couldn’t even guess?”</p> +<p>“No, I couldn’t even guess.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, then.” The plump Annie was +bubbling like a child before a well-filled Christmas +stocking. “It’s Jack: he’s coming this +very day. A big, fierce Indian brought the +letter this morning.” She sat down tailor fashion +on the end of the bunk. “He nearly ate up +Susie––Jack christened her Susie because she’s +a Sioux––because she wouldn’t let him put the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +letter right into my own hand. That’s why I’m +up so early.”</p> +<p>She looked slyly at the woman on the bed.</p> +<p>“Who do you suppose is coming with him?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” in a tone of not +caring, either.</p> +<p>“Guess, Mollie!”</p> +<p>“Steve?”</p> +<p>“Of course––Steve. You knew all the time, +only you wouldn’t admit it. Oh, I’m so glad! +I want to hug some one. Isn’t it fine?”</p> +<p>“Yes, fine indeed. But you don’t mean that +you want to hug Steve?”</p> +<p>“No, goose. You know I meant Jack; but +I––” She regarded her friend doubtfully. +But Mollie Babcock was dressing rapidly, and +her face was averted.</p> +<p>“And Mollie, I didn’t tell you all––almost +the best. We’re going home, Jack says; going +right away; this very week, maybe.”</p> +<p>For a moment the dressing halted. “I am +very glad––for you,” said Mollie, in an even +voice.</p> +<p>“Glad, for me!” mimickingly, baitingly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +“Mollie Babcock, if I didn’t know you better, +I’d say you were envious.”</p> +<p>Mollie said nothing.</p> +<p>“Or weren’t glad your husband is coming.”</p> +<p>Still no word.</p> +<p>“Or––or––Mollie, what have I done?” +Annie cried in dismay. “Don’t cry so; I was +only joking. Of course you know that I didn’t +mean that you envied our good luck, or that +you wouldn’t be crazy to see Steve.”</p> +<p>“But it’s so. God help me, it’s so!”</p> +<p>“Mollie!” Mrs. Warren was aghast. “Forgive +me! I’m ashamed of myself!”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing to forgive; it’s so.”</p> +<p>“Please don’t.” The two were very close, +very tense, but not touching. “Don’t say any +more. I didn’t hear––”</p> +<p>“You did hear. And you suspected, or you +wouldn’t have suggested!”</p> +<p>“Mollie, I never dreamed. I––”</p> +<p>Of a sudden the older woman faced about. +Seizing the other by the shoulders, she held her +prisoner. She fixed the frightened woman’s +eyes with a stern look. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>“Will you swear that you never knew––that +it was mere chance––what you said?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You swear you didn’t?”––the grip tightened––“you +swear it?”</p> +<p>“I swear––oh, you’re hurting me!”</p> +<p>Mollie Babcock let her hands drop.</p> +<p>“I believe you”––wearily. “It seemed that +everybody knew. God help me!” She sank to +the bed, her face in her hands. “I believe I’m +going mad!”</p> +<p>“Mollie––Mollie Babcock! You mustn’t +talk so––you mustn’t!” The seconds ticked +away. Save for the quick catch of suppressed +sobs, not a sound was heard in the mean, austere +little room; not an echo penetrated from the +outside world.</p> +<p>Then suddenly the brown head lifted from +the pillow, and Mollie faced almost fiercely +about.</p> +<p>“You think I am––am mad already.” Then, +feverishly: “Don’t you?”</p> +<p>Helpless at a crisis, Annie Warren could only +stand silent, the pink, childish under-lip held +tight between her teeth to prevent a quiver. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +Her fingers played nervously with the filmy +lace shawl about her shoulders.</p> +<p>Mollie advanced a step. “Don’t you?”</p> +<p>Annie found her voice.</p> +<p>“No, no, no! Oh, Mollie, no, of course +not! You––Mollie––” Instinct all at once +came to her rescue. With a sudden movement +she gathered the woman in her arms, her tender +heart quivering in her voice and glistening in +her eyes. “Mollie, I can’t bear to have you so! +I love you, Mollie. Tell me what it is––me––your +friend, Annie.”</p> +<p>Mollie’s lips worked without speech, and +Annie became insistent.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Mollie. Let me share the ache at +your heart. I love you!”</p> +<p>Here was the crushing straw to one very, very +heartsick and very weary. For the first time +in her solitary life, Mollie Babcock threw reticence +to the winds, and admitted another human +being into the secret places of her confidence.</p> +<p>“If you don’t think me already mad, you will +before I’m through.” Like a caged wild thing +that can not be still, she was once more on her +feet, vibrating back and forth like a shuttle. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +“I’m afraid of myself at times, afraid of the +future. It’s like the garret used to be after +dark, when we were children: it holds only +horrors.</p> +<p>“Child, child!” She paused, her arms +folded across her breast, her throat a-throb. +“You can’t understand––thank God, you +never will understand––what the future holds +for me. You are going back home; back to your +own people, your own life. You’ve been here +but a few months. To you it has been a lark, +an outing, an experience. In a few short weeks +it will be but a memory, stowed away in its own +niche, the pleasant features alone remaining +vivid.</p> +<p>“Even, while here, you’ve never known the +life itself. You’ve had Jack, the novelty of a +strange environment, your anticipation of sure +release. You are merely like a sightseer, locked +for a minute in a prison-cell, for the sake of a +new sensation.</p> +<p>“You can’t understand, I say. You are this, +and I––I am the life-prisoner in the cell beyond, +peering at you through the bars, viewing +you and your mock imprisonment.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p> +<p>Once more the speaker was in motion, to and +fro, to and fro, in the shuttle-trail. “The chief +difference is, that the life-prisoner has a hope +of pardon; I have none––absolutely none.”</p> +<p>“Mollie”––pleadingly, “you mustn’t. I’ll +ask Jack to give Steve a place at home, and you +can go––”</p> +<p>“Go!” The bitterness of her heart welled +up and vibrated in the word. “Go! We can’t +go, now or ever. It’s death to Steve if we +leave. I’ve got to stay here, month after month, +year after year, dragging my life out until I +grow gray-haired––until I die!” She halted, +her arms tensely folded, her breath coming +quick. Only the intensity of her emotion saved +the attitude from being histrionic. In a sudden +outburst, she fiercely apostrophized:</p> +<p>“Oh, Dakota! I hate you, I hate you! Because +I am a woman, I hate you! Because I +would live in a house, and not in this endless +dreary waste of a dead world, I hate you! Because +your very emptiness and solitude are worse +than a prison, because the calls of the living +things that creep and fly over your endless +bosom are more mournful than death itself, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +hate you! Because I would be free, because I +respect sex, because of the disdain for womanhood +that dwells in your crushing silence, I +hate––oh, my God, how I hate you!” She +threw her arms wide, in a frantic gesture of +rebellion.</p> +<p>“I want but this,” she cried passionately: +“to be free; free, as I was at home, in God’s +country. And I can never be so here––never, +never, never! Oh, Annie, I’m homesick––desperately, +miserably homesick! I wish to +Heaven I were dead!”</p> +<p>Annie Warren, child-woman that she was, +was helpless, when face to face with the unusual. +Her senses were numbed, paralyzed. +One thought alone suggested itself.</p> +<p>“But”––haltingly––“for Steve’s sake––certainly, +for him––”</p> +<p>“Stop! As you love me, stop!” Again no +suggestion of the histrionic in the passionate +voice. “Don’t say that now. I can’t stand it. +I––oh, I don’t mean that! Forget that I said +it. I’m not responsible this morning. Please +leave me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>She was prostrate on the bed at last, her whole +body a-tremble.</p> +<p>“But––Mollie––”</p> +<p>“Go––go!” cried Mollie, wildly. “Please +go!”</p> +<p>Awed to silence, Annie Warren stared helplessly +a moment, then gathered her shawl about +her shoulders, and slipped silently away.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about +some imperative domestic task, behind the mean +structure which represented home for her, when +Steve came upon her.</p> +<p>She was not looking for him. He had been +gone so long, out there somewhere, in that abomination +of desolation, building a railroad, that +the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her +that the prairie had swallowed him, and that +she would never see him more. So he came upon +her unawares.</p> +<p>The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of +her skirts. His eyes lighted, the man seemed +to grow in stature––six feet of sun-blessed, +primitive health. Now was the time–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>“Mollie!”</p> +<p>There was a sudden gasp from the woman. +With a hand to her throat, she wheeled swiftly +round, confronting him.</p> +<p>“I’m back at last. Aren’t you glad to see +me?”</p> +<p>She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid, +despite the fact that she had decided, and had +nerved herself for his coming.</p> +<p>Steve was puzzled. “Mollie, girl”––he did +not advance, merely stood as he was––“aren’t +you glad to see me? Won’t you––come?”</p> +<p>There was a long space of silence; the woman +did not stir. Then a strange, inarticulate cry +was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all but +desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although +her eyes were shining with the enchantment +of his presence; close to him she came, +flung her arms around his broad chest, and +strained him to her with the abandon of a wild +creature.</p> +<p>“Steve!” tensely, “how could you? Glad? +You know I’m glad––oh, so glad! You +startled me, that was all.”</p> +<p>“Mollie, girlie”––he lifted her at arms’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +length, joying in this testimony of his renewed +strength and manhood––“I rode all last night +to get here––to see you. Are you happy, girlie, +happy?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Steve”––her voice was chastened to +a murmur––“I––I’m very happy.”</p> +<p>“That completes my happiness.” Drawing +her tenderly to him, he kissed her again and +again––hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, +he fell to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that +she was quick to interpret.</p> +<p>“Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten, +Mollie?”</p> +<p>“No, I’ve not forgotten, Steve.” She drew +the bearded face down to her own. Had Steve +been observant he would have noticed that the +lips so near his own were trembling; but he was +not observant, this Steve Babcock. Once, twice +and again she kissed him.</p> +<p>“I think I’ll never forget, Steve, man––never!” +With one hand she indicated the +prairie that billowed away to the skyline. “This +is our home, and I love it because it is ours. I +shall always have you––I know now, Steve. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +And I’m the happiest, most contented woman +in all the wide world.”</p> +<p>She drew away with a sudden movement, her +face aglow with love and happiness. She was +pulling at his arm with all her might.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” he asked, surprised.</p> +<p>“Over to the camp––to Journey’s End. I +must tell Annie Warren just as soon as ever +I can find her.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +<a name='A_PRAIRIE_IDYL' id='A_PRAIRIE_IDYL'></a> +<h2>A PRAIRIE IDYL</h2> +</div> +<p>A beautiful moonlight night early +in September, the kind of night one remembers +for years, when the air is not too +cold to be pleasant, and yet has a suggestion of +the frost that is to come. A kind of air that +makes one think thoughts which cannot be put +into words, that calls up sensations one cannot +describe; an air which breeds restless energy; +an air through which Mother Nature seems to +speak, saying––“Hasten, children; life is +short and you have much to do.”</p> +<p>It was nearing ten o’clock, and a full moon +lit up the rolling prairie country of South Dakota +for miles, when the first team of a little +train of six moved slowly out of the dark +shadow blots thrown by the trees at the edge of +the Big Sioux, advancing along a dim trail +towards the main road. From the first wagon +sounded the suggestive rattle of tin cooking-utensils, +and the clatter of covers on an old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +cook stove. Next behind was a load piled high +with a compound heap of tents, tennis nets, old +carpets, hammocks, and the manifold unclassified +paraphernalia which twenty young people +will collect for a three weeks’ outing.</p> +<p>These wagons told their own story. “Camp +Eden,” the fanciful name given to the quiet, +shady spot where the low chain of hills met the +river; the spot where the very waters seemed to +lose themselves in their own cool depths, and +depart sighing through the shallows beyond,––Camp +Eden was deserted, and a score of very +tired campers were reluctantly returning to +home and work.</p> +<p>Last in the line and steadily losing ground, +came a single trap carrying two people. One +of them, a young man with the face of a +dreamer, was speaking. The spell of the night +was upon him.</p> +<p>“So this is the last of our good time––and +now for work.” He stopped the horse and +stood up in the wagon. “Good-bye, little Camp +Eden. Though I won’t be here, yet whenever +I see the moon a-shining so––and the air feeling +frosty and warm and restless––and the corn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +stalks whitening, and the young prairie chickens +calling––you’ll come back to me, and I’ll +think of you––and of the Big Sioux––and of––” +His eyes dropped to a smooth brown head, +every coil of the walnut hair glistening.</p> +<p>It made him think of the many boat rides +they two had taken together in the past two +weeks, when he had watched the moonlight +shimmering on rippling, running water, and +compared the play of light upon it and upon +that same brown head––and had forgotten all +else in the comparison. He forgot all else now. +He sat down, and the horse started. The noisy +wagons ahead had passed out of hearing. The +pair were alone.</p> +<p>He was silent a moment, looking sideways at +the girl. The moonlight fell full upon her face, +drawing clear the line of cheek and chin; bringing +out the curve of the drooping mouth and the +shadow from the long lashes. She seemed to +the sensitive lad more than human. He had +loved her for years, with the pure silent love +known only to such a nature as his––and never +had he loved her so wildly as now.</p> +<p>He was the sport of a multitude of passions; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +love and ambition were the strongest, and they +were fighting a death struggle with each other. +How could he leave her for years––perhaps +never see her again––and yet how could he +ask her to be the wife of such as he was now––a +mere laborer? And again, his college course, +his cherished ambition for years––how could he +give it up; and yet he felt––he knew she loved +him, and trusted him.</p> +<p>He had been looking squarely at her. She +turned, and their eyes met. Each knew the +thought of the other, and each turned away. +He hesitated no longer; he would tell her all, +and she should judge. His voice trembled a +little as he said: “I want to tell you a story, +and ask you a question––may I?”</p> +<p>She looked at him quickly, then answered +with a smile: “I’m always glad to hear stories––and +at the worst one can always decline to +answer questions.”</p> +<p>He looked out over the prairie, and saw the +lights of the little town––her home––in the +distance.</p> +<p>“It isn’t a short story, and I have only so +long”––he pointed along the road ahead to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +village beyond––“to tell it in.” He settled +back in the seat, and began speaking. His +voice was low and soft, like the prairie night-wind.</p> +<p>“Part of the story you know; part of it I +think you have guessed; a little of it will be +new. For the sake of that little, I will tell +all.”</p> +<p>“Thirteen years ago, what is now a little +prairie town––then a very little town indeed––gained +a new citizen––a boy of nine. A +party of farmers found him one day, sleeping +in a pile of hay, in the market corner. He lay +so they could see how his face was bruised––and +how, though asleep, he tossed in pain. He +awoke, and, getting up, walked with a limp. +Where he came from no one knew, and he would +not tell; but his appearance told its own story. +He had run away from somewhere. What had +happened they could easily imagine.</p> +<p>“It was harvest-time and boys, even though +minus a pedigree, were in demand; so he was +promptly put on a farm. Though only a child, +he had no one to care for him––and he was +made to work ceaselessly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“Years passed and brought a marked change +in the boy. How he lived was a marvel. It was +a country of large families, and no one cared +to adopt him. Summers, he would work for his +board and clothes, and in winter, by the irony +of Nature, for his board only; yet, perhaps because +it was the warmest place he knew, he +managed to attend district school.</p> +<p>“When a lad of fifteen he began to receive +wages––and life’s horizon seemed to change. +He dressed neatly, and in winter came to +school in the little prairie town. He was put in +the lower grades with boys of ten, and even +here his blunders made him a laughing-stock; +but not for long, for he worked––worked always––and +next year was put in the high +school.</p> +<p>“There he established a precedent––doing +four years’ work in two––and graduated at +eighteen. How he did it no one but he himself +knew––studying Sundays, holidays, and evenings, +when he was so tired that he had to walk +the floor to keep awake––but he did it.”</p> +<p>The speaker stopped a moment to look at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +his companion. “Is this a bore? Somehow I +can’t help talking to-night.”</p> +<p>“No, please go on,” said the girl quickly.</p> +<p>“Well, the boy graduated––but not alone. +For two years he had worked side by side with +a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. From the +time he had first seen her she was his ideal––his +divinity. And she had never spoken with him +five minutes in her life. After graduation, the +girl went away to a big university. Her parents +were wealthy, and her every wish was +gratified.”</p> +<p>Again the speaker hesitated. When he went +on his face was hard, his voice bitter.</p> +<p>“And the boy––he was poor and he went +back to the farm. He was the best hand in the +country; for the work he received good wages. +If he had worked hard before, he worked now +like a demon. He thought of the girl away at +college, and tried at first to crowd her from his +memory––but in vain. Then he worked in +self-defence––and to forget.</p> +<p>“He saw years slipping by––and himself +still a farmhand. The thought maddened him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +because he knew he was worthy of something +better.</p> +<p>“Gradually, his whole life centred upon one +object––to save money for college. Other boys +called him close and cold; but he did not care. +He seldom went anywhere, so intent was he +upon his one object. On hot summer nights, +tired and drowsy he would read until Nature rebelled, +and he would fall asleep to dream of a +girl––a girl with brown eyes that made one forget––everything. +In winter, he had more time––and +the little lamp in his room became a sort +of landmark: it burned for hours after every +other light in the valley had ceased shining.</p> +<p>“Four years passed, and at last the boy had +won. In a month he would pass from the +prairie to university life. He had no home, few +friends––who spoke; those who did not were +safely packed at the bottom of his trunk. His +going from the little town would excite no more +comment than had his coming. He was all +ready, and for the first time in his life set apart +a month––the last––as a vacation. He +felt positively gay. He had fought a hard fight––and +had won. He saw the dawning of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +great light––saw the future as a battle-ground +where he would fight; not as he was then, but +fully equipped for the struggle.... But +no matter what air-castles he built; they were +such as young men will build to the end of +time.”</p> +<p>The speaker’s voice lowered––stopped. He +looked straight out over the prairie, his eyes +glistening.</p> +<p>“If so far the boy’s life had been an inferno, +he was to be repaid. The girl––she of the +brown eyes––was home once more, and they +met again as members of a camping party.” +He half-turned in his seat to look at her, but +she sat with face averted, so quiet, so motionless, +that he wondered if she heard.</p> +<p>“Are you listening?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Listening!” Her voice carried conviction, +so the lad continued.</p> +<p>“For a fortnight he lived a dream––and +that dream was Paradise. He forgot the past, +ignored the future, and lived solely for the +moment––with the joy of Nature’s own child. +It was the pure love of the idealist and the +dreamer––it was divine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>“Then came the reaction. One day he awoke––saw +things as they were––saw again the +satire of Fate. At the very time he left for college, +she returned––a graduate. She was +young, beautiful, accomplished. He was a +mere farmhand, without money or education, +homeless, obscure. The thought was maddening, +and one day he suddenly disappeared from +camp. He didn’t say good-bye to any one; he +felt he had no apology that he could offer. But +he had to go, for he felt the necessity for work, +longed for it, as a drunkard longs for liquor.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” The exclamation came from the +lips of the girl beside him. “I––we––all +wondered why––.”</p> +<p>“Well, that was why.</p> +<p>“He fell in with a threshing-crew, and asked +to work for his board. They thought him queer, +but accepted his offer. For two days he stayed +with them, doing the work of two men. It +seemed as if he couldn’t do enough––he +couldn’t become tired. He wanted to think it +all out, and he couldn’t with the fever in his +blood.</p> +<p>“At night he couldn’t sleep––Nature was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +pitiless. He would walk the road for miles +until morning.</p> +<p>“With the third day came relief. All at once +he felt fearfully tired, and fell asleep where he +stood. Several of the crew carried him to a +darkened room, and there he slept as a dumb +animal sleeps. When he awoke, he was himself +again; his mind was clear and cool. He looked +the future squarely in the face, now, and +clearly, as if a finger pointed, he saw the path +that was marked for him. He must go his way––and +she must go hers. Perhaps, after four +years or more––but the future was God’s.”</p> +<p>The boy paused. The lights of the town +were nearing, now; but he still looked out over +the moon-kissed prairie.</p> +<p>“The rest you know. The dreamer returned. +The party scarcely knew him, for he seemed +years older. There were but a few days more +of camp life, and he spent most of the time with +the girl. Like a malefactor out on bail, he was +painting a picture for the future. He thought +he had conquered himself––but he hadn’t. It +was the same old struggle. Was not love more +than ambition or wealth? Had he not earned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +the right to speak? But something held him +back. If justice to himself, was it justice to the +girl? Conscience said ‘No.’ It was hard––no +one knows how hard––but he said nothing.”</p> +<p>Once more he turned to his companion, in his +voice the tenderness of a life-long passion.</p> +<p>“This is the story: did the boy do right?” +A life’s work––greater than a life itself, hung +on the answer to that question.</p> +<p>The girl understood it all. She had always +known that she liked him; but now––now––As +he had told his story, she had felt, first, pity, +and then something else; something incomparably +sweeter; something that made her heart +beat wildly, that seemed almost to choke her +with its ecstasy.</p> +<p>He loved her––had loved her all these years! +He belonged to her––and his future lay in her +hands.</p> +<p>His future! The thought fell upon her new-found +happiness with the suddenness of a blow. +She could keep him, but had she the right to do +so? She saw in him something that he did not +suspect––and that something was genius. She +knew he had the ability to make for himself a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +name that would stand among the great names +of the earth.</p> +<p>Then, did his life really belong to her? Did +it not rather belong to himself and to the world?</p> +<p>She experienced a struggle, fierce as he himself +had fought. And the boy sat silent, tense, +waiting for her answer.</p> +<p>Yes, she must give him up; she would be +brave. She started to speak, but the words +would not come. Suddenly she buried her face +in her hands, while the glistening brown head +trembled with her sobs.</p> +<p>It was the last drop to the cup overflowing. +A second, and then, his arms were around her. +The touch was electrifying––it was oblivion––it +was heaven––it was––but only a young lover +knows what.</p> +<p>“You have answered,” said the boy. “God +forgive me––but I can’t go away now.”</p> +<p>Thus Fate sported with two lives.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +<a name='THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS' id='THE_MADNESS_OF_WHISTLING_WINGS'></a> +<h2>THE MADNESS OF WHISTLING WINGS</h2> +</div> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter I––Sandford the Exemplary</span></h3> +<p>Ordinarily Sandford is sane––undeniably +so. Barring the seventh, upon +any other day of the week, fifty-one weeks in +the year, from nine o’clock in the morning until +six at night––omitting again a scant half-hour +at noon for lunch––he may be found in his +tight little box of an office on the fifth floor of +the Exchange Building, at the corner of Main +Avenue and Thirteenth Street, where the elevated +makes its loop.</p> +<p>No dog chained beside his kennel is more +invariably present, no caged songster more incontestably +anchored. If you need his services, +you have but to seek his address between the +hours mentioned. You may do so with the +same assurance of finding him on duty that you +would feel, if you left a jug of water out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +doors over night in a blizzard, that the jug, as +a jug, would be no longer of value in the morning. +He was, and is, routine impersonate, exponent +of sound business personified; a living +sermon against sloth and improvidence, and +easy derelictions of the flesh.</p> +<p>That is to say, he is such fifty-one weeks out +of the fifty-two. All through the frigid winter +season, despite the lure of California limiteds or +Havana liners, he holds hard in that den of his, +with its floor and walls of sanitary tiling and +its ceiling of white enamel, and hews––or +grinds rather, for Sandford is a dental surgeon––close +to the line.</p> +<p>All through the heat of summer, doggedly +superior to the call of Colorado or the Adirondacks +or the Thousand Islands, he comes and +departs by the tick of the clock. Base-ball +fans find him adamant; turf devotees, marble; +golf enthusiasts, cold as the tiles beneath his +feet.</p> +<p>Even in early June, when Dalton, whose +suburban home is next door, returns, tanned +and clear-eyed from a week-end at <i>the</i> lake––there +is but one lake to Dalton––and calls +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +him mysteriously back to the rear of the house, +where, with a flourish, the cover is removed +from a box the expressman has just delivered, +to disclose a shining five-pound bass reposing +upon its bed of packed ice––even then, hands +in pockets, Sandford merely surveys and expresses +polite congratulation. Certainly it +is a fine fish, a noble fish, even; but for the sake +of one like it––or, yes, granted a dozen such––to +leave the office, the sanitary-tiled office, deserted +for four whole days (especially when Dr. +Corliss on the floor below is watching like a +hawk)––such a crazy proceeding is not to be +thought of.</p> +<p>Certainly he will not go along the next week +end––or the next, either. The suggestion +simply is unthinkable. Such digressions may be +all right for the leisure class or for invalids; +but for adults, live ones, strong and playing the +game? A shrug and a tolerant smile end the +discussion, as, hands still in his pockets, an +after-dinner cigar firm between his teeth, Sandford +saunters back across the dozen feet of sod +separating his own domicile from that of his +fallen and misguided neighbor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>“Dalton’s got the fever again, bad,” he comments +to the little woman upon his own domain, +whom he calls “Polly,” or “Mrs. Sandford,” +as occasion dictates. She has been watching the +preceding incident with inscrutable eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes?” Polly acknowledges, with the air +of harkening to a familiar harangue while casting +ahead, in anticipation of what was to come +next.</p> +<p>“Curious about Dalton; peculiar twist to his +mental machinery somewhere.” Sandford +blows a cloud of smoke and eyes it meditatively. +“Leaving business that way, chopping it all to +pieces in fact; and just for a fish! Curious!”</p> +<p>“Harry’s got something back there that’ll +probably interest you,” he calls out to me as I +chug by in my last year’s motor; “better stop +and see.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I acknowledge simply; and though +Polly’s eyes and mine meet we never smile, or +twitch an eyelid, or turn a hair; for Sandford +is observing––and this is only June.</p> +<p>So much for Dr. Jekyll Sandford, the Sandford +of fifty-one weeks in the year.</p> +<p>Then, as inevitably as time rolls by, comes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +that final week; period of mania, of abandon; +and in the mere sorcerous passage of a pair of +whirring wings, Dr. Jekyll, the exemplary, is +no more. In his place, wearing his shoes, audaciously +signing his name even to checks, is +that other being, Hyde: one absolutely the reverse +of the reputable Jekyll; repudiating with +scorn that gentleman’s engagements; with +brazen effrontery denying him utterly, and all +the sane conventionality for which the name has +become a synonyme.</p> +<p>Worst of all, rank blasphemy, he not only refuses +to set foot in that modern sanitary office +of enamel and tiling, at the corner of Thirteenth +and Main, below which, by day and by +night, the “L” trains go thundering, but +deliberately holds it up to ridicule and derision +and insult. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter II––The Presage of the Wings</span></h3> +<p>And I, the observer––worse, the accessory––know, +in advance, when the metamorphosis +will transpire.</p> +<p>When, on my desk-pad calendar the month +recorded is October, and the day begins with a +twenty, there comes the first premonition of +winter; not the reality, but a premonition; +when, at noon the sun is burning hot, and, in the +morning, frost glistens on the pavements; when +the leaves are falling steadily in the parks, and +not a bird save the ubiquitous sparrow is seen, +I begin to suspect.</p> +<p>But when at last, of an afternoon, the wind +switches with a great flurry from south to +dead north, and on the flag-pole atop of the +government building there goes up this signal: +<img alt='signal flag' src='images/illus-emb.png' />; +and when later, just before retiring, I surreptitiously +slip out of doors, and, listening +breathlessly, hear after a moment despite the +clatter of the wind, high up in the darkness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +overhead that muffled <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> of +the Canada-goose winging on its southern +journey in advance of the coming storm––then +I <i>know</i>.</p> +<p>So well do I know, that I do not retire––not +just yet. Instead, on a pretext, any pretext, I +knock out the ashes from my old pipe, fill it +afresh, and wait. I wait patiently, because, inevitable +as Fate, inevitable as that call from out +the dark void of the sky, I know there will come +a trill of the telephone on the desk at my elbow; +my own Polly––whose name happens to be +Mary––is watching as I take down the receiver +to reply. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter III––The Other Man</span></h3> +<p>It is useless to dissimulate longer, then. I +am discovered, and I know I am discovered. +“Hello, Sandford,” I greet without preface.</p> +<p>“Sandford!” (I am repeating in whispers +what he says for my Polly’s benefit.) “Sandford! +How the deuce did you know?”</p> +<p>“Know?” With the Hyde-like change +comes another, and I feel positively facetious. +“Why I know your ring of course, the same as +I know your handwriting on a telegram. What +is it? I’m busy.”</p> +<p>“I’m busy, too. Don’t swell up.” (Imagine +“swell up” from Sandford, the repressed and +decorous!) “I just wanted to tell you that +the honkers are coming.”</p> +<p>“No! You’re imagining, or you dreamed +it!... Anyway, what of it? I tell +you I’m busy.”</p> +<p>“Cut it out!” I’m almost scared myself, +the voice is positively ferocious. “I heard them +not five minutes ago, and besides, the storm +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +signal is up. I’m getting my traps together +now. Our train goes at three-ten in the morning, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Our-train-goes-at-three-ten––in-the-morning!”</p> +<p>“I said so.”</p> +<p>“<i>Our</i> train?”</p> +<p>“Our train: the one which is to take us out +to Rush Lake. Am I clear? I’ll wire Johnson +to meet us with the buckboard.”</p> +<p>“Clear, yes; but go in the morning––Why, +man, you’re crazy! I have engagements for +all day to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“So have I.”</p> +<p>“And the next day.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And the next.”</p> +<p>“A whole week with me. What of it?”</p> +<p>“What of it! Why, business––”</p> +<p>“Confound business! I tell you they’re +coming; I heard them. I haven’t any more +time to waste talking, either. I’ve got to get +ready. Meet you at three-ten, remember.”</p> +<p>“But––”</p> +<p>“Number, please,” requests Central, wearily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IV––Capitulation</span></h3> +<p>Thus it comes to pass that I go; as I +know from the first I shall go, and Sandford +knows that I will go; and, most of all, as +Mary knows that I will go.</p> +<p>In fact, she is packing for me already; not +saying a word, but simply packing; and I––I +go out-doors again, sidling into a jog beside the +bow-window, to diminish the din of the wind in +my ears, listening open-mouthed until––</p> +<p>Yes, there it sounds again; faint, but distinct; +mellow, sonorous, vibrant. <i>Honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> +and again <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> <i>honk!</i> It wafts downward +from some place, up above where the stars +should be and are not; up above the artificial illumination +of the city; up where there are freedom, +and space infinite, and abandon absolute.</p> +<p>With an effort, I force myself back into the +house. I take down and oil my old double-barrel, +lovingly, and try the locks to see that +all is in order. I lay out my wrinkled and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +battered duck suit handy for the morning, after +carefully storing away in an inner pocket, +where they will keep dry, the bundle of postcards +Mary brings me––first exacting a promise +to report on one each day, when I know I +shall be five miles from the nearest postoffice, +and that I shall bring them all back unused.</p> +<p>And, last of all, I slip to bed, and to dreams +of gigantic honkers serene in the blue above; +of whirring, whistling wings that cut the air +like myriad knife blades; until I wake up with +a start at the rattle of the telephone beside my +bed, and I know that, though dark as a pit of +pitch, it is morning, and that Sandford is already +astir. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter V––Anticipation</span></h3> +<p>In the smoking-car forward I find Sandford. +He is a most disreputable-looking +specimen. Garbed in weather-stained corduroys, +and dried-grass sweater, and great calfskin +boots, he sprawls among gun-cases and +shell-carriers––no sportsman will entrust these +essentials to the questionable ministrations of a +baggage-man––and the air about him is blue +from the big cigar he is puffing so ecstatically. +He nods and proffers me its mate.</p> +<p>“Going to be a great day,” he announces +succinctly, and despite a rigorous censorship +there is a suggestion of excitement in the voice. +“The wind’s dead north, and it’s cloudy and +damp. Rain, maybe, about daylight.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” I am lighting up stolidly, although +my nerves are atingle.</p> +<p>“We’re going to hit it right, just right. The +flight’s on. I heard them going over all night. +The lake will be black with the big fellows, the +Canada boys.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” I repeat; then conscience gives a +last dig. “I ought not to do it, though. I +didn’t have time to break a single engagement”––I’m +a dental surgeon, too, by the way, +with likewise an office of tile and enamel––“or +explain at all. And the muss there’ll be at the +shop when––”</p> +<p>“Forget it, you confounded old dollar-grubber!” +A fresh torrent of smoke belches +forth, so that I see Sandford’s face but dimly +through the haze. “If you mention teeth again, +until we’re back––merely mention them––I’ll +throttle you!”</p> +<p>The train is in motion now, and the arc-lights +at the corners, enshrouded each by a zone of +mist, are flitting by.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he repeats, and again his voice has +that minor strain of suppressed excitement, +“we’re hitting it just right. There’ll be rain, +or a flurry of snow, maybe, and the paddle feet +will be down in the clouds.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VI––“Mark the Right, Sandford!”</span></h3> +<p>And they are. Almost before we have +stumbled off at the deserted station into +the surrounding darkness, Johnson’s familiar +bass is heralding the fact.</p> +<p>“Millions of ’em, boys,” he assures us, “billions! +Couldn’t sleep last night for the racket +they made on the lake. Never saw anything +like it in the twenty years I’ve lived on the +bank. You sure have struck it this time. Right +this way,” he is staggering under the load of +our paraphernalia; “rig’s all ready and Molly’s +got the kettle on at home, waiting breakfast for +you.... Just as fat as you were last +year, ain’t ye?” a time-proven joke, for I weigh +one hundred and eight pounds. “Try to pull +you out, though; try to.” And his great laugh +drowns the roar of the retreating train.</p> +<p>At another time, that five-mile drive in the +denser darkness, just preceding dawn, would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +have been long perhaps, the springs of that antiquated +buckboard inadequate, the chill of that +damp October air piercing; but now––we notice +nothing, feel nothing uncomfortable. My +teeth chatter a bit now and then, when I am off +guard, to be sure; but it is not from cold, and +the vehicle might be a Pullman coach for aught +I am conscious.</p> +<p>For we have reached the border of the marsh, +now, and are skirting its edge, and––Yes, those +are ducks, really; that black mass, packed into +the cove at the lee of those clustering rushes, +protected from the wind, the whole just distinguishable +from the lighter shadow of the +water: ducks and brant; dots of white, like the +first scattered snowflakes on a sooty city roof!</p> +<p>“Mark the right, Sandford,” I whisper in +oblivion. “Mark the right!”</p> +<p>And, breaking the spell, Johnson laughs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VII––The Bacon What Am!</span></h3> +<p>When is bacon bacon, and eggs eggs? +When is coffee coffee, and the despised +pickerel, fresh from the cold water of the +shaded lake, a glorious brown food, fit for the +gods?</p> +<p>Answer, while Molly (whose real name is +Aunt Martha) serves them to us, forty-five +minutes later.</p> +<p>Oh, if we only had time to eat, as that breakfast +deserves to be eaten! If we only had time!</p> +<p>But we haven’t; no; Sandford says so, in a +voice that leaves no room for argument. The +sky is beginning to redden in the east; the surface +of the water reflects the glow, like a mirror; +and, seen through the tiny-paned windows, +black specks, singly and in groups, appear and +disappear, in shifting patterns, against the +lightening background.</p> +<p>“No more now, Aunt Martha––no. Wait +until noon; just wait––and <i>then</i> watch us! +Ready, Ed?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></p> +<p>“Waiting for you, Sam.” It’s been a year +since I called him by his Christian name; but I +never notice, nor does he. “All ready.”</p> +<p>“Better try the point this morning; don’t +you think, Johnson?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if you’ve your eye with ye. Won’t +wait while y’ sprinkle salt on their tails, them +red-heads and canvas boys. No, sir-ree.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter VIII––Feathered Bullets</span></h3> +<p>The breath of us is whistling through +our nostrils, like the muffled exhaust of a +gasoline engine, and our hearts are thumping +two-steps on our ribs from the exertion, when +we reach the end of the rock-bestrewn point +which, like a long index finger, is thrust out +into the bosom of the lake. The wind, still dead +north, and laden with tiny drops of moisture, +like spray from a giant atomizer, buffets us +steadily; but thereof we are sublimely unconscious.</p> +<p>For at last we are there, there; precisely +where we were yesterday––no, a year ago––and +the light is strong enough now, so that when +our gun-barrels stand out against the sky, we +can see the sights, and––</p> +<p>Down! Down, behind the nearest stunted +willow tree; behind anything––quick!––for +they’re coming: a great dim wedge, with the +apex toward us, coming swiftly on wings that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +propel two miles to the minute, when backed by +a wind that makes a mile in one.</p> +<p>Coming––no; arrived. Fair overhead are +the white of breasts, of plump bodies flashing +through the mist, the swishing hiss of many +wings cutting the air, the rhythmic <i>pat</i>, <i>pat</i>––“<i>Bang!</i> +<i>Bang!</i>”</p> +<p>Was it Sandford’s gun, or was it mine? Who +knows? The reports were simultaneous.</p> +<p>And then––<i>splash!</i> and a second later,––<i>splash!</i> +as two dots leave the hurtling +wedge and, with folded wings, pitch at an +angle, following their own momentum, against +the dull brown surface of the rippling water.</p> +<p>Through the intervening branches and dead +sunflower stalks, I look at Sandford––to find +that Sandford is looking at me.</p> +<p>“Good work, old man!” I say, and notice +that my voice is a little higher than normal.</p> +<p>“Good work, yourself,”––generously. “I +missed clean, both barrels. Do better next time, +though, perhaps.... <i>Down!</i> Mark +north! Take the leader, you.”</p> +<p>From out the mist, dead ahead, just skimming +the surface of the water, and coming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +straight at us, like a mathematically arranged +triangle of cannon balls, taking definite form +and magnitude oh, so swiftly, unbelievably +swift; coming––yes––directly overhead, as before, +the pulsing, echoing din in our ears.</p> +<p>“<i>Ready!</i>”</p> +<p>Again the four reports that sounded as two; +and they are past; no longer a regular formation, +but scattered erratically by the alarm, individual +vanishing and dissolving dots, speedily +swallowed up by the gray of the mist.</p> +<p>But this time there was no echoing splash, as +a hurtling body struck the water, nor tense +spoken word of congratulation following––nothing. +For ten seconds, which is long under +the circumstances, not a word is spoken; only +the metallic click of opened locks, as they spring +home, breaks the steady purr of the wind; then:</p> +<p>“Safe from me when they come like that,” +admits Sandford, “unless I have a ten-foot +pole, and they happen to run into it.”</p> +<p>“And from me,” I echo.</p> +<p>“Lord, how they come! They just simply +materialize before your eyes, like an impression +by flash-light; and then––vanish.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Seems as though they’d take fire, like meteorites, +from the friction.”</p> +<p>“I’m looking for the smoke, myself––<i>Down!</i> +Mark your left!”</p> +<p><i>Pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> Swifter than spoken +words, swift as the strokes of an electric fan, +the wings beat the air. <i>Swish-h-h!</i> long-drawn +out, <i>crescendo</i>, yet <i>crescendo</i> as, razor-keen, irresistible, +those same invisible wings cut it +through and through; while, answering the +primitive challenge, responding to the stimulus +of the game, the hot tingle of excitement speeds +up and down our spines. Nearer, nearer, +mounting, perpendicular––</p> +<p>The third battalion of that seemingly inexhaustible +army has come and gone; and, mechanically, +we are thrusting fresh shells into +the faintly smoking gun-barrels.</p> +<p>“Got mine that time, both of them.” No repression, +nor polite self-abnegation from Sandford +this time; just plain, frank exultation and +pride of achievement. “Led ’em a yard––two, +maybe; but I got ’em clean. Did you see?”</p> +<p>“Yes, good work,” I echo in the formula. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></p> +<p>“Canvas-backs, every one; nothing but canvas-backs.” +Again the old marvel, the old palliation +that makes the seemingly unequal game +fair. “But, Lord, how they do go; how anything +alive can go so––and be stopped!”</p> +<p>“Mark to windward! Straight ahead! +<i>Down!</i>” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter IX––Oblivion</span></h3> +<p>This, the morning. Then, almost before +we mark the change, swift-passing +time has moved on; the lowering mist has lifted; +the occasional pattering rain-drops have ceased; +the wind, in sympathy, is diminished. And of a +sudden, arousing us to a consciousness of time +and place, the sun peeps forth through a rift in +the scattering clouds, and at a point a bit south +of the zenith.</p> +<p>“Noon!” comments Sandford, intensely surprised. +Somehow, we are always astonished +that noon should follow so swiftly upon sunrise. +“Well, who would have thought it!”</p> +<p>That instant I am conscious, for the first +time, of a certain violent aching void making +insistent demand.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have done so before, but now +that you mention it, I do think it emphatically.” +This is a pitiful effort at a jest, but it passes +unpunished. “There comes Johnson to bring +in the birds.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></p> +<p>After dinner––and oh, what a dinner! for, +having adequate time to do it justice, we drag +it on and on, until even Aunt Martha is satisfied––we +curl up in the sunshine, undimmed and +gloriously warm; we light our briers, and, too +lazily, nervelessly content to even talk, lay +looking out over the blue water that melts and +merges in the distance with the bluer sky above. +After a bit, our pipes burn dead and our eyelids +drop, and with a last memory of sunlight +dancing on a myriad tiny wavelets, and a +blessed peace and abandon soaking into our +very souls we doze, then sleep, sleep as we never +sleep in the city; as we had fancied a short day +before never to sleep again; dreamlessly, childishly, +as Mother Nature intended her children +to sleep.</p> +<p>Then, from without the pale of utter oblivion, +a familiar voice breaks slowly upon our consciousness: +the voice of Johnson, the vigilant.</p> +<p>“Got your blind all built, boys, and the decoys +is out––four dozen of them,” he admonishes, +sympathetically. “Days are getting +short, now, so you’d better move lively, if you +get your limit before dark.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter X––Upon “Wiping the Eye”</span></h3> +<p>“To poets and epicures, perhaps, the lordly +canvas-back––though brown from the +oven, I challenge the supercilious <i>gourmet</i> to +distinguish between his favorite, and a fat +American coot. But for me the loud-voiced +mallard, with his bottle-green head and audaciously +curling tail; for he will decoy.”</p> +<p>I am quoting Sandford. Be that as it may, +we are there, amid frost-browned rushes that +rustle softly in the wind: a patch of shallow +open water, perhaps an acre in extent, to the +leeward of us, where the decoys, heading all to +windward, bob gently with the slight swell.</p> +<p>“Now this is something like sport,” adds my +companion, settling back comfortably in the +slough-grass blind, built high to the north to +cut out the wind, and low to the south to let in +the sun. “On the point, there, this morning +you scored on me, I admit it; but this is where +I shine: real shooting; one, or a pair at most, at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +a time; no scratches; no excuses. Lead on, MacDuff, +and if you miss, all’s fair to the second +gun.”</p> +<p>“All right, Sam.”</p> +<p>“No small birds, either, understand: no teal, +or widgeon, or shovellers. This is a mallard +hole. Nothing but mallards goes.”</p> +<p>“All right, Sam.”</p> +<p>“Now is your chance, then.... <i>Now!</i>”</p> +<p>He’s right. Now is my chance, indeed.</p> +<p>Over the sea of rushes, straight toward us, is +coming a pair, a single pair; and, yes, they are +unmistakably mallards. It is feeding time, or +resting time, and they are flying lazily, long +necks extended, searching here and there for the +promised lands. Our guns indubitably cover it; +and though I freeze still and motionless, my +nerves stretch tight in anticipation, until they +tingle all but painfully.</p> +<p>On the great birds come; on and still on, until +in another second––</p> +<p>That instant they see the decoys, and, warned +simultaneously by an ancestral suspicion, they +swing outward in a great circle, without apparent +effort on their part, to reconnoitre. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p> +<p>Though I do not stir, I hear the <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> +of their wings, as they pass by at the side, just +out of gunshot. Then, <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> back of me, +then, <i>pat!</i> <i>pat!</i> on the other side, until once +again I see them, from the tail of my eye, merge +into view ahead.</p> +<p>All is well––very well––and, suspicions +wholly allayed at last, they whirl for the second +oncoming; just above the rushes, now; wings +spread wide and motionless; sailing nearer, +nearer––</p> +<p>“<i>Now!</i>” whispers Sandford, “<i>now!</i>”</p> +<p>Out of our nest suddenly peeps my gun barrel; +and, simultaneously, the wings, a second +before motionless, begin to beat the air in frantic +retreat.</p> +<p>But it is too late.</p> +<p><i>Bang!</i> What! not a feather drops?... +<i>Bang!</i> Quack! Quack! <i>Bang!</i> <i>Bang!</i>... +Splash!... Quack! Quack! +Quack!</p> +<p>That is the story––all except for Sandford’s +derisive laugh.</p> +<p>“What’d I tell you?” he exults. “Wiped +your eye for you that time, didn’t I?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p> +<p>“How in the world I missed––” It is all +that I can say. “They looked as big as––as +suspended tubs.”</p> +<p>“Buck-fever,” explains Sandford, laconically.</p> +<p>“That’s all right.” I feel my fighting-blood +rising, and I swear with a mighty wordless +oath that I’ll be avenged for that laugh. +“The day is young yet. If, before night, I +don’t wipe both your eyes, and wipe them +good––”</p> +<p>“I know you will, old man.” Sandford is +smiling understandingly, and in a flash I return +the smile with equal understanding. “And +when you do, laugh at me, laugh long and +loud.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<h3><span class='smcap'>Chapter XI––The Cold Gray Dawn</span></h3> +<p>At a quarter of twelve o’clock a week later, +I slip out of my office sheepishly, and, +walking a half-block, take the elevator to the +fifth floor of the Exchange Building, on the +corner. The white enamel of Sandford’s tiny +box of an office glistens, as I enter the door, and +the tiling looks fresh and clean, as though +scrubbed an hour before.</p> +<p>“Doctor’s back in the laboratory,” smiles the +white-uniformed attendant, as she grasps my +identity.</p> +<p>On a tall stool, beside the laboratory lathe, +sits Sandford, hard at work. He acknowledges +my presence with a nod––and that is all.</p> +<p>“Noon, Sandford,” I announce.</p> +<p>“Is it?” laconically.</p> +<p>“Thought I’d drop over to the club for +lunch, and a little smoke afterward. Want to +go along?”</p> +<p>“Can’t.” The whirr of the electric lathe +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +never ceases. “Got to finish this bridge before +one o’clock. Sorry, old man.”</p> +<p>“Harry just ’phoned and asked me to come +and bring you.” I throw the bait with studied +nicety. “He’s getting up a party to go out to +Johnson’s, and wants to talk things over a bit in +advance.”</p> +<p>“Harry!” Irony fairly drips from the +voice. “He’s always going somewhere. +Mustn’t have much else to do. Anyway, +can’t possibly meet him this noon.”</p> +<p>“To-night, then.” I suggest tentatively. +“He can wait until then, I’m sure.”</p> +<p>“Got to work to-night, too. Things are all +piled up on me.” Sandford applies a fresh +layer of pumice to the swiftly moving polishing +wheel, with practised accuracy. “Tell Harry +I’m sorry; but business is business, you know.”</p> +<p>“<i>Purr-r-r!</i>” drones on the lathe, “<i>purr-r-r!</i>” +I hear it as I silently slip away.</p> +<p>Yes, Sandford is sane; and will be for fifty-one +weeks.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +<a name='A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION' id='A_FRONTIER_ROMANCE_A_TALE_OF_JUMEL_MANSION'></a> +<h2>A FRONTIER ROMANCE: A TALE OF JUMEL MANSION</h2> +</div> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>A new settlement in a new country: no +contemporary mind can conceive the possibilities +of future greatness that lie in the fulfilment +of its prophecy.</p> +<p>A long, irregular quadrangle has been hewn +from the woods bordering the north bank of the +Ohio River. Scattered through the clearing are +rude houses, built of the forest logs. Bounding +the space upon three sides, and so close that its +storm music sounds plain in every ear, is the +forest itself. On the fourth side flows the wide +river, covered now, firm and silent, with a thick +ice blanket. Across the river on the Kentucky +shore, softened by the blue haze of distance, +another forest crowds down to the very water’s +edge.</p> +<p>It is night, and of the cabins in the clearing +each reflects, in one way or another, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +character of its builder. Here a broad pencil +of light writes “Careless!” on the black +sheet of the forest; there a mere thread escaping +tells of patient carpentry.</p> +<p>At one end of the clearing, so near the forest +that the top of a falling tree would have +touched it, stood a cabin, individual in its complete +darkness except for a dull ruddy glow at +one end, where a window extended as high as +the eaves. An open fire within gnawed at the +half-green logs, sending smoke and steam up +the cavernous chimney, and casting about the +room an uncertain, fitful light––now bright, +again shadowy.</p> +<p>It was a bare room that the flickering firelight +revealed, bare alike as to its furnishings +and the freshness of its peeled logs, the spaces +between which had been “chinked” with clay +from the river-bank. Scarcely a thing built of +man was in sight which had not been designed +to kill; scarcely a product of Nature which had +not been gathered at cost of animal life. Guns +of English make, stretched horizontally along +the walls upon pegs driven into the logs; in the +end opposite the wide fireplace, home-made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +cooking utensils dangled from the end of a +rough table, itself a product of the same factory. +In front of the fire, just beyond the +blaze and the coals and ashes, were heaped the +pelts of various animals; black bear and cinnamon +rested side by side with the rough, shaggy +fur of the buffalo, brought by Indians from the +far western land of the Dakotas.</p> +<p>Upon the heap, dressed in the picturesque +utility garb of buckskin, homespun, and “hickory” +which stamped the pioneer of his day, a +big man lay at full length: a large man even +here, where the law of the fittest reigned +supreme. A stubbly growth of beard covered +his face, giving it the heavy expression common +to those accustomed to silent places, and dim +forest trails.</p> +<p>Aside from his size, there was nothing striking +or handsome about this backwoods giant, +neither of face nor of form; yet, sleeping or +waking, working or at leisure, he would be +noticed––and remembered. In his every feature, +every action, was the absolute unconsciousness +of self, which cannot be mistaken; +whether active or passive, there was about him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +an insinuation of reserve force, subtly felt, of a +strong, determined character, impossible to +sway or bend. He lay, now, motionless, staring +with wide-open eyes into the fire and breathing +slowly, deeply, like one in sleep.</p> +<p>There was a hammering upon the door; another, +louder; then a rattling that made the +walls vibrate.</p> +<p>“Come!” called the man, rousing and rolling +away from the fire.</p> +<p>A heavy shoulder struck the door hard, and +the screaming wooden hinges covered the sound +of the entering footfall.</p> +<p>He who came was also of the type: homespun +and buckskin, hair long and face unshaven. +He straightened from a passage which was not +low, then turning pushed the unwieldy door +shut. It closed reluctantly, with a loud shrilling +of its frost-bound hinges and frame. In a +moment he dropped his hands and impatiently +kicked the stubborn offender home, the suction +drawing a puff of smoke from the fireplace into +the room, and sending the ashes spinning in +miniature whirlwinds upon the hearth.</p> +<p>The man on the floor contemplated the entry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +with indifference; but a new light entered his +eyes as he recognized his visitor, though his face +held like wood.</p> +<p>“Evenin’, Clayton,” he greeted, nodding +toward a stool by the hearth. “Come over ’n sit +down to the entertainment.” A whimsical +smile struggled through the heavy whiskers. +“I’ve been seeing all sorts of things in there”––a +thoughtful nod toward the fire. “Guess, +though, a fellow generally does see what he’s +looking for in this world.”</p> +<p>“See here, Bud,” the visitor bluntly broke in, +coming into the light and slurring a dialect of +no nationality pure, “y’ can’t stop me thataway. +There ain’t no use talkin’ about the +weather, neither.” A motion of impatience; +then swifter, with a shade of menace:</p> +<p>“You know what I came over fer. It’s +actin’ the fool, I know, we few families out +here weeks away from ev’rybody, but this +clearin’ can’t hold us both.”</p> +<p>The menace suddenly left the voice, unconsciously +giving place to a note of tenderness +and of vague self-fear.</p> +<p>“I love that girl better ’n you er life er anything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +else, Bud; I tell ye this square to yer +face. I can’t stand it. I followed ye last night +clean home from the party––an’ I had a knife. +I jest couldn’t help it. Every time I know +nex’ time it’ll happen. I don’t ask ye to give +her up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair +an’ open, ’fore I do something I can’t help.”</p> +<p>He strode swiftly to and fro across the room +as he spoke, his skin-shod feet tapping muffled +upon the bare floor, like the pads of an animal. +The fur of his leggings, rubbing together as he +walked, generated static sparks which snapped +audibly. He halted presently by the fireplace, +and looked down at the man lying there.</p> +<p>“It’s ’tween us, Bud,” he said, passion quivering +in his voice.</p> +<p>Minutes passed before Bud Ellis spoke, then +he shifted his head, quickly, and for the first +time squarely met Clayton’s eyes.</p> +<p>“You say it’s between you and me,” he initiated +slowly: “how do you propose to settle +it?”</p> +<p>The other man hesitated, then his face grew +red.</p> +<p>“Ye make it hard for me, Bud, ’s though I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +was a boy talkin’ to ye big here; but it’s true, +as I told ye: I ain’t myself when I see ye settin’ +close to ’Liz’beth, er dancin’ with your arm +touchin’ hern. I ain’t no coward, Bud; an’ I +can’t give her up––to you ner nobody else.</p> +<p>“I hate it. We’ve always been like brothers +afore, an’ it ’pears kinder dreamy ’n foolish ’n +unnatural us settin’ here talkin’ ’bout it; but +there ain’t no other way I can see. I give ye +yer choice, Bud: I’ll fight ye fair any way y’ +want.”</p> +<p>Ellis’s attitude remained unchanged: one big +hand supported his chin while he gazed silently +into the fire. Clayton stood contemplating him +a moment, then sat down.</p> +<p>By and by Ellis’s head moved a little, a very +little, and their eyes again met. A minute +passed, and in those seconds the civilization of +each man moved back generations.</p> +<p>The strain was beyond Clayton; he bounded +to his feet with a motion that sent the stool +spinning.</p> +<p>“God A’mighty! Are y’ wood er are y’ a +coward? Y’ seem to think I’m practisin’ +speech-makin’. D’ye know what it means fer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +me to come up here like this to you?” He +waited, but there was no response.</p> +<p>“I tell ye fer the last time, I love that girl, +an’ if it warn’t fer you––fer you, Bud Ellis––she’d +marry me. Can ye understand that? +Now will ye fight?––or won’t ye?”</p> +<p>A movement, swift and easy, like a released +spring, the unconscious trick of a born athlete, +and Ellis was upon his feet. Involuntarily, +Clayton squared himself, as if an attack were +imminent.</p> +<p>“No, I won’t fight you,” said the big man, +slowly. Without the least hesitation, he advanced +and laid a hand upon the other man’s +shoulder, facing him at arm’s length and speaking +deliberately.</p> +<p>“It isn’t that I’m afraid of you, either, +Bert Clayton; you know it. You say you love +her; I believe you. I love her, too. And Elizabeth––you +have tried, and I have tried––and +she told us both the same.</p> +<p>“God, man! I know how you feel. I’ve +expected something like this a long time.” He +drew his hand across his eyes, and turned away. +“I’ve had murder in my heart when I saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +you, and hated myself. It’s only in such places +as this, where nothing happens to divert one’s +mind, that people get like you and me, Bert. +We brood and brood, and it’s love and insanity +and a good deal of the animal mixed. Yes, +you’re right. It’s between you and me, Bert,––but +not to fight. One of us has got to +leave––”</p> +<p>“It won’t be me,” Clayton quickly broke in. +“I tell ye, I’d rather die, than leave.”</p> +<p>For a full minute Ellis steadily returned the +other man’s fiery look, then went on as though +there had been no interruption:</p> +<p>“––and the sooner we go the better. How do +you want to settle it––shall we draw straws?”</p> +<p>“No, we’ll not draw straws. Go ef you’re +afraid; but I won’t stir a step. I came to warn +ye, or to fight ye if y’ wanted. Seein’ y’ won’t––good-night.”</p> +<p>Ellis stepped quickly in front of the door, +and with the motion Clayton’s hand went to his +knife.</p> +<p>“Sit down, man,” demanded Ellis, sternly. +“We’re not savages. Let’s settle this matter +in civilized fashion.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></p> +<p>They confronted each other for a moment, +the muscles of Clayton’s face twitching an accompaniment +to the nervous fingering of the +buckhorn hilt; then he stepped up until they +could have touched.</p> +<p>“What d’ y’ mean anyway?” he blazed. “Get +out o’ my road.”</p> +<p>Ellis leaned against the door-bar without a +word. The fire had burned down, and in the +shadow his face had again the same expression +of heaviness. The breathing of Clayton, swift +and short, like one who struggles physically, +painfully intensified the silence of that dimly +lighted, log-bound room.</p> +<p>With his right hand Clayton drew his knife; +he laid his left on the broad half-circle of wood +that answered as a door handle.</p> +<p>“Open that door,” he demanded huskily, “or +by God, I’ll stab ye!”</p> +<p>In the half-light the men faced each other, so +near their breaths mingled. Twice Clayton +tried to strike. The eyes of the other man held +him powerless, and to save his life––even to +satisfy a new, fierce hate––he could not stir. +He stood a moment thus, then an animal-like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +frenzy, irresistible but impotent, seized him. +He darted his head forward and spat in the +heavy face so close to his own.</p> +<p>The unspeakable contempt of the insult +shattered Bud Ellis’s self-control. Prompted +by blind fury, the great fist of the man shot out, +hammer-like, and Clayton crumpled at his feet. +It was a blow that would have felled the proverbial +ox; it was the counterpart of many other +blows, plus berserker rage, that had split pine +boards for sheer joy in the ability to do so. +These thoughts came sluggishly to the inflamed +brain, and Ellis all at once dropped to his knees +beside the limp, prostrate figure.</p> +<p>He bent over Clayton, he who had once been +his friend. He was scarcely apprehensive at +first, and he called his name brusquely; then, +as grim conviction grew, his appeals became +frantic.</p> +<p>At last Ellis shrank away from the Thing +upon the floor. He stared until his eyeballs +burnt like fire. It would never, while time +lasted, move again.</p> +<p>Horror unutterable fell upon him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>In the year 1807 there were confined in +a common Western jail, amid a swarm of +wretches of every degree of baseness, two men +as unlike as storm and sunshine. One was +charged with treason, the other with murder; +conviction, in either case, meant death.</p> +<p>One was a man of middle age, an aristocrat +born; a college graduate and a son of a college +graduate; a man handsome of appearance, passionate +and ambitious, who knew men’s natures +as he knew their names. He had fought bravely +for his country, and his counsels had helped +mould the foundations of the new republic. +Honored by his fellow-men, he had served brilliantly +in such exalted positions as that of +United States Senator, and Attorney General +for the State of New York. On one occasion, +only a single vote stood between him and the +presidency.</p> +<p>His name was Aaron Burr.</p> +<p>The other was a big backwoodsman of +twenty, whose life had been as obscure as +that of a domestic animal. He was rough of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +manner and slow of speech, and just now, +owing to a combination of physical confinement +and mental torture altogether unlovely in +disposition.</p> +<p>This man was Bud Ellis.</p> +<p>The other prisoners––a motley lot of frontier +reprobates––ate together, slept together, +and quarrelled together. Looking constantly +for trouble, and thrown into actual contact +with an object as convenient as Aaron Burr, +it was inevitable that he should be made the +butt of their coarse gibes and foul witticisms; +and when these could not penetrate his calm, +superior self-possession, it was just as inevitable +that taunts should extend even to worse +indignities.</p> +<p>Burr was not the man to be stirred against +his calm judgment; but one day his passionate +nature broke loose, and he and the offender +came to blows.</p> +<p>There were a dozen prisoners in the single +ill-lighted, log-bound room, and almost to a +man they attacked him. The fight would not +have lasted long had not the inequality appealed +to Ellis on the second. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></p> +<p>Moreover, with him, the incident was to the +moment opportune. If ever a man was in the +mood for war, it was the big, square-jawed +pioneer. He was reckless and desperate for the +first time in his life, and he joined with Burr +against the room, with the abandon of a +madman.</p> +<p>For minutes they fought. Elbows and +knees, fists and feet, teeth and tough-skulled +heads; every hard spot and every sharp angle +bored and jabbed at the crushing mass which +swiftly closed them in. They struggled like +cats against numbers, and held the wall until +the sound of battle brought the negligent guard +running, and the muzzle of a carbine peeped +through the grating. Burr and Ellis came out +with scarce a rag and with many bruises, but +with the new-born lust of battle hot within +them. Ellis glowered at the enemy, and having +of the two the more breath, fired the parting +shot.</p> +<p>“How I’d like to take you fellows out, one +at a time,” he said.</p> +<p>From that day the two men were kept apart +from the others, and the friendship grew. When +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +Burr chose, neither man nor woman could resist +him. He chose now and Ellis, by habit and by +nature silent, told of his life and of his thoughts. +It was a new tale to Burr, these dream products +of a strong man, and of solitude; and so, listening, +he forgot his own trouble. The hard look +that had formed over his face in the three years +past vanished, leaving him again the natural, +fascinating man who had first taken the +drawing-room of the rare old Jumel mansion +by storm. It was genuine, this tale that Ellis +told; it was strong, with the savor of Mother +Nature and of wild things, and fascinating with +the beauty of unconscious telling.</p> +<p>“And the girl?” asked Burr after Ellis +finished a passionate account of the last year. +Unintentionally, he touched flame to tinder.</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me about her. I’m not fit. She +was coming to see me, but I wouldn’t let her. +She’s good and innocent; she never imagined +we were not as strong as she, and it’s killing +her. There’s no question what will happen to +me; everything is against me, and I’ll be +convicted.</p> +<p>“No one understands––she can’t herself; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +but she feels responsible for one of us, already, +and will feel the same for me when it’s over. +Anyway, I’d never see her again. I feel different +toward her now, and always would. I’d +never live over again days like I have in the +past year: days I hated a friend I’d known all +my life––because we both loved the same +woman. If the Almighty sent love of woman +into the world to be bought at the price I paid, +it’s wrong, and He’s made a mistake. It’s +contrary to Nature, because Nature is kind.</p> +<p>“Last summer I’d sit out of doors at night +and watch the stars come out thick, like old +friends, till I’d catch the mood and be content. +The wind would blow up from the south, +softly, like some one fanning me, and the frogs +and crickets would sing even and sleepy, and +I’d think of her and be as nearly happy as it +was possible for me to be.</p> +<p>“Then, somehow, he’d drift into the picture, +and it grated. I’d wonder why this love of +woman, which ought to make one feel the best +of everything there is in life; which ought to +make one kinder and tenderer to every one, +should make me hate him, my best friend. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +night would be spoiled, and from then on the +crickets would sing out of tune. I’d go to bed, +where, instead of sleeping, I would try to find +out, and couldn’t.</p> +<p>“And at last, that night––and the end! Oh, +it’s horrible, horrible! I wish to God they’d +try me quick, and end it. It makes me hate that +girl to think she’s the cause. And that makes +me hate myself, for I know she’s innocent. Oh, +it’s tangled––tangled––”</p> +<p>Of the trial which followed, the world knows. +How Burr pleaded his own case, and of the +brilliancy of the pleading, history makes record +at length. ’T was said long before, when the +name of Burr was proud on the Nation’s tongue––years +before that fatal morning on Weekawken +Heights––that no judge could decide +against him. Though reviled by half the nation, +it would seem it were yet true.</p> +<p>Another trial followed; but of this history is +silent, though Aaron Burr pleaded this case as +well. It was a trial for manslaughter, and +every circumstance, even the prisoner’s word, +declared guilt. To show that a person may be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +guilty in act, and at the same time, in reality, innocent, +calls for a master mind––the mind of +a Burr. To tell of passion, one must have felt +passion, and of such Burr had known his full +share. No lawyer for the defence was ever +better prepared than Burr, and he did his best. +In court he told the jury a tale of motive, of +circumstance, and of primitive love, such as had +never been heard in that county before; such +that the twelve men, without leaving their seats, +brought a verdict of “Not guilty.”</p> +<p>“I can’t thank you right,” said the big man, +with a catch in his voice, wringing Burr’s hand.</p> +<p>“Don’t try,” interrupted Burr, quickly. +“You did as much for me.” And even Burr +did not attempt to say any more just then.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p>The two men went East together, travelling +days where now hours would suffice. Why Burr +took the countryman home with him, knowing, +as he did, the incongruity of such a step, he himself +could not have told. It puzzled Ellis still +more. He had intended going far away to +some indefinite place; but this opportunity of +being virtually thrust into the position where he +most wished to be, was unusual; it was a reversal +of all precedent; and so why demur?</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-326.jpg' alt='' title='' width='417' height='613' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +The two men went East together.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span></div> +<p>On the way, Burr told much of his life––probably +more than he had told before in years. +He knew that the sympathy of Ellis was sincere, +and a disinterested motive was with him a +new thing, a key to confidence.</p> +<p>A woman was at this time, and had been for +years, foremost in Burr’s mind. He was going +to see her now; beyond that his plans were dim. +During a career of politics, there had crept into +the man’s life much that was hard and worldly; +but this attachment was from ambition far +apart––his most sacred thing.</p> +<p>She was a brilliant woman, this friend of +Burr’s; one whom many sought; but it was not +this which influenced him. She had been his +best friend, and had taken him into her own +home during the darkest hour of his life, when +condemnation was everywhere. Gossip had +fluttered, but to no avail. Burr never forgot a +friend, and in this case it was more than friendship: +it was a genuine love that lasted; for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +years later, in his old age and hers as well, old +Jumel mansion made gay at their wedding.</p> +<p>“What do you expect to do?” asked Burr +of Ellis.</p> +<p>“Anything just now that will make me forget,” +answered the countryman, quickly. “So +there’s enough of it is all that I ask. I’m going +to get a little more education first. Sometime +I’ll study law––that is, if I’m here +‘sometime.’ I’ve got to be where there’s life +and action. I’ll never end by being common.” +He paused a moment, and on his face there +formed the peculiar heavy look that had confronted +Clayton; a mask that hid a determination, +which nothing of earth could shake. He +finished slowly: “I’ll either be something, or +nothing.”</p> +<p>Biographers leave the impression that at this +time Burr was devoid of prestige on earth. +Politically, this is true; but respecting his standing +with the legal fraternity, it is wholly false. +He had influence, and he used it, securing the +stranger a place in a New York office, where his +risk depended only upon himself. More than +this, he gave Ellis money. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p> +<p>“You can pay me any interest you wish,” +said he when the latter protested.</p> +<p>Ellis had been settled a week. One evening +he sat in the back room of the city office, fighting +the demon of homesickness with work, and +the light of an open fire. It was late, and he +had studied till Nature rebelled; now he sat in +his own peculiar position, gazing into the glow, +motionless and wide-eyed.</p> +<p>He started at a tap on the door, and the past +came back in a rush.</p> +<p>“Come in,” he called.</p> +<p>Burr entered, and closed the door carefully +behind him. Ellis motioned to a chair.</p> +<p>“No, I won’t sit down,” said Burr. “I’m +only going to stay a moment.”</p> +<p>He came over to the blaze, looking down on +the other man’s head. Finally he laid a hand +on Ellis’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“Lonesome, eh?” he inquired.</p> +<p>The student nodded silent assent.</p> +<p>“So am I,” said Burr, beginning to pace up +and down the narrow room. “Do you know,” +he burst out at last, “this town is like hell to +me. Every hand is against me. There’s not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +one man here, beside you, whom I can trust. I +can’t stand it. I’m going to leave the country. +Some day I’ll come back; but now it’s too +much.” There was the accumulated bitterness +of months in his voice. “My God!” he interjected, +“you’d think these people never did +anything wrong in their lives.” He stopped and +laid his hand again on the other man’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“But enough of this––I didn’t come to +make you more lonesome. I want you to meet +my friends before I go. You’ll go out with +me to-morrow afternoon?”</p> +<p>There was silence for a moment.</p> +<p>“If you wish. You know what I am,” said +Ellis.</p> +<p>Burr’s hand rested a moment longer.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” he said simply.</p> +<p>Some eight or ten miles north of the beach, +on the island of Manhattan, stood Jumel home; +a fine, white house, surrounded by a splendid +lawn and gardens. A generation had already +passed since its erection, and the city was slowly +creeping near. It was a stately specimen of +Colonial domestic architecture, built on simple, +restful lines, and distinguished by the noble +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +columns of its Grecian front. Destined to be +diminished, the grounds had already begun to +shrink; but from its commanding position it +had a view that was magnificent, overlooking as +it did, the Hudson, the Harlem, the East +River, the Sound, and upon every side, miles +upon miles of undulating land.</p> +<p>On the way, and again upon the grounds, +Burr related the history of the old landmark, +telling much with the fascination of personal +knowledge. The tale of the Morrises, of Washington +and of Mary Philipse was yet upon his +tongue, as he led Ellis through the broad pillared +entrance, into the great hall.</p> +<p>Things moved swiftly, very swiftly and very +dreamily, to the countryman in the next few +hours. Nothing but the lack of ability prevented +his vanishing at the sound of approaching +skirts; nothing but physical timidity prevented +his answering the greeting of the +hostess; nothing but conscious awkwardness +prompted the crude bow that answered the +courtesy of the girl with the small hands, and +the dark eyes who accompanied her––the first +courtesy from powdered maid of fashion that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +he had ever known. Her name, Mary Philipse, +coming so soon after Burr’s story, staggered +him, and, open-mouthed, he stood looking at +her. Remembrance came to Burr simultaneously, +and he touched Ellis on the arm.</p> +<p>“Don’t worry, my friend,” he laughed; +“she’s not the one.”</p> +<p>Ellis grew red to the ears.</p> +<p>“We’ll leave you to Mary,” said Burr retreating +with a smile; “she’ll tell you the rest––from +where I left off.”</p> +<p>The girl with the big brown eyes was still +smiling in an amused sort of way, but Ellis +showed no resentment. He knew that to her he +was a strange animal––very new and very +peculiar. He did not do as a lesser man would +have done, pretend knowledge of things unknown, +but looked the girl frankly in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, but it was all rather sudden,” +he explained. The red had left his face now. +“I’ve only known a few women––and they +were not––of your class. This is Mr. Burr’s +joke, not mine.”</p> +<p>The smile faded from the girl’s face. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +met him on his own ground, and they were +friends.</p> +<p>“Don’t take it that way,” she protested, +quickly. “I see, he’s been telling you of +Washington’s Mary Philipse. It merely happens +that my name is the same. I’m simply a +friend visiting here. Can’t I show you the +house? It’s rather interesting.”</p> +<p>If Ellis was a novelty to the woman, she was +equally so to him. Unconventionality reigned +in that house, and they were together an hour. +Never before in his life had Ellis learned so +much, nor caught so many glimpses of things +beyond, in an equal length of time. His idea of +woman had been trite, a little vague. He had +no ideal; he had simply accepted, without question, +the one specimen he had known well.</p> +<p>In an uncertain sort of way he had thought +of the sex as being invariably creatures of unquestioned +virtue, but of mind somewhat defective; +who were to be respected and protected, +loved perhaps with the love animals know; but +of such an one as this he had no conception.</p> +<p>Here was a woman, younger than he, whose +unconscious familiarity with things, which to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +him lay hidden in the dark land of ignorance, +affected him like a stimulant. A woman who +had read and travelled and thought and felt; +whose mind met him even in the unhesitating +confidence of knowledge––it is no wonder that +he was in a dream. It turned his little world +upside down: so brief a time had elapsed since +he had cursed woman for bringing crime into +his life, in the narrowness of his ignorance +thinking them all alike. He was in the presence +of a superior, and his own smallness came over +him like a flood.</p> +<p>He mentally swore, then and there, with a +tightening of his jaw that meant finality, that +he would raise himself to her plane. The girl +saw the look, and wondered at it.</p> +<p>That night, at parting, the eyes of the two +met. A moment passed––and another, and +neither spoke a word. Then a smile broke over +the face of Mary Philipse, and it was answered +on the face of the man. Equals had met equals. +At last the girl held out her hand.</p> +<p>“Call again, please,” she requested. “Good-night.”</p> +<p>Years passed. Burr had gone and returned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +again, and Jumel mansion had waxed festive to +honor his home-coming. Then he opened an +office in the city, and drab-colored routine fell +upon him––to remain.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Time had done much for Ellis––rather, +it had allowed him to do much for himself. +He had passed through all the stages of +transition––confusion, homesickness, despondency; +but incentive to do was ever with him.</p> +<p>At first he had worked to forget, and, in self-defence; +but Nature had been kind, and with +years memory touched him softly, as though it +were the past of another.</p> +<p>Then a new incentive came to him: an incentive +more potent than the former, and which +grew so slowly he did not recognize it, until he +met it unmistakably face to face. Again into +his life and against his will had crept a woman, +and this woman’s name was Mary Philipse. He +met her now on her own ground, but still, as of +old, with honors even. She had changed little +since he first saw her. As often as he called, +he met the same frank smile, and the brown eyes +still regarded him with the same old candid, unreserved +interest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p> +<p>Ellis was, as the town would have said, successful. +He had risen from a man-of-all-work +to the State bar, and an office of his own. He +had passed the decisive line and his rise was +simply a question of time. He was in a position +where he could do as he chose. He appreciated +that Mary Philipse was the incentive that +had put him where he was. She appealed to the +best there was in his nature. She caused him to +do better work, to think better thoughts. He +unselfishly wished her the best there was of life. +Just how much more he felt he did not know––at +least this was sufficient.</p> +<p>He would ask her to marry him. It was not +the mad, dazzling passion of which poets sing; +but he was wiser than of yore. Of Mary he was +uncertain. That he was not the only man who +went often to old Jumel mansion he was well +aware, and with the determination to learn +certainties, there came a tenderer regard than +he had yet known.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Jumel was gay that night. There would be +few more such scenes, for the owner was no +longer young; but of this the throng in brocade +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +and broadcloth and powder, who filled the +spacious mansion, were thoughtless. Everywhere +was an atmosphere of welcome; from the +steady light of lanterns festooned on facade and +lawn, to the sparkle of countless candles within.</p> +<p>It was that night that Ellis drew Mary +Philipse aside and told her the tale that grew +passionate in the telling. Fortune was kind, +for he told it to the soft accompaniment of +wine glasses ringing, and the slow music of the +stately minuet.</p> +<p>Mary Philipse heard him through without a +word, an expression on her face he had never +seen before. Then their eyes met in the same +frank way they had hundreds of times before, +and she gave him her answer.</p> +<p>“I’ve expected this, and I’ve tried to be +ready; but I’m not. I can’t say no, and I can’t +say yes. I wouldn’t try to explain to any one +else, but I think you’ll understand. Forgive +me if I analyze you a little, and don’t interrupt, +please.”</p> +<p>She passed her hand over her face slowly, a +shade wearily.</p> +<p>“There are times when I come near loving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +you: for what you are, not for what you are to +me. You are natural, you’re strong; but you +lack something I feel to be necessary to make +life completely happy––the ability to forget all +and enjoy the moment. I have watched you +for years. It has been so in the past, and will +be so in the future. Other men who see me, +men born to the plane, have the quality––call +it butterfly if you will––to enjoy the ‘now.’ It +appeals to me––I am of their manner born.” +Their eyes met and she finished slowly, “It’s +injustice to you, I know; but I can’t answer––now.”</p> +<p>They sat a moment side by side in silence. +The dancers were moving more swiftly to the +sound of the Virginia reel.</p> +<p>Ellis reached over and took her hand, then +bent and touched it softly with his lips.</p> +<p>“I will wait––and abide,” he said.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +<a name='THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE' id='THE_CUP_THAT_OERFLOWED_AN_OUTLINE'></a> +<h2>THE CUP THAT O’ERFLOWED: AN OUTLINE</h2> +</div> +<h3>I</h3> +<p>In a room, half-lighted by the red rays of a +harvest moon, a woman lay in the shadow; +face downward, on the bed. It was not the +figure of youth: the full lines of waist and hip +spoke maturity. She was sobbing aloud and +bitterly, so that her whole body trembled.</p> +<p>The clock struck the hour, the half, again the +hour; and yet she lay there, but quiet, with face +turned toward the window and the big, red +harvest moon. It was not a handsome face; +besides, now it was tear-stained and hard with +the reflection of a bitter battle fought.</p> +<p>A light foot tapped down the hallway and +stopped in front of the door. There was gentle +accompaniment on the panel to the query, “Are +you asleep?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></p> +<p>The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider, +without a word.</p> +<p>The step in the hall tapped away into silence. +The firm, round arm in its black elbow-sleeve +setting, white, beautiful, made a motion of impatience +and of weariness; then slowly, so +slowly that one could scarce mark its coming, +the blank stupor that comes as Nature’s panacea +to those whom she has tortured to the limit, +crept over the woman, and the big brown eyes +closed. The moon passed over and the night-wind, +murmuring lower and lower, became still. +In the darkness and silence the woman sobbed +as she slept.</p> +<p>In the lonely, uncertain time between night +and morning she awoke; her face and the pillow +were damp with the tears of sleep. She was +numb from the drawing of tight clothing, and +with a great mental pain and a confused sense +of sadness, that weighed on her like a tangible +thing. Her mind groped uncertainly for a +moment; then, with a great rush, the past night +and the things before it returned to her.</p> +<p>“Oh, God, Thy injustice to us women!” she +moaned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span></p> +<p>The words roused her; and, craving companionship, +she rose and lit the gas.</p> +<p>Back and forth she crossed the room, avoiding +the furniture as by instinct––one moment +smiling, bitter; the next with face moving, uncontrollable, +and eyes damp: all the moods, the +passions of a woman’s soul showing here where +none other might see. Tired out, at last, she +stopped and disrobed, swiftly, without a glance +at her own reflection, and returned to bed.</p> +<p>Nature will not be forced. Sleep will not +come again. She can only think, and thoughts +are madness. She gets up and moves to her +desk. Aimlessly at first, as a respite, she begins +to write. Her thoughts take words as she +writes, and a great determination, an impulse of +the moment, comes to her. She takes up fresh +paper and writes sheet after sheet, swiftly. +Passion sways the hand that writes, and shines +warmly from the big, brown eyes. The first +light of morning stains the east as she collects +the scattered sheets, and writes a name on the +envelope, a name which brings a tenderness to +her eyes. Stealthily she tiptoes down the stairs +and places the letter where the servant will see, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +and mail it in the early morning. A glad light, +the light of relief, is in her face as she steals +back slowly and creeps into bed.</p> +<p>“If it is wrong I couldn’t help it,” she +whispers low. She turns her face to the pillow +and covers it with a soft, white arm. One ear +alone shows, a rosy spot against the white.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>Nine o’clock at a down-town medical office. +A man who walks rapidly, but quietly, enters +and takes up the morning mail. A number of +business letters he finds and a dainty envelope, +with writing which he knows at sight. He steps +to the light and looks at the postmark.</p> +<p>“Good-morning,” says his partner, entering.</p> +<p>The man nods absently, and, tearing open +the envelope, takes out this letter:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“<span class='smcap'>My friend</span>:––</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“I don’t know what you will think of me +after this; anyway, I cannot help telling you +what to-night lies heavy on my heart and mind. +I’ve tried to keep still; God knows I’ve tried, +and so hard; but Nature is Nature, and I am a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +woman. Oh, if you men only knew what that +means, you’d forgive us much, and pity! You +have so much in life and we so little, and you +torture us so with that little, which to us is so +great, our all; leading us on against our will, +against our better judgment, until we love you, +not realizing at first the madness of unrequited +love. Oh, the cruelty of it, and but for a +pastime.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“But I do not mean to charge you. You are +not as other men; you are not wrong. Besides, +why should I not say it? I love you. Yes, you; +a man who knows not the meaning of the word; +who meant to be but a friend, my best friend. +Oh, you have been blind, blind all the years +since first I knew you; since first you began +telling me of yourself and of your hopes. You +did not know what it meant to such as I to live +in the ambition of another, to hope through +another’s hope, to exult in another’s success. I +am confessing, for the first time––and the last +time. Know, man, all the time I loved you. +Forgive me that I tell you. I cannot help it. I +am a woman, and love in a woman’s life is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +stronger than will, stronger than all else +together.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“I ask nothing. I expect nothing. I could +not keep quiet longer. It was killing me, and +you never saw. I did not mean to tell you anything, +till this moment––least of all, in this +way. But it is done, and I’m glad––yes, happier +than I have been for weeks. It is our +woman’s nature; a nature we do not ourselves +understand.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>“My friend, I cannot see you again. Things +cannot go on as they were. It was torture––you +know not what torture––and life is short. +If you would be kind, avoid me. The town is +wide, and we have each our work. Time will +pass. Remember, you have done nothing +wrong. If there be one at fault it is Nature, +for only half doing her work. You are good +and noble. Good-bye. I trust you, for, God +bless you, I love you.”</p> +<p>The letter dropped, and the man stood looking +out with unseeing eyes, on the shifting +street.</p> +<p>A patient came in and sat down, waiting.</p> +<p>He had read as in a dream. Now with a rush +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +came thought,––the past, the present, mingled; +and as by a great light he saw clearly the years +of comradery, thoughtless on his part, filled as +his life had been with work and with thought of +the future. It all came home to him now, and +the coming was of brightness. The coldness +melted from his face; the very squareness of the +jaw seemed softer; the knowledge that is joy +and that comes but once in a lifetime, swept +over him, warm, and his heart beat swift. All +things seemed beautiful.</p> +<p>Without a word he took up his hat, and +walked rapidly toward the elevator. A smile +was in the frank blue eyes, and to all whom he +met, whether stranger or friend, he gave +greeting.</p> +<p>The patient, waiting for his return, grew +tired and left, and leaving, slammed the office +door behind him.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +<a name='UNJUDGED' id='UNJUDGED'></a> +<h2>UNJUDGED</h2> +</div> +<p>The source of this manuscript lies in +tragedy. My possession of it is purely +adventitious. That I have had it long you may +know, for it came to me at an inland prairie +town, far removed from water or mountain, +while for ten years or more my name, above the +big-lettered dentist sign, has stood here on my +office window in this city by the lake. I have +waited, hoping some one would come as claimant; +but my hair is turning white and I can wait +no longer. As now I write of the past, the time +of the manuscript’s coming stands clear amid +a host of hazy, half-forgotten things.</p> +<p>It was after regular hours, of the day I write, +that a man came hurriedly into my office, complaining +of a fiercely aching tooth. Against +my advice he insisted on an immediate extraction, +and the use of an anæsthetic. I telephoned +for a physician, and while awaiting his coming +my patient placed in my keeping an expansible +leather-covered book of a large pocket size. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span></p> +<p>“Should anything go wrong,” he said, “there +are instructions inside.”</p> +<p>The request is common from those unused to +an operation, and I accepted without other comment +than to assure him he need fear no danger.</p> +<p>Upon arriving, the physician made the customary +examination and proceeded to administer +chloroform. The patient was visibly excited, +but neither of us attached any importance +to that under the circumstances. Almost before +the effect of the anæsthetic was noticeable, however, +there began a series of violent muscular +spasms and contractions. The inhaler was removed +and all restoratives known to the profession +used, but without avail. He died in a +few moments, and without regaining consciousness. +The symptoms were suspicious, entirely +foreign to any caused by the anæsthetic, and at +the inquest the cause came to light. In the +man’s stomach was a large quantity of strychnine. +That he knew something of medicine is +certain, for the action of the alkaloid varies +little, and he had the timing to a nicety.</p> +<p>The man was, I should judge, thirty years +of age, smooth of face and slightly built. Nerve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +was in every line of face and body. He was +faultlessly dressed and perfectly groomed. He +wore no jewelry, not even a watch; but within +the pocket of his vest was found a small jewel-case +containing two beautiful white diamonds, +each of more than a carat weight. One was +unset, the other mounted in a lady’s ring. There +was money in plenty upon his person, but not +an article that would give the slightest clue to +his identity.</p> +<p>One peculiar thing about him I noticed, and +could not account for: upon the palm of each +hand was a row of irregular abrasions, but +slightly healed, and which looked as though +made by some dull instrument.</p> +<p>The book with which he entrusted me had +begun as a journal, but with the passage of +events it had outgrown its original plan. Being +expansible, fresh sheets had been added as +it grew, and at the back of the book, on one of +these blanks, had been hastily scratched, in +pencil, the message of which he spoke:</p> +<p>“You will find sufficient money in my pockets +to cover all expenses. Do not take my +trinkets, please! Associations make them dear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +to me. Any attempt to discover my friends +will be useless.”</p> +<p>Notwithstanding the last sentence the body +was embalmed and the death advertised; but no +response came, and after three days the body +and the tokens he loved were quietly buried here +in the city.</p> +<p>Meantime I had read the book, beginning +from a sense of duty that grew into a passing +interest, and ended by making me unaware of +both time and place. I give you the journal +as it stands, word for word and date for date. +Would that I could show you the handwriting +in the original as well. No printed page can +tell the story of mood as can the lines of this +journal. There were moments of passion when +words slurred and overtook each other, as +thought moved more rapidly than the characters +which recorded; and again, periods of uncertainty +when the hand tarried and busied itself +with forming meaningless figures, while the +conscious mind roamed far away.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p><i>March 17.</i> Why do I begin a journal now, +a thing I have never done before? Had another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +asked the question, I could have turned it off +with a laugh, but with myself it will not do. I +must answer it, and honestly. Know then, my +ego who catechises, I have things to tell, feelings +to describe that are new to me and which I cannot +tell to another. The excuse sounds childish; +but listen: I speak it softly: I love, and he who +loves is ever as a child. I smile at myself for +making the admission. I, a man whose hair is +thinning and silvering, who has written of love +all his life, and laughed at it. Oh, it’s humorous, +deliciously humorous. To think that I have +become, in reality, the fool I pictured others in +fancy!</p> +<p><i>April 2.</i> Gods, she was beautiful to-night!––the +way she came to meet me: the long skirt +that hung so gracefully, and that fluffy, white, +sleeveless thing that fitted her so perfectly and +showed her white arms and the curves of her +throat. I forgot to rise, and I fear I stared +at her. I can yet see the smile that crept +through the long lashes as she looked at me, and +as I stumbled an apology she was smiling all +the time. How I came away I swear I don’t +know. Instinct, I suppose; for now at last I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +have an incentive. I must work mightily, and +earn a name––for her.</p> +<p><i>April 4.</i> He says it is a strong plot and that +he will help me. That means the book will succeed. +I wonder how a man feels who can do +things, not merely dream them. I expected he +would laugh when I told him the plot, especially +when I told whom the woman was; but +he didn’t say a word. He thinks, as I do, that +it would be better to leave the story’s connection +with her a surprise until the book is published. +He is coming up here to work to-morrow. +“Keep a plot warm,” he says: +“especially one with a love in it.” He looked at +me out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, so +peculiarly I hardly knew whether he was laughing +at me or not. I suppose, just now, my +state of mind is rather obvious and amusing.</p> +<p><i>May 3.</i> As I expected, the reaction is on. +What a price we have to pay for our happy +moments in this world! I’m tired to-night and +a little discouraged, for I worked hard all day, +and did not accomplish much. “Lack of inspiration,” +he said. “The heroine is becoming a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +trifle dim. Hadn’t you better go and enthuse a +little to-night?”</p> +<p>I was not in a mood to be chaffed; I told him +shortly: “No, you had better go yourself.”</p> +<p>He smiled and thanked me. “With your +permission,” he said, “I will.”</p> +<p>Nature certainly has been kind to him, for +he is handsome and fascinating beyond any man +I ever knew. I wanted to use him in the story, +but he positively refused. He said that I would +do better. So we finally compromised on a +combination. “The man” has his hair and my +eyes, his nose and my mouth. Over the chin we +each smiled a little grimly, for it is stubborn––square, +and fits us both. After all, it is not a +bad <i>ensemble</i>. The character has his weak +points, but, all in all, he is not bad to look upon.</p> +<p><i>June 10.</i> We went driving this evening, she +and I, far out into the country, going and coming +slowly. The night was perfect, with a +full moon and a soft south wind. Nature’s +music makers were all busy. On the high +places, the crickets sang loudly their lonesome +song to the night, while from the distant river +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +and lowlands there came the uncertain minor +of countless frogs in chorus.</p> +<p>For two hours I tasted happiness, divine +happiness, happiness so complete that I forgot +time.</p> +<p>I have known many beautiful women, +women splendid as animals are splendid, but +never before one whose intense womanliness +made me forget that she was beautiful. I can’t +explain; it is too subtle and holy a thing. I +sat by her side, so near that we touched, and +worshipped as I never worshipped at church. If +but for this night alone, my life is worth the +living.</p> +<p><i>June 12.</i> It seems peculiar that he should be +working with me at this story; strange that he +should care to know me at all. Perhaps I stand +a little in awe of the successful man; I think we +all do. At least, he is the example <i>par excellence</i>. +I have seen him go into a room filled +with total strangers, and though he never spoke +a word, have heard the question all about,––“Who +is he?” Years ago, when he as well as I +was an unknown writer, we each submitted a +story to the same editor, by the same mail. Both +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +were returned. I can still see the expression on +his face as he opened his envelope, and thrust +the manuscript into his pocket. He did not +say a word, but his manner of donning his top-coat +and hat, and the crash of the front door +behind him betrayed his disappointment. His +work was afterwards published at his own risk. +The ink on my story is fading, but I have it +still.</p> +<p><i>July 2.</i> She is going to the coast for the +season, and I called to-night to say <i>au revoir</i>. +I could see her only a few minutes as her carriage +was already waiting; something, I believe, +in honor of her last night in town. She was in +evening dress, and beautiful––I cannot describe. +Think of the most beautiful woman you +have ever known, and then––but it is useless, +for you have not known her.</p> +<p>I was intoxicated; happy as a boy; happy as +a god. I filled the few moments I had, full to +overflowing. I told her what every man tells +some woman some time in his life. For once I +felt the power of a master, and I spoke well.</p> +<p>She did not answer; I asked her not to. I +could not tell her all, and I would have no reply +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +before. Her face was turned from me as +I spoke, but her ears turned pink and her +breath came quickly. I looked at her and the +magnitude of my presumption held me dumb; +yet a warm happy glow was upon me, and the +tapping of feet on the pavement below sounded +as sweetest music.</p> +<p>As I watched her she turned, her eyes glistening +and her throat all a-tremble. She held out +her hand to say good-bye. I took it in mine; +and at the touch my resolution and all other +things of earth were forgotten, and I did that +which I had come hoping to do. Gently, I +slipped a ring with a single setting over her +finger, then bending low, I touched the hand +with my lips––whitest, softest, dearest hand +in God’s world. Then I heard her breath +break in a sob, and felt upon my hair the falling +of a tear.</p> +<p><i>August 5.</i> I am homesick to-night and tired. +It is ten-thirty, and, I have just gotten dinner. +I forgot all about it before. The story is moving +swiftly. It is nearly finished now, moreover +it is good; I know it. I sent a big roll of +manuscript to him to-day. He is at the coast, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +and polishes the rough draft as fast as I send +it in. He tells me he has secured a publisher, +and that the book will be out in a few months. +I can hardly wait to finish, for then I, too, can +leave town. I will not go before; I have work +to do, and can do it better here. He tells me +he has seen her several times. God! a man who +writes novels and can mention her incidentally, +as though speaking of a dinner-party!</p> +<p><i>August 30.</i> I finished to-day and expressed +him the last scrap of copy. I wanted to sing, I +was so happy. Then I bethought me, it is her +birthday. I went down town and picked out +a stone that pleased me. Their messenger will +deliver it, and she can choose her own setting. +How I’d like to carry it myself, but I have a +little more work to do before I go. Only two +more days, and then––</p> +<p>I have been counting the time since she left: +almost two months; it seems incredible when I +think of it.</p> +<p>How I have worked! Next time I write, +my journal confessor, I will have something to +tell: I will have seen her––she who wears my +ring.... Ah! here comes my man for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +orders. A few of my bachelor friends help me +celebrate here to-night. I have not told them +it is the last time.</p> +<p><i>September 5.</i> Let me think; I am confused. +This hotel is vile, abominable, but there is no +other. That cursed odor of stale tobacco, and +of cookery!</p> +<p>The landlord says they were here yesterday +and went West. It’s easy to trace them––everybody +notices. A tall man, dark, with a +firm jaw; the most beautiful woman they have +ever seen––they all say the same. My God! +and I’m hung up here, inactive a whole day! +But I’ll find them, they can’t escape; and then +they’ll laugh at me, probably.</p> +<p>What can I do? I don’t know. I can’t +think. I must find them first ... that +cursed odor again!</p> +<p>Oh, what a child, a worse than fool I have +been! To sit there in town pouring the best +work of my life into his hands! I must have +that book, I will have it. To think how I +trusted her––waited until my hair began to +turn––for this! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p>But I must stop. This is useless, it’s madness.</p> +<p><i>September 9.</i> It is a beautiful night. I have +just come in from a long walk, how long I +don’t know. I went to the suburbs and through +the parks, watching the young people sitting, +two and two, in the shadow. I smiled at the +sight, for in fancy I could hear what they were +saying. Then I wandered over to the lakefront +and stood a long time, with the waves +lapping musically against the rocks below, and +the moonlight glistening on a million reflectors. +The great stretch of water in front, and the +great city behind me sang low in concord, while +the stars looked down smiling at the refrain. +“Be calm, little mortal, be calm,” they said; +“calm, tiny mortal, calm,” repeated endlessly, +until the mood took hold of me, and in sympathy +I smiled in return.</p> +<p>Was it yesterday? It seems a month since +I found them. Was it I who was so hot and +angry? I hold up my hand; it is as steady as +my mother’s when, years ago, as a boy, she +laid it on my forehead with her good-night. +The murmur of this big hotel speaks soothingly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +like the voice of an old friend. The purr of the +elevator is a voice I know. It all seems incredible. +To-day is so commonplace and real, and +yesterday so remote and fantastic.</p> +<p>He was lounging in the lobby, a hand in +either pocket, when I touched him on the +shoulder. He turned, but neither hands nor +face failed him by a motion.</p> +<p>“I presume you would prefer to talk in +private?” I said, “Will you come to my +room?”</p> +<p>A smile formed slowly over his lips.</p> +<p>“I don’t wish to deprive my––” He paused, +and his eyes met mine,“––my wife of a pleasant +chat with an old friend. I would suggest +that you come with us to our suite.”</p> +<p>I nodded. In silence we went up the elevator; +in equal silence, he leading, we passed +along the corridor over carpets that gave out no +telltale sound.</p> +<p>She was standing by the window when we +entered. Her profile stood out clear in the +shaded room, and in spite of myself a great +heart-throb passed over me. She did not move +at first, but at last turning she saw him and me. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +Then I could see her tremble; she started +quickly to leave, but he barred the way. The +smile was still upon his face.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, my dear,” he protested, “but +certainly you recognize an old friend.”</p> +<p>She grew white to the lips, and her eyes +blazed. Her hands pressed together so tightly +that the fingers became blue at the nails. She +looked at him; such scorn I had never seen +before. Before it, the smile slowly left his face.</p> +<p>“Were you the fraction of a man,” she voiced +slowly, icily, “you would have stopped short +of––this.”</p> +<p>She made a motion of her hand, so slight one +could scarce see it, and without a word he +stepped aside. She turned toward me and, instinctively, +I bent in courtesy, my eyes on the +floor and a great tumult in my heart. She hesitated +at passing me; without looking up I knew +it; then, slowly, moved away down the corridor.</p> +<p>I advanced inside, closing the door behind me +and snapping the lock. Neither of us said a +word; no word was needed. The fighting-blood +of each was up, and on each the square jaw that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +marked us both was set hard. I stepped up +within a yard of him and looked him square in +the eye. I pray God I may never be so angry +again.</p> +<p>“What explanation have you to offer?” I +asked.</p> +<p>His eye never wavered, though the blood left +his face and lip; even then I admired his nerve. +When he spoke his voice was even and natural.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” he sneered. “You have lost; +that’s all.”</p> +<p>Quick as thought, I threw back the taunt.</p> +<p>“Lost the woman, yes, thank God; the book, +never. I came for that, not for her. I demand +that you turn over the copy.”</p> +<p>Again the cool smile and the steady voice.</p> +<p>“You’re a trifle late. I haven’t a sheet; it +is all gone.”</p> +<p>“You lie!” I flung the hot words fair in +his teeth.</p> +<p>A smile, mocking, maddening, formed upon +his face.</p> +<p>“I told you before you had lost. The book +is copyrighted”––a pause, while the smile +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +broadened––“copyrighted in my name, and +sold.”</p> +<p>The instinct of battle, primitive, uncontrollable, +came over me and the room turned dark. +I fought it, until my hands grew greasy from +the wounds where the nails bit my palms, then +I lost control; of what follows all is confused.</p> +<p>I dimly see myself leaping at him like a wild +animal; I feel the tightening of the big neck +muscles as my fingers closed on his throat; I +feel a soft breath of night air as we neared the +open window; then in my hands a sudden lightness, +and in my ears a cry of terror.</p> +<p>I awoke at a pounding on the door. It +seemed hours later, though it must have been +but seconds. I arose––and was alone. The +window was wide open; in the street below, +a crowd was gathering on the run, while a policeman’s +shrill whistle rang out on the night. +A hundred faces were turned toward me as I +looked down and I dimly wondered thereat.</p> +<p>The knocking on the door became more insistent. +I turned the lock, slowly, and a woman +rushed into the room. Something about her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +seemed familiar to me. I passed my hand over +my forehead––but it was useless. I bowed +low and started to walk out, but she seized me +by the arm, calling my name, pleadingly. Her +soft brown hair was all loose and hanging, +and her big eyes swimming; her whole body +trembled so that she could scarcely speak.</p> +<p>The grip of the white hand on my arm +tightened.</p> +<p>“Oh! You must not go,” she cried; “you +cannot.”</p> +<p>I tried gently to shake her off, but she clung +more closely than before.</p> +<p>“You must let me explain,” she wailed. “I +call God to witness, I was not to blame.” She +drew a case from the bosom of her dress.</p> +<p>“Here are those stones; I never wore them. +I wanted to, God knows, but I couldn’t. Take +them, I beg of you.” She thrust the case into +my pocket. “He made me take them, you +understand; made me do everything from the +first. I loved him once, long ago, and since +then I couldn’t get away. I can’t explain.” +She was pleading as I never heard woman plead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +before. “Forgive me––tell me you forgive +me––speak to me.” The grip on my arm loosened +and her voice dropped.</p> +<p>“Oh! God, to have brought this on you when +I loved you!”</p> +<p>The words sounded in my ears, but made no +impression. It all seemed very, very strange. +Why should she say such things to me? She +must be mistaken––must take me for another.</p> +<p>I broke away from her grasp, and groped +staggeringly toward the door. A weariness intense +was upon me and I wanted to be home +alone. As I moved away, I heard behind me +a swift step as though she would follow, and my +name called softly, then another movement, +away.</p> +<p>Mechanically I turned at the sound, and saw +her profile standing clear in the open window-frame. +Realization came to me with a mighty +rush, and with a cry that was a great sob I +sprang toward her.</p> +<p>Suddenly the window became clear again, +and through the blackness that formed about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +me I dimly heard a great wail of horror arise +from the street below.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There was no other entry save the hasty +scrawl in pencil.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +<a name='THE_TOUCH_HUMAN' id='THE_TOUCH_HUMAN'></a> +<h2>THE TOUCH HUMAN</h2> +</div> +<p>“Good-night.” A lingering of finger +tips that touched, as by accident; a bared +head; the regular tap of shoes on cement, as a +man walked down the path.</p> +<p>“Good-night––and God bless thee,” he repeated +softly, tenderly, under his breath, that +none but he might hear: words of faith spoken +reverently, and by one who believes not in the +God known of the herd.</p> +<p>“Good-night––and God bless thee,” whispered +the woman slowly; and the south wind, +murmuring northward, took the words and +carried them gently away as sacred things.</p> +<p>The woman stood thinking, dreaming, her +color mounting, her eyes dimming, as she read +deep the mystery of her own heart.</p> +<p>They had sat side by side the entire evening, +and had talked of life and of its hidden things; +or else had remained silent in the unspoken converse +that is even sweeter to those who understand +each other. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></p> +<p>She had said of a mutual friend: “He is a +man I admire; he has an ideal.”</p> +<p>“A thing but few of earth possess.”</p> +<p>“No; I think you are wrong. I believe all +people have ideals. They must; life would not +be life without.”</p> +<p>“You mean object rather than ideal. Does +not an ideal mean something beautiful––something +beyond––something we’d give our all +for? Not our working hours alone, but our +hours of pleasure and our times of thought. An +ideal is an intangible thing––having much of +the supernatural in its make-up; ’tis a fetish for +which we’d sacrifice life––or the strongest passion +of life,––love.”</p> +<p>“Is this an ideal, though? Could anything +be beautiful to us after we’d sacrificed much of +life, and all of love in its attainment? Is not +everything that is opposed to love also opposed +to the ideal? Is not an ideal, when all is told, +nothing but a great love––the great personal +love of each individual?”</p> +<p>He turned to the woman, and there was that +in his face which caused her eyes to drop, and +her breath to come more quickly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span></p> +<p>“I don’t know. I’m miserable, and lonely, +and tired. I’ve thought I had an ideal, and I +followed it, working for it faithfully and for it +alone. I’ve shown it to myself, glowing, splendid, +when I became weary and ready to yield. +I’ve sacrificed, in attempting its attainment, +youth and pleasure––self, continually. Still, +I’m afar off––and still the light beckons me +on. I work day after day, and night after +night, as ever; but the faith within me is growing +weaker. Might not the ideal I worshipped +after all be an earth-born thing, an ambition +whose brightness is not of pure gold, but of +tinsel? That which I have sought, speaks +always to me so loudly that there may be no +mistake in hearing.</p> +<p>“‘I am thy god,’ it says; ‘worship me––and +me alone. Sacrifice––sacrifice––sacrifice––thyself––thy +love. Thus shalt thou attain me.’</p> +<p>“One day I stopped my work to think; hid +myself solitary that I might question. ‘What +shall I have when I attain thee?’ I asked.</p> +<p>“‘Fame––fame––the plaudits of the people––a +pedestal apart.’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span></p> +<p>“‘Yes,’ whispered my soul to me, ‘and a +great envy always surrounding; a great fight +always to hold thy small pedestal secure.’</p> +<p>“Of such as this are ideals made? No. ’Twas +a mistake. I have sought not an ideal, but an +ambition––a worthless thing. An ideal is +something beautiful––a great love. ’Tis not +yet too late to correct my fault; to seek this +ideal––this beautiful thing––this love.”</p> +<p>He reached over to the woman and their +fingers, as by chance, touching, lingered together. +His eyes shone, and when he spoke his +voice trembled.</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> know the ideal––the beautiful thing––the +love I seek.”</p> +<p>Side by side they sat, each bosom throbbing; +not with the wild passion of youth, but with the +deeper, more spiritual love of middle-life. +Overhead, the night wind murmured; all about, +the crickets sang.</p> +<p>Turning, she met him face to face, frankly, +earnestly.</p> +<p>“Let us think.”</p> +<p>She rose, in her eyes the look men worship +and, worshipping, find oblivion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p> +<p>A moment they stood together.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” his lips silently answered, +pressing upon hers.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span> +<a name='A_DARK_HORSE' id='A_DARK_HORSE'></a> +<h2>A DARK HORSE</h2> +</div> +<p>Iowa City is not large, nor are the prospects +for metropolitan greatness at all flattering. +Even her most zealous citizen, the +ancient of the market corner, admits that +“there ain’t been much stirrin’ for quite a spell +back,” and among the broad fraternity of commercial +travellers, the town is a standing joke. +Yet, throughout the entire State, no community +of equal size is so well known. It is the home +of the State University.</p> +<p>In the year ’90-something-or-other, there was +enrolled in the junior class of the university, +one Walter R. Chester, but it is doubtful +whether five other students in the same classic +seat of learning could have told you his given +name. Away back in his freshman year he had +been dubbed “Lord” Chester. And as “Lord” +Chester alone is his name still preserved, and +revered in university annals.</p> +<p>The reasons lying back of this exaltation to +the peerage were not very complex, but quite as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +adequate as those usually inspiring college +nicknames. He was known to be country-bred, +and the average freshwater school defines +the “country” as a region of dense mental +darkness, commencing where the campus ends +and extending thence in every direction, +throughout the unchartered realms of space.</p> +<p>Each Friday afternoon, “Lord” Chester +would carefully lock his room and disappear +upon a bicycle; this much was plainly visible +to everybody. On Monday he would reappear. +The hiatus afforded a peg from which much +unprofitable speculation was suspended. The +argument most plausible was that he went +home, while one romantic youth suggested a +girl. The accusation was never repeated. +What? The “Lord” a ladies’ man? Tut! +One would as soon expect a statue to drill a +minstrel show.</p> +<p>Thus Chester’s personal affairs remained a +mystery. He never talked reflexively––rare +attribute in a college man––and, moreover, +curiosity never throve well in his presence. It +utterly failed to bear fruit.</p> +<p>Another peculiarity distinguished him from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +all the rest of the student body: he roomed by +himself. Although invariably courteous and +polite to visitors, he was never known to extend +an invitation for a second visit. He quite obviously +wanted to be left alone, and the “fellows” +met him more than half-way.</p> +<p>But what, more than anything else, probably +helped to designate him “Lord,” was the scrupulous +way in which he dressed. There was no +hint of the pastoral in his sartorial accomplishments, +and it was his one extravagance. Though +from the country and therefore presumably +poor, no swell son of the Western <i>haute monde</i> +made an equally smart appearance.</p> +<p>We have been viewing the youth from the +standpoint of his fellow-students. As a matter +of fact, they never saw the real man, the man +behind the closed door, at all. He was a terrific +worker. When he decided to do a thing, he did +it. Night was as day at such times, and meals +were unthought of. He literally plunged out +of sight into his work, and as yet he had never +failed.</p> +<p>One reason for this uniform success lay in the +fact that he was able to define his limitations, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +and never attempted the impossible. He was, +indeed, poor; that is, relatively so. His earliest +recollections were associated with corn rows +and grilling suns; which accounted for the +present cheerfulness with which he tackled any +task, and for his appetite for hard work. When +tired, he would think of the weight of a hoe in a +boy’s hand at six o’clock in the afternoon, and +proceed with renewed vigor.</p> +<p>Such was “Lord” Chester: product of work +and solitude; a man who knew more about the +ideal than the real; a man who would never +forget a friend nor forgive an injury; who +would fight to the bitter end and die game––hero +of “<i>the</i>” Marathon, whose exciting history +is impossible to avoid in Iowa City.</p> +<p>By nature, Chester was an athlete, and by +way of exercise he was accustomed to indulge +in a few turns daily upon the cinder path. +One evening in early spring he was jogging +along at a steady brisk pace, when two men in +training-suits caught up with him. They were +puffing when they fell in beside him. Presently +they dropped behind, and one, a tall important +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +youth, of the name of Richards, called +out:</p> +<p>“I say, me lud, aren’t you going to clear the +trail?”</p> +<p>Quick as a shot Chester halted and faced +around.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” he asked quietly.</p> +<p>The other two nearly bumped into him, but +managed to come to a standstill, before precipitating +that catastrophe. They lurched +back upon their heels, nearly toppling backwards, +too surprised for the moment to speak. +Chester did not stir.</p> +<p>“Jiminy crickets!” Richards’ companion exclaimed +in a moment. “You’re deuced sudden, +Chester, I must say.”</p> +<p>And Richards’ manner promptly grew conciliatory.</p> +<p>“Old man,” he said, smiling, “you really +ought to train. You’ve got form––by George, +you have! Besides, you wouldn’t have any +opposition to speak of, you know.”</p> +<p>Richards was still smiling; but a smile, however +warmly encouraged from within, is apt to +take cold in a frost. The casual glance with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +which Chester took in the young man, from his +light sprinting-pumps to his eyes, may be accurately +described as frigid. Not until he had +held the other’s embarrassed look for an appreciable +pause did he deign to speak.</p> +<p>“There really ought to be,” he said without +emotion, “at least one man in the field. I think +I shall train.”</p> +<p>Thus it came about that “Lord” Chester +decided to enter athletics. Five minutes previously +even the thought had not occurred to +him; but he wasn’t the man to quail before a +bluff.</p> +<p>The track management of this particular +university was an oligarchy; was governed by a +few absolute individuals. Perhaps such a condition +is not as rare as might be supposed. +However that may be, it was here a case of +being either “in” or “out.” Chester was unpopular, +and from the first had been out.</p> +<p>There were only four entries for the running +events, the same names appearing in all; so he +could not be kept from the field. But he well +knew that various ways existed by which favoritism +could be shown, and that these preferences, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +too trifling in themselves to warrant complaint, +might prove a serious handicap in a close +contest. He knew that, however honors might +lie among the other entries, they would hesitate +at nothing to prevent him from taking a +place. In fact, Richards openly boasted that +he would pocket “’is ludship” at the finish.</p> +<p>So Chester shaped his plans accordingly. +He had never aimed at the impossible, nor did +he now. He withdrew from all short-distance +runs and yard dashes, and concentrated his +mind upon the Marathon––thus dignified, although +the faculty would permit nothing more +arduous than two miles.</p> +<p>In saying trained, everything is meant that +the word can be made to imply: the sort of hour +in, hour out, to-the-limit-of-endurance training +which either makes or kills. A fortnight before +Field Day Chester was in perfect condition, +and had his capabilities gauged to a nicety. He +was now entered only in the Marathon; they +virtually had forced him from the half-mile, +and they should be made to pay the penalty.</p> +<p>One day before the race Chester went to +the bank and inquired the amount of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +balance. It was shown him: one hundred and +six dollars and some odd cents. He drew a +cheque for the amount, and thrust the bills into +his pocket. From the bank he walked straight +up Main Street for three blocks, then turned in +at a well-kept brick house.</p> +<p>“Mr. Richards in?” he asked of the servant-girl.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. Right upstairs––second door to +the left. He’s got company now.”</p> +<p>The junior nevertheless resolutely mounted +the stairs and knocked upon the door. The +noise inside resembled a pocket-edition of the +Chicago Board of Trade, so Chester hammered +again, louder.</p> +<p>“Come!” some one yelled, and the noise +subsided.</p> +<p>He opened the door and stepped inside. A +half-dozen young fellows were scattered about, +but as he knew none of them, except by name, +he ignored their presence and walked directly +up to Richards.</p> +<p>“I’ve come on business,” he said; “can I +speak with you a moment?”</p> +<p>“Sure!” Richards removed his feet from a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +chair, kicking it at the same time toward his +visitor. “These fellows know more about my +business now than I do myself, so get it off of +your chest, Chester.”</p> +<p>The company laughed, but Chester remained +wholly unmoved.</p> +<p>“All right,” said he, calmly. “You’re in the +Marathon: want to risk anything on it?”</p> +<p>Up went Richards’ feet once more, this time +to a table. He winked broadly at his friends, +and replied with an air of vast carelessness,</p> +<p>“Why––yes; I don’t mind. Guess I can +cover you.”</p> +<p>“How much?” demanded Chester. “Odds +even, mind.”</p> +<p>“I said I’d cover you, didn’t I?” with some +warmth. Richards fumbled in his trousers +pockets, extracting therefrom a handful of +loose change.</p> +<p>Chester advanced to the table. At sight of +his roll of bills a sudden silence fell. All eyes +were glued upon them while he counted.</p> +<p>“Five––ten––fifteen”––and so on, up to +one hundred. He stowed the remaining five +back in his pocket, pushed the pile into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span> +middle of the table and looked coolly down at +his host. Said he,</p> +<p>“One hundred, even, that I win the Marathon. +Cover, or show these fellows the sort of +piker you are.”</p> +<p>And Richards came very near to showing +them. His face was a study. He hadn’t ten +dollars to his name; he was painfully aware of +the fact, and here were these six boys who would +know it too in about two seconds. He was rattled, +and sat looking at the pile of bills as +though charmed. He racked his brain for some +way out of the predicament, but the only thing +he could think of was to wonder whether the +portrait on the top note was that of Hendricks +or Rufus Choate. “It can’t be Choate,” suddenly +occurred to him. “But then it––”</p> +<p>There was a laugh in the back of the room. +Richards stood up. A dozen fire alarms would +not have recalled him so quickly. Whatever +else might be said of the man he was game, and +now his gameness showed.</p> +<p>“Give me an hour; I’ll meet you then in +front of the postoffice.” While speaking he +had gotten into his coat; now he walked toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +the door. “Amuse yourselves while I’m gone, +fellows,” he said, and disappeared down the +stairway.</p> +<p>Chester replaced the notes in his pocket, +nodded gravely to the company and followed.</p> +<p>Not a boy spoke, but all sat staring blankly +at the doorway.</p> +<p>An hour later, both Richards and Chester appeared +at the postoffice. The former, by dint +of much persistent circulation among his fellow +athletes, had found enough of them who were +willing to pool their funds in order to secure the +necessary amount. The two young men had +witnesses, the wager was properly closed and +the money deposited. Neither spoke an unnecessary +word during the meeting, but when +Chester started to leave, Richards turned facetiously +to his friends.</p> +<p>“’Is bloomin’ ludship will start training Friday; +bet he has his wheel in soak.”</p> +<p>To which remark Chester paid not the +slightest attention.</p> +<p>Whatever may be said to the contrary, six +boys can no more retain a secret than can six +girls, and inside of an hour the story of the big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span> +bet had spread over the town. In due course it +penetrated to the city: one day a reporter appeared +and interviewed the principals, and +on the following Sunday their photographs +adorned the pink section of a great daily. This +was nuts for the university––but it is getting +ahead of our own story somewhat.</p> +<p>Chester, naturally, was the centre of curiosity. +He had not pawned his “bike,” as was +demonstrated when Friday rolled around; but +had it been known that the last cent he owned +in the world had been staked upon the issue, no +doubt the interest would have been greater.</p> +<p>Field Day opened bright and clear, and early +in the afternoon Athletic Park began to fill. A +rumor had gone abroad that the two principal +competitors had actually come to blows, and +that each had sworn to die rather than lose the +race. Long before the opening event the inclosure +was crowded with spectators, all eagerly +discussing the Marathon, to the exclusion of +every other contest. The opinion was freely +expressed that Richards would “put a crimp in +that chesty Chester,” and that he would “win +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +in a walk.” They made no bones about playing +favorites.</p> +<p>It was a still, hot day, and if there is any advantage +in atmospheric conditions each contestant +should have been inspired with that absolute +confidence of winning, without which the +fastest race is but a tame affair. At two o’clock +the band commenced playing. The judges +tried to follow the programme, but the cries of +“Marathon! Marathon!” grew so insistent and +clamorous that they finally yielded, and the +event was called.</p> +<p>Richards responded first. He was popular, +and the grandstand gave him an ovation as he +took his position under the wire. It seemed as +though the handkerchief of every girl present +was in the air. The two figureheads, friends of +Richards, came next, and last of all Chester.</p> +<p>A feeble attempt at applause marked his passage +in front of the grandstand; but he never +looked up, and for any indication he gave to +the contrary, he might have been the only person +on the grounds. His track suit was hidden by +a long black door curtain, in lieu of a bath-robe, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span> +and a pretty girl on the front row remarked +audibly, “He’s all ready for the funeral.”</p> +<p>“Sure thing,” answered her companion. +“He knows his obsequies are about to take +place.”</p> +<p>“Peels well,” a man by the rail critically +commented. “But––rats!––Richards has +pocketed this event ever since he’s been here; +you can’t make the pace for him with anything +slower than an auto.”</p> +<p>The runners were in line at last, crouching +low, tense, finger-tips upon the ground, the +starting-pistol above their heads.</p> +<p>“Starters ready?” floated in a sing-song +voice from the judges’ stand. “Timers r-r-read-y-y?” +A sharp crack from the pistol, and +they were off.</p> +<p>Then a queer thing happened. Instead of +dawdling along behind, as every one expected, +Chester, without an instant’s hesitation, pushed +to the front and set the pace.</p> +<p>And what a pace! It was literally a race +from the word go. Chester took the inside and +faced the music, Richards and the others close +in behind. Sympathy in the grandstand was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +beginning to turn; everybody appreciates +pluck. The spectators, however, knew him to +be a novice, and many supposed that he had +lost his head; so when he passed the grandstand +on the first lap, any amount of contradictory +advice was shouted noisily.</p> +<p>“Let them set the pace!” “You’re killing +yourself!” “Oh, you bally Lord!––go it, +kid!” “Don’t let ’em nose you out, Chester, +old scout!” “Save your air, old top, you’ll +need it!” and much more of a like kind was +hurled at him, which reached his ears through +the veil of singing wind, like the roar of distant +breakers upon the seashore.</p> +<p>He kept his own counsel. He had followed +that pace every day during the last two weeks +of his training, and he knew precisely what he +could do. Besides the air was quiet, and the +disadvantage of being pace-maker was not so +great as people thought.</p> +<p>In this formation they came round the half-mile +oval the second time, each man working +with the nice regularity of well-oiled machinery. +Not a sound now from the grandstand; only +the soft <i>pat</i> of the runners’ feet could be heard. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span> +The crowd had caught Chester’s idea: but could +he hold out?</p> +<p>They had passed the three-quarter pole on +the third lap when a yell went up, and everybody +rose excitedly to their feet. Space was +growing rapidly between the leaders and those +behind; it was now resolved to a duel between +the principals.</p> +<p>As they dashed past, the crowd examined +them closely, scores of field-glasses being +trained upon them like so many guns.</p> +<p>Chester was still erect, his head well back, +chest forward, arms working piston-like, close +down at his sides, while his long, regular tread +was as light and springy as an Indian’s. His +jaw was set grimly, but it was manifest that he +was still breathing deep and regularly through +his nostrils.</p> +<p>It was equally manifest that his opponent +was in distress. The last of his strength and +determination was dying away in a desperate +effort to keep his pace; his face was colorless, +eyes staring, his step irregular. Worst of all, +his mouth was open, and his chest could be seen +to vibrate as he panted.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-388.jpg' alt='' title='' width='420' height='612' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +He heard a voice ... and glanced back.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span></div> +<p>“By Jove!” muttered the man at the rail, +as amazed as though the blue canopy of heaven +had suddenly fallen, “Chester’ll take it, I do +believe!” And the crowd was beginning to +believe the same.</p> +<p>The rivals maintained their relative positions +until, on the last lap, the three-quarter pole was +once more reached. The two figureheads had +dropped out and mounted a fence where they +would not be too far away from the finish.</p> +<p>Every eye was trained upon the racers, the +excitement was tense. Chester was pounding +grimly away; sweat was pouring down his face +until it glistened in the sun; his legs ached as +though in a boot of torture. But he had no +thought of allowing Richards to close the gap +between them by an inch. He was counting the +<i>pat-pat-pat!</i> of his feet upon the track. +“Seventy-three more, and it’s won, old boy,” +he muttered. He could hear Richards’ every +breath. “One, two, three,––” he counted.</p> +<p>He heard a voice, so broken that the words +could hardly be distinguished, and he glanced +back.</p> +<p>“For God’s––sake, Chester––hold––up!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +gasped Richards. “I––can’t lose––this race––now.”</p> +<p>He was a pitiable figure, his white face drawn +in lines of pain, his body swaying uncertainly, +as he pressed despairingly on.</p> +<p>For one moment Chester’s heart felt a throb +of pity. Then he thought of his work in sun +and rain; of Richards’ contempt in the past; of +the cheers for his rival and the open ridicule of +his own pretensions; and last of all, but far +from being the least consideration, the two hundred +dollars absolutely necessary to carry him +through his final year to graduation.</p> +<p>Ah, nobody knew about that two hundred +dollars, save himself and one little girl, who +had driven into town early in the afternoon, +and who had slipped timidly into as good a seat +as she could find in the stand. She showed one +dot of pink among hundreds of fluffy white +gowns; Chester was ignorant of her presence, +but as he sped round and round the track, her +eyes never once left him, nor did she cease praying +silently that he might win!</p> +<p>Only for an instant did he hesitate; then his +face settled into an expression not pleasant to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +look upon. He forgot that he was tired, that +a grandstand full of howling maniacs was +ahead of him. He thought only of the girl in +pink––and made his spurt.</p> +<p>Richards tried to follow, but a haze was +forming over his eyes. His heart was pounding +until he believed that he must suffocate. +Then he reeled suddenly, lost his balance and +fell into darkness.</p> +<p>“So this is victory!” murmured Chester to +himself a moment later, as he swayed unsteadily +upon the shoulders of a howling mob. +He was thinking of poor Richards lying back +there upon the track. But just then he espied +the transfigured face of the girl in pink.</p> +<p>“It is! It is!” he shouted joyfully.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span> +<a name='THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE' id='THE_WORTH_OF_THE_PRICE'></a> +<h2>THE WORTH OF THE PRICE</h2> +</div> +<p>Nobody in a normal humor would dispute +the fact that Clementine Willis was +a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be +moved, by a burst of enthusiasm, to declare her +beautiful. There was about her that subtle, +elusive charm of perfection in minute detail, +possible only to the wealthy who can discriminate +between art and that which is artificial, and +who can take advantage of all of art’s magic +resources, without imparting the slightest suggestion +of artificiality.</p> +<p>Her hair and eyes were dark––very dark; +her skin bore the matchless, transparent tint of +ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of +her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke +the ultimate degree of refinement.</p> +<p>She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded +man must needs stare at, perhaps furtively, +but with no thought of boldness. Stupid, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span> +indeed, must be he who would attempt anything +even remotely approaching familiarity with +Miss Willis.</p> +<p>Her smart brougham waits in front of a new +and resplendent down-town office building on +a certain afternoon, while Miss Willis ascends +in one of the elevators to the tenth floor. She +proceeds with assurance, but leisurely––mayhap +she is a trifle bored––to a door which somehow +manages to convey an impression of prosperity +beyond. It bears upon its frosted glass +the name of Dr. Leonard, a renowned specialist +in diseases of the throat, besides the names of a +half-dozen assistants––in much smaller lettering––who, +doubtless, are in the ferment of +struggling for positions of equal renown.</p> +<p>The door opening discloses a neat, uniformed +maid and a large and richly furnished reception-room. +Five ladies, of various ages and all handsomely +gowned, are seated here and there, manifestly +forcing patience to relieve the <i>ennui</i> +which would have been tolerated with no other +detail of the day’s routine.</p> +<p>This cursory survey is sufficient, it is hoped, +to demonstrate that Dr. Leonard’s practice is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +confined among a class of which most other +practitioners might be pardonably envious.</p> +<p>The white-aproned, white-capped maid +smiled a polite recognition of the newest +arrival. A bit flustered by the calmly impersonal +scrutiny with which her greeting was received, +she addressed Miss Willis in a subdued +voice.</p> +<p>“I was to tell you, Miss Willis, that there is +no occasion for Dr. Leonard to see you himself +to-day. If you please, Dr. Carter will fill your +engagement.”</p> +<p>Miss Willis did not please. It was quite +clear that she regarded this arrangement with +considerable disfavor.</p> +<p>“You may inform Dr. Leonard that I shall +not wait,” she said coldly. “If I am so far improved +that I do not require his personal attention, +I shall not come again.”</p> +<p>With that, she turned decisively to leave. +The maid followed her, hesitantly, to the door, +and Miss Willis could not repress a smile at the +girl’s consternation. The situation had ended +in an altogether unexpected manner. And then, +in the next instant, it became manifest that, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span> +however absolute Dr. Leonard might be, it was +not a part of the maid’s duties to discourage +those who would seek his services. She was +emboldened to protest.</p> +<p>“Just try him, please, Miss Willis,” in a +nervous murmur; “he––truly––he’s––”</p> +<p>The assurance was left unfinished; but the +speaker’s flurry revealed her predicament, and +Miss Willis smiled encouragement.</p> +<p>“Very well,” she returned graciously.</p> +<p>The maid gave her a grateful look and conducted +her though several rooms, all in accord +with the sumptuous reception-room, to a tiny +private office, where she opened the door and +stood respectfully on one side.</p> +<p>The visitor’s submissive mood all at once +vanished. She stared resentfully at the +cramped quarters, and entered reluctantly, as +if with a feeling of being thrust willy-nilly into +a labelled pill-box. A man was writing at a +desk in a corner, and he continued writing.</p> +<p>“Take a chair, please,” he said crisply, without +looking up. And this was the only sign to +indicate that he was aware that his privacy had +been invaded. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span></p> +<p>Miss Willis’s dark eyes flashed. She seemed +about to make an indignant rejoinder, but +thought better of it. She ignored the invitation +to sit down, however, and by and by the circumstance +caught the writer’s attention; he +bent a quick, surprised look round at her––then +proceeded with his writing. He did not repeat +the request.</p> +<p>He presently finished his task, noted the +time, and made an entry upon a tabulated sheet +beside him; he then filed the memorandum upon +a hook, and swung round in his chair, facing the +intruder––for such the girl felt herself to be.</p> +<p>Fortunately Miss Willis was not without a +sense of humor, and she was able to perceive +an amusing quality in her reception to-day. +Such supreme indifference to her very existence +was so wholly foreign to anything in her past +experience, that she was acutely sensible of its +freshness and novelty.</p> +<p>But now the man became all at once impressed +with the circumstance that she was still +standing, and he bounded guiltily to his feet.</p> +<p>“Pardon me!” he exclaimed in confusion. +“I was––was very busy when you came in. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +Won’t you please have this chair?” He awkwardly +shoved one forward.</p> +<p>The man was young; Miss Willis was unable +to determine whether he was good-looking, or +ugly; whether he was the right sort, or impossible; +so she accepted the proffered chair.</p> +<p>He resumed his own seat, and leaned one arm +wearily upon the desk. Already he had forgotten +his momentary embarrassment, and he +was now regarding the girl simply as a patient.</p> +<p>“Dr. Leonard has given me the history of +your case,” he informed her in a matter of fact +way. “He requests that I continue with it––unless, +of course, you prefer that he treat you +himself.” He got up as he spoke, and Miss +Willis decided that he was good-looking and +young, and that he was tall and of a figure to +appeal to the feminine eye.</p> +<p>Then she was guilty of a most reprehensible +act of slyness. She turned full upon him the +batteries of her lustrous dark eyes, and smiled +dazzlingly, bewitchingly.</p> +<p>“I came to see Dr. Leonard,” she said in a +tone that made one think of dripping honey. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span> +“And I object to being turned over to an +assistant––at least before consulting me.”</p> +<p>Utterly at variance with all precedent, the +bewitching look produced no effect whatever. +The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button, +and then went over to where Miss Willis was +sitting. Before he could speak––if he had any +such intention––a girl in starched cap and +apron appeared in answer to his ring.</p> +<p>“Miss Willis has concluded not to remain,” +he informed the maid. “Show Number +Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her +that I will see her in two minutes.” Producing +his watch, he deliberately marked the time.</p> +<p>He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with +an air which said as plainly as words could have +said it: “It’s a terrible waste of precious time, +but if necessary I’ll sacrifice the two minutes +to humoring any further caprices you may +develop.”</p> +<p>This was too much for the young lady’s tranquillity: +she laughed, and laughed frankly.</p> +<p>“Pray tell me,” she managed to say, “what +<i>my</i> number is.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span></p> +<p>Without the slightest alteration in his serious +mien, he consulted a list hanging beside his desk.</p> +<p>“Seven,” he announced at length.</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“Why?” quickly. “Has there been some +mistake?”</p> +<p>“No––oh, no”; Miss Willis was now perfectly +composed. “I had a feeling, though, +that it must have been nearer seven thousand.”</p> +<p>“It would be impossible, you know,” the man +patiently explained, “to see that many patients +in a day.”</p> +<p>“Indeed? How interesting!” Her irony +was unnoticed, and once more she laughed. To +tell the truth, if anybody could associate such a +frivolity with Miss Willis’s dignity, she giggled.</p> +<p>She contemplated the man with undisguised +curiosity. Naturally enough she had met more +men than she could even remember, but never +one anything like this particular specimen. To +add to her quickened interest, he was not only +positively good-looking, but every line of his +face, the poise of his well-proportioned, upstanding +figure, the tilt of his head and the +squareness of his chin, all spoke of strength; of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span> +elemental strength, and of a purposeful, resolute +character. And, too, she told herself that +he had nice eyes. The nice eyes never wavered +in their respectful regard of her.</p> +<p>He spoke again:</p> +<p>“I can assure you that Dr. Leonard meant +no discourtesy. The new arrangement means +nothing further than that your trouble is more +distinctively within my province. It is his +custom, once he has thoroughly diagnosed a +case, to assign it to the one of his assistants best +qualified to treat it. Dr. Leonard is a very +busy man; he can’t be expected to do more than +supervise his aides.”</p> +<p>And now he was actually rebuking her!</p> +<p>He bowed once more, and moved toward the +door. His hand was upon the knob, when an +imperious command brought him to a standstill.</p> +<p>“Wait,” said Miss Willis. “Dr. Carter, if +I remain here––”</p> +<p>He coolly interrupted. “Pardon me, Miss +Willis, but my patient is waiting. I shall be at +liberty in ten minutes, then I shall return.”</p> +<p>This time he was gone.</p> +<p>Number Four must have been an adjoining +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span> +room, for the next instant she could hear Dr. +Carter’s voice through the thin board partition. +His speech was as unemotional and businesslike +as when addressing her. She could not +make up her mind whether to go or wait, and +so sat pondering and presently forgot to go.</p> +<p>Here was a man such as she had never +dreamed of as existing; one absolutely disinterested, +who treated people––even people like +Clementine Willis––as abstractly as a master +mechanic goes about repairing a worn-out engine. +Perhaps it was a characteristically feminine +decision at which she presently arrived, but +anyway she made up her mind, then and there, +to know more of this man.</p> +<p>After a while Miss Willis fell to surveying +the room; with an undefined hope, perhaps, that +it would throw some further light upon the +young doctor’s character. It was essentially +the home of a busy man. Every article had a +use and a definite one. The spirit of the place +was contagious, and presently she began to +have a feeling that she was the one useless thing +there.</p> +<p>In one corner of the room was the desk where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span> +he had been writing, upon which was a pile of +loose manuscript. Reference books were scattered +all about, some with improvised bookmarks, +but mostly face downward, just as they +had been left. The environment was that of +one who seeks to overtake and outstrip Time, +rather than to forget him.</p> +<p>Dr. Carter returned at last, entering quickly +but quietly.</p> +<p>“Pardon my leaving you so abruptly,” he +apologized, the impersonal note again in his +voice, and an inquiry as well. He seemed surprised +that she had not departed.</p> +<p>The girl was manifestly at a loss for words; +this was such an extraordinary predicament for +her to find herself in that she determined to say +something at any cost.</p> +<p>“Dr. Carter,” she faltered, “I––have +changed my mind; I––I––wish you to continue +my treatment––if you will.” It was not +at all what she had intended saying, and she +was chagrined to feel her cheeks grow suddenly +hot; she knew that they must be rosy.</p> +<p>It was likely that young Dr. Carter was unused +to smiling; but suddenly his eyes were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span> +alight. He spoke, and the dry, impersonal note +was gone.</p> +<p>“I’m glad,” he said. “We hard-working +doctors can stand almost anything––without +caring a snap of our fingers, too––but when it +comes to doubting or questioning––not <i>our</i> +methods, but those that have been tried and +proven, and of which we merely avail ourselves,––why, +we can’t be expected to waste much +sympathy on the scoffers.”</p> +<p>He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to +the maid: “Tell Dr. Leonard that Miss Willis +has decided to continue her treatment +with me.”</p> +<p>Now, in the light of the foregoing experience, +it was strange that during the next week Miss +Willis’s throat should require considerably more +attention than it ever had under the celebrated +specialist’s personal ministrations. She made +five visits to Dr. Carter, but it could not be said +that he had advanced an inch toward the opening +she had made. His voice and manner were +a bit more sympathetic––and that was all.</p> +<p>Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in +the fact that her identity, for the time being, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405' name='page_405'></a>405</span> +was erased by a number; during each visit she +made it a point to learn what this number was, +treating the matter in a sportive spirit, unbending +her wit to ridicule a practice which failed to +discriminate among the host of patients who +came to see Dr. Leonard.</p> +<p>“For our purposes,” Dr. Carter tolerantly +explained, “a number more conveniently identifies +our patients; their differences are only +pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss +Willis, unless there is some unusual circumstance +associated with it, to impress it upon the +mind.”</p> +<p>She was curious to learn what unusual circumstance +had caused him to retain her name, +but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have +been amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that +it was her beauty; that he was clinging rather +desperately to the unlovely number, which had +no individuality and whose features were altogether +neutral and negative.</p> +<p>The change in his manner, when it came, +almost took away her breath. It was on the occasion +of her last visit. After the familiar preliminary +examination, instead of proceeding at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406' name='page_406'></a>406</span> +once with the treatment, as had been his invariable +custom, Dr. Carter walked over to his desk +and sat down. For a space he soberly regarded +her.</p> +<p>“Miss Willis,” said he, presently, “there is +nothing whatever the matter with your throat.”</p> +<p>She gasped. This calm statement brought +confusingly to her mind the circumstance that +she had forgotten her throat and its ailment, +when, of all considerations, the afflicted member +should have been uppermost in her mind. Dr. +Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering +why she continued to come after the occasion +to do so no longer existed. He at once +relieved her embarrassment, though.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, and she felt a thrill at +the note of regret in his voice, “that you will be +glad to escape from this hive?”</p> +<p>“No, I shan’t,” she said, with unnecessary +warmth. This involuntary denial surprised +even herself, and she blushed.</p> +<p>The smile left Dr. Carter’s lips, but he said +nothing––merely sat looking at her in his +grave way.</p> +<p>Here was to be another period, which Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407' name='page_407'></a>407</span> +Willis could look back upon as one of temporary +inability to find words. She started to +leave, furious with herself for her inaptness, +and instead of going she paused and turned +back.</p> +<p>Dr. Carter had risen; he was standing as she +had left him. She drew a card from her cardcase.</p> +<p>“You may think what you please of me, +Dr. Carter,” she said with sudden impulse, extending +the card and meeting his look steadily, +“but I would be glad if you were to call.”</p> +<p>It seemed to take him a long time to read the +address. All at once his hands were trembling, +and when he looked up the expression in the +gray eyes brought a swift tide of color to the +girl’s face, where it deepened, and deepened, +until she tingled from head to foot, and a mist +obscured her vision.</p> +<p>“Nothing in all this world would give me +more pleasure,” said the man.</p> +<p>The girl turned and fled.</p> +<p>That very evening Dr. Carter availed himself +of the invitation. Singularly enough, since she +had been hoping all the afternoon that he would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408' name='page_408'></a>408</span> +come, Clementine Willis was frightened when +his name was announced. Her hand was shaking +when he took it in his; but there was not a +trace of expression on his face.</p> +<p>Miss Willis realized, for the first time, that +she had been horribly brazen––or, at least, she +told herself that she had been––and as a consequence, +she was wretchedly ill at ease. Her +distress was in marked contrast with the man’s +self-possession, which amounted almost to indifference. +There was no spark visible of the +fire which had flashed earlier in the day. It was +as though he had steeled himself to remain invulnerable +throughout the call.</p> +<p>And the usually composed girl prattled aimlessly, +voicing platitudes, conventionalities, banalities, +inanities––anything to gain time and +to cover her embarrassment: to all of which the +man listened in sober silence, watching her +steadily.</p> +<p>Abruptly, Miss Willis grew angry with +herself, and stopped. When angry she was +collected.</p> +<p>Dr. Carter’s face lit up humorously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409' name='page_409'></a>409</span></p> +<p>“You have no idea,” he said, “how you have +relieved my mind.”</p> +<p>The girl looked a question.</p> +<p>“I supposed I was the embarrassed individual,” +he laughed.</p> +<p>“If you had only given me a hint,” suggested +the girl, reproachfully. She was now amazed +that she had ever lost her grip upon herself, and +wondered why she had.</p> +<p>“A hint!” he exclaimed. “I was dumb; I +thought you’d see.”</p> +<p>The tension was off, and they laughed together. +From then on, both remained natural. +In the midst of a lull, Dr. Carter suddenly said:</p> +<p>“You’ll think me a barbarian, Miss Willis, +but I have a request to make. I am in the mood +to-night to be unconventional”––the corners of +his serious mouth lifted humorously––“to be +what I really am,” he illuminated, “and to meet +you in the same spirit.” He paused with a little +shrug. “It is a disappointing reversion to the +primitive, I must admit.” He glanced up +whimsically. “May I ask you a question––any +question?”</p> +<p>“Do you think it possible,” the girl evaded, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410' name='page_410'></a>410</span> +“for a modern woman to meet you––the way +you say––naturally?”</p> +<p>He seemed to question her seriousness.</p> +<p>“I have seen little of women for a number of +years,” he returned, “but I’d hate to think it +impossible.”</p> +<p>“Little of women!” was the surprised +comment.</p> +<p>“You misunderstand,” he quickly corrected. +“I go out so seldom that the woman I see is not +the real woman at all; not the woman of home.” +His hand made a little motion of forbearance. +“In his consultation-room the patients of a +physician are––sexless.”</p> +<p>“I think that a woman––that I––can still +be natural, Dr. Carter,” said Miss Willis, +slowly, her eyes downcast. “What did you +wish to ask?”</p> +<p>It was his turn to hesitate.</p> +<p>“I hardly know how to put it, now that I +have permission,” he apologized, with a deprecatory +little laugh.</p> +<p>“We seldom do things in this world,” he +went on at once, “unless we want to, or unless +the alternative of not doing them is more unpleasant.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411' name='page_411'></a>411</span> +He merged generalities into a more +specific assertion. “There was no alternative +in your requesting me to call. Candidly, why +do I interest you?”</p> +<p>His voice was alive, and the woman, now +thoroughly mistress of herself, gazed into the +frankest of frank gray eyes.</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” she said, weighing her +answer. “Perhaps it was the novel experience +of being considered––sexless; of being classified +by a number, like a beetle in a case. Let +me answer with another question: Why did I +interest you sufficiently to come?”</p> +<p>He sat in the big chair with his chin in his +hand, looking now steadily past and beyond her, +one foot restlessly tapping the rug.</p> +<p>“I can’t answer without it seeming so hopelessly +egotistical.” The half-whimsical, half-serious +smile returned to his eyes. “Don’t let +me impose upon your leniency, please; I may +wish to make a request sometime again.”</p> +<p>“I will accept the responsibility,” she +insisted.</p> +<p>“On your head, then, the consequences.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412' name='page_412'></a>412</span> +spoke lightly, but with a note of restlessness +and rebellion.</p> +<p>“To me you are attractive, Miss Willis, because +you are everything that I am not. With +you there is no necessity higher than the present; +no responsibility beyond the chance +thought of the moment. You choose your +surroundings, your thoughts. Your life is +what you make it: it is life.”</p> +<p>“You certainly would not charge me with +being more independent than you?” protested +the girl.</p> +<p>“Independent!” he flashed upon her, and she +knew she had stirred something lying close to +his soul. His voice grew soft, and he repeated +the word, musingly, more to himself than to +her: “Independent!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” with abrupt feeling, “with the sort +of independence that chooses its own manner of +absolute dependence; with the independence +that gives you only so much of my time, so that +the remainder may go to another; with the independence +of imperative impartiality; the sort +of independence that is never through working +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413' name='page_413'></a>413</span> +and planning for others––that’s the independence +I know.”</p> +<p>“But there are breathing-spells,” interrupted +Miss Willis, smilingly. “To-night, for +example, you are not working for somebody +else.”</p> +<p>“You compel me to incriminate myself,” he +rejoined, the whimsical, half-serious smile again +lighting his gray eyes. “I should be working +now, and I will have to make up the lost time +when I go home.” He bowed gallantly. “The +pleasure is double with me, you observe; I do +not think twice about paying a double price for +it.”</p> +<p>He spoke lightly, almost mockingly; but beneath +the surface there was even the bitter ring +of revolt, and constantly before the girl were the +little gestures, intense, impatient, that conveyed +a meaning he did not voice. She could feel in +it all the insistent atmosphere of the town, +where time is counted by seconds. She wondered +that he felt as he did, ignorant that the +disquiet had come into his life only during the +past week. To her, the glimpse of activity was +fascinating simply because it was in sharp +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_414' name='page_414'></a>414</span> +contrast with her life of comparative, dull +emptiness.</p> +<p>He caught the wistful look on her face.</p> +<p>“You wonder that I rebel,” he said, with an +odd little throaty laugh. “I couldn’t well appear +any more unsophisticated: I might as well +tell you. It’s not the work itself, but the lack +of anything else but work that makes the lives +of such as I so bare. We are constantly holding +a stop-watch on time itself, fearful of losing a +second; the scratch of a pen sealing the life of +a Nation, commuting a death-sentence, defining +the difference between a man’s success and ruin +can all be accomplished in a second. If we let +that second get away from us, we have been +deaf to Opportunity’s knock. We stop at times +to think; and then the object for which we give +our all appears so petty and inadequate, and +what we are losing, so great. We laugh at our +work at such times, and for the moment hate +it.” But he laughed lightly, and finished with +a deprecating little minor.</p> +<p>“You see, I’m relaxing to-night––and +thinking.”</p> +<p>“But,” Miss Willis protested, “I don’t see +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_415' name='page_415'></a>415</span> +why you should have only the one thing in your +life. It is certainly unnecessary, unless you +choose.”</p> +<p>He smiled indulgently.</p> +<p>“You have no conception of what it means +to shape your life to your income. I am poor, +and I know. Years ago I had to choose between +mediocrity and”––he looked at her peculiarly––“and +love, or advancement alone. I had to +choose, and fixing my choice upon the higher +aim, I had to put everything else out of my life. +The thought is intolerable that my name should +always be under another’s upon some office-door. +You know what I chose: you know nothing +of the constant struggle which alone keeps +me, mind, soul, and body, centred upon my +ideal, nor how readily I respond to a temptation +to turn aside.</p> +<p>“This,” he completed listlessly, “is one of +the nights when the price seems too large; in +spite of me, regret will creep in.”</p> +<p>“But,” persisted the girl, “when you succeed––it +will not be––too late?” There was a +plaintive inquiry in the words; the tragedy of +the man’s life had awakened pity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_416' name='page_416'></a>416</span></p> +<p>He spoke with a sudden passion that startled +her.</p> +<p>“It is too late already; my work has refashioned +my life. I am desperately restless except +when doing something that counts; something +visible; and doing it intensely. I’ll never”––his +voice was bitter with regret––“never conform––now.”</p> +<p>The girl answered, almost unconsciously.</p> +<p>“I think you can,” she hesitated, “and will.”</p> +<p>For a long, long moment they searched each +other’s eyes.</p> +<p>“And this price you are paying,” said the +girl at last, “is it worth it?”</p> +<p>The man drew a long breath.</p> +<p>“Ah, I wonder! To-night doubt has undermined +my resolution.”</p> +<p>“If you question yourself so seriously,” she +said very softly, “then surely you can find but +one answer.”</p> +<p>“Again I wonder. I have wondered and––and +hoped––God help me!––since the moment +I looked into your eyes.”</p> +<p>Suddenly he was out of his chair and coming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_417' name='page_417'></a>417</span> +toward her. Her heart leaped, her eyes shone; +she extended her hands in welcome.</p> +<p>“Then you will come again,” she whispered, +as they drew together.</p> +<p>“If you will let me. I couldn’t stay away +now.”</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0623 --> +<!-- timestamp: Wed Jun 24 19:26:14 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Breath of Prairie and other stories, by +Will Lillibridge + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BREATH OF PRAIRIE *** + +***** This file should be named 29245-h.htm or 29245-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/4/29245/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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