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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39781-0.txt b/39781-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89a0a1a --- /dev/null +++ b/39781-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5674 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39781 *** + +CAPE OF STORMS + +A NOVEL + +BY + +PERCIVAL POLLARD + +CHICAGO + +THE ECHO + +1895 + + + + + "So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that + place the cape of torments and of storms and blessed + his Maker that he was safely gone by it. And even so, + in the lives of us all, there is a Cape of Storms, the + which to pass safely is delightful fortune, and on + which to be wrecked is the common fate. For it often + happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman's + face." * * * + + --An Unknown Author + + +1894 +ST. JOSEPH +FRIDENAU +CHICAGO +1895 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +"Life is a cup that is better to sip than to drain; the taste of the +dregs is very bitter in the mouth." I shall never forget those words of +our dear minister's, I suppose, because so much that has happened since +he first uttered them to us as we sat in his Sunday-school class has +shown me the truth of them. Dick himself, I remember, was especially +loth to believe Mr. Fairly's monition; indeed, none of us young bloods +cared to think that there was anything in the life before us that was +not altogether worth living, and when Dick spoke up plainly and quite +proudly, arguing against the pastor's words, we were all silent +approvers of his challenge. Dick was always the bravest boy in the +village; and we had long since come to be admirers rather than rivals. +But Mr. Fairly only shook his head and smiled a little--he had a +wonderful smile, and his eyes were always shining with kindness--and +patted Dick on the head, with a gentle, "Well, well, my boy, let us hope +so; let us hope so. Perhaps you will be fortunate above your fellows." + +The incident dwells in my memory for many reasons. It was, as I have +said, a curiously prophetic sentence of our pastor's; besides that, it +was the last Sunday that we were all together in Lincolnville, we boys +who had played, and fought and learned together. Early in the week, +Dick--somehow, long after the world has come to know him only as Richard +Lancaster, I am still unable to think of him as anything but the "Dick" +of my boyhood--was to leave the village for the world; he was going to +begin a life for himself, up there in that mysteriously magnetic +maelstrom--the town. Like Dick Whittington of old, and every fresh +young blood every day of this world's life, he was going up to town to +conquer. Before him lay the beautiful pathway into a glorious future; +promises and pleasures were like hedges to that way that he was going to +tread. He was all eagerness, all hope, all ambition. And, to be just, +perhaps there was never a boy went up to town from Lincolnville who had +better cause to be full of pleasant hopes for his future than Dick. +Certainly, it was the first time the little place had evolved such a +talent; and it felt a pardonable pride in the boy; it expected, perhaps, +even more than he did, and was looking forward to the reflected glory of +being his native village. + +If you have traveled through the West at all, and have anything more +than a car-window acquaintance with the great Middle West, you know +Lincolnville fairly well, I think. Not that you may ever have been to +the village itself, but because it is a type of thousands of other +villages scattered throughout the country. + +It is the county-seat, and is built upon the checker-board plan, with a +sort of hollow square in the middle, filled, as an Irishman might say, +with a park. The sides of this square form the business heart of the +place; each street that runs away from the square is lined with pretty +dwelling-houses of frame or brick, so that the village looks like an +octopus with four large tentacles stretching toward every point of the +compass. The streets are fringed with shade trees of every sort, and in +midsummer the place looks like a veritable nest of green and cool +bowers. The county is strictly and agricultural one; the farmers come to +"town," as they call it, every Saturday; at least, hitch their horses to +the iron railing that surrounds the park, and spend the day selling +produce, buying dry goods, implements or other necessaries. The face of +the village rarely changes; there is an occasional fire on the "square," +mayhap, and then the newer building that fills the gap is in decided +improvement over the old one; young men are forever going out into the +world, and old men are for ever coming back thither to die; for the rest, +one might fancy that, if you came into the world again a hundred years +from now, you would find the same farmers doing their "trading" at +exactly the same stores that they now favor. On occasions of a political +convention, or a circus, the town takes on a festive aspect, and the +roads leading to the square are filled, all day long, with wagons that +have come from the further edges of the county. During the three or four +days of the County Fair, too, there is great activity between the +village and the Fair Grounds, and, if it be a dry summer, the air +between those places is merely one huge cloud of dust. Occasionally the +pretty little Opera House has an entertainment that draws out such of +the citizens as have no very severe religious scruples against the +theatre. For the rest, the place is an admirable home of quiet. Young +blood chafes at this quiet; old blood finds there the peace it seeks. + +In the very nature of things, a place of this sort is chiefly concerned +with its own affairs; the main theme of conversation are its own people. +Everyone is perfectly acquainted with his neighbor's affairs, and not +infrequently, in fact, is able to inform that neighbor of certain +details relating to the latter, that had until then been unknown to him. +So it was that, at the time of Dick's leaving Lincolnville, the good +people of that place knew, much better than he did himself, the surety +of his engagement to Dorothy Ware. He himself would have been only too +glad to be as sure as they were, when he heard the rumors he was given +to smiling rather sardonically. + +He came to me once, I remember, and looked at me for a long time with +those clear, grey eyes of his. "Tell me, old man," he said, "do you +think she cares for me?" It is a stupid question, this; but almost +every boy who is in love puts it to some friend or other, in the quest +for confirmation of his fears or hopes. "Why, Dick," I said--still more +foolishly, perhaps, now that I look back on it--"Why, Dick, of course +she does. We all do." "Oh," he flung in, impatiently, "I don't mean +that!" I knew what he meant; but who shall tell, being a man, whether a +girl cares or not? Although, if ever a boy was made to be well beloved, +surely it was Dick. + +He was always a high-spirited youngster; some of his tricks are still +legends of the old high-school in his native place. He never liked to +fight, being naturally mild of temper; but when he was roused beyond +endurance lie was a veritable Daniel. His father died when he was only +four years old; to his mother he was the most devoted of sons. + +It was when he was about ten years old that his talent for drawing first +proved itself. It came to him in the way that it has come to many who +have since made the world listen to their names--on the old black-board +in the schoolroom. It was a caricature of Mr. Fairly, I remember, who +was always very tall and very thin, and whose face was like that of a +French general's under the empire. Dick exaggerated all these +peculiarities most deftly with his chalk, and then it so happened that +Mr. Fairly himself walked in and found the caricature. He only looked at +Dick quietly, and put his hand down on his shoulder with a subdued, "I +am a good deal older than you, my boy, a good deal older. You're sorry, +aren't you?" And something in our minister's tone must have touched +Dick, for the boy put his head down and said: "Yes, sir," with a little +choke in his voice. Nor do I think that from that day to this Dick has +ever drawn or painted in caricature. But in all other ways he developed +his talent day by day with really wonderful results. He always had a +rare notion of color; the autumn foliage thereabouts gave him the most +startling effects. He used to go out into the woods in mid-summer and +mid-winter--it made little difference to him--and come back with some of +the prettiest bits of landscape work I have ever seen. There were, it is +true, certain palpable crudities in his work, due to the lack of any +training save that of his instincts, but those would undoubtedly +disappear as soon as he came under the influence of a proper instructor. +It was for this that he was going to leave the village and become of the +greater world in town. His mother had rebelled at first; she was growing +old, and she feared the thought of losing sight of him; but there was no +restraining his ambition. To remain cooped up in that little corral of a +place all his life--oh, no; that was not at all the thing for Dick +Lancaster. That great world, out there, that he had read and heard so +much about, that was where he ought to be; and it was there he wanted to +wager and to win; what was there left in Lincolnville? He could do +nothing more there; his life was beginning to be a mere stagnation. He +must out and away. This longing for shaking off the shackles of that +narrow village life was, as much as ambition, the spur that sent him out +into the larger world. And I do not wonder at him. Those small places +are not fit arenas for the disporting of ambitions or freedoms. + +At this time, Dick was a little over one-and-twenty. He was handsome in +a dark, olive-skinned sort of way, and his eyes had the longest lashes I +have ever seen in a man. His hair curled a little, though he was forever +trying to comb and coax the curl away; he hated it, saying that curls +were all right for a girl, perhaps, but not for a man. He was, but for +the fact that he was very fond of good cigars, a veritable Pierrot. He +had always been very closely under his mother's influence; even his +association with the boys of his own age and class had not been enough +to taint him at all. He had a fancy that, now as I consider it, after +all these years, seems a most pathetic one, that the world was a very +beautiful place in which the wicked were always punished, if not by +actual stripes, at least by the disdain of their fellow-men. It seems +strange, perhaps, that a young man of his age should still hold such +notions, but you must remember that in the quieter villages of our +country it is possible to hold these fancies all one's life; the town is +the great disenchanter. Dick considered that he had two things to live +for--his ambition and Dorothy Ware. + +It was beautiful, the way the boy sometimes rhapsodized; beautiful, and +yet in the light of after events, sad. "One day, you know," he said in +one of his bursts of enthusiasm, "I will be known all the world over as +a great painter. People will come to my studio and wonder at it, and the +work in it. They will invite me everywhere. I will be a lion. But I +shall always place my work first; admiration shall go into the last +place. And there will be Dorothy! Dear Dorothy! I haven't asked her yet, +you know, but I hope--oh, yes, I hope--that it will be all right between +us. Dorothy will help me in everything; when I begin to flag, or to lose +spirit, she will spur me on. She will represent me to the great world of +society when I am hard at work; she will be my veritable Alter Ego. And +some day--some day, when I feel that my brush and my hand have in them +the passion for my masterpiece, I will paint her face--her face!" He +took up a photograph that lay on the table before him and looked at it +steadily for an instant or two. "Sweet face!" he went on, "how shall +mere paint ever represent you? There must be love, too. Love and paint. +The one is a mere trick of the hand and eye; the other is mine and mine +alone. For no one can love her as I do." + +As for Miss Dorothy Ware, she was eighteen and beautiful. I do not know +that any woman really needs a fuller description than that. As for her +wit, it is too early in this chronicle to speak of that; nor do I, +personally, differ much from Théophile Gautier, when he states that a +woman who has wit enough to be beautiful has all she needs. + +Miss Ware's father had made a great deal of money by the very simple +process of growing old; he had been one of the pioneer settlers in that +county and his had been most of the land that the village now stood on. +Miss Ware herself, while sensible of her riches, was unspoilt by them. +By nature she was of the disposition that one can call nothing else but +"sweet;" she was tender and gracious; she was fond of fun, so long as +that fun annoyed no one else; in a word, she was considerate and gentle +and lovable. She had been brought up in the south, and she had retained +a trace of the southern accent, so that her speech was in itself a +charm; she had natural talents for looking pretty under all +circumstances; some might have said that she had the instincts of a +coquette, but I do not believe it of her. She was devoted to children +and dumb animals. And whoso has those instincts is intrinsically good. +But Miss Ware held that she had by no means had enough of this world's +pleasures to begin thinking of so solemn a thing as marriage. Like a +large number of the girls of today, she was, first and foremost, "out +for a good time," as the slang of the time has it. She had certainly the +intention of some day marrying the man she loved and making him as happy +as she could; but in the meanwhile she wanted to test the world's +ability to furnish entertainment quite a little while yet. Which was +why, although she was very fond of Dick, she had invariably put him +off, when he grew importunate, with a laugh. "Why, Dick," she would say, +"don't you know you're absurd to think of such a thing? We're just +children yet. Oh, I know we're of age, but what of that? You don't mean +to tell me that you think your life has shaped, or even begun to shape +itself yet? No. And as for me, I'm going to skirmish around a while yet +before I settle down and become old married people! Be sensible, Dick!" +And Dick, with a sigh in his heart, was, perforce, fain to say that he +would try. "Skirmish around!" It grated on him, somehow, that phrase; it +seemed to hold for him visions of innumerable flirtations; of contact +with the world, the flesh and the devil, with the brushing off of the +faint, roseate bloom of innocence. + +It was on the day before Dick's departure for town that Lincolnville +received the news of another intended going abroad. The Wares' were to +sail for Europe before the month was out. Mrs. Ware had long been an +invalid; for years the doctors had advised travel, but her husband's +objections to any sort of change had hitherto prevailed against her +wishes. But now the really dangerous state of Mrs. Ware's health, added +to the entreaties of Dorothy, who longed, as do all American girls, for +a glimpse of the old country, had brought the old gentleman to +acquiescence. He would not go himself; he was getting too old for such a +trip; but his wife and daughter should go, if they had set their hearts +on it. So that, with the prospective departure of both Richard Lancaster +and the girl that rumor had him engaged to, the tongues of the gossips +had plenty to do on that day. When Dick first heard the news about the +Wares' he was inclined to be downhearted; then it struck him that it +would give him an opportunity for another effort at getting from Dorothy +at least the promise of a promise. + +Than Lincolnville in mid-summer I know few fairer places; there is a +cool, green quiet all about that makes for peace and gentleness, and in +the whispering of the breeze as it curls through the thick foliage of +the spreading trees there is the note of happiness. Happiness, indeed, +lies nearer to man in one of these small, serene villages, than anywhere +else in the world, save in solitude; but it is rarely that man sees the +sleeping beauty that he has sought all his life long. Dick, as he walked +along toward the Ware house that splendid afternoon, caught something of +the warm, comfortable languor that was in the air, and looked about him +with a note of regret in his regard. "How pretty it all is!" he thought, +looking at the familiar houses, with their well-kept lawns and +ivy-covered verandahs, "how pretty! And yet--" he sighed, and then +smiled with a proud lift of the head--"there are other things!" + +He found Miss Ware seated in a hammock on what was known as the +front-porch. It was a long, low, cool stretch of verandah, reminding one +of the style of architecture in vogue in the old south. It was all +harbored in vines that were so luxurious they hardly gave the breeze a +fair chance to penetrate; on the other hand, the sun's rays were safely +guarded against. + +Young Lancaster drew up a chair, after she had smiled and reached him +one of her hands. He looked at her critically for a moment. + +"Dorothy," he said, "I have never seen you looking so pretty." + +"I have never felt so happy, Dick," she said. + +"Because you are going away?" + +"Yes. And you?" + +"I am happy, too. And yet, I am rather sorry. I have lived here all my +life; this is the first time that I am going away from home. There is +something solemn about it; but then--the end, oh, the end--justifies it +all. That is not the chief reason why I am not altogether satisfied to +go away. Dorothy, don't you know the other reason?" + +She opened her eyes a little, and smiled a trifle at the corners of her +mouth. "I, Dick, why, how should I know?" Then she saw that he looked +hurt and she changed her tone. "Dick," she went on, "why won't you be +sensible about it? I suppose you mean about me? Why, Dick, you know I +like you, don't you? I've always liked you and admired you, but--dear +me, can I help it if I feel sure that I don't like anyone yet--in that +way? I'd like to, perhaps, but--well, I don't. What can I do?" She +looked at him appealingly and reproachfully. + +"I know, I know," he said, soothingly, "I'm an impetuous, thoughtless +idiot, I'm afraid, and I hurt you. And, oh, Dorothy! don't you know I'd +rather suffer torments unspeakable than hurt you?" He put out his hand +and touched the one hand of hers that swung beside him, over the edge of +the hammock. "But yet, dear," he went on, "if I only had a word from you +to remember, be it ever so slight, I would fight so much better against +the world. For it is the same to-day as it was in the middle ages; we go +to our crusades, all of us, and if we have a sweetheart who will give us +her love as an armor, we fight the better fight. Our crusades have a +different air, to be sure, but the idea is the same. Don't you know, +Dorothy, that if you only gave, me some little thing to cling to, I +would feel a hundred times stronger. Come, Dorothy, it costs you little +to say it!" + +"But if I say that word, I must live up to it." + +"True; your fair conscience would let you do nothing less. And yet, +there are words so slight that they would cost you scarcely anything, +while to me they would be coats of mail." + +For a time there was silence, both looking out over the street where the +school children were passing homewards. A buggy rattled by, throwing +clouds of dust; then there was quiet again. "If you could say to me, +Dorothy, 'Dick, I won't marry anyone until I see you again, until I +come home again. And I'll try to like you--that way,' why, that would be +enough for me." + +She held up her right hand with a pretty little gesture. "I do solemnly +swear," she said. Then she went on more seriously, "Why, yes, Dick, I'll +promise that. Small chance of my getting married for a few years, +anyway, so I won't have such a very awful time living up to that +promise. Now, do you think, sir, that you're engaged to me?" + +"No, no, dear; not at all. But you've let me hope, haven't you? That's +all I want. You don't know how much happier I'll feel all the time +you're away. How long, by the way, do you think you'll be abroad?" + +"A year, at the least. I want to see it all, you know, when I do get the +chance. Mamma'll want to stay in Carlsbad or Ems, or somewhere all the +time; but I'm going to get her well real soon, you see if I don't, and +then we'll just travel for fun and nothing else. Dick, wouldn't it be +great if you could go along?" + +"It would, for a fact," he assented, "but it's too good to be true. +Besides I'm going to have some fun of my own!" + +"Your work, you mean?" + +"Yes. Isn't it fun to succeed? And I'm going to succeed! The fighting +for success will be fun, and the victory will be fun!" His eyes flashed +with a fierce battle-light. Today this fire of ambition is the only +thing that at all takes the place of the blood fervor that spurred on +the knights of the olden times. "Dorothy," he said, presently, with a +sudden softness in his voice, "will you wish me luck?" + +She gave him, for answer, her right hand, and looked at him wistfully. +She was wondering, perhaps, why it was that she did not love this +lovable boy. "I wish you all the success in the world," she said +quietly. And then, as he turned to go, she called after him, in the old +formula they had used to each other a thousand times as boy and +girl--"Good-bye, Dick. Be good!" + +The love affairs of a boy and a girl, you may think, are hardly the +things that matter very much in the world of today. But the boy and girl +of today are the man and the woman of tomorrow; and between these stages +there is only the little gulf, so easily crossed, wherein runs the river +of knowledge of the world we live in. As soon as we have crossed that we +are become men and women, and are left of our childhood nothing but the +wish that it were ours again. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Although the western windows were open, it was decidedly warm in the +offices of the _Weekly Torch_. The offices were on the tenth floor in +one of the town's best known sky-scrapers--the Aurora. There was a view, +through the windows, of innumerable roofs and streets; here and there +the tower of a railway station or a new hotel protruded--in the words +of A.B. Wooton owner of the _Torch_--"like a sore thumb." Mr. Wooton was +at that moment engaged in the diverting pastime of having his feet +stretched over the side of his desk; and watching the smoke of his +cigarette curl out of the window. Besides his own, there were three +other desks, of the roller-top pattern, in the room, the door of which +was marked "Editorial Rooms," but was rarely, if ever, seen closed. As a +usual thing the outer door to the corridor was, in the summer-time at +least, also left wide open; you could see from the window clear to the +outer door. Indeed, it was one of Wooten's special talents, this ability +of his to see at a glance, from his seat by the window, who it was that +was coming in through the farther door. At one of the other desks a man +was smoking a pipe and shoving a pencil rapidly over sheet of paper. +Presently this man laid his pencil down, took his pipe out of his mouth +and knocked the ashes over into the cuspidor. Then he leaned back in his +chair and inquired, + +"Who was it?" + +"Young fellow from the Art Institute," said Wooten. "Sketches to show; +wants to do illustrating; same old gag. They all come to it. Paint and +fame come altogether too high, and a fellow's got to live. Although, as +the Frenchman remarked, '_Je ne vois pahs la nécessité_.'" The ability to +hideously mispronounce French with a sort of bravado that almost made it +seem correct was one of Wooten's peculiarities. + +The other man gave a mock shudder. "If your morals," he said, "were as +bad as your French, you wouldn't be fit to print. Was his stuff any +good?" + +"Very fair. Got a thing or two to learn about working for reproduction, +as all these art-school men have; but he's got it in him. I told him to +go and see young Belden, on the _Chronicle_, to get a few points about +reproduction. I believe I'll be able to use him. If he's cheap." Wooton +laughed, and threw the stub of his cigarette out of the window. Then he +began throwing the papers on his desk all in a heap and looking into, +under and around them. "Confound the luck," he began; then, turning to +the other man, "Got a cigarette, Van?" + +Van, whose full name was Vanstruther, and whom his intimates called +alternately "Tom" and "Van," threw a box over to the other's desk, +laughing. "I swear," he said, "it's my firm belief that if a man were to +put you in a story and try to draw you with a single stroke he would +only have to say that you spent your life between buying and losing +cigarettes." + +"And matches," added the other calmly. "Got one?" + +"Jupiter! If this thing goes on I'm going to strike for higher rates. +It's not in the contract that I furnish the office with smokes!" + +"No. But the stuff you write, Van, is what drives me to cigarettes. So +you make your own bed, you see. Hallo! Here's alone female to see me! +Wonder who?" + +He got up and went towards the door. "Did you wish to see me?" he +inquired. + +"The editor?" She hesitated a little but he assured her with a slight +nod that she had found her man, and she followed him towards his desk. +She took a seat beside him, and they began conversing in a tone so low +that Vanstruther could only catch a stray word now and again. Presently +she got up. "Very well then," she was saying, "you have my address; if +anything should turn up, you will let me know, won't you?" With a little +rustling of skirts she was gone. Presently they could here her voice +saying "Down!" to the elevator boy. + +"What was her game?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Wanted to contribute poetry as a regular department. You can't fling a +club around a corner anywhere in this town without hitting one of her +kind, nowadays!" + +"Then why didn't you tell her right away you weren't using anything of +that sort?" + +"Why, you infernal idiot, didn't you look at her?" + +"No. Choice?" + +"Very." He put a slip of paper into a pigeon hole, remarking as he did +so, "Filed for future reference." + +From the next room came a gruff voice, "Column of editorial to fill yet, +Mr. Wooton." + +"That foreman of mine's like Banquo's ghost," muttered Wooton, as he +put his pen into the ink and bent down over the desk. For a while there +was only the sound of pen and pencil going over paper, and the click of +the type in the next room. Then there was a heavy step heard in the +passage outside, and presently Wooton muttered: "The Lord's giving us +this day our daily loafers, I see. I wonder why it is," he went on +aloud, as a tall, heavy-set man, with a military mustache and eyeglasses +in front of mild blue eyes, came into the room, "that you fellows always +show up on Friday. Which, being the day we go to press--what's that? +More copy? Oh, all right!" The foreman was taking all the written sheets +from his desk and pleading for more. The new comer was evidently used to +this sort of greeting; he calmly picked a cigarette from the box on +Vanstruther's desk, lit it and sat down on a chair that was drawn up to +the table-where the "exchanges" lay piled in heaps. He finally found +what he had been apparently looking for--a paper with a very gaudy and +risky picture on the front of the cover; he folded it to his +satisfaction and began to look through it. "Say, Van," he began, +presently, "what's this I hear about their going to play the +Ober-Ammergau Passion Play here? Anything in it?" + +Vanstruther was terribly busy. "Haven't heard," was all he said. + +"I heard that it was all fixed," the other went on. "They've even got +the man to play the leading part. Fellow called Tom Vanstruther. They +say he's going to play the part without a makeup, and--" + +"Oh, look here," said Vanstruther, half turning around in his chair, +"you go to the devil, will you?" + +The other man took out a huge cigar-holder, inserted his cigarette and +curled his mustache. "Van's still a little sore about that," he said, +turning to Wooton, who merely nodded his head. There came again the +sound of footsteps in the outer hall, and Wooton, peering forward a +little, broke into a cheery "Hallo, Dante Gabriel Belden, glad to see +you! Come in. By the way, I just sent a young fellow who has your +disease over to see you this morning. Wants to learn the reproduction +rules of the game. See him?" + +"Yes. Had a little talk with him. Clever chap. Tell you about him in a +minute. Hallo, Van, how are the other three hundred and ninety-nine? +Hallo, Stanley, haven't they got you under the vagrancy ordinance yet?" + +The man with the huge mustache and the lengthy cigar-holder shook his +head and said, "Not yet. But I understand they're on the trail. Well, +how is Art, and what are the books you have lately bought, and what is +the latest of your schemes that has died?" + +"Oh, give them to me one at a time. Hang it, Wooton, why do you allow +this man to come up here, anyway, to wear out your furniture and the +patience of us all?" + +"Oh," said Wooton, "he's an amusing animal, and I forgive any man +anything if only he will amuse me." + +"That's beastly bad morals!" said the artist. + +"Morals!" echoed Wooton, with a bland smile, "my dear boy, you want to +take a pill. No; take two! Morals in this day and age; moreover, on the +borders of Bohemia, to talk about morals! Jove, I see myself forced to +seek the solace of the deadly cigarette." He lit one of those slender +rolls of tobacco and paper and went on, "However you haven't answered +Stanley's questions yet. For you must know, Van, that Belden is one of +the most extravagant and insatiable hunters of art books in all this +town. Ever been in his flat? Well, it's a series of rooms, completely +lined with books and pictures, with a very small hole in the middle of +each room. Said hole being usually filled--to use an Irishism--with a +center-table loaded to the guards with art portfolios. I don't believe +there's a book or art store in town that the man doesn't owe large bills +to; and I know, for a fact, that when it comes to be a question between +a new overcoat and a new art book, he always takes the latter. And as +for his schemes--well, I will admit they're all good, but, like the +good, they die young. While they have the merit of exceeding novelty, +they ride him like the plague; but presently a new idol comes and the +old one falls into decay. Tell us, Dante, about the newest scheme!" + +"H'm," replied the artist, "I don't see that you've left me anything to +tell. I've got a new book of Vierge's stuff that you fellows want to +come up and see one of these days; that's about all that I can think +of." + +"Thank you for the pressing invitation," said Wooton. + +"Oh, and about that fellow you sent up to see me," Belden continued, "I +liked his stuff immensely. He needs a little experience and hard luck on +the practical side of getting his stuff made into cuts, and he'll be all +right. The fact is, Wooton, seeing you like the fellow's sketches fairly +well, and I'm rushed to death with other work, I've thought of turning +my work for the Torch over to him. Would you object?" + +"Not a bit, provided he does it as well; and he won't have to get much +of a move on to do that. And then they're cheaper when they're green!" + +Belden groaned. "You're the most awful specimen of materialism I ever +hope to run up against. Then you don't object to this fellow--what's his +name again, Lancaster, isn't it?--doing your sketches? All right, I'll +train him a bit for you. And then I guess it would be a good scheme for +him to have a desk here in your office somewhere, so that he can have a +workshop and be right at hand for you. It isn't as if he had a studio of +his own." + +"That'll be all right; we've got plenty of room. But while you're +training him, old man, I hope you won't inoculate him with that +villainous style of dressing you adopt at the end of your pen. You're +very hot people on everything that's got to be done in a hurry, and +you're great on fine work of the etching order, but when it comes to +making people look like the men and women one would care to be seen +with, you're simply not in this county, that's all there is about it. +I've always claimed, you know," he went on, turning a little so that he +faced Vanstruther and Stanley, "that the great fault common to all the +black-and-white artists in this town was that they couldn't define the +difference between a gentleman and a hoodlum. They talk to me about +technique, and drawing, and all the rest of it, none of which, I will +admit, I know a mortal thing about; but all I answer is that I'm going +from the point of view of the man who doesn't know how the drawing is +made, but who does know how it looks when it's finished. The people of +today look at nearly everything for it's merely superficial aspect; and +the finer people look to our artists to display taste in clothing their +pictorial creatures. If you only dress your people well, they'll want +your drawings so that they can get fashion pointers from them. +Now-a-days an illustrator has got to be more than a mere manipulator of +pen and ink; he has got to keep an eye on the fashions, and even a +little ahead of them. At least, that's what the man I'm looking for +should be." + +Stanley muttered, around the edges of his mustache, so that only +Vanstruther could hear, "Yes; and he'd want to pay him as much as ten +dollars a week!" + +Belden laughed, and got up. "Why don't you put all that into a lecture, +Wooton, and give the fellows over at the Institute a glimpse of this +higher knowledge of yours. However, I've got to be going. I'll send that +man Lancaster over here in a day or so. Goodbye, people!" + +"There's one of the cleverest fellows with a pen in this town," said +Wooten, as soon as the artist's footsteps had died away down the +corridor, "but he's utterly spoiled himself by the work he's been doing +of late years. He's a very fast worker, and one of the best men a daily +paper ever got hold of. Then, too, I've seen copy-work of his--that is, +from photographs or paintings--done in pen-and-ink, that had all the +fine detail and effect of an etching. But, for the sake of the money +there is in it, he does blood and thunder illustrations for a paper of +that sort. After a man has done that sort of thing for a year or two, it +gets into his style. I don't believe he'll ever be able to do anything +else, now. Of course, he'll aways make good money, because his speed and +capacity for work are simply invaluable; but art, as far as he is +concerned, must be weeping large salty tears." + +"This picture of you, A.B. Wooton, pleading the cause of art," remarked +Stanley, "is one of the most affecting I have ever beheld. It really +makes me feel--hungry." + +"Your invitation, sir," said Wooton, walking over toward the closet and +getting his hat, "is cordially accepted. Come on, Van; we are invited to +lunch by the Honorable Mr. Stanley, exchange reader to the _Torch_. +Never linger in a case like this!" + +"For consummate nerve," Stanley suggested, "you really take the medal, +A.B. However, seeing I made a little borrow from the old lady yesterday, +I will go you one lunch on the strength of it. But I do hope you men had +late breakfasts." + +Just before they were ready to pass out, Tony, the office boy came in. +"Say," he said to Wooton, in a low tone, "you remember that letter I +took to the house day before yesterday? Well, does the quarter walk +to-day?" + +"Which," Wooton explained, as he handed the boy a quarter, "is Tony's +peculiar way of inquiring whether he is going to get that twenty-five +cents or not." Tony grinned and went back to his desk were he was busy +addressing wrappers. + +When the three men came back from lunch, they found a young man, holding +a black leather case in his hand, such as bank messengers carry, sitting +patiently in a chair in the outer office. He got up when they entered, +and handed Wooton a paper. Wooton took it to the light, read it slowly, +and handed it back. "Tell him to send that around again on the tenth, +will you." Then he walked into the composing room and began talking to +the foreman. The collector put the slip of paper back into his portfolio +and went out. + +"Van," said Wooton, as they sat down at his desk, presently, "I wish +you'd try and hurry that stuff of yours along a little, will you? I've +got to go to a tea at Mrs. Stewart's at four, and the ghost tells me +that your page is half a column shy yet." + +Vanstruther nodded silently, while Stanley inquired, "Excuse my +ignorance Mr. Wooten, but who is Mrs. Stewart?" + +"What? You don't know the great and only Annie McCallum Stewart? Oh, +misericordia, can such things be?" + +"They are." + +"Well, Mrs. Stewart is a remarkably clever woman. One of the cleverest +women our society affords, in fact. She is the daughter of one of the +town's best known and most popular doctors, and everyone in society knew +her so well when she was only Annie McCallum that now, when she is +married to Stewart, one still uses her old name as well as her new one. +That's all the result of individuality. She has read a great deal, and +kept her eyes open a great deal. She has a husband who is ridiculously +fond of her, and otherwise as blind as a bat. She, on the other hand, +has a mania for young men. Whenever you see her with a young man of any +sort of looks, somebody will tell you that Annie McCallum Stewart has +got a new youth in the net. She likes to lure them up into her 'den,' as +she calls it, and talk to them about the higher life. Then they fall in +love with her and she forgives them and elaborates upon the beauties of +pure Platonism. In a word, Stanley, she's one of the most perfect forms +of the mental flirt I ever come across." + +"H'm. Is your tea today to be in duet form, or is it a general +scramble?" + +"Oh, it's a general all-comers' game. But I always like to go to that +house; she interests me immensely. I'm always wondering how near she +really can skate to the edge without breaking over." + +"Yes," acquiesced the other, reflectively, "that is an interesting +speculation. Hallo, here's another friend of yours!" + +The new-comer laid an envelope on Wooton's desk and waited. The latter +opened it hastily, and then said, "I sent that down by this morning's +mail." + +The man had hardly gone before Stanley laid down the paper he had been +paging through and said, looking steadily at Wooton, "Jupiter, but you +do that easily! If I could do that only half as well I'd count myself as +free from debts for the rest of my life. It's my solemn belief that you +can tell a collector from an ordinary mortal as soon as he steps inside +the door. I've heard you tell a man, who had only just turned inside the +outer office, that you were 'going to send that down in the morning,' +and I've seen you look the enemy calmly in the face and tell him that +you had fixed that up with his employer about an hour ago. And you do it +as easily as if you were lighting a cigarette. Another man might get +embarrassed, and hesitate, or feel guilty! But you! Not in a hundred +years! You never quail worth a cent. It's positive genius, my boy, +positive genius!" + +"No; it's only business, that's all." + +"H'm, by the way, speaking of business, aren't you running the game a +trifle extravagantly here? I don't want to mix in, of course, but is the +thing paying so well as--" + +The other interrupted him. "My dear fellow," he said, "it's evident you +haven't any idea how well this thing is paying. Why, man, look at me! Do +I economise much? No. Well, I don't have to, that's why! But come on and +let's saunter down street. Van's finished, and they've got all the copy +they want, and I expect there are a few pretty girls out today. Let's go +and take a glimpse at the parade on the Avenue. And then I'll go down to +that tea." + +There were several callers at the office after they had left; some +bill-collectors, a society man who left the announcement for some +forthcoming dances; a boy to buy ten copies of last week's paper; a +printer looking for work; and the mail-carrier. Towards six o'clock the +foreman and the compositors left; then Tony, the office-boy, shut up his +desk, and went out, locking the door behind him. The Weekly Torch had +gone to rest for the day. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In the very air and life that prevailed in the office of the _Torch_ +there was, as one may suppose, something strange, and at first repugnant +to Dick Lancaster. To one of his bringing up, his earnest intentions, +his thirst for real things, it seemed that all this was very like a +gaudy sham, a bubble of pretense, of surface prattle. He could scarcely +believe that the flippancy of these men was serious with them; their +talk, their point of view astonished and horrified him. If they were to +be believed, life was nothing but a skimming of more or less uneven +surfaces; the only thing to be tried for was pleasure, and there was no +moral line at all. And then again he rebuked himself for being, perhaps, +a homesick young idiot, overgiven to morbid speculation. That was not +what he had come to town for; he was going to do some good work and make +a name and fame for himself. + +He had found, very early in his career, that in order to get upon the +first steps of the ladder he must become an illustrator. If he had had +the means that would have enabled him to wait through studio-work, a +trip to Paris, and the dreary years ere orders came from dealers, he +would have clung to paint at any risk; but he saw himself forced to earn +some bread-and-butter even while he waited for his dreams to come true. +So, with some slight reluctance at first, to be sure, but afterwards +with all his energy, he applied himself to pen and ink work. In course +of time, as we have seen, he became the staff-artist of the Torch, He +was making a very fair living for so young a man, and he made a great +many acquaintances. And life every day showed him a new aspect. + +One of the men he had so far taken the greatest liking to was Belden, +the artist, who had, to all intents and purposes, put him into his +present position with the _Torch_, Belden, whose name was Daniel Grant +Belden, but whom his friends chaffingly called, on account of the +similarity of the initials, Dante Gabriel, was one of the most +happy-go-lucky individuals that ever breathed. His mania for art books +kept him more or less hard-up; yet he undoubtedly had one of the finest +collections, in that sort, in town. He got orders for work from a +publisher; he took the manuscript that he was to illustrate home with +him; he kept it three weeks; then, without having read it, he returned +it saying he was too busy to attempt the commission. And if ever there +was one in this present day of ours, he was a Bohemian. The peculiar +part of it was that in addition to being a Bohemian by instinct, he was +one by intention. He read Henri Murger with avidity, and thought of him +always. On the street he was a curious object; his overcoat was a trifle +shiny, and his hat was always an old, or at least, a misused one; his +trousers were too tight at the knees; his boots rarely polished. He +usually walked with a long, quick stride; and a long, peculiar cigar, of +the sort the Wheeling people call "stogy," was almost always in his +mouth. You rarely saw him on the Elevated except with an armful of books +and papers. He would come home at one in the morning and sit down at his +wide drawing table and work until dawn. Then, with not much more than +his coat hastily thrown off, he would fling himself on the couch and be +fast asleep in an instant. Often, too, he would go fast to sleep while +his pen was traveling over the paper; in ten minutes, or sometimes half +an hour, he would wake up and continue the stroke that had been +interrupted; his pen would have not spilled a single drop. He did all +his own cooking, and marvelous were the meals that resulted. He liked +nothing better than to fill his rooms with a number of choice, congenial +souls. They would talk art-shop for hours, or listen to music; he knew a +great many clever young fellows who were gifted in playing the piano, +the flute or the violin; and while his own musical tastes were barbaric, +and called, chiefly, for the spirited rendition of darky-minstrelsies, +he gave the rest of his company the freedom of their choice, also, and +sat patiently through the most beautiful of operatic strains. Sunday was +the day singled out more especially for those pleasant little "evenings" +at Belden's flat. + +Dick Lancaster had been asked up to these evenings a great many times +before he ever went. For long, he could not make up his mind to it; in +spite of all the thousand and one laxities that he saw in the daily life +around him, to devote oneself to anything in the nature of sheer +pleasure, on Sunday, still seemed to him a decided mis-step. + +But one day, toward the beginning of winter, Belden, who had been in to +call on his young protégée at the _Torch_ office, said to him, + +"Look here, Dick, why don't you come up some Sunday evening and join our +gang? Goodness, you can't afford to be as straight-laced as all that, in +this town. Besides, we don't do anything that's against the law and the +prophets, you know. We talk a little shop, and some man reads something, +perhaps, and Stanley plays a thing or two on the violin. Then we go out +and help ourselves to whatever I may happen to have in the larder. And +then you go home, or you bunk up there, and where's the harm done? Look +at it sensibly, my boy; we are all slaves in the same bondage, in this +town, and Sunday is our one off-day; you don't mean to say we're +heathens and creatures of the devil if we seek the sweetest rest we can +on that day? To some men, rest means church; to me and most of the men +you know, it means relaxation, and relaxation means recreation. The +others get their music in church, I get mine at home. Now, Dick, say +you'll come up next Sunday." + +And Dick, looking at Belden as if to make out whether that artist were +an emissary of the Evil One or merely a man of the present day, coughed +a little, and then said, rather sheepishly, "Very well, I'll come--to +please you, Belden." He felt, the next minute, as if he had slipped and +fallen; he grew a little faint; he thought he could hear the sound of +the church bells as they used to come singing over the meadows in +Lincolnville; he saw himself and his mother sitting side by side in the +old pew, listening to the pleasant voice of Mr. Fairly droning out his +prayer; then he shook himself together and blushed at his fancies. +Belden had gone already, but Dick felt as if he would run after him and +tell him, "No, no, I cannot, must not come!" He ran to the door; the +corridor was empty; Belden was half way down the next block by this +time. Then he solaced himself with the thought, "Surely it can be no +great harm after all--besides, I have promised!" + +He bent down over the drawing-board once more, but he could no longer +chain his thoughts to the work before him. They flew round and round in +a curious circling way about this new life that he had become a part of. +It was, he was forced to admit to himself, not as beautiful a thing as +he had expected; but it was certainly novel, and it interested him +immensely, it kept his curiosity excited, it touched his senses. As he +began to consider that quiet country village that he had left, out +yonder on the plains, and this busy beehive of a metropolis, he came, +also, to consider the men he was beginning to know. He leaned back in +the chair, smiling a little. The office was nearly empty at this time; +it was during the noon hour, and Dick was alone in the outer office. He +passed over, in his thoughts, the men that he was thrown with in the +_Torch_ office. There was Wooton himself: tall, thin, with a face that +was all profile--a wonderfully pure profile--with a mouth almost too +small for a man, a nose that bent a little like those of the Cæsars. +Dick did not know, yet, what to make of Wooton. The man had a wonderful +charm; he could talk most entertainingly, most logically and he had some +curiously interesting theories. There was a sort of _laisser-aller_ +negligence in his manner; his manners were admirable, and there was some +occult fascination about him that one could scarcely define. As Dick +considered him, he remembered that on several occasions, he had listened +to Wooton's dissertations on subjects that otherwise would have offended +him, merely because the man's charm of person and speech were so +alluring. As to whether it was genuine or a mere veneer, well, how could +one tell as soon as this? Time, which tells so many things, would +doubtless tell that too. + +Then Vanstruther! He had a blonde beard that came to a point, and he +always wore glasses. For the rest, Dick knew but little of him save what +he had heard. Vanstruther "did" the more important of the society events +for the _Torch_, and himself moved and had his nightly being in the +smartest circles in town. The peculiar part of it was that he was +married, and had several children; barring the hour or so a day that he +spent in the office of the _Torch_ he was the most devoted husband and +father in the world, and spent the most of his day at home, where in his +little study-room he sat in front of a typewriter stand and +manufactured at lightning speed--what do you suppose?--dime novels. This +was, among the man's intimates, a more or less open secret; but to the +world at large, and particularly the world of society, he was known +merely as a delightful person, socially, and something of a flaneur, +intellectually. + +As for Stanley--the man's full name was Laurence Stanley--Dick had +somehow taken a dislike to him. He knew little of him except that he was +a professional do-nothing, who lived off his wife's money, speculated +occasionally, and appeared a great deal in society. No one ever saw his +wife, who was an invalid. He talked with inveterate cynicism; it was +this that made him repugnant to young Lancaster. He had a sneer and a +cigarette always with him, and Dick hated both. + +The tip-tapping of a light foot-step over the oil-cloth brought Dick +back from the land of day-dreams. It was rather a pretty woman that +stood before him, and she was gowned in a manner that even with his +inexperience he knew to be distinctly up-to-date, and that he certainly +admitted as attractive from an artistic standpoint. She looked past him +into the inner office, lifted her eyebrows a trifle and inquired: "Is +Mr. Wooton not in?" + +"Not just now," responded Dick, getting up, "but he will be back in a +very little while. If you would care to wait--" He took hold of the back +of a revolving chair that stood close by. + +"No," she declared, "I only had a minute. Will you tell him Mrs. Stewart +was up? Or, stay; I'll write him a line." + +Dick gave her some letterheads, and pen and ink; she sat down at his +desk and began writing, with a good deal of scratching and scraping. +"There," she said when she had addressed the envelope, "If you will +please give him that as soon as he comes in. Thank you. Do you do this?" +She pointed with one gloved finger to the drawing he had been busy on. +He bowed silently. She looked at him with a quick, comprehensive glance, +smiled a trifle, and swept out of the door. + +"So that is Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart!" was Dick's first mental +exclamation, "well, she's certainly not an ordinary woman. Wonder if +I'll ever get to know her?" + +With which speculation he turned to his work. When Wooton returned, and +had read the note, he broke into a low chuckle, "That's like her! Just +like her. What do you suppose she says?" + +Dick was the only other person in the outer office, so he was forced to +take the question as addressed to himself. "I have no idea," he +declared. + +"She says she is getting awfully tired of her present lot of young men, +and wants me, for goodness sake, to bring down some one different, and +bring him soon. She says she is tired to death of the man who has lived +and seen and heard everything, and she is dying for a man who is as like +Pierrot as two peas!" Wooton tore the letter up mechanically, and put +the pieces into the waste-basket. "Well," he went on, "I wish I could--" +he stopped and looked at Dick, breaking out the next instant into a +broad grin, "Jupiter!" he added, "you're just the man! Do you want to +join the noble army of martyrs in ordinary to the extraordinary Annie? +She'll do you lots of good; she'll be a pocket education in the +philosophy of today, and she'll put you through all manner of +interesting paces. Seriously, she's a woman who can do a man a lot of +good, socially. And society never does a man much harm; it broadens him, +and gives him finish. Now, you're just the sort of youth she'll like +immensely; and yet she'll soon find out that you've heard about her and +her ways. Never mind; she won't like you any the worse for that; she's +too much a woman of the world. What do you think? The next time I go +down to tea at her house I'll take you along, eh? All you've got to do +is to be clever and amusing and different to the others; Mrs. Stewart is +like the rest of society in that she demands something of the people she +takes up, but she doesn't demand such impossibilities. I'll write and +tell her I've got the very man!" He went on into the inner office, +before Dick had time to say anything in reply. And, to tell the truth, +the idea rather interested him. He had seen her, and had felt interested +in her; he had heard so much about her; and now he was going to meet +her! As to being clever and amusing, he thought he was likely to fail +miserably; but he might, unconsciously perhaps, succeed in being what +Wooten called "different." + +Just then Wooton gave a sudden exclamation. "This is Wednesday, isn't +it? Well, that is her afternoon. You'd better shut up your desk for +today; go up to your rooms and get an artistic twirl or two to your +locks, and then come down to the smoking-room of the Cosmopolitan Club +about quarter to four; I'll be there waiting for you. Then we'll go on +down to Mrs. Stewart's together." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The days were getting very short now, and darkness was already hovering +over the town as Dick passed through the portals of the Cosmopolitan. +When they came out together, Wooton and he, it seemed to Dick that the +town was in one of its most characteristic tempers. It was in the +beginning of winter; the air was a little damp, and smoke hung in it so +that it begrimed in an incredibly short space of time. The buildings, in +the twilight that was half of the day's natural dusk and half the +murkiness of the smoke, loomed against the hardly denned sky like some +towering, threatening genii. The electric lights were beginning to peer +through the gloom. The sidewalks were alive with a never-tiring throng, +men and women jostling each other, never stopping to apologize; all +intent not so much on the present as on something that was always just +a little ahead. This, the onlooker mused, was what it meant to "get +ahead," a blind physical rush in the dark, a callous indifference to +others, a selfish brutality, a putting into effect the doctrine of the +survival of the fittest. The streets clanged with the roll of wheels; +carriages with monograms on the panels rolled by with clatter of chains +and much spattering of mud; huge drays drawn by four, and sometimes +six-horse teams, and blazening to the world the name of some mercantile +genius whom soap or pork had enriched, thundered heavily over the +granite blocks; the roar and underground buzz of the cable mingled with +the deafening ringing of the bell that announced the approach of the +cable trains; overhead was the thunderous noise of the Elevated. It was +all like a huge cauldron of noise and dangers. Dick declared to himself +that it was the modern Inferno. And yet, as he passed toward the station +of the Elevated with Wooton, Dick began to understand something of the +fascination that the place, even in its most noisome aspects, was able +to exert. In the very rush and roar, in the ceaseless hum and murmur and +groaning, there was epitomized the eager fever of life, its joys and its +pains. Here, after all, was life. And it was life that Dick had come to +taste. + +There was a quick ride on the Elevated, Dick catching various glimpses +of unsightly buildings that showed their undress uniform, of dim-lit +back rooms where one caught hints of dismal poverty, of roofs that +seemed to shudder under the banner of dirty clothes fluttering in the +breeze. The town seemed, from this view, like the slattern who is all +radiant at night, at the ball, but who, next morning, is an unkempt, +untidy hag. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart rose rather languidly as they were +announced. Dick noticed that in some mysterious way she managed to give +a peculiar grace to almost her every movement; there was something of a +tigress in the way she walked. She gave her hand to Wooton--"Delightful +of you to come so soon," she murmured. + +"One of the things I live for, my dear Mrs. Stewart," said Wooton, "is +to surprise people. Knew you didn't expect me, so I came. Brought a dear +friend of mine, Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Lancaster. Want you to like him." + +"My only prejudice against you, Mr. Lancaster," was Mrs. Stewart's +smiling reply, "is that you come under Mr. Wooton's protection. I +pretend I'm immensely fond of him, but I'm not; I'm only afraid of him; +he's too clever." And, still laughing at Wooton in such a way as to show +the exquisite perfection of her teeth, she presented young Lancaster to +several of the others who were sitting about the room, chatting and +sipping tea. He had a vague idea of several stiff young men bowing to +him, of an equal number of splendidly appareled, but unhandsome girls, +looking at him with supercilious nods, and of hearing names that faded +as easily as they touched him. He found himself, presently, sitting on +a low divan, opposite to a girl with dreamy blue eyes behind pince-nez +eyeglasses. He hadn't caught her name; he knew no more of her tastes, of +the things she was likely to converse about than did the Man in the +Moon. But he instinctively opined that it was necessary to seem rather +than to be, to skim rather than to dive. + +"I've been 'round the circle," he said, trying a smile, "and I'm +delivered up to you. I hope you'll treat me well." + +The girl with the blue eyes looked at him a moment in silence. Then she +said, abruptly: "This is the first time that you've been down here, +isn't it? I knew it! Well, these things are not bad--when you get used +to them. Now, you're not used to them. Confess, are you?" + +Dick shook his head. "I am innocent as a lamb," he said, with mock +apology. + +The girl went on: "Well, that may do as a novelty. Annie's great on new +blood, you know. Shouldn't wonder if she took you up. How are you on +theosophy?" + +Dick stared. What sort of a torrent of curiosity was this that was +gushing forth from this peculiar creature? "To tell you the truth," he +hazarded, "I am not 'on' at all." + +She smiled. "Ah, that's bad. However, I dare say there's something else. +Now, how are you on art?" + +"I know a little something." He smiled to himself, wondering how much of +the actual practical knowledge of art there was in all that room, +outside of what he himself possessed. + +"Ah, a little something. Well, that's all that's needed, nowadays. The +great point is to know 'a little something' about everything. To know +anything thoroughly is to be a bore. A man of that sort is always +didactic on the one subject he is familiar with, and absolutely stupid +on all other things. However, what's the use of considering those +people? They're quite impossible." She began tapping the carpet with her +slipper. "Speaking of impossible people," she went on, "there's Mrs. +Tremont. Over there with the grey waist. Intellectually, she's +impossible; socially she is the possible in essence. She was a Miss +Alexander, of Virginia; then she married Tremont, and lived in Boston +long enough to get Boston superciliousness added to the natural +haughtiness given to her in her birth. She talks pedigree, and dreams of +precedence. She goes everywhere, and I fancy she thinks that when she +hands St. Peter her card that personage will bow in deference and +announce her name in particularly awestruck tones. The girl who is +talking to the tall man with the military mustache is Miss Tremont. She +is her mother, plus the world and the devil." + +Dick interrupted her, as she paused to sip her tea. "Yes," he said, "and +now tell me who you are?" + +She, lifted her eyebrows a trifle. "You have audacity," she said, "and I +begin to think you are clever. Audacity is successful only when one is +clever. When one is stupid, audacity is a crime. Who am I? Well--" she +smiled again at the thought of his assurance. "Why not ask my enemies? +But you don't know who is my enemy, who is my friend. Well, I am the +Philistine in this circle of the elect. I'm a cousin of Mrs. Stewart's, +and I come because I am fond of being amused. She herself amuses me +most. She seems to be so tremendously in earnest, and she's so +unfathomably insincere. She hates me, you know, because I didn't marry +John Stewart when he proposed to me. Then, I never did anything, or had +a fad, or was eccentric, so I don't really belong here; but, as I said +before, the house amuses me, and I come. I don't know why I tell you +this, but I don't care very much, and besides, I believe you're still +genuine. It's so pathetic to be genuine; it reminds me of a baby +rabbit--blind eyes and fuzz. I'm not sure, but it's my idea, that if you +want to keep Mrs. Stewart's good graces you'll have to do nothing harder +than stay genuine. It's so novel. Most of us, today, couldn't be genuine +again any more than we could be born again. Ah, here's my dear cousin +approaching. I suppose she comes to rescue you from my clutches. If you +want to please her immensely, tell her I bored you to death. She'll have +the thought for desert all week." + +Mrs. Stewart sailed toward them with a queenly sweep that was decidedly +imposing. She had decided to have a chat with young Lancaster. When she +had seen him in the office of the _Torch_, and now, when he first +entered the room, she had seen at a glance that he was handsome enough +not to need cleverness; but she was curious to see whether he would +interest her in other than visual ways. "You've been most fortunate," +she said to Dick, as she reached them, "with Miss Leigh to interpret us +for you. Has she told you, I wonder, that she is my favorite cousin? But +now, I want to talk to you about art. If Miss Leigh will surrender you +to me--?" + +"I've been talking to Mr. Wooton about you," she said as she bore him +away in triumph, "and he tells me you've only been in town for a few +weeks. You still have vivid impressions, I suppose. When one has lived +here for years and years, one's impressionability gets hardened. It +takes something very forcible to really rouse us. And even then we +prefer to let some one of us experience the sensation; it is so much +easier to take another's word for it, and follow in the rut. That is how +most of our present day fads come about. Some one gets pierced between +the casings of the armour of indifference, and the rest of us take the +cue and join in the chorus of ecstasy. We don't go to hear Patti or +Paderewski, you know, because, we really feel their art deeply; it is +because someone once felt it and it became the fashion." While she +talked, she had led him into a window-nook and motioned him to a +fauteuil that covered the crescent-shaped niche. As she sat down, the +lines of her figure could be traced through the perfect fit of her gown. +He noticed what finish, what art there was about the picture she made as +she sat there, beside him. Her gown was a delicate shade of gray; the +crepe seemed to love her as a vine loves a tree, so closely did it +follow and cling to the lines of her hips, her waist, her shoulders. +Over her sleeves, immensely wide, as the fashion of the time decreed, +fell lapels of silk. She had on low shoes, and above them he could see +the neat contour of her ankles, also clad in gray. "However," she went +on, "I did not intend to talk of the fashion; I wanted to ask you how +the town struck your artistic side. Don't you find as great pictures in +a street full of life as in a valley full of shadow? Isn't there more of +the history of today in the faces of the people you meet on the Avenue +than in a stretch of blue sky, a white sail, and a background of +Venice?" + +"I see you're something of a realist?" + +"Don't! Please don't! That word gets on my nerves. I suppose my amiable +cousin, Miss Leigh, told you we were all blue-stockings, and +dilettantes. I assure you we've got beyond the Realism _versus_ Romance +stage of disputation. Really, you don't know how you disappointed me +with that question. Mr. Wooton told me you were original!" + +Dick flushed a little. "He also told me," he retorted, "that you were +extraordinary. I begin to believe him." His tone had a suspicion of +pique in it. But Mrs. Stewart beamed. + +"Ah," she said, "I like you when you look like that. That's--h'm, now +what is that?--anger, I suppose? It's really so long since I had a real +emotion that I don't know how it's done. Do you know, I think you and I +are going to be great friends! Yes, I feel I'm going to like you +immensely. Won't you try to like me?" She leaned over toward him, and +his shy young eyes caught the faint flutter of lace on her breast with +something of dim bewilderment. Her lips were parted, and her teeth shone +like twin rows of pearls. She went on, before he had time to do more +than begin a stammer of embarassment, "Yes, just as long as you stay +real, and genuine, I want you to come and see me very often; as often as +you possibly can. I imagine that talking to you is going to be like +dipping in the fountain of youth. Tell me, you people out there in the +country, how do you keep so young?" + +"Ask me that, Mrs. Stewart, when I have found out how it is that you in +town lose your youth so soon." + +"True. You will be the better judge. But you never told me how it +strikes the artist in you, this town of ours." + +"I haven't had time to think yet how it strikes me. I'm busy finding out +all about it. Just at present it's all like the genius that came from +the fisherman's vessel in the Arabian Nights: it is a huge coil of +smoke that stifles me with its might and its thickness. I know there are +wonderful color-effects all about me, but my nerves are still so eager +for the mere taste of it all that I can't digest anything. Besides--" he +stopped and sighed a little--"I must not begin to think of paint for +years. I'm a mere apprentice. I just scratch and rub, and scratch and +rub, as a brother artist puts it." + +"But one sees some very pretty effects in black-and-white. Look at +_Life_, for instance--" + +"No, Mrs. Stewart, if you would be loyal to me, don't look at the +aforesaid 'loathsome contemporary,' as they say out West." It was Wooton +who had approached, and interrupted Mrs. Stewart with an easy +nonchalance that, in almost any other man, would have been an +unpardonable rudeness. He threw himself on a chair and continued: "Mrs. +Stewart, you have wounded me sorely. I bring you a disciple and what do +you do? You buttonhole him, as it were, and preach treason to him. For, +you must confess, that to tell people to look at _Life_ when they might +be looking at--h'm--another periodical, whose name I reverence too +highly to mention before a traitoress, is High Treason." + +For reply, Mrs. Stewart tapped Wooton lightly on the lips with a large +ivory paper-cutter that she had been toying with. "As I was saying, when +rudely interrupted, look at--" + +"My dear Mrs. Stewart, why this feverish desire to look at life? I ask +you both, is life pretty? Remember M. Zola and Mr. Howells. They are +supposed to give us life, are they not? Well, the one flushes a sewer, +and the other hands us weak tea. I prefer not to contemplate life. I am +obliged to read the morning papers because it is become necessary to +know today the unpleasantness that happened yesterday. But otherwise I +assure you that life--" + +This time, Mrs. Stewart tapped him quite smartly with the paper-cutter. + +"You know very well that puns have been out of fashion for more years +than you have been of age. We were talking about art, and incidentally +about a paper that encourages art, and you begin a dissertation on life! +What do you mean?" + +Wooton mockingly stifled an effort to yawn. "As if I ever, by the +vaguest chance, meant anything! I hate to be asked what I mean. If I +knew, I would probably not tell, and if I do not know why should I lie? +The safest course in this world is never to mean anything and to say +everything. If I had my life to live over again--" + +Mrs. Stewart looked at him with a shudder, lifting her shoulders, while +her mouth showed a smile. "Why speak of anything so unpleasant?" + +"Ah, had you there, Wooton, eh!" It was Vanstruther, who had strolled +over to pay his respects to Mrs. Stewart. She held out a hand; he +pressed it lightly. He nodded to Lancaster, and then looked through the +half-drawn portiers to where in the black-and-gold drawing-room the +others were sitting and standing in colorful groups. Someone was at the +piano playing a mazurka of Chopin's. There was a faint click of cups +touching saucers; the high notes of the women and the low drawl of the +men. Vanstruther looked at them all slowly, and then turned to Mrs. +Stewart again. "All in?" he inquired. + +Mrs. Stewart nodded and smiled. + +"I've not been at your house for so long," Vanstruther continued, "that +I'm a little out of the running. Several people here that are new to me. +Now, that girl in black?" + +"Talking to young Hexam? That's Madge Winters. You remember young +Winters who was runner-up in the tennis tournament last season?--sister +of his. She's just back from Japan. Has some idea of doing a sort of +Edmund Russell gospel of the beautiful _a la_ Japan course of readings. +Her brother amused me once and I'm going to do what I can for her. Now, +who else is there? Let me see: I don't think you ever met Miss Farcreigh +before--she's talking to the man at the piano. Delightful girl--her +father's the big Standard Oil man, you know--and collects china. Sings a +little, too. But chiefly I like her because she's pretty and a great +catch. There's a German prince madly in love with her, but her father +objects to him because his majesty never did a stroke of work in his +life. I believe you know all the others." + +"Thank you, yes." Vanstruther turned to Dick and said to him, with a +smile at Mrs. Stewart, "You may find eccentric people here, Lancaster, +but you will never find unpleasant ones." + +"That's where Mrs. Stewart makes the inevitable mistake," drawled +Wooton. "There should be one or two unpleasant ones, merely for the sake +of the others. If it were not for the unpleasant people in the world, it +would hardly be worth while being the other kind." + +"You're as unpleasant as need be," was Mrs. Stewart's reply. + +"Delighted!" murmured Wooton. "To have done a duty is always a delight. +I have done several. I have brought you a new disciple, I have leavened +your heaven with intrusion of myself, and now--now I must really go. My +virtues are still like incense in my nostrils. Allow me to waft myself +gently away before they grow rank and stale." + +Dick rose at the same moment. "Oh," Wooton said to him, "you're not +obliged to go yet. Stay and let Mrs. Stewart enchant you with the nectar +of proximity! I've got to be down at the Midwinter dance tonight, so I +must be off now." + +But Dick, in spite of the other's protestations, insisted that he must +really go also. He assured Mrs. Stewart that lie had enjoyed himself +immensely, promised to come soon and often, and was presently whirling +down-town again with Wooton. The latter had bought an evening paper and +was carefully perusing the sporting columns. Dick closed his eyes, +trying to recall the picture he had just left: the dim-lit +drawing-room, with its well-dressed, graceful people; Mrs. Stewart's +fascinating voice and figure; the flippant frivolity of all their +discourse; the useless sham of all their isms and fads; the clever ease +with which everything seemed to be taken for granted, and nothing was +ever truly analyzed--how like a phantasmagoria of repellant things it +all was, and yet how fascinating! Everyone appeared to know everything; +no surprise was ever expressed; no emotion was ever visible. It was +fully expected that everyone was possessed of no real aim in life save +the riding of a hobby; it was agreed that to appear ignorant of anything +was to be vulgar. And yet, in that circle, Dick was hailed as "so +delightfully genuine," and was told that he would stand high at court as +long as he remained so! Surely these were strange days, and stranger +ways! That phrase of Mrs. Stewart's about young Winters grated harshly, +too--"He amused me once!" + +Was life merely an effort at being forever amused? + +Almost, it seemed so. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The room was dim with smoke. Through the faint veil that curled +incessantly toward the ceiling the pictures on the wall took on a misty +haze that heightened rather than spoilt their effect. It was not a large +room, but the walls were covered with pictures of every sort. It was +impossible to escape observing the artistic carelessness that had +prevailed in the arrangement of the furniture. Bookcases lined the lower +portion of each wall; then came pictures. There was an original by Blum; +a marvelously executed facsimile of a black-and-white by Abbey; a +Vierge, and a Myrbach. Not the least remarkable Mature of these +ornaments was the manner of their framing, A Parisienne, by Jules +Cheret, for instance, all skirts and chic, looked as if she had just +burst through the confines of a prison-wall of a daily paper. The +carelessly serrated edges, then the white matting, and the brown frame +gave a whole that was worth looking at twice. An etching--one of +Beardsley's fantasies--was framed all in black; it was more effective +than the original. + +Over the mantel were scattered photographs of stage divinities in +profusion. Many of them had autographs scrawled across the face of the +picture. In a niche in the wall a human skull, with a clay pipe stuck +jauntily between the teeth, looked out over the smoke. + +From the next room, beyond the open portieres, came the sound of a +violin and a piano. + +The air of Mascagni's "Intermezzo" died away, and for it was substituted +a slow dirge-like melody. Belden, in the front room, broke out into an +explosive, "Ah, that's the stuff! Everybody sing: 'For they're hangin' +Danny Deever in the mohn-nin'.'" The wail of that solemn ballad went +echoing through the house, all the men present joining in. Belden, who +had been lying at full length on the floor, explaining the beauties of a +charcoal drawing by Menzel to a group of three other artists--Marsboro, +of the _Telegraph_, Evans, of the _Standard_, and a younger man, +Stevely, who was still going to the Art School--had jumped to his feet +and was slowly waving a pencil in mock leadership of a chorus. +Vanstruther, who was stealing an evening from society for Bohemia's +sake, was far back in a huge rocking chair; a fantastic work by Octave +Uzanne on his knee, and his legs stretched out over the center table; he +now held his pipe in his hand and hummed the refrain in a deep bass. + +"Go on," urged Belden, as the last notes moaned themselves away in the +smoke, "go on, give us something else!" But Stanley laid his violin down +on a bookcase and declared that his arm was tired. + +Vanstruther pulled at his pipe again, until he was sure he still had +fire. Then he declared, oracularly, "Stanley, you look tremendously +religious tonight. Been jilted? + +"No, shaved. You confirm an impression I have that a man never feels so +religious as when he has just been shaved. I assure you that in this way +I could really read one of your 'shockers,' Van, and feel that I was +doing my duty." + +"Oh," Belden cut in, going over to one of the bookcases, "anything to +stop Stanley from hearing himself talk. It makes him drunk. Seeing we +had a ballad of Kipling's just now, suppose some one reads something of +his. Then someone else can sit still, and think of his sins, while the +pen-and-ink men make sketches of him. How'll that do, eh? + +"All right." It was Vanstruther, whose voice came from over the smoke. +"I'll read if you like; and Stanley can get a far-away expression into +his countenance, while you other fellows put his ephemeral beauty on +paper. What'll it be?" + +Stanley, who was rolling himself onto a sofa in the corner, murmured, +while he rolled a cigarette with a deft motion of his fingers, "Oh, give +us that yarn about the things in a dead man's eye, what's the title +again--'At the End of the Passage', isn't it? I'm in the mood for +something of that pleasant sort. By the way, aren't we a man shy, +Belden?" + +"Yes. Young Lancaster hasn't arrived yet. I had a great time getting him +to say he would come; he has scruples about Sunday, and all that sort of +thing; but he'll turn up pretty soon, I know. Here's the book, Van." He +handed the volume across the table. Stanley, after a few chaffing +remarks had passed back and forth, was arranged into a position that +would give the artists a sharp profile to work from. The artists began +sharpening pencils, and pinning paper on drawing boards. And then, for +a time, there was nothing but the sounds of pens and pencils going over +paper, and Vanstruther's voice reading that story of Indian heat and +hopelessness. In the other room McRoy, the man who had been playing +Stanley's piano accompaniment, was reading Swinburne to himself. + +The bell rang suddenly. Belden threw his sketch down and opened the +door. "Lancaster, I suppose," he said. Then they heard his voice in the +hall, greeting the newcomer, who was presently ushered in and airily +made known to such of the men as he had not yet been introduced to. + +"You've just missed a treat, my boy," said Belden, pushing Dick into a +chair. "Vanstruther has been reading us a yarn of Kipling's. You're fond +of Kip., I suppose?" + +While Dick said, "Oh, yes, indeed," Stanley put in. + +"It's lucky for you you are, because Belden here swears by the trinity +of Kipling, Riley and Henri Murger. He has occasional flirtations with +other authors, but he generally comes back to those three. But then, +when you get to know Belden better, you will realize that he has what is +technically known as 'rats in his garret.' Do you know what he once did, +just to illustrate? Walked miles in a bleak country district that he +might reach a certain half-disabled bridge and there sit, reading De +Quincey's 'Vision of Sudden Death' by moonlight! The man who can do +that can do anything that's weird." + +"There's only one way to stop your tongue, Stanley," Belden remarked +humoredly, "and that is to ask you to play for us again. Lancaster has +never heard you yet, you know." + +Stanley looked out into the other room. "What do you say, Mac? Shall we +tune our harps again?" + +"Just as cheap," said the other, without looking up from his book. + +They began to play. From Raff's "Cavatina," they strayed into a melody +by Rubinstein; then it was a wild gallop through comic operas, popular +songs, and Bowery catches. While they played the men in the other room +began comparing sketches. Vanstruther ushered Dick into many of the +artistic treasure-holds that the room contained. Also, he supplied him +with running comments on some of the things they saw all about them. +Dick, though he scarcely felt at ease, felt strongly the fascination of +all this devil-may-care atmosphere. The haze of smoke; the melodious +airs from beyond the portieres; the careless attire and jaunty +nonchalance of the men, all drew him with a sort of sensual hypnotism, +even while his inner being felt that he himself was a little better than +this. He was in the land of Don't-Care; dogmas, creeds, faiths had no +place here; everything was "do as you please, and let your neighbor +please himself." He said but little; he thought a great deal. + +One of the artists called Vanstruther over to the open bookcase, to show +him a sketch by Gibson. Dick looked about him, picked up a copy of Omar +Khayyam, that had Vedder's illustrations, and buried himself in the +gentle philosophy of that classic. + +But Belden was again become restless. Mere melody never did anything but +irritate him. "Oh, play some nigger music," he asked. Then, when a few +merry jingles from "'Way down South" had played themselves in and out of +the echoes, Stanley put his violin down with a decisive gesture. "There, +I've paid my way, I think!" When the piano had been closed, and the +violin laid away in its case, he went on, "'Seems to me it's about time +you were bringing along your friend Murger?" + +Belden walked toward the shelf where the "Scènes de la Vie de Bohème" +had its place. As he took it out, however, he said, "Come to think of +it, Marsboro's going to commit matrimony pretty soon, I hear. Any +objections?" He held the volume in the air, questioningly. + +Marsboro laughed, and shook his head. "No, no," he said, "go on!" + +"Just as if," Stanley observed, "a man about to be married knew what +objections were! Dante Gabriel Belden, in some things you are weirdly +primitive." + +"I would sooner be primitive than effete," was Belden's retort. + +Stanley turned to Marsboro. "Don't think me curious, old man, but is it +any girl I know?" + +Before Marsboro could reply, Vanstruther broke in with, "I'll bet money +it's not! You don't suppose Marsboro is likely to think of marrying a +woman with a past!" + +Marsboro flushed a little; and moved uneasily in his chair. Dick, +looking up from his Omar Khayam, wondered how the man could endure such +verbal pitch and toss with such a subject. + +But Stanley turned away from the matter with a sneer. "My dear fellow," +he said, "if it will soothe your sweet soul, I am quite willing to admit +that in the course of my life I have known some women who had pasts. +They are invariably interesting. The only difference between a woman +with a past and a man of the same sort is that the man still has a +future before him. And a man with a future is as pathetic as a little +boy chasing a butterfly: even if he wins the game, there is nothing but +a corpse, and some dust on his fingers." + +Belden, turning the pages of the Murger, said, deprecatingly, "Don't get +Stanley started on moral reflections: in the first place, they are not +moral; in the second place they reflect nothing but his own perverted +soul. Talking morals with some men is like turning the pages of an +edition de luxe with inky fingers." + +Stanley laughed. "Good boy! But now go on with Rodolph and his +flirtations. Where did you leave off? Hadn't he just written some +poetry, spent the proceeds on feasting his friends, and the night in a +tree?" + +Belden began to read. + +In spite of himself, Dick began to feel the fascination of Murger's +recital of all those rollicking, roystering episodes in the Latin +Quarter. He let the Omar fall idly into his lap, and gave himself up to +listening to Belden's reading. The other men smoked and smiled. Dick's +sense of humor told him that there was something quaint in the way +Belden intentionally fed his own love for Bohemianism with another's +description; none the less he admitted that there was no sham, +dilettante Bohemianism about this place and the men present. It was not +the Bohemianism of claw-hammer coats and high-priced champagne; of +little suppers, after the theater, in a black and gold boudoir, where +the women tasted some Welsh rarebit and declared that they were afraid +it was "awfully Bohemian, don't you know!" It was the Bohemia that +recked naught of others, but had as banner, "Do as you please," and as +watchword "Don't care." It was the old philosophy of Epicurus brought to +modern usage. + +The good-humored account that. Henri Murger gave of so many picturesque +light-love escapades, that had so much of pathos mingled with their +unmorality, began to find in Dick a vein of sympathy. He felt that it +was all very pleasant; all was charmingly put; it was interesting. + +"There," Belden declared, as he finished reading the episode of the +flowers that Musette watered every night, because she had promised to +love while those blossoms lived, "I'm dry, that's what I am. I think +it's about time we investigated. Come on into the kitchen, people. +There's some coffee and cake and fruit. Shouldn't wonder if you could +find a bottle or two of beer on the ice, too." + +They trooped out, through a room and corridor, to the kitchen. There was +a bare, deal table, a cooking range, a gas stove, a refrigerator and +several doors leading to closets. Every man brought his own chair. A +search was begun for cups, plates, knives and forks. Each man sat down +where he pleased. The coffee that was made was hardly such as one gets +at Tortoni's, but it was refreshing, nevertheless. The sound of corks +drawing from beer-bottles, of knives rattling on plates, and of +indiscriminate, lusty chatter filled the place. Belden was the +master-spirit. He saw that everyone helped himself; he chaffed and he +laughed; he looked after the provender and the cigars. The infection of +all this jollity touched Dick; he began to say to himself that to worry +himself "with conscientious scruples just because it was on a Sunday +instead of a Monday that all this happened, was to be something of a +prig." And he had always had a decided aversion to being that particular +sort of nuisance. He resigned himself completely to the spirit of the +time and place. + +McRoy broke into the babel of talk with a plaintive, "Everybody listen +for about a minute, will you? I want to ask Belden a solemn question: +Belden, have you finished that copy of 'Old-World Idyls' that you were +going to illustrate for me in pen-and-ink, on the margins?" + +Belden smiled. "Why, to tell you the truth, old man--" he began, but the +other interrupted him with, "There! publicly branded! Belden, you're the +awfulest breaker of oaths that ever was let live. You've had the book +six months, and I'll bet you've never drawn a stroke on it!" + +"The mistake you made," put in Stanley, "was to believe that he ever +_would_ do the thing. He once made a promise of that sort to me, but +that was so long ago that I think I'm another person now." + +"If the theory of evolution is correct," said Vanstruther, "your late +lamented self must have been and abominably corrupt person." + +Stanley sighed, "Perhaps so. I am trying, you know, day by day, to +approach the sublime pinnacle on which you, my dear Van, tower above the +rest of mankind. However--" he reached his arm out over the table--"Any +beer left over there?" + +Belden handed a mug and a bottle over to him. + +"By the way," cut in Marsboro, "ever had any more trouble with the +neighbors here? Said you kept them awake Sunday nights with your unholy +orgies, didn't they?" + +"Yes. But I said if they were going to kick on that score I would get +out an injunction against that girl of theirs that is always trying to +play 'After the Ball', with one hand. So I fancy our lances are both at +rest." + +So, with much careless clatter, and exchange of banter, they ate and +drank lustily until their hunger was appeased. Then, pushing their +plates and mugs into the middle of the table they leaned back to enjoy +the pleasures of the god Nicotine. And presently someone hinted that the +empty plates and the litter of the late-lamentedness in general was not +a cheering sight and they might as well proceed into the studio again. +There was a shoving back of chairs, a trooping through the corridor, and +they were all assembled once more in the front rooms. McRoy hid himself +behind a book. The others grouped themselves around the piano. The +plaintiff strains of Chevalier's "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins" filled the +room, born aloft on the impetus of five pairs of lungs. + +There was a violent ringing at the outer bell. It was some little time +before the men at the piano heard the din; it was only at McRoy's +muttered "Somebody's pulling your front door bell off the wires, +Belden!" that the latter went to open. The men in the room could hear +the sound of a man's voice, a quick passage of sentences, then +good-nights, all vaguely, over the strains of the coster-ditty. + +"What do you think," said Belden, coming in again, "has happened? It was +Ditton, of the _Telegraph_--lives a door or two north--just dropped in +to tell me a bit of news that he thought would interest me. Wooton of +the '_Torch_'? has disappeared, leaving the property deeply in debt. +Nobody knows where he is. Jove, come to think of it, that's pretty rough +news for you, Lancaster!" + +"Yes," said Lancaster, "it is. And yet there is one consolation, he paid +me within a week of what was due me." + +There was a cessation of all other discussion to make room for the +consideration of this bit of news. Everybody agreed that it was too bad +that so good a sheet as the "Torch" should go the way of the majority. +Concerning Wooton the opinions differed. Belden began to apologize to +Lancaster for having led him into this "mess," as he called it, while +Stanley sneered at everybody for not having seen through Wooton long +ago. + +"He is inordinately vain," said Stanley, "and frightfully extravagant. +Clever. Lazy--awfully lazy. He can sit back in his chair and tell you +how to run the New York _Herald_, and he has been able to get nothing +profitable into or out of his paper from the time he began until now. He +theorizes beautifully; the only thing he can really do successfully is +to borrow money and talk to women. He used to amuse me just in the way +an actor amuses me. Half the time I think he was deceiving even himself. +I always thought he would do this very thing, one of these days. He used +to have what old women call 'spells' now and again, when he found +himself hard up for cash, that were really the most curious +performances. He would stay away from his office altogether; genius as +he was in warding off collectors, he used to prefer not to face them +sometimes. There was--I should say there is--a woman, one of the +cleverest, most cultured woman in town, who was fond of him in an +elderly-sister sort of way, and he used to go to her and borrow money. +Think of it: borrow money from a woman! She saw through him long ago, I +know, and yet he used to use such artifice--such tears, and promises of +betterment as the men employed!--that she always helped him in the end. +Then he gambled to try to make the big stake that would enable him to +run a rich man's paper; the only result is that he got deeper and deeper +into the hole. All the time he avoided his office; if he scraped up a +banknote or two he would send them along, per messenger boy, to the +foreman of the composing-room and have the printers paid, at least. You +must pay the printers and the pressmen, you know, even if you let a lot +of literary devils starve! And then some guardian angel would send along +a college chum, or some fellow with more loyality than discretion, and +A.B. Wooton would make a big 'borrow' and be once more the genial, +cynical man-of-the-world that the rest of you know. This time I presume +the angel refused to come. The end had to come; it was simply a huge +game of 'bluff.'" + +"How is it you know all this?" asked one of the others. + +"My dear fellow," was Stanley's answer, "I have _gambled_ with him. All +through one of those periods when he was engaged, ostrich-like, in +sticking his head into the sand, I was with him. Besides, I know +something of his private affairs. He had sunk all of his own money long +ago; for the last year or so the _Torch_ and Wooton have been living on +the gullibility of others. It seems strange that this should be possible +in this smart American city, but Wooton was not an ordinary bluffer; he +was a genius. Owing you hundreds of dollars he could talk to you all day +so skilfully on the one especial vanity of your heart that you would +feel much more like offering him another hundred than like even so much +as mentioning the old debt. I feel sorry for him. He should have a +patron, to humor him in all his extravagances; he would be splendid, +splendid!" + +But Lancaster, whom the news had touched a good deal, declared that it +was time he was taking himself off. Belden accompanied him to the door, +and spoke to him encouragingly about another position that he thought +Dick could easily obtain. Then Lancaster passed out into the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Carriages lined the sidewalk for blocks in every direction. There was a +slight sprinkle of rain falling, and the shining rubber coats and hats +of the coachmen caught the electric light in fantastic streaks. Horses +were stamping, and chafing the bit. From every direction came a stream +of humanity, all making for the Auditorium. Carriages were arriving +every moment; the bystanders and ticket scalpers caught glimpses of +light hose and dainty opera shoes and skirts that were lifted for an +instant. Men in black capes were hurrying about busily. The cable cars +emptied load after load of well-dressed men and women. All the world and +his wife was going to the opera. + +Dick Lancaster, as he got out of his hansom, looked appreciatively at +the picture that all this hurrying throng made, and shaking some of the +rain drops off his coat, entered the opera house. As he looked about him +at the richly caparisoned human animals all on pleasure bent, at the +nonchalance that the mirrors told him he himself was displaying, it came +over him with something of amusement that there had been decided changes +in Richard Lancaster since that young person first came to town. +Impressionable as wax, the town had already cast its fascinations over +him; he was in the charmed circle. He had been put up at one of the best +of the clubs; he had been made much of, socially, by the select set that +allowed the preferences of Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart to dictate the +distinction between the Somebodies and the Nobodies; he had been +successful enough, professionally, to enable him to move in the world as +befitted his tastes. It is to be confessed that his tastes, now that +they had been whetted by the approach of opportunities, were not of the +most economical. He was fond of all things that show the intellectual +aristocrat; he liked to look well, to dine well, to talk well, and to +enjoy good music. He liked the comfort, the remoteness from the mere +vagaries of the weather, that this town life afforded. Here was a night +such as in the country would be dismal unspeakably; yet nothing but +brilliance and enjoyment was evident in his present surroundings. + +He threw his shoulders back with something of proud pleasure in his own +well-being, as he handed his cape and opera-hat to the caretaker. Yes, +life was good! It tasted well, and he was young, and there would yet be +many long, delicious draughts of it! + +Mrs. Stewart was in her box. Several girls, whose low-cut dresses seemed +to be longing for something more worth showing, were seated on the +chairs that surrounded the central figure, Mrs. Stewart. In the +background of this, as of all other boxes, was a phalanx of white +shirt-fronts. It looked like the fore-front of an attacking army; first +the flash of bayonets, as they are to be found in woman's eyes, and then +the heavier artillery, the stolid force of masculinity. In the wide +corridors behind the boxes, in the foyers, and up and down the marble +stairways, the stream of people flowed back and forth. Presently the +conductor of the orchestra took his seat. There was a hastening toward +seats and boxes, and the overture of the "Cavalleria Rusticana" floated +out in echoes. + +Young Lancaster reached the Stewart box just as the first bars were +streaming forth. Mrs. Stewart leaned her head gracefully back over her +right shoulder, and smiled up at him. She stretched up a beautifully +gloved hand, and whispered a "Glad you came through the rain, after all. +Awfully disappointed if you hadn't!" at him. He nodded to the other +women, and shook hands with Mr. Stewart and some of the other members of +the white-shirted, blank-faced phalanx. + +"Ah," whispered Mrs. Stewart with a languid show of interest, and +putting her lorgnette up, "there is Calve!" + +There was a flutter of hand-clappings that went like a light wave from +the stalls to the upper balconies. And then began that exquisite, +dramatic exposition of rustic jealousy that Mascagni has so wonderfully +set to music. As Santuzza, Calve was magnetic. Actress as much as singer +she riveted all attention. Her face was the picture of agony the while +she was contemplating: the inner vision of her betrayal by Turiddu. +Then, the jealous hatred flashing out at Lola, her rival; and lastly the +self-accusing sorrow that covered her when she saw the effect of her +tale-bearing against her former lover. In the interval there was the +marvellous Intermezzo. Mrs. Stewart leaned back in her chair and closed +her eyes. When it was over she said, "There is something of the world's +joy and something of its pain in that melody. It appeals to me +wonderfully." + +Lancaster put in, "One of the men at the club declared that it was the +only thing that had given him real emotion for--oh, years." + +"He must have been a very blasé creature," said one of the other women. + +"He is," assented Lancaster. + +Their further conversation was interrupted by the rising of the curtain. +When it came down again there was a general movement toward the foyers. +Some of the tall and pale young men strolled out to smoke cigars and +talk of the boxing match that was going to come off at the club in a day +or so. With much fluttering of fans and swishing of skirts the angular +girls betook themselves from Mrs. Stewart's box to see if they "could +see any of the other girls." Mrs. Stewart and Dick Lancaster were left +in sole possession. He took a chair beside her and looked over into the +stalls. + +"Only fair," she said, noting his visual measurement of the size of the +audience. + +"Yes. These people don't want the New. They want 'Faust' and 'Aida,' and +they think 'Tannhäuser' is the very last in music. It will be years +before they see the gem-like beauty of this new Italian school." + +"And yet--it's a return to the old." + +"That is why. The old things are the best, if you only go far enough +into the past. We are never really modern, we are merely old in a new +way." + +"Do you know--" she leaned her white elbow on the cushioned chair-back +and placed her forefinger just under her ear, so that from the elbow up +her arm formed a white, beautiful rest for the attractive face, and +looking young Lancaster smilingly in the eyes, tapped her foot +caressingly to the floor--"do you know that I think I shall have to cut +you off my list very soon? You have--h'm--changed a great deal in the +few months I have known you. You occasionally make speeches that sound +almost cynical. You were always clever; you always talked brightly, but +you never used to believe some of the sharp things you said; now I think +you are beginning to. I liked you because you were different; you are +not different any more, at least not different in the same way. You will +never be as stupid as most of the others; but I am afraid, too, that you +will never be quite as genuine as you were." + +He sighed as he looked at her. He smiled very faintly as he answered, +"Yes, I am afraid you are right. I am not as I was." His gaze swept out +over the stalls, the crowded foyer, the brilliance everywhere. "But how +could I have done anything else than let all this affect me a little? I +am pliable, I suppose, and I bend easily to the wind. I came here to +taste life. As soon as I began to sip the cup I found that I was going +to like it immensely. I trod the way of the world that I might see what +manner of men walk there, and what sort of a road it was. Presently, I +found that I liked that path so much that I preferred it to the bypaths +of solitude and asceticism. And what has it mattered as long as I have +not neglected the work there is for me to do? No one can say I have +changed in that respect. I work harder than ever. It's not fair of you +to upbraid me. A great deal of it is your own doing." + +"Yes?" + +"Of course it is. You have been my pilot out of the land of the Narrows. +When I came up here I was narrow. I thought about things dogmatically, +and applied hard and fast rules to every sort of conduct. Now I am +broader. I know that where the world moves at lightning speed you cannot +apply the same tenets that hold good in a village where life is lived at +a cripple's gait and where routine is the reigning deity." + +"You would not have called it a 'cripple's gait' a little while ago," +interposed Mrs. Stewart. + +He flushed slightly but went on: "I realize now that since we have but +one life to live, we should live it as fully as we may. I could not have +seen the life that all of you here are living without realizing that it +was a fuller life than the one the country afforded me. So, cost what it +may, I must needs live it also." + +She looked at him curiously. "Yes," she repeated, half to him and half +to herself, "cost what it may." + +"Besides," he went on, looking away from her, and with something of +regret in his voice, "I have grown worldly because I loved a worldly +woman. You--you have made me love you." + +She lifted her eyebrows a trifle, turned her head, with the eyelids +drawn down over her eyes, toward him, and opened the lids slowly, with a +smile on her lips. Then she looked past him to where her husband was +leaning over a chair in one of the other boxes. + +"Don't you think John is looking very handsome tonight?" she asked +softly. + +Lancaster, who had gone red and pale in waves, answered, through set +lips, "Very." + +Then the curtain went up on "Pagliacci." + + * * * * * + +It was the first time that Lancaster had heard Leoncavallo's opera. In +its novel charm his shame and mortification--shame at having spoken +those words to Mrs. Stewart and mortification at the rebuff they had +only naturally brought him--were for the time being swallowed up. With +eager eyes and attentive ears he watched and listened to the play within +the play. First the arrival of the mountebanks. Amid the laughs and +rejoicings of the villagers the theater-tent is set. Then the effort of +the clown to make love to Canio's wife; the slash of the whip from her, +the muttered curses from him. But the woman is fickle, after all; the +villager, Silvio, is more successful than the clown was. The sudden +approach of Canio, the husband, led hither by the vengeful clown, still +smarting under the whip; the escape of Silvio, and the woman's refusal +to tell the name of her lover. And so, to the wonderful second act, +where tragedy is so dexterously woven into comedy; where, under the +guise of a drama that the mountebanks proffer the villagers on their +little stage, the greater drama of Canio's jealousy is spun out to its +tragic ending. In between the lines of the dialogue intended for the +village audience come lines wrung from Canio's heart that sear their way +into his wife's breast, spite of her stage-smiles and graces. And when, +at the last, Canio, in his baffled rage, would strike her, and Silvio, +her lover, rushes from the audience in rescue, only to be stabbed by the +finally exultant husband, young Lancaster involuntarily shuddered. There +was something griping in the wonderful display of human rage and +jealousy that this young tenor gave in Canio; in the final words, full +of tragic, double, ironical meaning, "La comedie e finita!" there was +something of a sentence of death. And somehow, in Silvio there seemed to +be something of himself: that lover's terrible fate was fraught for him, +in the conscience-stricken state he found himself in, with warning and +protest. While the applause, reaching curtain-call after curtain-call, +surged all about him, young Lancaster was lost in rêverie. He was +changed, yes. He had adapted himself to the manners of the town; but he +still had a most nervous conscience, sharp, unblunted. He sat still, +with his chin hiding his upper shirt stud. + +Mrs. Stewart's voice roused him. Her husband was already engaged in +putting her cloak about her shoulders. "Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said +sweetly. "We shall see you Wednesday, shall we not?" + +He bowed and stammered something, he hardly knew what. + +The opera was over. + + * * * * * + +That night, before he took off his dress' clothes, Dick sat down and +wrote to his mother. It was a thing he had not been so steadfast in of +late as once he had been. + +In one place he wrote: "You ask me, mother mine, how I like the town now +that it is no longer strange to me. Oh, I like it only too well. The old +place, the old friends, the sweet gentle tenor of all the old life out +there in Lincolnville, all seem like some far-off dream to me. My ears +and eyes are full of the many sounds and sights of the town; the +multifarious vistas, and the ever-changing face of the street. I like +the town and yet I fear it. Sometimes its might oppresses me, and I feel +as if I wanted to get out in the woods near our home and lie down at +full length on the mossy bank, where the creek sings soothingly and the +sun hangs like a golden ball in a clear sky. I want to hear the +crickets, and the deep silence of the nights, and the echoes of +detached laughter floating over the meadows. I want to watch the +sun-light as it comes through the leaves and plays hide-and-seek on the +lawn; I want to watch the hawk circling in the air, the chickens +scurrying fearfully at the sight of him. And then again the feverish +itch to be in the very middle of this maelstrom, the town, seizes me. I +long for the very thick and foremost of the struggle, and the picture of +Lincolnville fades away. At this present time of the year, though, I can +really prefer the town without seeming a slave to it. + +"It is in the winter, or in the early spring, when country places are +chiefly seas of mud and slush that one most deeply realizes the delights +of dwelling in town. Modern invention has put the town dweller beyond +the weather's jealous bites. We step into a hansom, we drive to the +club, we have dinner; behind club doors, and in club comfort we are +above all the slings and arrows of the elements; we drive to the +theatre, and the black-and-white splendor of our men, as well as the +fur-decked rosiness of our women, is only enhanced by contrast against +the frowny murkings of the sky. I have noticed that the finale, the +curtain-fall of any important public event, such as a dinner, a dance, +or an opera, is always a more picturesque thing when the carriages have +to drive away through the sleet. Whereas, the country! The weather is +the world and all that therein is; you can't get away from it. Mud is +king! + +"I am doing something in paint now, just to feed this terrible ambition +of mine. The pen-and-ink work is all very-well, and it does bring the +bread and butter, but it is not what I want for ever and ever. And I +think I am going to have for my subject just such a scene as I wrote of +a moment ago: the moment before the carriages drive away through the +rain, with everybody in gala attire and scintillant with brightness and +insincerity. For the town is insincere, mother, and cruel. Some day, +perhaps I, too, will become insincere. I do not know. I pray it may not +be so. But I am alarming you causelessly. I am only a little tired and +unnerved tonight. I have been to the opera, and it was just a little +affecting. So don't mind what I said just now. * * * * I am getting +rather tired and will say good-night. * * *" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the early dawn there had been a slight shower of rain, but by the +time the sun was high enough to shine over the town's highest buildings, +the clouds parted, and presently drifted away altogether, leaving the +golden disc full freedom in giving a brilliant look to the clean-washed +streets. By noon everything was as bright as a newly-scoured kitchen. + +It was at that time of the year when spring is kissing a greeting to +summer. There was not too much heat. Growth and activity were not yet +subdued by the later lassitude of midsummer. In the parks the trees +were full of blossoms, the flowers were spelling out the runes that the +gardners had contrived for the Sunday sight-seers, and the roadways were +alive with well-equipped traps of every sort. The avenue was colorful +and kaleidoscopic. Dog-carts, driven by smartly-gowned, square-sitting +girls, bowled along noiselessly, the footmen looking as stolid as if +carved in wood. Landaus, with elderly women leaning far back into the +cushions, and shading their complexions under lace-decked parasols, went +by with an occasional rattling of chains. The careful observer might +have noticed that the number of smart vehicles was a trifle larger than +usual; there were more coaches out, and the air resounded more often to +the various military and hunting-calls that the English grooms were +executing on their horns. + +It was Derby Day. + +Dick was walking along the avenue watching, with his artist eyes open +for all the picturesque effect of the whole--the yellow haze of the sun +that filled the atmosphere in and out of which all these rapid +color-effects flashed swiftly, the thin strip of sky-reflecting water to +the east, the line of grass and the sky-touching horizon of huge +buildings--when he heard someone calling out his name. + +"Lancaster!" It was Stanley, driving a dog-cart and a neat bay cob. "The +very man! Jump in, won't you? Going down to the Derby. Thing you +shouldn't miss; lots of color and all that sort of thing! Asked +Vanstruther to go down with me, but one of his dime-novel heroes is ill +or something of that sort, and he's off the list. That's good of you. +Look how you're stepping. This brute has been eating his head off all +week, and isn't really fit for a Christian to drive. That's it! Now." +They went spinning along the avenue. + +In the instant or two before he climbed into the dog-cart, Dick had +reflected that while he was not over-fond of Stanley in a good many +ways, the man was undeniably a clever fellow, always to be depended on +for bright talk; besides he did feel very much like studying the scene +of a Derby Day with its many-colored facets. + +Watching the rapid, shifting beauties of the boulevard, Dick burst into +a little sigh of admiration. "Ah," he said, "this is good! This is +living!" + +"Youthful enthusiasm," muttered the other man. "Delightful +thing--youthful enthusiasm--to get over." + +"Oh, no! I hope I never shall! What is life worth if one is not to show +that one enjoys it? How can you look at a day like this--a splendid, +champagnelike day--and yet--" + +"My dear fellow," interrupted Stanley, with a queer smile, "when a man +gets to my time of life there is always something melancholy to him in +the picture of a spring day. It reminds him of his own youth: all tears +and sunshine. Today there are neither tears or sunshine; it is all just +contemplation. I don't seem to belong to the play at ail, any more, +myself; I'm merely a spectator. To the spectator there is always +something pathetic about joy." + +"Your lunch was indigestable, that's all that is the matter with you," +laughed Dick. "It's a dogma of mine that pessimism is merely another +word for indigestion." + +"Dogma!" sighed Stanley, "Don't you know that all dogmas are obsolete? +Don't you know that in this rapid age we believe everything, accept +everything and yet doubt everything?" + +"Isn't that a trifle paradoxical?" + +"No; only modern! We believe everything that inventors or scientists may +tell us; but in the world spiritual we believe nothing. Is that a +paradox?" + +"But indigestion is surely, h'm, material rather than spiritual?" Dick +enjoyed the verbal parries that he was always sure of with Stanley. He +was always trying to get at the secret man's cynicism, a cynicism that +was the essence of what many other men of the world he lived in seemed +to feel, but were not all, perhaps, so well able to express. + +"Oh well," was Stanley's answer, "after all, it doesn't matter. Nothing +makes any difference." He looked blankly ahead as if all the world was +contained in the space occupied between the cob's ears. Then he went on, +in his minor monotone, "No, nothing, except--" + +Dick, thinking to be cheery, put in "Except marriage?" + +"No!" came from Stanley, with a sudden flick of the whip over the cob's +flanks, "that only makes differences." + +Dick laughed somewhat impatiently. "Oh!" he urged, "why sit there and be +dismal? Why not wake up and live? Surely the air is full of it, of this +fair Life? Enjoy it, brace up, be young!" + +"Ah, if I only could again, if I only could! Oh, to be young again! He +is the Autocrat of today, the young man." He lapsed into his sneer once +more. "The young man of today thinks he has the experience of the +centuries at his fingertips, whereas he really has only the gloves that +were made yesterday and will split tomorrow." + +"You are not only unjust," protested Dick, "you are flippant." + +"Of course I am! The keynote of this end of the century is lightness. +The modern declares that life is but a joke, and a bad one at best. How +to live without ever allowing oneself to suspect that life is more than +a game in which the odds are heads, Death wins; tails, Man loses: that +is the great problem of the decade. The universal solution of the +difficulty is the practice of superficiality. Skim! Be light! Never +penetrate below the surfaces! Never search the deep! Make love as if it +were a tourney of jests; die as if it were a riddle well guessed! Be +scintillantly versatile, rather than thorough; hide your ignorance with +bland blasédom; treat tragedy as an intruder, comedy as a chum, and as a +reward you will be called 'up-to-date.' Nay, more: your fashionable +friends may even mispronounce French in your behalf and dub you _fin de +siècle_!" + +Dick shuddered laughingly. "A horrible philosophy," he said. And yet he +was glad of the other's bitterness; it showed, through all its veil of +sneers and scorn, something of the point of view of the foremost in that +race toward Death that some of the town-dwellers are wont to call Life. + +Yet he could not keep his thoughts long on the serious import of the +other's scornful flippancy. How shall two-and-twenty years, and health, +and sunshine, and a spirit susceptible to enjoyments that the very +atmosphere seemed redolent of, allow a young man to brood on the +progress of the world's cancer? No; there were too many distractions! +Tandems whirling by with horsy young men handling the ribbons; brakes +full of laughing girls and straw-hatted young men; hackney carriages +with four occupants unmistakably of the bookmaker guild. + +Just before they rolled into sight of the grand-stand, Stanley said, +"Oh, who do you suppose I had a letter from yesterday?" + +"No idea." + +"The most noble A.B. Wooton, of the late lamented '_Torch_'." + +"You don't say so. His nerve never dies, eh?" + +"As I said before, his is not a case of 'nerve'; it is genius. He has +the prettiest story you ever read, swears his advertising man deceived +him and got the paper into all manner of tight places; found himself +forced to get away from the ruins so that he could the better repay his +creditors, which he states he has instructed his lawyers to do, and all +the rest of it! I don't believe a word of it; but he has got grit!" + +"That is a national fault," said Dick soberly, "the admiration of 'grit' +in scoundrels. For that is all that Wooton is, after all!" + +"Oh, well, why split hairs? He never did you any harm, did he? However, +about his letter. He writes from Dresden. Says he has just met some +Americans--name of Ware, I think. Enjoying himself immensely--girl in +the party--moonlight rides and all that sort of thing. Wonder how long +he'll last over there?" + +"I know some Wares," said Dick quietly; "but I hardly think it could be +the same ones. Though they are in Europe just now, that's true." His +thoughts tried to hark back to Lincolnville, to his parting with Dorothy +Ware, and to her return; but the present was too strong for him. They +were driving across the course at this moment, and over into the field, +which was already a motly, colored mass of vehicles, white dresses, +parasols and stamping horses. The tops of coaches were made over into +sitting room for summer-dressed girls, of whose faces one caught only +the white under-half--the chin and the mouth, in high sun relief--while +the eyes were in shade of the huge parasols. One caught glimpses of +light shoes and hose; of young men walking, in earnest converse over +betting tickets held in hand; of wicker lunch-baskets being brought +from the inner chambers of the coaches and prepared for a future hunger; +and, beyond, in the grand stand, of a black, indistinguishable mass of +spectators, noisy, tremendous. + +As soon as they had found a place for the dog-cart, from which they +would be able to see the finish with tolerable comfort and completeness, +Stanley said, with a noticeable alacrity succeeding the languid +pessimism that had distinguished him all during the drive down. + +"Now then, Lancaster, let's hurry over to the betting-shed!" + +For a moment only Dick hesitated. "Going to bet, or just to look on?" he +asked. + +"Bet, of course, you innocent infant! But, Scotland, you don't have to! +You can just soak in the--what do you call it--the impressionistic view +of it. But hurry up, whatever you are going to do, I don't want the odds +to tumble down too far before I get there!" + +Not so long ago Dick would have cavilled, hesitated, perhaps refused. +Now he caught his half-uttered objections being met by a whisper in his +own mind of 'Don't be a prig!' and he followed Stanley silently. It +occurred to him, presently, that to warn oneself of becoming a prig was +in itself evidence of priggishness. Impatiently he shook his head, as if +to get all analytical reflections out of his head altogether. He looked +at the scene around him, and forgot everything else. + +The scene in the betting-shed was, just as is the stock exchange floor, +the boiling-point of the kettle of froth called metropolitan life. +Around the bookmakers' stands was a seething, struggling mass of +humanity. Each member of this mob was pushing, striving, perspiring for +--what?--the chance to get something for nothing! The bookmakers +themselves were straining every nerve to keep pace with the public's +feverish desire to get rid of it's money. On their little stands, their +heads on a level with the black-board that furnished the names of the +horses and the odds against, they stood; one hand busy taking in money +that was handed in to the inner part of the stand, the other grasping +the piece of chalk that ever and again touched the black-board to effect +some change in the odds. One man inside was busy with pencil and paper, +registering each ticket as it was handed out; another covered the face +of the ticket with the hasty hieroglyphics that stood for the horse +chosen and the amount wagered and the amount that might be won. Here and +there a bookmaker encouraged the "plunge" on some horse that he +professed to scorn by shouting forth his odds and the horse's name. The +blind struggle of the majority was an amusing spectacle; it certainly +seemed to vouch for the truth of the saying that man is a gambling +animal. Like serpents, the "touts," professional vendors of spurious +stable information, went winding in and out through the throng, +sometimes displaying judgment in the would-be bettors they approached, +but as often as not displaying most lamentable indiscretion. Dick +watched, with an amused smile, how one of these fellows sided up to a +quiet man, who, program in hand, was leaning against a pillar watching +the boards and the changes in odds. The quiet man listened to the tout's +hoarse whisperings, and then threw his coat back showing an "owner's" +badge. The tout slunk sheepishly into the crowd. + +"If you take my advice," said Stanley who was fighting his way towards +some remote goal or other, "you'll take a little flyer on Dr. Rice. +That's what I'm going to do. There's a fellow on the other side of the +ring has him a point higher than anyone else." + +Dick, without having made up his mind as to his own betting or not +betting, helped his companion in his struggle to get through the crowd. +Desperate energy was necessary. There was never any time for apologies; +elbows were pushed into sides, toes were trodden on, scarfs twisted and +sleeve-links broken; no matter, there was money to be won and there was +no time either to consider passing annoyances or the possibility of +loss. + +"Ah," said Stanley, finally, as they found themselves in front of a +black-board that had a figure "7" chalked to the left of the name Dr. +Rice and a "3" to the right. "Here we are! Now then, what are you going +to do?" He whipped out a twenty dollar bill and crumpled it carefully +into the palm of his hand. + +Dick thought quickly. After all, it was merely the foregoing of some +luxury or another; he would postpone joining that polo club, perhaps, +or go without that new edition of Menzel's drawing's that he had been +promising himself. He took a bill out of his card-case and handed it, +without a word, to Stanley. + +The ticket that Stanley presently handed him had "Rice" almost illigibly +scrawled across it, and the figures "70" and "10." Dick stood to lose +ten or to win seventy dollars. + +By the time they had got comfortably ensconsed in their seats in the +dog-cart once more, the horses were at the post for the great event of +the day, the American Derby. Dick had begun to feel something of the +torment of expectation and fear and hope that makes the gambler's nerves +either like a sheet of reeds in the wind or like a tightly-drawn wire. +If he won it would be, as he heard some men in the betting-shed remark, +"just like finding money." He could allow himself all sorts of +extravagances. He observed the horses making false start after false +start without even a suspicion of qualmishness as to the moral aspect of +the case coming over him. He had grown, to use his own phase, broader. + +Down beyond the turn into the stretch was the bunch of restless horses, +the vari-colored jackets, the starter's carriage, and the assistant +starter's flag. There was the sky-blue jacket that showed where the +favorite, The Ghost, was pirouetting on his hind legs; the black and +yellow bars of Ætna's jockey, and many others. But Dick's eyes were +focused on Dr. Rice; the horse's jockey was in all-black. + +"Ah--h!" The vast crowd roars and cheers as a start is made. All +together, like a herd of cattle, they sweep on toward the grand-stand. +It is not racing yet. Favorite and second favorite are back in the +centre of the bunch. In front of the grand-stand one jockey sends his +horse out a length in front. It is an outsider, but there are plenty of +backers of outsiders, and a cheer goes up. "He'll walk away from them!" +"The others are standing still!" and such-like shouts go up. The pace +begins to get killing. At the half Ætna is seen to move up to the +leader, finally to pass him. The favorite is also creeping from out the +ruck. Slowly, surely he forges past all the leaders but Ætna; the latter +shoots ahead again for the distance of a length and The Ghost drops back +to fourth place. It was evidently merely a feeler to find out whether +Ætna was going too fast or whether there was still time to get up when +the stretch was reached. + +Round the turn they sweep into the stretch. It is a dangerous picture, +with so many horses so close together, with such speed, and such +possibility of collisions. But the turn is made in a second; now they +are in the straight road for home. The Ghost is creeping up again, +wearing down horse after horse, finally reaching Ætna's throatlatch. +Neck and neck these two race up the last furlong; then a sudden, +surprised roar breaks out from the mob of onlookers; another horse has +cut loose from the bunch that has now become a straggling, attenuated +string of tired horses. The shout goes up: "Look at Dr. Rice!" "Dr. +Rice!" + +Now he is up to Ætna's flanks and going under a pull; his jockey has +never yet touched spur to him. The whip comes down on Ætna; it is no +use; he is raced out. Now Dr. Rice has reached The Ghost, and the +latter's jockey begins using the whip. In the grand-stand there is an +inferno of cheering; men are shouting themselves hoarse, and jumping up +and down in nervous paroxysms. Dr. Rice's jockey never moves a muscle to +all appearances. The cries go up from the mob: "Come Rice!" "Come +Ghost!" The judges begin to strain their their attention to the viewing +of a very close finish. Then with a final mighty lift, Dr. Rice, in the +very last stride, snoots forward under the wire a neck in front of The +Ghost. + +Dr. Rice has won. + + * * * * * + +On the way home Stanley was another man. He talked as if such a thing as +a regret for a lost youth had never entered his head; he was young +again. He recounted his impression of the race, asked Dick what he had +thought of it all, was full of amusing anecdotes about men who had tried +to get him to back the favorite, and was fertile in suggestions for what +they should do that evening. Of course it was understood they must +celebrate in some way. Surely! Surely! + +"Oh," he said, finally, "I know what we'll do. We'll go along to the +Imperial Theatre. I know some of the girls in the burlesque there. I'll +introduce you. We'll enjoy ourselves." + +Dick began to demur. + +"Don't be a d-----d idiot," said the other man, half smiling, half +frowning. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +No one that has ever been in Dresden is likely to forget the beauties of +the Bruehlsche Terrasse. The cool plash of waters from the Elbe come up +invitingly; the green of the neighboring gardens is luscious, and there +are nearly always strains of music in the air. Especially pleasing is +the picture on a summer's evening. + +In one of the concert gardens they give out on the Terrasse, there sat +at a small round table, one dreamy midsummer evening, Mrs. Ware and her +daughter, Dorothy. In front of them were small cups of coffee, and such +appetising rolls as only the Conditors of the continent can make. The +garden was in no wise different from a thousand others to be found in +German cities; save only that it was especially happy in its location. +There was a light, gravelly soil; a multitude of round tables; chairs +occupied by a cosmopolitan crew of both sexes; at one end, in the shadow +of huge lime trees, was the _Capelle_. Over all was the star-gemmed sky. +The air was sweet with the song of the violins, and the cheery laughter +of the many family parties came echoing along from time to time in +musical accompaniment. There were German students, with the +vari-colored caps and occasional sword-wounds on their faces; officers +with clanking swords and clothes fitting in lines that suggested stays; +English tourists, easily distinguishable by costumes they would not have +dared to startle Hyde Park with; Americans with high pitched voices; and +a few Russians, excessively polite of manner and cruel of eye. + +Miss Dorothy Ware was engaged in munching at a roll that had been +steeping in the strong coffee, when she suddenly turned to her mother +with an eager exclamation. + +"I declare, mamma," she said, "if there isn't Mr. Wooton coming this +way. The idea of meeting him again at all. I'm sure I never thought we +would; there are so many people away traveling about this time of the +year, and there are so many places. He has just seen us, mamma, and he's +coming over here. See he's lifting his hat. I'm glad we've got this +vacant chair." + +Wooton shook hands with them. "The old platitude about the world being a +very small place seems to strike true," he said. "Do you know, it's a +positive relief to talk to people of my own sort once more." He had sat +down beside Dorothy, and placed his stick and gloves on the gravel +beside him. He looked decidedly handsome; his small mouth seemed smaller +than ever, and his face was paler than when he dictated the fortunes of +the _Torch_. He was scrupulously dressed; every detail was so nicely +adjusted that he would have successfully run the gauntlet of all the +comment of Piccadilly and Broadway. + +"I've just come from Berlin," he went on, "it was like an oven there. +Nearly everybody was away; some of them in Heringsdorf, some in +Switzerland, some down in this district. My compartment in the train was +filled with a lot of officers on leave, and they talked army slang until +my head swam, and I would have given gold for the sound of an American +voice." + +"You seem to rush about a good deal," ventured Mrs. Ware. "Didn't we +meet you in Schwalbach?" + +"Mamma forgets so," put in Dorothy, "she's been meeting so many people, +I begin to think she jumbles them all up. But it was in Schwalbach, +mamma; you're right. Don't you remember? We were sitting near the +Stahlbrunnen, with the Tremonts--we used to set next to them at the +Hotel d'Europe--when Mr. Wooton came up and said how-d'ye-do to the +Tremonts, and they presented him to us. When Mrs. Tremont was at +boarding-school, you know," she went on, turning to Wooton, "she and +mamma were great chums. She was a Miss Alexander." She put her hand up +to her hat and gave it a mysterious pressure, presumably to rectify some +invisible displacement. She turned and looked out into the darkness +whence came the sullen swish of the river. "It was delightful in +Schwalbach," she said finally. + +"It was horribly expensive," commented Mrs. Ware, sipping her coffee. + +"But the waters did you good, I hope?" inquired Wooton, suavely +solicitous. + +"Oh, I guess so. But I don't seem to improve right along, as I should? +But I shouldn't complain. I'm a good deal stouter than when I left home. +Besides, Dorothy is having a right good time." + +"Ah," smiled Wooton, to the girl, "you like it--the life here?" + +"Yes; I like it. I don't say that I like it better than other things. +But who could help liking that?" She swept her parasol around so that it +pointed out toward the river. There was complete darkness there, lit up +occasionally by the lights of passing steamers. Fog-whistles sounded +occasionally; on the opposite shore there was a dim glow of yellow +lights. The water sobbed ceaselessly; there was a mist rising, and the +steamer lights began to seem hazier than ever, mere golden circles +hanging in the dense darkness. The violins were playing something of +Waldteufel's. + +It was true; not even the most patriotic of Americans could have helped +granting that all this was very pleasant. Dorothy Ware had certainly +given up being half-hearted in her enthusiasm for European things; they +had met so many people and had rubbed up against so much of +cosmopolitanism that unconsciously she had come to see that to apply the +narrow Lincolnville view to all the people she saw now was a trifle +absurd. She gave herself candidly over to enjoy it all. That was what +she had come for. And it must be confessed that, during this process of +enjoyment, her memories of her former self became ghosts of +ever-increasing vagueness. When she caught herself thinking of Dick +Lancaster it was usually to wonder what sort of a girl he had married. +She smiled when she thought of the things he had said to her before they +parted. It didn't seem to touch her at all now, and she seemed sure that +a man slips out of that sort of thing much earlier than the woman. + +They met Wooton a good deal after that. He spent a good deal of time +among the pictures, and when they visited the _Gruene Gwoeble_ they +found him there. He was invariably bright and amusing; he offered to +pilot them and smooth things for them generally; Mrs. Ware began to +think he was tremendously nice. She remembered that Miss Alexander--now +Mrs. Tremont--had always been one of the most aristocratic of girls; she +recalled with something of a shudder, her own awe at her school-mate's +lengthy dissertation upon blood and family and kindred subjects. So, she +argued, if Wooton was in Mrs. Tremont's set in town, there was certainly +not the vestige of a doubt concerning his being eminently the correct +thing. She had lived in the country so long herself that she admitted +she was no longer able to note the difference between good coin and bad; +but she had infinite faith in Mrs. Tremont. Dorothy, too, got to feel +that he was very charming; he was so handsome, and dressed so well. It +was very pleasant to have him in the party; he added distinction. +Wooton had admitted that he knew young Lancaster; he divined that she +had liked the boy; he was wise enough to tell her only pleasant things +about Dick. The only thing Dorothy objected to was that Wooton went +about a good deal with the Tremonts. It seemed to her that he was quite +devoted to Miss Eugenie. + +"I don't like her a bit," she told him rather tactlessly, speaking of +Miss Tremont, "she's so supercilious. I never know when she's laughing +at me and when she's not listening to me. I suppose she thinks I'm a +country chit and don't know anything. But I wouldn't be clever the way +she's clever for anything in the world. Why does she have to sneer at +innocence and goodness? Nobody ever accused her of either, did they?" + +Which, Wooton thought to himself, was not half bad. As a matter of fact +he enjoyed being with Eugene Tremont immensely. She was one of those +intensely modern girls that the world is so unhappily rich in just now. +She would talk about any subject under the sun. She declared that she +had always cared more for male society anyway; she despised her own sex +and said spiteful things about it. She pretended to be completely +cognizant of all the wickedness there was in the world; and she went on +the presumption that man was a sort of infernal machine that there was +unlimited fun--the fun of danger--in handling. Men liked her at first +invariably; there was something refreshing and stimulating in the +nonchalance with which she tabooed no subject from her conversation; +they said to themselves that this was a person, thank goodness, whom one +did not eternally have to consider in the light of a sex, but rather of +a sexless cleverness. But, somehow or other, her cleverness wearied +presently; she palled as all surfaces must inevitably pall. Wooton, +however, turned to her because she was of his own special calibre--all +cleverness, and no apparent sharply defined system of conduct. With the +Wares he was so perpetually on a grid-iron; he was afraid of saying +something that would startle them. They amused him, these people, with +their simplicity, their taking virtue for granted and vice for an +abhorent mystery! To talk to them it was necessary to keep a constant +check on his cynical; while with Eugene Tremont it was sword to sword, a +sharp continuous fencing with verbal weapons. + +So, when Dorothy Ware made the cutting little speech about Miss Tremont, +Wooton told himself that there was something more than mere dislike for +the Boston girl at the bottom of it. Considering the matter, he broke +into a laugh. Was it possible, h'm. That would really be too rich. + +He began to be seen with the Tremonts oftener than ever. He went with +them to the opera, he took a seat in their landau. He went to Teplitz +with them. + +"They're more in the same set, I suppose," said Mrs. Ware, when Dorothy +spoke of it. "He was at college with her brother, too; I guess they talk +about him a good deal." + +Dorothy guessed that she knew better; but she said nothing. Somehow, +Dresden began to seem fearfully dreary. She began importuning her mother +to pack up and go to Munich; they had some friends there. Dorothy +declared Dresden made her homesick; she said it was all so small and +pretty, anyway; it wasn't a metropolis, yet it tried to ape the real +article. And then there were so many Americans--you couldn't talk +English anywhere without having people understand you, which was +distinctly annoying, because occasionally one likes to make personal +asides about costumes and hats and complexions--and, well, what was the +use of staying there any longer anyhow? But Mrs. Ware declared the +climate agreed with her. She said she hadn't felt so well for ever so +long, she wasn't going to try any other place as this one agreed with +her. Did Dorothy want to see her die? No; Dorothy did not. She +submitted, and went about looking dismal. + +And then, one day, the sunshine came back into here face once more. It +was not that the good fairies had remodeled the town of Dresden; it was +not that all English-speaking people had suddenly deserted the place; in +fact, it was hard to say just what made the difference. It was just +possible that Wooton's return from Teplitz had something to do with the +good humor in which Dorothy came back to her mother that noon, after a +walk down to the Conditorei. She had almost cannoned into him, rounding +a corner; they had shaken hands; he had avowed the pleasure he felt at +seeing her again. It is just possible that the sight of this young man +was a talisman for Miss Ware's temper; it is at least certain that her +melancholia was gone. + +He called on them, in a day or so, at their apartments in the Hotel +Bellevue. Mrs. Ware was very glad to see him; she was more vivacious +than she had yet shown herself. She proposed that they take their coffee +out in the garden, on the river front, under the trees. They sat +watching the boats, and the little boys paddling about barefooted; it +was in the cool of sunset, and there were red bars slanting across the +western horizon. It was very pleasant. The waiter moved about +noiselessly; there were some children making merry in the swing set up +at the far end of the garden. + +"Is Teplitz very full?" asked Mrs. Ware. + +"Yes; more people than usual, I believe. I should think the hot baths +would do you good, too, Mrs. Ware?" + +"Oh, I guess I'll stay here awhile yet. I'm getting to feel quite spry +again. You left the Tremonts there?" + +"Yes?" + +Dorothy turned away from the river and looked at him a trifle +reproachfully. "You must be awfully fond of those people," she said, +trying to smile. + +Wooton shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +"No," he replied, "I can't say that exactly. But Mrs. Tremont really +insisted on my going; she said she had never been there before, and +thought that as I knew the ropes of the place, it would be a small thing +for me to play pilot for them for a while. What was I to do?" He looked +at Dorothy appealingly. + +Mrs. Ware was pushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. + +"In Boston, Dorothy," she said, "I guess Mrs. Tremont is quite a society +leader." She said it as if that was an assertion of crushing +significance, intended to quiet any possible questionings as to why any +young man should think it necessary to comply with the wishes of so +great a personage. + +"What if she is?" was Dorothy's quick reply; "that doesn't make her any +better, does it? I don't see how you can go around with them so much, +that's all, Mr. Wooton." + +"Oh," he laughed, "I assure you I don't like them so very much myself; +but I don't dislike them. And I hate to offend people. They asked me to +go!" + +They drank their coffee, and watched the twilight settling down. They +talked lightly, and laughed a good deal. + +"Miss Ware," Wooton asked presently, "you've never been down to +Schandau, have you?" + +"No. Is it worth while?" + +"Immensely! You ought to make the trip." + +"Oh, I simply can't begin to get mamma to move from this town. She's +perfectly enchanted with it, somehow." She looked at her mother, and +patted her on the arm. Mrs. Ware said nothing, only smiled back at her +daughter, who went on, "but I'd like it mightily." + +"I wish you'd let me show you the place," Wooton persevered. He looked +over at Mrs. Ware in a hesitating way. "Perhaps--if Mrs. Ware would +rather not stir from the hotel--there would be no objection to Miss Ware +making the trip with me? The place is really pretty; the royal residence +there is one of the sights. It's only half an hour or so by the steamer. +You'd hardly notice our absence; I think she'd enjoy it." He wondered a +little whether they would look at him in frigid horror, or take it as a +proposition quite in accord with the conventions they were accustomed +to. He knew perfectly well that most of the people he knew in the East +would have considered him insane if he had ventured such a proposal; +but, in regard to these people, and this girl in particular, he +remembered that a friend of his had once used a phrase that had struck +him at the time as rather good, and that was, perhaps, applicable. The +man had declared, half in a spirit of banter, half in chivalrous +defense, that the girl of the West paraphrased the old motto to read: +"_Sans peur, sans reproche et sans chaperon_." + +To his relief, Mrs. Ware's answer was merely a smile at her daughter, +and a "You'll have to see what Dorothy thinks about it, I guess. It's +her picnic. If she wares to go--." She left the sentence unfinished, as +if to convey the impression that under the circumstances mentioned her +own preference would be allowed lapse. + +"I think," said Dorothy, with a little clasping together of her hands, +"that it would be simply delightful! You wouldn't worry, would you, +mamma? There are always so many waiters around and--dear, dear, I talk +just as if we were going this very minute!" She looked gratefully at +Wooton. Somehow or other, he felt himself blushing. He caught himself +regretting the fact that he was no longer as genuine as this girl was. +"I think it's simply perfect of you to ask me," she went on, "I'm sure +I'll enjoy it ever so much." + +"Then," he said, airily, "we'll consider that settled. It's very good of +you to say you'll go, I'm sure. Suppose we say Wednesday?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +It was certainly a sunny enough day, and the Elbe glistened invitingly. +Wooton had been up earlier than was usual for him and had taken a walk +out into the level country; when he came into the hallway of the +Bellevue he was in the best of spirits. Miss Ware came down the +stairway, presently, her parasol in rest over her left arm, and her +gloves still in process of being buttoned. She smiled down at him +radiantly. + +"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" she cried. + +"Not a moment," he answered, adding, with a smile, "strange to say. You +young ladies usually do! But--do you notice how kind the clerk of the +weather is?" + +"Delightful!" They went slowly down toward the wharf where the little +steamer was puffing lazily in the rising heat. + +"Your mother is well?" He asked the I question as solicitously as if he +were the family physician. + +"Quite well. The fact is," she added with a comic effort to seem +melancholy, "I'm afraid she'll be so well soon that she'll want to go +back to the States." + +"Ah, so you don't want to go just yet?" + +"Oh, I haven't half seen it all, you know! Still,--" she sighed gently +and looked out beyond the real horizon, "it will be nice to be home +again." + +Wooton brought a couple of steamer chairs and placed them on the +deck-space that was well in the shadow of the awning. The sun was +beginning to grow almost unpleasantly strong. Presently, with a minute +or so of wriggling away from the wharf, of backing and sidling, the +little steamer got proper headway and proceeded slowly on its way up the +river. The central portion of the town was soon passed; green +garden-spaces, and houses shut in by cherry-trees, gave way to low-lying +meadows and hills rising up in the distance. The perpetual +"shug-shug-shug" of the engines, and the hushed whispering of the river +as the steamer bows cut through the water were almost the only sounds +that broke the quiet. There was not a cloud in the sky. Swallows darted +arrow-like through the air. + +Wooton had pushed his hat back from his forehead and sat with +half-closed eyes. He was silent. Miss Ware, looking at him shyly, +wondered what he was thinking about; told herself once more that he was +the handsomest man she had ever seen, and then sent her clear gaze +riverward again. What Wooton was thinking at that moment was that he +would give many things if in his spirit there were still that simplicity +that would ask of life no more feverish pleasures than those he was now +enjoying--the pleasures of peace and quiet. To be able to sit thus, with +half-closed eyes, as it were, and let the wind of the world always blow +merely a gentle breath across one's face!--perhaps, after all, that was +the road to happiness. On the other hand, the thousand and one +experiences; missed, the opportunities wasted! Surely it was impossible +to appreciate the sweets of good had one not first tasted of the fruit +of knowledge of evil! But supposing one so got the taste of the bitter +apple into one's mouth that thereafter all things tasted bitter and the +good, especially, created only nausea? For that was his own state. Well, +in that case--he smiled to himself in his silence--there was nothing to +be done but enjoy, enjoy to think of the once easily reached contentment +as of a dream that is dead, and to strive so ceaselessly to blow the +embers of the fires of pleasure that they would at least keep +smouldering until all the vessel was ashes. The pleasures of the +moment--those were the things to seize! The moment was the thing to +enjoy; the morrow might not come. + +He turned to look at the girl beside him, who had by this time resigned +herself with something of quiet amusement to his silence, and now sat, +veilless, her lips slightly open to the breeze, her face unspeakably +fair-seeming with its rosy flush and its look of eager, expectant +enjoyment. He told himself that, as far as this moment at least went, it +left little to be desired; to sit beside so sweety a girl as Dorothy +Ware was surely pleasure enough. And then he thought somewhat grimly +that he himself was, unfortunately, impregnable to the infection of such +simple joys. + +"A penny!" he spoke softly, as if not to wake her too brusquely from a +rêverie. + +"Oh," she cried, with a little start, and, turning toward him, "they are +not worth so much, really! I was thinking of Mr. Lancaster. He used to +be so terribly ambitious; you know. Didn't you say you knew of him, in +town?" + +Wooton realized that he must needs be diplomatic. He called it +diplomacy; some persons might have rudely termed it mendacity. The two +are commonly confounded. + +"Yes," he replied, "some artists that I knew used to mention his name +occasionally." He paused an instant or two and then continued, +impassively, "I seem to remember hearing someone say that he was +engaged to some very rich girl." + +Dorothy Ware smiled sadly. "I supposed he would be," she said, simply. +She felt angry at herself for not feeling the news more deeply; yet it +hardly seemed to touch her at all; it was just as if she had heard that +one of her girl friends had married. She recalled Dick's impassioned, if +soberly worded, farewell; she remembered her own words; she wondered how +it was possible that the passing months could have changed her so that +now she seemed almost indifferent as to young Lancaster's fortunes or +misfortunes. + +Wooton's exclamation of "Ah, there's Schandau!" broke in upon the train +of her self-questioning thoughts. They walked over to the rail of the +boat together, and looked out to where the roofs of summer-villas and +hotels came peeping through the wooded banks of the river. As they stood +thus she felt his right hand just touching her own left. Somehow, the +blood came rushing into her face, and she took her hand away under +pretense of fastening up her veil. + +From the landing-stage they walked up to one of the hotels, where Wooton +ordered a light repast. Miss Ware was in excellent spirits. The beauty +of the day and the picturesqueness of the place, with its cozy villas +tucked away against the hillside, its leafy lanes and its mountain +shadows, filled her with the elixir of happiness. She chatted and +laughed incessantly. She asked Wooton if they couldn't go for a walk +into the woods. Walk, of course! No, she didn't want to drive; that was +too much like poking along the boulevards at home in the States. She +wanted to stroll up little foot-paths, into the heart of the wood, and +gather flowers, and have the birds whistle to her! Didn't he remember +that she was a country girl? She hadn't been in a real wood since she +left Lincolnville, and did he suppose she was going to enjoy this one by +halves? + +They walked out along the white, dusty _chaussee_ until it reached the +denser part of the hill-forest; then they struck off into a by-path. In +the shadow of the pines it was cool and refreshing; the scent of pines +filled the air. In the thick undergrowth there were occasional clumps of +blue-berries. Dorothy Ware picked them eagerly, laughing carelessly when +she stained her gloves with the juice. She plucked flowers in abundance, +and had Wooton carry them. They strayed heedlessly into the forest, +hardly noting whether they followed the path or not. They found +themselves, presently, in the lee of a huge rock that some long-silent +volcanic upheaval must once have thrust through the earth's shell. Close +to the earth this rock was narrower than at its summit; under its +sloping base there was a cavity all covered with moss. Overhead the +pines shut out the sky. + +A trifle tired with her walk, Miss Ware hailed the sight of this spot +with unfeigned gladness. Wooton spread his top-coat for her. Sitting +there, in the silence made voiceful by the rustling of the pines, +Wooton felt his heart beat faster than it had in years. She was pretty, +this girl; her voice was so caressing, and her presence and manner such +a charm! Young enough, too, to be taught many things. He watched her, as +she sat there, binding the flowers with the stems of long grasses, stray +curls playing about her cheeks, and her mouth snowing the slight down on +the upper lip, and, for an instant, there came to him a feeling of pity. +It is possible, perhaps, that the serpent occasionally pauses to admire +the pigeon's plumage. + +"I wonder," he began, softly, "whether you know Hugh McCulloch's 'Scent +o' Pines'? No? I think you will like it: + + "Love shall I liken thee unto the rose + That is so sweet? + Nay, since for a single day she grows, + Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows + Beneath our feet. + + "But to the perfume shed when forests nod, + When noonday shines; + That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod, + Eternal as the eternal peace of God-- + The scent of pines." + +He quoted the verses musically. He gave the words all the sincerity that +never found its way into his actions. He was one of those men who read a +thing better than the man that wrote it, because they know better the +art of simulating an emotion that he knows only how to feel. + +"A pretty idea," she admitted. They talked on ramblingly, lightly. +Overhead the sun was sinking into the west. A wind had sprung up from +the southwest, and in the north-west banks of clouds had gathered, thick +and threatening. Occasional flashes of lightning darted across the +cloud-space. A thunderstorm was evidently approaching, proceeding +stubbornly against the wind. The sun dipped behind the clouds, that rose +higher, presently over-casting all the heavens. Light gusts of wind went +puffing through the forest, scattering leaves and whirling twigs. + +Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the mountain storm broke over the +forest. Almost on the stroke of the first flash of lightning came the +thunder; then as if the clouds had been bulls charging in the arena, the +furious concussion was followed by the gush of the blood of heaven. The +rain came down in lances that struck the earth and bounded up again. +About the heads of the pines the wind roared and wailed. + +Coming upon them so suddenly, this riot of the elements made the two +young people sitting there in the lee of the rock, start to their feet +in dismay. A momentary gleam came into Wooton's eyes; whether it was +anger or joy only himself could have told. All about them the storm was +playing its tremendous tarantelle; the whole earth seemed to shake with +the repeated cannonades of the thunderous artillery of the heavens, and +through the darkness that had fallen the lightning sent such vivid +streaks of light as only made the succeeding gloom more dismal. It was +to tempt fate to venture out of the shelter the rock was giving. +Instinctively the girl shrank a little toward Wooton. She looked at him +appealingly. "It's dreadful," she said, "it--it hurts my eyes so! +And--the steamer! Mamma will think--" She stopped and covered her eyes +with her hands just as another flash seared its way into the forest. + +Wooton stood still, biting his underlip nervously. "I--I'm afraid it's +all my fault," he said, "I ought to have known it was getting late. And +these storms come up so quickly here in the mountains. We can't stir +from here. The storm is playing right around this wood. It means +waiting." He saw her shivering slightly. Bending down, he picked up his +top-coat, and put it gently about her shoulders. "You'll catch cold," he +warned, in a tender voice. + +She said nothing; but he could see gratitude in her eyes. Something +seemed to draw her toward him. At each glaring flash she shrank nearer +to him. He was looking tensely at her, his hand against a ledge of rock, +lest the gusts of wind should swing him out into the open. + +A crash that seemed to deafen all hearing for several instants; a flying +mass of splintered wood, torn from a suddenly stricken tree that fell +straight across the opening of their shelter; a light so white that it +hurt the eyes; and a trembling under foot that shook the very ground +these two storm-stayed ones stood. In the instant that followed the +crash Wooton felt the girl beside him lean heavily towards him; her eyes +were closed; she had fainted. Keeping her tightly in his arms, a queer +smile played about the corners of his mouth. "It was ordained!" His +thoughts uttered themselves almost unconsciously. Holding her so, with +the thunder still rolling its chariot wheels all about the reverberate +rocks, he kissed her. + +The wind veered about, sending the rain spatteringly into their faces. +Wooton unfastened the girl's veil, and took her hat off, very gently and +carefully. The rain splashed into her face, streaming over the brow and +the heavy lashes. + +Slowly the lashes lifted; her breast moved in a tremulous breath. As +comprehension of her position came to her awakening faculties she seemed +to shudder a little, to attempt withdrawal; then her eyes sought his, +and something found there seemed to soothe; she sighed again and sank +more closely into his embrace. And now fires went coursing through the +man; he pressed the girl's slight body to him fiercely, and kissing her +upon both eyes, whispered into the rosy shell of her ear, "Dorothy--I +love you!" + +The storm still played relentlessly about them. The rain came further +and further into the shelter-hole. But these two, lip to lip, and breath +to breath, gave no heed save to the promptings of their own emotions. +The elements might rend the rocks; but hearts they could not scar! The +girl felt herself irresistibly drawn by this man. Something in him had +always attracted her wonderfully--something she had never sought to +explain, scarcely heeding it for any length of time. But now that chance +had, as it seemed, thrown the magnet and the steel so closely together, +she felt this hidden, mysterious force more mightily than ever; it +seemed to her that in his kisses all the earth might melt away and +become nothing. Moments when she feared him, when he inspired her with +something not unlike anger, were succeeded by moments when she felt that +he had put an arrow into her heart which to withdraw meant unutterable +anguish; but which to bury more deeply meant the bitterest and sweetest +of the bitter-sweets of love. + +While the storm raged on and over the mountain, these two sat there +where whatsoever forest-gods of love there be had drawn their magic +circle. Reeling over the mountain top like a drunken man, the storm +passed on along the river-banks, waking up echoes in the Bastei, and +flying, presently, into Austria. Its muttered curses grew fainter and +fainter, gradually to be swallowed up altogether in the swaying of the +pines and the streaming of the rain. + +Then, presently, the pines began to lift their heads again, to shake +themselves as if in angry impatience, so that the rain dropped heavily, +and after the flying column of darkness, light came in once more from +the west. The sun was still above the horizon. Turning the rain-drops +into opals that glistened with the rain-bow hues, the sunshine streamed +over the forest. The afternoon, that had seen such a terrible battle of +the elements, was to die in peace, and light, and sweetness. + +They walked together to an eminence that was almost bared of trees. +Below them the forest swept in every direction like a field of dark +grass. The sun sent its last rays ricochetting over the waves of green +to where they stood, silently. Another instant, and the great bronzed +body was below the line of hills that made the horizon; only the +salmon-colored streaks that stained the lower strata of the western sky +remained to tell the tale of the sun-god's day. The air grew slightly +chill. + +With that first forerunner of the fall of night, there came into the +dream that Dorothy Ware had moved in, the chilling thought of--certain +facts. They had most assuredly missed the boat back to Dresden. Would +there be another when they reached Schandau? Could they get home by +carriage? + +Wooton could only shrug his shoulders in despair. He did not know. He +had counted only on the two hours--the hour of the departure from +Dresden and the return from Schandau; the storm had upset all his plans. +He was utterly at sea; he could say nothing until they reached Schandau +and made inquiries. Would she not let the thought drop until then. Was +there not the sweet present? + +As they walked through the forest, picking their way as best they could, +without a compass, and uncertain whether their direction was the right +one or the wrong one, night falling surely and swiftly, Wooton held his +arm about the young girl's waist, lest she stumble or slip. She looked +up at him smilingly and trustingly, yet tremulous at the behest of that +mysterious something that drove her to accept his caresses instead of +spurning them, that made her quiver at his touch, like a wind-kissed +aspen, and had her still the storm within her by giving it a storm to +fight. + +The darkness became denser. Their feet stumbled, and trees were hardly +distinguishable in the blackness. Had there been no other thought save +that considering their condition and surroundings, the girl, at least, +would have been trembling in fear and and uncertainty. As it was, each +loophole for a doubt was closed up by a kiss. + +A streak of white came suddenly in view, and they found themselves upon +the chaussee once more. But in which direction lay Schandau? Overhead the +the stars were shining, but neither of these two could use the night +heavens as a chart. + +Behind them came the dull rumble of wheels. Around a turn of the road +came carriage-lights. As they flashed close upon them, Wooton spoke to +the driver. + +"Sie fahren nach Schandau? nicht wahr?" + +The driver assented, without stopping. At the sound of the questioner's +voice, one of the occupants of the carriage had leaned window-ward. + +It was Miss Tremont, of Boston. In the glare of the lanterns she had +caught the faces plainly. + +She leaned back to the cushions, smiling slightly. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"It's dark as an inferno, and the stairs make a man's back ache," said +Laurence Stanley dismally to himself, as he climbed up to the Philistine +Club, "but," as he caught his breath again and consequently began to +feel more cheerful, "it's comfortable when you get there." + +Which was distinctly true. The furniture, the carpets, the hangings in +the spacious, rambling old rooms were all ancient and worn, but comfort +was as common to them all as was age. When you came in and slid down +into the shiny leather cavern of an arm chair you felt that you were at +home. At least, the men who were members did. They were a queer lot, +these members. Just what they had in common, no man might say; there +were artists, and writers, and musicians, and men-about-town. To +outsiders it seemed as if a certain sort of cleverness was the open +sesame to the membership rolls. In the matter of name, it was doubtless, +the effect of a stroke of humor that came to one of the founders. +Perhaps, for the very reason that most of the members were men of the +sort that one instinctively knew to be modern, and broad and untramelled +by dogmas or doctrines, the club had been named the Philistine Club. It +was no longer in its first youth. The walls were behung with the +portraits of former presidents--portraits that were all alike in their +effect of displaying an execrable sort of painting; it was evident that +in its selection of painters in ordinary the club had lived strictly up +to its name. The building that housed the club was an old one, on one of +the busiest business thoroughfares in the city. It was very convenient, +as the hard-working fellows among the members phrased it; in a minute +you could drop out of the rush and roar of the street-traffic into the +quiet gloom of the club, a lounge, and a book. + +Stanley had not been in the dark corner that he usually affected very +long before Vanstruther came in, his beard more pointed than ever. He +dropped limply into a chair, put his feet on one of the whist tables, +and said, as he lit a cigar: "Do you know this is about the time of year +that I realize that this town is a hole? I repeat it--a hole! A hole, +moreover, with the bottom out. I tell you there's not a soul in town +just now." + +"Most true," assented Stanley, "for neither you nor I have anything that +deserves the name." + +"Bosh! What I mean is that the place is a howling desert. Everybody is +still at the seashore, or the mountains, or the mineral springs. Newport +or the White Mountains, or Manitou, or Mackinac Island--there's where +every self-respecting person is at this time; not in this old sweat-box. +Why, it's a positive fact that there are no pretty girls at all on the +avenue these days; or, if there are any, you can tell at a glance that +they're from Podunk or Egypt." + +"In other words, there is a scarcity of 'Mrs. Tomnoddy received +yesterday,' and 'there will be a meeting of the Contributors' Club at +Mrs. Mausoleum's on Friday.' People who like to see their names in the +daily papers are out of town, so the society journalist waileth; is it +not so? It all comes down to bread and butter in this country. Just as +soon as we get away from bread and butter, we'll be greater idiots than +the others ever knew how to be." He waved a hand carelessly to some +remote space in which he inferred the continent of Europe. + +"That's all very well," rejoined the other, "you are always great on +magniloquent generalizations, but you never trouble about the concrete +things. I'm up a tree for copy, day in, day out, and I groan just once, +and what do you do? You moralize loftily. But do you help me with a real +bit of news? Not a bit of it." + +"Well, you know," Stanley said, lazily, "I'm the last man in the world +to come to for items of news concerning _le monde où l'on s'amuse_. But +if you want something a notch or two lower--say about the grade of +members of this club. Do you notice that Dante Belden's sofa is empty +today?" + +The journalist looked around to the other side of the room where an old +black leather lounge stood. It was the sofa that had long since become +the special property, in the eyes of the other members, of the artist, +Dante Gabriel Belden. He used to sleep there a great deal; and he used +to dream also. Occasionally he waxed talkative, and then there usually +grew up around him a circle of chairs. In such conclave, there passed +anecdotes that were delightful, criticisms that were incisive, and, in +total, nothing that was altogether stupid. + +"Where is he?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Where is who?" It was Marsboro, the _Chronicle's_ artist, that had +sauntered over. + +"Belden." + +"Married," said Stanley, laconically. + +"The devil!" exclaimed Vanstruther, putting his cigar down on the +window-ledge. + +"Not the same," was the quiet reply. "Although--" and Stanley paused to +smile--"it might be interesting to trace the relationship." + +"Oh, talk straight talk for a minute, can't you! I never knew the man +was thinking of it." + +"Nor did I. Well, we're all friends of his, and men don't think any less +of each other in a case of this kind, so I'll tell you the story. In my +opinion, it's a clear case of 'Tomlinson, of Berkley Square'. However, +that's open to individual interpretation. Belden has succumbed to a +lifelong passion for Henri Murger?" + +Marsboro swore audibly. "I don't see," he said, "that you're any plainer +than you were! What's all that got to do with the man's marriage?" + +"Everything! Everything--the way I look at it, at least. You know as +well as I do, how saturated he is with admiration for those delightful +escapades of the Quartier Latin that Murger makes such pretty stories +of. Well--he has acted up to them. The trouble is that this is not the +Quartier Latin, and that sort of thing is a trifle awkward when you make +a Christian ceremony of it. Here are the facts: Belden and myself were +coming home from the theatre a good while ago, when we came to a couple +that were decidedly in liquor. The man had been out to dinner, or a +dance or somewhere; he had his dress clothes on, and his white shirt was +still immaculate. His silk hat was on straight enough. His walk was the +only thing that betrayed him. He had his arm around the girl. When we +passed them, or began to, we could hear that the girl was crying. Her +boots were shabby and the skirt that trailed over them was badly fringed +at the bottom; above the waist she had on such sham finery and her face, +once pretty, had such a stale, hunted look, as told plainly to what +class she belonged. The class that is no class at all, and yet that has +always been. "I'm afraid of you--you've been drinking--let me go," she +was crying out. Belden stopped at once. The man put his arm more tightly +about her waist, and tried, drunkenly, to kiss her. The girl wrenched +herself almost away from him. She screamed out, "Let loose of me, you +beast!" Then she began to moan a little. That settled Belden. He walked +in front of the man in the white shirt-front, and told him to let the +woman go. The man said he would see him damned first. The words had +hardly tortured their stuttering way from the drunken man's mouth, +before Belden gave him a blow between the eyes that sent the fellow to +the sidewalk. He lay there cursing, drunkenly. Belden asked the woman, +quietly, where she lived. She looked at him and laughed. Laughed aloud! +I've seen most things, in my time, but that woman's laugh, and the look +on her face are about the most grewsome things I remember. She laughed, +you know as if someone had just told her that he would like to walk down +to hell with her. She laughed in that high, unnatural key, in which only +women of that sort can laugh; it was a laugh that had in it the scorn of +the Devil for his toy, man. There was in it a memory of a time when she +might have unblushingly answered that question of 'Where do you live?' +There was in it something like pity for this innocent who asked her that +question in good faith, or seemed to. Then she steadied herself against +a lamp-post, and said, with the whine coming back into her voice, 'What +d'ye want to know for?' 'I'll see that you get there all right,' said +Belden. The woman laughed again. She took her hand away from the +lamp-post, and began an effort to walk on without replying; but in an +instant she swayed, and, had not Belden jumped toward her and put an arm +about her shoulders, would have fallen. + +"She cursed feebly. 'Tell me where you live?' Belden persevered. His +voice was harsher and almost a command. She stammered out more sneering +evasions; then she flung out the name of the dismal street where she had +such residence as that sort ever has. What do you suppose that man +Belden did? Hailed a cab, put the woman in, and got in after her. Simply +shouted a hasty goodnight to me, and drove off. Well,--that's where it +all began." Stanley stopped, got up, and walked over to the wall, +pressing a button that showed there. + +"But you don't mean to say--" began one of the others, with wonder and +incredulity in his tone. + +"Oh, yes, I do, though. Russell, take the orders, will you? What'll you +men drink--or smoke? I've been talking, and my throat's dry." + +The darky waited patiently until the several orders had been given. Then +he glided away as noiselessly as he had come. + +"There is really where the story, as far as I know it, ends," Stanley +went on, after he had cooled his throat a little, "The other end of it +came to me from Belden the other day. 'Got anything to do Thursday +evening?' he asked me. We had been talking of dry-point etching. I told +him I thought not. 'Then will you help me jump off?' he went on. Then +the whole scene of that winter-night flashed back to me in a sort of +wave. I felt, before he answered my question for further information, +what his answer would be, 'Yes,' he said, 'it's the same girl. I know +her better than I did. Her's is a sad case; very sad. I'm lifting her up +out of it.' I didn't say anything, he hadn't asked my opinion. As +between man and man there was nothing for me to cavil at; I was invited +to a friend's wedding, that was all. I went. I was the only other person +present, barring the old German minister that Belden fished out from +some dark corner. It was the queerest proceeding! Belden had brought the +girl up into a righteous neighborhood some months ago, it seemed; had +been paying her way; the neighbors thought she was a person of some +means, I suppose. He introduced me to her on the morning of his +wedding-day; I think she remembered me, although she has caught manners +enough from Belden or her past to conceal what she felt. And so--they +were married." + +"My God!" groaned Vanstruther, "what an awful thing to do! Lifting her +up out of it, does he say? No! He's bringing himself down to it! That's +what it always ends in. Always. Oh, I've known cases! Every man thinks +he is going to succeed where the others have failed. For they have +failed, there is no doubt about that! Look at the case of Gripler, the +Elevated magnate!--he did that sort of thing, and the world says and +does the same old thing it has always done--sneers a little, and cuts +her! He is having the most magnificent house in all Gotham built for +himself, I understand, and they are going to move there, but do you +suppose for a minute they will ever get into the circle of the elect? +Not in a thousand years! Don't misunderstand me: I'm not considering +merely the society of the 'society column,' I'm thinking of society at +large, the entire human body, the mass of individuals scripturally +enveloped in the phrase 'thy neighbor.' The taint never fades; a surface +gloss may hide the spot, but some day it blazons itself to the world +again in all it's unpleasantness. Take this case of our friend Belden. +We, who sit here, are all men who know the world we live in; we will +treat Belden himself as we have always done. We will even argue, in that +exaggerated spirit of broadness that might better be called laxness, +typical of our time, that the man has done a braver thing than ourselves +had courage for had the temptation come to us. We will acknowledge that +his motive was a good one. He honestly believes that he will educate the +girl into the higher life. He thinks the past can be sunk into the pit +of forgetfulness; but there is no pit deep enough to hide the past. We +will say that he is putting into action what the rest of the radicals +continually vapor about; the equal consideration, in matters of +morality, of man and woman. He is remembering that a man, we argue, +should in strict ethics demand of a woman no more than himself can +bring. But, mark my words, the centuries have been wiser than we knew. +It is ordained that the man who shall take to wife a woman that has what +the world meaningly call 'a past,' shall see the ghost of that past +shaking the piece of his house for ever and ever." + +There was silence for a few moments. Beyond the curtains, someone came +in and threw himself down on the sofa. Marsboro, looking vaguely out at +window, said, somewhat irrelevantly, "I suppose that will be the end +of the Sunday evening seances?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Stanley. "If I know anything about Belden, I +shall not be surprised if he asks us all up there again one of these +evenings. He has lived so long in Free-and-easy-dom that no thought of +what people call 'the proprieties' will ever touch him." + +"Heigh!" Vanstruther stretched himself reflectively. "It's a queer life +a man leads, a queer life! God send us all easy consciences!" + +"Don't be pathetic!" Stanley frowned. "The life is generally of our own +choosing, and if we play the game we should pay the forfeits. Besides +which, it is one of the few things I believe in, that the man who has +tasted of sin, and in whose mouth the bitters of revulsion have +corroded, is the only one who can ever safely be called good. It is +different with a woman. If once she tastes--there's an end of her! Oh, I +know very well that we never think this way at first. At first--when we +are very young--we think there is nothing in the world so delightful as +being for ever and ever as white as the driven snow; then Life sends his +card, we make his acquaintance, he introduces us to some of his fastest +friends, and we, h'm, begin to change our views a little. In accordance +with the faint soiling that is gradually covering up the snowy hues of +our being, the strictness of our opinions on the matter of whiteness +relaxes notably. Arm in arm with Life, we step slowly down the ladder. +Then, if we are in luck, there is a reaction, and we go up again--so +far!--only so far, and never any further; if we are particularly fond of +Life, we are likely to get very far down indeed; and the end is that +Life bids us farewell of his own accord. That is the history of a modern +man of the world." + +"I believe you are right," said Marsboro, "I know, in my own case at +least, that I can remember distinctly how beautiful my young ideal was. +But Life is jealous of ideals; he shatters them with a single whiff of +experience. And it happened as you just now said: as I descended, my +ideals descended. I only hope"--he sighed, half in jest, half in +earnest,--"that I will begin the upward climb and succeed in winning +up." + +"Ah," assented Stanley, "that is always the interesting problem. Which +it will be: the elevator with the index pointing to 'Up' or the one +destined 'Down.' You needn't look so curiously at me, Van, I know what +you are wondering. Well you can rest easy in the assurance I give you: +the nether slopes are beckoning to me. I became aware of it long ago, +reconciled moreover. I live merely for the moment. My senses must amuse +me until there is nothing left of them; that is all. But look here: +don't think there is no reverse to the medal. I have, fate knows, my +moments of being horrified at myself. It is, I presume, at the times +when the ghost of my conscience comes to ask why it was murdered." He +appeared to be concentrating all his attention on the ashes at the end +of his cigarette. "Why, don't you know that there is no longer any +meaning for me in any of those words: honor, and truth, and virtue? I +have no standards, except my digestion, and my nerves. I don't mistreat +my wife simply because it would come back to me in a thousand little +annoyances that would grate on my nerves." He sipped slowly at the glass +by his side. "And I'm not worse than some other men!" + +"True. All of which is a pity. But we've got off the subject. The +villainy of ourselves is too patent a proposition. The question is, by +what right we continue to expect of the women we marry that which they +dare not expect of us. + +"Are you the mouthpiece of the New Woman? Well, the Creator made man +king, and the laws of physiology cannot be twisted to suit the New +Woman. For it is, in essentials, unfortunately a question of +physiological consequences. Wherefore, suppose we stop the argument. +This is not a medical congress!" + +Stanley went over to the desk where the periodicals lay, and picking one +up, began, with a cigarette in his mouth, to let his eyes rest on the +printed pages. + +"Will you go, if you're asked?" Marsboro said, presently. + +"I?" Stanley looked up carelessly. "Certainly. As far as I'm concerned +a man may marry the devil and all his angels. But I wouldn't take my +wife or my sister." + +Vanstruther laughed dryly. "If women were to apply the tit-for-tat +principle," he said, "what terribly small visiting lists most of us +fellows would have!" + +But Stanley disdained further discussion, and the other men got up to +go. When they had passed beyond the curtains Stanley laid down the paper +he had been reading, and smiled to himself. He was wondering why he had +been led into this waste of breath. A man's life was a man's life, and +what was the use of cavilling at facts! The only thing to do was to take +life lightly and to let nothing matter. Also, one must amuse oneself! If +the manner of the amusement was distasteful or hurtful to others, +why--so much the worse for the others! + +So musing, Laurence Stanley passed into a light slumber, and dreamed of +impossible virtues. + +But Dick Lancaster, who, from the sofa beyond the curtains, had heard +all of this conversation, did not dream of pleasant things that night. +In fact, he spent a white night. Like a flood the horrors of +self-revelation had come upon him at sound of those arguments and +dissections; he saw himself as he was, compared with what he had been; +he shuddered and shivered in the grip of remorse. + +In the white light of shame he saw whither the wish to taste of life had +led him; he realized that something of that hopeless corruption that +Stanley had spoken of was already etched into his conscience. Oh, the +terrible temptation of all those shibboleths, that told us that we must +live while we may! He felt, now that he had seen how deep was the abyss +below him, that his feet were long since on the decline, and that from a +shy attempt at worldliness he had gone on to what, to his suddenly +re-awakened conscience, constituted dissoluteness. + +To the man of the world, perhaps, his slight defections from the +puritanic code would have seemed ridiculously vague. But, he repeated to +himself with quickened anguish, if he began to consider things from the +standpoint of the world, he was utterly lost; he would soon be like +those others. + +He got up and opened the window of his bed-room. Below him was the hum +of the cable; a dense mist obscured the electric lights, and the town +seemed reeking with a white sweat. He felt as if he were a prisoner. He +began to feel a loathing for this town that had made him dispise himself +so much. The roar of it sounded like a wild animal's. + +Then a breeze came and swept the mist away, and left the streets shining +with silvery moisture. Lights crept out of the darkness, and the veil +passed from the stars. The wild animal seemed to be smiling. But the +watcher at the window merely shrank back a little, closing the window. +Fascinating, as a serpent; poisonous as a cobra! The glitter and glamour +of society; the devil-may-care fascinations of Bohemia; they had lured +him to such agony as this! + +Such agony? What, you ask, had this young man to be in agony about? He +was a very nice young man--all the world would have told you that! Ah, +but was there never a moment in your lives, my dear fellow-sinners--you +men and women of the world--when it came to your conscience like a +sword-thrust, that the beautiful bloom of your youth and innocence was +gone from you forever and that ever afterward there would be a bitter +memory or a bitterer forgetfulness? And was that not agony? Ah, we all +hold the masks up before our faces, but sometimes our arms tire, and +they slip down, and then how haggard we look! Perhaps, if we had +listened to our consciences when they were quicker, we would not have +those lines of care upon our faces now. You say you have a complexion +and a conscience as clear as the dew? Ah, well, then I am not addressing +you, of course. But how about your neighbors? Ah, you admit--? Well, +then we will each of us moralize about our neighbor. It is so much +pleasanter, so much more diverting! + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +With the coming of morning, Lancaster shook himself out of his painful +rêveries, and decided that he must escape from this metropolitan prison, +if for ever so short a time. He would go out into the country, home. He +would go where the air was pure, and all life was not tainted. He +walked to a telegraph office and sent a dispatch to his mother, telling +of his coming. + +Then he went for a walk in the park. Now that he had made up his mind to +get out of this choking dungeon for a while he felt suddenly buoyant, +refreshed. He tried to forget Stanley and the Imperial Theatre, and all +other unpleasant memories of that sort. Some of the park policemen +concluded that this was a young man who was feeling very cheerful +indeed--else, why such fervid whistling? + +When he got to his studio he found some people waiting for him. They had +some commercial work for him to do. He shook his head at all of them. + +"I'm going out of town for a week," he said, "and I can do nothing until +I return. If this is a case of 'rush' you'll have to take it somewhere +else." + +He turned the key in the door with a wonderful feeling of elation, and +the pinning of the small explanatory notice on his door almost made him +laugh aloud. He thought of the joy that a jail bird must feel when he +sees the gates opening to let him into the free world. No more elevated +roads, no more cable cars, no more clanging of wheels over granite, no +more deafening shouts of newsboys; no more tortuous windings through +streets crowded with hurrying barbarians; no more passing the +bewildering glances of countless handsome women; no more--town! + +There was a train in half an hour. He bought his ticket and strolled up +and down the platform. He wondered how the dear old village would look. +He had been away only a little over a year, and yet, how much had +happened in that short time! Then he smiled, thinking of the intangible +nature of those happenings. There was nothing,--nothing that would make +as much as a paragraph in the daily paper. Yet how it had changed him, +this subtle flow of soul-searing circumstances! It was of such curious +woof that modern life was made; so rich in things that in themselves +were dismally commonplace and matters of course, and yet in total +exerted such strong influences; so rich, too, in crime and casuality, +that, though served up as daily dishes, yet seemed always far and +outside of ourselves! + +The novel he purchased to while away the hours between the town and +Lincolnville confirmed his thoughts in this direction. It was one of the +modern pictures of "life as it is." There was nothing of romance, hardly +any action; it was nearly all introspection and contemplations of the +complexity of modern existence. The story bored him I immensely, and yet +he felt that it was a voice of the time. It was hard to invest today +with romance. + +Was it, he wondered, a real difference, or was it merely the difference +in the point of view? Perhaps there was still romance abroad, but our +minds had become too analytical to see the picture of it?--too much +engaged in observing the quality of the paint? + +His mother was waiting for him at the station. It was pleasant to see +how proud she was of this tall young son of hers, and how wistfully she +looked deep into his eyes. "You're looking pale, Dick," she said, +holding him at the stretch of her arms. "And your eyes look like they +needed sleep." + +Dick gave a little forced laugh and patted his mother's hand. + +"Yes, I guess you're right mother. I need a little fresh air and a +rest." + +"Ah, you shall have both, my boy. And now tell me all you've been doing +up there in that big place." + +They walked down to the little house wherein Dick had first seen the +light of this world. He looked taller than ever beside the little woman +who kept looking him over so wistfully. He told her many things, but he +felt that he was talking to her in a language that was rusty on his +lips, the language of the country, of simplicity and truth. The language +of the world, in which his tongue was now glib, would be so full of +mysteries to this sweet mother of his that he must needs eschew it for +the nonce. It was a small thing, but he felt it as an evidence of the +changes that had been wrought in him. + +He told her of his work, of his career. Of the _Torch_, of his +subsequent renting of a studio, and free-lance life. Yes, he was making +money. He was independent; he had his own hours; work came to him so +readily that he was in a position to refuse such as pleased him least. +But, he sighed, it was all in black-and-white, so far. Paint loomed up, +as before, merely as a golden dream. In illustrating and decorating, +using black-and-white mediums, that _was_ where the money lay, and he +supposed he would have to stick to that for a time. But he was saving +money for a trip abroad. + +They talked on and on until nearly midnight. He asked after some of his +old acquaintances; he listened patiently to his mother's gentle gossip +and tried to feel interested. + +"The Wares are back," explained Mrs. Lancaster. + +"Ah," Dick looked up quickly. "Does Dorothy look well?" + +"I don't think so, though I'm bound I hadn't the courage to tell her so +to her face. She looks just like you do, Dick,--kinder fagged out." + +"Yes. They say traveling is hard work. And her mother?" + +"Oh, she's about the same as usual. Looks stouter, maybe." + +"I must get over and call there, before I get back to town," he said, +reflectively. "Well, mother, I suppose I'm keeping you up beyond your +regular time. I'm a trifle tired, too. So goodnight." + +He kissed her and passed up stairs to his old room. There were the same +pictures that he had decorated the walls with a few years ago. He +smiled; they were, fortunately, very crude compared to the work he was +doing now. When all was dark, he lay awake for a long time, drinking in +the deep silence of the place. He could hear the chirrup of the +crickets over in the meadows, and from far over the western hills came +the deep boom of a locomotive's whistle. The incessant roar of the town, +in which even the shrillest of individual noises are swallowed into one +huge conglomerate, was utterly gone. He could hear the wind slightly +swaying the branches; the deep blue of the star-spotted sky was full of +a caressing silence. The peace of it all soothed him, and ushered him +into deep, refreshing sleep. + +The sun touched him early in the morning, and seeing the beauty of the +dawning day, he dressed quickly and went quietly down stairs and out, +for a stroll about the dear old village. He passed the familiar houses, +smiling to himself. He thought of all the quaint and queer characters in +a little place of this sort. Presently he left the region of houses and +passed into the woods that were beginning to blush at the approach of +their snow-clad bridegroom. The picture of the sun rising over the +fringe of trees, gilding the browned leaves with a burnish that blazed +and sparkled, filled him with artistic delight. He said to himself that +after he had been abroad, and after his hand was grown cunning in +colors, he would ask for no better subject than these October woods of +the West. He sat down on the log of a tree and watched the golden, +crescent lamp of day. He had forgotten the town utterly, for the moment, +and for the moment he was happy. + +But the sun's progress warned him that it was time to start back to the +house. With swinging stride he passed over the highway, over the slopes +that led to the village. Suddenly he heard his named called, and +turning, saw a tall figure hastening toward him. + +It was Mr. Fairly, the minister. + +"My dear Dick," he said, shaking the young man's hand, "I am rejoiced to +see you. We have heard of you, of course; we have heard of you. But that +is not seeing you. Let me look at you!" + +Dick smiled. "I've grown, I believe." + +"Yes. In stature and wisdom, I dare say. But--" He slipped his arm +within Dick's, and walked with him silently for a few minutes. "The +town," he went on, "has a brand of its own, and all that live there, +wear it." They passed a boy going to school. "Look at that youngster. +Isn't he bright-eyed!" A farm wagon drove by, the farmer and his wife +sitting side by side on the springless seat. "Did you get the sparkle of +their faces?" said the minister. "Their skins were tanned and rough, no +doubt, but their eyes were clear. Now, Dick, your eyes have been reading +many pages of the Book of Knowledge and they are tired. I know, my boy, +I know. We buzz about the electric arc-light till we singe our wings, +and then, perhaps, we are wiser. Have you been singeing your's?" + +"Not enough, I'm afraid. The fascination is still there. Sometimes it is +the fascination of danger, sometimes of repulsion; but it is always +fascination." + +"Ah, so you have got to the repulsion!" + +The minister spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "And you no longer +think the world is all beautiful, and sometimes you wonder whether +virtue is a dream or a reality? I know, I know! And sometimes you wish +you were blind again, as once you were; and you want to wipe away the +taste of the fruit of knowledge?" + +Dick said nothing. + +"Those who chose the world as their arena," the minister went on, "must +suffer the world's jars and jeers. The world is a magnet that draws all +the men of courage; it sucks their talents and their virtues and spews +them forth, as often as not into the waters of oblivion. To swim ashore +needs wonderful strength! Here in the calmer waters we are but tame +fellows; we miss most of the prizes, but, we also miss the dangers. +Perhaps, some day, Dick, you'll come back to us again?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. But I don't think so. That other taste is +bitter, perhaps, but it holds one captive. And I'm changed, you see; the +old things that delighted me once are stale, and I need the perpetual +excitation of the town's unceasing changes. The town is a juggernaut +with prismatic wheels." + +They had nearly reached the minister's house. + +"I haven't preached to you, have I Dick?" + +Dick looked at the minister quickly. There was a sort of wistfulness +behind the eye-glasses, and a half smile beneath the waving mustache. + +"No. I wish you would!" + +"Ah, Dick, I can't! I'm not competent. You're in one world, and I'm in +another. Too many make the mistake that they can live in the valleys and +yet tell the mountaineers how to climb. But, Dick, whatever you do, keep +your self-respect! In this complex time of ours, circumstances and +comparisons alter nearly everything, and one sometimes wonders whether +b-a-d does not, after all, spell good; but self-respect should stand +against all confusions! Goodbye, Dick. Remember we're all fond of you! I +go to a convention in one of the neighboring towns tonight, and I won't +see you again before you go back. Goodbye!" + +Dick carried the picture of the kindly, military-looking old face with +him for many minutes. If there were more such ministers! He recalled +some of the pale, cold clergymen he had met at various houses in town, +and remembered how repellant their naughty assumption of superiority has +been to him. He was still musing over his dear old friend's counsel, +when he noticed that he was approaching the house where the Wares lived. +There was the veranda, blood red with it's creeper-clothing, and full of +memories for him. + +He began to walk slowly as he drew nearer. He was thinking of the last +time that he had seen Dorothy Ware. He recalled, with a queer smile, her +parting words: 'Goodbye, Dick, be good!' He realized that the Dick of +that day and the Dick of today were two very differing persons. And +she, too, doubtless, would no longer be the Dorothy Ware he once had +known. Something of fierce hate toward the world and fate came to him as +he thought of the way of human plans and planning were truthlessly +canceled by the decrees of change. Had he been good? Bah, the thought of +it made him sneer. If these memories were not to be driven away he would +presently settle down into determined, desperate melancolia. + +The conflict, in this man, was always between the intrinsic good and the +veneer of vice that the world puts on. In most men the veneer chokes +everything else. When those men read this, if they ever do, they will +wonder why in the world this young man was torturing himself with +fancies? But the men whose outer veneer has not yet choked the soul will +remember and understand. + +Dorothy Ware was on the veranda, gathering some of the vine's dead +leaves when Dick's step sounded on the wooden sidewalk. As he saw her, +his face lit up. He never noticed that the flush on her face was of +another sort. + +She smiled at him. + +"How do you do, Dick? Come up and shake hands." + +Then they stood and looked at each other silently for an instant. "We're +both a little older," said Dick. "But I suppose we have so much to talk +about that we'll have to make this a very passing meeting. Besides, +mother's waiting for me; I've been for a morning walk, you see. You'll +be at the great and only Fair, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes; I've almost forgotten how it looks. I do hope they will have a +fine day for it." + +Miss Ware looked after him wistfully. She thought of the thunderstorm in +the forest at Schandau, and sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The first day of the County Fair was hardly eventful. The farmers were +busy bringing in their exhibits of stock and produce, and arranging them +properly for the inspection of the judges. It is all merely by way of +preparation for the big day, the day on which the trotting and running +races take place. + +Fortunately, it was a cloudless day. Shortly after sunrise clouds of +dust began to fill the air. All the roads leading fairwards are filled +all morning with every sort and condition of vehicle. Farmers come from +the farthest bounderies of the county, bringing their families; the +young men bringing their "best girls." This volume of traffic soon +reduces the road-bed to a fine, powdery dust, that rises, mist-like and +obscures the face of the earth and sky. + +Soon the presence of the Fair is felt in the village itself, and the +"square" resounds to the cries of the omnibus drivers soliciting fares. +"All aboard, now, for the Fair Grounds, only ten cents!" So runs the +invitation yelled from half a dozen lusty, though dusty throats. For +this occasion every livery stable in the place brings out all the +ramshackle conveyances it has. Everything on wheels is pressed into +service. Like Christmas, the great day of the County Fair, comes but +once a year, and must be made the most of. Few people are going to walk +on so dusty a day as this, so the 'bus drivers ply up and down from +seven in the morning until dusk sets in, and the last home-stragglers +have left the grounds. + +At noon, the highway was become a very sea of dust. Dick had walked down +to the "square," and was looking about for a conveyance of some sort +when a carriage came up with Mrs. Ware and her daughter inside. Dorothy +spoke to the coachman, and then waved a daintily gloved hand at Dick. +"Delighted!" said that young man, getting in quickly, and adding, in +Mrs. Ware's direction, "This is awfully kind in you!" In that course of +the drive there was as little said as possible, because each sentence +meant a mouthful of dust. + +As they passed through the gates at last, Dick smiled at the dear +familiar sight that yet seemed something strange. There was the +half-mile track in the open meadow; the ridiculously small grand-stand +perched against the western horizon, the acres of sloping ground, shaded +by lofty oaks, and covered by a mass of picturesquely rural humanity. +Against the inclosing fence the countless stalls, filled with the show +stock of the county. The crowd was surging around the track, the various +refreshment booths, the merry-go-rounds, and the spaces where the +"fakirs" held forth. The grand-stand was filled to running over. The air +was resonant with laughter; with the appeals of the "fakirs," with the +neighing of the hundreds of horses hitched in every part of the field. + +The driver halted his horses as close as possible to get to the centre +of attraction, the race-track. Then, the horses turning restive, Mrs. +Ware decided to get out and go over to the dairy-booth, and see some of +her friends from the farms. Dorothy and Dick accompanied her, but had +soon exhausted the attractions of the booth. Mrs. Ware guessed she +wouldn't go with them. They started out into the motley crew of +sightseers together. + +As they approached the grand-stand again, their ears were assailed with +by a number of quaint and characteristic cries. "Right down this way, +now, and see the man with the iron jaw! Free exhibition inside every +minute! Walk up, walk up, and see the ring-tailed monkey eat his own +tail!" The most laughable part of this exuberant invitation was that it +had nothing to do with a circus or a dime-museum, it was merely the +vocal hall-mark of an ambitious seller of lemonade and candy. It was one +of the tricks of the trade. It caught the fancy of the countryman. It +sounded well. + +There were other cries, such as: "Here's your chance. Ten shots for a +nickel," and "the stick you ring is the stick you gits!" "This way for +the great panoramy of Gettysburg, just from Chicago!" "Pink lemo, here, +five a glass; peanuts, popcorn!" "The only Californy fruit on the +grounds here!" "Ten cents admits you to the quarter-stretch--don't crowd +the steps, move on, keep a-moving!" Babel was come again. + +The farm-people themselves were a healthy, cheering sight. They were all +bent on as much wholesome enjoyment as was possible. It looked as if +every man, woman and child in the county was there. They had, most of +them, come for the day, eating their meals in their vehicles, or under +the trees on the green sward. The meadow was a blaze of color. The +dresses of the women, with the color-note in them exaggerated in rustic +love of brightness, gave the scene a touch of picturesqueness. The white +tents of the various booths, the greenleaf trees, the glaring yellow sun +over head, and the dust-white track stretching out in the gray mist of +heat and dust made a picture of cheer and warmth. + +A cheering from the grand-stand. A trotting heat is being run, and the +horses have been around for the first time. It is not like the big +circuit meeting, this, and Dick thought with something of gladness that +the absence of a betting-shed left the scene an unalloyed charm. + +Everybody thinks himself competent to speak of the merits of the horses. +"He ain't got that sorrel bitted right," declares one authority. "He'll +push the bay mare so she'll break on the turn; there--watch her--what 'd +I tell you!" triumphs another. A third utters the disgusted sentiment +that "Dandy Dan 'd win ef he wuz driv right." And so on. Dick and +Dorothy smile at each other as they listen. There is nothing pleasanter +in the world than a silent jest as jointure. + +Then there comes a rush of dust up the track, a clatter of hoofs over +the "stretch," a whirl of wheels, cheers from the crowd and the heat is +lost and won. + +And so the day wears on, and the program dwindles. There are several +trotting races, a pacing event, a running race, and some bicycle +exhibitions. The day is to be topped off with a balloon ascent, the +balloonist, a woman, being billed to descend, afterward, by way of a +parachute. + +But to neither of these two spectators did the events of the program +seem the most interesting of the displays. It was the country people +themselves that had the most of quaint charms. Miss Dorothy Ware was +become so saturated with the polish of cosmopolitan views, and the +manners caught from extensive travel, that these scenes, once so +familiar and natural, now struck her as very strange and extraordinary. +In Dick the air of the metropolis had so keyed him up to the quick, +unwholesome pleasures of the urban mob that this breath of country +holiday filled him with a pleasant sense of rest. Never again could he +be as these were, but he could, in a far-off, dreamy way, still +appreciate their primitive emotions. They were all so ingenious, so +openly joyful, so gayly bent on having a good time, these country folk! +They strolled about in groups of young folk, or in couples, or in family +parties. She casts a wistful look toward a fruit-stand; he must go +promptly and buy her something. He bargains closely; he is mindful, +doubtless, of the fact that there is still the yearning for the +merry-go-round, the phonograph, and the panorama, to be appeased. + +In the West the sun was taking on the dull red tone of shining, beaten +bronze. The haze of dust began to lift, mist-wise, up against the +shadowgirt horizon. From thousands of lips there presently issues a long +drawn "Ah-h!" and the unwieldy mass of a balloon is seen to rise up over +the meadow. A damsel in startling, grass-green tights floats in mid-air +upheld by the resisting parachute, and drops earthward to the safe +seclusion of a neighboring pasture. Vehicles are unhitched; there are +some moments of wild shouting and maneuvering, and then the stream of +humanity and horses pours out into the dusty road, and in a little while +the fair grounds are merely a place for the ghosts of the things that +were. + +When it was all over, when he had said goodbye to Miss Ware and her +mother, a sense of loneliness came over Dick, and he sank into one of +those moody states that nowadays invariably meant torment. He could not +remember to have talked to Dorothy of anything save commonplace and +obvious things, and yet with every glance of her eye, every tone of her +voice, the old glamour that he had felt aforetime had come upon him +again. She was no longer the same, he had observed so much; the girlish +exuberance and forth-rightness had given way to a more subdued manner, a +fine, but somewhat colorless polish. Something, too, of the sparkle +seemed to have gone from her; her smile had much of sadness. It flashed +over him that never once had either of them referred to the words with +which they once had parted. Had it been his fault, or hers? Once, she +had let him hope, had she not? He remembered the dead words, but he +smiled at the dim tone that yon whole picture took in his memory. It was +as if it had all happened to someone else. Well,--perhaps it had; +certainly he was separated by leagues of too well remembered things from +that other self, the self that had said to a girl, once, "Dorothy, will +you wish me luck?" + +But in spite of the changes in them both, Dick felt that her charm for +him was potent with a new fervor. He could not define it; it seemed a +halo that surrounded her, in his eyes at least. The sardonic recesses of +his memory flashed to him the echo of his foolish words to Mrs. Stewart, +at the opera. "Oh, damn the past," he muttered, hotly. He would begin +all over again, he would atone for those pretty steps aside; he would +pin his faith to the banner of his love for Dorothy. For he felt that he +did love this girl. He longed for her; she seemed to personify a harbor +of refuge, a comfort; he felt that if he could go to her, and tell her +everything, and feel her hand upon his forehead, her smile, and the +touch of her hand would wipe away all the ghostly cobwebs of his memory, +of his past, and leave him looking futureward with stern resolves for +white, and happy, wholesome days. + +Surely it would be madly foolish to let a Past spoil a Future! + +He saw the grin upon the face of Sophistry, and set his lips. No, there +were no excusing circumstances; he had gone the way of the world, +because that way was easy and pleasant. Only his weakness was to blame. + +"She is as far above me," he said, before he went to sleep that night, +"as the stars. But--we always want the stars!" + +As for Miss Ware, it need only be chronicled that she was very quiet and +abstracted that evening, so that her mother was prompted to remark that +"Lincolnville don't appear to suit you powerful well, Dorothy." As a +matter of fact, the girl was afar off, in thought, and her eyes were +bright with tears because of the things she was remembering. + +She had loved Dick, on a time. And to realize that never, in all time, +would her conscience permit her to satisfy that love--that was bitter, +very bitter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winter was coming over the town. The gripmen of the cable cars were +muffled to their noses in heavy buffalo coats, and the pedestrians were +heralded by the white steam that testified to the frostiness of the air. +The newspaper boys performed "break downs" on the corners for the mere +warmth thereof, and the beggars and tramps presented a more blue-nosed, +frost-bitten appearance than usual. + +Everybody was in town once more. The hills, the seaside and the watering +places had all given up their summer captives, and the metropolis held +them all. The Tremonts were returned from Europe. The opera season, +promising better entertainment than ever, had lured many of the +wealthier folk from the country, for the winter at least. Among these +were the Wares. It was a fashion steadily increasing in favor, this of +living in town the winter over, and retiring to rusticity for the dog +days. With the Wares it was not yet become a fashion; it was merely in +accordance with Dorothy's wish to hear the opera and the concert season +that the move townward was made. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart's little "evenings" were more popular than +ever. There seemed a positive danger that she would become known as the +possessor of a "salon" and have a society reporter describe a +representative gathering of her satellites. On this particular evening +the carriages drove up to the house and drove off again without +intermission all the evening. People had a habit of coming there before +the theatre, or after; of staying ten minutes or two hours, just as +their fancy, or Mrs. Stewart might dictate. + +One of the latest to arrive was Dick Lancaster. It was his first +appearance there that season. He had only come because he had heard that +Dorothy Ware was to be there. He hardly looked as well as usual. He had +been working very hard, making up for the time lost in the country. His +cheek-bones stood out a trifle prominently, and his eyes were tired. + +Mrs. Stewart proffered him the tips of her fingers, shaking her head at +him with mockery of a frown. + +"You ought to be introduced to me again," she said. + +"I've been tremendously busy." + +"Ah, you plagiarist! The sins that the word 'busy' is made to cover! +People escape debts, and calls, and engagements, nowadays, by simply +flourishing the magic word 'busy.'" She broke off, and began to look at +him steadily over the top of her fan. Then she went on in a very low +voice, "And have you found out how one's youth is lost in town?" + +"You're cruel," he murmured. + +"Not I. But there, go in and talk to the others. There are lots of +people you haven't met before, and there are some pretty girls. Go in, +and enjoy yourself if you can. And perhaps, if you find time, and I +think of it again, I shall ask you to introduce me to your new self. + +"I've never been introduced to that new self yet, _egomet ipse_." + +He found two arch-enemies, Mrs. Tremont and Miss Leigh, conversing with +cheerless enthusiasm. "I heard of you a good deal while I was abroad," +said Mrs. Tremont, after greetings had been exchanged. Dick bowed, and +looked a question. + +"It was Mr. Wooton mentioned you," Mrs. Tremont went on, pompously. "We +met in Germany. A charming man!" She said it with the air of one +conferring a knighthood. + +Dick was wondering how many times a day a woman like this one managed to +be sincere. Then he said, "Miss Tremont is well, I trust?" + +"Yes. She's here somewhere." She lifted her lorgnette deliberately and +gazed toward the piano, "Who is that playing?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Stewart herself," said Miss Leigh. + +"Dear me! I didn't know she played. I must go and congratulate her." She +moved off with severe dignity. + +Miss Leigh laughed as she watched the expression on Dick's face. + +"Do you believe in heredity?" he asked. + +"Yes, and no. Not in this case, if that's what you mean. Miss Tremont is +far too clever. Do you know," she went on, with slow distinctness, "that +you are changed." + +He made a movement of impatience. "I have heard nothing but that all +evening," he declared. "Simply because the town had put it's brand on +me, whether I wished it or no, am I to be forever upbraided?" There was +both petulence and pathos in his voice. + +"H'm," she said, "you still have all your old audacity. But I don't +think it is anything but genuine interest in you that prompts such +remarks." + +"You once said something about being genuine. You said it was pathetic. +Now I know why that is so true. The pathos comes after one has lost the +genuineness." + +"Yes, but when one does nothing but think and think, and brood and +brood, the pathos turns bathos. The thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Is that why there is so much flippancy?" + +"No doubt. Tragedy evokes flippancy and comedy starts tears." + +"You are a very fountain of worldly paradoxes. Where do you get them all +from?" + +"From my enemies. I love my enemies, you know, for what I can deprive +them of. That's right, leave me just when I'm getting brilliant! Go and +talk to Miss Ware about the rich red tints of the Indian summer leaves +and the poetry in the gurgle of the brook. Go on, it will be like a +breath of fresh air after the dismal gloom of my conversation!" She got +up, laughing, and added, in a voice that he had not heard before, "Go in +and win! Your eyes have told your secret." + +She moved off, and he saw Dorothy Ware coming toward him. He noticed how +delightfully she seemed to fit into this scene; how charmingly at ease +and how natural she looked. Her color was not as fresh as it once had +been: but he remembered how popular she had at once become in town, and +that her life was now a very whirl of dances and receptions and festive +occasions of that sort. He had hardly shaken hands when Mrs. Tremont and +her daughter approached from different directions. They were both, they +declared, so perfectly delighted to see Miss Ware again. + +Mrs. Stewart sailed majestically up to them at this juncture, and bore +Lancaster away in triumph. He heard Mrs. Tremont asking Dorothy, as he +moved away, "And how's your poor, dear mother?" Then he found himself +being introduced to a personage with a Vandyke beard. + +"Ah," said the personage, with some show of interest, "you're an artist? +Now, tell me, frankly, why do you Western artists never treat Western +subjects?" And then Dick found himself floundering about in a sea of +argument with this personage. Afterwards, when the agony was over, he +discovered that it was the author, Mr. Wreath, who had thus been +catechizing him. It was noised about the world that Mr. Wreath was a +monomaniac on the subject of realism. Dick remembered wishing he had +caught the man's name at the introduction. + +In the meanwhile Miss Tremont stood talking to Dorothy Ware in a dim +corner of the room. There was a small table near them, and upon it were +scattered portfolios of photographs. + +"Do you ever hear of Mr. Wooton?" Miss Tremont asked, smiling sweetly. + +Dorothy gave a little start, and a flush touched her cheek. + +"No," she said tonelessly. + +"He's a very clever man," persisted Miss Tremont. "I congratulate you." +She smiled meaningly. + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Dorothy's eyes flashed and her +fingers toyed nervously with the photographs. + +"If I were an expert photographer I could show you what I mean +instantly. Speech is so clumsy!" + +Dorothy still looked at her blankly, though she felt her heart beating +with accelerated speed. + +"From what I saw at Schandau," the other went on coldly, "I should say +it was time to announce the engagement." + +Dorothy gripped the little table with a tight clasp. Bending over, as if +to examine the pictures, she felt waves of heat and cold follow each +other over her cheeks and forehead. Her breath seemed to choke. How warm +the room was! She longed for a breath of fresh air. She would go and +tell her mother that she wanted to have the carriage called at once. +But there was her mother talking busily with Mrs. Tremont. And there, +beyond, was Dick. + +Something very like tears came to the borders of her eyes, as Miss +Dorothy Ware looked at, and thought of Dick. He had loved her, and +she--Ah, well, that was all over now! Even had she been able to compound +with her own conscience, Miss Tremont had effectually barred the way +to--ah, to everything! There was Miss Tremont talking, now, to Mr. +Wreath and to Dick. Surely the girl would not dare--but no, that was +absurd! + +Fortunately, Miss Leigh, noticing Dorothy's solitude, decided, just +then, that she would go and talk to the girl, which succeeded in +diverting Dorothy's mind from unpleasant thoughts. + +At the other end of the room the various groups were constantly +changing. Above the chatter one could hear the strains of music that +floated in from the music-room. Miss Tremont having finally succeeded in +luring Mr. Wreath on to a discussion of his own peculiar theory of the +art of fiction, Dick left them and strolled into the conservatory. He +wanted to be alone. He had been suffering more than ever before from +such accute pain as afflicts each individual soul that submits to +drowning itself in the meaningless chatter of society. As he himself put +it, with something like an oath of disgust, "I've been listening to +people I don't care a pin about; hearing rubbish and talking rubbish!" +The real key to his feeling of disgust, however, was in the fact that +his opportunities to a confidential talk with Miss Ware had all been +ruthlessly killed. + +"A nice way to contribute to the general entertainment!" It was Mrs. +Stewart herself. She was shaking her fan at him. "Don't get up!" she +went on, "I want to talk to you." She scrutenized him. "You don't look +cheerful!" + +"I'm not," he said curtly. + +"Remorse?" + +"No. Remorse is the divine right of cowards and gourmands. Mine is +merely a case of weariness." + +"With your own sweet self to blame. I know the feeling. You've been +thinking, or, rather, you think you have been thinking. And when one is +in that state, everything goes against the grain. Even such a galaxy as +that!" She waved her fan to the direction of the inner rooms, and a +smile of mischief curled her mouth. "What do you think of this year's +crop of lions?" + +"Bah!" he scorned viciously, with all the bitterness of the man knocking +at the closed portals. "Who was it that first gave your friend Clarence +Miller the idea that he was a novelist? His wife, I suppose. When a +man's single his follies are suggested by the devil; when he's married, +by his wife. I suppose she wants her husband to equal the notoriety +attained by her brother-in-law, the composer of 'Rip Van Winkle' and +other comic operas that society flocks to listen to. It's a great pity +that art and literature happen to be the thing this season." + +"You're thinking of the real artists and writers, I presume. Well, it is +rather hard on them." + +"Hard? Why, its death! Think of the author that finds the market glutted +with the free-gratis product of the society butterfly's pen. Its enough +to create suicides." + +"But you can't very well include Mr. Wreath in the free-gratis class?" + +"No. But he is a charlatan, for revenue only. He has so many fads that +they stud his conversation as barnacles cover a rock. He is a trumpeter +of theories. Oh, I don't deny that he writes well! But he is not +satisfied with that, unfortunately; he must needs preach, and the man +who preaches about his art is a dispiriting spectacle." + +"Dear, dear! What a change! It used to be that we others said all the +cutting things, while you listened in awe and trembling; now it is you +that uses the edge tools of language. You have beaten us at our own +game." Mrs. Stewart dropped her voice a little, and sighed. "But you +have lost as much as you have gained, have you not?" + +He nodded silently. "The world is a usurer that lends us wisdom if we +will but pay our youth as interest. And when we are bankrupt in youth, +the wisdom turns to ashes." + +"Don't be morbid. It's too fashionable. Cynicism is so cheap nowadays +that the poorest Philistine of us all can afford it. The only virtue in +optimism, it seems to me, is that it is suffering neglect today; for +that reason I may espouse it, merely to avoid the charge of being +commonplace. Come, be gay I Laugh! Forget!" + +"To forget is to forego one of life's sweetest pains." He laughed +mechanically, and got up, offering Mrs. Stewart his arm. "I'm a stupid, +morbid fool. My only saving grace is that I know just how big a fool I +am." They entered the inner rooms, and Mrs. Stewart, with a smile and a +bow, left Dick to talk flatteringly to the musical lion of the town. + +Some of the people were already leaving. Dick determined to slip away +quietly. But, as he turned to the vestibule, he found himself face to +face with Dorothy Ware. + +All his gloom vanished. "I've been trying to talk to you all evening," +he declared. "I've been wanting to ask you something. I asked you once +before. But that seems a very long time ago." He found himself carried +away in a whirl of eager enthusiasm and hope. "Dorothy," he said, +looking down at her, "there is still hope for me, is there not?" + +But in the girl's eyes there was nothing save pain, and shame. She +looked away. She played nervously with the lace of her dress. + +Blind, man-like, he took it all for shyness. "Only a little hope," he +repeated, tenderly. He tried to take her hand. + +She shrank away from him in a sort of horror. "No, no," she murmured, in +a voice of torture. She did not look him in the face. + +Dick stared at her dumbly. Now, at last, he understood her silence, her +averted head. He saw the expression that told him she feared to wound +him, even though she cared for him not at all. + +"Forget me!" she said, and moved away quickly. + +He stood, for an instant, looking after her, then he went, moving his +lips in a queer, mumbling way, to the vestibule, and asked for his +wraps. + +As he was leaving the house Dorothy was sinking into a chair by her +mother's side. She stared straight out in front of her. When her mother +spoke to her she turned slowly around and said, "It's very cold in +here." She shivered. + +And her mother, knowing that it was as warm as an oven in those rooms, +and watching the queer look on her daughter's face, decided the latter +was not very well, and must be taken home at once. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +He went down the steps with his hand clutching the rail with the fervor +of a tooth biting on a lip. If it had been daylight the twitching of his +eyes and lip-corners would have been peculiarly noticeable. + +For some reason or no reason he scorned the sidewalk; the middle of the +road presently felt his nervous footfall. Underneath him he could feel +and hear the droning of the cable. Some hundred yards before him he saw +the vivid glare that betokened the headlight of an approaching +cable-car. For an instant or two he asked himself why he should not +continue walking in that direction, in the path of the Juggernaut, and +allow himself to be ground into fragments--into the everlasting Forget. +Gravely he pondered it: why not? Could the game be worth the candle that +was snuffed? And yet, there was something so commonplace, so cheaply +melodramatic in that manner of going out that he drew back; he stepped +aside and let the dust of the passing car brush him spatteringly. To +commit suicide, to choose such a moment for it--a moment that, after +all, was but the repetition of a million similar ones--had something so +ordinary, so vulgar in it, that after he resisted the thought of it, he +shuddered. His lips took on a semblance of smiling. + +"What a play for the gallery it would have been!" he thought bitterly. + +Presently, as he walked, sobs broke through his lips. The measure of +what was lost to him seemed terribly great. All the light of the world +was but darkness for him now. What did it all matter now, this world, +this life, this aimless race? What was ambition worth, when ambition's +cause was gone? Could he take up the dream again, now that waking had +brought such pain? Incoherently his mind went back to the moments that +had elapsed just before he had left the house, moments that lasted +longer than lifetimes. He saw it all again, that scene so indelibly +graven on his mental film; he heard those fateful words again and felt +their blighting import. His arms went up wildly, with fists clenched, +toward the stars, and down again toward the earth like falling hammers, +driven with curses. + +If anyone had met him at that moment, Dick Lancaster would have been +called insane. + +Suddenly he stood still, and began to laugh. It was not a pleasant +sound, and he himself noticed that it had the discordance of the laugh +bred by artifice. He had remembered a sentence that someone had +addressed to him, "The thing to do is to laugh!" + +So it was. Yes, that was the only armor, the armor of indifference. He +walked on, evolving a philosophy of flippancy. Wounded sorely, as he +was, he found himself sympathetically wondering whether that flippancy +that he once had so despised in his fellow-men and women was not as +often a growth of experience as a mask of fashion. + +When he reached his room he flung himself on a couch. Outside everything +was still. He sent his mind back to the time when he had first entered +this town. How void of all suspicion, all cynicism, he was in those +days! Experience after experience had left its impress on his wax-like +mind and now, with the slipping away of beliefs, the vanishment of +idols, the twinges of fate, he found himself at the other extreme, in +the mood that laughs at all things, and believes that there is nothing +potent save chance. + +In that mood he resolved to remain. It was the only one that was no +longer unbearable. To attempt the old beliefs were merely to give +hostages to disenchantment. He was done now with disenchantment. He +would expect nothing, care for nothing. Except to laugh. + +But, in the meanwhile, he could no longer bear the scenes and sounds of +the town. He cast about for plans. The thought that in one mind at least +his flight would look like cowardice did not annoy him; that also was +merely a thing to laugh at. The country was not what he wanted. It was +not quiet he desired; it was struggle and strife with the dragons of +memory and boredom; he wanted new battles to fight, new experiences to +harvest--not sensitively, as of old, but coldly, cruelly--in other +fields, as far away as possible. + +He unlocked his desk and searched for his bank-book. The figures seemed +to satisfy him. + +"Three thousand," he murmured, "will be enough. I will take a year. I +will see everything that my fancy asks for, do everything, be +everything. They call it the Old World. Well, it must be able to +furnish amusement for me, be it old or young." + +He turned to the unfinished sketches, the letters and the other +impediments that littered the room. "These shall not hold me a minute," +he said. "I want a change of air. I am going to take it. Nor friends, +nor promises, nor prospects shall stay me. It's goodbye." + +He laughed again, and went out to buy an evening paper, to scan the +sailing-lists for the out-going steamers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On one of the hottest days of August, a month by no means the most +delightful of Berlin's moods, there sat in the pleasant, shady garden of +the restaurant "Zum Kapuziner," facing the Schlossplatz, a tall young +man, whose material externals proclaimed him, to the trained eye, either +as an Englishman or an American. It is a safe axiom that all the +well-dressed people in the German capital are either English or +American. + +In front of the young man, on the table, were a glass, a bottle of +_Mai-trank_ and an illustrated paper. But the young man was not +regarding any of these things, but kept his eyes to an observance of the +passers-by. This seemed to amuse him, for from time to time he smiled +softly. + +It was certainly a pleasant spot. In front there stretched the broad, +paved square that gave to the Old Castle of the first German Emperors on +the left, to the royal stables on the right, and beyond, straight ahead, +gave a glimpse of the quaint, old-fashioned architecture of the "_Alte +Stadt_." For the Schlossplatz marks the limits of the newer portion of +Berlin; beyond the bridge everything is the real Berlin, the Berlin +untouched by the triumphant splendors that came after '71, the Berlin +that knows but little of the passing stranger and the ways to despoil +him. And that was why Dick Lancaster had chosen the spot. The passers-by +were not at all cosmopolitan; there was little of that mixture of all +races, all garbs, all voices, that was to be seen and heard on the +"_Linden_." These were the real Berliners. + +In the months that lay between this day and the day on which Lancaster +had first felt the soil of Europe under his foot, there had come to him +many experiences, many amusements. He had accepted all things. +Unfettered by any restraints he had probed all the novelties that +presented themselves. He had lived in alternating fevers of +discriminations and hard work. For all these new aspects of life and +living filled him with the old, dear mania to create. He found himself +inspired by the very overflow of his sensations. From long draughts of +enjoyment he plunged into as long fits of artistic energy. + +He found, moreover, that the increased tension of his spiritual being +put a peculiar force into his pencil. Because it was merely one way of +laughter, because he began in a spirit of flippancy, the sketches all +succeeded immensely. Fortune began to favor him in artistic ways. In +Paris he had made a portfolio full of the most admirable sketches of +types. There was a crafty cynicism about his work that gave a +fascination to them; something not caricature, but finer. Now he chose +as his subject the traveling millionaire, now the splendid queen of the +boulevard, now the phantom of the "brasserie," and now the rag-picker. +One day he had showed some sketches to a man that had begged permission +to glance through the portfolio, as they sat, in a crowded café, at the +same table. The man was the manager of a famous illustrated paper. He +bought some of the sketches, and presently there appeared a most +astonishingly eulogistic article, about this young American. + +People carefully read the name. They had never heard of him. They looked +at the sketches. That was certainly talent of a significant sort. The +other papers followed suit. The noise of this discovery went across the +channel. There came to this young man orders from London, and the +newspapers of that town began to print the most extraordinary +inventions, by way of personalities, about him. The world, now as ever, +is always glad of a new subject. After that Parisian journal had sounded +the first note, the volume of sound that had as its burden Lancaster's +name, grew and grew. Of course, there were those that dissented, that +took occasion to flay this young man's achievements until there seemed +left only a skeleton of faults. But even that only swelled the flood. + +All the while, his sketches grew in force and individuality. For, +whatever else his detractors denied him, they admitted the originality +of his style. It had never been done before. Some called it hideous, +some grotesque; but all called it new. That was the great point. + +He became the fad. The representatives of American newspapers, who had +been prompt to cable home reports of the successes of this unheard-of +youth, began to attempt to interview him. Whereupon, having by that time +exhausted the immediate enjoyments of Paris, he fled abruptly. + +His success had at first surprised, then amused him. When, presently, he +found that his bank account was swelling most astonishingly, he was more +entertained than ever. He laughed--that unpleasant, mirthless laugh. But +he felt no duties toward his success. When Paris became tiresome, he had +no hesitation about quitting it without leaving an address. For that +matter, he did not, himself, know just whither he would go. + +His ticket had been taken for Monaco. The life of that place fascinated +him no less than that of Paris, when Paris was fresh to him. Day after +day he watched the procession that filed to and from the green tables; +the princes of the blood, the newest nabobs, the touring Americans, the +Russians, the worldlings and half-worldlings of all nations and degrees. +He watched the blue of the Mediterranean as a contrast to the +blacknesses of humanity that he saw daily. + +And then without an accompanying word, he sent a selection of sketches +to that Parisian paper whose discovery, so to say, he was. There came +another salvo of applause from the world of art. It seemed, so they all +said, as if this young man was destined to show such possibilities in +black-and-white as had not yet been dreampt of. + +From Monaco the wanderer went to Egypt. A white-sailed fishing-smack, +anchored in the bay below him, had started the thought in his mind one +sunny afternoon, when the attractions of Monte Carlo were beginning to +pall. He could afford extravagances now. The fisherman, when he was +accosted, had smiled. Yes, he might charter the boat. But where would +the gentleman wish to sail to? And it was of Egypt that Dick thought, +suddenly, with a longing for the cold silences of the sands, and the +pyramids, and the quaking waves of heat. And so the bargain was arranged +and to Egypt went the artist. + +Thence he swung back to Italy. Then through Switzerland. Everywhere he +roved through the corners that his fancy led him to; nowhere did he +merely echo the footsteps of the millions of tourists. Sometimes he +walked for whole days at a time. Sometimes he went to a petty inn and +astonished the host by staying all day in his room and working. Whenever +he found his purse suffering unduly through the vagaries of his nomadic +fancies, he posted some sketches to such of the Paris or London papers +as had been most clamorous for them. + +It was, perhaps, just because he cared so little for it all, that this +luck was come to him. In the old days he had chafed against +misfortunes, against limitations of all sorts; he had declared that +great successes were no longer possible, that everything worth doing had +been done long ago. Now, when he cared not at all, fortune kissed him. +Which also amused him. + +Another man would have laid plans for the furtherment of this fame, +would have counted the ways and means of plucking the fruit of success +at it's ripest, would have plotted against the erasure--by caprice, of +the world, or loss of his own skill, of his own name from the list of +the world's favorites. Dick Lancaster did none of these things. He +merely accepted the gifts of the moment, and continued recklessly in +alternate disappearances and bursts of splendid achievement. There was +nothing, he argued bitterly, for which he needed all the fame; so why +should he care to be Fame's courtier? If fame chose to pursue him, that +was another matter, and beyond his heed. + +So, carelessly, recklessly eager for novelties and excitements, this +young man adventured over the continent of Europe, gaining everywhere a +reputation for devil-may-care-dom and bitterness. + +And over many of these things he was thinking, as he sat in the garden +of the "Kapuziner." He thought, too, with something of amused +wistfulness of the Dick Lancaster that had once been himself,--the boy +that had suffered twinges of conscience at the thought of giving up a +Sunday to enjoyment, and had felt forever stained because of things that +now caused him little save ennui. Was it possible that he had once been +like that? Oh, yes, all things were possible; he had found that out +plainly enough. Indeed, he reflected, if it should happen to him that +the End came tomorrow, he would have the satisfaction of having lived +his life, completely, fully, even to satisfy, in half the time that most +men take for that task. Since that night, after a certain girl had told +him to "forget," he had spared himself in nothing that promised +entertainment. With the old restraints completely cast to the winds, +with nothing but studied recklessness as his Mentor, he had followed all +the promptings of that epicureanism that he now feigned to consider the +only philosophy. + +In all things he was fickle. Just as the artistic side of him tired +quickly of one place, one set of types, so his animal nature was +essentially of the dilettante rather than the enthusiast. Wherever he +saw a will-o'-the-wisp he followed; but it was no sooner caught than he +was repentant of his success. The taste of pleasure was of the briefest +to him; it turned to bitterness in a moment. + +And yet, he mused, with all his varied experiences, with the feeling of +satiety that sometimes overcame him from sheer excess of sensations, the +fascination of the town was still upon him. It was surely in his blood, +he speculated. He remembered with what passionate eagerness, after the +final shaking off of all the old consciences--all those moral skins +that he had shed, and left to rot, over there, in America--he had come +to the realization of the varied facets of that bewildering jewel, the +town. + +He shut his eyes to escape the glare of the noon-day, and evolve, behind +his closed lids, the aspect of the town after lamps are lit. The +constant current of humanity, of the swishing of the women's gowns as +they walked, the rattle of the cabs over the stones,--it all filled him +with a passion of pleasure. His young blood went more quickly at each +sight of that surging sea. The crowds going to the theatres and +music-halls; the shadows that flitted hawk-like about the corners; the +colors of the occasional uniforms; he drank in the picture thirstily. +Both the artist and the man were joined, too, in a passionate eagerness +for beauty; he had been known, in his folly as men may call it, to walk +a mile so that he might the more often meet an attractive face again. +The vision of a beautiful female figure, of a well-fitting gown, gave +him an almost painful joy; he felt that charm of mere feminity most +acutely and covetously. + +And yet, with all, he had been a lonely creature. His pleasures were +evanescent and he was ever constrained to browse upon fresh pastures. +From this novel experience, that colorful scene, and that delightful +companion he extracted the essence all too soon; and the dregs he ever +avoided. In his mind there was a gallery of places, faces and +voices--all loves of a moment. + +It was a cheerless train of thought that he found himself in. But, as he +sipped the pale _Mai-trank_, the glad reflection occurred that the world +was very large and that he had seen very little of it so far; there were +still plenty of things left that were new to him. Surprise would not die +for him just yet. + +He was watching the rainbows that glimpsed in and out of the streams of +cool water that the fountain, in the square, was sending up into the +sun-light. And as he was so engaged, there came to his ear the sound of +men's voices, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent. + +He turned about. + +One of the men was Wooton. As they came nearer, he recognized the other +as Laurence Stanley. They were coming directly toward the garden, and in +another instant they had seen him. Stanley put on his pince-nez. Then +they hurried up to him with a flourish of hands. + +"Why, God bless our home," laughed Wooton, "if here isn't our famous +young friend, Dick Lancaster, the talk of two continents! I'm glad to +see you, mighty glad." + +"Stanley," said Dick, after they had all shaken hands, "what are you +doing here? Where's Mrs. Stanley." + +"My boy, I'm enjoying myself. I presume Mrs. Stanley is doing the same. +For reasons not necessary of explanation to the mind capable in +deduction we are not, at this moment, breathing the air of the same +hemisphere." + +"Will you fellows take a bit of lunch? We ought to celebrate this +meeting with the famous, etcetera, etcetera," said Wooton. + +"Look here," said Lancaster, a trifle coldly, "I'd just as soon you'd +drop that adjective business. Here's the bill of the play, Stanley." He +handed the carte-du-jour over. + +While they were discussing their luncheon, chatting of the various +causes that had brought them together, and recounting stories, and +adventures, Wooton rose solemnly, after a few moments of reflection, and +held out his hand to Lancaster. "I want to shake hands with you," he +declared, "as with a genuine thoroughbred. I've been listening to you, +watching you, and--but that was a long time ago,--hearing about you. +You're not the Lancaster I knew." + +But, for some strange reason, Lancaster did not hold out his hand. He +pretended to be engaged in lifting his glass to his lips. Then he said, +"I don't consider that a compliment." + +Wooton scowled a little to himself, but passed the matter off lightly +enough. "Well," he continued, "at any rate it does me good to see you. +How are they all? I've not been back in years, you know." The reason +for, and occasion of his exodus did not seem to touch him with the least +shade of annoyance. + +Lancaster looked at Stanley. "I'm not the man to say. I left there +almost a year ago. Stanley was still there then. Stanley, tell us the +news from home." + +"Yes," was Stanley's reply, "and a nice lot of speculation there was +about your sudden disappearance, Dick. There were all sorts of rumors. +Some of them hinted at affairs of the heart." He caught the look on +Dick's face, and stopped. "However, that's not to the point, I suppose +you're thinking? Well, now let me see: they're all about as usual, I +think, except, of course, Mrs. Stewart." + +The others both started a little. + +"Yes. Her husband died in January. She gave up the 'salon' of course; in +fact, I think she went abroad." + +Lancaster wondered what she would say to him, were they ever to meet. +She must have heard about his sudden leap into public notice, his +vagabondian ways, his reckless career. He became moody, abstracted. The +others were not slow to observe the change in him. + +"Stanley," said Wooton, "its time we left the great man to his thoughts. +He is evolving a new and fearful sketch. Hope we've not intruded." They +got up and were for leaving him, but he protested, and they all strolled +away together. He accompanied them to their hotel, and then sauntered +off for a stroll in the _Thiergarten_. He found a bench that gave him a +view of the sandy ditch wherein the children played all day long in the +sun-light, while their nurses sat placidly knitting or reading. It +attracted him immediately, this picture of the little bare-legged +youngsters in their quaint German attire, digging about in the sand, +shouting and laughing and fighting, and all living in the evergreen +country of make-believe. + +He began to draw some rough sketches. So engrossed was he that the sun +had sunk behind the trees before he remembered that he had promised his +two townsmen to go to the "Linden" theatre with them. He got up, looked +at his watch, and hailed a passing Taxometer. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +In the days that immediately followed, these three were together a great +deal. Presently Stanley drawlingly, announced that he would have to be +packing up; his bank account was getting low, he declared, and he would +be forced once more to bask in the sunshine of his wife's presence. + +The other two still stayed on. Berlin was just beginning to be amusing. +People were beginning to return from Marienbad, from Schwalbach, from +Heringsdorf. All the theatres were once more open. Summer was saying +goodbye. + +One day Wooton asked: "Of course you've seen Potsdam?" + +Lancaster shook his head. + +"Well, then it's high time you did. Leaves beginning to fall and all +that sort of thing. The last chance. It's really very worth while. +Castles till you can't rest. Babelsberg, Sans-souci, and the New Palace. +To say nothing of a bit of Potsdam, near the Barberini Palace, that's +almost as good as Venice." + +They arranged to make the excursion the first sunny day, and had only to +wait until the sun rose again. They chose to travel by boat. It was a +splendid journey, in the bright sun-light, past the woods and rushes and +villas that skirt the little series of inland lakes between Spandau and +Potsdam. They left the steamer at the landing-stage for Babelsberg and +went leisurely through the grounds and the simple, comfortable, old +place. By the time a boatman had rowed them over to Potsdam, it was +luncheon time. + +They left the boat riding in the Venice-like waterway, and stepped +directly into the garden of the vine-covered, shady café that skirted +the water for quite a distance. Waiters were moving about and at tables +sat family parties, eating and drinking cheerily and honestly. It was +one of the things that enchanted Lancaster, this part of continental +life, this open-air freedom of taking one's glass of beer, this cheerful +way of supping out-doors _en famille_, of devoting to restaurant-garden +uses the most expensive corner-lots, of making the passing show of +strollers one of the sights that you paid for with your glass. + +They chose a table that directly overlooked the water-front. Behind them +lay the yellow shabbiness of the Barberini palace, that relic of a +king's devotion to a dancer. Below them gleamed the water. It was by no +means an unpicturesque spot. + +"By the way," said Wooton, casually, as they were discussing the entree, +"I met a friend of your's last summer, a Miss Ware." + +"Oh." There was not much interest in Lancaster's tone, but Wooton helped +himself to the Rauenthaler and went on: + +"Yes. Rather a pleasant girl. Charmingly unsophisticated. Known her +long?" + +"We were children together." + +"Ah, then she's a country girl, so to say, eh? I thought so." + +Lancaster was deep in thought. The other continued to ply himself with +wine. + +"We had some charming days together," he went on, reminiscently. "She +amused me immensely. The Tremonts were staying at the same place then, +and I used to amuse myself contrasting that Tremont girl with Miss Ware. +The one was like an armor-plate, the other impressionable as wax." + +He began to smile to himself mysteriously. "Do have some of this +Rauenthaler Berg," he urged, effusively. "It's really capital!" He +ordered another bottle, and helped himself liberally. Lancaster was +scarcely heeding his companion. He was looking out over the water. For +once, he was forgetting to be amused. + +"As between two men of the world, you know," Wooton was saying, leaning +impressively on his elbow, "it may as well be understood that that +Tremont girl is the newest kind a new woman." "Know what she said to me +one day? 'The only thing I don't like about love is its consequences!' +Nice girls, these new women, eh?" He laughed softly and drank again. +Lancaster turned to watch him. The man was showing all the cad in him; +the wine was bringing it out. "Women, nowadays," Wooton went on, "make a +fad of everything except the homely virtues. They deliver lectures on +art, and literature, and posters, and music, and the redemption of the +fallen; but they never care for the staple virtues that bring happiness +to households. I'm not saying that I'm a model, not by a damned sight, +but I have my eyes open, and I think the woman of today is trying to +usurp, chiefly, man's prerogative of being a _roue_ if he chooses. What +she needs is to go to a medical school. Then she knows the difference." +He crumbled a piece of bread, and flung it out to the swans that floated +down before them. + +"I don't mind telling you," he continued, confidentially, "that they +were both in love with me, Miss Tremont and Miss Ware. In Miss Tremont's +case, I naturally, had no scruples at all. The fact is, I think she took +the initiative." He stopped, smiling significantly, and sipping at the +yellow wine. + +Lancaster's eyes were glowing with anger. The man's brutality was so +disgusting! Not that there was anything surprising in these wine-woven +statements, for a man who could welch his debts in the way Wooton did, +two years ago, was hardly a man to suffer from scruples of any sort; but +the very fact of having the names of people well-known to him brought up +in this way was nauseating to Lancaster. + +"Why don't you drink some of this wine?" Wooton was holding the bottle +across the table. "No? You're missing something good, you can bet on +that! Wine is the way to forgetfulness, and most men would sell their +souls to be able to forget. Don't you agree with me? That's right." He +leered fatuously at his companion. "I've always liked you, y'know, +Lancaster, always liked you. Friend of mine, yessir, friend of mine; you +bet! Great artist, too, proud to know you. But, oh Scott! what a simple +sort of idiot you were when you first came to town! You'll excuse my +candor; friend of your's, I am, yessir, friend of yours." He proceeded +to watch the swans that glided past them, rippling the smooth water +gracefully. "Beautiful creature," he drawled in drunken sentimentality, +"beautiful creature! Reminds me of that girl's neck,--that girl I kissed +in Schandau. Beautiful neck, Lancaster, beautiful neck! White, and +smooth, and soft, Moreover, she had the most adorable lips; +extraordinarily sweet, I assure you. Lancaster, I understand you've been +rioting all over this continent, you dog you; but I defy you to say you +kissed any sweeter lips than those. I defy you to--!" He sank back into +his chair, chuckling to himself. "Excuse me, didn't mean to be so +energetic. Excuse me." + +Lancaster half turned his head away from the man and looked out over the +water. Where the canal widened out into the lake a crowd of youths were +amusing themselves in diving from a considerable height; the sun flashed +for one instant on each white body as it gleamed through the air down +into the cool canal. From across the water came the voices of sightseers +and pleasure-finders. Closer at hand, in the very garden they sat in, +the occasional clirring of a sword over the gravel denoted the entrance +or exit of an officer; in the warm sun-light all these things combined +to make a delightful impressionistic scene. Lancaster turned to it as a +relief from his companion. + +But Wooton, with the growing persistence of intoxication, was heedless +of the other's indifference. He began again, maunderingly: + +"I don't deny, y'know, that there's an attraction about the woman of +experience. Not for a minute! extremely fascinating person, woman of +experience. As good as a comedy to make love to her. But the women of +experience grow old, very old; while the fresh young sprigs of girlhood +never grow old." He chuckled again. "No; they never grow old. They grow +into experienced women. Axiom: I prefer the fresh flower of innocence +because it never grows old. Sometimes, sometimes it withers. To wither +innocence is one of the most fascinating games in the world. I wonder +how often the average man of the world has played that game in his +life?" He helped himself to the wine again, and looked at it lovingly as +it gleamed yellow between him and the sun. "You really should let me +pour you out some of this excellent vintage," he said, oilily smiling +upon Lancaster, "you really should. There is a deal of philosophy in +it." + +Lancaster was now watching the fellow in an increase of amused +attention. With the inflow of the wine the man's mood changed, from a +species of maudlin sentimentality to an extravagantly ornate loquacity. + +"Philosophy is one of the fairest jewels on the robe of fortune. In +misfortune it is marked worthless collateral. When we are well off, we +philosophize; when we are hard up we curse philosophy. Wine is the only +real philosopher. Do you know, I consider your abstinence, disgraceful, +positively disgraceful. It argues an unphilosophic mind.... There's that +swan, again! Beautiful neck. Such grace! And yet, I prefer the other +one. The other one had a beautiful face, as well as a glorious neck. +Moreover, the taste of those lips was positively intoxicating." He +looked solemnly at the glass of wine before him, and declared, +impressively: "As between the two, do you know, I actually believe I +prefer the lips?" He gulped at the liquor again. His eyes strayed +dreamily into an abstracted stare. "Dear Dorothy!" he murmured. + +"I beg your pardon?" Lancaster started savagely. He thought he might not +have heard aright. + +The other blandly continued. "I said 'Dear Dorothy!' That was her name, +you know. Her name is almost as sweet as her kisses. Dorothy" he +lingered over the syllables--"Dorothy Ware." + +"What!" Lancaster half sprung up from his chair. Then he curbed himself, +with intense efforts, to calmness. "Did I understand you to say that it +was Miss Dorothy Ware?" + +"Certainly, my dear boy. Most correct. Oh, yes; remember now: friend of +your's. Recommend your taste, my boy, I really do. She--" + +"Look here!" Lancaster's voice had grown hard and chill. "Do you mean to +say that--all that--is true?" + +Wooton noticed the other's repressed agitation, and it quickened this +mischief in him. "Most exactly true. Are you--can it be?--are you, h'm, +jealous? My dear boy, go in and win; I clear the field. I--only harvest +once." He laughed at the thought. And then, in a second, his laughter +choked to a rattling gurgle in his throat. + +Lancaster had sprung up, white and trembling with rage, and stood over +him, squeezing the breath out of the fellow's windpipe. "You drunken, +hideous hound you," he crunched from between his teeth, "you rifler of +reputations, you damnable dog!" He stopped. His rage scarcely permitted +words. "You're drunk, damn you, and you're a puny little brute, so I +can't whip you as you should be whipped. But if you don't take that +back, if you don't say you lied--I'll--give your burning head the +cooling it deserves." He eased his hold on the other's throat for a +time. Wooton glared at him, breathlessly, with a fantastically ugly +sneer attempting lodgment on the lips that still writhed for air. + +"Say you lied!" Lancaster loomed over him in tremendous wrath. + +Wooton glared doggedly. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he managed to +whisper. His left hand was sliding along the table to where the glass, +half full of wine, stood. Suddenly he gripped it and with a wrench, +splashed up the contents and the glass, full into Lancaster's face. The +crystal shattered on the artist's chin, fortunately, and so did but +little harm. Before the crash of the breaking glass was stilled, and the +wine spent, Lancaster's hands were about the other's throat again; he +gave a swing, viciously, and flung the body completely over the low +railing. + +It splashed into the still waters noisily. The swans swam away for a +moment, then returned in curiosity. As Wooton came to the surface, he +screamed out an oath and a cry for help. There was a boatman at the +water-steps of the adjoining café, and in a few minutes he had pulled +the choking man out of the water. + +Wooton glared up to where Lancaster stood, still hot with anger. "Damn +him," he thought, "if he were not so much stronger than I--" But the +thought prevailed, and he told the boatman to row further down the +canal. + +To the waiters who had rushed up, Lancaster had been very cool. "_Es +handelt sich um eine Wette_" he assured them. The whole thing had been +so swift, so silent, that up to the moment of the splash in the water, +there had been no eye-witnesses. He smiled at the waiters, paying his +bill, and leaving a liberal _trinkgeld_. "_Mein freund hat die wette +gewonnen_." Then he sauntered out with a final fierce glance in the +direction of the boat that was turning the corner in the far distance, +bearing away the scoundrelisms that lived in Wooton. + +When he reached the marble circle of the fountain in the gardens of +Sans-souci, Lancaster stopped, and addressed the spray, bitterly: "So +that was why I was refused? Well, well! It seems, as I said a little +while ago, that there are still new emotions in store for me." He +watched the spray turn to mist that was almost invisible. "That is the +way with ideals," he mused. Then he turned with a laugh in the direction +of the terraces. "How absurd he looked, in the water!" He went on, +laughing quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The late John Stewart had, in his lifetime, achieved the distinction of +being a model husband. He was devoted to his wife in more senses of the +word than one; he was content to appear stupid so she might shine the +more; content to slave at Mammon's shrine for his wife's sake. His fund +of patience, of tolerance, of faith, had been infinite. It was in return +for these things that his wife, as he lay in the dying moments of +typhoid, whispered to him, with a tremendous suspicion that she had +seemed blind to much of her fortune, "John, dear John, you musn't go, +not yet. I--I--" + +And though John assured her that he was going to get well, the next day +found the promise broken. + +Mrs. Stewart, after his death, realized all that he had been to her, all +that she, except in his loving fancy, had not been to him. And brooding +over such recollections she began to feel the ban of morbidness, the old +rooms, the dear, familiar haunts that had once known his voice, were +peopled now with sadness, and she resolved to seek escape, for a time at +least, from these living voices of a silenced lip. She had some cousins +in London; she determined to travel, to visit them. With her went her +nearer cousin, Miss Leigh, whose whimsical, cynical sincerities she +loved the while she combated them. + +So, in the spring, they found themselves in London, then harboring the +whirl of society at its swiftest. But that had palled on Mrs. Stewart, +and she dragged Miss Leigh off for an apparently aimless tour through +Wales, and the Lake district, and on up to Scotland. + +September found them in St. Andrews. + +Although it was one of the months that constitute the "short season" of +that dear old academic village, it was easily possible to escape the +crowds of golf-enthusiasts that studded the links with their glaringly +colorful costumes. The old castle, the ruins of the cathedral, the +legends of the historic, bloody occurrences that had taken place here +for religion's sake,--all these were full of charms to these two +American women, saturated, as is nearly all that Nation, with a +peculiar, wistful reverence for things antique. + +There were drives, too, that gave opportunities for enjoyment of the +Scotch autumn scenery. Along the banks of the Tay, with the solemn +Crampians showing dim in the distance. + +Mrs. Stewart loved to sit in the silent coolness of the college +quadrangles and dream. It seemed to her that only for such places were +dreams fit companions. + +One day, they were sitting together on the turf that once had marked a +cathedral wall. Miss Leigh was reading; Mrs. Stewart idly watching the +breakers roll up to the cliffs. + +"I beg your pardon!" + +The two ladies looked up, and turned to find Lancaster standing before +them, with his hat off and a look of amused surprise on his face. + +"Well," said Mrs. Stewart, shaking hands heartily, "the world is small +as ever, is it not? It's like home, seeing you!" + +"It strikes me the same way." He sat down beside them. They noticed that +he was browned and furrowed; the marks of travel, the brace of different +climes, the scars caught in the thick of life's battle were all sharply +dominant in his externals. + +"We ought to feel honored," smiled Miss Leigh. "You are such a celebrity +nowadays! We have heard the most weird anecdotes about you of late, you +know. You are pictured as the Sphinx and the Chimera in one." + +"You are still," he answered, "as cruel as ever." + +"But we really feel very proud of you," said Mrs. Stewart. "We know each +other too well, I hope, to veil our honest opinions. I admire your work +immensely; but I think you're terribly bitter sometimes." + +"Ah," he laughed gently, "I'm glad it strikes you that way. Bitterness +is the only taste that lives after a complete course of life. But we +really must talk of something less embarassing than myself. Do tell me +the news! How are all the dear familiars?" He paused, and lowered his +voice a little. "If it pains you," he said gently, "let us talk of other +things. I--have heard. Believe me, I am sorry, very sorry. It is a poor +word, but--" he stopped as she looked up at him gratefully for an +instant, and then said with an effort at cheerfulness: + +"Oh, they were all well, when we left." + +"Yes," put in Miss Leigh, "and doing about the same old things. Mr. +Wreath still expounds, in and out of season, the doctrine of his own +surpassingly correct theories on veritism in literature; and +incidentally takes all occasions to assail the sincerity of every other +living writer. He's an amusing man, and if he had only been given a +sense of honor he would find himself an ever re-direct jest. Clarence +Miller has written another novel, and all society is wondering whether +it will be translated into Magyar or Mongolian. He calls it 'Five Loaves +and Two Fishes.' His brother-in-law has composed another comic opera +that some people have the originality to declare original. And--but why +continue the catalogue? It's just the same ridiculous circus it ever +was." + +Lancaster laughed. "Thank you. That's really a volume in a nutshell. I +wonder if the performers in that circus really know how amusing they +are?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stewart, "but they keep it up nevertheless. Of +course, it's only when one gets away from it that one really gets the +most entertaining focus on that sort of a thing. I'm sure," she sighed, +"I don't seem to belong to those ranks at all, now." She shivered a +little. The sun was setting, and a chill breeze blowing off the sea. +"I'm afraid we must go," she said, rising, "but you must be sure and +come to see us." She gave Lancaster a small card, and then, with smiles +and bows, and rustling of skirts, they were gone. + +In the weeks that followed Lancaster availed himself of the privilege +accorded in Mrs. Stewart's invitation as often as possible. The three +were together almost daily, if only for a few moments. Lancaster was +busily employed, the while, in fixing in black-and-white some of the +types and features that prevailed in this fashionable corner of Fife. +The London and Paris journals soon gave evidences of his industry. +Fortunately, but few of these papers found their way to St. Andrews, and +Lancaster's love of incognito was not disturbed. Sometimes the artist +would disappear for days; a fishing-boat would be his hope for the time, +and he would drink in the free winds of the sea, and the passing joy of +that toilsome life of the fishermen. The winds and the freshness of the +life were like a tonic to him, but he knew that it would presently pall +and he would give way to the fever for the metropolitan whirlpool. + +Occasionally Miss Leigh preferred to remain in her apartments, leaving +Mrs. Stewart to stroll along the links alone with the young artist. "Do +you know," remarked Mrs. Stewart, on one such occasion, "that my +cousin's tremendously fond of you?" + +Lancaster looked up in surprise: Then he gave a short laugh. "She's +tremendously mistaken," he said, "I'm not the sort that anyone should be +fond of--now." He looked out over the sea. "There goes a steamer. I +suppose it's the Aberdeen boat." He watched it wistfully. + +"She thinks," continued Mrs. Stewart, heedless of his abstraction, "that +you are a young man much to be envied. Already you have a name that is +known far and wide, and all life is yet before you. She--" + +He interrupted, bitterly: "Life is all behind me, you should say. All, +all! I have tried everything, the good and the evil. The one broke my +belief in all things; the other gives me the belief that the only thing +to do is to laugh. Strange! I heard that phrase first in your +drawing-room, Mrs. Stewart! Suppose we sit down. These rocks are +fashioned delightfully for easy chairs." + +The sun was burnishing the water with a lustre of copper. The sea-gulls +moaned as they circled about hungrily. The breakers hissed sullenly +below them. + +"My philosophy," he went on, after he had seen that Mrs. Stewart was +comfortably seated, "is very simple, now. Laugh! That is the text of +it." + +She mused in silence. "You used to be so different," she murmured, +presently. "You were, not so long ago, at the other extreme. You thought +everything was solemn, awful, important, that there were majestic duties +in life, splendid obligations, and splendid things to live for. +Now,--you say it is all a jest, and the only thing to do is to laugh. I +think you have had too much curiosity." + +"Perhaps. Curiosity is a guide that takes us into a labyrinth and leaves +us there. But why," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "why must we +be forever talking of this hapless personage, me? Suppose we talk, +instead, of you?" + +"Oh, no. You are the interesting one. You are a study. I should like to +help you. I think you are doing yourself an injustice: letting yourself +drift as you are. Your fame, alone, won't bring you happiness." + +"I'm not expecting happiness." + +Mrs. Stewart watched his face, hard set, with it's bitter drop to the +right corner of the mouth, and something of pity came to her. "Once," +she went on, "it seemed to me that there was a woman who meant for you +the same thing as happiness." + +"Perhaps." His voice was as hard as before. "That was a very long time +ago,--counting by experiences. Why talk of marriage? I don't think I +could stand it for an instant; I don't think any woman could stand me. +As I once was--that was different." + +"Some women are very patient." + +"Yes. And then I should go mad until they came out of their deadly +patience into something more exciting. A woman's fury would amuse me +vastly, I think." He twisted his stick into the rocks, and outlined +vague designs in the sandstone. "Why, supposing, for the sake of the +argument, that I asked you to marry me, you would, I am sure, consider +me a madman to expect you to make such a fool of yourself?" + +She flushed slightly. "Merely for the sake of the argument, I don't say +that I would do anything of the sort. I might consider it ill-timed, +inconsiderate." + +"Ah, I beg your pardon, humbly. I realize that deeply. Merely, I said, +for the sake of the argument. I want to show you the utter hopelessness +of my position. Suppose then, that I asked you that question, what would +you tell yourself? That I was a man, young in years, old in experiences, +soured in thought and taste, bitter in mind, selfish, a slave to the +most egoistic of epicureanisms. A man who considers nothing too sacred +for laughter, or too ridiculous for tears. A man who is a perpetual +evidence of the corroding influences of flippancy; whose very art, even, +is merely a means for amusement. No,--you, clever, shrewd, adaptable +woman of the world though you are, would realize at once that to enter +into a life-partnership with a man of that sort were to invite immediate +misery. Think: the man would be ungovernable, save by his moods; when he +should be at home acting as host to a dinner-party he would be tramping +the moors in a wild passion for solitude? A man who would perpetually +fling at his wife the most mordant of sarcasms, merely for the pleasure +they caused his powers of creation. If a biting jest came to him, he +would hurl it at his wife, without malice, but because she happened to +be present. Not even the cleverest woman in the world can decide between +the words and the motive in a case like that. No; this man has fed too +much on the lees of disenchantment to be himself aught but a sorry-devil +of a jester." + +She signed. "You have the modern disease in terrible +development--self-analysis. It seems to me to be quite as cruel as +vivisection. And I think you exaggerate your vices. After all--I may +speak frankly, may I not? I am a woman that has ever kept her eyes +open--you represent nothing so very dreadful. You are young, impetuous; +you have had the bandages of stern puritanism roughly torn from you, and +you have had a little of what the world calls 'your fling!' You realize +yourself far too much. You are not one whit worse than others. All men +worship, for a time, at the shrine of their animal natures, I suppose. +But instead of letting the thought of it all drive you further and +further into bitterness, why not resolve to shake off the whole cloak, +and put it back into the limbo of thinks henceforth to be avoided?" She +paused, and looked at him with a smile. "Get married. I believe, in +spite of your fears, that you will make a good husband. Believe me, you +will be a much better one than if you had never taught yourself the +revolting nausea that the other side of life brings." + +"Marry?" he repeated, "why do you harp on that? I tell you, there is no +one, no one at all! Unless--" he looked over the breakers to the setting +sun, "unless there were a woman somewhere that could understand and +forgive. A woman that knew something of the world, of the stings of +experience and the hollowness of hope. With a woman like that I might +become the owner of the new youth, might sink all these bitternesses, +live earnest in ambition and.... But there is no such woman, none...." A +sudden light flashed into his eyes, and with passion he continued, +"Except-yourself. Yes--you are the only one. You know; you understand. +Oh, listen to me, listen! Why tell me that this is a sacrilege, an +insult to a memory. Do you suppose I don't know that? I do; I feel it +deeply; but I also feel that I am pleading for a helping hand, that I +see in you the only chance of safety, that you mean for me a new life, +and that I must tell you so now, before the opportunity is gone. Oh, +don't tell me I'm a coward--I know that, too, well enough. I confess it; +I am a coward, a broken-hearted cur." He groaned, and getting up, began +to walk slowly up and down before her. "Is it so impossible? I +would--you yourself admitted that hope!--improve. Is there no hope?" + +"What a boy you are, what a boy! You have all the headstrong, passionate +eagerness of youth, and yet you pretend to play the wearied liver of +many lives! No, Dick," her voice grew gentler, and it came to him like a +pleasant harmony, "we will do nothing so foolish. You and I are always +to be very good friends, and we will help each other always, but not +that, not that! You are too young; regret would come to you all too +soon. No matter how nicely each of us were to fashion his or her temper +to the other's, there would come that thought: for the hope of mere +comfort I have sacrificed an idol. For, Dick, think, think! Dorothy +Ware! Do you think I have not watched you, found you out long ago? What +was it, Dick, a tiff? A refusal?" + +He stopped in his sentry-go, and began to whistle, softly, '_La donna e +Mobile_.' "I--I beg your pardon," he added, hastily, "I fear I forget my +manners. Was it a refusal? you ask. Well,--perhaps, perhaps not. At the +time, I thought it was. Since then I have found out things--things--Bah, +what does it matter!" + +"Go on," she said, "tell me!" + +"In Germany, I met Wooton--" + +She interrupted. "Ah, yes; I remember a terrible cruel picture you drew +of a man at a café table, drinking. It was his face, unmistakably. Why +did you do that?" + +"That was--only an afterthought. Well, he had been--drinking, and he +talked a good deal. Some of it was about Miss Ware." + +For a moment there was silence. + +Then "And you believed it?" she asked. + +"At the time, no. Lord knows I did not want to. But, afterward, I +remembered the look on her face when she gave me that last refusal. It +was a strange look; it meant more than I could account for, at that +time. Yes," he sighed, "I believe it. Why shouldn't I? I know how vile a +man may be; be a woman only half as weak, or half as 'new,' and she is +a thing for loathing." + +"Hush! What a conventional man it is, after all. Always the same old +tune, one thing for the man, another for the woman! Listen: I know +Dorothy Ware, better, perhaps, than you do; I know her later self, you +only know her as a child. There are great points of similarity between +you two. She has much of your absurd sensitiveness; self-torment is one +of her vices. She is very much given to making mountains out of +molehills. She--" + +"No, no," he interrupted, wearily, "I tell you I believe it. All, all of +it!" + +"Well," she said, somewhat angrily, "and suppose you do! What then! Who +are you, that you should judge?" + +He winced slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, of course, of +course; I've heard all about that. But it won't do, in practice." + +"Won't it? Let us put the cases plainly, for comparison's sake: You are +a young man that has had more than his share of selfish indulgence; you +have thrown aside all scruples and done everything and anything you +pleased. Your actual transgressions of the commandments we will waive; +there is a greater crime: you have allowed yourself to become a soured, +bitter, heartless creature, fit only to disseminate scorn and distaste. +She, the woman in the case, once, we will say, allowed her senses to +oust her sense. Ever since, she has suffered agonies of regret. Unlike +the man she has not told herself that she might as well let fate have +it's play out. She is as sweet as the dew of Maytime, and the slight +trace of sadness only needs the touch of love to fall and almost fade. I +think she loves you; I am not sure--she is a woman, and it is hard to +say. As for you, in spite of everything, you love her. You coward! Why +don't you ask her again? She will tell you that it is impossible, of +course. She will say there was once another. Then, unless you are a +greater coward than I think you, you will tell her that compared to +yourself she is as pure as the driven snow, and you want nothing, only +her forgiveness for yourself." + +He was still stubborn. "It is the old story," he said, "one has heard it +all before. The woman is to be put on a par with the man; there is no +actual difference in ethics. But I once saw it tried; I shudder when I +think of it. To be sure--the woman was notorious." + +"Ah! How can you compare the cases? And yet--" she laughed a trifle +bitterly,--"in this case the man is notorious." She watched him wince +under the callousness of triumph. + +"Think," she continued, "what she could be to you, how she could help +you; how you could help each other! The happy days and dreams together, +the planning for new artistic achievements, the sweet companionship of a +soul capable of understanding! Instead of--what? Fierce flights into +forgetfulness; pursuits of vanishing pleasures, palling desires; short +triumphs in art merged into long revulsions from life! It seems, to me, +a fair exchange!" She rose, as if to end the subject. He put her shawl +about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back to the village, talking +of other things, gaily, lightly, insincerely. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Lancaster said goodbye on the following morning, and by noon he was in +Edinboro'. At the Travelers' club he found a letter from the firm of +publishers, at home, that had lately been using a great many of his +sketches. They took the liberty of informing him that owing to the +popularity of his work they had thought proper to open an exhibition of +his original sketches in the Museum Art Galleries. While they were aware +that possession of these originals was entirely vested in themselves, +they had decided to lay aside a share of the receipts from the +exhibition and sale for him, as a courtesy royalty. Lancaster folded the +letter up, drummed on the table for a second or two, and then went out +to get a paper. It had occurred to him that, if he sailed for home at +once, he could reach there before the exhibition closed. It would be a +grim bit of humor to appear there in person, and listen to the comments +of the very people who, a year ago, would have considered him and his +work beneath their notice. Now, with a European reputation, his stock, +so to put it, had gone far beyond par in his native country. +Besides,--the memory of the things that Mrs. Stewart had said to him +refused to pass from him--there was Dorothy! He would see her again; he +would put his fate to the touch once more. + +It had been a white night that had passed between his conversation with +Mrs. Stewart and his departure from St. Andrews. He had lain awake +listening to the hissing of the sea over the rocks, and recounting the +arguments that affected his feelings toward Miss Ware. Now, it had +seemed to him that she represented for him the one chance of happiness; +that the touch of sadness that had come to her would make her but the +more merciful to his own past. Then, again, the old bitterness, the old +distaste came; he could not escape the thought that the old conventions +teach, that one step aside means, for the woman, eternal disgrace. Well, +and even if the old conventions said so a thousand times, were they to +bind him now, when they had so long been thrust away by him in scorn? At +any rate, the torment of these conflicting thoughts was to be avoided. +He must decide upon one attempt or another--the return home and the +repetition of a certain question, or the effort to continue more +steadfast than ever in the philosophy of laughter. + +He decided for the return to America. + +No boat left Liverpool for two days. In the interval he roamed about the +most beautiful city in Scotland, enjoying the memories and pictures of +the past that Holyrood, the old Castle, and John Knox's house brought +up. The autumn sun turned Prince's Street Gardens, and the Scott +Monument into a green and gold and flowered picture that he remembered +no equal to, in his wanderings through the capitals of Europe, Prince's +Street, he maintained, was the prettiest thoroughfare in the world. He +left it with regret. + +His voyage across the Atlantic merely gave him material for a study of +the gowns adopted by the fair ocean travelers, and several chances for +cynical representations of the humors of upper-deck flirtations. +Otherwise his journey was as monotonous as the luxuriance of the modern +travel could make it. + +It was morning, when after another fatiguing journey by rail, he reached +the metropolis that held so many mixed memories for him. He went +straight to the Philistine club, and took some rooms there. The servants +hardly knew him. He had, it was true, changed a great deal. He was +browner, thinner; there were deep lines about his eyes and mouth. + +The first man he met in the smoking-room, after he had refreshed himself +with a bath and a lunch, was Vanstruther. + +"Why," said that gentleman, after a long, puzzled look, "dashed if it +isn't Dick Lancaster!" "Come into the light, most noble genius, and let +me gaze upon you. You--you put bright crimson tints on all the effete +European cities, didn't you? I declare it's good to see you again! +You've seemed a good deal like a myth lately, you know; no one ever +seemed to know just where you were, or whether you were alive at all." + +They walked up and down the room, asking and answering such pleasant +questions as come between two familiars after a long absence. + +"Oh, there's not much change," Vanstruther was explaining, "except in +yourself. You'll be no end of a lion, I'm afraid. Have to do a couple of +paragraphs about you myself, just to scoop the other fellows. Give me a +text or two. Oh, but you have hit the fad in the exact centre, somehow! +I'm not saying a thing against the real value of your stuff, but the +fact remains that this whole blessed nation is fad-mad just now, and it +simply has got to have a fad or quit. Your European reputation came +along just about the time the fad for the newest English novel was +dying. You went, so to say, with a whoop. One can't pick up a Sunday +paper now but what one finds weird, impossible interviews with you; +descriptions of your favorite models, or reproductions of your newest +sketch. You are depicted as the founder of a new style; they talk of +women as being "Lancaster-like," and you are a pest generally. In print, +I mean, of course, only in print. You are about to furnish my own dear +self with material for about a column, so I shouldn't call you a pest; +but from the standpoint of the reader, rather than the penny-a-liner, I +abhor you!" He made a gesture of aversion, laughingly. + +"You want to know about the old guard, do you? Well, Stanley is still +the same dismal distiller of cynicisms that he ever was; his trip abroad +only seems to have made him worse. Belden? Oh, he plods along in the +same old way, drawing bloody battles for the dailies, and making all +creation look like the prize-ring 'toughs.' We have the same old Sunday +evenings up at his house, too; his wife's turned out well, as far as one +can see. He certainly doesn't look unhappy. We were all up there not +long ago, Marsboro, Stanley and myself. Mind you, I never take Mrs. Van. +I'm about the same as ever, too. I've got a blood-curdling dime-novel on +the stocks just now, and the 'season' is beginning for the winter, so +I'm not likely to have much time for idle trifling for a while. Oh,--did +you see Mrs. Stewart while you were abroad? Thanks! That'll be another +scoop on the rest of the society editors. Hallo! three o'clock,--got to +be off to the office--see you again!" He rushed off, leaving Lancaster +smiling at his frank, jerky sentences. + +Lancaster sat down and took up the morning paper. Before long the +advertisement of his exhibition at the museum met his eyes. It occurred +to him that if what Vanstruther had said was only in part true, it would +be wise for him to go and take a peep at the show this very afternoon, +before people knew he was in town. + +The place was crowded with well-dressed men and women. They flowed in +and out in a constant stream. They held catalogues in their hands, and +chatted volubly. In front of one picture, whereon was depicted a London +music-hall scene, there was an especially large gathering. + +"He's so dreadfully cynical, don't you think so?" one man was saying to +the girl that was with him. "I really think he ought to be called a +caricaturist." + +"Oh, but, after all, it's nearly all true, you know. Look at the +expression on that gallery-god's face, will you!" + +"Wonder what sort of a chap he is personally?" + +"Oh--impossible, I suppose. Although I ought not to say that; nothing is +impossible nowadays, there never was such a run on intellect. I never +saw anything like it! It positively seems as if society was +intellect-mad. Singers, actors, painters, writers--all sorts of queer +people go everywhere now, and that isn't the worst of it! The society +people won't be content with just playing at 'society' as they used to: +they want to sing, and paint, and write, too! It's awful! I'll have to +go on the stage, or something of that sort, myself, if I want to keep up +with the procession." + +Lancaster moved away from that corner. It was amusing, certainly; but it +was also painful. What pleased him more than the overheard conversations +were the little labels, displaying the word "SOLD" that decorated many +of his sketches. It was balm to him to think that these moneybags, these +puppets mumbling set phrases, were being despoiled of some of their +wealth for his sake. + +Walking over to the wall whereon hung the sketch for which Wooton had +been the unconscious model, Lancaster heard a voice that seemed +familiar. + +"It certainly looks like him," the voice was saying. "That would be a +wanton brutality." + +It was Miss Tremont. Lancaster flushed angrily. What had she to judge +by? It was Mrs. Tremont who was accompanying her daughter; the elder +lady moved away, that moment, to speak to an acquaintance. Miss Tremont +remained in front of the picture of the drunkard, her brows moving +nervously. + +Lancaster stepped close up to her. + +"If I were you," he said quietly, but distinctly, "I should go and look +after him. He needs it." + +The girl started quickly, turned momentarily pale, and then, seeing who +it was, nerved herself to stony calmness. "How dare you?" she said +twisting her catalogue into shapelessness. + +"Oh," he laughed, "I really mean it for the best. As you see--" he +looked sneeringly at the sketch--"he's not the pink of sobriety. And +when he drinks, he talks a good deal. He sometimes talks about--you, for +instance." He paused and seemed engrossed in nothing save the smoothing +out of the wrinkles in his gloves. + +"You coward!" If intention could have killed, Miss Tremont's eyes +committed murder. + +"True; I fear for you both. And I take such an interest in you! But I +believe he will make an excellent husband--for you!" He lifted his hat, +with a fleeting mockery of a smile, and left her before the picture, +staring, trembling. + +"That," he told himself, "was wanton brutality number two. But she +should not have judged me!" + +He left the galleries, taking with him a feeling of scorn for himself, +that he should have put himself on the level of the praise or blame of +the fadists in such a public way. Yet, he reflected, it had been not of +his own seeking. + +The afternoon was already touched with the darkening shadow of evening. +The town roared and hissed and seethed in all it's wonted fervor; the +chill-hardness of its material manners were painfully evident to +Lancaster as he came from the comparative quiet of the +picture-galleries. He contrasted the grim roar of the place with the +smiling, careless, jovial glitter of those other towns he had lately +enjoyed; for the bright cheer of the boulevards and the gardens and the +open-air café's he found the skypiercing buildings that shut out the +sun-light, hemmed in masses of money-mad humanity, and extended +apparently to all the horizons. For the strolling gayety he had grown to +love so; for the ever-changing current of picturesque triflers, idlers +and dandies,--he had received in exchange a breathless surge of anxious, +nervous, straining men and women, plunging wildly down the slopes to an +imaginary sea of gold. Something of the old repulsion made itself felt +in him; he foresaw that it would never again be possible for him to +endure life here. That other glittering, careless, joyous +maelstrom,--perhaps; this one, never! He realized that while for future +generations it was possible, for himself the hope of finding an American +metropolis tinged with aught but the feverish strivings after riches was +utterly vain. He tried to argue with himself about it; to persuade +himself that it was a nobler sign, this one of the masses all honest in +labor and in pursuit of it's fruits, than the evidences of inherited +wealth, or quiet content with small means, that were the prevailing +notes of older countries. But he failed. His temperament rebelled; he +loved the smooth, the finished sides of life; the artist in him rebelled +against the commercialism of his native haunts. If it should be the +decree of fate that he continue to seek out life's most distracting +enchantments, he would certainly have to bid his native land farewell +again. If there were anything else in store for him; if it happened that +he be required by Dame Chance to do something more serious than to +laugh, to laugh, and laugh--well, that consideration would bear +postponement. + +It seemed to him, as he walked through the streets that were now +beginning to glitter with the white and yellow lights born of +electricity and gas, that these faces were the same faces always, that +there was never any change, from year to year, in the puppets that +paraded on this urban stage. A thousand differing types, to be sure; but +always the same in their hard, tense, sinister look of restraint; all +wore the same tiring eyes, the same rounded shoulders. The same fierce +passion for excitement swam in the eyes of the women. In his morbidness +he fancied that it was as if all these city-dwellers were +life-prisoners, condemned forever to walk, and mumble and laugh shrilly. + +"The metropolis," he told himself, "is a maelstrom that never gives up +it's human prisoners: it merely changes their cells occasionally." At +which reflection he presently laughed. The old text came to him: "The +thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Yes," he thought, "but it's harder here than anywhere else. Much +harder." + +Arrived at the club, he ordered dinner, and in the short interval, set +down to write a letter to his mother. For the many months of his absence +abroad he had contented himself with sending her occasional newspapers, +the briefest of notes, and illustrated magazines. In none of these +missives had there ever been the real personal, familiar note. He had +given merely the scantest news of his whereabouts and his well-being. In +the life and the philosophy he had chosen there was little room for +comradeships, even with his own mother. Now, however, with the distance +between them so vastly less, he felt again some of the old affections +that he had thought to have slain with laughter. In any event, he wrote, +whether he decided to remain on this or that continent, he would pay +Lincolnville a visit presently. They would have that dear, delightful +talk that the months had despoiled them of. + +As he stepped into the dining-room, Vanstruther nailed him. "Saw a +friend of yours just now, Dick," he said, "Miss Ware!" + +"Ah," was the reply, given in apparent abstraction, "they still live +here then?" + +"Yes. Dick did it ever occur to you that she's a devilish pretty girl?" + +"Oh, look here, Van," said Dick, laughingly, "I came to feed on solids, +not the lilies of your imagination. The prettiest thing in the world to +me, at this date, is a good dinner." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It is impossible, even for the most harassed of human beings, to be +entirely pessimistic after a dinner that had been well prepared, +tastefully served, and finely appreciated. With the coffee and the +liqueur a warm glow of pleasant sentiment is sure to invade the dinner; +the dismal reflections that harrowed his soul an hour ago have fled at +the approach of that self-satisfied feeling that marks the man that has +dined. + +By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded +in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter +that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and +was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended +interview with Dorothy Ware. + +It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved +him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she +did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture +all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need +matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the +question: What art thou? + +He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was +changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for +pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying +to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through +the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness +of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing +and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, +skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more +as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade. + +It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to +head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza +whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his +card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness +of all other things--and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the +driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the +accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a +little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, +were so absurdly insignificant! + +When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when +Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon +it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an +entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, +paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders. + +But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. +Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the +driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such +an occasion. + +But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and +wistful happiness shining in her eyes. + +"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a +will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back +to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell +reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something +in return." + +"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion +should bring out such a lion!" + +"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know--anything about +me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else--anyone! For I do +detest--" + +She interrupted him gaily. "Oh, no; you are doomed. I shall introduce +you to the most portentous faddists; you shall suffer. That, sir, may be +your punishment for surprising me so!" She glided away, and returned +with Mrs. Ware. + +Never, thought Lancaster, had he seen Dorothy so gay, so cheerful, so +roguish. Whence came that playful mood of hers; that mocking, joyous +laughter? Talking to this and that person, Lancaster kept his watch upon +Miss Ware. He saw her go out of the room, laughing and chattering, and +the moment she reached the conservatory, put her hands up to her +forehead and press them swiftly over her eyes. The smile went from her +lips; her whole form testified to a sudden relaxation of an artificial +tension. + +A mask, Lancaster told himself, a mask for her feelings. She was +agitated, but she determined to hide all that under a cloak of gayety. +He understood. Had he not himself tested the expungent qualities of +laughter? + +As of old, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice had thrilled +him with a sense of wonderful gladness. At sight, at sound of her all +the good in him seemed to become vibrant; she was still the star, far +above him, that he longed for. The comforts of his cold philosophies, +the promises of the epicureanisms he had delved in so deeply--all faded +into ashes at approach of this girl. + +"We are really very fortunate," a voice behind him aroused him from his +rêverie, "in having such a distinguished guest with us tonight." It was +Stanley, who stood with his hand on Lancaster's shoulder. "Surprised to +see me here, are you? Well, to tell the truth, it's only of late that +I've gone into these rare regions. I find that it conserves one's +pessimism to enjoy the company of one's fellow-creatures. Will you +excuse me, I see that man Wreath coming over here. I really can't stand +him. He always remarks to me, sorrowfully, 'Ah, Mr. Stanley, I'm very +much afraid you're not in earnest!' Why, the man himself's an eternal +warning against being in earnest. There's nothing that spoils the look +of a person's mouth so much as earnestness." + +In truth, at that moment, just after Stanley had deftly slipped away, +Mr. Wreath had solemnly greeted the artist. "You have shown great +talent, Mr. Lancaster, great talent. But--" and he beamed reproach upon +the other, "why don't you dig deeper?" + +Lancaster felt as if he could have sworn at the man's presuming egoism. +But he merely laughed, and said, "Ah, you forget what a fellow-artist of +mine once said, _apropos_ of cleanliness. 'Wash,' he said, 'no, we don't +wash; we merely scratch and rub, scratch and rub.' I choose, in like +manner, only to scratch. If I can scratch an effective creation, why +should I dig?" + +Wreath shook his head, with a mournful smile. "Ah, you will agree with +me--later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about my next novel. +Do you think we could make it worth your while to illustrate it for us?" +He dragged Lancaster off into the library and bored him, for at least +ten minutes. From the other room came sounds of music. Someone was +singing. "_In Einem Kuehlen Grunde_" went the soft, sweet old ballad. +Lancaster promised Wreath that he would let the writer's publishers know +definitely in a day or so, whether he would undertake the illustrations. +He hurried back into the salon, muttering, as he went. + +"Several haystacks; two threshing-day scenes; several prairie pictures, +one for each season of the year--that's about what those illustrations +will have to be. Well, I'd do it twice over if that man would promise to +let me alone!" + +It was Dorothy Ware that had been singing. She got up just as he entered +the room. She caught his look, and smiled to him. "You must take me to +the conservatory," she commanded, with a pretty air of authority, "for +singing is warm work." She took his arm, and while someone else went to +the piano and began to play the ballet from "Sylvia," together they +strolled out into the cooler rooms beyond. + +"And now," she said, when they were snugly seated upon the cushioned +windowseat, "I must tell you how proud mother and I have been of you. +Oh, it was so good to read all these praises of you!" + +He smiled. "It came," he said, "because I did not care whether it came +or not. I was indifferent; and so success came." + +"Indifferent? Why, Dick? With such power it is not right to be +indifferent. Why--" + +"Why should I be anything other than indifferent? For myself? No. I +despise myself too much. I consider myself only a means toward +amusement. And if not for myself, for whom?" + +She was playing with the leaves of a palm that hung down over her +shoulder. + +"No," he went on, "there was never any motive in it all. It was all +sheer play. There was the joy, the delirium of creation; that was a +sufficient sensation; beyond that--nothing! It might be different +if...." He stopped with the word half spoken. + +"If what?" + +He looked at her swiftly. There was in her face only earnest curiosity +and sympathy. "If," he continued, "if there were--someone else. Oh, +Dorothy, dear, don't you see? Don't you realize that it is you, you for +whom I would work--yes, work and live? Dorothy, tell me that you are +not altogether indifferent. Once--long ago--you said you might care for +me. Then we were boy and girl; now we are man and woman. Then again you +told me to forget you. I tried. I tried--all ways into forgetfulness. I +tried to laugh away you, and all the past; to live only for the essence +of the moment. And now, Dorothy, why don't you speak?" + +She gently disengaged her hand from his. Her face was white, and she +could only shake her head. + +"But why?" he moaned, fiercely, "why? Can you not love me a little?" + +She looked at him reproachfully, and for a moment he thought he divined +the framing of the words, "Ah, but I do love you," then she merely +sighed, and looked away again. + +"Is it," he went on, "that I have put myself beyond your mercy? Have I +become too notorious a vagabond?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, it is all +true; I am come through all the highways and byways of life, and I am +touched with the scum of it all. Perhaps you are right. I am not worthy. +And yet--I only ask for forgiveness, and a little love. With that, I +might--be able to--sink the bitterness of the days behind. But, as I +said, I dare say you are right. Shall we go into the other room?" + +"Oh, Dick," she sighed, "how hard you make it! Dick, it is--it is I that +am not worthy." She put her hands to her face suddenly, and pressed +them feverishly to her cheeks and eyes, and then started as if to go +away. + +Lancaster took her hand and kissed it. "Dorothy," he said, "Don't talk +nonsense! Unworthy of me--of a man who has used the world as a +playground, and exhausted his days in satiating curiosity! Ah, no! That +is impossible. There is no one, Dorothy--no one, however wretched, who +would not be worthy of me." + +"You don't understand," she wailed, "you don't understand! I--" she hid +her face in her hands again, "I have sinned!" + +He put his arm about her, and whispered, "What does it matter Dorothy, +if only you love me? Do you, Dorothy, do you love me?" + +She sobbed, silently almost. Then she looked up, and, as if she were +defining a happiness that could never be, said, "Yes, Dick, I love you." +Then, as he covered her brow with kisses, she shuddered in his arms, and +again moaned, "But you don't know, you don't understand!" + +He smoothed the tears from her eyes, and looked tenderly upon her. "Yes, +dear, I do." He burst into a fierce trumpet of rage. "That cad, Wooton, +--he told me some damnable lies...! He was drunk...!" + +She shrank away from him. "Ah, then, you see it is quite--impossible!" + +"Dorothy," he said, "I am not speaking of that, am I, dear? I am asking +you to have pity on me, to help me see that there are bright and tender +and true things in life. I tell you that, past or no past, you are as +high above me as the stars. Why must we listen to the old shibboleths, +Dorothy? Have you not spent a lifetime of regret to atone for a moment +of folly? And who am I to judge? I, in whom there is no more of +whiteness left, save only that I love you! Consider, dear, if this is +not to be, what our lives will be! For me, all the old bitterness, the +efforts to drown all things in laughter. For you--memories! But if you +say 'yes,' Dorothy, think! How different the world will seem! We will go +and live in the country, close to the heart of Nature. All the noise and +noisomenesses of this town-world will be shut out; we will forget it. +For you, dear, I will work as I never worked before. Think, dear--think +of the dear old, silent, restful hills of Lincolnville! How the insects +hum in the clear nights; how blue, how deep, how tender the sky seems +there; how the very flowers seem to wear more natural faces than do +those of town! Do you remember how, in summer, we used to go camping by +the river? The simple pleasures, the healthy out-door life--can you not +believe that it would make new creatures of us two, Dorothy? The +house--think of the house we would plan, the orchard, the garden! And +are we to lose all that, dear, for a whim? Dorothy," he held out both +his hands to her, "see, Dorothy, I ask you to let me not see happiness +only to lose it?" + +For another moment she wavered, then with a choking "Ah, Dick, I love +you!" she let him take her to his arms. He kissed her shining eyes, and +said, fervidly, "Sweetheart, I thank you." + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +It was in the first beauty of June that Dick Lancaster brought her that +had been Dorothy Ware home to Lincolnville as his wife. The village, as +I remember, was looking its fairest; the trees were radiant and profuse +of shade; the grass was long and luscious, the birds were cheerful and +bold. We welcomed the two with all the heartiness we had command of; we +had known them as children, and we had loved their memory always, all +through the years they had been gone. Of Dick's fame we were +immeasurably proud. We wondered a little, indeed, that a man so dear to +the world's heart should find satisfaction in living so far from the +pulse of it all. But, we argued, if indeed, he preferred Lincolnville, +all the greater was the honor. + +Both, as we soon saw, had aged, Mr. Fairly, who had gone up to town to +marry them, had told us as much, but we were but little prepared for the +actual evidence. Those of us, too, who were permitted closer glimpses +into the life of these two, observed in the two a passionate fondness +for the fields, for the silence and stillness of our life there that was +something very different from the matter-of-course acceptance of those +attributes to our existence that existed in the rest of us. It was as if +the place were, for them, a very harbor of refuge, a hospital in which +to forget old ailment, or regain old healthfulness. These things, and +many other signs of something wistful in the affection they bore the +place and the dislike they long showed for leaving it, made up for me +and many others, something of a mystery. At that time, I knew nothing of +the things that had occurred since Dick left Lincolnville. + +Afterwards, long afterwards, it happened that I came to know all the +things that have been chronicled here. And, for my part, I came to love +them the more. As Mr. Fairly, who, I suspect, also knew something of +these things, once said to me, "If one has not seen the devil, one does +not know enough to get out of his way." I consider that Dick Lancaster +is much more to be commended for the honest life he lives among us than +old Scrattan, the milkman, who has never been out of Lincoln County in +his life. And as for Dorothy, all Lincolnville thinks she is the +sweetest woman breathing--and when a village as given to gossip as is +this place, agrees on any such eulogy as that, there must be potent +reasons. + +It is an ancient trick, I know, and an uncommendable, this of +chronicling the lives of two people only up to the church door. In the +lives of most people, I hear on all sides of me, the tragedy only begins +after marriage. Well, perhaps so. But I hope, for my part, that for +Dick Lancaster and his wife there is not to be much more of battling +against the buffets of the world. For them there had been so much of +tragedy--the tragedy that is almost intangible, the tragedy that +underlies the surface flippancy of our modern life--before Fate chose to +let them come together, that it would seem just that thereafter their +life be but a pleasant pastoral. As for that I cannot say. I know that +Dick's fame grows with each passing year; and that both he and his wife +are beginning to lose the look of weariness that was on them when they +came back to us. + +I have not given this chronicle as an example or a lesson. I do not mean +in telling it to declare my belief in the theory that Christ's words +"Go, and sin no more!" can be perpetually applied in the practice of +modern life. I have transcribed one episode, one group of characters, +one set of lives, and having done so, I refer the responsibility whither +it belongs to the Being that mapped, that directed those life-threads. I +do not mean to say that in like instances, a similar course would +inevitably lead to happiness. I only say that yesterday, as I was +walking in my garden, watching the blue-jays quarreling in the firs, I +heard Dick and Dorothy talking and laughing on their veranda. There was +something so infectious about their gladness that I paused and listened, +without thought of curiosity, but rather in something of wistful +appreciation of their happiness. + +"I had not thought," I heard him say, "that the world would ever seem +so fair to me." + +There was a pause, and I fancied I heard a kiss, but I will not be sure. + +"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you." + +Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened +whisper from her: "Dick--do you think we shall ever see--him--again?" + +He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of +his own safety. Besides--what matter if we did. He belongs to the things +that we have forgotten." + +Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually +died from my hearing. + +It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to +these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And +whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the +end. + +FINIS + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cape of Storms, by Percival Pollard + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39781 *** diff --git a/39781-h/39781-h.htm b/39781-h/39781-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d67bc53 --- /dev/null +++ b/39781-h/39781-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5806 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cape Of Storms, by Percival Pollard. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} +hr.full {width: 95%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + + + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39781 ***</div> + + + + + +<h1>CAPE OF STORMS</h1> + +<h4>A NOVEL</h4> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>PERCIVAL POLLARD</h2> + +<h5>CHICAGO</h5> + +<h5>THE ECHO</h5> + +<h5>1895</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/storms.jpg" width="450" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<blockquote><p>"So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that +place the cape of torments and of storms and blessed +his Maker that he was safely gone by it. And even so, +in the lives of us all, there is a Cape of Storms, the +which to pass safely is delightful fortune, and on +which to be wrecked is the common fate. For it often +happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman's +face." * * *</p> + +<p> +—An Unknown Author +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> +<p><a href="#Contents">contents</a></p> +<p class="center">1894<br /> +ST. JOSEPH<br /> +FRIDENAU<br /> +CHICAGO<br /> +1895</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h3> + + +<p>"Life is a cup that is better to sip than to drain; the taste of the +dregs is very bitter in the mouth." I shall never forget those words of +our dear minister's, I suppose, because so much that has happened since +he first uttered them to us as we sat in his Sunday-school class has +shown me the truth of them. Dick himself, I remember, was especially +loth to believe Mr. Fairly's monition; indeed, none of us young bloods +cared to think that there was anything in the life before us that was +not altogether worth living, and when Dick spoke up plainly and quite +proudly, arguing against the pastor's words, we were all silent +approvers of his challenge. Dick was always the bravest boy in the +village; and we had long since come to be admirers rather than rivals. +But Mr. Fairly only shook his head and smiled a little—he had a +wonderful smile, and his eyes were always shining with kindness—and +patted Dick on the head, with a gentle, "Well, well, my boy, let us hope +so; let us hope so. Perhaps you will be fortunate above your fellows."</p> + +<p>The incident dwells in my memory for many reasons. It was, as I have +said, a curiously prophetic sentence of our pastor's; besides that, it +was the last Sunday that we were all together in Lincolnville, we boys +who had played, and fought and learned together. Early in the week, +Dick—somehow, long after the world has come to know him only as Richard +Lancaster, I am still unable to think of him as anything but the "Dick" +of my boyhood—was to leave the village for the world; he was going to +begin a life for himself, up there in that mysteriously magnetic +maelstrom—the town. Like Dick Whittington of old, and every fresh +young blood every day of this world's life, he was going up to town to +conquer. Before him lay the beautiful pathway into a glorious future; +promises and pleasures were like hedges to that way that he was going to +tread. He was all eagerness, all hope, all ambition. And, to be just, +perhaps there was never a boy went up to town from Lincolnville who had +better cause to be full of pleasant hopes for his future than Dick. +Certainly, it was the first time the little place had evolved such a +talent; and it felt a pardonable pride in the boy; it expected, perhaps, +even more than he did, and was looking forward to the reflected glory of +being his native village.</p> + +<p>If you have traveled through the West at all, and have anything more +than a car-window acquaintance with the great Middle West, you know +Lincolnville fairly well, I think. Not that you may ever have been to +the village itself, but because it is a type of thousands of other +villages scattered throughout the country.</p> + +<p>It is the county-seat, and is built upon the checker-board plan, with a +sort of hollow square in the middle, filled, as an Irishman might say, +with a park. The sides of this square form the business heart of the +place; each street that runs away from the square is lined with pretty +dwelling-houses of frame or brick, so that the village looks like an +octopus with four large tentacles stretching toward every point of the +compass. The streets are fringed with shade trees of every sort, and in +midsummer the place looks like a veritable nest of green and cool +bowers. The county is strictly and agricultural one; the farmers come to +"town," as they call it, every Saturday; at least, hitch their horses to +the iron railing that surrounds the park, and spend the day selling +produce, buying dry goods, implements or other necessaries. The face of +the village rarely changes; there is an occasional fire on the "square," +mayhap, and then the newer building that fills the gap is in decided +improvement over the old one; young men are forever going out into the +world, and old men are for ever coming back thither to die; for the rest, +one might fancy that, if you came into the world again a hundred years +from now, you would find the same farmers doing their "trading" at +exactly the same stores that they now favor. On occasions of a political +convention, or a circus, the town takes on a festive aspect, and the +roads leading to the square are filled, all day long, with wagons that +have come from the further edges of the county. During the three or four +days of the County Fair, too, there is great activity between the +village and the Fair Grounds, and, if it be a dry summer, the air +between those places is merely one huge cloud of dust. Occasionally the +pretty little Opera House has an entertainment that draws out such of +the citizens as have no very severe religious scruples against the +theatre. For the rest, the place is an admirable home of quiet. Young +blood chafes at this quiet; old blood finds there the peace it seeks.</p> + +<p>In the very nature of things, a place of this sort is chiefly concerned +with its own affairs; the main theme of conversation are its own people. +Everyone is perfectly acquainted with his neighbor's affairs, and not +infrequently, in fact, is able to inform that neighbor of certain +details relating to the latter, that had until then been unknown to him. +So it was that, at the time of Dick's leaving Lincolnville, the good +people of that place knew, much better than he did himself, the surety +of his engagement to Dorothy Ware. He himself would have been only too +glad to be as sure as they were, when he heard the rumors he was given +to smiling rather sardonically.</p> + +<p>He came to me once, I remember, and looked at me for a long time with +those clear, grey eyes of his. "Tell me, old man," he said, "do you +think she cares for me?" It is a stupid question, this; but almost +every boy who is in love puts it to some friend or other, in the quest +for confirmation of his fears or hopes. "Why, Dick," I said—still more +foolishly, perhaps, now that I look back on it—"Why, Dick, of course +she does. We all do." "Oh," he flung in, impatiently, "I don't mean +that!" I knew what he meant; but who shall tell, being a man, whether a +girl cares or not? Although, if ever a boy was made to be well beloved, +surely it was Dick.</p> + +<p>He was always a high-spirited youngster; some of his tricks are still +legends of the old high-school in his native place. He never liked to +fight, being naturally mild of temper; but when he was roused beyond +endurance lie was a veritable Daniel. His father died when he was only +four years old; to his mother he was the most devoted of sons.</p> + +<p>It was when he was about ten years old that his talent for drawing first +proved itself. It came to him in the way that it has come to many who +have since made the world listen to their names—on the old black-board +in the schoolroom. It was a caricature of Mr. Fairly, I remember, who +was always very tall and very thin, and whose face was like that of a +French general's under the empire. Dick exaggerated all these +peculiarities most deftly with his chalk, and then it so happened that +Mr. Fairly himself walked in and found the caricature. He only looked at +Dick quietly, and put his hand down on his shoulder with a subdued, "I +am a good deal older than you, my boy, a good deal older. You're sorry, +aren't you?" And something in our minister's tone must have touched +Dick, for the boy put his head down and said: "Yes, sir," with a little +choke in his voice. Nor do I think that from that day to this Dick has +ever drawn or painted in caricature. But in all other ways he developed +his talent day by day with really wonderful results. He always had a +rare notion of color; the autumn foliage thereabouts gave him the most +startling effects. He used to go out into the woods in mid-summer and +mid-winter—it made little difference to him—and come back with some of +the prettiest bits of landscape work I have ever seen. There were, it is +true, certain palpable crudities in his work, due to the lack of any +training save that of his instincts, but those would undoubtedly +disappear as soon as he came under the influence of a proper instructor. +It was for this that he was going to leave the village and become of the +greater world in town. His mother had rebelled at first; she was growing +old, and she feared the thought of losing sight of him; but there was no +restraining his ambition. To remain cooped up in that little corral of a +place all his life—oh, no; that was not at all the thing for Dick +Lancaster. That great world, out there, that he had read and heard so +much about, that was where he ought to be; and it was there he wanted to +wager and to win; what was there left in Lincolnville? He could do +nothing more there; his life was beginning to be a mere stagnation. He +must out and away. This longing for shaking off the shackles of that +narrow village life was, as much as ambition, the spur that sent him out +into the larger world. And I do not wonder at him. Those small places +are not fit arenas for the disporting of ambitions or freedoms.</p> + +<p>At this time, Dick was a little over one-and-twenty. He was handsome in +a dark, olive-skinned sort of way, and his eyes had the longest lashes I +have ever seen in a man. His hair curled a little, though he was forever +trying to comb and coax the curl away; he hated it, saying that curls +were all right for a girl, perhaps, but not for a man. He was, but for +the fact that he was very fond of good cigars, a veritable Pierrot. He +had always been very closely under his mother's influence; even his +association with the boys of his own age and class had not been enough +to taint him at all. He had a fancy that, now as I consider it, after +all these years, seems a most pathetic one, that the world was a very +beautiful place in which the wicked were always punished, if not by +actual stripes, at least by the disdain of their fellow-men. It seems +strange, perhaps, that a young man of his age should still hold such +notions, but you must remember that in the quieter villages of our +country it is possible to hold these fancies all one's life; the town is +the great disenchanter. Dick considered that he had two things to live +for—his ambition and Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>It was beautiful, the way the boy sometimes rhapsodized; beautiful, and +yet in the light of after events, sad. "One day, you know," he said in +one of his bursts of enthusiasm, "I will be known all the world over as +a great painter. People will come to my studio and wonder at it, and the +work in it. They will invite me everywhere. I will be a lion. But I +shall always place my work first; admiration shall go into the last +place. And there will be Dorothy! Dear Dorothy! I haven't asked her yet, +you know, but I hope—oh, yes, I hope—that it will be all right between +us. Dorothy will help me in everything; when I begin to flag, or to lose +spirit, she will spur me on. She will represent me to the great world of +society when I am hard at work; she will be my veritable Alter Ego. And +some day—some day, when I feel that my brush and my hand have in them +the passion for my masterpiece, I will paint her face—her face!" He +took up a photograph that lay on the table before him and looked at it +steadily for an instant or two. "Sweet face!" he went on, "how shall +mere paint ever represent you? There must be love, too. Love and paint. +The one is a mere trick of the hand and eye; the other is mine and mine +alone. For no one can love her as I do."</p> + +<p>As for Miss Dorothy Ware, she was eighteen and beautiful. I do not know +that any woman really needs a fuller description than that. As for her +wit, it is too early in this chronicle to speak of that; nor do I, +personally, differ much from Théophile Gautier, when he states that a +woman who has wit enough to be beautiful has all she needs.</p> + +<p>Miss Ware's father had made a great deal of money by the very simple +process of growing old; he had been one of the pioneer settlers in that +county and his had been most of the land that the village now stood on. +Miss Ware herself, while sensible of her riches, was unspoilt by them. +By nature she was of the disposition that one can call nothing else but +"sweet;" she was tender and gracious; she was fond of fun, so long as +that fun annoyed no one else; in a word, she was considerate and gentle +and lovable. She had been brought up in the south, and she had retained +a trace of the southern accent, so that her speech was in itself a +charm; she had natural talents for looking pretty under all +circumstances; some might have said that she had the instincts of a +coquette, but I do not believe it of her. She was devoted to children +and dumb animals. And whoso has those instincts is intrinsically good. +But Miss Ware held that she had by no means had enough of this world's +pleasures to begin thinking of so solemn a thing as marriage. Like a +large number of the girls of today, she was, first and foremost, "out +for a good time," as the slang of the time has it. She had certainly the +intention of some day marrying the man she loved and making him as happy +as she could; but in the meanwhile she wanted to test the world's +ability to furnish entertainment quite a little while yet. Which was +why, although she was very fond of Dick, she had invariably put him +off, when he grew importunate, with a laugh. "Why, Dick," she would say, +"don't you know you're absurd to think of such a thing? We're just +children yet. Oh, I know we're of age, but what of that? You don't mean +to tell me that you think your life has shaped, or even begun to shape +itself yet? No. And as for me, I'm going to skirmish around a while yet +before I settle down and become old married people! Be sensible, Dick!" +And Dick, with a sigh in his heart, was, perforce, fain to say that he +would try. "Skirmish around!" It grated on him, somehow, that phrase; it +seemed to hold for him visions of innumerable flirtations; of contact +with the world, the flesh and the devil, with the brushing off of the +faint, roseate bloom of innocence.</p> + +<p>It was on the day before Dick's departure for town that Lincolnville +received the news of another intended going abroad. The Wares' were to +sail for Europe before the month was out. Mrs. Ware had long been an +invalid; for years the doctors had advised travel, but her husband's +objections to any sort of change had hitherto prevailed against her +wishes. But now the really dangerous state of Mrs. Ware's health, added +to the entreaties of Dorothy, who longed, as do all American girls, for +a glimpse of the old country, had brought the old gentleman to +acquiescence. He would not go himself; he was getting too old for such a +trip; but his wife and daughter should go, if they had set their hearts +on it. So that, with the prospective departure of both Richard Lancaster +and the girl that rumor had him engaged to, the tongues of the gossips +had plenty to do on that day. When Dick first heard the news about the +Wares' he was inclined to be downhearted; then it struck him that it +would give him an opportunity for another effort at getting from Dorothy +at least the promise of a promise.</p> + +<p>Than Lincolnville in mid-summer I know few fairer places; there is a +cool, green quiet all about that makes for peace and gentleness, and in +the whispering of the breeze as it curls through the thick foliage of +the spreading trees there is the note of happiness. Happiness, indeed, +lies nearer to man in one of these small, serene villages, than anywhere +else in the world, save in solitude; but it is rarely that man sees the +sleeping beauty that he has sought all his life long. Dick, as he walked +along toward the Ware house that splendid afternoon, caught something of +the warm, comfortable languor that was in the air, and looked about him +with a note of regret in his regard. "How pretty it all is!" he thought, +looking at the familiar houses, with their well-kept lawns and +ivy-covered verandahs, "how pretty! And yet—" he sighed, and then +smiled with a proud lift of the head—"there are other things!"</p> + +<p>He found Miss Ware seated in a hammock on what was known as the +front-porch. It was a long, low, cool stretch of verandah, reminding one +of the style of architecture in vogue in the old south. It was all +harbored in vines that were so luxurious they hardly gave the breeze a +fair chance to penetrate; on the other hand, the sun's rays were safely +guarded against.</p> + +<p>Young Lancaster drew up a chair, after she had smiled and reached him +one of her hands. He looked at her critically for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Dorothy," he said, "I have never seen you looking so pretty."</p> + +<p>"I have never felt so happy, Dick," she said.</p> + +<p>"Because you are going away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I am happy, too. And yet, I am rather sorry. I have lived here all my +life; this is the first time that I am going away from home. There is +something solemn about it; but then—the end, oh, the end—justifies it +all. That is not the chief reason why I am not altogether satisfied to +go away. Dorothy, don't you know the other reason?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes a little, and smiled a trifle at the corners of her +mouth. "I, Dick, why, how should I know?" Then she saw that he looked +hurt and she changed her tone. "Dick," she went on, "why won't you be +sensible about it? I suppose you mean about me? Why, Dick, you know I +like you, don't you? I've always liked you and admired you, but—dear +me, can I help it if I feel sure that I don't like anyone yet—in that +way? I'd like to, perhaps, but—well, I don't. What can I do?" She +looked at him appealingly and reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," he said, soothingly, "I'm an impetuous, thoughtless +idiot, I'm afraid, and I hurt you. And, oh, Dorothy! don't you know I'd +rather suffer torments unspeakable than hurt you?" He put out his hand +and touched the one hand of hers that swung beside him, over the edge of +the hammock. "But yet, dear," he went on, "if I only had a word from you +to remember, be it ever so slight, I would fight so much better against +the world. For it is the same to-day as it was in the middle ages; we go +to our crusades, all of us, and if we have a sweetheart who will give us +her love as an armor, we fight the better fight. Our crusades have a +different air, to be sure, but the idea is the same. Don't you know, +Dorothy, that if you only gave, me some little thing to cling to, I +would feel a hundred times stronger. Come, Dorothy, it costs you little +to say it!"</p> + +<p>"But if I say that word, I must live up to it."</p> + +<p>"True; your fair conscience would let you do nothing less. And yet, +there are words so slight that they would cost you scarcely anything, +while to me they would be coats of mail."</p> + +<p>For a time there was silence, both looking out over the street where the +school children were passing homewards. A buggy rattled by, throwing +clouds of dust; then there was quiet again. "If you could say to me, +Dorothy, 'Dick, I won't marry anyone until I see you again, until I +come home again. And I'll try to like you—that way,' why, that would be +enough for me."</p> + +<p>She held up her right hand with a pretty little gesture. "I do solemnly +swear," she said. Then she went on more seriously, "Why, yes, Dick, I'll +promise that. Small chance of my getting married for a few years, +anyway, so I won't have such a very awful time living up to that +promise. Now, do you think, sir, that you're engaged to me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear; not at all. But you've let me hope, haven't you? That's +all I want. You don't know how much happier I'll feel all the time +you're away. How long, by the way, do you think you'll be abroad?"</p> + +<p>"A year, at the least. I want to see it all, you know, when I do get the +chance. Mamma'll want to stay in Carlsbad or Ems, or somewhere all the +time; but I'm going to get her well real soon, you see if I don't, and +then we'll just travel for fun and nothing else. Dick, wouldn't it be +great if you could go along?"</p> + +<p>"It would, for a fact," he assented, "but it's too good to be true. +Besides I'm going to have some fun of my own!"</p> + +<p>"Your work, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Isn't it fun to succeed? And I'm going to succeed! The fighting +for success will be fun, and the victory will be fun!" His eyes flashed +with a fierce battle-light. Today this fire of ambition is the only +thing that at all takes the place of the blood fervor that spurred on +the knights of the olden times. "Dorothy," he said, presently, with a +sudden softness in his voice, "will you wish me luck?"</p> + +<p>She gave him, for answer, her right hand, and looked at him wistfully. +She was wondering, perhaps, why it was that she did not love this +lovable boy. "I wish you all the success in the world," she said +quietly. And then, as he turned to go, she called after him, in the old +formula they had used to each other a thousand times as boy and +girl—"Good-bye, Dick. Be good!"</p> + +<p>The love affairs of a boy and a girl, you may think, are hardly the +things that matter very much in the world of today. But the boy and girl +of today are the man and the woman of tomorrow; and between these stages +there is only the little gulf, so easily crossed, wherein runs the river +of knowledge of the world we live in. As soon as we have crossed that we +are become men and women, and are left of our childhood nothing but the +wish that it were ours again.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h3> + + +<p>Although the western windows were open, it was decidedly warm in the +offices of the <i>Weekly Torch</i>. The offices were on the tenth floor in +one of the town's best known sky-scrapers—the Aurora. There was a view, +through the windows, of innumerable roofs and streets; here and there +the tower of a railway station or a new hotel protruded—in the words +of A.B. Wooton owner of the <i>Torch</i>—"like a sore thumb." Mr. Wooton was +at that moment engaged in the diverting pastime of having his feet +stretched over the side of his desk; and watching the smoke of his +cigarette curl out of the window. Besides his own, there were three +other desks, of the roller-top pattern, in the room, the door of which +was marked "Editorial Rooms," but was rarely, if ever, seen closed. As a +usual thing the outer door to the corridor was, in the summer-time at +least, also left wide open; you could see from the window clear to the +outer door. Indeed, it was one of Wooten's special talents, this ability +of his to see at a glance, from his seat by the window, who it was that +was coming in through the farther door. At one of the other desks a man +was smoking a pipe and shoving a pencil rapidly over sheet of paper. +Presently this man laid his pencil down, took his pipe out of his mouth +and knocked the ashes over into the cuspidor. Then he leaned back in his +chair and inquired,</p> + +<p>"Who was it?"</p> + +<p>"Young fellow from the Art Institute," said Wooten. "Sketches to show; +wants to do illustrating; same old gag. They all come to it. Paint and +fame come altogether too high, and a fellow's got to live. Although, as +the Frenchman remarked, '<i>Je ne vois pahs la nécessité</i>.'" The ability to +hideously mispronounce French with a sort of bravado that almost made it +seem correct was one of Wooten's peculiarities.</p> + +<p>The other man gave a mock shudder. "If your morals," he said, "were as +bad as your French, you wouldn't be fit to print. Was his stuff any +good?"</p> + +<p>"Very fair. Got a thing or two to learn about working for reproduction, +as all these art-school men have; but he's got it in him. I told him to +go and see young Belden, on the <i>Chronicle</i>, to get a few points about +reproduction. I believe I'll be able to use him. If he's cheap." Wooton +laughed, and threw the stub of his cigarette out of the window. Then he +began throwing the papers on his desk all in a heap and looking into, +under and around them. "Confound the luck," he began; then, turning to +the other man, "Got a cigarette, Van?"</p> + +<p>Van, whose full name was Vanstruther, and whom his intimates called +alternately "Tom" and "Van," threw a box over to the other's desk, +laughing. "I swear," he said, "it's my firm belief that if a man were to +put you in a story and try to draw you with a single stroke he would +only have to say that you spent your life between buying and losing +cigarettes."</p> + +<p>"And matches," added the other calmly. "Got one?"</p> + +<p>"Jupiter! If this thing goes on I'm going to strike for higher rates. +It's not in the contract that I furnish the office with smokes!"</p> + +<p>"No. But the stuff you write, Van, is what drives me to cigarettes. So +you make your own bed, you see. Hallo! Here's alone female to see me! +Wonder who?"</p> + +<p>He got up and went towards the door. "Did you wish to see me?" he +inquired.</p> + +<p>"The editor?" She hesitated a little but he assured her with a slight +nod that she had found her man, and she followed him towards his desk. +She took a seat beside him, and they began conversing in a tone so low +that Vanstruther could only catch a stray word now and again. Presently +she got up. "Very well then," she was saying, "you have my address; if +anything should turn up, you will let me know, won't you?" With a little +rustling of skirts she was gone. Presently they could here her voice +saying "Down!" to the elevator boy.</p> + +<p>"What was her game?" asked Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Wanted to contribute poetry as a regular department. You can't fling a +club around a corner anywhere in this town without hitting one of her +kind, nowadays!"</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't you tell her right away you weren't using anything of +that sort?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you infernal idiot, didn't you look at her?"</p> + +<p>"No. Choice?"</p> + +<p>"Very." He put a slip of paper into a pigeon hole, remarking as he did +so, "Filed for future reference."</p> + +<p>From the next room came a gruff voice, "Column of editorial to fill yet, +Mr. Wooton."</p> + +<p>"That foreman of mine's like Banquo's ghost," muttered Wooton, as he +put his pen into the ink and bent down over the desk. For a while there +was only the sound of pen and pencil going over paper, and the click of +the type in the next room. Then there was a heavy step heard in the +passage outside, and presently Wooton muttered: "The Lord's giving us +this day our daily loafers, I see. I wonder why it is," he went on +aloud, as a tall, heavy-set man, with a military mustache and eyeglasses +in front of mild blue eyes, came into the room, "that you fellows always +show up on Friday. Which, being the day we go to press—what's that? +More copy? Oh, all right!" The foreman was taking all the written sheets +from his desk and pleading for more. The new comer was evidently used to +this sort of greeting; he calmly picked a cigarette from the box on +Vanstruther's desk, lit it and sat down on a chair that was drawn up to +the table-where the "exchanges" lay piled in heaps. He finally found +what he had been apparently looking for—a paper with a very gaudy and +risky picture on the front of the cover; he folded it to his +satisfaction and began to look through it. "Say, Van," he began, +presently, "what's this I hear about their going to play the +Ober-Ammergau Passion Play here? Anything in it?"</p> + +<p>Vanstruther was terribly busy. "Haven't heard," was all he said.</p> + +<p>"I heard that it was all fixed," the other went on. "They've even got +the man to play the leading part. Fellow called Tom Vanstruther. They +say he's going to play the part without a makeup, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here," said Vanstruther, half turning around in his chair, +"you go to the devil, will you?"</p> + +<p>The other man took out a huge cigar-holder, inserted his cigarette and +curled his mustache. "Van's still a little sore about that," he said, +turning to Wooton, who merely nodded his head. There came again the +sound of footsteps in the outer hall, and Wooton, peering forward a +little, broke into a cheery "Hallo, Dante Gabriel Belden, glad to see +you! Come in. By the way, I just sent a young fellow who has your +disease over to see you this morning. Wants to learn the reproduction +rules of the game. See him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Had a little talk with him. Clever chap. Tell you about him in a +minute. Hallo, Van, how are the other three hundred and ninety-nine? +Hallo, Stanley, haven't they got you under the vagrancy ordinance yet?"</p> + +<p>The man with the huge mustache and the lengthy cigar-holder shook his +head and said, "Not yet. But I understand they're on the trail. Well, +how is Art, and what are the books you have lately bought, and what is +the latest of your schemes that has died?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, give them to me one at a time. Hang it, Wooton, why do you allow +this man to come up here, anyway, to wear out your furniture and the +patience of us all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Wooton, "he's an amusing animal, and I forgive any man +anything if only he will amuse me."</p> + +<p>"That's beastly bad morals!" said the artist.</p> + +<p>"Morals!" echoed Wooton, with a bland smile, "my dear boy, you want to +take a pill. No; take two! Morals in this day and age; moreover, on the +borders of Bohemia, to talk about morals! Jove, I see myself forced to +seek the solace of the deadly cigarette." He lit one of those slender +rolls of tobacco and paper and went on, "However you haven't answered +Stanley's questions yet. For you must know, Van, that Belden is one of +the most extravagant and insatiable hunters of art books in all this +town. Ever been in his flat? Well, it's a series of rooms, completely +lined with books and pictures, with a very small hole in the middle of +each room. Said hole being usually filled—to use an Irishism—with a +center-table loaded to the guards with art portfolios. I don't believe +there's a book or art store in town that the man doesn't owe large bills +to; and I know, for a fact, that when it comes to be a question between +a new overcoat and a new art book, he always takes the latter. And as +for his schemes—well, I will admit they're all good, but, like the +good, they die young. While they have the merit of exceeding novelty, +they ride him like the plague; but presently a new idol comes and the +old one falls into decay. Tell us, Dante, about the newest scheme!"</p> + +<p>"H'm," replied the artist, "I don't see that you've left me anything to +tell. I've got a new book of Vierge's stuff that you fellows want to +come up and see one of these days; that's about all that I can think +of."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for the pressing invitation," said Wooton.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and about that fellow you sent up to see me," Belden continued, "I +liked his stuff immensely. He needs a little experience and hard luck on +the practical side of getting his stuff made into cuts, and he'll be all +right. The fact is, Wooton, seeing you like the fellow's sketches fairly +well, and I'm rushed to death with other work, I've thought of turning +my work for the Torch over to him. Would you object?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, provided he does it as well; and he won't have to get much +of a move on to do that. And then they're cheaper when they're green!"</p> + +<p>Belden groaned. "You're the most awful specimen of materialism I ever +hope to run up against. Then you don't object to this fellow—what's his +name again, Lancaster, isn't it?—doing your sketches? All right, I'll +train him a bit for you. And then I guess it would be a good scheme for +him to have a desk here in your office somewhere, so that he can have a +workshop and be right at hand for you. It isn't as if he had a studio of +his own."</p> + +<p>"That'll be all right; we've got plenty of room. But while you're +training him, old man, I hope you won't inoculate him with that +villainous style of dressing you adopt at the end of your pen. You're +very hot people on everything that's got to be done in a hurry, and +you're great on fine work of the etching order, but when it comes to +making people look like the men and women one would care to be seen +with, you're simply not in this county, that's all there is about it. +I've always claimed, you know," he went on, turning a little so that he +faced Vanstruther and Stanley, "that the great fault common to all the +black-and-white artists in this town was that they couldn't define the +difference between a gentleman and a hoodlum. They talk to me about +technique, and drawing, and all the rest of it, none of which, I will +admit, I know a mortal thing about; but all I answer is that I'm going +from the point of view of the man who doesn't know how the drawing is +made, but who does know how it looks when it's finished. The people of +today look at nearly everything for it's merely superficial aspect; and +the finer people look to our artists to display taste in clothing their +pictorial creatures. If you only dress your people well, they'll want +your drawings so that they can get fashion pointers from them. +Now-a-days an illustrator has got to be more than a mere manipulator of +pen and ink; he has got to keep an eye on the fashions, and even a +little ahead of them. At least, that's what the man I'm looking for +should be."</p> + +<p>Stanley muttered, around the edges of his mustache, so that only +Vanstruther could hear, "Yes; and he'd want to pay him as much as ten +dollars a week!"</p> + +<p>Belden laughed, and got up. "Why don't you put all that into a lecture, +Wooton, and give the fellows over at the Institute a glimpse of this +higher knowledge of yours. However, I've got to be going. I'll send that +man Lancaster over here in a day or so. Goodbye, people!"</p> + +<p>"There's one of the cleverest fellows with a pen in this town," said +Wooten, as soon as the artist's footsteps had died away down the +corridor, "but he's utterly spoiled himself by the work he's been doing +of late years. He's a very fast worker, and one of the best men a daily +paper ever got hold of. Then, too, I've seen copy-work of his—that is, +from photographs or paintings—done in pen-and-ink, that had all the +fine detail and effect of an etching. But, for the sake of the money +there is in it, he does blood and thunder illustrations for a paper of +that sort. After a man has done that sort of thing for a year or two, it +gets into his style. I don't believe he'll ever be able to do anything +else, now. Of course, he'll aways make good money, because his speed and +capacity for work are simply invaluable; but art, as far as he is +concerned, must be weeping large salty tears."</p> + +<p>"This picture of you, A.B. Wooton, pleading the cause of art," remarked +Stanley, "is one of the most affecting I have ever beheld. It really +makes me feel—hungry."</p> + +<p>"Your invitation, sir," said Wooton, walking over toward the closet and +getting his hat, "is cordially accepted. Come on, Van; we are invited to +lunch by the Honorable Mr. Stanley, exchange reader to the <i>Torch</i>. +Never linger in a case like this!"</p> + +<p>"For consummate nerve," Stanley suggested, "you really take the medal, +A.B. However, seeing I made a little borrow from the old lady yesterday, +I will go you one lunch on the strength of it. But I do hope you men had +late breakfasts."</p> + +<p>Just before they were ready to pass out, Tony, the office boy came in. +"Say," he said to Wooton, in a low tone, "you remember that letter I +took to the house day before yesterday? Well, does the quarter walk +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Which," Wooton explained, as he handed the boy a quarter, "is Tony's +peculiar way of inquiring whether he is going to get that twenty-five +cents or not." Tony grinned and went back to his desk were he was busy +addressing wrappers.</p> + +<p>When the three men came back from lunch, they found a young man, holding +a black leather case in his hand, such as bank messengers carry, sitting +patiently in a chair in the outer office. He got up when they entered, +and handed Wooton a paper. Wooton took it to the light, read it slowly, +and handed it back. "Tell him to send that around again on the tenth, +will you." Then he walked into the composing room and began talking to +the foreman. The collector put the slip of paper back into his portfolio +and went out.</p> + +<p>"Van," said Wooton, as they sat down at his desk, presently, "I wish +you'd try and hurry that stuff of yours along a little, will you? I've +got to go to a tea at Mrs. Stewart's at four, and the ghost tells me +that your page is half a column shy yet."</p> + +<p>Vanstruther nodded silently, while Stanley inquired, "Excuse my +ignorance Mr. Wooten, but who is Mrs. Stewart?"</p> + +<p>"What? You don't know the great and only Annie McCallum Stewart? Oh, +misericordia, can such things be?"</p> + +<p>"They are."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Stewart is a remarkably clever woman. One of the cleverest +women our society affords, in fact. She is the daughter of one of the +town's best known and most popular doctors, and everyone in society knew +her so well when she was only Annie McCallum that now, when she is +married to Stewart, one still uses her old name as well as her new one. +That's all the result of individuality. She has read a great deal, and +kept her eyes open a great deal. She has a husband who is ridiculously +fond of her, and otherwise as blind as a bat. She, on the other hand, +has a mania for young men. Whenever you see her with a young man of any +sort of looks, somebody will tell you that Annie McCallum Stewart has +got a new youth in the net. She likes to lure them up into her 'den,' as +she calls it, and talk to them about the higher life. Then they fall in +love with her and she forgives them and elaborates upon the beauties of +pure Platonism. In a word, Stanley, she's one of the most perfect forms +of the mental flirt I ever come across."</p> + +<p>"H'm. Is your tea today to be in duet form, or is it a general +scramble?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a general all-comers' game. But I always like to go to that +house; she interests me immensely. I'm always wondering how near she +really can skate to the edge without breaking over."</p> + +<p>"Yes," acquiesced the other, reflectively, "that is an interesting +speculation. Hallo, here's another friend of yours!"</p> + +<p>The new-comer laid an envelope on Wooton's desk and waited. The latter +opened it hastily, and then said, "I sent that down by this morning's +mail."</p> + +<p>The man had hardly gone before Stanley laid down the paper he had been +paging through and said, looking steadily at Wooton, "Jupiter, but you +do that easily! If I could do that only half as well I'd count myself as +free from debts for the rest of my life. It's my solemn belief that you +can tell a collector from an ordinary mortal as soon as he steps inside +the door. I've heard you tell a man, who had only just turned inside the +outer office, that you were 'going to send that down in the morning,' +and I've seen you look the enemy calmly in the face and tell him that +you had fixed that up with his employer about an hour ago. And you do it +as easily as if you were lighting a cigarette. Another man might get +embarrassed, and hesitate, or feel guilty! But you! Not in a hundred +years! You never quail worth a cent. It's positive genius, my boy, +positive genius!"</p> + +<p>"No; it's only business, that's all."</p> + +<p>"H'm, by the way, speaking of business, aren't you running the game a +trifle extravagantly here? I don't want to mix in, of course, but is the +thing paying so well as—"</p> + +<p>The other interrupted him. "My dear fellow," he said, "it's evident you +haven't any idea how well this thing is paying. Why, man, look at me! Do +I economise much? No. Well, I don't have to, that's why! But come on and +let's saunter down street. Van's finished, and they've got all the copy +they want, and I expect there are a few pretty girls out today. Let's go +and take a glimpse at the parade on the Avenue. And then I'll go down to +that tea."</p> + +<p>There were several callers at the office after they had left; some +bill-collectors, a society man who left the announcement for some +forthcoming dances; a boy to buy ten copies of last week's paper; a +printer looking for work; and the mail-carrier. Towards six o'clock the +foreman and the compositors left; then Tony, the office-boy, shut up his +desk, and went out, locking the door behind him. The Weekly Torch had +gone to rest for the day.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h3> + + +<p>In the very air and life that prevailed in the office of the <i>Torch</i> +there was, as one may suppose, something strange, and at first repugnant +to Dick Lancaster. To one of his bringing up, his earnest intentions, +his thirst for real things, it seemed that all this was very like a +gaudy sham, a bubble of pretense, of surface prattle. He could scarcely +believe that the flippancy of these men was serious with them; their +talk, their point of view astonished and horrified him. If they were to +be believed, life was nothing but a skimming of more or less uneven +surfaces; the only thing to be tried for was pleasure, and there was no +moral line at all. And then again he rebuked himself for being, perhaps, +a homesick young idiot, overgiven to morbid speculation. That was not +what he had come to town for; he was going to do some good work and make +a name and fame for himself.</p> + +<p>He had found, very early in his career, that in order to get upon the +first steps of the ladder he must become an illustrator. If he had had +the means that would have enabled him to wait through studio-work, a +trip to Paris, and the dreary years ere orders came from dealers, he +would have clung to paint at any risk; but he saw himself forced to earn +some bread-and-butter even while he waited for his dreams to come true. +So, with some slight reluctance at first, to be sure, but afterwards +with all his energy, he applied himself to pen and ink work. In course +of time, as we have seen, he became the staff-artist of the Torch, He +was making a very fair living for so young a man, and he made a great +many acquaintances. And life every day showed him a new aspect.</p> + +<p>One of the men he had so far taken the greatest liking to was Belden, +the artist, who had, to all intents and purposes, put him into his +present position with the <i>Torch</i>, Belden, whose name was Daniel Grant +Belden, but whom his friends chaffingly called, on account of the +similarity of the initials, Dante Gabriel, was one of the most +happy-go-lucky individuals that ever breathed. His mania for art books +kept him more or less hard-up; yet he undoubtedly had one of the finest +collections, in that sort, in town. He got orders for work from a +publisher; he took the manuscript that he was to illustrate home with +him; he kept it three weeks; then, without having read it, he returned +it saying he was too busy to attempt the commission. And if ever there +was one in this present day of ours, he was a Bohemian. The peculiar +part of it was that in addition to being a Bohemian by instinct, he was +one by intention. He read Henri Murger with avidity, and thought of him +always. On the street he was a curious object; his overcoat was a trifle +shiny, and his hat was always an old, or at least, a misused one; his +trousers were too tight at the knees; his boots rarely polished. He +usually walked with a long, quick stride; and a long, peculiar cigar, of +the sort the Wheeling people call "stogy," was almost always in his +mouth. You rarely saw him on the Elevated except with an armful of books +and papers. He would come home at one in the morning and sit down at his +wide drawing table and work until dawn. Then, with not much more than +his coat hastily thrown off, he would fling himself on the couch and be +fast asleep in an instant. Often, too, he would go fast to sleep while +his pen was traveling over the paper; in ten minutes, or sometimes half +an hour, he would wake up and continue the stroke that had been +interrupted; his pen would have not spilled a single drop. He did all +his own cooking, and marvelous were the meals that resulted. He liked +nothing better than to fill his rooms with a number of choice, congenial +souls. They would talk art-shop for hours, or listen to music; he knew a +great many clever young fellows who were gifted in playing the piano, +the flute or the violin; and while his own musical tastes were barbaric, +and called, chiefly, for the spirited rendition of darky-minstrelsies, +he gave the rest of his company the freedom of their choice, also, and +sat patiently through the most beautiful of operatic strains. Sunday was +the day singled out more especially for those pleasant little "evenings" +at Belden's flat.</p> + +<p>Dick Lancaster had been asked up to these evenings a great many times +before he ever went. For long, he could not make up his mind to it; in +spite of all the thousand and one laxities that he saw in the daily life +around him, to devote oneself to anything in the nature of sheer +pleasure, on Sunday, still seemed to him a decided mis-step.</p> + +<p>But one day, toward the beginning of winter, Belden, who had been in to +call on his young protégée at the <i>Torch</i> office, said to him,</p> + +<p>"Look here, Dick, why don't you come up some Sunday evening and join our +gang? Goodness, you can't afford to be as straight-laced as all that, in +this town. Besides, we don't do anything that's against the law and the +prophets, you know. We talk a little shop, and some man reads something, +perhaps, and Stanley plays a thing or two on the violin. Then we go out +and help ourselves to whatever I may happen to have in the larder. And +then you go home, or you bunk up there, and where's the harm done? Look +at it sensibly, my boy; we are all slaves in the same bondage, in this +town, and Sunday is our one off-day; you don't mean to say we're +heathens and creatures of the devil if we seek the sweetest rest we can +on that day? To some men, rest means church; to me and most of the men +you know, it means relaxation, and relaxation means recreation. The +others get their music in church, I get mine at home. Now, Dick, say +you'll come up next Sunday."</p> + +<p>And Dick, looking at Belden as if to make out whether that artist were +an emissary of the Evil One or merely a man of the present day, coughed +a little, and then said, rather sheepishly, "Very well, I'll come—to +please you, Belden." He felt, the next minute, as if he had slipped and +fallen; he grew a little faint; he thought he could hear the sound of +the church bells as they used to come singing over the meadows in +Lincolnville; he saw himself and his mother sitting side by side in the +old pew, listening to the pleasant voice of Mr. Fairly droning out his +prayer; then he shook himself together and blushed at his fancies. +Belden had gone already, but Dick felt as if he would run after him and +tell him, "No, no, I cannot, must not come!" He ran to the door; the +corridor was empty; Belden was half way down the next block by this +time. Then he solaced himself with the thought, "Surely it can be no +great harm after all—besides, I have promised!"</p> + +<p>He bent down over the drawing-board once more, but he could no longer +chain his thoughts to the work before him. They flew round and round in +a curious circling way about this new life that he had become a part of. +It was, he was forced to admit to himself, not as beautiful a thing as +he had expected; but it was certainly novel, and it interested him +immensely, it kept his curiosity excited, it touched his senses. As he +began to consider that quiet country village that he had left, out +yonder on the plains, and this busy beehive of a metropolis, he came, +also, to consider the men he was beginning to know. He leaned back in +the chair, smiling a little. The office was nearly empty at this time; +it was during the noon hour, and Dick was alone in the outer office. He +passed over, in his thoughts, the men that he was thrown with in the +<i>Torch</i> office. There was Wooton himself: tall, thin, with a face that +was all profile—a wonderfully pure profile—with a mouth almost too +small for a man, a nose that bent a little like those of the Cæsars. +Dick did not know, yet, what to make of Wooton. The man had a wonderful +charm; he could talk most entertainingly, most logically and he had some +curiously interesting theories. There was a sort of <i>laisser-aller</i> +negligence in his manner; his manners were admirable, and there was some +occult fascination about him that one could scarcely define. As Dick +considered him, he remembered that on several occasions, he had listened +to Wooton's dissertations on subjects that otherwise would have offended +him, merely because the man's charm of person and speech were so +alluring. As to whether it was genuine or a mere veneer, well, how could +one tell as soon as this? Time, which tells so many things, would +doubtless tell that too.</p> + +<p>Then Vanstruther! He had a blonde beard that came to a point, and he +always wore glasses. For the rest, Dick knew but little of him save what +he had heard. Vanstruther "did" the more important of the society events +for the <i>Torch</i>, and himself moved and had his nightly being in the +smartest circles in town. The peculiar part of it was that he was +married, and had several children; barring the hour or so a day that he +spent in the office of the <i>Torch</i> he was the most devoted husband and +father in the world, and spent the most of his day at home, where in his +little study-room he sat in front of a typewriter stand and +manufactured at lightning speed—what do you suppose?—dime novels. This +was, among the man's intimates, a more or less open secret; but to the +world at large, and particularly the world of society, he was known +merely as a delightful person, socially, and something of a flaneur, +intellectually.</p> + +<p>As for Stanley—the man's full name was Laurence Stanley—Dick had +somehow taken a dislike to him. He knew little of him except that he was +a professional do-nothing, who lived off his wife's money, speculated +occasionally, and appeared a great deal in society. No one ever saw his +wife, who was an invalid. He talked with inveterate cynicism; it was +this that made him repugnant to young Lancaster. He had a sneer and a +cigarette always with him, and Dick hated both.</p> + +<p>The tip-tapping of a light foot-step over the oil-cloth brought Dick +back from the land of day-dreams. It was rather a pretty woman that +stood before him, and she was gowned in a manner that even with his +inexperience he knew to be distinctly up-to-date, and that he certainly +admitted as attractive from an artistic standpoint. She looked past him +into the inner office, lifted her eyebrows a trifle and inquired: "Is +Mr. Wooton not in?"</p> + +<p>"Not just now," responded Dick, getting up, "but he will be back in a +very little while. If you would care to wait—" He took hold of the back +of a revolving chair that stood close by.</p> + +<p>"No," she declared, "I only had a minute. Will you tell him Mrs. Stewart +was up? Or, stay; I'll write him a line."</p> + +<p>Dick gave her some letterheads, and pen and ink; she sat down at his +desk and began writing, with a good deal of scratching and scraping. +"There," she said when she had addressed the envelope, "If you will +please give him that as soon as he comes in. Thank you. Do you do this?" +She pointed with one gloved finger to the drawing he had been busy on. +He bowed silently. She looked at him with a quick, comprehensive glance, +smiled a trifle, and swept out of the door.</p> + +<p>"So that is Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart!" was Dick's first mental +exclamation, "well, she's certainly not an ordinary woman. Wonder if +I'll ever get to know her?"</p> + +<p>With which speculation he turned to his work. When Wooton returned, and +had read the note, he broke into a low chuckle, "That's like her! Just +like her. What do you suppose she says?"</p> + +<p>Dick was the only other person in the outer office, so he was forced to +take the question as addressed to himself. "I have no idea," he +declared.</p> + +<p>"She says she is getting awfully tired of her present lot of young men, +and wants me, for goodness sake, to bring down some one different, and +bring him soon. She says she is tired to death of the man who has lived +and seen and heard everything, and she is dying for a man who is as like +Pierrot as two peas!" Wooton tore the letter up mechanically, and put +the pieces into the waste-basket. "Well," he went on, "I wish I could—" +he stopped and looked at Dick, breaking out the next instant into a +broad grin, "Jupiter!" he added, "you're just the man! Do you want to +join the noble army of martyrs in ordinary to the extraordinary Annie? +She'll do you lots of good; she'll be a pocket education in the +philosophy of today, and she'll put you through all manner of +interesting paces. Seriously, she's a woman who can do a man a lot of +good, socially. And society never does a man much harm; it broadens him, +and gives him finish. Now, you're just the sort of youth she'll like +immensely; and yet she'll soon find out that you've heard about her and +her ways. Never mind; she won't like you any the worse for that; she's +too much a woman of the world. What do you think? The next time I go +down to tea at her house I'll take you along, eh? All you've got to do +is to be clever and amusing and different to the others; Mrs. Stewart is +like the rest of society in that she demands something of the people she +takes up, but she doesn't demand such impossibilities. I'll write and +tell her I've got the very man!" He went on into the inner office, +before Dick had time to say anything in reply. And, to tell the truth, +the idea rather interested him. He had seen her, and had felt interested +in her; he had heard so much about her; and now he was going to meet +her! As to being clever and amusing, he thought he was likely to fail +miserably; but he might, unconsciously perhaps, succeed in being what +Wooten called "different."</p> + +<p>Just then Wooton gave a sudden exclamation. "This is Wednesday, isn't +it? Well, that is her afternoon. You'd better shut up your desk for +today; go up to your rooms and get an artistic twirl or two to your +locks, and then come down to the smoking-room of the Cosmopolitan Club +about quarter to four; I'll be there waiting for you. Then we'll go on +down to Mrs. Stewart's together."</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h3> + +<p>The days were getting very short now, and darkness was already hovering +over the town as Dick passed through the portals of the Cosmopolitan. +When they came out together, Wooton and he, it seemed to Dick that the +town was in one of its most characteristic tempers. It was in the +beginning of winter; the air was a little damp, and smoke hung in it so +that it begrimed in an incredibly short space of time. The buildings, in +the twilight that was half of the day's natural dusk and half the +murkiness of the smoke, loomed against the hardly denned sky like some +towering, threatening genii. The electric lights were beginning to peer +through the gloom. The sidewalks were alive with a never-tiring throng, +men and women jostling each other, never stopping to apologize; all +intent not so much on the present as on something that was always just +a little ahead. This, the onlooker mused, was what it meant to "get +ahead," a blind physical rush in the dark, a callous indifference to +others, a selfish brutality, a putting into effect the doctrine of the +survival of the fittest. The streets clanged with the roll of wheels; +carriages with monograms on the panels rolled by with clatter of chains +and much spattering of mud; huge drays drawn by four, and sometimes +six-horse teams, and blazening to the world the name of some mercantile +genius whom soap or pork had enriched, thundered heavily over the +granite blocks; the roar and underground buzz of the cable mingled with +the deafening ringing of the bell that announced the approach of the +cable trains; overhead was the thunderous noise of the Elevated. It was +all like a huge cauldron of noise and dangers. Dick declared to himself +that it was the modern Inferno. And yet, as he passed toward the station +of the Elevated with Wooton, Dick began to understand something of the +fascination that the place, even in its most noisome aspects, was able +to exert. In the very rush and roar, in the ceaseless hum and murmur and +groaning, there was epitomized the eager fever of life, its joys and its +pains. Here, after all, was life. And it was life that Dick had come to +taste.</p> + +<p>There was a quick ride on the Elevated, Dick catching various glimpses +of unsightly buildings that showed their undress uniform, of dim-lit +back rooms where one caught hints of dismal poverty, of roofs that +seemed to shudder under the banner of dirty clothes fluttering in the +breeze. The town seemed, from this view, like the slattern who is all +radiant at night, at the ball, but who, next morning, is an unkempt, +untidy hag.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart rose rather languidly as they were +announced. Dick noticed that in some mysterious way she managed to give +a peculiar grace to almost her every movement; there was something of a +tigress in the way she walked. She gave her hand to Wooton—"Delightful +of you to come so soon," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"One of the things I live for, my dear Mrs. Stewart," said Wooton, "is +to surprise people. Knew you didn't expect me, so I came. Brought a dear +friend of mine, Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Lancaster. Want you to like him."</p> + +<p>"My only prejudice against you, Mr. Lancaster," was Mrs. Stewart's +smiling reply, "is that you come under Mr. Wooton's protection. I +pretend I'm immensely fond of him, but I'm not; I'm only afraid of him; +he's too clever." And, still laughing at Wooton in such a way as to show +the exquisite perfection of her teeth, she presented young Lancaster to +several of the others who were sitting about the room, chatting and +sipping tea. He had a vague idea of several stiff young men bowing to +him, of an equal number of splendidly appareled, but unhandsome girls, +looking at him with supercilious nods, and of hearing names that faded +as easily as they touched him. He found himself, presently, sitting on +a low divan, opposite to a girl with dreamy blue eyes behind pince-nez +eyeglasses. He hadn't caught her name; he knew no more of her tastes, of +the things she was likely to converse about than did the Man in the +Moon. But he instinctively opined that it was necessary to seem rather +than to be, to skim rather than to dive.</p> + +<p>"I've been 'round the circle," he said, trying a smile, "and I'm +delivered up to you. I hope you'll treat me well."</p> + +<p>The girl with the blue eyes looked at him a moment in silence. Then she +said, abruptly: "This is the first time that you've been down here, +isn't it? I knew it! Well, these things are not bad—when you get used +to them. Now, you're not used to them. Confess, are you?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "I am innocent as a lamb," he said, with mock +apology.</p> + +<p>The girl went on: "Well, that may do as a novelty. Annie's great on new +blood, you know. Shouldn't wonder if she took you up. How are you on +theosophy?"</p> + +<p>Dick stared. What sort of a torrent of curiosity was this that was +gushing forth from this peculiar creature? "To tell you the truth," he +hazarded, "I am not 'on' at all."</p> + +<p>She smiled. "Ah, that's bad. However, I dare say there's something else. +Now, how are you on art?"</p> + +<p>"I know a little something." He smiled to himself, wondering how much of +the actual practical knowledge of art there was in all that room, +outside of what he himself possessed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, a little something. Well, that's all that's needed, nowadays. The +great point is to know 'a little something' about everything. To know +anything thoroughly is to be a bore. A man of that sort is always +didactic on the one subject he is familiar with, and absolutely stupid +on all other things. However, what's the use of considering those +people? They're quite impossible." She began tapping the carpet with her +slipper. "Speaking of impossible people," she went on, "there's Mrs. +Tremont. Over there with the grey waist. Intellectually, she's +impossible; socially she is the possible in essence. She was a Miss +Alexander, of Virginia; then she married Tremont, and lived in Boston +long enough to get Boston superciliousness added to the natural +haughtiness given to her in her birth. She talks pedigree, and dreams of +precedence. She goes everywhere, and I fancy she thinks that when she +hands St. Peter her card that personage will bow in deference and +announce her name in particularly awestruck tones. The girl who is +talking to the tall man with the military mustache is Miss Tremont. She +is her mother, plus the world and the devil."</p> + +<p>Dick interrupted her, as she paused to sip her tea. "Yes," he said, "and +now tell me who you are?"</p> + +<p>She, lifted her eyebrows a trifle. "You have audacity," she said, "and I +begin to think you are clever. Audacity is successful only when one is +clever. When one is stupid, audacity is a crime. Who am I? Well—" she +smiled again at the thought of his assurance. "Why not ask my enemies? +But you don't know who is my enemy, who is my friend. Well, I am the +Philistine in this circle of the elect. I'm a cousin of Mrs. Stewart's, +and I come because I am fond of being amused. She herself amuses me +most. She seems to be so tremendously in earnest, and she's so +unfathomably insincere. She hates me, you know, because I didn't marry +John Stewart when he proposed to me. Then, I never did anything, or had +a fad, or was eccentric, so I don't really belong here; but, as I said +before, the house amuses me, and I come. I don't know why I tell you +this, but I don't care very much, and besides, I believe you're still +genuine. It's so pathetic to be genuine; it reminds me of a baby +rabbit—blind eyes and fuzz. I'm not sure, but it's my idea, that if you +want to keep Mrs. Stewart's good graces you'll have to do nothing harder +than stay genuine. It's so novel. Most of us, today, couldn't be genuine +again any more than we could be born again. Ah, here's my dear cousin +approaching. I suppose she comes to rescue you from my clutches. If you +want to please her immensely, tell her I bored you to death. She'll have +the thought for desert all week."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart sailed toward them with a queenly sweep that was decidedly +imposing. She had decided to have a chat with young Lancaster. When she +had seen him in the office of the <i>Torch</i>, and now, when he first +entered the room, she had seen at a glance that he was handsome enough +not to need cleverness; but she was curious to see whether he would +interest her in other than visual ways. "You've been most fortunate," +she said to Dick, as she reached them, "with Miss Leigh to interpret us +for you. Has she told you, I wonder, that she is my favorite cousin? But +now, I want to talk to you about art. If Miss Leigh will surrender you +to me—?"</p> + +<p>"I've been talking to Mr. Wooton about you," she said as she bore him +away in triumph, "and he tells me you've only been in town for a few +weeks. You still have vivid impressions, I suppose. When one has lived +here for years and years, one's impressionability gets hardened. It +takes something very forcible to really rouse us. And even then we +prefer to let some one of us experience the sensation; it is so much +easier to take another's word for it, and follow in the rut. That is how +most of our present day fads come about. Some one gets pierced between +the casings of the armour of indifference, and the rest of us take the +cue and join in the chorus of ecstasy. We don't go to hear Patti or +Paderewski, you know, because, we really feel their art deeply; it is +because someone once felt it and it became the fashion." While she +talked, she had led him into a window-nook and motioned him to a +fauteuil that covered the crescent-shaped niche. As she sat down, the +lines of her figure could be traced through the perfect fit of her gown. +He noticed what finish, what art there was about the picture she made as +she sat there, beside him. Her gown was a delicate shade of gray; the +crepe seemed to love her as a vine loves a tree, so closely did it +follow and cling to the lines of her hips, her waist, her shoulders. +Over her sleeves, immensely wide, as the fashion of the time decreed, +fell lapels of silk. She had on low shoes, and above them he could see +the neat contour of her ankles, also clad in gray. "However," she went +on, "I did not intend to talk of the fashion; I wanted to ask you how +the town struck your artistic side. Don't you find as great pictures in +a street full of life as in a valley full of shadow? Isn't there more of +the history of today in the faces of the people you meet on the Avenue +than in a stretch of blue sky, a white sail, and a background of +Venice?"</p> + +<p>"I see you're something of a realist?"</p> + +<p>"Don't! Please don't! That word gets on my nerves. I suppose my amiable +cousin, Miss Leigh, told you we were all blue-stockings, and +dilettantes. I assure you we've got beyond the Realism <i>versus</i> Romance +stage of disputation. Really, you don't know how you disappointed me +with that question. Mr. Wooton told me you were original!"</p> + +<p>Dick flushed a little. "He also told me," he retorted, "that you were +extraordinary. I begin to believe him." His tone had a suspicion of +pique in it. But Mrs. Stewart beamed.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "I like you when you look like that. That's—h'm, now +what is that?—anger, I suppose? It's really so long since I had a real +emotion that I don't know how it's done. Do you know, I think you and I +are going to be great friends! Yes, I feel I'm going to like you +immensely. Won't you try to like me?" She leaned over toward him, and +his shy young eyes caught the faint flutter of lace on her breast with +something of dim bewilderment. Her lips were parted, and her teeth shone +like twin rows of pearls. She went on, before he had time to do more +than begin a stammer of embarassment, "Yes, just as long as you stay +real, and genuine, I want you to come and see me very often; as often as +you possibly can. I imagine that talking to you is going to be like +dipping in the fountain of youth. Tell me, you people out there in the +country, how do you keep so young?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me that, Mrs. Stewart, when I have found out how it is that you in +town lose your youth so soon."</p> + +<p>"True. You will be the better judge. But you never told me how it +strikes the artist in you, this town of ours."</p> + +<p>"I haven't had time to think yet how it strikes me. I'm busy finding out +all about it. Just at present it's all like the genius that came from +the fisherman's vessel in the Arabian Nights: it is a huge coil of +smoke that stifles me with its might and its thickness. I know there are +wonderful color-effects all about me, but my nerves are still so eager +for the mere taste of it all that I can't digest anything. Besides—" he +stopped and sighed a little—"I must not begin to think of paint for +years. I'm a mere apprentice. I just scratch and rub, and scratch and +rub, as a brother artist puts it."</p> + +<p>"But one sees some very pretty effects in black-and-white. Look at +<i>Life</i>, for instance—"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Stewart, if you would be loyal to me, don't look at the +aforesaid 'loathsome contemporary,' as they say out West." It was Wooton +who had approached, and interrupted Mrs. Stewart with an easy +nonchalance that, in almost any other man, would have been an +unpardonable rudeness. He threw himself on a chair and continued: "Mrs. +Stewart, you have wounded me sorely. I bring you a disciple and what do +you do? You buttonhole him, as it were, and preach treason to him. For, +you must confess, that to tell people to look at <i>Life</i> when they might +be looking at—h'm—another periodical, whose name I reverence too +highly to mention before a traitoress, is High Treason."</p> + +<p>For reply, Mrs. Stewart tapped Wooton lightly on the lips with a large +ivory paper-cutter that she had been toying with. "As I was saying, when +rudely interrupted, look at—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Stewart, why this feverish desire to look at life? I ask +you both, is life pretty? Remember M. Zola and Mr. Howells. They are +supposed to give us life, are they not? Well, the one flushes a sewer, +and the other hands us weak tea. I prefer not to contemplate life. I am +obliged to read the morning papers because it is become necessary to +know today the unpleasantness that happened yesterday. But otherwise I +assure you that life—"</p> + +<p>This time, Mrs. Stewart tapped him quite smartly with the paper-cutter.</p> + +<p>"You know very well that puns have been out of fashion for more years +than you have been of age. We were talking about art, and incidentally +about a paper that encourages art, and you begin a dissertation on life! +What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Wooton mockingly stifled an effort to yawn. "As if I ever, by the +vaguest chance, meant anything! I hate to be asked what I mean. If I +knew, I would probably not tell, and if I do not know why should I lie? +The safest course in this world is never to mean anything and to say +everything. If I had my life to live over again—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart looked at him with a shudder, lifting her shoulders, while +her mouth showed a smile. "Why speak of anything so unpleasant?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, had you there, Wooton, eh!" It was Vanstruther, who had strolled +over to pay his respects to Mrs. Stewart. She held out a hand; he +pressed it lightly. He nodded to Lancaster, and then looked through the +half-drawn portiers to where in the black-and-gold drawing-room the +others were sitting and standing in colorful groups. Someone was at the +piano playing a mazurka of Chopin's. There was a faint click of cups +touching saucers; the high notes of the women and the low drawl of the +men. Vanstruther looked at them all slowly, and then turned to Mrs. +Stewart again. "All in?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart nodded and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I've not been at your house for so long," Vanstruther continued, "that +I'm a little out of the running. Several people here that are new to me. +Now, that girl in black?"</p> + +<p>"Talking to young Hexam? That's Madge Winters. You remember young +Winters who was runner-up in the tennis tournament last season?—sister +of his. She's just back from Japan. Has some idea of doing a sort of +Edmund Russell gospel of the beautiful <i>a la</i> Japan course of readings. +Her brother amused me once and I'm going to do what I can for her. Now, +who else is there? Let me see: I don't think you ever met Miss Farcreigh +before—she's talking to the man at the piano. Delightful girl—her +father's the big Standard Oil man, you know—and collects china. Sings a +little, too. But chiefly I like her because she's pretty and a great +catch. There's a German prince madly in love with her, but her father +objects to him because his majesty never did a stroke of work in his +life. I believe you know all the others."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, yes." Vanstruther turned to Dick and said to him, with a +smile at Mrs. Stewart, "You may find eccentric people here, Lancaster, +but you will never find unpleasant ones."</p> + +<p>"That's where Mrs. Stewart makes the inevitable mistake," drawled +Wooton. "There should be one or two unpleasant ones, merely for the sake +of the others. If it were not for the unpleasant people in the world, it +would hardly be worth while being the other kind."</p> + +<p>"You're as unpleasant as need be," was Mrs. Stewart's reply.</p> + +<p>"Delighted!" murmured Wooton. "To have done a duty is always a delight. +I have done several. I have brought you a new disciple, I have leavened +your heaven with intrusion of myself, and now—now I must really go. My +virtues are still like incense in my nostrils. Allow me to waft myself +gently away before they grow rank and stale."</p> + +<p>Dick rose at the same moment. "Oh," Wooton said to him, "you're not +obliged to go yet. Stay and let Mrs. Stewart enchant you with the nectar +of proximity! I've got to be down at the Midwinter dance tonight, so I +must be off now."</p> + +<p>But Dick, in spite of the other's protestations, insisted that he must +really go also. He assured Mrs. Stewart that lie had enjoyed himself +immensely, promised to come soon and often, and was presently whirling +down-town again with Wooton. The latter had bought an evening paper and +was carefully perusing the sporting columns. Dick closed his eyes, +trying to recall the picture he had just left: the dim-lit +drawing-room, with its well-dressed, graceful people; Mrs. Stewart's +fascinating voice and figure; the flippant frivolity of all their +discourse; the useless sham of all their isms and fads; the clever ease +with which everything seemed to be taken for granted, and nothing was +ever truly analyzed—how like a phantasmagoria of repellant things it +all was, and yet how fascinating! Everyone appeared to know everything; +no surprise was ever expressed; no emotion was ever visible. It was +fully expected that everyone was possessed of no real aim in life save +the riding of a hobby; it was agreed that to appear ignorant of anything +was to be vulgar. And yet, in that circle, Dick was hailed as "so +delightfully genuine," and was told that he would stand high at court as +long as he remained so! Surely these were strange days, and stranger +ways! That phrase of Mrs. Stewart's about young Winters grated harshly, +too—"He amused me once!"</p> + +<p>Was life merely an effort at being forever amused?</p> + +<p>Almost, it seemed so.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h3> + + +<p>The room was dim with smoke. Through the faint veil that curled +incessantly toward the ceiling the pictures on the wall took on a misty +haze that heightened rather than spoilt their effect. It was not a large +room, but the walls were covered with pictures of every sort. It was +impossible to escape observing the artistic carelessness that had +prevailed in the arrangement of the furniture. Bookcases lined the lower +portion of each wall; then came pictures. There was an original by Blum; +a marvelously executed facsimile of a black-and-white by Abbey; a +Vierge, and a Myrbach. Not the least remarkable Mature of these +ornaments was the manner of their framing, A Parisienne, by Jules +Cheret, for instance, all skirts and chic, looked as if she had just +burst through the confines of a prison-wall of a daily paper. The +carelessly serrated edges, then the white matting, and the brown frame +gave a whole that was worth looking at twice. An etching—one of +Beardsley's fantasies—was framed all in black; it was more effective +than the original.</p> + +<p>Over the mantel were scattered photographs of stage divinities in +profusion. Many of them had autographs scrawled across the face of the +picture. In a niche in the wall a human skull, with a clay pipe stuck +jauntily between the teeth, looked out over the smoke.</p> + +<p>From the next room, beyond the open portieres, came the sound of a +violin and a piano.</p> + +<p>The air of Mascagni's "Intermezzo" died away, and for it was substituted +a slow dirge-like melody. Belden, in the front room, broke out into an +explosive, "Ah, that's the stuff! Everybody sing: 'For they're hangin' +Danny Deever in the mohn-nin'.'" The wail of that solemn ballad went +echoing through the house, all the men present joining in. Belden, who +had been lying at full length on the floor, explaining the beauties of a +charcoal drawing by Menzel to a group of three other artists—Marsboro, +of the <i>Telegraph</i>, Evans, of the <i>Standard</i>, and a younger man, +Stevely, who was still going to the Art School—had jumped to his feet +and was slowly waving a pencil in mock leadership of a chorus. +Vanstruther, who was stealing an evening from society for Bohemia's +sake, was far back in a huge rocking chair; a fantastic work by Octave +Uzanne on his knee, and his legs stretched out over the center table; he +now held his pipe in his hand and hummed the refrain in a deep bass.</p> + +<p>"Go on," urged Belden, as the last notes moaned themselves away in the +smoke, "go on, give us something else!" But Stanley laid his violin down +on a bookcase and declared that his arm was tired.</p> + +<p>Vanstruther pulled at his pipe again, until he was sure he still had +fire. Then he declared, oracularly, "Stanley, you look tremendously +religious tonight. Been jilted?</p> + +<p>"No, shaved. You confirm an impression I have that a man never feels so +religious as when he has just been shaved. I assure you that in this way +I could really read one of your 'shockers,' Van, and feel that I was +doing my duty."</p> + +<p>"Oh," Belden cut in, going over to one of the bookcases, "anything to +stop Stanley from hearing himself talk. It makes him drunk. Seeing we +had a ballad of Kipling's just now, suppose some one reads something of +his. Then someone else can sit still, and think of his sins, while the +pen-and-ink men make sketches of him. How'll that do, eh?</p> + +<p>"All right." It was Vanstruther, whose voice came from over the smoke. +"I'll read if you like; and Stanley can get a far-away expression into +his countenance, while you other fellows put his ephemeral beauty on +paper. What'll it be?"</p> + +<p>Stanley, who was rolling himself onto a sofa in the corner, murmured, +while he rolled a cigarette with a deft motion of his fingers, "Oh, give +us that yarn about the things in a dead man's eye, what's the title +again—'At the End of the Passage', isn't it? I'm in the mood for +something of that pleasant sort. By the way, aren't we a man shy, +Belden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Young Lancaster hasn't arrived yet. I had a great time getting him +to say he would come; he has scruples about Sunday, and all that sort of +thing; but he'll turn up pretty soon, I know. Here's the book, Van." He +handed the volume across the table. Stanley, after a few chaffing +remarks had passed back and forth, was arranged into a position that +would give the artists a sharp profile to work from. The artists began +sharpening pencils, and pinning paper on drawing boards. And then, for +a time, there was nothing but the sounds of pens and pencils going over +paper, and Vanstruther's voice reading that story of Indian heat and +hopelessness. In the other room McRoy, the man who had been playing +Stanley's piano accompaniment, was reading Swinburne to himself.</p> + +<p>The bell rang suddenly. Belden threw his sketch down and opened the +door. "Lancaster, I suppose," he said. Then they heard his voice in the +hall, greeting the newcomer, who was presently ushered in and airily +made known to such of the men as he had not yet been introduced to.</p> + +<p>"You've just missed a treat, my boy," said Belden, pushing Dick into a +chair. "Vanstruther has been reading us a yarn of Kipling's. You're fond +of Kip., I suppose?"</p> + +<p>While Dick said, "Oh, yes, indeed," Stanley put in.</p> + +<p>"It's lucky for you you are, because Belden here swears by the trinity +of Kipling, Riley and Henri Murger. He has occasional flirtations with +other authors, but he generally comes back to those three. But then, +when you get to know Belden better, you will realize that he has what is +technically known as 'rats in his garret.' Do you know what he once did, +just to illustrate? Walked miles in a bleak country district that he +might reach a certain half-disabled bridge and there sit, reading De +Quincey's 'Vision of Sudden Death' by moonlight! The man who can do +that can do anything that's weird."</p> + +<p>"There's only one way to stop your tongue, Stanley," Belden remarked +humoredly, "and that is to ask you to play for us again. Lancaster has +never heard you yet, you know."</p> + +<p>Stanley looked out into the other room. "What do you say, Mac? Shall we +tune our harps again?"</p> + +<p>"Just as cheap," said the other, without looking up from his book.</p> + +<p>They began to play. From Raff's "Cavatina," they strayed into a melody +by Rubinstein; then it was a wild gallop through comic operas, popular +songs, and Bowery catches. While they played the men in the other room +began comparing sketches. Vanstruther ushered Dick into many of the +artistic treasure-holds that the room contained. Also, he supplied him +with running comments on some of the things they saw all about them. +Dick, though he scarcely felt at ease, felt strongly the fascination of +all this devil-may-care atmosphere. The haze of smoke; the melodious +airs from beyond the portieres; the careless attire and jaunty +nonchalance of the men, all drew him with a sort of sensual hypnotism, +even while his inner being felt that he himself was a little better than +this. He was in the land of Don't-Care; dogmas, creeds, faiths had no +place here; everything was "do as you please, and let your neighbor +please himself." He said but little; he thought a great deal.</p> + +<p>One of the artists called Vanstruther over to the open bookcase, to show +him a sketch by Gibson. Dick looked about him, picked up a copy of Omar +Khayyam, that had Vedder's illustrations, and buried himself in the +gentle philosophy of that classic.</p> + +<p>But Belden was again become restless. Mere melody never did anything but +irritate him. "Oh, play some nigger music," he asked. Then, when a few +merry jingles from "'Way down South" had played themselves in and out of +the echoes, Stanley put his violin down with a decisive gesture. "There, +I've paid my way, I think!" When the piano had been closed, and the +violin laid away in its case, he went on, "'Seems to me it's about time +you were bringing along your friend Murger?"</p> + +<p>Belden walked toward the shelf where the "Scènes de la Vie de Bohème" +had its place. As he took it out, however, he said, "Come to think of +it, Marsboro's going to commit matrimony pretty soon, I hear. Any +objections?" He held the volume in the air, questioningly.</p> + +<p>Marsboro laughed, and shook his head. "No, no," he said, "go on!"</p> + +<p>"Just as if," Stanley observed, "a man about to be married knew what +objections were! Dante Gabriel Belden, in some things you are weirdly +primitive."</p> + +<p>"I would sooner be primitive than effete," was Belden's retort.</p> + +<p>Stanley turned to Marsboro. "Don't think me curious, old man, but is it +any girl I know?"</p> + +<p>Before Marsboro could reply, Vanstruther broke in with, "I'll bet money +it's not! You don't suppose Marsboro is likely to think of marrying a +woman with a past!"</p> + +<p>Marsboro flushed a little; and moved uneasily in his chair. Dick, +looking up from his Omar Khayam, wondered how the man could endure such +verbal pitch and toss with such a subject.</p> + +<p>But Stanley turned away from the matter with a sneer. "My dear fellow," +he said, "if it will soothe your sweet soul, I am quite willing to admit +that in the course of my life I have known some women who had pasts. +They are invariably interesting. The only difference between a woman +with a past and a man of the same sort is that the man still has a +future before him. And a man with a future is as pathetic as a little +boy chasing a butterfly: even if he wins the game, there is nothing but +a corpse, and some dust on his fingers."</p> + +<p>Belden, turning the pages of the Murger, said, deprecatingly, "Don't get +Stanley started on moral reflections: in the first place, they are not +moral; in the second place they reflect nothing but his own perverted +soul. Talking morals with some men is like turning the pages of an +edition de luxe with inky fingers."</p> + +<p>Stanley laughed. "Good boy! But now go on with Rodolph and his +flirtations. Where did you leave off? Hadn't he just written some +poetry, spent the proceeds on feasting his friends, and the night in a +tree?"</p> + +<p>Belden began to read.</p> + +<p>In spite of himself, Dick began to feel the fascination of Murger's +recital of all those rollicking, roystering episodes in the Latin +Quarter. He let the Omar fall idly into his lap, and gave himself up to +listening to Belden's reading. The other men smoked and smiled. Dick's +sense of humor told him that there was something quaint in the way +Belden intentionally fed his own love for Bohemianism with another's +description; none the less he admitted that there was no sham, +dilettante Bohemianism about this place and the men present. It was not +the Bohemianism of claw-hammer coats and high-priced champagne; of +little suppers, after the theater, in a black and gold boudoir, where +the women tasted some Welsh rarebit and declared that they were afraid +it was "awfully Bohemian, don't you know!" It was the Bohemia that +recked naught of others, but had as banner, "Do as you please," and as +watchword "Don't care." It was the old philosophy of Epicurus brought to +modern usage.</p> + +<p>The good-humored account that. Henri Murger gave of so many picturesque +light-love escapades, that had so much of pathos mingled with their +unmorality, began to find in Dick a vein of sympathy. He felt that it +was all very pleasant; all was charmingly put; it was interesting.</p> + +<p>"There," Belden declared, as he finished reading the episode of the +flowers that Musette watered every night, because she had promised to +love while those blossoms lived, "I'm dry, that's what I am. I think +it's about time we investigated. Come on into the kitchen, people. +There's some coffee and cake and fruit. Shouldn't wonder if you could +find a bottle or two of beer on the ice, too."</p> + +<p>They trooped out, through a room and corridor, to the kitchen. There was +a bare, deal table, a cooking range, a gas stove, a refrigerator and +several doors leading to closets. Every man brought his own chair. A +search was begun for cups, plates, knives and forks. Each man sat down +where he pleased. The coffee that was made was hardly such as one gets +at Tortoni's, but it was refreshing, nevertheless. The sound of corks +drawing from beer-bottles, of knives rattling on plates, and of +indiscriminate, lusty chatter filled the place. Belden was the +master-spirit. He saw that everyone helped himself; he chaffed and he +laughed; he looked after the provender and the cigars. The infection of +all this jollity touched Dick; he began to say to himself that to worry +himself "with conscientious scruples just because it was on a Sunday +instead of a Monday that all this happened, was to be something of a +prig." And he had always had a decided aversion to being that particular +sort of nuisance. He resigned himself completely to the spirit of the +time and place.</p> + +<p>McRoy broke into the babel of talk with a plaintive, "Everybody listen +for about a minute, will you? I want to ask Belden a solemn question: +Belden, have you finished that copy of 'Old-World Idyls' that you were +going to illustrate for me in pen-and-ink, on the margins?"</p> + +<p>Belden smiled. "Why, to tell you the truth, old man—" he began, but the +other interrupted him with, "There! publicly branded! Belden, you're the +awfulest breaker of oaths that ever was let live. You've had the book +six months, and I'll bet you've never drawn a stroke on it!"</p> + +<p>"The mistake you made," put in Stanley, "was to believe that he ever +<i>would</i> do the thing. He once made a promise of that sort to me, but +that was so long ago that I think I'm another person now."</p> + +<p>"If the theory of evolution is correct," said Vanstruther, "your late +lamented self must have been and abominably corrupt person."</p> + +<p>Stanley sighed, "Perhaps so. I am trying, you know, day by day, to +approach the sublime pinnacle on which you, my dear Van, tower above the +rest of mankind. However—" he reached his arm out over the table—"Any +beer left over there?"</p> + +<p>Belden handed a mug and a bottle over to him.</p> + +<p>"By the way," cut in Marsboro, "ever had any more trouble with the +neighbors here? Said you kept them awake Sunday nights with your unholy +orgies, didn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I said if they were going to kick on that score I would get +out an injunction against that girl of theirs that is always trying to +play 'After the Ball', with one hand. So I fancy our lances are both at +rest."</p> + +<p>So, with much careless clatter, and exchange of banter, they ate and +drank lustily until their hunger was appeased. Then, pushing their +plates and mugs into the middle of the table they leaned back to enjoy +the pleasures of the god Nicotine. And presently someone hinted that the +empty plates and the litter of the late-lamentedness in general was not +a cheering sight and they might as well proceed into the studio again. +There was a shoving back of chairs, a trooping through the corridor, and +they were all assembled once more in the front rooms. McRoy hid himself +behind a book. The others grouped themselves around the piano. The +plaintiff strains of Chevalier's "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins" filled the +room, born aloft on the impetus of five pairs of lungs.</p> + +<p>There was a violent ringing at the outer bell. It was some little time +before the men at the piano heard the din; it was only at McRoy's +muttered "Somebody's pulling your front door bell off the wires, +Belden!" that the latter went to open. The men in the room could hear +the sound of a man's voice, a quick passage of sentences, then +good-nights, all vaguely, over the strains of the coster-ditty.</p> + +<p>"What do you think," said Belden, coming in again, "has happened? It was +Ditton, of the <i>Telegraph</i>—lives a door or two north—just dropped in +to tell me a bit of news that he thought would interest me. Wooton of +the '<i>Torch</i>'? has disappeared, leaving the property deeply in debt. +Nobody knows where he is. Jove, come to think of it, that's pretty rough +news for you, Lancaster!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lancaster, "it is. And yet there is one consolation, he paid +me within a week of what was due me."</p> + +<p>There was a cessation of all other discussion to make room for the +consideration of this bit of news. Everybody agreed that it was too bad +that so good a sheet as the "Torch" should go the way of the majority. +Concerning Wooton the opinions differed. Belden began to apologize to +Lancaster for having led him into this "mess," as he called it, while +Stanley sneered at everybody for not having seen through Wooton long +ago.</p> + +<p>"He is inordinately vain," said Stanley, "and frightfully extravagant. +Clever. Lazy—awfully lazy. He can sit back in his chair and tell you +how to run the New York <i>Herald</i>, and he has been able to get nothing +profitable into or out of his paper from the time he began until now. He +theorizes beautifully; the only thing he can really do successfully is +to borrow money and talk to women. He used to amuse me just in the way +an actor amuses me. Half the time I think he was deceiving even himself. +I always thought he would do this very thing, one of these days. He used +to have what old women call 'spells' now and again, when he found +himself hard up for cash, that were really the most curious +performances. He would stay away from his office altogether; genius as +he was in warding off collectors, he used to prefer not to face them +sometimes. There was—I should say there is—a woman, one of the +cleverest, most cultured woman in town, who was fond of him in an +elderly-sister sort of way, and he used to go to her and borrow money. +Think of it: borrow money from a woman! She saw through him long ago, I +know, and yet he used to use such artifice—such tears, and promises of +betterment as the men employed!—that she always helped him in the end. +Then he gambled to try to make the big stake that would enable him to +run a rich man's paper; the only result is that he got deeper and deeper +into the hole. All the time he avoided his office; if he scraped up a +banknote or two he would send them along, per messenger boy, to the +foreman of the composing-room and have the printers paid, at least. You +must pay the printers and the pressmen, you know, even if you let a lot +of literary devils starve! And then some guardian angel would send along +a college chum, or some fellow with more loyality than discretion, and +A.B. Wooton would make a big 'borrow' and be once more the genial, +cynical man-of-the-world that the rest of you know. This time I presume +the angel refused to come. The end had to come; it was simply a huge +game of 'bluff.'"</p> + +<p>"How is it you know all this?" asked one of the others.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," was Stanley's answer, "I have <i>gambled</i> with him. All +through one of those periods when he was engaged, ostrich-like, in +sticking his head into the sand, I was with him. Besides, I know +something of his private affairs. He had sunk all of his own money long +ago; for the last year or so the <i>Torch</i> and Wooton have been living on +the gullibility of others. It seems strange that this should be possible +in this smart American city, but Wooton was not an ordinary bluffer; he +was a genius. Owing you hundreds of dollars he could talk to you all day +so skilfully on the one especial vanity of your heart that you would +feel much more like offering him another hundred than like even so much +as mentioning the old debt. I feel sorry for him. He should have a +patron, to humor him in all his extravagances; he would be splendid, +splendid!"</p> + +<p>But Lancaster, whom the news had touched a good deal, declared that it +was time he was taking himself off. Belden accompanied him to the door, +and spoke to him encouragingly about another position that he thought +Dick could easily obtain. Then Lancaster passed out into the night.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h3> + + +<p>Carriages lined the sidewalk for blocks in every direction. There was a +slight sprinkle of rain falling, and the shining rubber coats and hats +of the coachmen caught the electric light in fantastic streaks. Horses +were stamping, and chafing the bit. From every direction came a stream +of humanity, all making for the Auditorium. Carriages were arriving +every moment; the bystanders and ticket scalpers caught glimpses of +light hose and dainty opera shoes and skirts that were lifted for an +instant. Men in black capes were hurrying about busily. The cable cars +emptied load after load of well-dressed men and women. All the world and +his wife was going to the opera.</p> + +<p>Dick Lancaster, as he got out of his hansom, looked appreciatively at +the picture that all this hurrying throng made, and shaking some of the +rain drops off his coat, entered the opera house. As he looked about him +at the richly caparisoned human animals all on pleasure bent, at the +nonchalance that the mirrors told him he himself was displaying, it came +over him with something of amusement that there had been decided changes +in Richard Lancaster since that young person first came to town. +Impressionable as wax, the town had already cast its fascinations over +him; he was in the charmed circle. He had been put up at one of the best +of the clubs; he had been made much of, socially, by the select set that +allowed the preferences of Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart to dictate the +distinction between the Somebodies and the Nobodies; he had been +successful enough, professionally, to enable him to move in the world as +befitted his tastes. It is to be confessed that his tastes, now that +they had been whetted by the approach of opportunities, were not of the +most economical. He was fond of all things that show the intellectual +aristocrat; he liked to look well, to dine well, to talk well, and to +enjoy good music. He liked the comfort, the remoteness from the mere +vagaries of the weather, that this town life afforded. Here was a night +such as in the country would be dismal unspeakably; yet nothing but +brilliance and enjoyment was evident in his present surroundings.</p> + +<p>He threw his shoulders back with something of proud pleasure in his own +well-being, as he handed his cape and opera-hat to the caretaker. Yes, +life was good! It tasted well, and he was young, and there would yet be +many long, delicious draughts of it!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart was in her box. Several girls, whose low-cut dresses seemed +to be longing for something more worth showing, were seated on the +chairs that surrounded the central figure, Mrs. Stewart. In the +background of this, as of all other boxes, was a phalanx of white +shirt-fronts. It looked like the fore-front of an attacking army; first +the flash of bayonets, as they are to be found in woman's eyes, and then +the heavier artillery, the stolid force of masculinity. In the wide +corridors behind the boxes, in the foyers, and up and down the marble +stairways, the stream of people flowed back and forth. Presently the +conductor of the orchestra took his seat. There was a hastening toward +seats and boxes, and the overture of the "Cavalleria Rusticana" floated +out in echoes.</p> + +<p>Young Lancaster reached the Stewart box just as the first bars were +streaming forth. Mrs. Stewart leaned her head gracefully back over her +right shoulder, and smiled up at him. She stretched up a beautifully +gloved hand, and whispered a "Glad you came through the rain, after all. +Awfully disappointed if you hadn't!" at him. He nodded to the other +women, and shook hands with Mr. Stewart and some of the other members of +the white-shirted, blank-faced phalanx.</p> + +<p>"Ah," whispered Mrs. Stewart with a languid show of interest, and +putting her lorgnette up, "there is Calve!"</p> + +<p>There was a flutter of hand-clappings that went like a light wave from +the stalls to the upper balconies. And then began that exquisite, +dramatic exposition of rustic jealousy that Mascagni has so wonderfully +set to music. As Santuzza, Calve was magnetic. Actress as much as singer +she riveted all attention. Her face was the picture of agony the while +she was contemplating: the inner vision of her betrayal by Turiddu. +Then, the jealous hatred flashing out at Lola, her rival; and lastly the +self-accusing sorrow that covered her when she saw the effect of her +tale-bearing against her former lover. In the interval there was the +marvellous Intermezzo. Mrs. Stewart leaned back in her chair and closed +her eyes. When it was over she said, "There is something of the world's +joy and something of its pain in that melody. It appeals to me +wonderfully."</p> + +<p>Lancaster put in, "One of the men at the club declared that it was the +only thing that had given him real emotion for—oh, years."</p> + +<p>"He must have been a very blasé creature," said one of the other women.</p> + +<p>"He is," assented Lancaster.</p> + +<p>Their further conversation was interrupted by the rising of the curtain. +When it came down again there was a general movement toward the foyers. +Some of the tall and pale young men strolled out to smoke cigars and +talk of the boxing match that was going to come off at the club in a day +or so. With much fluttering of fans and swishing of skirts the angular +girls betook themselves from Mrs. Stewart's box to see if they "could +see any of the other girls." Mrs. Stewart and Dick Lancaster were left +in sole possession. He took a chair beside her and looked over into the +stalls.</p> + +<p>"Only fair," she said, noting his visual measurement of the size of the +audience.</p> + +<p>"Yes. These people don't want the New. They want 'Faust' and 'Aida,' and +they think 'Tannhäuser' is the very last in music. It will be years +before they see the gem-like beauty of this new Italian school."</p> + +<p>"And yet—it's a return to the old."</p> + +<p>"That is why. The old things are the best, if you only go far enough +into the past. We are never really modern, we are merely old in a new +way."</p> + +<p>"Do you know—" she leaned her white elbow on the cushioned chair-back +and placed her forefinger just under her ear, so that from the elbow up +her arm formed a white, beautiful rest for the attractive face, and +looking young Lancaster smilingly in the eyes, tapped her foot +caressingly to the floor—"do you know that I think I shall have to cut +you off my list very soon? You have—h'm—changed a great deal in the +few months I have known you. You occasionally make speeches that sound +almost cynical. You were always clever; you always talked brightly, but +you never used to believe some of the sharp things you said; now I think +you are beginning to. I liked you because you were different; you are +not different any more, at least not different in the same way. You will +never be as stupid as most of the others; but I am afraid, too, that you +will never be quite as genuine as you were."</p> + +<p>He sighed as he looked at her. He smiled very faintly as he answered, +"Yes, I am afraid you are right. I am not as I was." His gaze swept out +over the stalls, the crowded foyer, the brilliance everywhere. "But how +could I have done anything else than let all this affect me a little? I +am pliable, I suppose, and I bend easily to the wind. I came here to +taste life. As soon as I began to sip the cup I found that I was going +to like it immensely. I trod the way of the world that I might see what +manner of men walk there, and what sort of a road it was. Presently, I +found that I liked that path so much that I preferred it to the bypaths +of solitude and asceticism. And what has it mattered as long as I have +not neglected the work there is for me to do? No one can say I have +changed in that respect. I work harder than ever. It's not fair of you +to upbraid me. A great deal of it is your own doing."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is. You have been my pilot out of the land of the Narrows. +When I came up here I was narrow. I thought about things dogmatically, +and applied hard and fast rules to every sort of conduct. Now I am +broader. I know that where the world moves at lightning speed you cannot +apply the same tenets that hold good in a village where life is lived at +a cripple's gait and where routine is the reigning deity."</p> + +<p>"You would not have called it a 'cripple's gait' a little while ago," +interposed Mrs. Stewart.</p> + +<p>He flushed slightly but went on: "I realize now that since we have but +one life to live, we should live it as fully as we may. I could not have +seen the life that all of you here are living without realizing that it +was a fuller life than the one the country afforded me. So, cost what it +may, I must needs live it also."</p> + +<p>She looked at him curiously. "Yes," she repeated, half to him and half +to herself, "cost what it may."</p> + +<p>"Besides," he went on, looking away from her, and with something of +regret in his voice, "I have grown worldly because I loved a worldly +woman. You—you have made me love you."</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyebrows a trifle, turned her head, with the eyelids +drawn down over her eyes, toward him, and opened the lids slowly, with a +smile on her lips. Then she looked past him to where her husband was +leaning over a chair in one of the other boxes.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think John is looking very handsome tonight?" she asked +softly.</p> + +<p>Lancaster, who had gone red and pale in waves, answered, through set +lips, "Very."</p> + +<p>Then the curtain went up on "Pagliacci."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was the first time that Lancaster had heard Leoncavallo's opera. In +its novel charm his shame and mortification—shame at having spoken +those words to Mrs. Stewart and mortification at the rebuff they had +only naturally brought him—were for the time being swallowed up. With +eager eyes and attentive ears he watched and listened to the play within +the play. First the arrival of the mountebanks. Amid the laughs and +rejoicings of the villagers the theater-tent is set. Then the effort of +the clown to make love to Canio's wife; the slash of the whip from her, +the muttered curses from him. But the woman is fickle, after all; the +villager, Silvio, is more successful than the clown was. The sudden +approach of Canio, the husband, led hither by the vengeful clown, still +smarting under the whip; the escape of Silvio, and the woman's refusal +to tell the name of her lover. And so, to the wonderful second act, +where tragedy is so dexterously woven into comedy; where, under the +guise of a drama that the mountebanks proffer the villagers on their +little stage, the greater drama of Canio's jealousy is spun out to its +tragic ending. In between the lines of the dialogue intended for the +village audience come lines wrung from Canio's heart that sear their way +into his wife's breast, spite of her stage-smiles and graces. And when, +at the last, Canio, in his baffled rage, would strike her, and Silvio, +her lover, rushes from the audience in rescue, only to be stabbed by the +finally exultant husband, young Lancaster involuntarily shuddered. There +was something griping in the wonderful display of human rage and +jealousy that this young tenor gave in Canio; in the final words, full +of tragic, double, ironical meaning, "La comedie e finita!" there was +something of a sentence of death. And somehow, in Silvio there seemed to +be something of himself: that lover's terrible fate was fraught for him, +in the conscience-stricken state he found himself in, with warning and +protest. While the applause, reaching curtain-call after curtain-call, +surged all about him, young Lancaster was lost in rêverie. He was +changed, yes. He had adapted himself to the manners of the town; but he +still had a most nervous conscience, sharp, unblunted. He sat still, +with his chin hiding his upper shirt stud.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart's voice roused him. Her husband was already engaged in +putting her cloak about her shoulders. "Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said +sweetly. "We shall see you Wednesday, shall we not?"</p> + +<p>He bowed and stammered something, he hardly knew what.</p> + +<p>The opera was over.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That night, before he took off his dress' clothes, Dick sat down and +wrote to his mother. It was a thing he had not been so steadfast in of +late as once he had been.</p> + +<p>In one place he wrote: "You ask me, mother mine, how I like the town now +that it is no longer strange to me. Oh, I like it only too well. The old +place, the old friends, the sweet gentle tenor of all the old life out +there in Lincolnville, all seem like some far-off dream to me. My ears +and eyes are full of the many sounds and sights of the town; the +multifarious vistas, and the ever-changing face of the street. I like +the town and yet I fear it. Sometimes its might oppresses me, and I feel +as if I wanted to get out in the woods near our home and lie down at +full length on the mossy bank, where the creek sings soothingly and the +sun hangs like a golden ball in a clear sky. I want to hear the +crickets, and the deep silence of the nights, and the echoes of +detached laughter floating over the meadows. I want to watch the +sun-light as it comes through the leaves and plays hide-and-seek on the +lawn; I want to watch the hawk circling in the air, the chickens +scurrying fearfully at the sight of him. And then again the feverish +itch to be in the very middle of this maelstrom, the town, seizes me. I +long for the very thick and foremost of the struggle, and the picture of +Lincolnville fades away. At this present time of the year, though, I can +really prefer the town without seeming a slave to it.</p> + +<p>"It is in the winter, or in the early spring, when country places are +chiefly seas of mud and slush that one most deeply realizes the delights +of dwelling in town. Modern invention has put the town dweller beyond +the weather's jealous bites. We step into a hansom, we drive to the +club, we have dinner; behind club doors, and in club comfort we are +above all the slings and arrows of the elements; we drive to the +theatre, and the black-and-white splendor of our men, as well as the +fur-decked rosiness of our women, is only enhanced by contrast against +the frowny murkings of the sky. I have noticed that the finale, the +curtain-fall of any important public event, such as a dinner, a dance, +or an opera, is always a more picturesque thing when the carriages have +to drive away through the sleet. Whereas, the country! The weather is +the world and all that therein is; you can't get away from it. Mud is +king!</p> + +<p>"I am doing something in paint now, just to feed this terrible ambition +of mine. The pen-and-ink work is all very-well, and it does bring the +bread and butter, but it is not what I want for ever and ever. And I +think I am going to have for my subject just such a scene as I wrote of +a moment ago: the moment before the carriages drive away through the +rain, with everybody in gala attire and scintillant with brightness and +insincerity. For the town is insincere, mother, and cruel. Some day, +perhaps I, too, will become insincere. I do not know. I pray it may not +be so. But I am alarming you causelessly. I am only a little tired and +unnerved tonight. I have been to the opera, and it was just a little +affecting. So don't mind what I said just now. * * * * I am getting +rather tired and will say good-night. * * *"</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h3> + + +<p>In the early dawn there had been a slight shower of rain, but by the +time the sun was high enough to shine over the town's highest buildings, +the clouds parted, and presently drifted away altogether, leaving the +golden disc full freedom in giving a brilliant look to the clean-washed +streets. By noon everything was as bright as a newly-scoured kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was at that time of the year when spring is kissing a greeting to +summer. There was not too much heat. Growth and activity were not yet +subdued by the later lassitude of midsummer. In the parks the trees +were full of blossoms, the flowers were spelling out the runes that the +gardners had contrived for the Sunday sight-seers, and the roadways were +alive with well-equipped traps of every sort. The avenue was colorful +and kaleidoscopic. Dog-carts, driven by smartly-gowned, square-sitting +girls, bowled along noiselessly, the footmen looking as stolid as if +carved in wood. Landaus, with elderly women leaning far back into the +cushions, and shading their complexions under lace-decked parasols, went +by with an occasional rattling of chains. The careful observer might +have noticed that the number of smart vehicles was a trifle larger than +usual; there were more coaches out, and the air resounded more often to +the various military and hunting-calls that the English grooms were +executing on their horns.</p> + +<p>It was Derby Day.</p> + +<p>Dick was walking along the avenue watching, with his artist eyes open +for all the picturesque effect of the whole—the yellow haze of the sun +that filled the atmosphere in and out of which all these rapid +color-effects flashed swiftly, the thin strip of sky-reflecting water to +the east, the line of grass and the sky-touching horizon of huge +buildings—when he heard someone calling out his name.</p> + +<p>"Lancaster!" It was Stanley, driving a dog-cart and a neat bay cob. "The +very man! Jump in, won't you? Going down to the Derby. Thing you +shouldn't miss; lots of color and all that sort of thing! Asked +Vanstruther to go down with me, but one of his dime-novel heroes is ill +or something of that sort, and he's off the list. That's good of you. +Look how you're stepping. This brute has been eating his head off all +week, and isn't really fit for a Christian to drive. That's it! Now." +They went spinning along the avenue.</p> + +<p>In the instant or two before he climbed into the dog-cart, Dick had +reflected that while he was not over-fond of Stanley in a good many +ways, the man was undeniably a clever fellow, always to be depended on +for bright talk; besides he did feel very much like studying the scene +of a Derby Day with its many-colored facets.</p> + +<p>Watching the rapid, shifting beauties of the boulevard, Dick burst into +a little sigh of admiration. "Ah," he said, "this is good! This is +living!"</p> + +<p>"Youthful enthusiasm," muttered the other man. "Delightful +thing—youthful enthusiasm—to get over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I hope I never shall! What is life worth if one is not to show +that one enjoys it? How can you look at a day like this—a splendid, +champagnelike day—and yet—"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," interrupted Stanley, with a queer smile, "when a man +gets to my time of life there is always something melancholy to him in +the picture of a spring day. It reminds him of his own youth: all tears +and sunshine. Today there are neither tears or sunshine; it is all just +contemplation. I don't seem to belong to the play at ail, any more, +myself; I'm merely a spectator. To the spectator there is always +something pathetic about joy."</p> + +<p>"Your lunch was indigestable, that's all that is the matter with you," +laughed Dick. "It's a dogma of mine that pessimism is merely another +word for indigestion."</p> + +<p>"Dogma!" sighed Stanley, "Don't you know that all dogmas are obsolete? +Don't you know that in this rapid age we believe everything, accept +everything and yet doubt everything?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't that a trifle paradoxical?"</p> + +<p>"No; only modern! We believe everything that inventors or scientists may +tell us; but in the world spiritual we believe nothing. Is that a +paradox?"</p> + +<p>"But indigestion is surely, h'm, material rather than spiritual?" Dick +enjoyed the verbal parries that he was always sure of with Stanley. He +was always trying to get at the secret man's cynicism, a cynicism that +was the essence of what many other men of the world he lived in seemed +to feel, but were not all, perhaps, so well able to express.</p> + +<p>"Oh well," was Stanley's answer, "after all, it doesn't matter. Nothing +makes any difference." He looked blankly ahead as if all the world was +contained in the space occupied between the cob's ears. Then he went on, +in his minor monotone, "No, nothing, except—"</p> + +<p>Dick, thinking to be cheery, put in "Except marriage?"</p> + +<p>"No!" came from Stanley, with a sudden flick of the whip over the cob's +flanks, "that only makes differences."</p> + +<p>Dick laughed somewhat impatiently. "Oh!" he urged, "why sit there and be +dismal? Why not wake up and live? Surely the air is full of it, of this +fair Life? Enjoy it, brace up, be young!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I only could again, if I only could! Oh, to be young again! He +is the Autocrat of today, the young man." He lapsed into his sneer once +more. "The young man of today thinks he has the experience of the +centuries at his fingertips, whereas he really has only the gloves that +were made yesterday and will split tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"You are not only unjust," protested Dick, "you are flippant."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am! The keynote of this end of the century is lightness. +The modern declares that life is but a joke, and a bad one at best. How +to live without ever allowing oneself to suspect that life is more than +a game in which the odds are heads, Death wins; tails, Man loses: that +is the great problem of the decade. The universal solution of the +difficulty is the practice of superficiality. Skim! Be light! Never +penetrate below the surfaces! Never search the deep! Make love as if it +were a tourney of jests; die as if it were a riddle well guessed! Be +scintillantly versatile, rather than thorough; hide your ignorance with +bland blasédom; treat tragedy as an intruder, comedy as a chum, and as a +reward you will be called 'up-to-date.' Nay, more: your fashionable +friends may even mispronounce French in your behalf and dub you <i>fin de +siècle</i>!"</p> + +<p>Dick shuddered laughingly. "A horrible philosophy," he said. And yet he +was glad of the other's bitterness; it showed, through all its veil of +sneers and scorn, something of the point of view of the foremost in that +race toward Death that some of the town-dwellers are wont to call Life.</p> + +<p>Yet he could not keep his thoughts long on the serious import of the +other's scornful flippancy. How shall two-and-twenty years, and health, +and sunshine, and a spirit susceptible to enjoyments that the very +atmosphere seemed redolent of, allow a young man to brood on the +progress of the world's cancer? No; there were too many distractions! +Tandems whirling by with horsy young men handling the ribbons; brakes +full of laughing girls and straw-hatted young men; hackney carriages +with four occupants unmistakably of the bookmaker guild.</p> + +<p>Just before they rolled into sight of the grand-stand, Stanley said, +"Oh, who do you suppose I had a letter from yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"No idea."</p> + +<p>"The most noble A.B. Wooton, of the late lamented '<i>Torch</i>'."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so. His nerve never dies, eh?"</p> + +<p>"As I said before, his is not a case of 'nerve'; it is genius. He has +the prettiest story you ever read, swears his advertising man deceived +him and got the paper into all manner of tight places; found himself +forced to get away from the ruins so that he could the better repay his +creditors, which he states he has instructed his lawyers to do, and all +the rest of it! I don't believe a word of it; but he has got grit!"</p> + +<p>"That is a national fault," said Dick soberly, "the admiration of 'grit' +in scoundrels. For that is all that Wooton is, after all!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, why split hairs? He never did you any harm, did he? However, +about his letter. He writes from Dresden. Says he has just met some +Americans—name of Ware, I think. Enjoying himself immensely—girl in +the party—moonlight rides and all that sort of thing. Wonder how long +he'll last over there?"</p> + +<p>"I know some Wares," said Dick quietly; "but I hardly think it could be +the same ones. Though they are in Europe just now, that's true." His +thoughts tried to hark back to Lincolnville, to his parting with Dorothy +Ware, and to her return; but the present was too strong for him. They +were driving across the course at this moment, and over into the field, +which was already a motly, colored mass of vehicles, white dresses, +parasols and stamping horses. The tops of coaches were made over into +sitting room for summer-dressed girls, of whose faces one caught only +the white under-half—the chin and the mouth, in high sun relief—while +the eyes were in shade of the huge parasols. One caught glimpses of +light shoes and hose; of young men walking, in earnest converse over +betting tickets held in hand; of wicker lunch-baskets being brought +from the inner chambers of the coaches and prepared for a future hunger; +and, beyond, in the grand stand, of a black, indistinguishable mass of +spectators, noisy, tremendous.</p> + +<p>As soon as they had found a place for the dog-cart, from which they +would be able to see the finish with tolerable comfort and completeness, +Stanley said, with a noticeable alacrity succeeding the languid +pessimism that had distinguished him all during the drive down.</p> + +<p>"Now then, Lancaster, let's hurry over to the betting-shed!"</p> + +<p>For a moment only Dick hesitated. "Going to bet, or just to look on?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Bet, of course, you innocent infant! But, Scotland, you don't have to! +You can just soak in the—what do you call it—the impressionistic view +of it. But hurry up, whatever you are going to do, I don't want the odds +to tumble down too far before I get there!"</p> + +<p>Not so long ago Dick would have cavilled, hesitated, perhaps refused. +Now he caught his half-uttered objections being met by a whisper in his +own mind of 'Don't be a prig!' and he followed Stanley silently. It +occurred to him, presently, that to warn oneself of becoming a prig was +in itself evidence of priggishness. Impatiently he shook his head, as if +to get all analytical reflections out of his head altogether. He looked +at the scene around him, and forgot everything else.</p> + +<p>The scene in the betting-shed was, just as is the stock exchange floor, +the boiling-point of the kettle of froth called metropolitan life. +Around the bookmakers' stands was a seething, struggling mass of +humanity. Each member of this mob was pushing, striving, perspiring for +—what?—the chance to get something for nothing! The bookmakers +themselves were straining every nerve to keep pace with the public's +feverish desire to get rid of it's money. On their little stands, their +heads on a level with the black-board that furnished the names of the +horses and the odds against, they stood; one hand busy taking in money +that was handed in to the inner part of the stand, the other grasping +the piece of chalk that ever and again touched the black-board to effect +some change in the odds. One man inside was busy with pencil and paper, +registering each ticket as it was handed out; another covered the face +of the ticket with the hasty hieroglyphics that stood for the horse +chosen and the amount wagered and the amount that might be won. Here and +there a bookmaker encouraged the "plunge" on some horse that he +professed to scorn by shouting forth his odds and the horse's name. The +blind struggle of the majority was an amusing spectacle; it certainly +seemed to vouch for the truth of the saying that man is a gambling +animal. Like serpents, the "touts," professional vendors of spurious +stable information, went winding in and out through the throng, +sometimes displaying judgment in the would-be bettors they approached, +but as often as not displaying most lamentable indiscretion. Dick +watched, with an amused smile, how one of these fellows sided up to a +quiet man, who, program in hand, was leaning against a pillar watching +the boards and the changes in odds. The quiet man listened to the tout's +hoarse whisperings, and then threw his coat back showing an "owner's" +badge. The tout slunk sheepishly into the crowd.</p> + +<p>"If you take my advice," said Stanley who was fighting his way towards +some remote goal or other, "you'll take a little flyer on Dr. Rice. +That's what I'm going to do. There's a fellow on the other side of the +ring has him a point higher than anyone else."</p> + +<p>Dick, without having made up his mind as to his own betting or not +betting, helped his companion in his struggle to get through the crowd. +Desperate energy was necessary. There was never any time for apologies; +elbows were pushed into sides, toes were trodden on, scarfs twisted and +sleeve-links broken; no matter, there was money to be won and there was +no time either to consider passing annoyances or the possibility of +loss.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Stanley, finally, as they found themselves in front of a +black-board that had a figure "7" chalked to the left of the name Dr. +Rice and a "3" to the right. "Here we are! Now then, what are you going +to do?" He whipped out a twenty dollar bill and crumpled it carefully +into the palm of his hand.</p> + +<p>Dick thought quickly. After all, it was merely the foregoing of some +luxury or another; he would postpone joining that polo club, perhaps, +or go without that new edition of Menzel's drawing's that he had been +promising himself. He took a bill out of his card-case and handed it, +without a word, to Stanley.</p> + +<p>The ticket that Stanley presently handed him had "Rice" almost illigibly +scrawled across it, and the figures "70" and "10." Dick stood to lose +ten or to win seventy dollars.</p> + +<p>By the time they had got comfortably ensconsed in their seats in the +dog-cart once more, the horses were at the post for the great event of +the day, the American Derby. Dick had begun to feel something of the +torment of expectation and fear and hope that makes the gambler's nerves +either like a sheet of reeds in the wind or like a tightly-drawn wire. +If he won it would be, as he heard some men in the betting-shed remark, +"just like finding money." He could allow himself all sorts of +extravagances. He observed the horses making false start after false +start without even a suspicion of qualmishness as to the moral aspect of +the case coming over him. He had grown, to use his own phase, broader.</p> + +<p>Down beyond the turn into the stretch was the bunch of restless horses, +the vari-colored jackets, the starter's carriage, and the assistant +starter's flag. There was the sky-blue jacket that showed where the +favorite, The Ghost, was pirouetting on his hind legs; the black and +yellow bars of Ætna's jockey, and many others. But Dick's eyes were +focused on Dr. Rice; the horse's jockey was in all-black.</p> + +<p>"Ah—h!" The vast crowd roars and cheers as a start is made. All +together, like a herd of cattle, they sweep on toward the grand-stand. +It is not racing yet. Favorite and second favorite are back in the +centre of the bunch. In front of the grand-stand one jockey sends his +horse out a length in front. It is an outsider, but there are plenty of +backers of outsiders, and a cheer goes up. "He'll walk away from them!" +"The others are standing still!" and such-like shouts go up. The pace +begins to get killing. At the half Ætna is seen to move up to the +leader, finally to pass him. The favorite is also creeping from out the +ruck. Slowly, surely he forges past all the leaders but Ætna; the latter +shoots ahead again for the distance of a length and The Ghost drops back +to fourth place. It was evidently merely a feeler to find out whether +Ætna was going too fast or whether there was still time to get up when +the stretch was reached.</p> + +<p>Round the turn they sweep into the stretch. It is a dangerous picture, +with so many horses so close together, with such speed, and such +possibility of collisions. But the turn is made in a second; now they +are in the straight road for home. The Ghost is creeping up again, +wearing down horse after horse, finally reaching Ætna's throatlatch. +Neck and neck these two race up the last furlong; then a sudden, +surprised roar breaks out from the mob of onlookers; another horse has +cut loose from the bunch that has now become a straggling, attenuated +string of tired horses. The shout goes up: "Look at Dr. Rice!" "Dr. +Rice!"</p> + +<p>Now he is up to Ætna's flanks and going under a pull; his jockey has +never yet touched spur to him. The whip comes down on Ætna; it is no +use; he is raced out. Now Dr. Rice has reached The Ghost, and the +latter's jockey begins using the whip. In the grand-stand there is an +inferno of cheering; men are shouting themselves hoarse, and jumping up +and down in nervous paroxysms. Dr. Rice's jockey never moves a muscle to +all appearances. The cries go up from the mob: "Come Rice!" "Come +Ghost!" The judges begin to strain their their attention to the viewing +of a very close finish. Then with a final mighty lift, Dr. Rice, in the +very last stride, snoots forward under the wire a neck in front of The +Ghost.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rice has won.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On the way home Stanley was another man. He talked as if such a thing as +a regret for a lost youth had never entered his head; he was young +again. He recounted his impression of the race, asked Dick what he had +thought of it all, was full of amusing anecdotes about men who had tried +to get him to back the favorite, and was fertile in suggestions for what +they should do that evening. Of course it was understood they must +celebrate in some way. Surely! Surely!</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said, finally, "I know what we'll do. We'll go along to the +Imperial Theatre. I know some of the girls in the burlesque there. I'll +introduce you. We'll enjoy ourselves."</p> + +<p>Dick began to demur.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a d——-d idiot," said the other man, half smiling, half +frowning.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h3> + + +<p>No one that has ever been in Dresden is likely to forget the beauties of +the Bruehlsche Terrasse. The cool plash of waters from the Elbe come up +invitingly; the green of the neighboring gardens is luscious, and there +are nearly always strains of music in the air. Especially pleasing is +the picture on a summer's evening.</p> + +<p>In one of the concert gardens they give out on the Terrasse, there sat +at a small round table, one dreamy midsummer evening, Mrs. Ware and her +daughter, Dorothy. In front of them were small cups of coffee, and such +appetising rolls as only the Conditors of the continent can make. The +garden was in no wise different from a thousand others to be found in +German cities; save only that it was especially happy in its location. +There was a light, gravelly soil; a multitude of round tables; chairs +occupied by a cosmopolitan crew of both sexes; at one end, in the shadow +of huge lime trees, was the <i>Capelle</i>. Over all was the star-gemmed sky. +The air was sweet with the song of the violins, and the cheery laughter +of the many family parties came echoing along from time to time in +musical accompaniment. There were German students, with the +vari-colored caps and occasional sword-wounds on their faces; officers +with clanking swords and clothes fitting in lines that suggested stays; +English tourists, easily distinguishable by costumes they would not have +dared to startle Hyde Park with; Americans with high pitched voices; and +a few Russians, excessively polite of manner and cruel of eye.</p> + +<p>Miss Dorothy Ware was engaged in munching at a roll that had been +steeping in the strong coffee, when she suddenly turned to her mother +with an eager exclamation.</p> + +<p>"I declare, mamma," she said, "if there isn't Mr. Wooton coming this +way. The idea of meeting him again at all. I'm sure I never thought we +would; there are so many people away traveling about this time of the +year, and there are so many places. He has just seen us, mamma, and he's +coming over here. See he's lifting his hat. I'm glad we've got this +vacant chair."</p> + +<p>Wooton shook hands with them. "The old platitude about the world being a +very small place seems to strike true," he said. "Do you know, it's a +positive relief to talk to people of my own sort once more." He had sat +down beside Dorothy, and placed his stick and gloves on the gravel +beside him. He looked decidedly handsome; his small mouth seemed smaller +than ever, and his face was paler than when he dictated the fortunes of +the <i>Torch</i>. He was scrupulously dressed; every detail was so nicely +adjusted that he would have successfully run the gauntlet of all the +comment of Piccadilly and Broadway.</p> + +<p>"I've just come from Berlin," he went on, "it was like an oven there. +Nearly everybody was away; some of them in Heringsdorf, some in +Switzerland, some down in this district. My compartment in the train was +filled with a lot of officers on leave, and they talked army slang until +my head swam, and I would have given gold for the sound of an American +voice."</p> + +<p>"You seem to rush about a good deal," ventured Mrs. Ware. "Didn't we +meet you in Schwalbach?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma forgets so," put in Dorothy, "she's been meeting so many people, +I begin to think she jumbles them all up. But it was in Schwalbach, +mamma; you're right. Don't you remember? We were sitting near the +Stahlbrunnen, with the Tremonts—we used to set next to them at the +Hotel d'Europe—when Mr. Wooton came up and said how-d'ye-do to the +Tremonts, and they presented him to us. When Mrs. Tremont was at +boarding-school, you know," she went on, turning to Wooton, "she and +mamma were great chums. She was a Miss Alexander." She put her hand up +to her hat and gave it a mysterious pressure, presumably to rectify some +invisible displacement. She turned and looked out into the darkness +whence came the sullen swish of the river. "It was delightful in +Schwalbach," she said finally.</p> + +<p>"It was horribly expensive," commented Mrs. Ware, sipping her coffee.</p> + +<p>"But the waters did you good, I hope?" inquired Wooton, suavely +solicitous.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess so. But I don't seem to improve right along, as I should? +But I shouldn't complain. I'm a good deal stouter than when I left home. +Besides, Dorothy is having a right good time."</p> + +<p>"Ah," smiled Wooton, to the girl, "you like it—the life here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I like it. I don't say that I like it better than other things. +But who could help liking that?" She swept her parasol around so that it +pointed out toward the river. There was complete darkness there, lit up +occasionally by the lights of passing steamers. Fog-whistles sounded +occasionally; on the opposite shore there was a dim glow of yellow +lights. The water sobbed ceaselessly; there was a mist rising, and the +steamer lights began to seem hazier than ever, mere golden circles +hanging in the dense darkness. The violins were playing something of +Waldteufel's.</p> + +<p>It was true; not even the most patriotic of Americans could have helped +granting that all this was very pleasant. Dorothy Ware had certainly +given up being half-hearted in her enthusiasm for European things; they +had met so many people and had rubbed up against so much of +cosmopolitanism that unconsciously she had come to see that to apply the +narrow Lincolnville view to all the people she saw now was a trifle +absurd. She gave herself candidly over to enjoy it all. That was what +she had come for. And it must be confessed that, during this process of +enjoyment, her memories of her former self became ghosts of +ever-increasing vagueness. When she caught herself thinking of Dick +Lancaster it was usually to wonder what sort of a girl he had married. +She smiled when she thought of the things he had said to her before they +parted. It didn't seem to touch her at all now, and she seemed sure that +a man slips out of that sort of thing much earlier than the woman.</p> + +<p>They met Wooton a good deal after that. He spent a good deal of time +among the pictures, and when they visited the <i>Gruene Gwoeble</i> they +found him there. He was invariably bright and amusing; he offered to +pilot them and smooth things for them generally; Mrs. Ware began to +think he was tremendously nice. She remembered that Miss Alexander—now +Mrs. Tremont—had always been one of the most aristocratic of girls; she +recalled with something of a shudder, her own awe at her school-mate's +lengthy dissertation upon blood and family and kindred subjects. So, she +argued, if Wooton was in Mrs. Tremont's set in town, there was certainly +not the vestige of a doubt concerning his being eminently the correct +thing. She had lived in the country so long herself that she admitted +she was no longer able to note the difference between good coin and bad; +but she had infinite faith in Mrs. Tremont. Dorothy, too, got to feel +that he was very charming; he was so handsome, and dressed so well. It +was very pleasant to have him in the party; he added distinction. +Wooton had admitted that he knew young Lancaster; he divined that she +had liked the boy; he was wise enough to tell her only pleasant things +about Dick. The only thing Dorothy objected to was that Wooton went +about a good deal with the Tremonts. It seemed to her that he was quite +devoted to Miss Eugenie.</p> + +<p>"I don't like her a bit," she told him rather tactlessly, speaking of +Miss Tremont, "she's so supercilious. I never know when she's laughing +at me and when she's not listening to me. I suppose she thinks I'm a +country chit and don't know anything. But I wouldn't be clever the way +she's clever for anything in the world. Why does she have to sneer at +innocence and goodness? Nobody ever accused her of either, did they?"</p> + +<p>Which, Wooton thought to himself, was not half bad. As a matter of fact +he enjoyed being with Eugene Tremont immensely. She was one of those +intensely modern girls that the world is so unhappily rich in just now. +She would talk about any subject under the sun. She declared that she +had always cared more for male society anyway; she despised her own sex +and said spiteful things about it. She pretended to be completely +cognizant of all the wickedness there was in the world; and she went on +the presumption that man was a sort of infernal machine that there was +unlimited fun—the fun of danger—in handling. Men liked her at first +invariably; there was something refreshing and stimulating in the +nonchalance with which she tabooed no subject from her conversation; +they said to themselves that this was a person, thank goodness, whom one +did not eternally have to consider in the light of a sex, but rather of +a sexless cleverness. But, somehow or other, her cleverness wearied +presently; she palled as all surfaces must inevitably pall. Wooton, +however, turned to her because she was of his own special calibre—all +cleverness, and no apparent sharply defined system of conduct. With the +Wares he was so perpetually on a grid-iron; he was afraid of saying +something that would startle them. They amused him, these people, with +their simplicity, their taking virtue for granted and vice for an +abhorent mystery! To talk to them it was necessary to keep a constant +check on his cynical; while with Eugene Tremont it was sword to sword, a +sharp continuous fencing with verbal weapons.</p> + +<p>So, when Dorothy Ware made the cutting little speech about Miss Tremont, +Wooton told himself that there was something more than mere dislike for +the Boston girl at the bottom of it. Considering the matter, he broke +into a laugh. Was it possible, h'm. That would really be too rich.</p> + +<p>He began to be seen with the Tremonts oftener than ever. He went with +them to the opera, he took a seat in their landau. He went to Teplitz +with them.</p> + +<p>"They're more in the same set, I suppose," said Mrs. Ware, when Dorothy +spoke of it. "He was at college with her brother, too; I guess they talk +about him a good deal."</p> + +<p>Dorothy guessed that she knew better; but she said nothing. Somehow, +Dresden began to seem fearfully dreary. She began importuning her mother +to pack up and go to Munich; they had some friends there. Dorothy +declared Dresden made her homesick; she said it was all so small and +pretty, anyway; it wasn't a metropolis, yet it tried to ape the real +article. And then there were so many Americans—you couldn't talk +English anywhere without having people understand you, which was +distinctly annoying, because occasionally one likes to make personal +asides about costumes and hats and complexions—and, well, what was the +use of staying there any longer anyhow? But Mrs. Ware declared the +climate agreed with her. She said she hadn't felt so well for ever so +long, she wasn't going to try any other place as this one agreed with +her. Did Dorothy want to see her die? No; Dorothy did not. She +submitted, and went about looking dismal.</p> + +<p>And then, one day, the sunshine came back into here face once more. It +was not that the good fairies had remodeled the town of Dresden; it was +not that all English-speaking people had suddenly deserted the place; in +fact, it was hard to say just what made the difference. It was just +possible that Wooton's return from Teplitz had something to do with the +good humor in which Dorothy came back to her mother that noon, after a +walk down to the Conditorei. She had almost cannoned into him, rounding +a corner; they had shaken hands; he had avowed the pleasure he felt at +seeing her again. It is just possible that the sight of this young man +was a talisman for Miss Ware's temper; it is at least certain that her +melancholia was gone.</p> + +<p>He called on them, in a day or so, at their apartments in the Hotel +Bellevue. Mrs. Ware was very glad to see him; she was more vivacious +than she had yet shown herself. She proposed that they take their coffee +out in the garden, on the river front, under the trees. They sat +watching the boats, and the little boys paddling about barefooted; it +was in the cool of sunset, and there were red bars slanting across the +western horizon. It was very pleasant. The waiter moved about +noiselessly; there were some children making merry in the swing set up +at the far end of the garden.</p> + +<p>"Is Teplitz very full?" asked Mrs. Ware.</p> + +<p>"Yes; more people than usual, I believe. I should think the hot baths +would do you good, too, Mrs. Ware?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess I'll stay here awhile yet. I'm getting to feel quite spry +again. You left the Tremonts there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy turned away from the river and looked at him a trifle +reproachfully. "You must be awfully fond of those people," she said, +trying to smile.</p> + +<p>Wooton shrugged his shoulders carelessly.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "I can't say that exactly. But Mrs. Tremont really +insisted on my going; she said she had never been there before, and +thought that as I knew the ropes of the place, it would be a small thing +for me to play pilot for them for a while. What was I to do?" He looked +at Dorothy appealingly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ware was pushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek.</p> + +<p>"In Boston, Dorothy," she said, "I guess Mrs. Tremont is quite a society +leader." She said it as if that was an assertion of crushing +significance, intended to quiet any possible questionings as to why any +young man should think it necessary to comply with the wishes of so +great a personage.</p> + +<p>"What if she is?" was Dorothy's quick reply; "that doesn't make her any +better, does it? I don't see how you can go around with them so much, +that's all, Mr. Wooton."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed, "I assure you I don't like them so very much myself; +but I don't dislike them. And I hate to offend people. They asked me to +go!"</p> + +<p>They drank their coffee, and watched the twilight settling down. They +talked lightly, and laughed a good deal.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ware," Wooton asked presently, "you've never been down to +Schandau, have you?"</p> + +<p>"No. Is it worth while?"</p> + +<p>"Immensely! You ought to make the trip."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I simply can't begin to get mamma to move from this town. She's +perfectly enchanted with it, somehow." She looked at her mother, and +patted her on the arm. Mrs. Ware said nothing, only smiled back at her +daughter, who went on, "but I'd like it mightily."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me show you the place," Wooton persevered. He looked +over at Mrs. Ware in a hesitating way. "Perhaps—if Mrs. Ware would +rather not stir from the hotel—there would be no objection to Miss Ware +making the trip with me? The place is really pretty; the royal residence +there is one of the sights. It's only half an hour or so by the steamer. +You'd hardly notice our absence; I think she'd enjoy it." He wondered a +little whether they would look at him in frigid horror, or take it as a +proposition quite in accord with the conventions they were accustomed +to. He knew perfectly well that most of the people he knew in the East +would have considered him insane if he had ventured such a proposal; +but, in regard to these people, and this girl in particular, he +remembered that a friend of his had once used a phrase that had struck +him at the time as rather good, and that was, perhaps, applicable. The +man had declared, half in a spirit of banter, half in chivalrous +defense, that the girl of the West paraphrased the old motto to read: +"<i>Sans peur, sans reproche et sans chaperon</i>."</p> + +<p>To his relief, Mrs. Ware's answer was merely a smile at her daughter, +and a "You'll have to see what Dorothy thinks about it, I guess. It's +her picnic. If she wares to go—." She left the sentence unfinished, as +if to convey the impression that under the circumstances mentioned her +own preference would be allowed lapse.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Dorothy, with a little clasping together of her hands, +"that it would be simply delightful! You wouldn't worry, would you, +mamma? There are always so many waiters around and—dear, dear, I talk +just as if we were going this very minute!" She looked gratefully at +Wooton. Somehow or other, he felt himself blushing. He caught himself +regretting the fact that he was no longer as genuine as this girl was. +"I think it's simply perfect of you to ask me," she went on, "I'm sure +I'll enjoy it ever so much."</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, airily, "we'll consider that settled. It's very good of +you to say you'll go, I'm sure. Suppose we say Wednesday?"</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h3> + + +<p>It was certainly a sunny enough day, and the Elbe glistened invitingly. +Wooton had been up earlier than was usual for him and had taken a walk +out into the level country; when he came into the hallway of the +Bellevue he was in the best of spirits. Miss Ware came down the +stairway, presently, her parasol in rest over her left arm, and her +gloves still in process of being buttoned. She smiled down at him +radiantly.</p> + +<p>"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Not a moment," he answered, adding, with a smile, "strange to say. You +young ladies usually do! But—do you notice how kind the clerk of the +weather is?"</p> + +<p>"Delightful!" They went slowly down toward the wharf where the little +steamer was puffing lazily in the rising heat.</p> + +<p>"Your mother is well?" He asked the I question as solicitously as if he +were the family physician.</p> + +<p>"Quite well. The fact is," she added with a comic effort to seem +melancholy, "I'm afraid she'll be so well soon that she'll want to go +back to the States."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so you don't want to go just yet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't half seen it all, you know! Still,—" she sighed gently +and looked out beyond the real horizon, "it will be nice to be home +again."</p> + +<p>Wooton brought a couple of steamer chairs and placed them on the +deck-space that was well in the shadow of the awning. The sun was +beginning to grow almost unpleasantly strong. Presently, with a minute +or so of wriggling away from the wharf, of backing and sidling, the +little steamer got proper headway and proceeded slowly on its way up the +river. The central portion of the town was soon passed; green +garden-spaces, and houses shut in by cherry-trees, gave way to low-lying +meadows and hills rising up in the distance. The perpetual +"shug-shug-shug" of the engines, and the hushed whispering of the river +as the steamer bows cut through the water were almost the only sounds +that broke the quiet. There was not a cloud in the sky. Swallows darted +arrow-like through the air.</p> + +<p>Wooton had pushed his hat back from his forehead and sat with +half-closed eyes. He was silent. Miss Ware, looking at him shyly, +wondered what he was thinking about; told herself once more that he was +the handsomest man she had ever seen, and then sent her clear gaze +riverward again. What Wooton was thinking at that moment was that he +would give many things if in his spirit there were still that simplicity +that would ask of life no more feverish pleasures than those he was now +enjoying—the pleasures of peace and quiet. To be able to sit thus, with +half-closed eyes, as it were, and let the wind of the world always blow +merely a gentle breath across one's face!—perhaps, after all, that was +the road to happiness. On the other hand, the thousand and one +experiences; missed, the opportunities wasted! Surely it was impossible +to appreciate the sweets of good had one not first tasted of the fruit +of knowledge of evil! But supposing one so got the taste of the bitter +apple into one's mouth that thereafter all things tasted bitter and the +good, especially, created only nausea? For that was his own state. Well, +in that case—he smiled to himself in his silence—there was nothing to +be done but enjoy, enjoy to think of the once easily reached contentment +as of a dream that is dead, and to strive so ceaselessly to blow the +embers of the fires of pleasure that they would at least keep +smouldering until all the vessel was ashes. The pleasures of the +moment—those were the things to seize! The moment was the thing to +enjoy; the morrow might not come.</p> + +<p>He turned to look at the girl beside him, who had by this time resigned +herself with something of quiet amusement to his silence, and now sat, +veilless, her lips slightly open to the breeze, her face unspeakably +fair-seeming with its rosy flush and its look of eager, expectant +enjoyment. He told himself that, as far as this moment at least went, it +left little to be desired; to sit beside so sweety a girl as Dorothy +Ware was surely pleasure enough. And then he thought somewhat grimly +that he himself was, unfortunately, impregnable to the infection of such +simple joys.</p> + +<p>"A penny!" he spoke softly, as if not to wake her too brusquely from a +rêverie.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, with a little start, and, turning toward him, "they are +not worth so much, really! I was thinking of Mr. Lancaster. He used to +be so terribly ambitious; you know. Didn't you say you knew of him, in +town?"</p> + +<p>Wooton realized that he must needs be diplomatic. He called it +diplomacy; some persons might have rudely termed it mendacity. The two +are commonly confounded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "some artists that I knew used to mention his name +occasionally." He paused an instant or two and then continued, +impassively, "I seem to remember hearing someone say that he was +engaged to some very rich girl."</p> + +<p>Dorothy Ware smiled sadly. "I supposed he would be," she said, simply. +She felt angry at herself for not feeling the news more deeply; yet it +hardly seemed to touch her at all; it was just as if she had heard that +one of her girl friends had married. She recalled Dick's impassioned, if +soberly worded, farewell; she remembered her own words; she wondered how +it was possible that the passing months could have changed her so that +now she seemed almost indifferent as to young Lancaster's fortunes or +misfortunes.</p> + +<p>Wooton's exclamation of "Ah, there's Schandau!" broke in upon the train +of her self-questioning thoughts. They walked over to the rail of the +boat together, and looked out to where the roofs of summer-villas and +hotels came peeping through the wooded banks of the river. As they stood +thus she felt his right hand just touching her own left. Somehow, the +blood came rushing into her face, and she took her hand away under +pretense of fastening up her veil.</p> + +<p>From the landing-stage they walked up to one of the hotels, where Wooton +ordered a light repast. Miss Ware was in excellent spirits. The beauty +of the day and the picturesqueness of the place, with its cozy villas +tucked away against the hillside, its leafy lanes and its mountain +shadows, filled her with the elixir of happiness. She chatted and +laughed incessantly. She asked Wooton if they couldn't go for a walk +into the woods. Walk, of course! No, she didn't want to drive; that was +too much like poking along the boulevards at home in the States. She +wanted to stroll up little foot-paths, into the heart of the wood, and +gather flowers, and have the birds whistle to her! Didn't he remember +that she was a country girl? She hadn't been in a real wood since she +left Lincolnville, and did he suppose she was going to enjoy this one by +halves?</p> + +<p>They walked out along the white, dusty <i>chaussee</i> until it reached the +denser part of the hill-forest; then they struck off into a by-path. In +the shadow of the pines it was cool and refreshing; the scent of pines +filled the air. In the thick undergrowth there were occasional clumps of +blue-berries. Dorothy Ware picked them eagerly, laughing carelessly when +she stained her gloves with the juice. She plucked flowers in abundance, +and had Wooton carry them. They strayed heedlessly into the forest, +hardly noting whether they followed the path or not. They found +themselves, presently, in the lee of a huge rock that some long-silent +volcanic upheaval must once have thrust through the earth's shell. Close +to the earth this rock was narrower than at its summit; under its +sloping base there was a cavity all covered with moss. Overhead the +pines shut out the sky.</p> + +<p>A trifle tired with her walk, Miss Ware hailed the sight of this spot +with unfeigned gladness. Wooton spread his top-coat for her. Sitting +there, in the silence made voiceful by the rustling of the pines, +Wooton felt his heart beat faster than it had in years. She was pretty, +this girl; her voice was so caressing, and her presence and manner such +a charm! Young enough, too, to be taught many things. He watched her, as +she sat there, binding the flowers with the stems of long grasses, stray +curls playing about her cheeks, and her mouth snowing the slight down on +the upper lip, and, for an instant, there came to him a feeling of pity. +It is possible, perhaps, that the serpent occasionally pauses to admire +the pigeon's plumage.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he began, softly, "whether you know Hugh McCulloch's 'Scent +o' Pines'? No? I think you will like it:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Love shall I liken thee unto the rose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">That is so sweet?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Nay, since for a single day she grows,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Beneath our feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"But to the perfume shed when forests nod,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">When noonday shines;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Eternal as the eternal peace of God—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">The scent of pines."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He quoted the verses musically. He gave the words all the sincerity that +never found its way into his actions. He was one of those men who read a +thing better than the man that wrote it, because they know better the +art of simulating an emotion that he knows only how to feel.</p> + +<p>"A pretty idea," she admitted. They talked on ramblingly, lightly. +Overhead the sun was sinking into the west. A wind had sprung up from +the southwest, and in the north-west banks of clouds had gathered, thick +and threatening. Occasional flashes of lightning darted across the +cloud-space. A thunderstorm was evidently approaching, proceeding +stubbornly against the wind. The sun dipped behind the clouds, that rose +higher, presently over-casting all the heavens. Light gusts of wind went +puffing through the forest, scattering leaves and whirling twigs.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the mountain storm broke over the +forest. Almost on the stroke of the first flash of lightning came the +thunder; then as if the clouds had been bulls charging in the arena, the +furious concussion was followed by the gush of the blood of heaven. The +rain came down in lances that struck the earth and bounded up again. +About the heads of the pines the wind roared and wailed.</p> + +<p>Coming upon them so suddenly, this riot of the elements made the two +young people sitting there in the lee of the rock, start to their feet +in dismay. A momentary gleam came into Wooton's eyes; whether it was +anger or joy only himself could have told. All about them the storm was +playing its tremendous tarantelle; the whole earth seemed to shake with +the repeated cannonades of the thunderous artillery of the heavens, and +through the darkness that had fallen the lightning sent such vivid +streaks of light as only made the succeeding gloom more dismal. It was +to tempt fate to venture out of the shelter the rock was giving. +Instinctively the girl shrank a little toward Wooton. She looked at him +appealingly. "It's dreadful," she said, "it—it hurts my eyes so! +And—the steamer! Mamma will think—" She stopped and covered her eyes +with her hands just as another flash seared its way into the forest.</p> + +<p>Wooton stood still, biting his underlip nervously. "I—I'm afraid it's +all my fault," he said, "I ought to have known it was getting late. And +these storms come up so quickly here in the mountains. We can't stir +from here. The storm is playing right around this wood. It means +waiting." He saw her shivering slightly. Bending down, he picked up his +top-coat, and put it gently about her shoulders. "You'll catch cold," he +warned, in a tender voice.</p> + +<p>She said nothing; but he could see gratitude in her eyes. Something +seemed to draw her toward him. At each glaring flash she shrank nearer +to him. He was looking tensely at her, his hand against a ledge of rock, +lest the gusts of wind should swing him out into the open.</p> + +<p>A crash that seemed to deafen all hearing for several instants; a flying +mass of splintered wood, torn from a suddenly stricken tree that fell +straight across the opening of their shelter; a light so white that it +hurt the eyes; and a trembling under foot that shook the very ground +these two storm-stayed ones stood. In the instant that followed the +crash Wooton felt the girl beside him lean heavily towards him; her eyes +were closed; she had fainted. Keeping her tightly in his arms, a queer +smile played about the corners of his mouth. "It was ordained!" His +thoughts uttered themselves almost unconsciously. Holding her so, with +the thunder still rolling its chariot wheels all about the reverberate +rocks, he kissed her.</p> + +<p>The wind veered about, sending the rain spatteringly into their faces. +Wooton unfastened the girl's veil, and took her hat off, very gently and +carefully. The rain splashed into her face, streaming over the brow and +the heavy lashes.</p> + +<p>Slowly the lashes lifted; her breast moved in a tremulous breath. As +comprehension of her position came to her awakening faculties she seemed +to shudder a little, to attempt withdrawal; then her eyes sought his, +and something found there seemed to soothe; she sighed again and sank +more closely into his embrace. And now fires went coursing through the +man; he pressed the girl's slight body to him fiercely, and kissing her +upon both eyes, whispered into the rosy shell of her ear, "Dorothy—I +love you!"</p> + +<p>The storm still played relentlessly about them. The rain came further +and further into the shelter-hole. But these two, lip to lip, and breath +to breath, gave no heed save to the promptings of their own emotions. +The elements might rend the rocks; but hearts they could not scar! The +girl felt herself irresistibly drawn by this man. Something in him had +always attracted her wonderfully—something she had never sought to +explain, scarcely heeding it for any length of time. But now that chance +had, as it seemed, thrown the magnet and the steel so closely together, +she felt this hidden, mysterious force more mightily than ever; it +seemed to her that in his kisses all the earth might melt away and +become nothing. Moments when she feared him, when he inspired her with +something not unlike anger, were succeeded by moments when she felt that +he had put an arrow into her heart which to withdraw meant unutterable +anguish; but which to bury more deeply meant the bitterest and sweetest +of the bitter-sweets of love.</p> + +<p>While the storm raged on and over the mountain, these two sat there +where whatsoever forest-gods of love there be had drawn their magic +circle. Reeling over the mountain top like a drunken man, the storm +passed on along the river-banks, waking up echoes in the Bastei, and +flying, presently, into Austria. Its muttered curses grew fainter and +fainter, gradually to be swallowed up altogether in the swaying of the +pines and the streaming of the rain.</p> + +<p>Then, presently, the pines began to lift their heads again, to shake +themselves as if in angry impatience, so that the rain dropped heavily, +and after the flying column of darkness, light came in once more from +the west. The sun was still above the horizon. Turning the rain-drops +into opals that glistened with the rain-bow hues, the sunshine streamed +over the forest. The afternoon, that had seen such a terrible battle of +the elements, was to die in peace, and light, and sweetness.</p> + +<p>They walked together to an eminence that was almost bared of trees. +Below them the forest swept in every direction like a field of dark +grass. The sun sent its last rays ricochetting over the waves of green +to where they stood, silently. Another instant, and the great bronzed +body was below the line of hills that made the horizon; only the +salmon-colored streaks that stained the lower strata of the western sky +remained to tell the tale of the sun-god's day. The air grew slightly +chill.</p> + +<p>With that first forerunner of the fall of night, there came into the +dream that Dorothy Ware had moved in, the chilling thought of—certain +facts. They had most assuredly missed the boat back to Dresden. Would +there be another when they reached Schandau? Could they get home by +carriage?</p> + +<p>Wooton could only shrug his shoulders in despair. He did not know. He +had counted only on the two hours—the hour of the departure from +Dresden and the return from Schandau; the storm had upset all his plans. +He was utterly at sea; he could say nothing until they reached Schandau +and made inquiries. Would she not let the thought drop until then. Was +there not the sweet present?</p> + +<p>As they walked through the forest, picking their way as best they could, +without a compass, and uncertain whether their direction was the right +one or the wrong one, night falling surely and swiftly, Wooton held his +arm about the young girl's waist, lest she stumble or slip. She looked +up at him smilingly and trustingly, yet tremulous at the behest of that +mysterious something that drove her to accept his caresses instead of +spurning them, that made her quiver at his touch, like a wind-kissed +aspen, and had her still the storm within her by giving it a storm to +fight.</p> + +<p>The darkness became denser. Their feet stumbled, and trees were hardly +distinguishable in the blackness. Had there been no other thought save +that considering their condition and surroundings, the girl, at least, +would have been trembling in fear and and uncertainty. As it was, each +loophole for a doubt was closed up by a kiss.</p> + +<p>A streak of white came suddenly in view, and they found themselves upon +the chaussee once more. But in which direction lay Schandau? Overhead the +the stars were shining, but neither of these two could use the night +heavens as a chart.</p> + +<p>Behind them came the dull rumble of wheels. Around a turn of the road +came carriage-lights. As they flashed close upon them, Wooton spoke to +the driver.</p> + +<p>"Sie fahren nach Schandau? nicht wahr?"</p> + +<p>The driver assented, without stopping. At the sound of the questioner's +voice, one of the occupants of the carriage had leaned window-ward.</p> + +<p>It was Miss Tremont, of Boston. In the glare of the lanterns she had +caught the faces plainly.</p> + +<p>She leaned back to the cushions, smiling slightly.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h3> + + +<p>"It's dark as an inferno, and the stairs make a man's back ache," said +Laurence Stanley dismally to himself, as he climbed up to the Philistine +Club, "but," as he caught his breath again and consequently began to +feel more cheerful, "it's comfortable when you get there."</p> + +<p>Which was distinctly true. The furniture, the carpets, the hangings in +the spacious, rambling old rooms were all ancient and worn, but comfort +was as common to them all as was age. When you came in and slid down +into the shiny leather cavern of an arm chair you felt that you were at +home. At least, the men who were members did. They were a queer lot, +these members. Just what they had in common, no man might say; there +were artists, and writers, and musicians, and men-about-town. To +outsiders it seemed as if a certain sort of cleverness was the open +sesame to the membership rolls. In the matter of name, it was doubtless, +the effect of a stroke of humor that came to one of the founders. +Perhaps, for the very reason that most of the members were men of the +sort that one instinctively knew to be modern, and broad and untramelled +by dogmas or doctrines, the club had been named the Philistine Club. It +was no longer in its first youth. The walls were behung with the +portraits of former presidents—portraits that were all alike in their +effect of displaying an execrable sort of painting; it was evident that +in its selection of painters in ordinary the club had lived strictly up +to its name. The building that housed the club was an old one, on one of +the busiest business thoroughfares in the city. It was very convenient, +as the hard-working fellows among the members phrased it; in a minute +you could drop out of the rush and roar of the street-traffic into the +quiet gloom of the club, a lounge, and a book.</p> + +<p>Stanley had not been in the dark corner that he usually affected very +long before Vanstruther came in, his beard more pointed than ever. He +dropped limply into a chair, put his feet on one of the whist tables, +and said, as he lit a cigar: "Do you know this is about the time of year +that I realize that this town is a hole? I repeat it—a hole! A hole, +moreover, with the bottom out. I tell you there's not a soul in town +just now."</p> + +<p>"Most true," assented Stanley, "for neither you nor I have anything that +deserves the name."</p> + +<p>"Bosh! What I mean is that the place is a howling desert. Everybody is +still at the seashore, or the mountains, or the mineral springs. Newport +or the White Mountains, or Manitou, or Mackinac Island—there's where +every self-respecting person is at this time; not in this old sweat-box. +Why, it's a positive fact that there are no pretty girls at all on the +avenue these days; or, if there are any, you can tell at a glance that +they're from Podunk or Egypt."</p> + +<p>"In other words, there is a scarcity of 'Mrs. Tomnoddy received +yesterday,' and 'there will be a meeting of the Contributors' Club at +Mrs. Mausoleum's on Friday.' People who like to see their names in the +daily papers are out of town, so the society journalist waileth; is it +not so? It all comes down to bread and butter in this country. Just as +soon as we get away from bread and butter, we'll be greater idiots than +the others ever knew how to be." He waved a hand carelessly to some +remote space in which he inferred the continent of Europe.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well," rejoined the other, "you are always great on +magniloquent generalizations, but you never trouble about the concrete +things. I'm up a tree for copy, day in, day out, and I groan just once, +and what do you do? You moralize loftily. But do you help me with a real +bit of news? Not a bit of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," Stanley said, lazily, "I'm the last man in the world +to come to for items of news concerning <i>le monde où l'on s'amuse</i>. But +if you want something a notch or two lower—say about the grade of +members of this club. Do you notice that Dante Belden's sofa is empty +today?"</p> + +<p>The journalist looked around to the other side of the room where an old +black leather lounge stood. It was the sofa that had long since become +the special property, in the eyes of the other members, of the artist, +Dante Gabriel Belden. He used to sleep there a great deal; and he used +to dream also. Occasionally he waxed talkative, and then there usually +grew up around him a circle of chairs. In such conclave, there passed +anecdotes that were delightful, criticisms that were incisive, and, in +total, nothing that was altogether stupid.</p> + +<p>"Where is he?" asked Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Where is who?" It was Marsboro, the <i>Chronicle's</i> artist, that had +sauntered over.</p> + +<p>"Belden."</p> + +<p>"Married," said Stanley, laconically.</p> + +<p>"The devil!" exclaimed Vanstruther, putting his cigar down on the +window-ledge.</p> + +<p>"Not the same," was the quiet reply. "Although—" and Stanley paused to +smile—"it might be interesting to trace the relationship."</p> + +<p>"Oh, talk straight talk for a minute, can't you! I never knew the man +was thinking of it."</p> + +<p>"Nor did I. Well, we're all friends of his, and men don't think any less +of each other in a case of this kind, so I'll tell you the story. In my +opinion, it's a clear case of 'Tomlinson, of Berkley Square'. However, +that's open to individual interpretation. Belden has succumbed to a +lifelong passion for Henri Murger?"</p> + +<p>Marsboro swore audibly. "I don't see," he said, "that you're any plainer +than you were! What's all that got to do with the man's marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Everything! Everything—the way I look at it, at least. You know as +well as I do, how saturated he is with admiration for those delightful +escapades of the Quartier Latin that Murger makes such pretty stories +of. Well—he has acted up to them. The trouble is that this is not the +Quartier Latin, and that sort of thing is a trifle awkward when you make +a Christian ceremony of it. Here are the facts: Belden and myself were +coming home from the theatre a good while ago, when we came to a couple +that were decidedly in liquor. The man had been out to dinner, or a +dance or somewhere; he had his dress clothes on, and his white shirt was +still immaculate. His silk hat was on straight enough. His walk was the +only thing that betrayed him. He had his arm around the girl. When we +passed them, or began to, we could hear that the girl was crying. Her +boots were shabby and the skirt that trailed over them was badly fringed +at the bottom; above the waist she had on such sham finery and her face, +once pretty, had such a stale, hunted look, as told plainly to what +class she belonged. The class that is no class at all, and yet that has +always been. "I'm afraid of you—you've been drinking—let me go," she +was crying out. Belden stopped at once. The man put his arm more tightly +about her waist, and tried, drunkenly, to kiss her. The girl wrenched +herself almost away from him. She screamed out, "Let loose of me, you +beast!" Then she began to moan a little. That settled Belden. He walked +in front of the man in the white shirt-front, and told him to let the +woman go. The man said he would see him damned first. The words had +hardly tortured their stuttering way from the drunken man's mouth, +before Belden gave him a blow between the eyes that sent the fellow to +the sidewalk. He lay there cursing, drunkenly. Belden asked the woman, +quietly, where she lived. She looked at him and laughed. Laughed aloud! +I've seen most things, in my time, but that woman's laugh, and the look +on her face are about the most grewsome things I remember. She laughed, +you know as if someone had just told her that he would like to walk down +to hell with her. She laughed in that high, unnatural key, in which only +women of that sort can laugh; it was a laugh that had in it the scorn of +the Devil for his toy, man. There was in it a memory of a time when she +might have unblushingly answered that question of 'Where do you live?' +There was in it something like pity for this innocent who asked her that +question in good faith, or seemed to. Then she steadied herself against +a lamp-post, and said, with the whine coming back into her voice, 'What +d'ye want to know for?' 'I'll see that you get there all right,' said +Belden. The woman laughed again. She took her hand away from the +lamp-post, and began an effort to walk on without replying; but in an +instant she swayed, and, had not Belden jumped toward her and put an arm +about her shoulders, would have fallen.</p> + +<p>"She cursed feebly. 'Tell me where you live?' Belden persevered. His +voice was harsher and almost a command. She stammered out more sneering +evasions; then she flung out the name of the dismal street where she had +such residence as that sort ever has. What do you suppose that man +Belden did? Hailed a cab, put the woman in, and got in after her. Simply +shouted a hasty goodnight to me, and drove off. Well,—that's where it +all began." Stanley stopped, got up, and walked over to the wall, +pressing a button that showed there.</p> + +<p>"But you don't mean to say—" began one of the others, with wonder and +incredulity in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do, though. Russell, take the orders, will you? What'll you +men drink—or smoke? I've been talking, and my throat's dry."</p> + +<p>The darky waited patiently until the several orders had been given. Then +he glided away as noiselessly as he had come.</p> + +<p>"There is really where the story, as far as I know it, ends," Stanley +went on, after he had cooled his throat a little, "The other end of it +came to me from Belden the other day. 'Got anything to do Thursday +evening?' he asked me. We had been talking of dry-point etching. I told +him I thought not. 'Then will you help me jump off?' he went on. Then +the whole scene of that winter-night flashed back to me in a sort of +wave. I felt, before he answered my question for further information, +what his answer would be, 'Yes,' he said, 'it's the same girl. I know +her better than I did. Her's is a sad case; very sad. I'm lifting her up +out of it.' I didn't say anything, he hadn't asked my opinion. As +between man and man there was nothing for me to cavil at; I was invited +to a friend's wedding, that was all. I went. I was the only other person +present, barring the old German minister that Belden fished out from +some dark corner. It was the queerest proceeding! Belden had brought the +girl up into a righteous neighborhood some months ago, it seemed; had +been paying her way; the neighbors thought she was a person of some +means, I suppose. He introduced me to her on the morning of his +wedding-day; I think she remembered me, although she has caught manners +enough from Belden or her past to conceal what she felt. And so—they +were married."</p> + +<p>"My God!" groaned Vanstruther, "what an awful thing to do! Lifting her +up out of it, does he say? No! He's bringing himself down to it! That's +what it always ends in. Always. Oh, I've known cases! Every man thinks +he is going to succeed where the others have failed. For they have +failed, there is no doubt about that! Look at the case of Gripler, the +Elevated magnate!—he did that sort of thing, and the world says and +does the same old thing it has always done—sneers a little, and cuts +her! He is having the most magnificent house in all Gotham built for +himself, I understand, and they are going to move there, but do you +suppose for a minute they will ever get into the circle of the elect? +Not in a thousand years! Don't misunderstand me: I'm not considering +merely the society of the 'society column,' I'm thinking of society at +large, the entire human body, the mass of individuals scripturally +enveloped in the phrase 'thy neighbor.' The taint never fades; a surface +gloss may hide the spot, but some day it blazons itself to the world +again in all it's unpleasantness. Take this case of our friend Belden. +We, who sit here, are all men who know the world we live in; we will +treat Belden himself as we have always done. We will even argue, in that +exaggerated spirit of broadness that might better be called laxness, +typical of our time, that the man has done a braver thing than ourselves +had courage for had the temptation come to us. We will acknowledge that +his motive was a good one. He honestly believes that he will educate the +girl into the higher life. He thinks the past can be sunk into the pit +of forgetfulness; but there is no pit deep enough to hide the past. We +will say that he is putting into action what the rest of the radicals +continually vapor about; the equal consideration, in matters of +morality, of man and woman. He is remembering that a man, we argue, +should in strict ethics demand of a woman no more than himself can +bring. But, mark my words, the centuries have been wiser than we knew. +It is ordained that the man who shall take to wife a woman that has what +the world meaningly call 'a past,' shall see the ghost of that past +shaking the piece of his house for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a few moments. Beyond the curtains, someone came +in and threw himself down on the sofa. Marsboro, looking vaguely out at +window, said, somewhat irrelevantly, "I suppose that will be the end +of the Sunday evening seances?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Stanley. "If I know anything about Belden, I +shall not be surprised if he asks us all up there again one of these +evenings. He has lived so long in Free-and-easy-dom that no thought of +what people call 'the proprieties' will ever touch him."</p> + +<p>"Heigh!" Vanstruther stretched himself reflectively. "It's a queer life +a man leads, a queer life! God send us all easy consciences!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be pathetic!" Stanley frowned. "The life is generally of our own +choosing, and if we play the game we should pay the forfeits. Besides +which, it is one of the few things I believe in, that the man who has +tasted of sin, and in whose mouth the bitters of revulsion have +corroded, is the only one who can ever safely be called good. It is +different with a woman. If once she tastes—there's an end of her! Oh, I +know very well that we never think this way at first. At first—when we +are very young—we think there is nothing in the world so delightful as +being for ever and ever as white as the driven snow; then Life sends his +card, we make his acquaintance, he introduces us to some of his fastest +friends, and we, h'm, begin to change our views a little. In accordance +with the faint soiling that is gradually covering up the snowy hues of +our being, the strictness of our opinions on the matter of whiteness +relaxes notably. Arm in arm with Life, we step slowly down the ladder. +Then, if we are in luck, there is a reaction, and we go up again—so +far!—only so far, and never any further; if we are particularly fond of +Life, we are likely to get very far down indeed; and the end is that +Life bids us farewell of his own accord. That is the history of a modern +man of the world."</p> + +<p>"I believe you are right," said Marsboro, "I know, in my own case at +least, that I can remember distinctly how beautiful my young ideal was. +But Life is jealous of ideals; he shatters them with a single whiff of +experience. And it happened as you just now said: as I descended, my +ideals descended. I only hope"—he sighed, half in jest, half in +earnest,—"that I will begin the upward climb and succeed in winning +up."</p> + +<p>"Ah," assented Stanley, "that is always the interesting problem. Which +it will be: the elevator with the index pointing to 'Up' or the one +destined 'Down.' You needn't look so curiously at me, Van, I know what +you are wondering. Well you can rest easy in the assurance I give you: +the nether slopes are beckoning to me. I became aware of it long ago, +reconciled moreover. I live merely for the moment. My senses must amuse +me until there is nothing left of them; that is all. But look here: +don't think there is no reverse to the medal. I have, fate knows, my +moments of being horrified at myself. It is, I presume, at the times +when the ghost of my conscience comes to ask why it was murdered." He +appeared to be concentrating all his attention on the ashes at the end +of his cigarette. "Why, don't you know that there is no longer any +meaning for me in any of those words: honor, and truth, and virtue? I +have no standards, except my digestion, and my nerves. I don't mistreat +my wife simply because it would come back to me in a thousand little +annoyances that would grate on my nerves." He sipped slowly at the glass +by his side. "And I'm not worse than some other men!"</p> + +<p>"True. All of which is a pity. But we've got off the subject. The +villainy of ourselves is too patent a proposition. The question is, by +what right we continue to expect of the women we marry that which they +dare not expect of us.</p> + +<p>"Are you the mouthpiece of the New Woman? Well, the Creator made man +king, and the laws of physiology cannot be twisted to suit the New +Woman. For it is, in essentials, unfortunately a question of +physiological consequences. Wherefore, suppose we stop the argument. +This is not a medical congress!"</p> + +<p>Stanley went over to the desk where the periodicals lay, and picking one +up, began, with a cigarette in his mouth, to let his eyes rest on the +printed pages.</p> + +<p>"Will you go, if you're asked?" Marsboro said, presently.</p> + +<p>"I?" Stanley looked up carelessly. "Certainly. As far as I'm concerned +a man may marry the devil and all his angels. But I wouldn't take my +wife or my sister."</p> + +<p>Vanstruther laughed dryly. "If women were to apply the tit-for-tat +principle," he said, "what terribly small visiting lists most of us +fellows would have!"</p> + +<p>But Stanley disdained further discussion, and the other men got up to +go. When they had passed beyond the curtains Stanley laid down the paper +he had been reading, and smiled to himself. He was wondering why he had +been led into this waste of breath. A man's life was a man's life, and +what was the use of cavilling at facts! The only thing to do was to take +life lightly and to let nothing matter. Also, one must amuse oneself! If +the manner of the amusement was distasteful or hurtful to others, +why—so much the worse for the others!</p> + +<p>So musing, Laurence Stanley passed into a light slumber, and dreamed of +impossible virtues.</p> + +<p>But Dick Lancaster, who, from the sofa beyond the curtains, had heard +all of this conversation, did not dream of pleasant things that night. +In fact, he spent a white night. Like a flood the horrors of +self-revelation had come upon him at sound of those arguments and +dissections; he saw himself as he was, compared with what he had been; +he shuddered and shivered in the grip of remorse.</p> + +<p>In the white light of shame he saw whither the wish to taste of life had +led him; he realized that something of that hopeless corruption that +Stanley had spoken of was already etched into his conscience. Oh, the +terrible temptation of all those shibboleths, that told us that we must +live while we may! He felt, now that he had seen how deep was the abyss +below him, that his feet were long since on the decline, and that from a +shy attempt at worldliness he had gone on to what, to his suddenly +re-awakened conscience, constituted dissoluteness.</p> + +<p>To the man of the world, perhaps, his slight defections from the +puritanic code would have seemed ridiculously vague. But, he repeated to +himself with quickened anguish, if he began to consider things from the +standpoint of the world, he was utterly lost; he would soon be like +those others.</p> + +<p>He got up and opened the window of his bed-room. Below him was the hum +of the cable; a dense mist obscured the electric lights, and the town +seemed reeking with a white sweat. He felt as if he were a prisoner. He +began to feel a loathing for this town that had made him dispise himself +so much. The roar of it sounded like a wild animal's.</p> + +<p>Then a breeze came and swept the mist away, and left the streets shining +with silvery moisture. Lights crept out of the darkness, and the veil +passed from the stars. The wild animal seemed to be smiling. But the +watcher at the window merely shrank back a little, closing the window. +Fascinating, as a serpent; poisonous as a cobra! The glitter and glamour +of society; the devil-may-care fascinations of Bohemia; they had lured +him to such agony as this!</p> + +<p>Such agony? What, you ask, had this young man to be in agony about? He +was a very nice young man—all the world would have told you that! Ah, +but was there never a moment in your lives, my dear fellow-sinners—you +men and women of the world—when it came to your conscience like a +sword-thrust, that the beautiful bloom of your youth and innocence was +gone from you forever and that ever afterward there would be a bitter +memory or a bitterer forgetfulness? And was that not agony? Ah, we all +hold the masks up before our faces, but sometimes our arms tire, and +they slip down, and then how haggard we look! Perhaps, if we had +listened to our consciences when they were quicker, we would not have +those lines of care upon our faces now. You say you have a complexion +and a conscience as clear as the dew? Ah, well, then I am not addressing +you, of course. But how about your neighbors? Ah, you admit—? Well, +then we will each of us moralize about our neighbor. It is so much +pleasanter, so much more diverting!</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h3> + + +<p>With the coming of morning, Lancaster shook himself out of his painful +rêveries, and decided that he must escape from this metropolitan prison, +if for ever so short a time. He would go out into the country, home. He +would go where the air was pure, and all life was not tainted. He +walked to a telegraph office and sent a dispatch to his mother, telling +of his coming.</p> + +<p>Then he went for a walk in the park. Now that he had made up his mind to +get out of this choking dungeon for a while he felt suddenly buoyant, +refreshed. He tried to forget Stanley and the Imperial Theatre, and all +other unpleasant memories of that sort. Some of the park policemen +concluded that this was a young man who was feeling very cheerful +indeed—else, why such fervid whistling?</p> + +<p>When he got to his studio he found some people waiting for him. They had +some commercial work for him to do. He shook his head at all of them.</p> + +<p>"I'm going out of town for a week," he said, "and I can do nothing until +I return. If this is a case of 'rush' you'll have to take it somewhere +else."</p> + +<p>He turned the key in the door with a wonderful feeling of elation, and +the pinning of the small explanatory notice on his door almost made him +laugh aloud. He thought of the joy that a jail bird must feel when he +sees the gates opening to let him into the free world. No more elevated +roads, no more cable cars, no more clanging of wheels over granite, no +more deafening shouts of newsboys; no more tortuous windings through +streets crowded with hurrying barbarians; no more passing the +bewildering glances of countless handsome women; no more—town!</p> + +<p>There was a train in half an hour. He bought his ticket and strolled up +and down the platform. He wondered how the dear old village would look. +He had been away only a little over a year, and yet, how much had +happened in that short time! Then he smiled, thinking of the intangible +nature of those happenings. There was nothing,—nothing that would make +as much as a paragraph in the daily paper. Yet how it had changed him, +this subtle flow of soul-searing circumstances! It was of such curious +woof that modern life was made; so rich in things that in themselves +were dismally commonplace and matters of course, and yet in total +exerted such strong influences; so rich, too, in crime and casuality, +that, though served up as daily dishes, yet seemed always far and +outside of ourselves!</p> + +<p>The novel he purchased to while away the hours between the town and +Lincolnville confirmed his thoughts in this direction. It was one of the +modern pictures of "life as it is." There was nothing of romance, hardly +any action; it was nearly all introspection and contemplations of the +complexity of modern existence. The story bored him I immensely, and yet +he felt that it was a voice of the time. It was hard to invest today +with romance.</p> + +<p>Was it, he wondered, a real difference, or was it merely the difference +in the point of view? Perhaps there was still romance abroad, but our +minds had become too analytical to see the picture of it?—too much +engaged in observing the quality of the paint?</p> + +<p>His mother was waiting for him at the station. It was pleasant to see +how proud she was of this tall young son of hers, and how wistfully she +looked deep into his eyes. "You're looking pale, Dick," she said, +holding him at the stretch of her arms. "And your eyes look like they +needed sleep."</p> + +<p>Dick gave a little forced laugh and patted his mother's hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess you're right mother. I need a little fresh air and a +rest."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you shall have both, my boy. And now tell me all you've been doing +up there in that big place."</p> + +<p>They walked down to the little house wherein Dick had first seen the +light of this world. He looked taller than ever beside the little woman +who kept looking him over so wistfully. He told her many things, but he +felt that he was talking to her in a language that was rusty on his +lips, the language of the country, of simplicity and truth. The language +of the world, in which his tongue was now glib, would be so full of +mysteries to this sweet mother of his that he must needs eschew it for +the nonce. It was a small thing, but he felt it as an evidence of the +changes that had been wrought in him.</p> + +<p>He told her of his work, of his career. Of the <i>Torch</i>, of his +subsequent renting of a studio, and free-lance life. Yes, he was making +money. He was independent; he had his own hours; work came to him so +readily that he was in a position to refuse such as pleased him least. +But, he sighed, it was all in black-and-white, so far. Paint loomed up, +as before, merely as a golden dream. In illustrating and decorating, +using black-and-white mediums, that <i>was</i> where the money lay, and he +supposed he would have to stick to that for a time. But he was saving +money for a trip abroad.</p> + +<p>They talked on and on until nearly midnight. He asked after some of his +old acquaintances; he listened patiently to his mother's gentle gossip +and tried to feel interested.</p> + +<p>"The Wares are back," explained Mrs. Lancaster.</p> + +<p>"Ah," Dick looked up quickly. "Does Dorothy look well?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, though I'm bound I hadn't the courage to tell her so +to her face. She looks just like you do, Dick,—kinder fagged out."</p> + +<p>"Yes. They say traveling is hard work. And her mother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's about the same as usual. Looks stouter, maybe."</p> + +<p>"I must get over and call there, before I get back to town," he said, +reflectively. "Well, mother, I suppose I'm keeping you up beyond your +regular time. I'm a trifle tired, too. So goodnight."</p> + +<p>He kissed her and passed up stairs to his old room. There were the same +pictures that he had decorated the walls with a few years ago. He +smiled; they were, fortunately, very crude compared to the work he was +doing now. When all was dark, he lay awake for a long time, drinking in +the deep silence of the place. He could hear the chirrup of the +crickets over in the meadows, and from far over the western hills came +the deep boom of a locomotive's whistle. The incessant roar of the town, +in which even the shrillest of individual noises are swallowed into one +huge conglomerate, was utterly gone. He could hear the wind slightly +swaying the branches; the deep blue of the star-spotted sky was full of +a caressing silence. The peace of it all soothed him, and ushered him +into deep, refreshing sleep.</p> + +<p>The sun touched him early in the morning, and seeing the beauty of the +dawning day, he dressed quickly and went quietly down stairs and out, +for a stroll about the dear old village. He passed the familiar houses, +smiling to himself. He thought of all the quaint and queer characters in +a little place of this sort. Presently he left the region of houses and +passed into the woods that were beginning to blush at the approach of +their snow-clad bridegroom. The picture of the sun rising over the +fringe of trees, gilding the browned leaves with a burnish that blazed +and sparkled, filled him with artistic delight. He said to himself that +after he had been abroad, and after his hand was grown cunning in +colors, he would ask for no better subject than these October woods of +the West. He sat down on the log of a tree and watched the golden, +crescent lamp of day. He had forgotten the town utterly, for the moment, +and for the moment he was happy.</p> + +<p>But the sun's progress warned him that it was time to start back to the +house. With swinging stride he passed over the highway, over the slopes +that led to the village. Suddenly he heard his named called, and +turning, saw a tall figure hastening toward him.</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Fairly, the minister.</p> + +<p>"My dear Dick," he said, shaking the young man's hand, "I am rejoiced to +see you. We have heard of you, of course; we have heard of you. But that +is not seeing you. Let me look at you!"</p> + +<p>Dick smiled. "I've grown, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes. In stature and wisdom, I dare say. But—" He slipped his arm +within Dick's, and walked with him silently for a few minutes. "The +town," he went on, "has a brand of its own, and all that live there, +wear it." They passed a boy going to school. "Look at that youngster. +Isn't he bright-eyed!" A farm wagon drove by, the farmer and his wife +sitting side by side on the springless seat. "Did you get the sparkle of +their faces?" said the minister. "Their skins were tanned and rough, no +doubt, but their eyes were clear. Now, Dick, your eyes have been reading +many pages of the Book of Knowledge and they are tired. I know, my boy, +I know. We buzz about the electric arc-light till we singe our wings, +and then, perhaps, we are wiser. Have you been singeing your's?"</p> + +<p>"Not enough, I'm afraid. The fascination is still there. Sometimes it is +the fascination of danger, sometimes of repulsion; but it is always +fascination."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so you have got to the repulsion!"</p> + +<p>The minister spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "And you no longer +think the world is all beautiful, and sometimes you wonder whether +virtue is a dream or a reality? I know, I know! And sometimes you wish +you were blind again, as once you were; and you want to wipe away the +taste of the fruit of knowledge?"</p> + +<p>Dick said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Those who chose the world as their arena," the minister went on, "must +suffer the world's jars and jeers. The world is a magnet that draws all +the men of courage; it sucks their talents and their virtues and spews +them forth, as often as not into the waters of oblivion. To swim ashore +needs wonderful strength! Here in the calmer waters we are but tame +fellows; we miss most of the prizes, but, we also miss the dangers. +Perhaps, some day, Dick, you'll come back to us again?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps. But I don't think so. That other taste is +bitter, perhaps, but it holds one captive. And I'm changed, you see; the +old things that delighted me once are stale, and I need the perpetual +excitation of the town's unceasing changes. The town is a juggernaut +with prismatic wheels."</p> + +<p>They had nearly reached the minister's house.</p> + +<p>"I haven't preached to you, have I Dick?"</p> + +<p>Dick looked at the minister quickly. There was a sort of wistfulness +behind the eye-glasses, and a half smile beneath the waving mustache.</p> + +<p>"No. I wish you would!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Dick, I can't! I'm not competent. You're in one world, and I'm in +another. Too many make the mistake that they can live in the valleys and +yet tell the mountaineers how to climb. But, Dick, whatever you do, keep +your self-respect! In this complex time of ours, circumstances and +comparisons alter nearly everything, and one sometimes wonders whether +b-a-d does not, after all, spell good; but self-respect should stand +against all confusions! Goodbye, Dick. Remember we're all fond of you! I +go to a convention in one of the neighboring towns tonight, and I won't +see you again before you go back. Goodbye!"</p> + +<p>Dick carried the picture of the kindly, military-looking old face with +him for many minutes. If there were more such ministers! He recalled +some of the pale, cold clergymen he had met at various houses in town, +and remembered how repellant their naughty assumption of superiority has +been to him. He was still musing over his dear old friend's counsel, +when he noticed that he was approaching the house where the Wares lived. +There was the veranda, blood red with it's creeper-clothing, and full of +memories for him.</p> + +<p>He began to walk slowly as he drew nearer. He was thinking of the last +time that he had seen Dorothy Ware. He recalled, with a queer smile, her +parting words: 'Goodbye, Dick, be good!' He realized that the Dick of +that day and the Dick of today were two very differing persons. And +she, too, doubtless, would no longer be the Dorothy Ware he once had +known. Something of fierce hate toward the world and fate came to him as +he thought of the way of human plans and planning were truthlessly +canceled by the decrees of change. Had he been good? Bah, the thought of +it made him sneer. If these memories were not to be driven away he would +presently settle down into determined, desperate melancolia.</p> + +<p>The conflict, in this man, was always between the intrinsic good and the +veneer of vice that the world puts on. In most men the veneer chokes +everything else. When those men read this, if they ever do, they will +wonder why in the world this young man was torturing himself with +fancies? But the men whose outer veneer has not yet choked the soul will +remember and understand.</p> + +<p>Dorothy Ware was on the veranda, gathering some of the vine's dead +leaves when Dick's step sounded on the wooden sidewalk. As he saw her, +his face lit up. He never noticed that the flush on her face was of +another sort.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Dick? Come up and shake hands."</p> + +<p>Then they stood and looked at each other silently for an instant. "We're +both a little older," said Dick. "But I suppose we have so much to talk +about that we'll have to make this a very passing meeting. Besides, +mother's waiting for me; I've been for a morning walk, you see. You'll +be at the great and only Fair, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I've almost forgotten how it looks. I do hope they will have a +fine day for it."</p> + +<p>Miss Ware looked after him wistfully. She thought of the thunderstorm in +the forest at Schandau, and sighed.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h3> + + +<p>The first day of the County Fair was hardly eventful. The farmers were +busy bringing in their exhibits of stock and produce, and arranging them +properly for the inspection of the judges. It is all merely by way of +preparation for the big day, the day on which the trotting and running +races take place.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, it was a cloudless day. Shortly after sunrise clouds of +dust began to fill the air. All the roads leading fairwards are filled +all morning with every sort and condition of vehicle. Farmers come from +the farthest bounderies of the county, bringing their families; the +young men bringing their "best girls." This volume of traffic soon +reduces the road-bed to a fine, powdery dust, that rises, mist-like and +obscures the face of the earth and sky.</p> + +<p>Soon the presence of the Fair is felt in the village itself, and the +"square" resounds to the cries of the omnibus drivers soliciting fares. +"All aboard, now, for the Fair Grounds, only ten cents!" So runs the +invitation yelled from half a dozen lusty, though dusty throats. For +this occasion every livery stable in the place brings out all the +ramshackle conveyances it has. Everything on wheels is pressed into +service. Like Christmas, the great day of the County Fair, comes but +once a year, and must be made the most of. Few people are going to walk +on so dusty a day as this, so the 'bus drivers ply up and down from +seven in the morning until dusk sets in, and the last home-stragglers +have left the grounds.</p> + +<p>At noon, the highway was become a very sea of dust. Dick had walked down +to the "square," and was looking about for a conveyance of some sort +when a carriage came up with Mrs. Ware and her daughter inside. Dorothy +spoke to the coachman, and then waved a daintily gloved hand at Dick. +"Delighted!" said that young man, getting in quickly, and adding, in +Mrs. Ware's direction, "This is awfully kind in you!" In that course of +the drive there was as little said as possible, because each sentence +meant a mouthful of dust.</p> + +<p>As they passed through the gates at last, Dick smiled at the dear +familiar sight that yet seemed something strange. There was the +half-mile track in the open meadow; the ridiculously small grand-stand +perched against the western horizon, the acres of sloping ground, shaded +by lofty oaks, and covered by a mass of picturesquely rural humanity. +Against the inclosing fence the countless stalls, filled with the show +stock of the county. The crowd was surging around the track, the various +refreshment booths, the merry-go-rounds, and the spaces where the +"fakirs" held forth. The grand-stand was filled to running over. The air +was resonant with laughter; with the appeals of the "fakirs," with the +neighing of the hundreds of horses hitched in every part of the field.</p> + +<p>The driver halted his horses as close as possible to get to the centre +of attraction, the race-track. Then, the horses turning restive, Mrs. +Ware decided to get out and go over to the dairy-booth, and see some of +her friends from the farms. Dorothy and Dick accompanied her, but had +soon exhausted the attractions of the booth. Mrs. Ware guessed she +wouldn't go with them. They started out into the motley crew of +sightseers together.</p> + +<p>As they approached the grand-stand again, their ears were assailed with +by a number of quaint and characteristic cries. "Right down this way, +now, and see the man with the iron jaw! Free exhibition inside every +minute! Walk up, walk up, and see the ring-tailed monkey eat his own +tail!" The most laughable part of this exuberant invitation was that it +had nothing to do with a circus or a dime-museum, it was merely the +vocal hall-mark of an ambitious seller of lemonade and candy. It was one +of the tricks of the trade. It caught the fancy of the countryman. It +sounded well.</p> + +<p>There were other cries, such as: "Here's your chance. Ten shots for a +nickel," and "the stick you ring is the stick you gits!" "This way for +the great panoramy of Gettysburg, just from Chicago!" "Pink lemo, here, +five a glass; peanuts, popcorn!" "The only Californy fruit on the +grounds here!" "Ten cents admits you to the quarter-stretch—don't crowd +the steps, move on, keep a-moving!" Babel was come again.</p> + +<p>The farm-people themselves were a healthy, cheering sight. They were all +bent on as much wholesome enjoyment as was possible. It looked as if +every man, woman and child in the county was there. They had, most of +them, come for the day, eating their meals in their vehicles, or under +the trees on the green sward. The meadow was a blaze of color. The +dresses of the women, with the color-note in them exaggerated in rustic +love of brightness, gave the scene a touch of picturesqueness. The white +tents of the various booths, the greenleaf trees, the glaring yellow sun +over head, and the dust-white track stretching out in the gray mist of +heat and dust made a picture of cheer and warmth.</p> + +<p>A cheering from the grand-stand. A trotting heat is being run, and the +horses have been around for the first time. It is not like the big +circuit meeting, this, and Dick thought with something of gladness that +the absence of a betting-shed left the scene an unalloyed charm.</p> + +<p>Everybody thinks himself competent to speak of the merits of the horses. +"He ain't got that sorrel bitted right," declares one authority. "He'll +push the bay mare so she'll break on the turn; there—watch her—what 'd +I tell you!" triumphs another. A third utters the disgusted sentiment +that "Dandy Dan 'd win ef he wuz driv right." And so on. Dick and +Dorothy smile at each other as they listen. There is nothing pleasanter +in the world than a silent jest as jointure.</p> + +<p>Then there comes a rush of dust up the track, a clatter of hoofs over +the "stretch," a whirl of wheels, cheers from the crowd and the heat is +lost and won.</p> + +<p>And so the day wears on, and the program dwindles. There are several +trotting races, a pacing event, a running race, and some bicycle +exhibitions. The day is to be topped off with a balloon ascent, the +balloonist, a woman, being billed to descend, afterward, by way of a +parachute.</p> + +<p>But to neither of these two spectators did the events of the program +seem the most interesting of the displays. It was the country people +themselves that had the most of quaint charms. Miss Dorothy Ware was +become so saturated with the polish of cosmopolitan views, and the +manners caught from extensive travel, that these scenes, once so +familiar and natural, now struck her as very strange and extraordinary. +In Dick the air of the metropolis had so keyed him up to the quick, +unwholesome pleasures of the urban mob that this breath of country +holiday filled him with a pleasant sense of rest. Never again could he +be as these were, but he could, in a far-off, dreamy way, still +appreciate their primitive emotions. They were all so ingenious, so +openly joyful, so gayly bent on having a good time, these country folk! +They strolled about in groups of young folk, or in couples, or in family +parties. She casts a wistful look toward a fruit-stand; he must go +promptly and buy her something. He bargains closely; he is mindful, +doubtless, of the fact that there is still the yearning for the +merry-go-round, the phonograph, and the panorama, to be appeased.</p> + +<p>In the West the sun was taking on the dull red tone of shining, beaten +bronze. The haze of dust began to lift, mist-wise, up against the +shadowgirt horizon. From thousands of lips there presently issues a long +drawn "Ah-h!" and the unwieldy mass of a balloon is seen to rise up over +the meadow. A damsel in startling, grass-green tights floats in mid-air +upheld by the resisting parachute, and drops earthward to the safe +seclusion of a neighboring pasture. Vehicles are unhitched; there are +some moments of wild shouting and maneuvering, and then the stream of +humanity and horses pours out into the dusty road, and in a little while +the fair grounds are merely a place for the ghosts of the things that +were.</p> + +<p>When it was all over, when he had said goodbye to Miss Ware and her +mother, a sense of loneliness came over Dick, and he sank into one of +those moody states that nowadays invariably meant torment. He could not +remember to have talked to Dorothy of anything save commonplace and +obvious things, and yet with every glance of her eye, every tone of her +voice, the old glamour that he had felt aforetime had come upon him +again. She was no longer the same, he had observed so much; the girlish +exuberance and forth-rightness had given way to a more subdued manner, a +fine, but somewhat colorless polish. Something, too, of the sparkle +seemed to have gone from her; her smile had much of sadness. It flashed +over him that never once had either of them referred to the words with +which they once had parted. Had it been his fault, or hers? Once, she +had let him hope, had she not? He remembered the dead words, but he +smiled at the dim tone that yon whole picture took in his memory. It was +as if it had all happened to someone else. Well,—perhaps it had; +certainly he was separated by leagues of too well remembered things from +that other self, the self that had said to a girl, once, "Dorothy, will +you wish me luck?"</p> + +<p>But in spite of the changes in them both, Dick felt that her charm for +him was potent with a new fervor. He could not define it; it seemed a +halo that surrounded her, in his eyes at least. The sardonic recesses of +his memory flashed to him the echo of his foolish words to Mrs. Stewart, +at the opera. "Oh, damn the past," he muttered, hotly. He would begin +all over again, he would atone for those pretty steps aside; he would +pin his faith to the banner of his love for Dorothy. For he felt that he +did love this girl. He longed for her; she seemed to personify a harbor +of refuge, a comfort; he felt that if he could go to her, and tell her +everything, and feel her hand upon his forehead, her smile, and the +touch of her hand would wipe away all the ghostly cobwebs of his memory, +of his past, and leave him looking futureward with stern resolves for +white, and happy, wholesome days.</p> + +<p>Surely it would be madly foolish to let a Past spoil a Future!</p> + +<p>He saw the grin upon the face of Sophistry, and set his lips. No, there +were no excusing circumstances; he had gone the way of the world, +because that way was easy and pleasant. Only his weakness was to blame.</p> + +<p>"She is as far above me," he said, before he went to sleep that night, +"as the stars. But—we always want the stars!"</p> + +<p>As for Miss Ware, it need only be chronicled that she was very quiet and +abstracted that evening, so that her mother was prompted to remark that +"Lincolnville don't appear to suit you powerful well, Dorothy." As a +matter of fact, the girl was afar off, in thought, and her eyes were +bright with tears because of the things she was remembering.</p> + +<p>She had loved Dick, on a time. And to realize that never, in all time, +would her conscience permit her to satisfy that love—that was bitter, +very bitter.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h3> + + +<p>Winter was coming over the town. The gripmen of the cable cars were +muffled to their noses in heavy buffalo coats, and the pedestrians were +heralded by the white steam that testified to the frostiness of the air. +The newspaper boys performed "break downs" on the corners for the mere +warmth thereof, and the beggars and tramps presented a more blue-nosed, +frost-bitten appearance than usual.</p> + +<p>Everybody was in town once more. The hills, the seaside and the watering +places had all given up their summer captives, and the metropolis held +them all. The Tremonts were returned from Europe. The opera season, +promising better entertainment than ever, had lured many of the +wealthier folk from the country, for the winter at least. Among these +were the Wares. It was a fashion steadily increasing in favor, this of +living in town the winter over, and retiring to rusticity for the dog +days. With the Wares it was not yet become a fashion; it was merely in +accordance with Dorothy's wish to hear the opera and the concert season +that the move townward was made.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart's little "evenings" were more popular than +ever. There seemed a positive danger that she would become known as the +possessor of a "salon" and have a society reporter describe a +representative gathering of her satellites. On this particular evening +the carriages drove up to the house and drove off again without +intermission all the evening. People had a habit of coming there before +the theatre, or after; of staying ten minutes or two hours, just as +their fancy, or Mrs. Stewart might dictate.</p> + +<p>One of the latest to arrive was Dick Lancaster. It was his first +appearance there that season. He had only come because he had heard that +Dorothy Ware was to be there. He hardly looked as well as usual. He had +been working very hard, making up for the time lost in the country. His +cheek-bones stood out a trifle prominently, and his eyes were tired.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart proffered him the tips of her fingers, shaking her head at +him with mockery of a frown.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be introduced to me again," she said.</p> + +<p>"I've been tremendously busy."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you plagiarist! The sins that the word 'busy' is made to cover! +People escape debts, and calls, and engagements, nowadays, by simply +flourishing the magic word 'busy.'" She broke off, and began to look at +him steadily over the top of her fan. Then she went on in a very low +voice, "And have you found out how one's youth is lost in town?"</p> + +<p>"You're cruel," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Not I. But there, go in and talk to the others. There are lots of +people you haven't met before, and there are some pretty girls. Go in, +and enjoy yourself if you can. And perhaps, if you find time, and I +think of it again, I shall ask you to introduce me to your new self.</p> + +<p>"I've never been introduced to that new self yet, <i>egomet ipse</i>."</p> + +<p>He found two arch-enemies, Mrs. Tremont and Miss Leigh, conversing with +cheerless enthusiasm. "I heard of you a good deal while I was abroad," +said Mrs. Tremont, after greetings had been exchanged. Dick bowed, and +looked a question.</p> + +<p>"It was Mr. Wooton mentioned you," Mrs. Tremont went on, pompously. "We +met in Germany. A charming man!" She said it with the air of one +conferring a knighthood.</p> + +<p>Dick was wondering how many times a day a woman like this one managed to +be sincere. Then he said, "Miss Tremont is well, I trust?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She's here somewhere." She lifted her lorgnette deliberately and +gazed toward the piano, "Who is that playing?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Stewart herself," said Miss Leigh.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! I didn't know she played. I must go and congratulate her." She +moved off with severe dignity.</p> + +<p>Miss Leigh laughed as she watched the expression on Dick's face.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in heredity?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and no. Not in this case, if that's what you mean. Miss Tremont is +far too clever. Do you know," she went on, with slow distinctness, "that +you are changed."</p> + +<p>He made a movement of impatience. "I have heard nothing but that all +evening," he declared. "Simply because the town had put it's brand on +me, whether I wished it or no, am I to be forever upbraided?" There was +both petulence and pathos in his voice.</p> + +<p>"H'm," she said, "you still have all your old audacity. But I don't +think it is anything but genuine interest in you that prompts such +remarks."</p> + +<p>"You once said something about being genuine. You said it was pathetic. +Now I know why that is so true. The pathos comes after one has lost the +genuineness."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but when one does nothing but think and think, and brood and +brood, the pathos turns bathos. The thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>"Is that why there is so much flippancy?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt. Tragedy evokes flippancy and comedy starts tears."</p> + +<p>"You are a very fountain of worldly paradoxes. Where do you get them all +from?"</p> + +<p>"From my enemies. I love my enemies, you know, for what I can deprive +them of. That's right, leave me just when I'm getting brilliant! Go and +talk to Miss Ware about the rich red tints of the Indian summer leaves +and the poetry in the gurgle of the brook. Go on, it will be like a +breath of fresh air after the dismal gloom of my conversation!" She got +up, laughing, and added, in a voice that he had not heard before, "Go in +and win! Your eyes have told your secret."</p> + +<p>She moved off, and he saw Dorothy Ware coming toward him. He noticed how +delightfully she seemed to fit into this scene; how charmingly at ease +and how natural she looked. Her color was not as fresh as it once had +been: but he remembered how popular she had at once become in town, and +that her life was now a very whirl of dances and receptions and festive +occasions of that sort. He had hardly shaken hands when Mrs. Tremont and +her daughter approached from different directions. They were both, they +declared, so perfectly delighted to see Miss Ware again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart sailed majestically up to them at this juncture, and bore +Lancaster away in triumph. He heard Mrs. Tremont asking Dorothy, as he +moved away, "And how's your poor, dear mother?" Then he found himself +being introduced to a personage with a Vandyke beard.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the personage, with some show of interest, "you're an artist? +Now, tell me, frankly, why do you Western artists never treat Western +subjects?" And then Dick found himself floundering about in a sea of +argument with this personage. Afterwards, when the agony was over, he +discovered that it was the author, Mr. Wreath, who had thus been +catechizing him. It was noised about the world that Mr. Wreath was a +monomaniac on the subject of realism. Dick remembered wishing he had +caught the man's name at the introduction.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Miss Tremont stood talking to Dorothy Ware in a dim +corner of the room. There was a small table near them, and upon it were +scattered portfolios of photographs.</p> + +<p>"Do you ever hear of Mr. Wooton?" Miss Tremont asked, smiling sweetly.</p> + +<p>Dorothy gave a little start, and a flush touched her cheek.</p> + +<p>"No," she said tonelessly.</p> + +<p>"He's a very clever man," persisted Miss Tremont. "I congratulate you." +She smiled meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Dorothy's eyes flashed and her +fingers toyed nervously with the photographs.</p> + +<p>"If I were an expert photographer I could show you what I mean +instantly. Speech is so clumsy!"</p> + +<p>Dorothy still looked at her blankly, though she felt her heart beating +with accelerated speed.</p> + +<p>"From what I saw at Schandau," the other went on coldly, "I should say +it was time to announce the engagement."</p> + +<p>Dorothy gripped the little table with a tight clasp. Bending over, as if +to examine the pictures, she felt waves of heat and cold follow each +other over her cheeks and forehead. Her breath seemed to choke. How warm +the room was! She longed for a breath of fresh air. She would go and +tell her mother that she wanted to have the carriage called at once. +But there was her mother talking busily with Mrs. Tremont. And there, +beyond, was Dick.</p> + +<p>Something very like tears came to the borders of her eyes, as Miss +Dorothy Ware looked at, and thought of Dick. He had loved her, and +she—Ah, well, that was all over now! Even had she been able to compound +with her own conscience, Miss Tremont had effectually barred the way +to—ah, to everything! There was Miss Tremont talking, now, to Mr. +Wreath and to Dick. Surely the girl would not dare—but no, that was +absurd!</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Miss Leigh, noticing Dorothy's solitude, decided, just +then, that she would go and talk to the girl, which succeeded in +diverting Dorothy's mind from unpleasant thoughts.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the room the various groups were constantly +changing. Above the chatter one could hear the strains of music that +floated in from the music-room. Miss Tremont having finally succeeded in +luring Mr. Wreath on to a discussion of his own peculiar theory of the +art of fiction, Dick left them and strolled into the conservatory. He +wanted to be alone. He had been suffering more than ever before from +such accute pain as afflicts each individual soul that submits to +drowning itself in the meaningless chatter of society. As he himself put +it, with something like an oath of disgust, "I've been listening to +people I don't care a pin about; hearing rubbish and talking rubbish!" +The real key to his feeling of disgust, however, was in the fact that +his opportunities to a confidential talk with Miss Ware had all been +ruthlessly killed.</p> + +<p>"A nice way to contribute to the general entertainment!" It was Mrs. +Stewart herself. She was shaking her fan at him. "Don't get up!" she +went on, "I want to talk to you." She scrutenized him. "You don't look +cheerful!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not," he said curtly.</p> + +<p>"Remorse?"</p> + +<p>"No. Remorse is the divine right of cowards and gourmands. Mine is +merely a case of weariness."</p> + +<p>"With your own sweet self to blame. I know the feeling. You've been +thinking, or, rather, you think you have been thinking. And when one is +in that state, everything goes against the grain. Even such a galaxy as +that!" She waved her fan to the direction of the inner rooms, and a +smile of mischief curled her mouth. "What do you think of this year's +crop of lions?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" he scorned viciously, with all the bitterness of the man knocking +at the closed portals. "Who was it that first gave your friend Clarence +Miller the idea that he was a novelist? His wife, I suppose. When a +man's single his follies are suggested by the devil; when he's married, +by his wife. I suppose she wants her husband to equal the notoriety +attained by her brother-in-law, the composer of 'Rip Van Winkle' and +other comic operas that society flocks to listen to. It's a great pity +that art and literature happen to be the thing this season."</p> + +<p>"You're thinking of the real artists and writers, I presume. Well, it is +rather hard on them."</p> + +<p>"Hard? Why, its death! Think of the author that finds the market glutted +with the free-gratis product of the society butterfly's pen. Its enough +to create suicides."</p> + +<p>"But you can't very well include Mr. Wreath in the free-gratis class?"</p> + +<p>"No. But he is a charlatan, for revenue only. He has so many fads that +they stud his conversation as barnacles cover a rock. He is a trumpeter +of theories. Oh, I don't deny that he writes well! But he is not +satisfied with that, unfortunately; he must needs preach, and the man +who preaches about his art is a dispiriting spectacle."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear! What a change! It used to be that we others said all the +cutting things, while you listened in awe and trembling; now it is you +that uses the edge tools of language. You have beaten us at our own +game." Mrs. Stewart dropped her voice a little, and sighed. "But you +have lost as much as you have gained, have you not?"</p> + +<p>He nodded silently. "The world is a usurer that lends us wisdom if we +will but pay our youth as interest. And when we are bankrupt in youth, +the wisdom turns to ashes."</p> + +<p>"Don't be morbid. It's too fashionable. Cynicism is so cheap nowadays +that the poorest Philistine of us all can afford it. The only virtue in +optimism, it seems to me, is that it is suffering neglect today; for +that reason I may espouse it, merely to avoid the charge of being +commonplace. Come, be gay I Laugh! Forget!"</p> + +<p>"To forget is to forego one of life's sweetest pains." He laughed +mechanically, and got up, offering Mrs. Stewart his arm. "I'm a stupid, +morbid fool. My only saving grace is that I know just how big a fool I +am." They entered the inner rooms, and Mrs. Stewart, with a smile and a +bow, left Dick to talk flatteringly to the musical lion of the town.</p> + +<p>Some of the people were already leaving. Dick determined to slip away +quietly. But, as he turned to the vestibule, he found himself face to +face with Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>All his gloom vanished. "I've been trying to talk to you all evening," +he declared. "I've been wanting to ask you something. I asked you once +before. But that seems a very long time ago." He found himself carried +away in a whirl of eager enthusiasm and hope. "Dorothy," he said, +looking down at her, "there is still hope for me, is there not?"</p> + +<p>But in the girl's eyes there was nothing save pain, and shame. She +looked away. She played nervously with the lace of her dress.</p> + +<p>Blind, man-like, he took it all for shyness. "Only a little hope," he +repeated, tenderly. He tried to take her hand.</p> + +<p>She shrank away from him in a sort of horror. "No, no," she murmured, in +a voice of torture. She did not look him in the face.</p> + +<p>Dick stared at her dumbly. Now, at last, he understood her silence, her +averted head. He saw the expression that told him she feared to wound +him, even though she cared for him not at all.</p> + +<p>"Forget me!" she said, and moved away quickly.</p> + +<p>He stood, for an instant, looking after her, then he went, moving his +lips in a queer, mumbling way, to the vestibule, and asked for his +wraps.</p> + +<p>As he was leaving the house Dorothy was sinking into a chair by her +mother's side. She stared straight out in front of her. When her mother +spoke to her she turned slowly around and said, "It's very cold in +here." She shivered.</p> + +<p>And her mother, knowing that it was as warm as an oven in those rooms, +and watching the queer look on her daughter's face, decided the latter +was not very well, and must be taken home at once.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h3> + + +<p>He went down the steps with his hand clutching the rail with the fervor +of a tooth biting on a lip. If it had been daylight the twitching of his +eyes and lip-corners would have been peculiarly noticeable.</p> + +<p>For some reason or no reason he scorned the sidewalk; the middle of the +road presently felt his nervous footfall. Underneath him he could feel +and hear the droning of the cable. Some hundred yards before him he saw +the vivid glare that betokened the headlight of an approaching +cable-car. For an instant or two he asked himself why he should not +continue walking in that direction, in the path of the Juggernaut, and +allow himself to be ground into fragments—into the everlasting Forget. +Gravely he pondered it: why not? Could the game be worth the candle that +was snuffed? And yet, there was something so commonplace, so cheaply +melodramatic in that manner of going out that he drew back; he stepped +aside and let the dust of the passing car brush him spatteringly. To +commit suicide, to choose such a moment for it—a moment that, after +all, was but the repetition of a million similar ones—had something so +ordinary, so vulgar in it, that after he resisted the thought of it, he +shuddered. His lips took on a semblance of smiling.</p> + +<p>"What a play for the gallery it would have been!" he thought bitterly.</p> + +<p>Presently, as he walked, sobs broke through his lips. The measure of +what was lost to him seemed terribly great. All the light of the world +was but darkness for him now. What did it all matter now, this world, +this life, this aimless race? What was ambition worth, when ambition's +cause was gone? Could he take up the dream again, now that waking had +brought such pain? Incoherently his mind went back to the moments that +had elapsed just before he had left the house, moments that lasted +longer than lifetimes. He saw it all again, that scene so indelibly +graven on his mental film; he heard those fateful words again and felt +their blighting import. His arms went up wildly, with fists clenched, +toward the stars, and down again toward the earth like falling hammers, +driven with curses.</p> + +<p>If anyone had met him at that moment, Dick Lancaster would have been +called insane.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stood still, and began to laugh. It was not a pleasant +sound, and he himself noticed that it had the discordance of the laugh +bred by artifice. He had remembered a sentence that someone had +addressed to him, "The thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>So it was. Yes, that was the only armor, the armor of indifference. He +walked on, evolving a philosophy of flippancy. Wounded sorely, as he +was, he found himself sympathetically wondering whether that flippancy +that he once had so despised in his fellow-men and women was not as +often a growth of experience as a mask of fashion.</p> + +<p>When he reached his room he flung himself on a couch. Outside everything +was still. He sent his mind back to the time when he had first entered +this town. How void of all suspicion, all cynicism, he was in those +days! Experience after experience had left its impress on his wax-like +mind and now, with the slipping away of beliefs, the vanishment of +idols, the twinges of fate, he found himself at the other extreme, in +the mood that laughs at all things, and believes that there is nothing +potent save chance.</p> + +<p>In that mood he resolved to remain. It was the only one that was no +longer unbearable. To attempt the old beliefs were merely to give +hostages to disenchantment. He was done now with disenchantment. He +would expect nothing, care for nothing. Except to laugh.</p> + +<p>But, in the meanwhile, he could no longer bear the scenes and sounds of +the town. He cast about for plans. The thought that in one mind at least +his flight would look like cowardice did not annoy him; that also was +merely a thing to laugh at. The country was not what he wanted. It was +not quiet he desired; it was struggle and strife with the dragons of +memory and boredom; he wanted new battles to fight, new experiences to +harvest—not sensitively, as of old, but coldly, cruelly—in other +fields, as far away as possible.</p> + +<p>He unlocked his desk and searched for his bank-book. The figures seemed +to satisfy him.</p> + +<p>"Three thousand," he murmured, "will be enough. I will take a year. I +will see everything that my fancy asks for, do everything, be +everything. They call it the Old World. Well, it must be able to +furnish amusement for me, be it old or young."</p> + +<p>He turned to the unfinished sketches, the letters and the other +impediments that littered the room. "These shall not hold me a minute," +he said. "I want a change of air. I am going to take it. Nor friends, +nor promises, nor prospects shall stay me. It's goodbye."</p> + +<p>He laughed again, and went out to buy an evening paper, to scan the +sailing-lists for the out-going steamers.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h3> + + +<p>On one of the hottest days of August, a month by no means the most +delightful of Berlin's moods, there sat in the pleasant, shady garden of +the restaurant "Zum Kapuziner," facing the Schlossplatz, a tall young +man, whose material externals proclaimed him, to the trained eye, either +as an Englishman or an American. It is a safe axiom that all the +well-dressed people in the German capital are either English or +American.</p> + +<p>In front of the young man, on the table, were a glass, a bottle of +<i>Mai-trank</i> and an illustrated paper. But the young man was not +regarding any of these things, but kept his eyes to an observance of the +passers-by. This seemed to amuse him, for from time to time he smiled +softly.</p> + +<p>It was certainly a pleasant spot. In front there stretched the broad, +paved square that gave to the Old Castle of the first German Emperors on +the left, to the royal stables on the right, and beyond, straight ahead, +gave a glimpse of the quaint, old-fashioned architecture of the "<i>Alte +Stadt</i>." For the Schlossplatz marks the limits of the newer portion of +Berlin; beyond the bridge everything is the real Berlin, the Berlin +untouched by the triumphant splendors that came after '71, the Berlin +that knows but little of the passing stranger and the ways to despoil +him. And that was why Dick Lancaster had chosen the spot. The passers-by +were not at all cosmopolitan; there was little of that mixture of all +races, all garbs, all voices, that was to be seen and heard on the +"<i>Linden</i>." These were the real Berliners.</p> + +<p>In the months that lay between this day and the day on which Lancaster +had first felt the soil of Europe under his foot, there had come to him +many experiences, many amusements. He had accepted all things. +Unfettered by any restraints he had probed all the novelties that +presented themselves. He had lived in alternating fevers of +discriminations and hard work. For all these new aspects of life and +living filled him with the old, dear mania to create. He found himself +inspired by the very overflow of his sensations. From long draughts of +enjoyment he plunged into as long fits of artistic energy.</p> + +<p>He found, moreover, that the increased tension of his spiritual being +put a peculiar force into his pencil. Because it was merely one way of +laughter, because he began in a spirit of flippancy, the sketches all +succeeded immensely. Fortune began to favor him in artistic ways. In +Paris he had made a portfolio full of the most admirable sketches of +types. There was a crafty cynicism about his work that gave a +fascination to them; something not caricature, but finer. Now he chose +as his subject the traveling millionaire, now the splendid queen of the +boulevard, now the phantom of the "brasserie," and now the rag-picker. +One day he had showed some sketches to a man that had begged permission +to glance through the portfolio, as they sat, in a crowded café, at the +same table. The man was the manager of a famous illustrated paper. He +bought some of the sketches, and presently there appeared a most +astonishingly eulogistic article, about this young American.</p> + +<p>People carefully read the name. They had never heard of him. They looked +at the sketches. That was certainly talent of a significant sort. The +other papers followed suit. The noise of this discovery went across the +channel. There came to this young man orders from London, and the +newspapers of that town began to print the most extraordinary +inventions, by way of personalities, about him. The world, now as ever, +is always glad of a new subject. After that Parisian journal had sounded +the first note, the volume of sound that had as its burden Lancaster's +name, grew and grew. Of course, there were those that dissented, that +took occasion to flay this young man's achievements until there seemed +left only a skeleton of faults. But even that only swelled the flood.</p> + +<p>All the while, his sketches grew in force and individuality. For, +whatever else his detractors denied him, they admitted the originality +of his style. It had never been done before. Some called it hideous, +some grotesque; but all called it new. That was the great point.</p> + +<p>He became the fad. The representatives of American newspapers, who had +been prompt to cable home reports of the successes of this unheard-of +youth, began to attempt to interview him. Whereupon, having by that time +exhausted the immediate enjoyments of Paris, he fled abruptly.</p> + +<p>His success had at first surprised, then amused him. When, presently, he +found that his bank account was swelling most astonishingly, he was more +entertained than ever. He laughed—that unpleasant, mirthless laugh. But +he felt no duties toward his success. When Paris became tiresome, he had +no hesitation about quitting it without leaving an address. For that +matter, he did not, himself, know just whither he would go.</p> + +<p>His ticket had been taken for Monaco. The life of that place fascinated +him no less than that of Paris, when Paris was fresh to him. Day after +day he watched the procession that filed to and from the green tables; +the princes of the blood, the newest nabobs, the touring Americans, the +Russians, the worldlings and half-worldlings of all nations and degrees. +He watched the blue of the Mediterranean as a contrast to the +blacknesses of humanity that he saw daily.</p> + +<p>And then without an accompanying word, he sent a selection of sketches +to that Parisian paper whose discovery, so to say, he was. There came +another salvo of applause from the world of art. It seemed, so they all +said, as if this young man was destined to show such possibilities in +black-and-white as had not yet been dreampt of.</p> + +<p>From Monaco the wanderer went to Egypt. A white-sailed fishing-smack, +anchored in the bay below him, had started the thought in his mind one +sunny afternoon, when the attractions of Monte Carlo were beginning to +pall. He could afford extravagances now. The fisherman, when he was +accosted, had smiled. Yes, he might charter the boat. But where would +the gentleman wish to sail to? And it was of Egypt that Dick thought, +suddenly, with a longing for the cold silences of the sands, and the +pyramids, and the quaking waves of heat. And so the bargain was arranged +and to Egypt went the artist.</p> + +<p>Thence he swung back to Italy. Then through Switzerland. Everywhere he +roved through the corners that his fancy led him to; nowhere did he +merely echo the footsteps of the millions of tourists. Sometimes he +walked for whole days at a time. Sometimes he went to a petty inn and +astonished the host by staying all day in his room and working. Whenever +he found his purse suffering unduly through the vagaries of his nomadic +fancies, he posted some sketches to such of the Paris or London papers +as had been most clamorous for them.</p> + +<p>It was, perhaps, just because he cared so little for it all, that this +luck was come to him. In the old days he had chafed against +misfortunes, against limitations of all sorts; he had declared that +great successes were no longer possible, that everything worth doing had +been done long ago. Now, when he cared not at all, fortune kissed him. +Which also amused him.</p> + +<p>Another man would have laid plans for the furtherment of this fame, +would have counted the ways and means of plucking the fruit of success +at it's ripest, would have plotted against the erasure—by caprice, of +the world, or loss of his own skill, of his own name from the list of +the world's favorites. Dick Lancaster did none of these things. He +merely accepted the gifts of the moment, and continued recklessly in +alternate disappearances and bursts of splendid achievement. There was +nothing, he argued bitterly, for which he needed all the fame; so why +should he care to be Fame's courtier? If fame chose to pursue him, that +was another matter, and beyond his heed.</p> + +<p>So, carelessly, recklessly eager for novelties and excitements, this +young man adventured over the continent of Europe, gaining everywhere a +reputation for devil-may-care-dom and bitterness.</p> + +<p>And over many of these things he was thinking, as he sat in the garden +of the "Kapuziner." He thought, too, with something of amused +wistfulness of the Dick Lancaster that had once been himself,—the boy +that had suffered twinges of conscience at the thought of giving up a +Sunday to enjoyment, and had felt forever stained because of things that +now caused him little save ennui. Was it possible that he had once been +like that? Oh, yes, all things were possible; he had found that out +plainly enough. Indeed, he reflected, if it should happen to him that +the End came tomorrow, he would have the satisfaction of having lived +his life, completely, fully, even to satisfy, in half the time that most +men take for that task. Since that night, after a certain girl had told +him to "forget," he had spared himself in nothing that promised +entertainment. With the old restraints completely cast to the winds, +with nothing but studied recklessness as his Mentor, he had followed all +the promptings of that epicureanism that he now feigned to consider the +only philosophy.</p> + +<p>In all things he was fickle. Just as the artistic side of him tired +quickly of one place, one set of types, so his animal nature was +essentially of the dilettante rather than the enthusiast. Wherever he +saw a will-o'-the-wisp he followed; but it was no sooner caught than he +was repentant of his success. The taste of pleasure was of the briefest +to him; it turned to bitterness in a moment.</p> + +<p>And yet, he mused, with all his varied experiences, with the feeling of +satiety that sometimes overcame him from sheer excess of sensations, the +fascination of the town was still upon him. It was surely in his blood, +he speculated. He remembered with what passionate eagerness, after the +final shaking off of all the old consciences—all those moral skins +that he had shed, and left to rot, over there, in America—he had come +to the realization of the varied facets of that bewildering jewel, the +town.</p> + +<p>He shut his eyes to escape the glare of the noon-day, and evolve, behind +his closed lids, the aspect of the town after lamps are lit. The +constant current of humanity, of the swishing of the women's gowns as +they walked, the rattle of the cabs over the stones,—it all filled him +with a passion of pleasure. His young blood went more quickly at each +sight of that surging sea. The crowds going to the theatres and +music-halls; the shadows that flitted hawk-like about the corners; the +colors of the occasional uniforms; he drank in the picture thirstily. +Both the artist and the man were joined, too, in a passionate eagerness +for beauty; he had been known, in his folly as men may call it, to walk +a mile so that he might the more often meet an attractive face again. +The vision of a beautiful female figure, of a well-fitting gown, gave +him an almost painful joy; he felt that charm of mere feminity most +acutely and covetously.</p> + +<p>And yet, with all, he had been a lonely creature. His pleasures were +evanescent and he was ever constrained to browse upon fresh pastures. +From this novel experience, that colorful scene, and that delightful +companion he extracted the essence all too soon; and the dregs he ever +avoided. In his mind there was a gallery of places, faces and +voices—all loves of a moment.</p> + +<p>It was a cheerless train of thought that he found himself in. But, as he +sipped the pale <i>Mai-trank</i>, the glad reflection occurred that the world +was very large and that he had seen very little of it so far; there were +still plenty of things left that were new to him. Surprise would not die +for him just yet.</p> + +<p>He was watching the rainbows that glimpsed in and out of the streams of +cool water that the fountain, in the square, was sending up into the +sun-light. And as he was so engaged, there came to his ear the sound of +men's voices, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent.</p> + +<p>He turned about.</p> + +<p>One of the men was Wooton. As they came nearer, he recognized the other +as Laurence Stanley. They were coming directly toward the garden, and in +another instant they had seen him. Stanley put on his pince-nez. Then +they hurried up to him with a flourish of hands.</p> + +<p>"Why, God bless our home," laughed Wooton, "if here isn't our famous +young friend, Dick Lancaster, the talk of two continents! I'm glad to +see you, mighty glad."</p> + +<p>"Stanley," said Dick, after they had all shaken hands, "what are you +doing here? Where's Mrs. Stanley."</p> + +<p>"My boy, I'm enjoying myself. I presume Mrs. Stanley is doing the same. +For reasons not necessary of explanation to the mind capable in +deduction we are not, at this moment, breathing the air of the same +hemisphere."</p> + +<p>"Will you fellows take a bit of lunch? We ought to celebrate this +meeting with the famous, etcetera, etcetera," said Wooton.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Lancaster, a trifle coldly, "I'd just as soon you'd +drop that adjective business. Here's the bill of the play, Stanley." He +handed the carte-du-jour over.</p> + +<p>While they were discussing their luncheon, chatting of the various +causes that had brought them together, and recounting stories, and +adventures, Wooton rose solemnly, after a few moments of reflection, and +held out his hand to Lancaster. "I want to shake hands with you," he +declared, "as with a genuine thoroughbred. I've been listening to you, +watching you, and—but that was a long time ago,—hearing about you. +You're not the Lancaster I knew."</p> + +<p>But, for some strange reason, Lancaster did not hold out his hand. He +pretended to be engaged in lifting his glass to his lips. Then he said, +"I don't consider that a compliment."</p> + +<p>Wooton scowled a little to himself, but passed the matter off lightly +enough. "Well," he continued, "at any rate it does me good to see you. +How are they all? I've not been back in years, you know." The reason +for, and occasion of his exodus did not seem to touch him with the least +shade of annoyance.</p> + +<p>Lancaster looked at Stanley. "I'm not the man to say. I left there +almost a year ago. Stanley was still there then. Stanley, tell us the +news from home."</p> + +<p>"Yes," was Stanley's reply, "and a nice lot of speculation there was +about your sudden disappearance, Dick. There were all sorts of rumors. +Some of them hinted at affairs of the heart." He caught the look on +Dick's face, and stopped. "However, that's not to the point, I suppose +you're thinking? Well, now let me see: they're all about as usual, I +think, except, of course, Mrs. Stewart."</p> + +<p>The others both started a little.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Her husband died in January. She gave up the 'salon' of course; in +fact, I think she went abroad."</p> + +<p>Lancaster wondered what she would say to him, were they ever to meet. +She must have heard about his sudden leap into public notice, his +vagabondian ways, his reckless career. He became moody, abstracted. The +others were not slow to observe the change in him.</p> + +<p>"Stanley," said Wooton, "its time we left the great man to his thoughts. +He is evolving a new and fearful sketch. Hope we've not intruded." They +got up and were for leaving him, but he protested, and they all strolled +away together. He accompanied them to their hotel, and then sauntered +off for a stroll in the <i>Thiergarten</i>. He found a bench that gave him a +view of the sandy ditch wherein the children played all day long in the +sun-light, while their nurses sat placidly knitting or reading. It +attracted him immediately, this picture of the little bare-legged +youngsters in their quaint German attire, digging about in the sand, +shouting and laughing and fighting, and all living in the evergreen +country of make-believe.</p> + +<p>He began to draw some rough sketches. So engrossed was he that the sun +had sunk behind the trees before he remembered that he had promised his +two townsmen to go to the "Linden" theatre with them. He got up, looked +at his watch, and hailed a passing Taxometer.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h3> + + +<p>In the days that immediately followed, these three were together a great +deal. Presently Stanley drawlingly, announced that he would have to be +packing up; his bank account was getting low, he declared, and he would +be forced once more to bask in the sunshine of his wife's presence.</p> + +<p>The other two still stayed on. Berlin was just beginning to be amusing. +People were beginning to return from Marienbad, from Schwalbach, from +Heringsdorf. All the theatres were once more open. Summer was saying +goodbye.</p> + +<p>One day Wooton asked: "Of course you've seen Potsdam?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, then it's high time you did. Leaves beginning to fall and all +that sort of thing. The last chance. It's really very worth while. +Castles till you can't rest. Babelsberg, Sans-souci, and the New Palace. +To say nothing of a bit of Potsdam, near the Barberini Palace, that's +almost as good as Venice."</p> + +<p>They arranged to make the excursion the first sunny day, and had only to +wait until the sun rose again. They chose to travel by boat. It was a +splendid journey, in the bright sun-light, past the woods and rushes and +villas that skirt the little series of inland lakes between Spandau and +Potsdam. They left the steamer at the landing-stage for Babelsberg and +went leisurely through the grounds and the simple, comfortable, old +place. By the time a boatman had rowed them over to Potsdam, it was +luncheon time.</p> + +<p>They left the boat riding in the Venice-like waterway, and stepped +directly into the garden of the vine-covered, shady café that skirted +the water for quite a distance. Waiters were moving about and at tables +sat family parties, eating and drinking cheerily and honestly. It was +one of the things that enchanted Lancaster, this part of continental +life, this open-air freedom of taking one's glass of beer, this cheerful +way of supping out-doors <i>en famille</i>, of devoting to restaurant-garden +uses the most expensive corner-lots, of making the passing show of +strollers one of the sights that you paid for with your glass.</p> + +<p>They chose a table that directly overlooked the water-front. Behind them +lay the yellow shabbiness of the Barberini palace, that relic of a +king's devotion to a dancer. Below them gleamed the water. It was by no +means an unpicturesque spot.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Wooton, casually, as they were discussing the entree, +"I met a friend of your's last summer, a Miss Ware."</p> + +<p>"Oh." There was not much interest in Lancaster's tone, but Wooton helped +himself to the Rauenthaler and went on:</p> + +<p>"Yes. Rather a pleasant girl. Charmingly unsophisticated. Known her +long?"</p> + +<p>"We were children together."</p> + +<p>"Ah, then she's a country girl, so to say, eh? I thought so."</p> + +<p>Lancaster was deep in thought. The other continued to ply himself with +wine.</p> + +<p>"We had some charming days together," he went on, reminiscently. "She +amused me immensely. The Tremonts were staying at the same place then, +and I used to amuse myself contrasting that Tremont girl with Miss Ware. +The one was like an armor-plate, the other impressionable as wax."</p> + +<p>He began to smile to himself mysteriously. "Do have some of this +Rauenthaler Berg," he urged, effusively. "It's really capital!" He +ordered another bottle, and helped himself liberally. Lancaster was +scarcely heeding his companion. He was looking out over the water. For +once, he was forgetting to be amused.</p> + +<p>"As between two men of the world, you know," Wooton was saying, leaning +impressively on his elbow, "it may as well be understood that that +Tremont girl is the newest kind a new woman." "Know what she said to me +one day? 'The only thing I don't like about love is its consequences!' +Nice girls, these new women, eh?" He laughed softly and drank again. +Lancaster turned to watch him. The man was showing all the cad in him; +the wine was bringing it out. "Women, nowadays," Wooton went on, "make a +fad of everything except the homely virtues. They deliver lectures on +art, and literature, and posters, and music, and the redemption of the +fallen; but they never care for the staple virtues that bring happiness +to households. I'm not saying that I'm a model, not by a damned sight, +but I have my eyes open, and I think the woman of today is trying to +usurp, chiefly, man's prerogative of being a <i>roue</i> if he chooses. What +she needs is to go to a medical school. Then she knows the difference." +He crumbled a piece of bread, and flung it out to the swans that floated +down before them.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind telling you," he continued, confidentially, "that they +were both in love with me, Miss Tremont and Miss Ware. In Miss Tremont's +case, I naturally, had no scruples at all. The fact is, I think she took +the initiative." He stopped, smiling significantly, and sipping at the +yellow wine.</p> + +<p>Lancaster's eyes were glowing with anger. The man's brutality was so +disgusting! Not that there was anything surprising in these wine-woven +statements, for a man who could welch his debts in the way Wooton did, +two years ago, was hardly a man to suffer from scruples of any sort; but +the very fact of having the names of people well-known to him brought up +in this way was nauseating to Lancaster.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you drink some of this wine?" Wooton was holding the bottle +across the table. "No? You're missing something good, you can bet on +that! Wine is the way to forgetfulness, and most men would sell their +souls to be able to forget. Don't you agree with me? That's right." He +leered fatuously at his companion. "I've always liked you, y'know, +Lancaster, always liked you. Friend of mine, yessir, friend of mine; you +bet! Great artist, too, proud to know you. But, oh Scott! what a simple +sort of idiot you were when you first came to town! You'll excuse my +candor; friend of your's, I am, yessir, friend of yours." He proceeded +to watch the swans that glided past them, rippling the smooth water +gracefully. "Beautiful creature," he drawled in drunken sentimentality, +"beautiful creature! Reminds me of that girl's neck,—that girl I kissed +in Schandau. Beautiful neck, Lancaster, beautiful neck! White, and +smooth, and soft, Moreover, she had the most adorable lips; +extraordinarily sweet, I assure you. Lancaster, I understand you've been +rioting all over this continent, you dog you; but I defy you to say you +kissed any sweeter lips than those. I defy you to—!" He sank back into +his chair, chuckling to himself. "Excuse me, didn't mean to be so +energetic. Excuse me."</p> + +<p>Lancaster half turned his head away from the man and looked out over the +water. Where the canal widened out into the lake a crowd of youths were +amusing themselves in diving from a considerable height; the sun flashed +for one instant on each white body as it gleamed through the air down +into the cool canal. From across the water came the voices of sightseers +and pleasure-finders. Closer at hand, in the very garden they sat in, +the occasional clirring of a sword over the gravel denoted the entrance +or exit of an officer; in the warm sun-light all these things combined +to make a delightful impressionistic scene. Lancaster turned to it as a +relief from his companion.</p> + +<p>But Wooton, with the growing persistence of intoxication, was heedless +of the other's indifference. He began again, maunderingly:</p> + +<p>"I don't deny, y'know, that there's an attraction about the woman of +experience. Not for a minute! extremely fascinating person, woman of +experience. As good as a comedy to make love to her. But the women of +experience grow old, very old; while the fresh young sprigs of girlhood +never grow old." He chuckled again. "No; they never grow old. They grow +into experienced women. Axiom: I prefer the fresh flower of innocence +because it never grows old. Sometimes, sometimes it withers. To wither +innocence is one of the most fascinating games in the world. I wonder +how often the average man of the world has played that game in his +life?" He helped himself to the wine again, and looked at it lovingly as +it gleamed yellow between him and the sun. "You really should let me +pour you out some of this excellent vintage," he said, oilily smiling +upon Lancaster, "you really should. There is a deal of philosophy in +it."</p> + +<p>Lancaster was now watching the fellow in an increase of amused +attention. With the inflow of the wine the man's mood changed, from a +species of maudlin sentimentality to an extravagantly ornate loquacity.</p> + +<p>"Philosophy is one of the fairest jewels on the robe of fortune. In +misfortune it is marked worthless collateral. When we are well off, we +philosophize; when we are hard up we curse philosophy. Wine is the only +real philosopher. Do you know, I consider your abstinence, disgraceful, +positively disgraceful. It argues an unphilosophic mind.... There's that +swan, again! Beautiful neck. Such grace! And yet, I prefer the other +one. The other one had a beautiful face, as well as a glorious neck. +Moreover, the taste of those lips was positively intoxicating." He +looked solemnly at the glass of wine before him, and declared, +impressively: "As between the two, do you know, I actually believe I +prefer the lips?" He gulped at the liquor again. His eyes strayed +dreamily into an abstracted stare. "Dear Dorothy!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?" Lancaster started savagely. He thought he might not +have heard aright.</p> + +<p>The other blandly continued. "I said 'Dear Dorothy!' That was her name, +you know. Her name is almost as sweet as her kisses. Dorothy" he +lingered over the syllables—"Dorothy Ware."</p> + +<p>"What!" Lancaster half sprung up from his chair. Then he curbed himself, +with intense efforts, to calmness. "Did I understand you to say that it +was Miss Dorothy Ware?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear boy. Most correct. Oh, yes; remember now: friend of +your's. Recommend your taste, my boy, I really do. She—"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" Lancaster's voice had grown hard and chill. "Do you mean to +say that—all that—is true?"</p> + +<p>Wooton noticed the other's repressed agitation, and it quickened this +mischief in him. "Most exactly true. Are you—can it be?—are you, h'm, +jealous? My dear boy, go in and win; I clear the field. I—only harvest +once." He laughed at the thought. And then, in a second, his laughter +choked to a rattling gurgle in his throat.</p> + +<p>Lancaster had sprung up, white and trembling with rage, and stood over +him, squeezing the breath out of the fellow's windpipe. "You drunken, +hideous hound you," he crunched from between his teeth, "you rifler of +reputations, you damnable dog!" He stopped. His rage scarcely permitted +words. "You're drunk, damn you, and you're a puny little brute, so I +can't whip you as you should be whipped. But if you don't take that +back, if you don't say you lied—I'll—give your burning head the +cooling it deserves." He eased his hold on the other's throat for a +time. Wooton glared at him, breathlessly, with a fantastically ugly +sneer attempting lodgment on the lips that still writhed for air.</p> + +<p>"Say you lied!" Lancaster loomed over him in tremendous wrath.</p> + +<p>Wooton glared doggedly. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he managed to +whisper. His left hand was sliding along the table to where the glass, +half full of wine, stood. Suddenly he gripped it and with a wrench, +splashed up the contents and the glass, full into Lancaster's face. The +crystal shattered on the artist's chin, fortunately, and so did but +little harm. Before the crash of the breaking glass was stilled, and the +wine spent, Lancaster's hands were about the other's throat again; he +gave a swing, viciously, and flung the body completely over the low +railing.</p> + +<p>It splashed into the still waters noisily. The swans swam away for a +moment, then returned in curiosity. As Wooton came to the surface, he +screamed out an oath and a cry for help. There was a boatman at the +water-steps of the adjoining café, and in a few minutes he had pulled +the choking man out of the water.</p> + +<p>Wooton glared up to where Lancaster stood, still hot with anger. "Damn +him," he thought, "if he were not so much stronger than I—" But the +thought prevailed, and he told the boatman to row further down the +canal.</p> + +<p>To the waiters who had rushed up, Lancaster had been very cool. "<i>Es +handelt sich um eine Wette</i>" he assured them. The whole thing had been +so swift, so silent, that up to the moment of the splash in the water, +there had been no eye-witnesses. He smiled at the waiters, paying his +bill, and leaving a liberal <i>trinkgeld</i>. "<i>Mein freund hat die wette +gewonnen</i>." Then he sauntered out with a final fierce glance in the +direction of the boat that was turning the corner in the far distance, +bearing away the scoundrelisms that lived in Wooton.</p> + +<p>When he reached the marble circle of the fountain in the gardens of +Sans-souci, Lancaster stopped, and addressed the spray, bitterly: "So +that was why I was refused? Well, well! It seems, as I said a little +while ago, that there are still new emotions in store for me." He +watched the spray turn to mist that was almost invisible. "That is the +way with ideals," he mused. Then he turned with a laugh in the direction +of the terraces. "How absurd he looked, in the water!" He went on, +laughing quietly.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h3> + + +<p>The late John Stewart had, in his lifetime, achieved the distinction of +being a model husband. He was devoted to his wife in more senses of the +word than one; he was content to appear stupid so she might shine the +more; content to slave at Mammon's shrine for his wife's sake. His fund +of patience, of tolerance, of faith, had been infinite. It was in return +for these things that his wife, as he lay in the dying moments of +typhoid, whispered to him, with a tremendous suspicion that she had +seemed blind to much of her fortune, "John, dear John, you musn't go, +not yet. I—I—"</p> + +<p>And though John assured her that he was going to get well, the next day +found the promise broken.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart, after his death, realized all that he had been to her, all +that she, except in his loving fancy, had not been to him. And brooding +over such recollections she began to feel the ban of morbidness, the old +rooms, the dear, familiar haunts that had once known his voice, were +peopled now with sadness, and she resolved to seek escape, for a time at +least, from these living voices of a silenced lip. She had some cousins +in London; she determined to travel, to visit them. With her went her +nearer cousin, Miss Leigh, whose whimsical, cynical sincerities she +loved the while she combated them.</p> + +<p>So, in the spring, they found themselves in London, then harboring the +whirl of society at its swiftest. But that had palled on Mrs. Stewart, +and she dragged Miss Leigh off for an apparently aimless tour through +Wales, and the Lake district, and on up to Scotland.</p> + +<p>September found them in St. Andrews.</p> + +<p>Although it was one of the months that constitute the "short season" of +that dear old academic village, it was easily possible to escape the +crowds of golf-enthusiasts that studded the links with their glaringly +colorful costumes. The old castle, the ruins of the cathedral, the +legends of the historic, bloody occurrences that had taken place here +for religion's sake,—all these were full of charms to these two +American women, saturated, as is nearly all that Nation, with a +peculiar, wistful reverence for things antique.</p> + +<p>There were drives, too, that gave opportunities for enjoyment of the +Scotch autumn scenery. Along the banks of the Tay, with the solemn +Crampians showing dim in the distance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart loved to sit in the silent coolness of the college +quadrangles and dream. It seemed to her that only for such places were +dreams fit companions.</p> + +<p>One day, they were sitting together on the turf that once had marked a +cathedral wall. Miss Leigh was reading; Mrs. Stewart idly watching the +breakers roll up to the cliffs.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>The two ladies looked up, and turned to find Lancaster standing before +them, with his hat off and a look of amused surprise on his face.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Stewart, shaking hands heartily, "the world is small +as ever, is it not? It's like home, seeing you!"</p> + +<p>"It strikes me the same way." He sat down beside them. They noticed that +he was browned and furrowed; the marks of travel, the brace of different +climes, the scars caught in the thick of life's battle were all sharply +dominant in his externals.</p> + +<p>"We ought to feel honored," smiled Miss Leigh. "You are such a celebrity +nowadays! We have heard the most weird anecdotes about you of late, you +know. You are pictured as the Sphinx and the Chimera in one."</p> + +<p>"You are still," he answered, "as cruel as ever."</p> + +<p>"But we really feel very proud of you," said Mrs. Stewart. "We know each +other too well, I hope, to veil our honest opinions. I admire your work +immensely; but I think you're terribly bitter sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Ah," he laughed gently, "I'm glad it strikes you that way. Bitterness +is the only taste that lives after a complete course of life. But we +really must talk of something less embarassing than myself. Do tell me +the news! How are all the dear familiars?" He paused, and lowered his +voice a little. "If it pains you," he said gently, "let us talk of other +things. I—have heard. Believe me, I am sorry, very sorry. It is a poor +word, but—" he stopped as she looked up at him gratefully for an +instant, and then said with an effort at cheerfulness:</p> + +<p>"Oh, they were all well, when we left."</p> + +<p>"Yes," put in Miss Leigh, "and doing about the same old things. Mr. +Wreath still expounds, in and out of season, the doctrine of his own +surpassingly correct theories on veritism in literature; and +incidentally takes all occasions to assail the sincerity of every other +living writer. He's an amusing man, and if he had only been given a +sense of honor he would find himself an ever re-direct jest. Clarence +Miller has written another novel, and all society is wondering whether +it will be translated into Magyar or Mongolian. He calls it 'Five Loaves +and Two Fishes.' His brother-in-law has composed another comic opera +that some people have the originality to declare original. And—but why +continue the catalogue? It's just the same ridiculous circus it ever +was."</p> + +<p>Lancaster laughed. "Thank you. That's really a volume in a nutshell. I +wonder if the performers in that circus really know how amusing they +are?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stewart, "but they keep it up nevertheless. Of +course, it's only when one gets away from it that one really gets the +most entertaining focus on that sort of a thing. I'm sure," she sighed, +"I don't seem to belong to those ranks at all, now." She shivered a +little. The sun was setting, and a chill breeze blowing off the sea. +"I'm afraid we must go," she said, rising, "but you must be sure and +come to see us." She gave Lancaster a small card, and then, with smiles +and bows, and rustling of skirts, they were gone.</p> + +<p>In the weeks that followed Lancaster availed himself of the privilege +accorded in Mrs. Stewart's invitation as often as possible. The three +were together almost daily, if only for a few moments. Lancaster was +busily employed, the while, in fixing in black-and-white some of the +types and features that prevailed in this fashionable corner of Fife. +The London and Paris journals soon gave evidences of his industry. +Fortunately, but few of these papers found their way to St. Andrews, and +Lancaster's love of incognito was not disturbed. Sometimes the artist +would disappear for days; a fishing-boat would be his hope for the time, +and he would drink in the free winds of the sea, and the passing joy of +that toilsome life of the fishermen. The winds and the freshness of the +life were like a tonic to him, but he knew that it would presently pall +and he would give way to the fever for the metropolitan whirlpool.</p> + +<p>Occasionally Miss Leigh preferred to remain in her apartments, leaving +Mrs. Stewart to stroll along the links alone with the young artist. "Do +you know," remarked Mrs. Stewart, on one such occasion, "that my +cousin's tremendously fond of you?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster looked up in surprise: Then he gave a short laugh. "She's +tremendously mistaken," he said, "I'm not the sort that anyone should be +fond of—now." He looked out over the sea. "There goes a steamer. I +suppose it's the Aberdeen boat." He watched it wistfully.</p> + +<p>"She thinks," continued Mrs. Stewart, heedless of his abstraction, "that +you are a young man much to be envied. Already you have a name that is +known far and wide, and all life is yet before you. She—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted, bitterly: "Life is all behind me, you should say. All, +all! I have tried everything, the good and the evil. The one broke my +belief in all things; the other gives me the belief that the only thing +to do is to laugh. Strange! I heard that phrase first in your +drawing-room, Mrs. Stewart! Suppose we sit down. These rocks are +fashioned delightfully for easy chairs."</p> + +<p>The sun was burnishing the water with a lustre of copper. The sea-gulls +moaned as they circled about hungrily. The breakers hissed sullenly +below them.</p> + +<p>"My philosophy," he went on, after he had seen that Mrs. Stewart was +comfortably seated, "is very simple, now. Laugh! That is the text of +it."</p> + +<p>She mused in silence. "You used to be so different," she murmured, +presently. "You were, not so long ago, at the other extreme. You thought +everything was solemn, awful, important, that there were majestic duties +in life, splendid obligations, and splendid things to live for. +Now,—you say it is all a jest, and the only thing to do is to laugh. I +think you have had too much curiosity."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. Curiosity is a guide that takes us into a labyrinth and leaves +us there. But why," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "why must we +be forever talking of this hapless personage, me? Suppose we talk, +instead, of you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. You are the interesting one. You are a study. I should like to +help you. I think you are doing yourself an injustice: letting yourself +drift as you are. Your fame, alone, won't bring you happiness."</p> + +<p>"I'm not expecting happiness."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart watched his face, hard set, with it's bitter drop to the +right corner of the mouth, and something of pity came to her. "Once," +she went on, "it seemed to me that there was a woman who meant for you +the same thing as happiness."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." His voice was as hard as before. "That was a very long time +ago,—counting by experiences. Why talk of marriage? I don't think I +could stand it for an instant; I don't think any woman could stand me. +As I once was—that was different."</p> + +<p>"Some women are very patient."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And then I should go mad until they came out of their deadly +patience into something more exciting. A woman's fury would amuse me +vastly, I think." He twisted his stick into the rocks, and outlined +vague designs in the sandstone. "Why, supposing, for the sake of the +argument, that I asked you to marry me, you would, I am sure, consider +me a madman to expect you to make such a fool of yourself?"</p> + +<p>She flushed slightly. "Merely for the sake of the argument, I don't say +that I would do anything of the sort. I might consider it ill-timed, +inconsiderate."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I beg your pardon, humbly. I realize that deeply. Merely, I said, +for the sake of the argument. I want to show you the utter hopelessness +of my position. Suppose then, that I asked you that question, what would +you tell yourself? That I was a man, young in years, old in experiences, +soured in thought and taste, bitter in mind, selfish, a slave to the +most egoistic of epicureanisms. A man who considers nothing too sacred +for laughter, or too ridiculous for tears. A man who is a perpetual +evidence of the corroding influences of flippancy; whose very art, even, +is merely a means for amusement. No,—you, clever, shrewd, adaptable +woman of the world though you are, would realize at once that to enter +into a life-partnership with a man of that sort were to invite immediate +misery. Think: the man would be ungovernable, save by his moods; when he +should be at home acting as host to a dinner-party he would be tramping +the moors in a wild passion for solitude? A man who would perpetually +fling at his wife the most mordant of sarcasms, merely for the pleasure +they caused his powers of creation. If a biting jest came to him, he +would hurl it at his wife, without malice, but because she happened to +be present. Not even the cleverest woman in the world can decide between +the words and the motive in a case like that. No; this man has fed too +much on the lees of disenchantment to be himself aught but a sorry-devil +of a jester."</p> + +<p>She signed. "You have the modern disease in terrible +development—self-analysis. It seems to me to be quite as cruel as +vivisection. And I think you exaggerate your vices. After all—I may +speak frankly, may I not? I am a woman that has ever kept her eyes +open—you represent nothing so very dreadful. You are young, impetuous; +you have had the bandages of stern puritanism roughly torn from you, and +you have had a little of what the world calls 'your fling!' You realize +yourself far too much. You are not one whit worse than others. All men +worship, for a time, at the shrine of their animal natures, I suppose. +But instead of letting the thought of it all drive you further and +further into bitterness, why not resolve to shake off the whole cloak, +and put it back into the limbo of thinks henceforth to be avoided?" She +paused, and looked at him with a smile. "Get married. I believe, in +spite of your fears, that you will make a good husband. Believe me, you +will be a much better one than if you had never taught yourself the +revolting nausea that the other side of life brings."</p> + +<p>"Marry?" he repeated, "why do you harp on that? I tell you, there is no +one, no one at all! Unless—" he looked over the breakers to the setting +sun, "unless there were a woman somewhere that could understand and +forgive. A woman that knew something of the world, of the stings of +experience and the hollowness of hope. With a woman like that I might +become the owner of the new youth, might sink all these bitternesses, +live earnest in ambition and.... But there is no such woman, none...." A +sudden light flashed into his eyes, and with passion he continued, +"Except-yourself. Yes—you are the only one. You know; you understand. +Oh, listen to me, listen! Why tell me that this is a sacrilege, an +insult to a memory. Do you suppose I don't know that? I do; I feel it +deeply; but I also feel that I am pleading for a helping hand, that I +see in you the only chance of safety, that you mean for me a new life, +and that I must tell you so now, before the opportunity is gone. Oh, +don't tell me I'm a coward—I know that, too, well enough. I confess it; +I am a coward, a broken-hearted cur." He groaned, and getting up, began +to walk slowly up and down before her. "Is it so impossible? I +would—you yourself admitted that hope!—improve. Is there no hope?"</p> + +<p>"What a boy you are, what a boy! You have all the headstrong, passionate +eagerness of youth, and yet you pretend to play the wearied liver of +many lives! No, Dick," her voice grew gentler, and it came to him like a +pleasant harmony, "we will do nothing so foolish. You and I are always +to be very good friends, and we will help each other always, but not +that, not that! You are too young; regret would come to you all too +soon. No matter how nicely each of us were to fashion his or her temper +to the other's, there would come that thought: for the hope of mere +comfort I have sacrificed an idol. For, Dick, think, think! Dorothy +Ware! Do you think I have not watched you, found you out long ago? What +was it, Dick, a tiff? A refusal?"</p> + +<p>He stopped in his sentry-go, and began to whistle, softly, '<i>La donna e +Mobile</i>.' "I—I beg your pardon," he added, hastily, "I fear I forget my +manners. Was it a refusal? you ask. Well,—perhaps, perhaps not. At the +time, I thought it was. Since then I have found out things—things—Bah, +what does it matter!"</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said, "tell me!"</p> + +<p>"In Germany, I met Wooton—"</p> + +<p>She interrupted. "Ah, yes; I remember a terrible cruel picture you drew +of a man at a café table, drinking. It was his face, unmistakably. Why +did you do that?"</p> + +<p>"That was—only an afterthought. Well, he had been—drinking, and he +talked a good deal. Some of it was about Miss Ware."</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence.</p> + +<p>Then "And you believed it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"At the time, no. Lord knows I did not want to. But, afterward, I +remembered the look on her face when she gave me that last refusal. It +was a strange look; it meant more than I could account for, at that +time. Yes," he sighed, "I believe it. Why shouldn't I? I know how vile a +man may be; be a woman only half as weak, or half as 'new,' and she is +a thing for loathing."</p> + +<p>"Hush! What a conventional man it is, after all. Always the same old +tune, one thing for the man, another for the woman! Listen: I know +Dorothy Ware, better, perhaps, than you do; I know her later self, you +only know her as a child. There are great points of similarity between +you two. She has much of your absurd sensitiveness; self-torment is one +of her vices. She is very much given to making mountains out of +molehills. She—"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he interrupted, wearily, "I tell you I believe it. All, all of +it!"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, somewhat angrily, "and suppose you do! What then! Who +are you, that you should judge?"</p> + +<p>He winced slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, of course, of +course; I've heard all about that. But it won't do, in practice."</p> + +<p>"Won't it? Let us put the cases plainly, for comparison's sake: You are +a young man that has had more than his share of selfish indulgence; you +have thrown aside all scruples and done everything and anything you +pleased. Your actual transgressions of the commandments we will waive; +there is a greater crime: you have allowed yourself to become a soured, +bitter, heartless creature, fit only to disseminate scorn and distaste. +She, the woman in the case, once, we will say, allowed her senses to +oust her sense. Ever since, she has suffered agonies of regret. Unlike +the man she has not told herself that she might as well let fate have +it's play out. She is as sweet as the dew of Maytime, and the slight +trace of sadness only needs the touch of love to fall and almost fade. I +think she loves you; I am not sure—she is a woman, and it is hard to +say. As for you, in spite of everything, you love her. You coward! Why +don't you ask her again? She will tell you that it is impossible, of +course. She will say there was once another. Then, unless you are a +greater coward than I think you, you will tell her that compared to +yourself she is as pure as the driven snow, and you want nothing, only +her forgiveness for yourself."</p> + +<p>He was still stubborn. "It is the old story," he said, "one has heard it +all before. The woman is to be put on a par with the man; there is no +actual difference in ethics. But I once saw it tried; I shudder when I +think of it. To be sure—the woman was notorious."</p> + +<p>"Ah! How can you compare the cases? And yet—" she laughed a trifle +bitterly,—"in this case the man is notorious." She watched him wince +under the callousness of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Think," she continued, "what she could be to you, how she could help +you; how you could help each other! The happy days and dreams together, +the planning for new artistic achievements, the sweet companionship of a +soul capable of understanding! Instead of—what? Fierce flights into +forgetfulness; pursuits of vanishing pleasures, palling desires; short +triumphs in art merged into long revulsions from life! It seems, to me, +a fair exchange!" She rose, as if to end the subject. He put her shawl +about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back to the village, talking +of other things, gaily, lightly, insincerely.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + + +<p>Lancaster said goodbye on the following morning, and by noon he was in +Edinboro'. At the Travelers' club he found a letter from the firm of +publishers, at home, that had lately been using a great many of his +sketches. They took the liberty of informing him that owing to the +popularity of his work they had thought proper to open an exhibition of +his original sketches in the Museum Art Galleries. While they were aware +that possession of these originals was entirely vested in themselves, +they had decided to lay aside a share of the receipts from the +exhibition and sale for him, as a courtesy royalty. Lancaster folded the +letter up, drummed on the table for a second or two, and then went out +to get a paper. It had occurred to him that, if he sailed for home at +once, he could reach there before the exhibition closed. It would be a +grim bit of humor to appear there in person, and listen to the comments +of the very people who, a year ago, would have considered him and his +work beneath their notice. Now, with a European reputation, his stock, +so to put it, had gone far beyond par in his native country. +Besides,—the memory of the things that Mrs. Stewart had said to him +refused to pass from him—there was Dorothy! He would see her again; he +would put his fate to the touch once more.</p> + +<p>It had been a white night that had passed between his conversation with +Mrs. Stewart and his departure from St. Andrews. He had lain awake +listening to the hissing of the sea over the rocks, and recounting the +arguments that affected his feelings toward Miss Ware. Now, it had +seemed to him that she represented for him the one chance of happiness; +that the touch of sadness that had come to her would make her but the +more merciful to his own past. Then, again, the old bitterness, the old +distaste came; he could not escape the thought that the old conventions +teach, that one step aside means, for the woman, eternal disgrace. Well, +and even if the old conventions said so a thousand times, were they to +bind him now, when they had so long been thrust away by him in scorn? At +any rate, the torment of these conflicting thoughts was to be avoided. +He must decide upon one attempt or another—the return home and the +repetition of a certain question, or the effort to continue more +steadfast than ever in the philosophy of laughter.</p> + +<p>He decided for the return to America.</p> + +<p>No boat left Liverpool for two days. In the interval he roamed about the +most beautiful city in Scotland, enjoying the memories and pictures of +the past that Holyrood, the old Castle, and John Knox's house brought +up. The autumn sun turned Prince's Street Gardens, and the Scott +Monument into a green and gold and flowered picture that he remembered +no equal to, in his wanderings through the capitals of Europe, Prince's +Street, he maintained, was the prettiest thoroughfare in the world. He +left it with regret.</p> + +<p>His voyage across the Atlantic merely gave him material for a study of +the gowns adopted by the fair ocean travelers, and several chances for +cynical representations of the humors of upper-deck flirtations. +Otherwise his journey was as monotonous as the luxuriance of the modern +travel could make it.</p> + +<p>It was morning, when after another fatiguing journey by rail, he reached +the metropolis that held so many mixed memories for him. He went +straight to the Philistine club, and took some rooms there. The servants +hardly knew him. He had, it was true, changed a great deal. He was +browner, thinner; there were deep lines about his eyes and mouth.</p> + +<p>The first man he met in the smoking-room, after he had refreshed himself +with a bath and a lunch, was Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Why," said that gentleman, after a long, puzzled look, "dashed if it +isn't Dick Lancaster!" "Come into the light, most noble genius, and let +me gaze upon you. You—you put bright crimson tints on all the effete +European cities, didn't you? I declare it's good to see you again! +You've seemed a good deal like a myth lately, you know; no one ever +seemed to know just where you were, or whether you were alive at all."</p> + +<p>They walked up and down the room, asking and answering such pleasant +questions as come between two familiars after a long absence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's not much change," Vanstruther was explaining, "except in +yourself. You'll be no end of a lion, I'm afraid. Have to do a couple of +paragraphs about you myself, just to scoop the other fellows. Give me a +text or two. Oh, but you have hit the fad in the exact centre, somehow! +I'm not saying a thing against the real value of your stuff, but the +fact remains that this whole blessed nation is fad-mad just now, and it +simply has got to have a fad or quit. Your European reputation came +along just about the time the fad for the newest English novel was +dying. You went, so to say, with a whoop. One can't pick up a Sunday +paper now but what one finds weird, impossible interviews with you; +descriptions of your favorite models, or reproductions of your newest +sketch. You are depicted as the founder of a new style; they talk of +women as being "Lancaster-like," and you are a pest generally. In print, +I mean, of course, only in print. You are about to furnish my own dear +self with material for about a column, so I shouldn't call you a pest; +but from the standpoint of the reader, rather than the penny-a-liner, I +abhor you!" He made a gesture of aversion, laughingly.</p> + +<p>"You want to know about the old guard, do you? Well, Stanley is still +the same dismal distiller of cynicisms that he ever was; his trip abroad +only seems to have made him worse. Belden? Oh, he plods along in the +same old way, drawing bloody battles for the dailies, and making all +creation look like the prize-ring 'toughs.' We have the same old Sunday +evenings up at his house, too; his wife's turned out well, as far as one +can see. He certainly doesn't look unhappy. We were all up there not +long ago, Marsboro, Stanley and myself. Mind you, I never take Mrs. Van. +I'm about the same as ever, too. I've got a blood-curdling dime-novel on +the stocks just now, and the 'season' is beginning for the winter, so +I'm not likely to have much time for idle trifling for a while. Oh,—did +you see Mrs. Stewart while you were abroad? Thanks! That'll be another +scoop on the rest of the society editors. Hallo! three o'clock,—got to +be off to the office—see you again!" He rushed off, leaving Lancaster +smiling at his frank, jerky sentences.</p> + +<p>Lancaster sat down and took up the morning paper. Before long the +advertisement of his exhibition at the museum met his eyes. It occurred +to him that if what Vanstruther had said was only in part true, it would +be wise for him to go and take a peep at the show this very afternoon, +before people knew he was in town.</p> + +<p>The place was crowded with well-dressed men and women. They flowed in +and out in a constant stream. They held catalogues in their hands, and +chatted volubly. In front of one picture, whereon was depicted a London +music-hall scene, there was an especially large gathering.</p> + +<p>"He's so dreadfully cynical, don't you think so?" one man was saying to +the girl that was with him. "I really think he ought to be called a +caricaturist."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but, after all, it's nearly all true, you know. Look at the +expression on that gallery-god's face, will you!"</p> + +<p>"Wonder what sort of a chap he is personally?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—impossible, I suppose. Although I ought not to say that; nothing is +impossible nowadays, there never was such a run on intellect. I never +saw anything like it! It positively seems as if society was +intellect-mad. Singers, actors, painters, writers—all sorts of queer +people go everywhere now, and that isn't the worst of it! The society +people won't be content with just playing at 'society' as they used to: +they want to sing, and paint, and write, too! It's awful! I'll have to +go on the stage, or something of that sort, myself, if I want to keep up +with the procession."</p> + +<p>Lancaster moved away from that corner. It was amusing, certainly; but it +was also painful. What pleased him more than the overheard conversations +were the little labels, displaying the word "SOLD" that decorated many +of his sketches. It was balm to him to think that these moneybags, these +puppets mumbling set phrases, were being despoiled of some of their +wealth for his sake.</p> + +<p>Walking over to the wall whereon hung the sketch for which Wooton had +been the unconscious model, Lancaster heard a voice that seemed +familiar.</p> + +<p>"It certainly looks like him," the voice was saying. "That would be a +wanton brutality."</p> + +<p>It was Miss Tremont. Lancaster flushed angrily. What had she to judge +by? It was Mrs. Tremont who was accompanying her daughter; the elder +lady moved away, that moment, to speak to an acquaintance. Miss Tremont +remained in front of the picture of the drunkard, her brows moving +nervously.</p> + +<p>Lancaster stepped close up to her.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," he said quietly, but distinctly, "I should go and look +after him. He needs it."</p> + +<p>The girl started quickly, turned momentarily pale, and then, seeing who +it was, nerved herself to stony calmness. "How dare you?" she said +twisting her catalogue into shapelessness.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed, "I really mean it for the best. As you see—" he +looked sneeringly at the sketch—"he's not the pink of sobriety. And +when he drinks, he talks a good deal. He sometimes talks about—you, for +instance." He paused and seemed engrossed in nothing save the smoothing +out of the wrinkles in his gloves.</p> + +<p>"You coward!" If intention could have killed, Miss Tremont's eyes +committed murder.</p> + +<p>"True; I fear for you both. And I take such an interest in you! But I +believe he will make an excellent husband—for you!" He lifted his hat, +with a fleeting mockery of a smile, and left her before the picture, +staring, trembling.</p> + +<p>"That," he told himself, "was wanton brutality number two. But she +should not have judged me!"</p> + +<p>He left the galleries, taking with him a feeling of scorn for himself, +that he should have put himself on the level of the praise or blame of +the fadists in such a public way. Yet, he reflected, it had been not of +his own seeking.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was already touched with the darkening shadow of evening. +The town roared and hissed and seethed in all it's wonted fervor; the +chill-hardness of its material manners were painfully evident to +Lancaster as he came from the comparative quiet of the +picture-galleries. He contrasted the grim roar of the place with the +smiling, careless, jovial glitter of those other towns he had lately +enjoyed; for the bright cheer of the boulevards and the gardens and the +open-air café's he found the skypiercing buildings that shut out the +sun-light, hemmed in masses of money-mad humanity, and extended +apparently to all the horizons. For the strolling gayety he had grown to +love so; for the ever-changing current of picturesque triflers, idlers +and dandies,—he had received in exchange a breathless surge of anxious, +nervous, straining men and women, plunging wildly down the slopes to an +imaginary sea of gold. Something of the old repulsion made itself felt +in him; he foresaw that it would never again be possible for him to +endure life here. That other glittering, careless, joyous +maelstrom,—perhaps; this one, never! He realized that while for future +generations it was possible, for himself the hope of finding an American +metropolis tinged with aught but the feverish strivings after riches was +utterly vain. He tried to argue with himself about it; to persuade +himself that it was a nobler sign, this one of the masses all honest in +labor and in pursuit of it's fruits, than the evidences of inherited +wealth, or quiet content with small means, that were the prevailing +notes of older countries. But he failed. His temperament rebelled; he +loved the smooth, the finished sides of life; the artist in him rebelled +against the commercialism of his native haunts. If it should be the +decree of fate that he continue to seek out life's most distracting +enchantments, he would certainly have to bid his native land farewell +again. If there were anything else in store for him; if it happened that +he be required by Dame Chance to do something more serious than to +laugh, to laugh, and laugh—well, that consideration would bear +postponement.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him, as he walked through the streets that were now +beginning to glitter with the white and yellow lights born of +electricity and gas, that these faces were the same faces always, that +there was never any change, from year to year, in the puppets that +paraded on this urban stage. A thousand differing types, to be sure; but +always the same in their hard, tense, sinister look of restraint; all +wore the same tiring eyes, the same rounded shoulders. The same fierce +passion for excitement swam in the eyes of the women. In his morbidness +he fancied that it was as if all these city-dwellers were +life-prisoners, condemned forever to walk, and mumble and laugh shrilly.</p> + +<p>"The metropolis," he told himself, "is a maelstrom that never gives up +it's human prisoners: it merely changes their cells occasionally." At +which reflection he presently laughed. The old text came to him: "The +thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he thought, "but it's harder here than anywhere else. Much +harder."</p> + +<p>Arrived at the club, he ordered dinner, and in the short interval, set +down to write a letter to his mother. For the many months of his absence +abroad he had contented himself with sending her occasional newspapers, +the briefest of notes, and illustrated magazines. In none of these +missives had there ever been the real personal, familiar note. He had +given merely the scantest news of his whereabouts and his well-being. In +the life and the philosophy he had chosen there was little room for +comradeships, even with his own mother. Now, however, with the distance +between them so vastly less, he felt again some of the old affections +that he had thought to have slain with laughter. In any event, he wrote, +whether he decided to remain on this or that continent, he would pay +Lincolnville a visit presently. They would have that dear, delightful +talk that the months had despoiled them of.</p> + +<p>As he stepped into the dining-room, Vanstruther nailed him. "Saw a +friend of yours just now, Dick," he said, "Miss Ware!"</p> + +<p>"Ah," was the reply, given in apparent abstraction, "they still live +here then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Dick did it ever occur to you that she's a devilish pretty girl?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here, Van," said Dick, laughingly, "I came to feed on solids, +not the lilies of your imagination. The prettiest thing in the world to +me, at this date, is a good dinner."</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h3> + + +<p>It is impossible, even for the most harassed of human beings, to be +entirely pessimistic after a dinner that had been well prepared, +tastefully served, and finely appreciated. With the coffee and the +liqueur a warm glow of pleasant sentiment is sure to invade the dinner; +the dismal reflections that harrowed his soul an hour ago have fled at +the approach of that self-satisfied feeling that marks the man that has +dined.</p> + +<p>By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded +in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter +that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and +was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended +interview with Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved +him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she +did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture +all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need +matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the +question: What art thou?</p> + +<p>He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was +changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for +pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying +to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through +the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness +of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing +and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, +skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more +as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade.</p> + +<p>It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to +head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza +whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his +card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness +of all other things—and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the +driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the +accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a +little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, +were so absurdly insignificant!</p> + +<p>When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when +Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon +it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an +entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, +paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders.</p> + +<p>But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. +Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the +driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such +an occasion.</p> + +<p>But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and +wistful happiness shining in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a +will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back +to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell +reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something +in return."</p> + +<p>"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion +should bring out such a lion!"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know—anything about +me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else—anyone! For I do +detest—"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him gaily. "Oh, no; you are doomed. I shall introduce +you to the most portentous faddists; you shall suffer. That, sir, may be +your punishment for surprising me so!" She glided away, and returned +with Mrs. Ware.</p> + +<p>Never, thought Lancaster, had he seen Dorothy so gay, so cheerful, so +roguish. Whence came that playful mood of hers; that mocking, joyous +laughter? Talking to this and that person, Lancaster kept his watch upon +Miss Ware. He saw her go out of the room, laughing and chattering, and +the moment she reached the conservatory, put her hands up to her +forehead and press them swiftly over her eyes. The smile went from her +lips; her whole form testified to a sudden relaxation of an artificial +tension.</p> + +<p>A mask, Lancaster told himself, a mask for her feelings. She was +agitated, but she determined to hide all that under a cloak of gayety. +He understood. Had he not himself tested the expungent qualities of +laughter?</p> + +<p>As of old, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice had thrilled +him with a sense of wonderful gladness. At sight, at sound of her all +the good in him seemed to become vibrant; she was still the star, far +above him, that he longed for. The comforts of his cold philosophies, +the promises of the epicureanisms he had delved in so deeply—all faded +into ashes at approach of this girl.</p> + +<p>"We are really very fortunate," a voice behind him aroused him from his +rêverie, "in having such a distinguished guest with us tonight." It was +Stanley, who stood with his hand on Lancaster's shoulder. "Surprised to +see me here, are you? Well, to tell the truth, it's only of late that +I've gone into these rare regions. I find that it conserves one's +pessimism to enjoy the company of one's fellow-creatures. Will you +excuse me, I see that man Wreath coming over here. I really can't stand +him. He always remarks to me, sorrowfully, 'Ah, Mr. Stanley, I'm very +much afraid you're not in earnest!' Why, the man himself's an eternal +warning against being in earnest. There's nothing that spoils the look +of a person's mouth so much as earnestness."</p> + +<p>In truth, at that moment, just after Stanley had deftly slipped away, +Mr. Wreath had solemnly greeted the artist. "You have shown great +talent, Mr. Lancaster, great talent. But—" and he beamed reproach upon +the other, "why don't you dig deeper?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster felt as if he could have sworn at the man's presuming egoism. +But he merely laughed, and said, "Ah, you forget what a fellow-artist of +mine once said, <i>apropos</i> of cleanliness. 'Wash,' he said, 'no, we don't +wash; we merely scratch and rub, scratch and rub.' I choose, in like +manner, only to scratch. If I can scratch an effective creation, why +should I dig?"</p> + +<p>Wreath shook his head, with a mournful smile. "Ah, you will agree with +me—later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about my next novel. +Do you think we could make it worth your while to illustrate it for us?" +He dragged Lancaster off into the library and bored him, for at least +ten minutes. From the other room came sounds of music. Someone was +singing. "<i>In Einem Kuehlen Grunde</i>" went the soft, sweet old ballad. +Lancaster promised Wreath that he would let the writer's publishers know +definitely in a day or so, whether he would undertake the illustrations. +He hurried back into the salon, muttering, as he went.</p> + +<p>"Several haystacks; two threshing-day scenes; several prairie pictures, +one for each season of the year—that's about what those illustrations +will have to be. Well, I'd do it twice over if that man would promise to +let me alone!"</p> + +<p>It was Dorothy Ware that had been singing. She got up just as he entered +the room. She caught his look, and smiled to him. "You must take me to +the conservatory," she commanded, with a pretty air of authority, "for +singing is warm work." She took his arm, and while someone else went to +the piano and began to play the ballet from "Sylvia," together they +strolled out into the cooler rooms beyond.</p> + +<p>"And now," she said, when they were snugly seated upon the cushioned +windowseat, "I must tell you how proud mother and I have been of you. +Oh, it was so good to read all these praises of you!"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "It came," he said, "because I did not care whether it came +or not. I was indifferent; and so success came."</p> + +<p>"Indifferent? Why, Dick? With such power it is not right to be +indifferent. Why—"</p> + +<p>"Why should I be anything other than indifferent? For myself? No. I +despise myself too much. I consider myself only a means toward +amusement. And if not for myself, for whom?"</p> + +<p>She was playing with the leaves of a palm that hung down over her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"No," he went on, "there was never any motive in it all. It was all +sheer play. There was the joy, the delirium of creation; that was a +sufficient sensation; beyond that—nothing! It might be different +if...." He stopped with the word half spoken.</p> + +<p>"If what?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her swiftly. There was in her face only earnest curiosity +and sympathy. "If," he continued, "if there were—someone else. Oh, +Dorothy, dear, don't you see? Don't you realize that it is you, you for +whom I would work—yes, work and live? Dorothy, tell me that you are +not altogether indifferent. Once—long ago—you said you might care for +me. Then we were boy and girl; now we are man and woman. Then again you +told me to forget you. I tried. I tried—all ways into forgetfulness. I +tried to laugh away you, and all the past; to live only for the essence +of the moment. And now, Dorothy, why don't you speak?"</p> + +<p>She gently disengaged her hand from his. Her face was white, and she +could only shake her head.</p> + +<p>"But why?" he moaned, fiercely, "why? Can you not love me a little?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him reproachfully, and for a moment he thought he divined +the framing of the words, "Ah, but I do love you," then she merely +sighed, and looked away again.</p> + +<p>"Is it," he went on, "that I have put myself beyond your mercy? Have I +become too notorious a vagabond?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, it is all +true; I am come through all the highways and byways of life, and I am +touched with the scum of it all. Perhaps you are right. I am not worthy. +And yet—I only ask for forgiveness, and a little love. With that, I +might—be able to—sink the bitterness of the days behind. But, as I +said, I dare say you are right. Shall we go into the other room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dick," she sighed, "how hard you make it! Dick, it is—it is I that +am not worthy." She put her hands to her face suddenly, and pressed +them feverishly to her cheeks and eyes, and then started as if to go +away.</p> + +<p>Lancaster took her hand and kissed it. "Dorothy," he said, "Don't talk +nonsense! Unworthy of me—of a man who has used the world as a +playground, and exhausted his days in satiating curiosity! Ah, no! That +is impossible. There is no one, Dorothy—no one, however wretched, who +would not be worthy of me."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," she wailed, "you don't understand! I—" she hid +her face in her hands again, "I have sinned!"</p> + +<p>He put his arm about her, and whispered, "What does it matter Dorothy, +if only you love me? Do you, Dorothy, do you love me?"</p> + +<p>She sobbed, silently almost. Then she looked up, and, as if she were +defining a happiness that could never be, said, "Yes, Dick, I love you." +Then, as he covered her brow with kisses, she shuddered in his arms, and +again moaned, "But you don't know, you don't understand!"</p> + +<p>He smoothed the tears from her eyes, and looked tenderly upon her. "Yes, +dear, I do." He burst into a fierce trumpet of rage. "That cad, Wooton, +—he told me some damnable lies...! He was drunk...!"</p> + +<p>She shrank away from him. "Ah, then, you see it is quite—impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Dorothy," he said, "I am not speaking of that, am I, dear? I am asking +you to have pity on me, to help me see that there are bright and tender +and true things in life. I tell you that, past or no past, you are as +high above me as the stars. Why must we listen to the old shibboleths, +Dorothy? Have you not spent a lifetime of regret to atone for a moment +of folly? And who am I to judge? I, in whom there is no more of +whiteness left, save only that I love you! Consider, dear, if this is +not to be, what our lives will be! For me, all the old bitterness, the +efforts to drown all things in laughter. For you—memories! But if you +say 'yes,' Dorothy, think! How different the world will seem! We will go +and live in the country, close to the heart of Nature. All the noise and +noisomenesses of this town-world will be shut out; we will forget it. +For you, dear, I will work as I never worked before. Think, dear—think +of the dear old, silent, restful hills of Lincolnville! How the insects +hum in the clear nights; how blue, how deep, how tender the sky seems +there; how the very flowers seem to wear more natural faces than do +those of town! Do you remember how, in summer, we used to go camping by +the river? The simple pleasures, the healthy out-door life—can you not +believe that it would make new creatures of us two, Dorothy? The +house—think of the house we would plan, the orchard, the garden! And +are we to lose all that, dear, for a whim? Dorothy," he held out both +his hands to her, "see, Dorothy, I ask you to let me not see happiness +only to lose it?"</p> + +<p>For another moment she wavered, then with a choking "Ah, Dick, I love +you!" she let him take her to his arms. He kissed her shining eyes, and +said, fervidly, "Sweetheart, I thank you."</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h3> + + +<p>It was in the first beauty of June that Dick Lancaster brought her that +had been Dorothy Ware home to Lincolnville as his wife. The village, as +I remember, was looking its fairest; the trees were radiant and profuse +of shade; the grass was long and luscious, the birds were cheerful and +bold. We welcomed the two with all the heartiness we had command of; we +had known them as children, and we had loved their memory always, all +through the years they had been gone. Of Dick's fame we were +immeasurably proud. We wondered a little, indeed, that a man so dear to +the world's heart should find satisfaction in living so far from the +pulse of it all. But, we argued, if indeed, he preferred Lincolnville, +all the greater was the honor.</p> + +<p>Both, as we soon saw, had aged, Mr. Fairly, who had gone up to town to +marry them, had told us as much, but we were but little prepared for the +actual evidence. Those of us, too, who were permitted closer glimpses +into the life of these two, observed in the two a passionate fondness +for the fields, for the silence and stillness of our life there that was +something very different from the matter-of-course acceptance of those +attributes to our existence that existed in the rest of us. It was as if +the place were, for them, a very harbor of refuge, a hospital in which +to forget old ailment, or regain old healthfulness. These things, and +many other signs of something wistful in the affection they bore the +place and the dislike they long showed for leaving it, made up for me +and many others, something of a mystery. At that time, I knew nothing of +the things that had occurred since Dick left Lincolnville.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, long afterwards, it happened that I came to know all the +things that have been chronicled here. And, for my part, I came to love +them the more. As Mr. Fairly, who, I suspect, also knew something of +these things, once said to me, "If one has not seen the devil, one does +not know enough to get out of his way." I consider that Dick Lancaster +is much more to be commended for the honest life he lives among us than +old Scrattan, the milkman, who has never been out of Lincoln County in +his life. And as for Dorothy, all Lincolnville thinks she is the +sweetest woman breathing—and when a village as given to gossip as is +this place, agrees on any such eulogy as that, there must be potent +reasons.</p> + +<p>It is an ancient trick, I know, and an uncommendable, this of +chronicling the lives of two people only up to the church door. In the +lives of most people, I hear on all sides of me, the tragedy only begins +after marriage. Well, perhaps so. But I hope, for my part, that for +Dick Lancaster and his wife there is not to be much more of battling +against the buffets of the world. For them there had been so much of +tragedy—the tragedy that is almost intangible, the tragedy that +underlies the surface flippancy of our modern life—before Fate chose to +let them come together, that it would seem just that thereafter their +life be but a pleasant pastoral. As for that I cannot say. I know that +Dick's fame grows with each passing year; and that both he and his wife +are beginning to lose the look of weariness that was on them when they +came back to us.</p> + +<p>I have not given this chronicle as an example or a lesson. I do not mean +in telling it to declare my belief in the theory that Christ's words +"Go, and sin no more!" can be perpetually applied in the practice of +modern life. I have transcribed one episode, one group of characters, +one set of lives, and having done so, I refer the responsibility whither +it belongs to the Being that mapped, that directed those life-threads. I +do not mean to say that in like instances, a similar course would +inevitably lead to happiness. I only say that yesterday, as I was +walking in my garden, watching the blue-jays quarreling in the firs, I +heard Dick and Dorothy talking and laughing on their veranda. There was +something so infectious about their gladness that I paused and listened, +without thought of curiosity, but rather in something of wistful +appreciation of their happiness.</p> + +<p>"I had not thought," I heard him say, "that the world would ever seem +so fair to me."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and I fancied I heard a kiss, but I will not be sure.</p> + +<p>"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you."</p> + +<p>Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened +whisper from her: "Dick—do you think we shall ever see—him—again?"</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of +his own safety. Besides—what matter if we did. He belongs to the things +that we have forgotten."</p> + +<p>Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually +died from my hearing.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to +these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And +whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the +end.</p> + +<p>FINIS</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="caption"><a id="Contents"></a>Contents</p> +<p style="font-size: 0.8em"> +<a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39781 ***</div> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/39781-h/images/storms.jpg b/39781-h/images/storms.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..07a763c --- /dev/null +++ b/39781-h/images/storms.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca5b7e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #39781 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39781) diff --git a/old/39781-8.txt b/old/39781-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..97aef6c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39781-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6056 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cape of Storms, by Percival Pollard + +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: Cape of Storms + +Author: Percival Pollard + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39781] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + + + + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + + + + +CAPE OF STORMS + +A NOVEL + +BY + +PERCIVAL POLLARD + +CHICAGO + +THE ECHO + +1895 + + + + + "So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that + place the cape of torments and of storms and blessed + his Maker that he was safely gone by it. And even so, + in the lives of us all, there is a Cape of Storms, the + which to pass safely is delightful fortune, and on + which to be wrecked is the common fate. For it often + happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman's + face." * * * + + --An Unknown Author + + +1894 +ST. JOSEPH +FRIDENAU +CHICAGO +1895 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +"Life is a cup that is better to sip than to drain; the taste of the +dregs is very bitter in the mouth." I shall never forget those words of +our dear minister's, I suppose, because so much that has happened since +he first uttered them to us as we sat in his Sunday-school class has +shown me the truth of them. Dick himself, I remember, was especially +loth to believe Mr. Fairly's monition; indeed, none of us young bloods +cared to think that there was anything in the life before us that was +not altogether worth living, and when Dick spoke up plainly and quite +proudly, arguing against the pastor's words, we were all silent +approvers of his challenge. Dick was always the bravest boy in the +village; and we had long since come to be admirers rather than rivals. +But Mr. Fairly only shook his head and smiled a little--he had a +wonderful smile, and his eyes were always shining with kindness--and +patted Dick on the head, with a gentle, "Well, well, my boy, let us hope +so; let us hope so. Perhaps you will be fortunate above your fellows." + +The incident dwells in my memory for many reasons. It was, as I have +said, a curiously prophetic sentence of our pastor's; besides that, it +was the last Sunday that we were all together in Lincolnville, we boys +who had played, and fought and learned together. Early in the week, +Dick--somehow, long after the world has come to know him only as Richard +Lancaster, I am still unable to think of him as anything but the "Dick" +of my boyhood--was to leave the village for the world; he was going to +begin a life for himself, up there in that mysteriously magnetic +maelstrom--the town. Like Dick Whittington of old, and every fresh +young blood every day of this world's life, he was going up to town to +conquer. Before him lay the beautiful pathway into a glorious future; +promises and pleasures were like hedges to that way that he was going to +tread. He was all eagerness, all hope, all ambition. And, to be just, +perhaps there was never a boy went up to town from Lincolnville who had +better cause to be full of pleasant hopes for his future than Dick. +Certainly, it was the first time the little place had evolved such a +talent; and it felt a pardonable pride in the boy; it expected, perhaps, +even more than he did, and was looking forward to the reflected glory of +being his native village. + +If you have traveled through the West at all, and have anything more +than a car-window acquaintance with the great Middle West, you know +Lincolnville fairly well, I think. Not that you may ever have been to +the village itself, but because it is a type of thousands of other +villages scattered throughout the country. + +It is the county-seat, and is built upon the checker-board plan, with a +sort of hollow square in the middle, filled, as an Irishman might say, +with a park. The sides of this square form the business heart of the +place; each street that runs away from the square is lined with pretty +dwelling-houses of frame or brick, so that the village looks like an +octopus with four large tentacles stretching toward every point of the +compass. The streets are fringed with shade trees of every sort, and in +midsummer the place looks like a veritable nest of green and cool +bowers. The county is strictly and agricultural one; the farmers come to +"town," as they call it, every Saturday; at least, hitch their horses to +the iron railing that surrounds the park, and spend the day selling +produce, buying dry goods, implements or other necessaries. The face of +the village rarely changes; there is an occasional fire on the "square," +mayhap, and then the newer building that fills the gap is in decided +improvement over the old one; young men are forever going out into the +world, and old men are for ever coming back thither to die; for the rest, +one might fancy that, if you came into the world again a hundred years +from now, you would find the same farmers doing their "trading" at +exactly the same stores that they now favor. On occasions of a political +convention, or a circus, the town takes on a festive aspect, and the +roads leading to the square are filled, all day long, with wagons that +have come from the further edges of the county. During the three or four +days of the County Fair, too, there is great activity between the +village and the Fair Grounds, and, if it be a dry summer, the air +between those places is merely one huge cloud of dust. Occasionally the +pretty little Opera House has an entertainment that draws out such of +the citizens as have no very severe religious scruples against the +theatre. For the rest, the place is an admirable home of quiet. Young +blood chafes at this quiet; old blood finds there the peace it seeks. + +In the very nature of things, a place of this sort is chiefly concerned +with its own affairs; the main theme of conversation are its own people. +Everyone is perfectly acquainted with his neighbor's affairs, and not +infrequently, in fact, is able to inform that neighbor of certain +details relating to the latter, that had until then been unknown to him. +So it was that, at the time of Dick's leaving Lincolnville, the good +people of that place knew, much better than he did himself, the surety +of his engagement to Dorothy Ware. He himself would have been only too +glad to be as sure as they were, when he heard the rumors he was given +to smiling rather sardonically. + +He came to me once, I remember, and looked at me for a long time with +those clear, grey eyes of his. "Tell me, old man," he said, "do you +think she cares for me?" It is a stupid question, this; but almost +every boy who is in love puts it to some friend or other, in the quest +for confirmation of his fears or hopes. "Why, Dick," I said--still more +foolishly, perhaps, now that I look back on it--"Why, Dick, of course +she does. We all do." "Oh," he flung in, impatiently, "I don't mean +that!" I knew what he meant; but who shall tell, being a man, whether a +girl cares or not? Although, if ever a boy was made to be well beloved, +surely it was Dick. + +He was always a high-spirited youngster; some of his tricks are still +legends of the old high-school in his native place. He never liked to +fight, being naturally mild of temper; but when he was roused beyond +endurance lie was a veritable Daniel. His father died when he was only +four years old; to his mother he was the most devoted of sons. + +It was when he was about ten years old that his talent for drawing first +proved itself. It came to him in the way that it has come to many who +have since made the world listen to their names--on the old black-board +in the schoolroom. It was a caricature of Mr. Fairly, I remember, who +was always very tall and very thin, and whose face was like that of a +French general's under the empire. Dick exaggerated all these +peculiarities most deftly with his chalk, and then it so happened that +Mr. Fairly himself walked in and found the caricature. He only looked at +Dick quietly, and put his hand down on his shoulder with a subdued, "I +am a good deal older than you, my boy, a good deal older. You're sorry, +aren't you?" And something in our minister's tone must have touched +Dick, for the boy put his head down and said: "Yes, sir," with a little +choke in his voice. Nor do I think that from that day to this Dick has +ever drawn or painted in caricature. But in all other ways he developed +his talent day by day with really wonderful results. He always had a +rare notion of color; the autumn foliage thereabouts gave him the most +startling effects. He used to go out into the woods in mid-summer and +mid-winter--it made little difference to him--and come back with some of +the prettiest bits of landscape work I have ever seen. There were, it is +true, certain palpable crudities in his work, due to the lack of any +training save that of his instincts, but those would undoubtedly +disappear as soon as he came under the influence of a proper instructor. +It was for this that he was going to leave the village and become of the +greater world in town. His mother had rebelled at first; she was growing +old, and she feared the thought of losing sight of him; but there was no +restraining his ambition. To remain cooped up in that little corral of a +place all his life--oh, no; that was not at all the thing for Dick +Lancaster. That great world, out there, that he had read and heard so +much about, that was where he ought to be; and it was there he wanted to +wager and to win; what was there left in Lincolnville? He could do +nothing more there; his life was beginning to be a mere stagnation. He +must out and away. This longing for shaking off the shackles of that +narrow village life was, as much as ambition, the spur that sent him out +into the larger world. And I do not wonder at him. Those small places +are not fit arenas for the disporting of ambitions or freedoms. + +At this time, Dick was a little over one-and-twenty. He was handsome in +a dark, olive-skinned sort of way, and his eyes had the longest lashes I +have ever seen in a man. His hair curled a little, though he was forever +trying to comb and coax the curl away; he hated it, saying that curls +were all right for a girl, perhaps, but not for a man. He was, but for +the fact that he was very fond of good cigars, a veritable Pierrot. He +had always been very closely under his mother's influence; even his +association with the boys of his own age and class had not been enough +to taint him at all. He had a fancy that, now as I consider it, after +all these years, seems a most pathetic one, that the world was a very +beautiful place in which the wicked were always punished, if not by +actual stripes, at least by the disdain of their fellow-men. It seems +strange, perhaps, that a young man of his age should still hold such +notions, but you must remember that in the quieter villages of our +country it is possible to hold these fancies all one's life; the town is +the great disenchanter. Dick considered that he had two things to live +for--his ambition and Dorothy Ware. + +It was beautiful, the way the boy sometimes rhapsodized; beautiful, and +yet in the light of after events, sad. "One day, you know," he said in +one of his bursts of enthusiasm, "I will be known all the world over as +a great painter. People will come to my studio and wonder at it, and the +work in it. They will invite me everywhere. I will be a lion. But I +shall always place my work first; admiration shall go into the last +place. And there will be Dorothy! Dear Dorothy! I haven't asked her yet, +you know, but I hope--oh, yes, I hope--that it will be all right between +us. Dorothy will help me in everything; when I begin to flag, or to lose +spirit, she will spur me on. She will represent me to the great world of +society when I am hard at work; she will be my veritable Alter Ego. And +some day--some day, when I feel that my brush and my hand have in them +the passion for my masterpiece, I will paint her face--her face!" He +took up a photograph that lay on the table before him and looked at it +steadily for an instant or two. "Sweet face!" he went on, "how shall +mere paint ever represent you? There must be love, too. Love and paint. +The one is a mere trick of the hand and eye; the other is mine and mine +alone. For no one can love her as I do." + +As for Miss Dorothy Ware, she was eighteen and beautiful. I do not know +that any woman really needs a fuller description than that. As for her +wit, it is too early in this chronicle to speak of that; nor do I, +personally, differ much from Théophile Gautier, when he states that a +woman who has wit enough to be beautiful has all she needs. + +Miss Ware's father had made a great deal of money by the very simple +process of growing old; he had been one of the pioneer settlers in that +county and his had been most of the land that the village now stood on. +Miss Ware herself, while sensible of her riches, was unspoilt by them. +By nature she was of the disposition that one can call nothing else but +"sweet;" she was tender and gracious; she was fond of fun, so long as +that fun annoyed no one else; in a word, she was considerate and gentle +and lovable. She had been brought up in the south, and she had retained +a trace of the southern accent, so that her speech was in itself a +charm; she had natural talents for looking pretty under all +circumstances; some might have said that she had the instincts of a +coquette, but I do not believe it of her. She was devoted to children +and dumb animals. And whoso has those instincts is intrinsically good. +But Miss Ware held that she had by no means had enough of this world's +pleasures to begin thinking of so solemn a thing as marriage. Like a +large number of the girls of today, she was, first and foremost, "out +for a good time," as the slang of the time has it. She had certainly the +intention of some day marrying the man she loved and making him as happy +as she could; but in the meanwhile she wanted to test the world's +ability to furnish entertainment quite a little while yet. Which was +why, although she was very fond of Dick, she had invariably put him +off, when he grew importunate, with a laugh. "Why, Dick," she would say, +"don't you know you're absurd to think of such a thing? We're just +children yet. Oh, I know we're of age, but what of that? You don't mean +to tell me that you think your life has shaped, or even begun to shape +itself yet? No. And as for me, I'm going to skirmish around a while yet +before I settle down and become old married people! Be sensible, Dick!" +And Dick, with a sigh in his heart, was, perforce, fain to say that he +would try. "Skirmish around!" It grated on him, somehow, that phrase; it +seemed to hold for him visions of innumerable flirtations; of contact +with the world, the flesh and the devil, with the brushing off of the +faint, roseate bloom of innocence. + +It was on the day before Dick's departure for town that Lincolnville +received the news of another intended going abroad. The Wares' were to +sail for Europe before the month was out. Mrs. Ware had long been an +invalid; for years the doctors had advised travel, but her husband's +objections to any sort of change had hitherto prevailed against her +wishes. But now the really dangerous state of Mrs. Ware's health, added +to the entreaties of Dorothy, who longed, as do all American girls, for +a glimpse of the old country, had brought the old gentleman to +acquiescence. He would not go himself; he was getting too old for such a +trip; but his wife and daughter should go, if they had set their hearts +on it. So that, with the prospective departure of both Richard Lancaster +and the girl that rumor had him engaged to, the tongues of the gossips +had plenty to do on that day. When Dick first heard the news about the +Wares' he was inclined to be downhearted; then it struck him that it +would give him an opportunity for another effort at getting from Dorothy +at least the promise of a promise. + +Than Lincolnville in mid-summer I know few fairer places; there is a +cool, green quiet all about that makes for peace and gentleness, and in +the whispering of the breeze as it curls through the thick foliage of +the spreading trees there is the note of happiness. Happiness, indeed, +lies nearer to man in one of these small, serene villages, than anywhere +else in the world, save in solitude; but it is rarely that man sees the +sleeping beauty that he has sought all his life long. Dick, as he walked +along toward the Ware house that splendid afternoon, caught something of +the warm, comfortable languor that was in the air, and looked about him +with a note of regret in his regard. "How pretty it all is!" he thought, +looking at the familiar houses, with their well-kept lawns and +ivy-covered verandahs, "how pretty! And yet--" he sighed, and then +smiled with a proud lift of the head--"there are other things!" + +He found Miss Ware seated in a hammock on what was known as the +front-porch. It was a long, low, cool stretch of verandah, reminding one +of the style of architecture in vogue in the old south. It was all +harbored in vines that were so luxurious they hardly gave the breeze a +fair chance to penetrate; on the other hand, the sun's rays were safely +guarded against. + +Young Lancaster drew up a chair, after she had smiled and reached him +one of her hands. He looked at her critically for a moment. + +"Dorothy," he said, "I have never seen you looking so pretty." + +"I have never felt so happy, Dick," she said. + +"Because you are going away?" + +"Yes. And you?" + +"I am happy, too. And yet, I am rather sorry. I have lived here all my +life; this is the first time that I am going away from home. There is +something solemn about it; but then--the end, oh, the end--justifies it +all. That is not the chief reason why I am not altogether satisfied to +go away. Dorothy, don't you know the other reason?" + +She opened her eyes a little, and smiled a trifle at the corners of her +mouth. "I, Dick, why, how should I know?" Then she saw that he looked +hurt and she changed her tone. "Dick," she went on, "why won't you be +sensible about it? I suppose you mean about me? Why, Dick, you know I +like you, don't you? I've always liked you and admired you, but--dear +me, can I help it if I feel sure that I don't like anyone yet--in that +way? I'd like to, perhaps, but--well, I don't. What can I do?" She +looked at him appealingly and reproachfully. + +"I know, I know," he said, soothingly, "I'm an impetuous, thoughtless +idiot, I'm afraid, and I hurt you. And, oh, Dorothy! don't you know I'd +rather suffer torments unspeakable than hurt you?" He put out his hand +and touched the one hand of hers that swung beside him, over the edge of +the hammock. "But yet, dear," he went on, "if I only had a word from you +to remember, be it ever so slight, I would fight so much better against +the world. For it is the same to-day as it was in the middle ages; we go +to our crusades, all of us, and if we have a sweetheart who will give us +her love as an armor, we fight the better fight. Our crusades have a +different air, to be sure, but the idea is the same. Don't you know, +Dorothy, that if you only gave, me some little thing to cling to, I +would feel a hundred times stronger. Come, Dorothy, it costs you little +to say it!" + +"But if I say that word, I must live up to it." + +"True; your fair conscience would let you do nothing less. And yet, +there are words so slight that they would cost you scarcely anything, +while to me they would be coats of mail." + +For a time there was silence, both looking out over the street where the +school children were passing homewards. A buggy rattled by, throwing +clouds of dust; then there was quiet again. "If you could say to me, +Dorothy, 'Dick, I won't marry anyone until I see you again, until I +come home again. And I'll try to like you--that way,' why, that would be +enough for me." + +She held up her right hand with a pretty little gesture. "I do solemnly +swear," she said. Then she went on more seriously, "Why, yes, Dick, I'll +promise that. Small chance of my getting married for a few years, +anyway, so I won't have such a very awful time living up to that +promise. Now, do you think, sir, that you're engaged to me?" + +"No, no, dear; not at all. But you've let me hope, haven't you? That's +all I want. You don't know how much happier I'll feel all the time +you're away. How long, by the way, do you think you'll be abroad?" + +"A year, at the least. I want to see it all, you know, when I do get the +chance. Mamma'll want to stay in Carlsbad or Ems, or somewhere all the +time; but I'm going to get her well real soon, you see if I don't, and +then we'll just travel for fun and nothing else. Dick, wouldn't it be +great if you could go along?" + +"It would, for a fact," he assented, "but it's too good to be true. +Besides I'm going to have some fun of my own!" + +"Your work, you mean?" + +"Yes. Isn't it fun to succeed? And I'm going to succeed! The fighting +for success will be fun, and the victory will be fun!" His eyes flashed +with a fierce battle-light. Today this fire of ambition is the only +thing that at all takes the place of the blood fervor that spurred on +the knights of the olden times. "Dorothy," he said, presently, with a +sudden softness in his voice, "will you wish me luck?" + +She gave him, for answer, her right hand, and looked at him wistfully. +She was wondering, perhaps, why it was that she did not love this +lovable boy. "I wish you all the success in the world," she said +quietly. And then, as he turned to go, she called after him, in the old +formula they had used to each other a thousand times as boy and +girl--"Good-bye, Dick. Be good!" + +The love affairs of a boy and a girl, you may think, are hardly the +things that matter very much in the world of today. But the boy and girl +of today are the man and the woman of tomorrow; and between these stages +there is only the little gulf, so easily crossed, wherein runs the river +of knowledge of the world we live in. As soon as we have crossed that we +are become men and women, and are left of our childhood nothing but the +wish that it were ours again. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Although the western windows were open, it was decidedly warm in the +offices of the _Weekly Torch_. The offices were on the tenth floor in +one of the town's best known sky-scrapers--the Aurora. There was a view, +through the windows, of innumerable roofs and streets; here and there +the tower of a railway station or a new hotel protruded--in the words +of A.B. Wooton owner of the _Torch_--"like a sore thumb." Mr. Wooton was +at that moment engaged in the diverting pastime of having his feet +stretched over the side of his desk; and watching the smoke of his +cigarette curl out of the window. Besides his own, there were three +other desks, of the roller-top pattern, in the room, the door of which +was marked "Editorial Rooms," but was rarely, if ever, seen closed. As a +usual thing the outer door to the corridor was, in the summer-time at +least, also left wide open; you could see from the window clear to the +outer door. Indeed, it was one of Wooten's special talents, this ability +of his to see at a glance, from his seat by the window, who it was that +was coming in through the farther door. At one of the other desks a man +was smoking a pipe and shoving a pencil rapidly over sheet of paper. +Presently this man laid his pencil down, took his pipe out of his mouth +and knocked the ashes over into the cuspidor. Then he leaned back in his +chair and inquired, + +"Who was it?" + +"Young fellow from the Art Institute," said Wooten. "Sketches to show; +wants to do illustrating; same old gag. They all come to it. Paint and +fame come altogether too high, and a fellow's got to live. Although, as +the Frenchman remarked, '_Je ne vois pahs la nécessité_.'" The ability to +hideously mispronounce French with a sort of bravado that almost made it +seem correct was one of Wooten's peculiarities. + +The other man gave a mock shudder. "If your morals," he said, "were as +bad as your French, you wouldn't be fit to print. Was his stuff any +good?" + +"Very fair. Got a thing or two to learn about working for reproduction, +as all these art-school men have; but he's got it in him. I told him to +go and see young Belden, on the _Chronicle_, to get a few points about +reproduction. I believe I'll be able to use him. If he's cheap." Wooton +laughed, and threw the stub of his cigarette out of the window. Then he +began throwing the papers on his desk all in a heap and looking into, +under and around them. "Confound the luck," he began; then, turning to +the other man, "Got a cigarette, Van?" + +Van, whose full name was Vanstruther, and whom his intimates called +alternately "Tom" and "Van," threw a box over to the other's desk, +laughing. "I swear," he said, "it's my firm belief that if a man were to +put you in a story and try to draw you with a single stroke he would +only have to say that you spent your life between buying and losing +cigarettes." + +"And matches," added the other calmly. "Got one?" + +"Jupiter! If this thing goes on I'm going to strike for higher rates. +It's not in the contract that I furnish the office with smokes!" + +"No. But the stuff you write, Van, is what drives me to cigarettes. So +you make your own bed, you see. Hallo! Here's alone female to see me! +Wonder who?" + +He got up and went towards the door. "Did you wish to see me?" he +inquired. + +"The editor?" She hesitated a little but he assured her with a slight +nod that she had found her man, and she followed him towards his desk. +She took a seat beside him, and they began conversing in a tone so low +that Vanstruther could only catch a stray word now and again. Presently +she got up. "Very well then," she was saying, "you have my address; if +anything should turn up, you will let me know, won't you?" With a little +rustling of skirts she was gone. Presently they could here her voice +saying "Down!" to the elevator boy. + +"What was her game?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Wanted to contribute poetry as a regular department. You can't fling a +club around a corner anywhere in this town without hitting one of her +kind, nowadays!" + +"Then why didn't you tell her right away you weren't using anything of +that sort?" + +"Why, you infernal idiot, didn't you look at her?" + +"No. Choice?" + +"Very." He put a slip of paper into a pigeon hole, remarking as he did +so, "Filed for future reference." + +From the next room came a gruff voice, "Column of editorial to fill yet, +Mr. Wooton." + +"That foreman of mine's like Banquo's ghost," muttered Wooton, as he +put his pen into the ink and bent down over the desk. For a while there +was only the sound of pen and pencil going over paper, and the click of +the type in the next room. Then there was a heavy step heard in the +passage outside, and presently Wooton muttered: "The Lord's giving us +this day our daily loafers, I see. I wonder why it is," he went on +aloud, as a tall, heavy-set man, with a military mustache and eyeglasses +in front of mild blue eyes, came into the room, "that you fellows always +show up on Friday. Which, being the day we go to press--what's that? +More copy? Oh, all right!" The foreman was taking all the written sheets +from his desk and pleading for more. The new comer was evidently used to +this sort of greeting; he calmly picked a cigarette from the box on +Vanstruther's desk, lit it and sat down on a chair that was drawn up to +the table-where the "exchanges" lay piled in heaps. He finally found +what he had been apparently looking for--a paper with a very gaudy and +risky picture on the front of the cover; he folded it to his +satisfaction and began to look through it. "Say, Van," he began, +presently, "what's this I hear about their going to play the +Ober-Ammergau Passion Play here? Anything in it?" + +Vanstruther was terribly busy. "Haven't heard," was all he said. + +"I heard that it was all fixed," the other went on. "They've even got +the man to play the leading part. Fellow called Tom Vanstruther. They +say he's going to play the part without a makeup, and--" + +"Oh, look here," said Vanstruther, half turning around in his chair, +"you go to the devil, will you?" + +The other man took out a huge cigar-holder, inserted his cigarette and +curled his mustache. "Van's still a little sore about that," he said, +turning to Wooton, who merely nodded his head. There came again the +sound of footsteps in the outer hall, and Wooton, peering forward a +little, broke into a cheery "Hallo, Dante Gabriel Belden, glad to see +you! Come in. By the way, I just sent a young fellow who has your +disease over to see you this morning. Wants to learn the reproduction +rules of the game. See him?" + +"Yes. Had a little talk with him. Clever chap. Tell you about him in a +minute. Hallo, Van, how are the other three hundred and ninety-nine? +Hallo, Stanley, haven't they got you under the vagrancy ordinance yet?" + +The man with the huge mustache and the lengthy cigar-holder shook his +head and said, "Not yet. But I understand they're on the trail. Well, +how is Art, and what are the books you have lately bought, and what is +the latest of your schemes that has died?" + +"Oh, give them to me one at a time. Hang it, Wooton, why do you allow +this man to come up here, anyway, to wear out your furniture and the +patience of us all?" + +"Oh," said Wooton, "he's an amusing animal, and I forgive any man +anything if only he will amuse me." + +"That's beastly bad morals!" said the artist. + +"Morals!" echoed Wooton, with a bland smile, "my dear boy, you want to +take a pill. No; take two! Morals in this day and age; moreover, on the +borders of Bohemia, to talk about morals! Jove, I see myself forced to +seek the solace of the deadly cigarette." He lit one of those slender +rolls of tobacco and paper and went on, "However you haven't answered +Stanley's questions yet. For you must know, Van, that Belden is one of +the most extravagant and insatiable hunters of art books in all this +town. Ever been in his flat? Well, it's a series of rooms, completely +lined with books and pictures, with a very small hole in the middle of +each room. Said hole being usually filled--to use an Irishism--with a +center-table loaded to the guards with art portfolios. I don't believe +there's a book or art store in town that the man doesn't owe large bills +to; and I know, for a fact, that when it comes to be a question between +a new overcoat and a new art book, he always takes the latter. And as +for his schemes--well, I will admit they're all good, but, like the +good, they die young. While they have the merit of exceeding novelty, +they ride him like the plague; but presently a new idol comes and the +old one falls into decay. Tell us, Dante, about the newest scheme!" + +"H'm," replied the artist, "I don't see that you've left me anything to +tell. I've got a new book of Vierge's stuff that you fellows want to +come up and see one of these days; that's about all that I can think +of." + +"Thank you for the pressing invitation," said Wooton. + +"Oh, and about that fellow you sent up to see me," Belden continued, "I +liked his stuff immensely. He needs a little experience and hard luck on +the practical side of getting his stuff made into cuts, and he'll be all +right. The fact is, Wooton, seeing you like the fellow's sketches fairly +well, and I'm rushed to death with other work, I've thought of turning +my work for the Torch over to him. Would you object?" + +"Not a bit, provided he does it as well; and he won't have to get much +of a move on to do that. And then they're cheaper when they're green!" + +Belden groaned. "You're the most awful specimen of materialism I ever +hope to run up against. Then you don't object to this fellow--what's his +name again, Lancaster, isn't it?--doing your sketches? All right, I'll +train him a bit for you. And then I guess it would be a good scheme for +him to have a desk here in your office somewhere, so that he can have a +workshop and be right at hand for you. It isn't as if he had a studio of +his own." + +"That'll be all right; we've got plenty of room. But while you're +training him, old man, I hope you won't inoculate him with that +villainous style of dressing you adopt at the end of your pen. You're +very hot people on everything that's got to be done in a hurry, and +you're great on fine work of the etching order, but when it comes to +making people look like the men and women one would care to be seen +with, you're simply not in this county, that's all there is about it. +I've always claimed, you know," he went on, turning a little so that he +faced Vanstruther and Stanley, "that the great fault common to all the +black-and-white artists in this town was that they couldn't define the +difference between a gentleman and a hoodlum. They talk to me about +technique, and drawing, and all the rest of it, none of which, I will +admit, I know a mortal thing about; but all I answer is that I'm going +from the point of view of the man who doesn't know how the drawing is +made, but who does know how it looks when it's finished. The people of +today look at nearly everything for it's merely superficial aspect; and +the finer people look to our artists to display taste in clothing their +pictorial creatures. If you only dress your people well, they'll want +your drawings so that they can get fashion pointers from them. +Now-a-days an illustrator has got to be more than a mere manipulator of +pen and ink; he has got to keep an eye on the fashions, and even a +little ahead of them. At least, that's what the man I'm looking for +should be." + +Stanley muttered, around the edges of his mustache, so that only +Vanstruther could hear, "Yes; and he'd want to pay him as much as ten +dollars a week!" + +Belden laughed, and got up. "Why don't you put all that into a lecture, +Wooton, and give the fellows over at the Institute a glimpse of this +higher knowledge of yours. However, I've got to be going. I'll send that +man Lancaster over here in a day or so. Goodbye, people!" + +"There's one of the cleverest fellows with a pen in this town," said +Wooten, as soon as the artist's footsteps had died away down the +corridor, "but he's utterly spoiled himself by the work he's been doing +of late years. He's a very fast worker, and one of the best men a daily +paper ever got hold of. Then, too, I've seen copy-work of his--that is, +from photographs or paintings--done in pen-and-ink, that had all the +fine detail and effect of an etching. But, for the sake of the money +there is in it, he does blood and thunder illustrations for a paper of +that sort. After a man has done that sort of thing for a year or two, it +gets into his style. I don't believe he'll ever be able to do anything +else, now. Of course, he'll aways make good money, because his speed and +capacity for work are simply invaluable; but art, as far as he is +concerned, must be weeping large salty tears." + +"This picture of you, A.B. Wooton, pleading the cause of art," remarked +Stanley, "is one of the most affecting I have ever beheld. It really +makes me feel--hungry." + +"Your invitation, sir," said Wooton, walking over toward the closet and +getting his hat, "is cordially accepted. Come on, Van; we are invited to +lunch by the Honorable Mr. Stanley, exchange reader to the _Torch_. +Never linger in a case like this!" + +"For consummate nerve," Stanley suggested, "you really take the medal, +A.B. However, seeing I made a little borrow from the old lady yesterday, +I will go you one lunch on the strength of it. But I do hope you men had +late breakfasts." + +Just before they were ready to pass out, Tony, the office boy came in. +"Say," he said to Wooton, in a low tone, "you remember that letter I +took to the house day before yesterday? Well, does the quarter walk +to-day?" + +"Which," Wooton explained, as he handed the boy a quarter, "is Tony's +peculiar way of inquiring whether he is going to get that twenty-five +cents or not." Tony grinned and went back to his desk were he was busy +addressing wrappers. + +When the three men came back from lunch, they found a young man, holding +a black leather case in his hand, such as bank messengers carry, sitting +patiently in a chair in the outer office. He got up when they entered, +and handed Wooton a paper. Wooton took it to the light, read it slowly, +and handed it back. "Tell him to send that around again on the tenth, +will you." Then he walked into the composing room and began talking to +the foreman. The collector put the slip of paper back into his portfolio +and went out. + +"Van," said Wooton, as they sat down at his desk, presently, "I wish +you'd try and hurry that stuff of yours along a little, will you? I've +got to go to a tea at Mrs. Stewart's at four, and the ghost tells me +that your page is half a column shy yet." + +Vanstruther nodded silently, while Stanley inquired, "Excuse my +ignorance Mr. Wooten, but who is Mrs. Stewart?" + +"What? You don't know the great and only Annie McCallum Stewart? Oh, +misericordia, can such things be?" + +"They are." + +"Well, Mrs. Stewart is a remarkably clever woman. One of the cleverest +women our society affords, in fact. She is the daughter of one of the +town's best known and most popular doctors, and everyone in society knew +her so well when she was only Annie McCallum that now, when she is +married to Stewart, one still uses her old name as well as her new one. +That's all the result of individuality. She has read a great deal, and +kept her eyes open a great deal. She has a husband who is ridiculously +fond of her, and otherwise as blind as a bat. She, on the other hand, +has a mania for young men. Whenever you see her with a young man of any +sort of looks, somebody will tell you that Annie McCallum Stewart has +got a new youth in the net. She likes to lure them up into her 'den,' as +she calls it, and talk to them about the higher life. Then they fall in +love with her and she forgives them and elaborates upon the beauties of +pure Platonism. In a word, Stanley, she's one of the most perfect forms +of the mental flirt I ever come across." + +"H'm. Is your tea today to be in duet form, or is it a general +scramble?" + +"Oh, it's a general all-comers' game. But I always like to go to that +house; she interests me immensely. I'm always wondering how near she +really can skate to the edge without breaking over." + +"Yes," acquiesced the other, reflectively, "that is an interesting +speculation. Hallo, here's another friend of yours!" + +The new-comer laid an envelope on Wooton's desk and waited. The latter +opened it hastily, and then said, "I sent that down by this morning's +mail." + +The man had hardly gone before Stanley laid down the paper he had been +paging through and said, looking steadily at Wooton, "Jupiter, but you +do that easily! If I could do that only half as well I'd count myself as +free from debts for the rest of my life. It's my solemn belief that you +can tell a collector from an ordinary mortal as soon as he steps inside +the door. I've heard you tell a man, who had only just turned inside the +outer office, that you were 'going to send that down in the morning,' +and I've seen you look the enemy calmly in the face and tell him that +you had fixed that up with his employer about an hour ago. And you do it +as easily as if you were lighting a cigarette. Another man might get +embarrassed, and hesitate, or feel guilty! But you! Not in a hundred +years! You never quail worth a cent. It's positive genius, my boy, +positive genius!" + +"No; it's only business, that's all." + +"H'm, by the way, speaking of business, aren't you running the game a +trifle extravagantly here? I don't want to mix in, of course, but is the +thing paying so well as--" + +The other interrupted him. "My dear fellow," he said, "it's evident you +haven't any idea how well this thing is paying. Why, man, look at me! Do +I economise much? No. Well, I don't have to, that's why! But come on and +let's saunter down street. Van's finished, and they've got all the copy +they want, and I expect there are a few pretty girls out today. Let's go +and take a glimpse at the parade on the Avenue. And then I'll go down to +that tea." + +There were several callers at the office after they had left; some +bill-collectors, a society man who left the announcement for some +forthcoming dances; a boy to buy ten copies of last week's paper; a +printer looking for work; and the mail-carrier. Towards six o'clock the +foreman and the compositors left; then Tony, the office-boy, shut up his +desk, and went out, locking the door behind him. The Weekly Torch had +gone to rest for the day. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In the very air and life that prevailed in the office of the _Torch_ +there was, as one may suppose, something strange, and at first repugnant +to Dick Lancaster. To one of his bringing up, his earnest intentions, +his thirst for real things, it seemed that all this was very like a +gaudy sham, a bubble of pretense, of surface prattle. He could scarcely +believe that the flippancy of these men was serious with them; their +talk, their point of view astonished and horrified him. If they were to +be believed, life was nothing but a skimming of more or less uneven +surfaces; the only thing to be tried for was pleasure, and there was no +moral line at all. And then again he rebuked himself for being, perhaps, +a homesick young idiot, overgiven to morbid speculation. That was not +what he had come to town for; he was going to do some good work and make +a name and fame for himself. + +He had found, very early in his career, that in order to get upon the +first steps of the ladder he must become an illustrator. If he had had +the means that would have enabled him to wait through studio-work, a +trip to Paris, and the dreary years ere orders came from dealers, he +would have clung to paint at any risk; but he saw himself forced to earn +some bread-and-butter even while he waited for his dreams to come true. +So, with some slight reluctance at first, to be sure, but afterwards +with all his energy, he applied himself to pen and ink work. In course +of time, as we have seen, he became the staff-artist of the Torch, He +was making a very fair living for so young a man, and he made a great +many acquaintances. And life every day showed him a new aspect. + +One of the men he had so far taken the greatest liking to was Belden, +the artist, who had, to all intents and purposes, put him into his +present position with the _Torch_, Belden, whose name was Daniel Grant +Belden, but whom his friends chaffingly called, on account of the +similarity of the initials, Dante Gabriel, was one of the most +happy-go-lucky individuals that ever breathed. His mania for art books +kept him more or less hard-up; yet he undoubtedly had one of the finest +collections, in that sort, in town. He got orders for work from a +publisher; he took the manuscript that he was to illustrate home with +him; he kept it three weeks; then, without having read it, he returned +it saying he was too busy to attempt the commission. And if ever there +was one in this present day of ours, he was a Bohemian. The peculiar +part of it was that in addition to being a Bohemian by instinct, he was +one by intention. He read Henri Murger with avidity, and thought of him +always. On the street he was a curious object; his overcoat was a trifle +shiny, and his hat was always an old, or at least, a misused one; his +trousers were too tight at the knees; his boots rarely polished. He +usually walked with a long, quick stride; and a long, peculiar cigar, of +the sort the Wheeling people call "stogy," was almost always in his +mouth. You rarely saw him on the Elevated except with an armful of books +and papers. He would come home at one in the morning and sit down at his +wide drawing table and work until dawn. Then, with not much more than +his coat hastily thrown off, he would fling himself on the couch and be +fast asleep in an instant. Often, too, he would go fast to sleep while +his pen was traveling over the paper; in ten minutes, or sometimes half +an hour, he would wake up and continue the stroke that had been +interrupted; his pen would have not spilled a single drop. He did all +his own cooking, and marvelous were the meals that resulted. He liked +nothing better than to fill his rooms with a number of choice, congenial +souls. They would talk art-shop for hours, or listen to music; he knew a +great many clever young fellows who were gifted in playing the piano, +the flute or the violin; and while his own musical tastes were barbaric, +and called, chiefly, for the spirited rendition of darky-minstrelsies, +he gave the rest of his company the freedom of their choice, also, and +sat patiently through the most beautiful of operatic strains. Sunday was +the day singled out more especially for those pleasant little "evenings" +at Belden's flat. + +Dick Lancaster had been asked up to these evenings a great many times +before he ever went. For long, he could not make up his mind to it; in +spite of all the thousand and one laxities that he saw in the daily life +around him, to devote oneself to anything in the nature of sheer +pleasure, on Sunday, still seemed to him a decided mis-step. + +But one day, toward the beginning of winter, Belden, who had been in to +call on his young protégée at the _Torch_ office, said to him, + +"Look here, Dick, why don't you come up some Sunday evening and join our +gang? Goodness, you can't afford to be as straight-laced as all that, in +this town. Besides, we don't do anything that's against the law and the +prophets, you know. We talk a little shop, and some man reads something, +perhaps, and Stanley plays a thing or two on the violin. Then we go out +and help ourselves to whatever I may happen to have in the larder. And +then you go home, or you bunk up there, and where's the harm done? Look +at it sensibly, my boy; we are all slaves in the same bondage, in this +town, and Sunday is our one off-day; you don't mean to say we're +heathens and creatures of the devil if we seek the sweetest rest we can +on that day? To some men, rest means church; to me and most of the men +you know, it means relaxation, and relaxation means recreation. The +others get their music in church, I get mine at home. Now, Dick, say +you'll come up next Sunday." + +And Dick, looking at Belden as if to make out whether that artist were +an emissary of the Evil One or merely a man of the present day, coughed +a little, and then said, rather sheepishly, "Very well, I'll come--to +please you, Belden." He felt, the next minute, as if he had slipped and +fallen; he grew a little faint; he thought he could hear the sound of +the church bells as they used to come singing over the meadows in +Lincolnville; he saw himself and his mother sitting side by side in the +old pew, listening to the pleasant voice of Mr. Fairly droning out his +prayer; then he shook himself together and blushed at his fancies. +Belden had gone already, but Dick felt as if he would run after him and +tell him, "No, no, I cannot, must not come!" He ran to the door; the +corridor was empty; Belden was half way down the next block by this +time. Then he solaced himself with the thought, "Surely it can be no +great harm after all--besides, I have promised!" + +He bent down over the drawing-board once more, but he could no longer +chain his thoughts to the work before him. They flew round and round in +a curious circling way about this new life that he had become a part of. +It was, he was forced to admit to himself, not as beautiful a thing as +he had expected; but it was certainly novel, and it interested him +immensely, it kept his curiosity excited, it touched his senses. As he +began to consider that quiet country village that he had left, out +yonder on the plains, and this busy beehive of a metropolis, he came, +also, to consider the men he was beginning to know. He leaned back in +the chair, smiling a little. The office was nearly empty at this time; +it was during the noon hour, and Dick was alone in the outer office. He +passed over, in his thoughts, the men that he was thrown with in the +_Torch_ office. There was Wooton himself: tall, thin, with a face that +was all profile--a wonderfully pure profile--with a mouth almost too +small for a man, a nose that bent a little like those of the Cæsars. +Dick did not know, yet, what to make of Wooton. The man had a wonderful +charm; he could talk most entertainingly, most logically and he had some +curiously interesting theories. There was a sort of _laisser-aller_ +negligence in his manner; his manners were admirable, and there was some +occult fascination about him that one could scarcely define. As Dick +considered him, he remembered that on several occasions, he had listened +to Wooton's dissertations on subjects that otherwise would have offended +him, merely because the man's charm of person and speech were so +alluring. As to whether it was genuine or a mere veneer, well, how could +one tell as soon as this? Time, which tells so many things, would +doubtless tell that too. + +Then Vanstruther! He had a blonde beard that came to a point, and he +always wore glasses. For the rest, Dick knew but little of him save what +he had heard. Vanstruther "did" the more important of the society events +for the _Torch_, and himself moved and had his nightly being in the +smartest circles in town. The peculiar part of it was that he was +married, and had several children; barring the hour or so a day that he +spent in the office of the _Torch_ he was the most devoted husband and +father in the world, and spent the most of his day at home, where in his +little study-room he sat in front of a typewriter stand and +manufactured at lightning speed--what do you suppose?--dime novels. This +was, among the man's intimates, a more or less open secret; but to the +world at large, and particularly the world of society, he was known +merely as a delightful person, socially, and something of a flaneur, +intellectually. + +As for Stanley--the man's full name was Laurence Stanley--Dick had +somehow taken a dislike to him. He knew little of him except that he was +a professional do-nothing, who lived off his wife's money, speculated +occasionally, and appeared a great deal in society. No one ever saw his +wife, who was an invalid. He talked with inveterate cynicism; it was +this that made him repugnant to young Lancaster. He had a sneer and a +cigarette always with him, and Dick hated both. + +The tip-tapping of a light foot-step over the oil-cloth brought Dick +back from the land of day-dreams. It was rather a pretty woman that +stood before him, and she was gowned in a manner that even with his +inexperience he knew to be distinctly up-to-date, and that he certainly +admitted as attractive from an artistic standpoint. She looked past him +into the inner office, lifted her eyebrows a trifle and inquired: "Is +Mr. Wooton not in?" + +"Not just now," responded Dick, getting up, "but he will be back in a +very little while. If you would care to wait--" He took hold of the back +of a revolving chair that stood close by. + +"No," she declared, "I only had a minute. Will you tell him Mrs. Stewart +was up? Or, stay; I'll write him a line." + +Dick gave her some letterheads, and pen and ink; she sat down at his +desk and began writing, with a good deal of scratching and scraping. +"There," she said when she had addressed the envelope, "If you will +please give him that as soon as he comes in. Thank you. Do you do this?" +She pointed with one gloved finger to the drawing he had been busy on. +He bowed silently. She looked at him with a quick, comprehensive glance, +smiled a trifle, and swept out of the door. + +"So that is Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart!" was Dick's first mental +exclamation, "well, she's certainly not an ordinary woman. Wonder if +I'll ever get to know her?" + +With which speculation he turned to his work. When Wooton returned, and +had read the note, he broke into a low chuckle, "That's like her! Just +like her. What do you suppose she says?" + +Dick was the only other person in the outer office, so he was forced to +take the question as addressed to himself. "I have no idea," he +declared. + +"She says she is getting awfully tired of her present lot of young men, +and wants me, for goodness sake, to bring down some one different, and +bring him soon. She says she is tired to death of the man who has lived +and seen and heard everything, and she is dying for a man who is as like +Pierrot as two peas!" Wooton tore the letter up mechanically, and put +the pieces into the waste-basket. "Well," he went on, "I wish I could--" +he stopped and looked at Dick, breaking out the next instant into a +broad grin, "Jupiter!" he added, "you're just the man! Do you want to +join the noble army of martyrs in ordinary to the extraordinary Annie? +She'll do you lots of good; she'll be a pocket education in the +philosophy of today, and she'll put you through all manner of +interesting paces. Seriously, she's a woman who can do a man a lot of +good, socially. And society never does a man much harm; it broadens him, +and gives him finish. Now, you're just the sort of youth she'll like +immensely; and yet she'll soon find out that you've heard about her and +her ways. Never mind; she won't like you any the worse for that; she's +too much a woman of the world. What do you think? The next time I go +down to tea at her house I'll take you along, eh? All you've got to do +is to be clever and amusing and different to the others; Mrs. Stewart is +like the rest of society in that she demands something of the people she +takes up, but she doesn't demand such impossibilities. I'll write and +tell her I've got the very man!" He went on into the inner office, +before Dick had time to say anything in reply. And, to tell the truth, +the idea rather interested him. He had seen her, and had felt interested +in her; he had heard so much about her; and now he was going to meet +her! As to being clever and amusing, he thought he was likely to fail +miserably; but he might, unconsciously perhaps, succeed in being what +Wooten called "different." + +Just then Wooton gave a sudden exclamation. "This is Wednesday, isn't +it? Well, that is her afternoon. You'd better shut up your desk for +today; go up to your rooms and get an artistic twirl or two to your +locks, and then come down to the smoking-room of the Cosmopolitan Club +about quarter to four; I'll be there waiting for you. Then we'll go on +down to Mrs. Stewart's together." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The days were getting very short now, and darkness was already hovering +over the town as Dick passed through the portals of the Cosmopolitan. +When they came out together, Wooton and he, it seemed to Dick that the +town was in one of its most characteristic tempers. It was in the +beginning of winter; the air was a little damp, and smoke hung in it so +that it begrimed in an incredibly short space of time. The buildings, in +the twilight that was half of the day's natural dusk and half the +murkiness of the smoke, loomed against the hardly denned sky like some +towering, threatening genii. The electric lights were beginning to peer +through the gloom. The sidewalks were alive with a never-tiring throng, +men and women jostling each other, never stopping to apologize; all +intent not so much on the present as on something that was always just +a little ahead. This, the onlooker mused, was what it meant to "get +ahead," a blind physical rush in the dark, a callous indifference to +others, a selfish brutality, a putting into effect the doctrine of the +survival of the fittest. The streets clanged with the roll of wheels; +carriages with monograms on the panels rolled by with clatter of chains +and much spattering of mud; huge drays drawn by four, and sometimes +six-horse teams, and blazening to the world the name of some mercantile +genius whom soap or pork had enriched, thundered heavily over the +granite blocks; the roar and underground buzz of the cable mingled with +the deafening ringing of the bell that announced the approach of the +cable trains; overhead was the thunderous noise of the Elevated. It was +all like a huge cauldron of noise and dangers. Dick declared to himself +that it was the modern Inferno. And yet, as he passed toward the station +of the Elevated with Wooton, Dick began to understand something of the +fascination that the place, even in its most noisome aspects, was able +to exert. In the very rush and roar, in the ceaseless hum and murmur and +groaning, there was epitomized the eager fever of life, its joys and its +pains. Here, after all, was life. And it was life that Dick had come to +taste. + +There was a quick ride on the Elevated, Dick catching various glimpses +of unsightly buildings that showed their undress uniform, of dim-lit +back rooms where one caught hints of dismal poverty, of roofs that +seemed to shudder under the banner of dirty clothes fluttering in the +breeze. The town seemed, from this view, like the slattern who is all +radiant at night, at the ball, but who, next morning, is an unkempt, +untidy hag. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart rose rather languidly as they were +announced. Dick noticed that in some mysterious way she managed to give +a peculiar grace to almost her every movement; there was something of a +tigress in the way she walked. She gave her hand to Wooton--"Delightful +of you to come so soon," she murmured. + +"One of the things I live for, my dear Mrs. Stewart," said Wooton, "is +to surprise people. Knew you didn't expect me, so I came. Brought a dear +friend of mine, Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Lancaster. Want you to like him." + +"My only prejudice against you, Mr. Lancaster," was Mrs. Stewart's +smiling reply, "is that you come under Mr. Wooton's protection. I +pretend I'm immensely fond of him, but I'm not; I'm only afraid of him; +he's too clever." And, still laughing at Wooton in such a way as to show +the exquisite perfection of her teeth, she presented young Lancaster to +several of the others who were sitting about the room, chatting and +sipping tea. He had a vague idea of several stiff young men bowing to +him, of an equal number of splendidly appareled, but unhandsome girls, +looking at him with supercilious nods, and of hearing names that faded +as easily as they touched him. He found himself, presently, sitting on +a low divan, opposite to a girl with dreamy blue eyes behind pince-nez +eyeglasses. He hadn't caught her name; he knew no more of her tastes, of +the things she was likely to converse about than did the Man in the +Moon. But he instinctively opined that it was necessary to seem rather +than to be, to skim rather than to dive. + +"I've been 'round the circle," he said, trying a smile, "and I'm +delivered up to you. I hope you'll treat me well." + +The girl with the blue eyes looked at him a moment in silence. Then she +said, abruptly: "This is the first time that you've been down here, +isn't it? I knew it! Well, these things are not bad--when you get used +to them. Now, you're not used to them. Confess, are you?" + +Dick shook his head. "I am innocent as a lamb," he said, with mock +apology. + +The girl went on: "Well, that may do as a novelty. Annie's great on new +blood, you know. Shouldn't wonder if she took you up. How are you on +theosophy?" + +Dick stared. What sort of a torrent of curiosity was this that was +gushing forth from this peculiar creature? "To tell you the truth," he +hazarded, "I am not 'on' at all." + +She smiled. "Ah, that's bad. However, I dare say there's something else. +Now, how are you on art?" + +"I know a little something." He smiled to himself, wondering how much of +the actual practical knowledge of art there was in all that room, +outside of what he himself possessed. + +"Ah, a little something. Well, that's all that's needed, nowadays. The +great point is to know 'a little something' about everything. To know +anything thoroughly is to be a bore. A man of that sort is always +didactic on the one subject he is familiar with, and absolutely stupid +on all other things. However, what's the use of considering those +people? They're quite impossible." She began tapping the carpet with her +slipper. "Speaking of impossible people," she went on, "there's Mrs. +Tremont. Over there with the grey waist. Intellectually, she's +impossible; socially she is the possible in essence. She was a Miss +Alexander, of Virginia; then she married Tremont, and lived in Boston +long enough to get Boston superciliousness added to the natural +haughtiness given to her in her birth. She talks pedigree, and dreams of +precedence. She goes everywhere, and I fancy she thinks that when she +hands St. Peter her card that personage will bow in deference and +announce her name in particularly awestruck tones. The girl who is +talking to the tall man with the military mustache is Miss Tremont. She +is her mother, plus the world and the devil." + +Dick interrupted her, as she paused to sip her tea. "Yes," he said, "and +now tell me who you are?" + +She, lifted her eyebrows a trifle. "You have audacity," she said, "and I +begin to think you are clever. Audacity is successful only when one is +clever. When one is stupid, audacity is a crime. Who am I? Well--" she +smiled again at the thought of his assurance. "Why not ask my enemies? +But you don't know who is my enemy, who is my friend. Well, I am the +Philistine in this circle of the elect. I'm a cousin of Mrs. Stewart's, +and I come because I am fond of being amused. She herself amuses me +most. She seems to be so tremendously in earnest, and she's so +unfathomably insincere. She hates me, you know, because I didn't marry +John Stewart when he proposed to me. Then, I never did anything, or had +a fad, or was eccentric, so I don't really belong here; but, as I said +before, the house amuses me, and I come. I don't know why I tell you +this, but I don't care very much, and besides, I believe you're still +genuine. It's so pathetic to be genuine; it reminds me of a baby +rabbit--blind eyes and fuzz. I'm not sure, but it's my idea, that if you +want to keep Mrs. Stewart's good graces you'll have to do nothing harder +than stay genuine. It's so novel. Most of us, today, couldn't be genuine +again any more than we could be born again. Ah, here's my dear cousin +approaching. I suppose she comes to rescue you from my clutches. If you +want to please her immensely, tell her I bored you to death. She'll have +the thought for desert all week." + +Mrs. Stewart sailed toward them with a queenly sweep that was decidedly +imposing. She had decided to have a chat with young Lancaster. When she +had seen him in the office of the _Torch_, and now, when he first +entered the room, she had seen at a glance that he was handsome enough +not to need cleverness; but she was curious to see whether he would +interest her in other than visual ways. "You've been most fortunate," +she said to Dick, as she reached them, "with Miss Leigh to interpret us +for you. Has she told you, I wonder, that she is my favorite cousin? But +now, I want to talk to you about art. If Miss Leigh will surrender you +to me--?" + +"I've been talking to Mr. Wooton about you," she said as she bore him +away in triumph, "and he tells me you've only been in town for a few +weeks. You still have vivid impressions, I suppose. When one has lived +here for years and years, one's impressionability gets hardened. It +takes something very forcible to really rouse us. And even then we +prefer to let some one of us experience the sensation; it is so much +easier to take another's word for it, and follow in the rut. That is how +most of our present day fads come about. Some one gets pierced between +the casings of the armour of indifference, and the rest of us take the +cue and join in the chorus of ecstasy. We don't go to hear Patti or +Paderewski, you know, because, we really feel their art deeply; it is +because someone once felt it and it became the fashion." While she +talked, she had led him into a window-nook and motioned him to a +fauteuil that covered the crescent-shaped niche. As she sat down, the +lines of her figure could be traced through the perfect fit of her gown. +He noticed what finish, what art there was about the picture she made as +she sat there, beside him. Her gown was a delicate shade of gray; the +crepe seemed to love her as a vine loves a tree, so closely did it +follow and cling to the lines of her hips, her waist, her shoulders. +Over her sleeves, immensely wide, as the fashion of the time decreed, +fell lapels of silk. She had on low shoes, and above them he could see +the neat contour of her ankles, also clad in gray. "However," she went +on, "I did not intend to talk of the fashion; I wanted to ask you how +the town struck your artistic side. Don't you find as great pictures in +a street full of life as in a valley full of shadow? Isn't there more of +the history of today in the faces of the people you meet on the Avenue +than in a stretch of blue sky, a white sail, and a background of +Venice?" + +"I see you're something of a realist?" + +"Don't! Please don't! That word gets on my nerves. I suppose my amiable +cousin, Miss Leigh, told you we were all blue-stockings, and +dilettantes. I assure you we've got beyond the Realism _versus_ Romance +stage of disputation. Really, you don't know how you disappointed me +with that question. Mr. Wooton told me you were original!" + +Dick flushed a little. "He also told me," he retorted, "that you were +extraordinary. I begin to believe him." His tone had a suspicion of +pique in it. But Mrs. Stewart beamed. + +"Ah," she said, "I like you when you look like that. That's--h'm, now +what is that?--anger, I suppose? It's really so long since I had a real +emotion that I don't know how it's done. Do you know, I think you and I +are going to be great friends! Yes, I feel I'm going to like you +immensely. Won't you try to like me?" She leaned over toward him, and +his shy young eyes caught the faint flutter of lace on her breast with +something of dim bewilderment. Her lips were parted, and her teeth shone +like twin rows of pearls. She went on, before he had time to do more +than begin a stammer of embarassment, "Yes, just as long as you stay +real, and genuine, I want you to come and see me very often; as often as +you possibly can. I imagine that talking to you is going to be like +dipping in the fountain of youth. Tell me, you people out there in the +country, how do you keep so young?" + +"Ask me that, Mrs. Stewart, when I have found out how it is that you in +town lose your youth so soon." + +"True. You will be the better judge. But you never told me how it +strikes the artist in you, this town of ours." + +"I haven't had time to think yet how it strikes me. I'm busy finding out +all about it. Just at present it's all like the genius that came from +the fisherman's vessel in the Arabian Nights: it is a huge coil of +smoke that stifles me with its might and its thickness. I know there are +wonderful color-effects all about me, but my nerves are still so eager +for the mere taste of it all that I can't digest anything. Besides--" he +stopped and sighed a little--"I must not begin to think of paint for +years. I'm a mere apprentice. I just scratch and rub, and scratch and +rub, as a brother artist puts it." + +"But one sees some very pretty effects in black-and-white. Look at +_Life_, for instance--" + +"No, Mrs. Stewart, if you would be loyal to me, don't look at the +aforesaid 'loathsome contemporary,' as they say out West." It was Wooton +who had approached, and interrupted Mrs. Stewart with an easy +nonchalance that, in almost any other man, would have been an +unpardonable rudeness. He threw himself on a chair and continued: "Mrs. +Stewart, you have wounded me sorely. I bring you a disciple and what do +you do? You buttonhole him, as it were, and preach treason to him. For, +you must confess, that to tell people to look at _Life_ when they might +be looking at--h'm--another periodical, whose name I reverence too +highly to mention before a traitoress, is High Treason." + +For reply, Mrs. Stewart tapped Wooton lightly on the lips with a large +ivory paper-cutter that she had been toying with. "As I was saying, when +rudely interrupted, look at--" + +"My dear Mrs. Stewart, why this feverish desire to look at life? I ask +you both, is life pretty? Remember M. Zola and Mr. Howells. They are +supposed to give us life, are they not? Well, the one flushes a sewer, +and the other hands us weak tea. I prefer not to contemplate life. I am +obliged to read the morning papers because it is become necessary to +know today the unpleasantness that happened yesterday. But otherwise I +assure you that life--" + +This time, Mrs. Stewart tapped him quite smartly with the paper-cutter. + +"You know very well that puns have been out of fashion for more years +than you have been of age. We were talking about art, and incidentally +about a paper that encourages art, and you begin a dissertation on life! +What do you mean?" + +Wooton mockingly stifled an effort to yawn. "As if I ever, by the +vaguest chance, meant anything! I hate to be asked what I mean. If I +knew, I would probably not tell, and if I do not know why should I lie? +The safest course in this world is never to mean anything and to say +everything. If I had my life to live over again--" + +Mrs. Stewart looked at him with a shudder, lifting her shoulders, while +her mouth showed a smile. "Why speak of anything so unpleasant?" + +"Ah, had you there, Wooton, eh!" It was Vanstruther, who had strolled +over to pay his respects to Mrs. Stewart. She held out a hand; he +pressed it lightly. He nodded to Lancaster, and then looked through the +half-drawn portiers to where in the black-and-gold drawing-room the +others were sitting and standing in colorful groups. Someone was at the +piano playing a mazurka of Chopin's. There was a faint click of cups +touching saucers; the high notes of the women and the low drawl of the +men. Vanstruther looked at them all slowly, and then turned to Mrs. +Stewart again. "All in?" he inquired. + +Mrs. Stewart nodded and smiled. + +"I've not been at your house for so long," Vanstruther continued, "that +I'm a little out of the running. Several people here that are new to me. +Now, that girl in black?" + +"Talking to young Hexam? That's Madge Winters. You remember young +Winters who was runner-up in the tennis tournament last season?--sister +of his. She's just back from Japan. Has some idea of doing a sort of +Edmund Russell gospel of the beautiful _a la_ Japan course of readings. +Her brother amused me once and I'm going to do what I can for her. Now, +who else is there? Let me see: I don't think you ever met Miss Farcreigh +before--she's talking to the man at the piano. Delightful girl--her +father's the big Standard Oil man, you know--and collects china. Sings a +little, too. But chiefly I like her because she's pretty and a great +catch. There's a German prince madly in love with her, but her father +objects to him because his majesty never did a stroke of work in his +life. I believe you know all the others." + +"Thank you, yes." Vanstruther turned to Dick and said to him, with a +smile at Mrs. Stewart, "You may find eccentric people here, Lancaster, +but you will never find unpleasant ones." + +"That's where Mrs. Stewart makes the inevitable mistake," drawled +Wooton. "There should be one or two unpleasant ones, merely for the sake +of the others. If it were not for the unpleasant people in the world, it +would hardly be worth while being the other kind." + +"You're as unpleasant as need be," was Mrs. Stewart's reply. + +"Delighted!" murmured Wooton. "To have done a duty is always a delight. +I have done several. I have brought you a new disciple, I have leavened +your heaven with intrusion of myself, and now--now I must really go. My +virtues are still like incense in my nostrils. Allow me to waft myself +gently away before they grow rank and stale." + +Dick rose at the same moment. "Oh," Wooton said to him, "you're not +obliged to go yet. Stay and let Mrs. Stewart enchant you with the nectar +of proximity! I've got to be down at the Midwinter dance tonight, so I +must be off now." + +But Dick, in spite of the other's protestations, insisted that he must +really go also. He assured Mrs. Stewart that lie had enjoyed himself +immensely, promised to come soon and often, and was presently whirling +down-town again with Wooton. The latter had bought an evening paper and +was carefully perusing the sporting columns. Dick closed his eyes, +trying to recall the picture he had just left: the dim-lit +drawing-room, with its well-dressed, graceful people; Mrs. Stewart's +fascinating voice and figure; the flippant frivolity of all their +discourse; the useless sham of all their isms and fads; the clever ease +with which everything seemed to be taken for granted, and nothing was +ever truly analyzed--how like a phantasmagoria of repellant things it +all was, and yet how fascinating! Everyone appeared to know everything; +no surprise was ever expressed; no emotion was ever visible. It was +fully expected that everyone was possessed of no real aim in life save +the riding of a hobby; it was agreed that to appear ignorant of anything +was to be vulgar. And yet, in that circle, Dick was hailed as "so +delightfully genuine," and was told that he would stand high at court as +long as he remained so! Surely these were strange days, and stranger +ways! That phrase of Mrs. Stewart's about young Winters grated harshly, +too--"He amused me once!" + +Was life merely an effort at being forever amused? + +Almost, it seemed so. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The room was dim with smoke. Through the faint veil that curled +incessantly toward the ceiling the pictures on the wall took on a misty +haze that heightened rather than spoilt their effect. It was not a large +room, but the walls were covered with pictures of every sort. It was +impossible to escape observing the artistic carelessness that had +prevailed in the arrangement of the furniture. Bookcases lined the lower +portion of each wall; then came pictures. There was an original by Blum; +a marvelously executed facsimile of a black-and-white by Abbey; a +Vierge, and a Myrbach. Not the least remarkable Mature of these +ornaments was the manner of their framing, A Parisienne, by Jules +Cheret, for instance, all skirts and chic, looked as if she had just +burst through the confines of a prison-wall of a daily paper. The +carelessly serrated edges, then the white matting, and the brown frame +gave a whole that was worth looking at twice. An etching--one of +Beardsley's fantasies--was framed all in black; it was more effective +than the original. + +Over the mantel were scattered photographs of stage divinities in +profusion. Many of them had autographs scrawled across the face of the +picture. In a niche in the wall a human skull, with a clay pipe stuck +jauntily between the teeth, looked out over the smoke. + +From the next room, beyond the open portieres, came the sound of a +violin and a piano. + +The air of Mascagni's "Intermezzo" died away, and for it was substituted +a slow dirge-like melody. Belden, in the front room, broke out into an +explosive, "Ah, that's the stuff! Everybody sing: 'For they're hangin' +Danny Deever in the mohn-nin'.'" The wail of that solemn ballad went +echoing through the house, all the men present joining in. Belden, who +had been lying at full length on the floor, explaining the beauties of a +charcoal drawing by Menzel to a group of three other artists--Marsboro, +of the _Telegraph_, Evans, of the _Standard_, and a younger man, +Stevely, who was still going to the Art School--had jumped to his feet +and was slowly waving a pencil in mock leadership of a chorus. +Vanstruther, who was stealing an evening from society for Bohemia's +sake, was far back in a huge rocking chair; a fantastic work by Octave +Uzanne on his knee, and his legs stretched out over the center table; he +now held his pipe in his hand and hummed the refrain in a deep bass. + +"Go on," urged Belden, as the last notes moaned themselves away in the +smoke, "go on, give us something else!" But Stanley laid his violin down +on a bookcase and declared that his arm was tired. + +Vanstruther pulled at his pipe again, until he was sure he still had +fire. Then he declared, oracularly, "Stanley, you look tremendously +religious tonight. Been jilted? + +"No, shaved. You confirm an impression I have that a man never feels so +religious as when he has just been shaved. I assure you that in this way +I could really read one of your 'shockers,' Van, and feel that I was +doing my duty." + +"Oh," Belden cut in, going over to one of the bookcases, "anything to +stop Stanley from hearing himself talk. It makes him drunk. Seeing we +had a ballad of Kipling's just now, suppose some one reads something of +his. Then someone else can sit still, and think of his sins, while the +pen-and-ink men make sketches of him. How'll that do, eh? + +"All right." It was Vanstruther, whose voice came from over the smoke. +"I'll read if you like; and Stanley can get a far-away expression into +his countenance, while you other fellows put his ephemeral beauty on +paper. What'll it be?" + +Stanley, who was rolling himself onto a sofa in the corner, murmured, +while he rolled a cigarette with a deft motion of his fingers, "Oh, give +us that yarn about the things in a dead man's eye, what's the title +again--'At the End of the Passage', isn't it? I'm in the mood for +something of that pleasant sort. By the way, aren't we a man shy, +Belden?" + +"Yes. Young Lancaster hasn't arrived yet. I had a great time getting him +to say he would come; he has scruples about Sunday, and all that sort of +thing; but he'll turn up pretty soon, I know. Here's the book, Van." He +handed the volume across the table. Stanley, after a few chaffing +remarks had passed back and forth, was arranged into a position that +would give the artists a sharp profile to work from. The artists began +sharpening pencils, and pinning paper on drawing boards. And then, for +a time, there was nothing but the sounds of pens and pencils going over +paper, and Vanstruther's voice reading that story of Indian heat and +hopelessness. In the other room McRoy, the man who had been playing +Stanley's piano accompaniment, was reading Swinburne to himself. + +The bell rang suddenly. Belden threw his sketch down and opened the +door. "Lancaster, I suppose," he said. Then they heard his voice in the +hall, greeting the newcomer, who was presently ushered in and airily +made known to such of the men as he had not yet been introduced to. + +"You've just missed a treat, my boy," said Belden, pushing Dick into a +chair. "Vanstruther has been reading us a yarn of Kipling's. You're fond +of Kip., I suppose?" + +While Dick said, "Oh, yes, indeed," Stanley put in. + +"It's lucky for you you are, because Belden here swears by the trinity +of Kipling, Riley and Henri Murger. He has occasional flirtations with +other authors, but he generally comes back to those three. But then, +when you get to know Belden better, you will realize that he has what is +technically known as 'rats in his garret.' Do you know what he once did, +just to illustrate? Walked miles in a bleak country district that he +might reach a certain half-disabled bridge and there sit, reading De +Quincey's 'Vision of Sudden Death' by moonlight! The man who can do +that can do anything that's weird." + +"There's only one way to stop your tongue, Stanley," Belden remarked +humoredly, "and that is to ask you to play for us again. Lancaster has +never heard you yet, you know." + +Stanley looked out into the other room. "What do you say, Mac? Shall we +tune our harps again?" + +"Just as cheap," said the other, without looking up from his book. + +They began to play. From Raff's "Cavatina," they strayed into a melody +by Rubinstein; then it was a wild gallop through comic operas, popular +songs, and Bowery catches. While they played the men in the other room +began comparing sketches. Vanstruther ushered Dick into many of the +artistic treasure-holds that the room contained. Also, he supplied him +with running comments on some of the things they saw all about them. +Dick, though he scarcely felt at ease, felt strongly the fascination of +all this devil-may-care atmosphere. The haze of smoke; the melodious +airs from beyond the portieres; the careless attire and jaunty +nonchalance of the men, all drew him with a sort of sensual hypnotism, +even while his inner being felt that he himself was a little better than +this. He was in the land of Don't-Care; dogmas, creeds, faiths had no +place here; everything was "do as you please, and let your neighbor +please himself." He said but little; he thought a great deal. + +One of the artists called Vanstruther over to the open bookcase, to show +him a sketch by Gibson. Dick looked about him, picked up a copy of Omar +Khayyam, that had Vedder's illustrations, and buried himself in the +gentle philosophy of that classic. + +But Belden was again become restless. Mere melody never did anything but +irritate him. "Oh, play some nigger music," he asked. Then, when a few +merry jingles from "'Way down South" had played themselves in and out of +the echoes, Stanley put his violin down with a decisive gesture. "There, +I've paid my way, I think!" When the piano had been closed, and the +violin laid away in its case, he went on, "'Seems to me it's about time +you were bringing along your friend Murger?" + +Belden walked toward the shelf where the "Scènes de la Vie de Bohème" +had its place. As he took it out, however, he said, "Come to think of +it, Marsboro's going to commit matrimony pretty soon, I hear. Any +objections?" He held the volume in the air, questioningly. + +Marsboro laughed, and shook his head. "No, no," he said, "go on!" + +"Just as if," Stanley observed, "a man about to be married knew what +objections were! Dante Gabriel Belden, in some things you are weirdly +primitive." + +"I would sooner be primitive than effete," was Belden's retort. + +Stanley turned to Marsboro. "Don't think me curious, old man, but is it +any girl I know?" + +Before Marsboro could reply, Vanstruther broke in with, "I'll bet money +it's not! You don't suppose Marsboro is likely to think of marrying a +woman with a past!" + +Marsboro flushed a little; and moved uneasily in his chair. Dick, +looking up from his Omar Khayam, wondered how the man could endure such +verbal pitch and toss with such a subject. + +But Stanley turned away from the matter with a sneer. "My dear fellow," +he said, "if it will soothe your sweet soul, I am quite willing to admit +that in the course of my life I have known some women who had pasts. +They are invariably interesting. The only difference between a woman +with a past and a man of the same sort is that the man still has a +future before him. And a man with a future is as pathetic as a little +boy chasing a butterfly: even if he wins the game, there is nothing but +a corpse, and some dust on his fingers." + +Belden, turning the pages of the Murger, said, deprecatingly, "Don't get +Stanley started on moral reflections: in the first place, they are not +moral; in the second place they reflect nothing but his own perverted +soul. Talking morals with some men is like turning the pages of an +edition de luxe with inky fingers." + +Stanley laughed. "Good boy! But now go on with Rodolph and his +flirtations. Where did you leave off? Hadn't he just written some +poetry, spent the proceeds on feasting his friends, and the night in a +tree?" + +Belden began to read. + +In spite of himself, Dick began to feel the fascination of Murger's +recital of all those rollicking, roystering episodes in the Latin +Quarter. He let the Omar fall idly into his lap, and gave himself up to +listening to Belden's reading. The other men smoked and smiled. Dick's +sense of humor told him that there was something quaint in the way +Belden intentionally fed his own love for Bohemianism with another's +description; none the less he admitted that there was no sham, +dilettante Bohemianism about this place and the men present. It was not +the Bohemianism of claw-hammer coats and high-priced champagne; of +little suppers, after the theater, in a black and gold boudoir, where +the women tasted some Welsh rarebit and declared that they were afraid +it was "awfully Bohemian, don't you know!" It was the Bohemia that +recked naught of others, but had as banner, "Do as you please," and as +watchword "Don't care." It was the old philosophy of Epicurus brought to +modern usage. + +The good-humored account that. Henri Murger gave of so many picturesque +light-love escapades, that had so much of pathos mingled with their +unmorality, began to find in Dick a vein of sympathy. He felt that it +was all very pleasant; all was charmingly put; it was interesting. + +"There," Belden declared, as he finished reading the episode of the +flowers that Musette watered every night, because she had promised to +love while those blossoms lived, "I'm dry, that's what I am. I think +it's about time we investigated. Come on into the kitchen, people. +There's some coffee and cake and fruit. Shouldn't wonder if you could +find a bottle or two of beer on the ice, too." + +They trooped out, through a room and corridor, to the kitchen. There was +a bare, deal table, a cooking range, a gas stove, a refrigerator and +several doors leading to closets. Every man brought his own chair. A +search was begun for cups, plates, knives and forks. Each man sat down +where he pleased. The coffee that was made was hardly such as one gets +at Tortoni's, but it was refreshing, nevertheless. The sound of corks +drawing from beer-bottles, of knives rattling on plates, and of +indiscriminate, lusty chatter filled the place. Belden was the +master-spirit. He saw that everyone helped himself; he chaffed and he +laughed; he looked after the provender and the cigars. The infection of +all this jollity touched Dick; he began to say to himself that to worry +himself "with conscientious scruples just because it was on a Sunday +instead of a Monday that all this happened, was to be something of a +prig." And he had always had a decided aversion to being that particular +sort of nuisance. He resigned himself completely to the spirit of the +time and place. + +McRoy broke into the babel of talk with a plaintive, "Everybody listen +for about a minute, will you? I want to ask Belden a solemn question: +Belden, have you finished that copy of 'Old-World Idyls' that you were +going to illustrate for me in pen-and-ink, on the margins?" + +Belden smiled. "Why, to tell you the truth, old man--" he began, but the +other interrupted him with, "There! publicly branded! Belden, you're the +awfulest breaker of oaths that ever was let live. You've had the book +six months, and I'll bet you've never drawn a stroke on it!" + +"The mistake you made," put in Stanley, "was to believe that he ever +_would_ do the thing. He once made a promise of that sort to me, but +that was so long ago that I think I'm another person now." + +"If the theory of evolution is correct," said Vanstruther, "your late +lamented self must have been and abominably corrupt person." + +Stanley sighed, "Perhaps so. I am trying, you know, day by day, to +approach the sublime pinnacle on which you, my dear Van, tower above the +rest of mankind. However--" he reached his arm out over the table--"Any +beer left over there?" + +Belden handed a mug and a bottle over to him. + +"By the way," cut in Marsboro, "ever had any more trouble with the +neighbors here? Said you kept them awake Sunday nights with your unholy +orgies, didn't they?" + +"Yes. But I said if they were going to kick on that score I would get +out an injunction against that girl of theirs that is always trying to +play 'After the Ball', with one hand. So I fancy our lances are both at +rest." + +So, with much careless clatter, and exchange of banter, they ate and +drank lustily until their hunger was appeased. Then, pushing their +plates and mugs into the middle of the table they leaned back to enjoy +the pleasures of the god Nicotine. And presently someone hinted that the +empty plates and the litter of the late-lamentedness in general was not +a cheering sight and they might as well proceed into the studio again. +There was a shoving back of chairs, a trooping through the corridor, and +they were all assembled once more in the front rooms. McRoy hid himself +behind a book. The others grouped themselves around the piano. The +plaintiff strains of Chevalier's "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins" filled the +room, born aloft on the impetus of five pairs of lungs. + +There was a violent ringing at the outer bell. It was some little time +before the men at the piano heard the din; it was only at McRoy's +muttered "Somebody's pulling your front door bell off the wires, +Belden!" that the latter went to open. The men in the room could hear +the sound of a man's voice, a quick passage of sentences, then +good-nights, all vaguely, over the strains of the coster-ditty. + +"What do you think," said Belden, coming in again, "has happened? It was +Ditton, of the _Telegraph_--lives a door or two north--just dropped in +to tell me a bit of news that he thought would interest me. Wooton of +the '_Torch_'? has disappeared, leaving the property deeply in debt. +Nobody knows where he is. Jove, come to think of it, that's pretty rough +news for you, Lancaster!" + +"Yes," said Lancaster, "it is. And yet there is one consolation, he paid +me within a week of what was due me." + +There was a cessation of all other discussion to make room for the +consideration of this bit of news. Everybody agreed that it was too bad +that so good a sheet as the "Torch" should go the way of the majority. +Concerning Wooton the opinions differed. Belden began to apologize to +Lancaster for having led him into this "mess," as he called it, while +Stanley sneered at everybody for not having seen through Wooton long +ago. + +"He is inordinately vain," said Stanley, "and frightfully extravagant. +Clever. Lazy--awfully lazy. He can sit back in his chair and tell you +how to run the New York _Herald_, and he has been able to get nothing +profitable into or out of his paper from the time he began until now. He +theorizes beautifully; the only thing he can really do successfully is +to borrow money and talk to women. He used to amuse me just in the way +an actor amuses me. Half the time I think he was deceiving even himself. +I always thought he would do this very thing, one of these days. He used +to have what old women call 'spells' now and again, when he found +himself hard up for cash, that were really the most curious +performances. He would stay away from his office altogether; genius as +he was in warding off collectors, he used to prefer not to face them +sometimes. There was--I should say there is--a woman, one of the +cleverest, most cultured woman in town, who was fond of him in an +elderly-sister sort of way, and he used to go to her and borrow money. +Think of it: borrow money from a woman! She saw through him long ago, I +know, and yet he used to use such artifice--such tears, and promises of +betterment as the men employed!--that she always helped him in the end. +Then he gambled to try to make the big stake that would enable him to +run a rich man's paper; the only result is that he got deeper and deeper +into the hole. All the time he avoided his office; if he scraped up a +banknote or two he would send them along, per messenger boy, to the +foreman of the composing-room and have the printers paid, at least. You +must pay the printers and the pressmen, you know, even if you let a lot +of literary devils starve! And then some guardian angel would send along +a college chum, or some fellow with more loyality than discretion, and +A.B. Wooton would make a big 'borrow' and be once more the genial, +cynical man-of-the-world that the rest of you know. This time I presume +the angel refused to come. The end had to come; it was simply a huge +game of 'bluff.'" + +"How is it you know all this?" asked one of the others. + +"My dear fellow," was Stanley's answer, "I have _gambled_ with him. All +through one of those periods when he was engaged, ostrich-like, in +sticking his head into the sand, I was with him. Besides, I know +something of his private affairs. He had sunk all of his own money long +ago; for the last year or so the _Torch_ and Wooton have been living on +the gullibility of others. It seems strange that this should be possible +in this smart American city, but Wooton was not an ordinary bluffer; he +was a genius. Owing you hundreds of dollars he could talk to you all day +so skilfully on the one especial vanity of your heart that you would +feel much more like offering him another hundred than like even so much +as mentioning the old debt. I feel sorry for him. He should have a +patron, to humor him in all his extravagances; he would be splendid, +splendid!" + +But Lancaster, whom the news had touched a good deal, declared that it +was time he was taking himself off. Belden accompanied him to the door, +and spoke to him encouragingly about another position that he thought +Dick could easily obtain. Then Lancaster passed out into the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Carriages lined the sidewalk for blocks in every direction. There was a +slight sprinkle of rain falling, and the shining rubber coats and hats +of the coachmen caught the electric light in fantastic streaks. Horses +were stamping, and chafing the bit. From every direction came a stream +of humanity, all making for the Auditorium. Carriages were arriving +every moment; the bystanders and ticket scalpers caught glimpses of +light hose and dainty opera shoes and skirts that were lifted for an +instant. Men in black capes were hurrying about busily. The cable cars +emptied load after load of well-dressed men and women. All the world and +his wife was going to the opera. + +Dick Lancaster, as he got out of his hansom, looked appreciatively at +the picture that all this hurrying throng made, and shaking some of the +rain drops off his coat, entered the opera house. As he looked about him +at the richly caparisoned human animals all on pleasure bent, at the +nonchalance that the mirrors told him he himself was displaying, it came +over him with something of amusement that there had been decided changes +in Richard Lancaster since that young person first came to town. +Impressionable as wax, the town had already cast its fascinations over +him; he was in the charmed circle. He had been put up at one of the best +of the clubs; he had been made much of, socially, by the select set that +allowed the preferences of Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart to dictate the +distinction between the Somebodies and the Nobodies; he had been +successful enough, professionally, to enable him to move in the world as +befitted his tastes. It is to be confessed that his tastes, now that +they had been whetted by the approach of opportunities, were not of the +most economical. He was fond of all things that show the intellectual +aristocrat; he liked to look well, to dine well, to talk well, and to +enjoy good music. He liked the comfort, the remoteness from the mere +vagaries of the weather, that this town life afforded. Here was a night +such as in the country would be dismal unspeakably; yet nothing but +brilliance and enjoyment was evident in his present surroundings. + +He threw his shoulders back with something of proud pleasure in his own +well-being, as he handed his cape and opera-hat to the caretaker. Yes, +life was good! It tasted well, and he was young, and there would yet be +many long, delicious draughts of it! + +Mrs. Stewart was in her box. Several girls, whose low-cut dresses seemed +to be longing for something more worth showing, were seated on the +chairs that surrounded the central figure, Mrs. Stewart. In the +background of this, as of all other boxes, was a phalanx of white +shirt-fronts. It looked like the fore-front of an attacking army; first +the flash of bayonets, as they are to be found in woman's eyes, and then +the heavier artillery, the stolid force of masculinity. In the wide +corridors behind the boxes, in the foyers, and up and down the marble +stairways, the stream of people flowed back and forth. Presently the +conductor of the orchestra took his seat. There was a hastening toward +seats and boxes, and the overture of the "Cavalleria Rusticana" floated +out in echoes. + +Young Lancaster reached the Stewart box just as the first bars were +streaming forth. Mrs. Stewart leaned her head gracefully back over her +right shoulder, and smiled up at him. She stretched up a beautifully +gloved hand, and whispered a "Glad you came through the rain, after all. +Awfully disappointed if you hadn't!" at him. He nodded to the other +women, and shook hands with Mr. Stewart and some of the other members of +the white-shirted, blank-faced phalanx. + +"Ah," whispered Mrs. Stewart with a languid show of interest, and +putting her lorgnette up, "there is Calve!" + +There was a flutter of hand-clappings that went like a light wave from +the stalls to the upper balconies. And then began that exquisite, +dramatic exposition of rustic jealousy that Mascagni has so wonderfully +set to music. As Santuzza, Calve was magnetic. Actress as much as singer +she riveted all attention. Her face was the picture of agony the while +she was contemplating: the inner vision of her betrayal by Turiddu. +Then, the jealous hatred flashing out at Lola, her rival; and lastly the +self-accusing sorrow that covered her when she saw the effect of her +tale-bearing against her former lover. In the interval there was the +marvellous Intermezzo. Mrs. Stewart leaned back in her chair and closed +her eyes. When it was over she said, "There is something of the world's +joy and something of its pain in that melody. It appeals to me +wonderfully." + +Lancaster put in, "One of the men at the club declared that it was the +only thing that had given him real emotion for--oh, years." + +"He must have been a very blasé creature," said one of the other women. + +"He is," assented Lancaster. + +Their further conversation was interrupted by the rising of the curtain. +When it came down again there was a general movement toward the foyers. +Some of the tall and pale young men strolled out to smoke cigars and +talk of the boxing match that was going to come off at the club in a day +or so. With much fluttering of fans and swishing of skirts the angular +girls betook themselves from Mrs. Stewart's box to see if they "could +see any of the other girls." Mrs. Stewart and Dick Lancaster were left +in sole possession. He took a chair beside her and looked over into the +stalls. + +"Only fair," she said, noting his visual measurement of the size of the +audience. + +"Yes. These people don't want the New. They want 'Faust' and 'Aida,' and +they think 'Tannhäuser' is the very last in music. It will be years +before they see the gem-like beauty of this new Italian school." + +"And yet--it's a return to the old." + +"That is why. The old things are the best, if you only go far enough +into the past. We are never really modern, we are merely old in a new +way." + +"Do you know--" she leaned her white elbow on the cushioned chair-back +and placed her forefinger just under her ear, so that from the elbow up +her arm formed a white, beautiful rest for the attractive face, and +looking young Lancaster smilingly in the eyes, tapped her foot +caressingly to the floor--"do you know that I think I shall have to cut +you off my list very soon? You have--h'm--changed a great deal in the +few months I have known you. You occasionally make speeches that sound +almost cynical. You were always clever; you always talked brightly, but +you never used to believe some of the sharp things you said; now I think +you are beginning to. I liked you because you were different; you are +not different any more, at least not different in the same way. You will +never be as stupid as most of the others; but I am afraid, too, that you +will never be quite as genuine as you were." + +He sighed as he looked at her. He smiled very faintly as he answered, +"Yes, I am afraid you are right. I am not as I was." His gaze swept out +over the stalls, the crowded foyer, the brilliance everywhere. "But how +could I have done anything else than let all this affect me a little? I +am pliable, I suppose, and I bend easily to the wind. I came here to +taste life. As soon as I began to sip the cup I found that I was going +to like it immensely. I trod the way of the world that I might see what +manner of men walk there, and what sort of a road it was. Presently, I +found that I liked that path so much that I preferred it to the bypaths +of solitude and asceticism. And what has it mattered as long as I have +not neglected the work there is for me to do? No one can say I have +changed in that respect. I work harder than ever. It's not fair of you +to upbraid me. A great deal of it is your own doing." + +"Yes?" + +"Of course it is. You have been my pilot out of the land of the Narrows. +When I came up here I was narrow. I thought about things dogmatically, +and applied hard and fast rules to every sort of conduct. Now I am +broader. I know that where the world moves at lightning speed you cannot +apply the same tenets that hold good in a village where life is lived at +a cripple's gait and where routine is the reigning deity." + +"You would not have called it a 'cripple's gait' a little while ago," +interposed Mrs. Stewart. + +He flushed slightly but went on: "I realize now that since we have but +one life to live, we should live it as fully as we may. I could not have +seen the life that all of you here are living without realizing that it +was a fuller life than the one the country afforded me. So, cost what it +may, I must needs live it also." + +She looked at him curiously. "Yes," she repeated, half to him and half +to herself, "cost what it may." + +"Besides," he went on, looking away from her, and with something of +regret in his voice, "I have grown worldly because I loved a worldly +woman. You--you have made me love you." + +She lifted her eyebrows a trifle, turned her head, with the eyelids +drawn down over her eyes, toward him, and opened the lids slowly, with a +smile on her lips. Then she looked past him to where her husband was +leaning over a chair in one of the other boxes. + +"Don't you think John is looking very handsome tonight?" she asked +softly. + +Lancaster, who had gone red and pale in waves, answered, through set +lips, "Very." + +Then the curtain went up on "Pagliacci." + + * * * * * + +It was the first time that Lancaster had heard Leoncavallo's opera. In +its novel charm his shame and mortification--shame at having spoken +those words to Mrs. Stewart and mortification at the rebuff they had +only naturally brought him--were for the time being swallowed up. With +eager eyes and attentive ears he watched and listened to the play within +the play. First the arrival of the mountebanks. Amid the laughs and +rejoicings of the villagers the theater-tent is set. Then the effort of +the clown to make love to Canio's wife; the slash of the whip from her, +the muttered curses from him. But the woman is fickle, after all; the +villager, Silvio, is more successful than the clown was. The sudden +approach of Canio, the husband, led hither by the vengeful clown, still +smarting under the whip; the escape of Silvio, and the woman's refusal +to tell the name of her lover. And so, to the wonderful second act, +where tragedy is so dexterously woven into comedy; where, under the +guise of a drama that the mountebanks proffer the villagers on their +little stage, the greater drama of Canio's jealousy is spun out to its +tragic ending. In between the lines of the dialogue intended for the +village audience come lines wrung from Canio's heart that sear their way +into his wife's breast, spite of her stage-smiles and graces. And when, +at the last, Canio, in his baffled rage, would strike her, and Silvio, +her lover, rushes from the audience in rescue, only to be stabbed by the +finally exultant husband, young Lancaster involuntarily shuddered. There +was something griping in the wonderful display of human rage and +jealousy that this young tenor gave in Canio; in the final words, full +of tragic, double, ironical meaning, "La comedie e finita!" there was +something of a sentence of death. And somehow, in Silvio there seemed to +be something of himself: that lover's terrible fate was fraught for him, +in the conscience-stricken state he found himself in, with warning and +protest. While the applause, reaching curtain-call after curtain-call, +surged all about him, young Lancaster was lost in rêverie. He was +changed, yes. He had adapted himself to the manners of the town; but he +still had a most nervous conscience, sharp, unblunted. He sat still, +with his chin hiding his upper shirt stud. + +Mrs. Stewart's voice roused him. Her husband was already engaged in +putting her cloak about her shoulders. "Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said +sweetly. "We shall see you Wednesday, shall we not?" + +He bowed and stammered something, he hardly knew what. + +The opera was over. + + * * * * * + +That night, before he took off his dress' clothes, Dick sat down and +wrote to his mother. It was a thing he had not been so steadfast in of +late as once he had been. + +In one place he wrote: "You ask me, mother mine, how I like the town now +that it is no longer strange to me. Oh, I like it only too well. The old +place, the old friends, the sweet gentle tenor of all the old life out +there in Lincolnville, all seem like some far-off dream to me. My ears +and eyes are full of the many sounds and sights of the town; the +multifarious vistas, and the ever-changing face of the street. I like +the town and yet I fear it. Sometimes its might oppresses me, and I feel +as if I wanted to get out in the woods near our home and lie down at +full length on the mossy bank, where the creek sings soothingly and the +sun hangs like a golden ball in a clear sky. I want to hear the +crickets, and the deep silence of the nights, and the echoes of +detached laughter floating over the meadows. I want to watch the +sun-light as it comes through the leaves and plays hide-and-seek on the +lawn; I want to watch the hawk circling in the air, the chickens +scurrying fearfully at the sight of him. And then again the feverish +itch to be in the very middle of this maelstrom, the town, seizes me. I +long for the very thick and foremost of the struggle, and the picture of +Lincolnville fades away. At this present time of the year, though, I can +really prefer the town without seeming a slave to it. + +"It is in the winter, or in the early spring, when country places are +chiefly seas of mud and slush that one most deeply realizes the delights +of dwelling in town. Modern invention has put the town dweller beyond +the weather's jealous bites. We step into a hansom, we drive to the +club, we have dinner; behind club doors, and in club comfort we are +above all the slings and arrows of the elements; we drive to the +theatre, and the black-and-white splendor of our men, as well as the +fur-decked rosiness of our women, is only enhanced by contrast against +the frowny murkings of the sky. I have noticed that the finale, the +curtain-fall of any important public event, such as a dinner, a dance, +or an opera, is always a more picturesque thing when the carriages have +to drive away through the sleet. Whereas, the country! The weather is +the world and all that therein is; you can't get away from it. Mud is +king! + +"I am doing something in paint now, just to feed this terrible ambition +of mine. The pen-and-ink work is all very-well, and it does bring the +bread and butter, but it is not what I want for ever and ever. And I +think I am going to have for my subject just such a scene as I wrote of +a moment ago: the moment before the carriages drive away through the +rain, with everybody in gala attire and scintillant with brightness and +insincerity. For the town is insincere, mother, and cruel. Some day, +perhaps I, too, will become insincere. I do not know. I pray it may not +be so. But I am alarming you causelessly. I am only a little tired and +unnerved tonight. I have been to the opera, and it was just a little +affecting. So don't mind what I said just now. * * * * I am getting +rather tired and will say good-night. * * *" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the early dawn there had been a slight shower of rain, but by the +time the sun was high enough to shine over the town's highest buildings, +the clouds parted, and presently drifted away altogether, leaving the +golden disc full freedom in giving a brilliant look to the clean-washed +streets. By noon everything was as bright as a newly-scoured kitchen. + +It was at that time of the year when spring is kissing a greeting to +summer. There was not too much heat. Growth and activity were not yet +subdued by the later lassitude of midsummer. In the parks the trees +were full of blossoms, the flowers were spelling out the runes that the +gardners had contrived for the Sunday sight-seers, and the roadways were +alive with well-equipped traps of every sort. The avenue was colorful +and kaleidoscopic. Dog-carts, driven by smartly-gowned, square-sitting +girls, bowled along noiselessly, the footmen looking as stolid as if +carved in wood. Landaus, with elderly women leaning far back into the +cushions, and shading their complexions under lace-decked parasols, went +by with an occasional rattling of chains. The careful observer might +have noticed that the number of smart vehicles was a trifle larger than +usual; there were more coaches out, and the air resounded more often to +the various military and hunting-calls that the English grooms were +executing on their horns. + +It was Derby Day. + +Dick was walking along the avenue watching, with his artist eyes open +for all the picturesque effect of the whole--the yellow haze of the sun +that filled the atmosphere in and out of which all these rapid +color-effects flashed swiftly, the thin strip of sky-reflecting water to +the east, the line of grass and the sky-touching horizon of huge +buildings--when he heard someone calling out his name. + +"Lancaster!" It was Stanley, driving a dog-cart and a neat bay cob. "The +very man! Jump in, won't you? Going down to the Derby. Thing you +shouldn't miss; lots of color and all that sort of thing! Asked +Vanstruther to go down with me, but one of his dime-novel heroes is ill +or something of that sort, and he's off the list. That's good of you. +Look how you're stepping. This brute has been eating his head off all +week, and isn't really fit for a Christian to drive. That's it! Now." +They went spinning along the avenue. + +In the instant or two before he climbed into the dog-cart, Dick had +reflected that while he was not over-fond of Stanley in a good many +ways, the man was undeniably a clever fellow, always to be depended on +for bright talk; besides he did feel very much like studying the scene +of a Derby Day with its many-colored facets. + +Watching the rapid, shifting beauties of the boulevard, Dick burst into +a little sigh of admiration. "Ah," he said, "this is good! This is +living!" + +"Youthful enthusiasm," muttered the other man. "Delightful +thing--youthful enthusiasm--to get over." + +"Oh, no! I hope I never shall! What is life worth if one is not to show +that one enjoys it? How can you look at a day like this--a splendid, +champagnelike day--and yet--" + +"My dear fellow," interrupted Stanley, with a queer smile, "when a man +gets to my time of life there is always something melancholy to him in +the picture of a spring day. It reminds him of his own youth: all tears +and sunshine. Today there are neither tears or sunshine; it is all just +contemplation. I don't seem to belong to the play at ail, any more, +myself; I'm merely a spectator. To the spectator there is always +something pathetic about joy." + +"Your lunch was indigestable, that's all that is the matter with you," +laughed Dick. "It's a dogma of mine that pessimism is merely another +word for indigestion." + +"Dogma!" sighed Stanley, "Don't you know that all dogmas are obsolete? +Don't you know that in this rapid age we believe everything, accept +everything and yet doubt everything?" + +"Isn't that a trifle paradoxical?" + +"No; only modern! We believe everything that inventors or scientists may +tell us; but in the world spiritual we believe nothing. Is that a +paradox?" + +"But indigestion is surely, h'm, material rather than spiritual?" Dick +enjoyed the verbal parries that he was always sure of with Stanley. He +was always trying to get at the secret man's cynicism, a cynicism that +was the essence of what many other men of the world he lived in seemed +to feel, but were not all, perhaps, so well able to express. + +"Oh well," was Stanley's answer, "after all, it doesn't matter. Nothing +makes any difference." He looked blankly ahead as if all the world was +contained in the space occupied between the cob's ears. Then he went on, +in his minor monotone, "No, nothing, except--" + +Dick, thinking to be cheery, put in "Except marriage?" + +"No!" came from Stanley, with a sudden flick of the whip over the cob's +flanks, "that only makes differences." + +Dick laughed somewhat impatiently. "Oh!" he urged, "why sit there and be +dismal? Why not wake up and live? Surely the air is full of it, of this +fair Life? Enjoy it, brace up, be young!" + +"Ah, if I only could again, if I only could! Oh, to be young again! He +is the Autocrat of today, the young man." He lapsed into his sneer once +more. "The young man of today thinks he has the experience of the +centuries at his fingertips, whereas he really has only the gloves that +were made yesterday and will split tomorrow." + +"You are not only unjust," protested Dick, "you are flippant." + +"Of course I am! The keynote of this end of the century is lightness. +The modern declares that life is but a joke, and a bad one at best. How +to live without ever allowing oneself to suspect that life is more than +a game in which the odds are heads, Death wins; tails, Man loses: that +is the great problem of the decade. The universal solution of the +difficulty is the practice of superficiality. Skim! Be light! Never +penetrate below the surfaces! Never search the deep! Make love as if it +were a tourney of jests; die as if it were a riddle well guessed! Be +scintillantly versatile, rather than thorough; hide your ignorance with +bland blasédom; treat tragedy as an intruder, comedy as a chum, and as a +reward you will be called 'up-to-date.' Nay, more: your fashionable +friends may even mispronounce French in your behalf and dub you _fin de +siècle_!" + +Dick shuddered laughingly. "A horrible philosophy," he said. And yet he +was glad of the other's bitterness; it showed, through all its veil of +sneers and scorn, something of the point of view of the foremost in that +race toward Death that some of the town-dwellers are wont to call Life. + +Yet he could not keep his thoughts long on the serious import of the +other's scornful flippancy. How shall two-and-twenty years, and health, +and sunshine, and a spirit susceptible to enjoyments that the very +atmosphere seemed redolent of, allow a young man to brood on the +progress of the world's cancer? No; there were too many distractions! +Tandems whirling by with horsy young men handling the ribbons; brakes +full of laughing girls and straw-hatted young men; hackney carriages +with four occupants unmistakably of the bookmaker guild. + +Just before they rolled into sight of the grand-stand, Stanley said, +"Oh, who do you suppose I had a letter from yesterday?" + +"No idea." + +"The most noble A.B. Wooton, of the late lamented '_Torch_'." + +"You don't say so. His nerve never dies, eh?" + +"As I said before, his is not a case of 'nerve'; it is genius. He has +the prettiest story you ever read, swears his advertising man deceived +him and got the paper into all manner of tight places; found himself +forced to get away from the ruins so that he could the better repay his +creditors, which he states he has instructed his lawyers to do, and all +the rest of it! I don't believe a word of it; but he has got grit!" + +"That is a national fault," said Dick soberly, "the admiration of 'grit' +in scoundrels. For that is all that Wooton is, after all!" + +"Oh, well, why split hairs? He never did you any harm, did he? However, +about his letter. He writes from Dresden. Says he has just met some +Americans--name of Ware, I think. Enjoying himself immensely--girl in +the party--moonlight rides and all that sort of thing. Wonder how long +he'll last over there?" + +"I know some Wares," said Dick quietly; "but I hardly think it could be +the same ones. Though they are in Europe just now, that's true." His +thoughts tried to hark back to Lincolnville, to his parting with Dorothy +Ware, and to her return; but the present was too strong for him. They +were driving across the course at this moment, and over into the field, +which was already a motly, colored mass of vehicles, white dresses, +parasols and stamping horses. The tops of coaches were made over into +sitting room for summer-dressed girls, of whose faces one caught only +the white under-half--the chin and the mouth, in high sun relief--while +the eyes were in shade of the huge parasols. One caught glimpses of +light shoes and hose; of young men walking, in earnest converse over +betting tickets held in hand; of wicker lunch-baskets being brought +from the inner chambers of the coaches and prepared for a future hunger; +and, beyond, in the grand stand, of a black, indistinguishable mass of +spectators, noisy, tremendous. + +As soon as they had found a place for the dog-cart, from which they +would be able to see the finish with tolerable comfort and completeness, +Stanley said, with a noticeable alacrity succeeding the languid +pessimism that had distinguished him all during the drive down. + +"Now then, Lancaster, let's hurry over to the betting-shed!" + +For a moment only Dick hesitated. "Going to bet, or just to look on?" he +asked. + +"Bet, of course, you innocent infant! But, Scotland, you don't have to! +You can just soak in the--what do you call it--the impressionistic view +of it. But hurry up, whatever you are going to do, I don't want the odds +to tumble down too far before I get there!" + +Not so long ago Dick would have cavilled, hesitated, perhaps refused. +Now he caught his half-uttered objections being met by a whisper in his +own mind of 'Don't be a prig!' and he followed Stanley silently. It +occurred to him, presently, that to warn oneself of becoming a prig was +in itself evidence of priggishness. Impatiently he shook his head, as if +to get all analytical reflections out of his head altogether. He looked +at the scene around him, and forgot everything else. + +The scene in the betting-shed was, just as is the stock exchange floor, +the boiling-point of the kettle of froth called metropolitan life. +Around the bookmakers' stands was a seething, struggling mass of +humanity. Each member of this mob was pushing, striving, perspiring for +--what?--the chance to get something for nothing! The bookmakers +themselves were straining every nerve to keep pace with the public's +feverish desire to get rid of it's money. On their little stands, their +heads on a level with the black-board that furnished the names of the +horses and the odds against, they stood; one hand busy taking in money +that was handed in to the inner part of the stand, the other grasping +the piece of chalk that ever and again touched the black-board to effect +some change in the odds. One man inside was busy with pencil and paper, +registering each ticket as it was handed out; another covered the face +of the ticket with the hasty hieroglyphics that stood for the horse +chosen and the amount wagered and the amount that might be won. Here and +there a bookmaker encouraged the "plunge" on some horse that he +professed to scorn by shouting forth his odds and the horse's name. The +blind struggle of the majority was an amusing spectacle; it certainly +seemed to vouch for the truth of the saying that man is a gambling +animal. Like serpents, the "touts," professional vendors of spurious +stable information, went winding in and out through the throng, +sometimes displaying judgment in the would-be bettors they approached, +but as often as not displaying most lamentable indiscretion. Dick +watched, with an amused smile, how one of these fellows sided up to a +quiet man, who, program in hand, was leaning against a pillar watching +the boards and the changes in odds. The quiet man listened to the tout's +hoarse whisperings, and then threw his coat back showing an "owner's" +badge. The tout slunk sheepishly into the crowd. + +"If you take my advice," said Stanley who was fighting his way towards +some remote goal or other, "you'll take a little flyer on Dr. Rice. +That's what I'm going to do. There's a fellow on the other side of the +ring has him a point higher than anyone else." + +Dick, without having made up his mind as to his own betting or not +betting, helped his companion in his struggle to get through the crowd. +Desperate energy was necessary. There was never any time for apologies; +elbows were pushed into sides, toes were trodden on, scarfs twisted and +sleeve-links broken; no matter, there was money to be won and there was +no time either to consider passing annoyances or the possibility of +loss. + +"Ah," said Stanley, finally, as they found themselves in front of a +black-board that had a figure "7" chalked to the left of the name Dr. +Rice and a "3" to the right. "Here we are! Now then, what are you going +to do?" He whipped out a twenty dollar bill and crumpled it carefully +into the palm of his hand. + +Dick thought quickly. After all, it was merely the foregoing of some +luxury or another; he would postpone joining that polo club, perhaps, +or go without that new edition of Menzel's drawing's that he had been +promising himself. He took a bill out of his card-case and handed it, +without a word, to Stanley. + +The ticket that Stanley presently handed him had "Rice" almost illigibly +scrawled across it, and the figures "70" and "10." Dick stood to lose +ten or to win seventy dollars. + +By the time they had got comfortably ensconsed in their seats in the +dog-cart once more, the horses were at the post for the great event of +the day, the American Derby. Dick had begun to feel something of the +torment of expectation and fear and hope that makes the gambler's nerves +either like a sheet of reeds in the wind or like a tightly-drawn wire. +If he won it would be, as he heard some men in the betting-shed remark, +"just like finding money." He could allow himself all sorts of +extravagances. He observed the horses making false start after false +start without even a suspicion of qualmishness as to the moral aspect of +the case coming over him. He had grown, to use his own phase, broader. + +Down beyond the turn into the stretch was the bunch of restless horses, +the vari-colored jackets, the starter's carriage, and the assistant +starter's flag. There was the sky-blue jacket that showed where the +favorite, The Ghost, was pirouetting on his hind legs; the black and +yellow bars of Ætna's jockey, and many others. But Dick's eyes were +focused on Dr. Rice; the horse's jockey was in all-black. + +"Ah--h!" The vast crowd roars and cheers as a start is made. All +together, like a herd of cattle, they sweep on toward the grand-stand. +It is not racing yet. Favorite and second favorite are back in the +centre of the bunch. In front of the grand-stand one jockey sends his +horse out a length in front. It is an outsider, but there are plenty of +backers of outsiders, and a cheer goes up. "He'll walk away from them!" +"The others are standing still!" and such-like shouts go up. The pace +begins to get killing. At the half Ætna is seen to move up to the +leader, finally to pass him. The favorite is also creeping from out the +ruck. Slowly, surely he forges past all the leaders but Ætna; the latter +shoots ahead again for the distance of a length and The Ghost drops back +to fourth place. It was evidently merely a feeler to find out whether +Ætna was going too fast or whether there was still time to get up when +the stretch was reached. + +Round the turn they sweep into the stretch. It is a dangerous picture, +with so many horses so close together, with such speed, and such +possibility of collisions. But the turn is made in a second; now they +are in the straight road for home. The Ghost is creeping up again, +wearing down horse after horse, finally reaching Ætna's throatlatch. +Neck and neck these two race up the last furlong; then a sudden, +surprised roar breaks out from the mob of onlookers; another horse has +cut loose from the bunch that has now become a straggling, attenuated +string of tired horses. The shout goes up: "Look at Dr. Rice!" "Dr. +Rice!" + +Now he is up to Ætna's flanks and going under a pull; his jockey has +never yet touched spur to him. The whip comes down on Ætna; it is no +use; he is raced out. Now Dr. Rice has reached The Ghost, and the +latter's jockey begins using the whip. In the grand-stand there is an +inferno of cheering; men are shouting themselves hoarse, and jumping up +and down in nervous paroxysms. Dr. Rice's jockey never moves a muscle to +all appearances. The cries go up from the mob: "Come Rice!" "Come +Ghost!" The judges begin to strain their their attention to the viewing +of a very close finish. Then with a final mighty lift, Dr. Rice, in the +very last stride, snoots forward under the wire a neck in front of The +Ghost. + +Dr. Rice has won. + + * * * * * + +On the way home Stanley was another man. He talked as if such a thing as +a regret for a lost youth had never entered his head; he was young +again. He recounted his impression of the race, asked Dick what he had +thought of it all, was full of amusing anecdotes about men who had tried +to get him to back the favorite, and was fertile in suggestions for what +they should do that evening. Of course it was understood they must +celebrate in some way. Surely! Surely! + +"Oh," he said, finally, "I know what we'll do. We'll go along to the +Imperial Theatre. I know some of the girls in the burlesque there. I'll +introduce you. We'll enjoy ourselves." + +Dick began to demur. + +"Don't be a d-----d idiot," said the other man, half smiling, half +frowning. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +No one that has ever been in Dresden is likely to forget the beauties of +the Bruehlsche Terrasse. The cool plash of waters from the Elbe come up +invitingly; the green of the neighboring gardens is luscious, and there +are nearly always strains of music in the air. Especially pleasing is +the picture on a summer's evening. + +In one of the concert gardens they give out on the Terrasse, there sat +at a small round table, one dreamy midsummer evening, Mrs. Ware and her +daughter, Dorothy. In front of them were small cups of coffee, and such +appetising rolls as only the Conditors of the continent can make. The +garden was in no wise different from a thousand others to be found in +German cities; save only that it was especially happy in its location. +There was a light, gravelly soil; a multitude of round tables; chairs +occupied by a cosmopolitan crew of both sexes; at one end, in the shadow +of huge lime trees, was the _Capelle_. Over all was the star-gemmed sky. +The air was sweet with the song of the violins, and the cheery laughter +of the many family parties came echoing along from time to time in +musical accompaniment. There were German students, with the +vari-colored caps and occasional sword-wounds on their faces; officers +with clanking swords and clothes fitting in lines that suggested stays; +English tourists, easily distinguishable by costumes they would not have +dared to startle Hyde Park with; Americans with high pitched voices; and +a few Russians, excessively polite of manner and cruel of eye. + +Miss Dorothy Ware was engaged in munching at a roll that had been +steeping in the strong coffee, when she suddenly turned to her mother +with an eager exclamation. + +"I declare, mamma," she said, "if there isn't Mr. Wooton coming this +way. The idea of meeting him again at all. I'm sure I never thought we +would; there are so many people away traveling about this time of the +year, and there are so many places. He has just seen us, mamma, and he's +coming over here. See he's lifting his hat. I'm glad we've got this +vacant chair." + +Wooton shook hands with them. "The old platitude about the world being a +very small place seems to strike true," he said. "Do you know, it's a +positive relief to talk to people of my own sort once more." He had sat +down beside Dorothy, and placed his stick and gloves on the gravel +beside him. He looked decidedly handsome; his small mouth seemed smaller +than ever, and his face was paler than when he dictated the fortunes of +the _Torch_. He was scrupulously dressed; every detail was so nicely +adjusted that he would have successfully run the gauntlet of all the +comment of Piccadilly and Broadway. + +"I've just come from Berlin," he went on, "it was like an oven there. +Nearly everybody was away; some of them in Heringsdorf, some in +Switzerland, some down in this district. My compartment in the train was +filled with a lot of officers on leave, and they talked army slang until +my head swam, and I would have given gold for the sound of an American +voice." + +"You seem to rush about a good deal," ventured Mrs. Ware. "Didn't we +meet you in Schwalbach?" + +"Mamma forgets so," put in Dorothy, "she's been meeting so many people, +I begin to think she jumbles them all up. But it was in Schwalbach, +mamma; you're right. Don't you remember? We were sitting near the +Stahlbrunnen, with the Tremonts--we used to set next to them at the +Hotel d'Europe--when Mr. Wooton came up and said how-d'ye-do to the +Tremonts, and they presented him to us. When Mrs. Tremont was at +boarding-school, you know," she went on, turning to Wooton, "she and +mamma were great chums. She was a Miss Alexander." She put her hand up +to her hat and gave it a mysterious pressure, presumably to rectify some +invisible displacement. She turned and looked out into the darkness +whence came the sullen swish of the river. "It was delightful in +Schwalbach," she said finally. + +"It was horribly expensive," commented Mrs. Ware, sipping her coffee. + +"But the waters did you good, I hope?" inquired Wooton, suavely +solicitous. + +"Oh, I guess so. But I don't seem to improve right along, as I should? +But I shouldn't complain. I'm a good deal stouter than when I left home. +Besides, Dorothy is having a right good time." + +"Ah," smiled Wooton, to the girl, "you like it--the life here?" + +"Yes; I like it. I don't say that I like it better than other things. +But who could help liking that?" She swept her parasol around so that it +pointed out toward the river. There was complete darkness there, lit up +occasionally by the lights of passing steamers. Fog-whistles sounded +occasionally; on the opposite shore there was a dim glow of yellow +lights. The water sobbed ceaselessly; there was a mist rising, and the +steamer lights began to seem hazier than ever, mere golden circles +hanging in the dense darkness. The violins were playing something of +Waldteufel's. + +It was true; not even the most patriotic of Americans could have helped +granting that all this was very pleasant. Dorothy Ware had certainly +given up being half-hearted in her enthusiasm for European things; they +had met so many people and had rubbed up against so much of +cosmopolitanism that unconsciously she had come to see that to apply the +narrow Lincolnville view to all the people she saw now was a trifle +absurd. She gave herself candidly over to enjoy it all. That was what +she had come for. And it must be confessed that, during this process of +enjoyment, her memories of her former self became ghosts of +ever-increasing vagueness. When she caught herself thinking of Dick +Lancaster it was usually to wonder what sort of a girl he had married. +She smiled when she thought of the things he had said to her before they +parted. It didn't seem to touch her at all now, and she seemed sure that +a man slips out of that sort of thing much earlier than the woman. + +They met Wooton a good deal after that. He spent a good deal of time +among the pictures, and when they visited the _Gruene Gwoeble_ they +found him there. He was invariably bright and amusing; he offered to +pilot them and smooth things for them generally; Mrs. Ware began to +think he was tremendously nice. She remembered that Miss Alexander--now +Mrs. Tremont--had always been one of the most aristocratic of girls; she +recalled with something of a shudder, her own awe at her school-mate's +lengthy dissertation upon blood and family and kindred subjects. So, she +argued, if Wooton was in Mrs. Tremont's set in town, there was certainly +not the vestige of a doubt concerning his being eminently the correct +thing. She had lived in the country so long herself that she admitted +she was no longer able to note the difference between good coin and bad; +but she had infinite faith in Mrs. Tremont. Dorothy, too, got to feel +that he was very charming; he was so handsome, and dressed so well. It +was very pleasant to have him in the party; he added distinction. +Wooton had admitted that he knew young Lancaster; he divined that she +had liked the boy; he was wise enough to tell her only pleasant things +about Dick. The only thing Dorothy objected to was that Wooton went +about a good deal with the Tremonts. It seemed to her that he was quite +devoted to Miss Eugenie. + +"I don't like her a bit," she told him rather tactlessly, speaking of +Miss Tremont, "she's so supercilious. I never know when she's laughing +at me and when she's not listening to me. I suppose she thinks I'm a +country chit and don't know anything. But I wouldn't be clever the way +she's clever for anything in the world. Why does she have to sneer at +innocence and goodness? Nobody ever accused her of either, did they?" + +Which, Wooton thought to himself, was not half bad. As a matter of fact +he enjoyed being with Eugene Tremont immensely. She was one of those +intensely modern girls that the world is so unhappily rich in just now. +She would talk about any subject under the sun. She declared that she +had always cared more for male society anyway; she despised her own sex +and said spiteful things about it. She pretended to be completely +cognizant of all the wickedness there was in the world; and she went on +the presumption that man was a sort of infernal machine that there was +unlimited fun--the fun of danger--in handling. Men liked her at first +invariably; there was something refreshing and stimulating in the +nonchalance with which she tabooed no subject from her conversation; +they said to themselves that this was a person, thank goodness, whom one +did not eternally have to consider in the light of a sex, but rather of +a sexless cleverness. But, somehow or other, her cleverness wearied +presently; she palled as all surfaces must inevitably pall. Wooton, +however, turned to her because she was of his own special calibre--all +cleverness, and no apparent sharply defined system of conduct. With the +Wares he was so perpetually on a grid-iron; he was afraid of saying +something that would startle them. They amused him, these people, with +their simplicity, their taking virtue for granted and vice for an +abhorent mystery! To talk to them it was necessary to keep a constant +check on his cynical; while with Eugene Tremont it was sword to sword, a +sharp continuous fencing with verbal weapons. + +So, when Dorothy Ware made the cutting little speech about Miss Tremont, +Wooton told himself that there was something more than mere dislike for +the Boston girl at the bottom of it. Considering the matter, he broke +into a laugh. Was it possible, h'm. That would really be too rich. + +He began to be seen with the Tremonts oftener than ever. He went with +them to the opera, he took a seat in their landau. He went to Teplitz +with them. + +"They're more in the same set, I suppose," said Mrs. Ware, when Dorothy +spoke of it. "He was at college with her brother, too; I guess they talk +about him a good deal." + +Dorothy guessed that she knew better; but she said nothing. Somehow, +Dresden began to seem fearfully dreary. She began importuning her mother +to pack up and go to Munich; they had some friends there. Dorothy +declared Dresden made her homesick; she said it was all so small and +pretty, anyway; it wasn't a metropolis, yet it tried to ape the real +article. And then there were so many Americans--you couldn't talk +English anywhere without having people understand you, which was +distinctly annoying, because occasionally one likes to make personal +asides about costumes and hats and complexions--and, well, what was the +use of staying there any longer anyhow? But Mrs. Ware declared the +climate agreed with her. She said she hadn't felt so well for ever so +long, she wasn't going to try any other place as this one agreed with +her. Did Dorothy want to see her die? No; Dorothy did not. She +submitted, and went about looking dismal. + +And then, one day, the sunshine came back into here face once more. It +was not that the good fairies had remodeled the town of Dresden; it was +not that all English-speaking people had suddenly deserted the place; in +fact, it was hard to say just what made the difference. It was just +possible that Wooton's return from Teplitz had something to do with the +good humor in which Dorothy came back to her mother that noon, after a +walk down to the Conditorei. She had almost cannoned into him, rounding +a corner; they had shaken hands; he had avowed the pleasure he felt at +seeing her again. It is just possible that the sight of this young man +was a talisman for Miss Ware's temper; it is at least certain that her +melancholia was gone. + +He called on them, in a day or so, at their apartments in the Hotel +Bellevue. Mrs. Ware was very glad to see him; she was more vivacious +than she had yet shown herself. She proposed that they take their coffee +out in the garden, on the river front, under the trees. They sat +watching the boats, and the little boys paddling about barefooted; it +was in the cool of sunset, and there were red bars slanting across the +western horizon. It was very pleasant. The waiter moved about +noiselessly; there were some children making merry in the swing set up +at the far end of the garden. + +"Is Teplitz very full?" asked Mrs. Ware. + +"Yes; more people than usual, I believe. I should think the hot baths +would do you good, too, Mrs. Ware?" + +"Oh, I guess I'll stay here awhile yet. I'm getting to feel quite spry +again. You left the Tremonts there?" + +"Yes?" + +Dorothy turned away from the river and looked at him a trifle +reproachfully. "You must be awfully fond of those people," she said, +trying to smile. + +Wooton shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +"No," he replied, "I can't say that exactly. But Mrs. Tremont really +insisted on my going; she said she had never been there before, and +thought that as I knew the ropes of the place, it would be a small thing +for me to play pilot for them for a while. What was I to do?" He looked +at Dorothy appealingly. + +Mrs. Ware was pushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. + +"In Boston, Dorothy," she said, "I guess Mrs. Tremont is quite a society +leader." She said it as if that was an assertion of crushing +significance, intended to quiet any possible questionings as to why any +young man should think it necessary to comply with the wishes of so +great a personage. + +"What if she is?" was Dorothy's quick reply; "that doesn't make her any +better, does it? I don't see how you can go around with them so much, +that's all, Mr. Wooton." + +"Oh," he laughed, "I assure you I don't like them so very much myself; +but I don't dislike them. And I hate to offend people. They asked me to +go!" + +They drank their coffee, and watched the twilight settling down. They +talked lightly, and laughed a good deal. + +"Miss Ware," Wooton asked presently, "you've never been down to +Schandau, have you?" + +"No. Is it worth while?" + +"Immensely! You ought to make the trip." + +"Oh, I simply can't begin to get mamma to move from this town. She's +perfectly enchanted with it, somehow." She looked at her mother, and +patted her on the arm. Mrs. Ware said nothing, only smiled back at her +daughter, who went on, "but I'd like it mightily." + +"I wish you'd let me show you the place," Wooton persevered. He looked +over at Mrs. Ware in a hesitating way. "Perhaps--if Mrs. Ware would +rather not stir from the hotel--there would be no objection to Miss Ware +making the trip with me? The place is really pretty; the royal residence +there is one of the sights. It's only half an hour or so by the steamer. +You'd hardly notice our absence; I think she'd enjoy it." He wondered a +little whether they would look at him in frigid horror, or take it as a +proposition quite in accord with the conventions they were accustomed +to. He knew perfectly well that most of the people he knew in the East +would have considered him insane if he had ventured such a proposal; +but, in regard to these people, and this girl in particular, he +remembered that a friend of his had once used a phrase that had struck +him at the time as rather good, and that was, perhaps, applicable. The +man had declared, half in a spirit of banter, half in chivalrous +defense, that the girl of the West paraphrased the old motto to read: +"_Sans peur, sans reproche et sans chaperon_." + +To his relief, Mrs. Ware's answer was merely a smile at her daughter, +and a "You'll have to see what Dorothy thinks about it, I guess. It's +her picnic. If she wares to go--." She left the sentence unfinished, as +if to convey the impression that under the circumstances mentioned her +own preference would be allowed lapse. + +"I think," said Dorothy, with a little clasping together of her hands, +"that it would be simply delightful! You wouldn't worry, would you, +mamma? There are always so many waiters around and--dear, dear, I talk +just as if we were going this very minute!" She looked gratefully at +Wooton. Somehow or other, he felt himself blushing. He caught himself +regretting the fact that he was no longer as genuine as this girl was. +"I think it's simply perfect of you to ask me," she went on, "I'm sure +I'll enjoy it ever so much." + +"Then," he said, airily, "we'll consider that settled. It's very good of +you to say you'll go, I'm sure. Suppose we say Wednesday?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +It was certainly a sunny enough day, and the Elbe glistened invitingly. +Wooton had been up earlier than was usual for him and had taken a walk +out into the level country; when he came into the hallway of the +Bellevue he was in the best of spirits. Miss Ware came down the +stairway, presently, her parasol in rest over her left arm, and her +gloves still in process of being buttoned. She smiled down at him +radiantly. + +"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" she cried. + +"Not a moment," he answered, adding, with a smile, "strange to say. You +young ladies usually do! But--do you notice how kind the clerk of the +weather is?" + +"Delightful!" They went slowly down toward the wharf where the little +steamer was puffing lazily in the rising heat. + +"Your mother is well?" He asked the I question as solicitously as if he +were the family physician. + +"Quite well. The fact is," she added with a comic effort to seem +melancholy, "I'm afraid she'll be so well soon that she'll want to go +back to the States." + +"Ah, so you don't want to go just yet?" + +"Oh, I haven't half seen it all, you know! Still,--" she sighed gently +and looked out beyond the real horizon, "it will be nice to be home +again." + +Wooton brought a couple of steamer chairs and placed them on the +deck-space that was well in the shadow of the awning. The sun was +beginning to grow almost unpleasantly strong. Presently, with a minute +or so of wriggling away from the wharf, of backing and sidling, the +little steamer got proper headway and proceeded slowly on its way up the +river. The central portion of the town was soon passed; green +garden-spaces, and houses shut in by cherry-trees, gave way to low-lying +meadows and hills rising up in the distance. The perpetual +"shug-shug-shug" of the engines, and the hushed whispering of the river +as the steamer bows cut through the water were almost the only sounds +that broke the quiet. There was not a cloud in the sky. Swallows darted +arrow-like through the air. + +Wooton had pushed his hat back from his forehead and sat with +half-closed eyes. He was silent. Miss Ware, looking at him shyly, +wondered what he was thinking about; told herself once more that he was +the handsomest man she had ever seen, and then sent her clear gaze +riverward again. What Wooton was thinking at that moment was that he +would give many things if in his spirit there were still that simplicity +that would ask of life no more feverish pleasures than those he was now +enjoying--the pleasures of peace and quiet. To be able to sit thus, with +half-closed eyes, as it were, and let the wind of the world always blow +merely a gentle breath across one's face!--perhaps, after all, that was +the road to happiness. On the other hand, the thousand and one +experiences; missed, the opportunities wasted! Surely it was impossible +to appreciate the sweets of good had one not first tasted of the fruit +of knowledge of evil! But supposing one so got the taste of the bitter +apple into one's mouth that thereafter all things tasted bitter and the +good, especially, created only nausea? For that was his own state. Well, +in that case--he smiled to himself in his silence--there was nothing to +be done but enjoy, enjoy to think of the once easily reached contentment +as of a dream that is dead, and to strive so ceaselessly to blow the +embers of the fires of pleasure that they would at least keep +smouldering until all the vessel was ashes. The pleasures of the +moment--those were the things to seize! The moment was the thing to +enjoy; the morrow might not come. + +He turned to look at the girl beside him, who had by this time resigned +herself with something of quiet amusement to his silence, and now sat, +veilless, her lips slightly open to the breeze, her face unspeakably +fair-seeming with its rosy flush and its look of eager, expectant +enjoyment. He told himself that, as far as this moment at least went, it +left little to be desired; to sit beside so sweety a girl as Dorothy +Ware was surely pleasure enough. And then he thought somewhat grimly +that he himself was, unfortunately, impregnable to the infection of such +simple joys. + +"A penny!" he spoke softly, as if not to wake her too brusquely from a +rêverie. + +"Oh," she cried, with a little start, and, turning toward him, "they are +not worth so much, really! I was thinking of Mr. Lancaster. He used to +be so terribly ambitious; you know. Didn't you say you knew of him, in +town?" + +Wooton realized that he must needs be diplomatic. He called it +diplomacy; some persons might have rudely termed it mendacity. The two +are commonly confounded. + +"Yes," he replied, "some artists that I knew used to mention his name +occasionally." He paused an instant or two and then continued, +impassively, "I seem to remember hearing someone say that he was +engaged to some very rich girl." + +Dorothy Ware smiled sadly. "I supposed he would be," she said, simply. +She felt angry at herself for not feeling the news more deeply; yet it +hardly seemed to touch her at all; it was just as if she had heard that +one of her girl friends had married. She recalled Dick's impassioned, if +soberly worded, farewell; she remembered her own words; she wondered how +it was possible that the passing months could have changed her so that +now she seemed almost indifferent as to young Lancaster's fortunes or +misfortunes. + +Wooton's exclamation of "Ah, there's Schandau!" broke in upon the train +of her self-questioning thoughts. They walked over to the rail of the +boat together, and looked out to where the roofs of summer-villas and +hotels came peeping through the wooded banks of the river. As they stood +thus she felt his right hand just touching her own left. Somehow, the +blood came rushing into her face, and she took her hand away under +pretense of fastening up her veil. + +From the landing-stage they walked up to one of the hotels, where Wooton +ordered a light repast. Miss Ware was in excellent spirits. The beauty +of the day and the picturesqueness of the place, with its cozy villas +tucked away against the hillside, its leafy lanes and its mountain +shadows, filled her with the elixir of happiness. She chatted and +laughed incessantly. She asked Wooton if they couldn't go for a walk +into the woods. Walk, of course! No, she didn't want to drive; that was +too much like poking along the boulevards at home in the States. She +wanted to stroll up little foot-paths, into the heart of the wood, and +gather flowers, and have the birds whistle to her! Didn't he remember +that she was a country girl? She hadn't been in a real wood since she +left Lincolnville, and did he suppose she was going to enjoy this one by +halves? + +They walked out along the white, dusty _chaussee_ until it reached the +denser part of the hill-forest; then they struck off into a by-path. In +the shadow of the pines it was cool and refreshing; the scent of pines +filled the air. In the thick undergrowth there were occasional clumps of +blue-berries. Dorothy Ware picked them eagerly, laughing carelessly when +she stained her gloves with the juice. She plucked flowers in abundance, +and had Wooton carry them. They strayed heedlessly into the forest, +hardly noting whether they followed the path or not. They found +themselves, presently, in the lee of a huge rock that some long-silent +volcanic upheaval must once have thrust through the earth's shell. Close +to the earth this rock was narrower than at its summit; under its +sloping base there was a cavity all covered with moss. Overhead the +pines shut out the sky. + +A trifle tired with her walk, Miss Ware hailed the sight of this spot +with unfeigned gladness. Wooton spread his top-coat for her. Sitting +there, in the silence made voiceful by the rustling of the pines, +Wooton felt his heart beat faster than it had in years. She was pretty, +this girl; her voice was so caressing, and her presence and manner such +a charm! Young enough, too, to be taught many things. He watched her, as +she sat there, binding the flowers with the stems of long grasses, stray +curls playing about her cheeks, and her mouth snowing the slight down on +the upper lip, and, for an instant, there came to him a feeling of pity. +It is possible, perhaps, that the serpent occasionally pauses to admire +the pigeon's plumage. + +"I wonder," he began, softly, "whether you know Hugh McCulloch's 'Scent +o' Pines'? No? I think you will like it: + + "Love shall I liken thee unto the rose + That is so sweet? + Nay, since for a single day she grows, + Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows + Beneath our feet. + + "But to the perfume shed when forests nod, + When noonday shines; + That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod, + Eternal as the eternal peace of God-- + The scent of pines." + +He quoted the verses musically. He gave the words all the sincerity that +never found its way into his actions. He was one of those men who read a +thing better than the man that wrote it, because they know better the +art of simulating an emotion that he knows only how to feel. + +"A pretty idea," she admitted. They talked on ramblingly, lightly. +Overhead the sun was sinking into the west. A wind had sprung up from +the southwest, and in the north-west banks of clouds had gathered, thick +and threatening. Occasional flashes of lightning darted across the +cloud-space. A thunderstorm was evidently approaching, proceeding +stubbornly against the wind. The sun dipped behind the clouds, that rose +higher, presently over-casting all the heavens. Light gusts of wind went +puffing through the forest, scattering leaves and whirling twigs. + +Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the mountain storm broke over the +forest. Almost on the stroke of the first flash of lightning came the +thunder; then as if the clouds had been bulls charging in the arena, the +furious concussion was followed by the gush of the blood of heaven. The +rain came down in lances that struck the earth and bounded up again. +About the heads of the pines the wind roared and wailed. + +Coming upon them so suddenly, this riot of the elements made the two +young people sitting there in the lee of the rock, start to their feet +in dismay. A momentary gleam came into Wooton's eyes; whether it was +anger or joy only himself could have told. All about them the storm was +playing its tremendous tarantelle; the whole earth seemed to shake with +the repeated cannonades of the thunderous artillery of the heavens, and +through the darkness that had fallen the lightning sent such vivid +streaks of light as only made the succeeding gloom more dismal. It was +to tempt fate to venture out of the shelter the rock was giving. +Instinctively the girl shrank a little toward Wooton. She looked at him +appealingly. "It's dreadful," she said, "it--it hurts my eyes so! +And--the steamer! Mamma will think--" She stopped and covered her eyes +with her hands just as another flash seared its way into the forest. + +Wooton stood still, biting his underlip nervously. "I--I'm afraid it's +all my fault," he said, "I ought to have known it was getting late. And +these storms come up so quickly here in the mountains. We can't stir +from here. The storm is playing right around this wood. It means +waiting." He saw her shivering slightly. Bending down, he picked up his +top-coat, and put it gently about her shoulders. "You'll catch cold," he +warned, in a tender voice. + +She said nothing; but he could see gratitude in her eyes. Something +seemed to draw her toward him. At each glaring flash she shrank nearer +to him. He was looking tensely at her, his hand against a ledge of rock, +lest the gusts of wind should swing him out into the open. + +A crash that seemed to deafen all hearing for several instants; a flying +mass of splintered wood, torn from a suddenly stricken tree that fell +straight across the opening of their shelter; a light so white that it +hurt the eyes; and a trembling under foot that shook the very ground +these two storm-stayed ones stood. In the instant that followed the +crash Wooton felt the girl beside him lean heavily towards him; her eyes +were closed; she had fainted. Keeping her tightly in his arms, a queer +smile played about the corners of his mouth. "It was ordained!" His +thoughts uttered themselves almost unconsciously. Holding her so, with +the thunder still rolling its chariot wheels all about the reverberate +rocks, he kissed her. + +The wind veered about, sending the rain spatteringly into their faces. +Wooton unfastened the girl's veil, and took her hat off, very gently and +carefully. The rain splashed into her face, streaming over the brow and +the heavy lashes. + +Slowly the lashes lifted; her breast moved in a tremulous breath. As +comprehension of her position came to her awakening faculties she seemed +to shudder a little, to attempt withdrawal; then her eyes sought his, +and something found there seemed to soothe; she sighed again and sank +more closely into his embrace. And now fires went coursing through the +man; he pressed the girl's slight body to him fiercely, and kissing her +upon both eyes, whispered into the rosy shell of her ear, "Dorothy--I +love you!" + +The storm still played relentlessly about them. The rain came further +and further into the shelter-hole. But these two, lip to lip, and breath +to breath, gave no heed save to the promptings of their own emotions. +The elements might rend the rocks; but hearts they could not scar! The +girl felt herself irresistibly drawn by this man. Something in him had +always attracted her wonderfully--something she had never sought to +explain, scarcely heeding it for any length of time. But now that chance +had, as it seemed, thrown the magnet and the steel so closely together, +she felt this hidden, mysterious force more mightily than ever; it +seemed to her that in his kisses all the earth might melt away and +become nothing. Moments when she feared him, when he inspired her with +something not unlike anger, were succeeded by moments when she felt that +he had put an arrow into her heart which to withdraw meant unutterable +anguish; but which to bury more deeply meant the bitterest and sweetest +of the bitter-sweets of love. + +While the storm raged on and over the mountain, these two sat there +where whatsoever forest-gods of love there be had drawn their magic +circle. Reeling over the mountain top like a drunken man, the storm +passed on along the river-banks, waking up echoes in the Bastei, and +flying, presently, into Austria. Its muttered curses grew fainter and +fainter, gradually to be swallowed up altogether in the swaying of the +pines and the streaming of the rain. + +Then, presently, the pines began to lift their heads again, to shake +themselves as if in angry impatience, so that the rain dropped heavily, +and after the flying column of darkness, light came in once more from +the west. The sun was still above the horizon. Turning the rain-drops +into opals that glistened with the rain-bow hues, the sunshine streamed +over the forest. The afternoon, that had seen such a terrible battle of +the elements, was to die in peace, and light, and sweetness. + +They walked together to an eminence that was almost bared of trees. +Below them the forest swept in every direction like a field of dark +grass. The sun sent its last rays ricochetting over the waves of green +to where they stood, silently. Another instant, and the great bronzed +body was below the line of hills that made the horizon; only the +salmon-colored streaks that stained the lower strata of the western sky +remained to tell the tale of the sun-god's day. The air grew slightly +chill. + +With that first forerunner of the fall of night, there came into the +dream that Dorothy Ware had moved in, the chilling thought of--certain +facts. They had most assuredly missed the boat back to Dresden. Would +there be another when they reached Schandau? Could they get home by +carriage? + +Wooton could only shrug his shoulders in despair. He did not know. He +had counted only on the two hours--the hour of the departure from +Dresden and the return from Schandau; the storm had upset all his plans. +He was utterly at sea; he could say nothing until they reached Schandau +and made inquiries. Would she not let the thought drop until then. Was +there not the sweet present? + +As they walked through the forest, picking their way as best they could, +without a compass, and uncertain whether their direction was the right +one or the wrong one, night falling surely and swiftly, Wooton held his +arm about the young girl's waist, lest she stumble or slip. She looked +up at him smilingly and trustingly, yet tremulous at the behest of that +mysterious something that drove her to accept his caresses instead of +spurning them, that made her quiver at his touch, like a wind-kissed +aspen, and had her still the storm within her by giving it a storm to +fight. + +The darkness became denser. Their feet stumbled, and trees were hardly +distinguishable in the blackness. Had there been no other thought save +that considering their condition and surroundings, the girl, at least, +would have been trembling in fear and and uncertainty. As it was, each +loophole for a doubt was closed up by a kiss. + +A streak of white came suddenly in view, and they found themselves upon +the chaussee once more. But in which direction lay Schandau? Overhead the +the stars were shining, but neither of these two could use the night +heavens as a chart. + +Behind them came the dull rumble of wheels. Around a turn of the road +came carriage-lights. As they flashed close upon them, Wooton spoke to +the driver. + +"Sie fahren nach Schandau? nicht wahr?" + +The driver assented, without stopping. At the sound of the questioner's +voice, one of the occupants of the carriage had leaned window-ward. + +It was Miss Tremont, of Boston. In the glare of the lanterns she had +caught the faces plainly. + +She leaned back to the cushions, smiling slightly. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"It's dark as an inferno, and the stairs make a man's back ache," said +Laurence Stanley dismally to himself, as he climbed up to the Philistine +Club, "but," as he caught his breath again and consequently began to +feel more cheerful, "it's comfortable when you get there." + +Which was distinctly true. The furniture, the carpets, the hangings in +the spacious, rambling old rooms were all ancient and worn, but comfort +was as common to them all as was age. When you came in and slid down +into the shiny leather cavern of an arm chair you felt that you were at +home. At least, the men who were members did. They were a queer lot, +these members. Just what they had in common, no man might say; there +were artists, and writers, and musicians, and men-about-town. To +outsiders it seemed as if a certain sort of cleverness was the open +sesame to the membership rolls. In the matter of name, it was doubtless, +the effect of a stroke of humor that came to one of the founders. +Perhaps, for the very reason that most of the members were men of the +sort that one instinctively knew to be modern, and broad and untramelled +by dogmas or doctrines, the club had been named the Philistine Club. It +was no longer in its first youth. The walls were behung with the +portraits of former presidents--portraits that were all alike in their +effect of displaying an execrable sort of painting; it was evident that +in its selection of painters in ordinary the club had lived strictly up +to its name. The building that housed the club was an old one, on one of +the busiest business thoroughfares in the city. It was very convenient, +as the hard-working fellows among the members phrased it; in a minute +you could drop out of the rush and roar of the street-traffic into the +quiet gloom of the club, a lounge, and a book. + +Stanley had not been in the dark corner that he usually affected very +long before Vanstruther came in, his beard more pointed than ever. He +dropped limply into a chair, put his feet on one of the whist tables, +and said, as he lit a cigar: "Do you know this is about the time of year +that I realize that this town is a hole? I repeat it--a hole! A hole, +moreover, with the bottom out. I tell you there's not a soul in town +just now." + +"Most true," assented Stanley, "for neither you nor I have anything that +deserves the name." + +"Bosh! What I mean is that the place is a howling desert. Everybody is +still at the seashore, or the mountains, or the mineral springs. Newport +or the White Mountains, or Manitou, or Mackinac Island--there's where +every self-respecting person is at this time; not in this old sweat-box. +Why, it's a positive fact that there are no pretty girls at all on the +avenue these days; or, if there are any, you can tell at a glance that +they're from Podunk or Egypt." + +"In other words, there is a scarcity of 'Mrs. Tomnoddy received +yesterday,' and 'there will be a meeting of the Contributors' Club at +Mrs. Mausoleum's on Friday.' People who like to see their names in the +daily papers are out of town, so the society journalist waileth; is it +not so? It all comes down to bread and butter in this country. Just as +soon as we get away from bread and butter, we'll be greater idiots than +the others ever knew how to be." He waved a hand carelessly to some +remote space in which he inferred the continent of Europe. + +"That's all very well," rejoined the other, "you are always great on +magniloquent generalizations, but you never trouble about the concrete +things. I'm up a tree for copy, day in, day out, and I groan just once, +and what do you do? You moralize loftily. But do you help me with a real +bit of news? Not a bit of it." + +"Well, you know," Stanley said, lazily, "I'm the last man in the world +to come to for items of news concerning _le monde où l'on s'amuse_. But +if you want something a notch or two lower--say about the grade of +members of this club. Do you notice that Dante Belden's sofa is empty +today?" + +The journalist looked around to the other side of the room where an old +black leather lounge stood. It was the sofa that had long since become +the special property, in the eyes of the other members, of the artist, +Dante Gabriel Belden. He used to sleep there a great deal; and he used +to dream also. Occasionally he waxed talkative, and then there usually +grew up around him a circle of chairs. In such conclave, there passed +anecdotes that were delightful, criticisms that were incisive, and, in +total, nothing that was altogether stupid. + +"Where is he?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Where is who?" It was Marsboro, the _Chronicle's_ artist, that had +sauntered over. + +"Belden." + +"Married," said Stanley, laconically. + +"The devil!" exclaimed Vanstruther, putting his cigar down on the +window-ledge. + +"Not the same," was the quiet reply. "Although--" and Stanley paused to +smile--"it might be interesting to trace the relationship." + +"Oh, talk straight talk for a minute, can't you! I never knew the man +was thinking of it." + +"Nor did I. Well, we're all friends of his, and men don't think any less +of each other in a case of this kind, so I'll tell you the story. In my +opinion, it's a clear case of 'Tomlinson, of Berkley Square'. However, +that's open to individual interpretation. Belden has succumbed to a +lifelong passion for Henri Murger?" + +Marsboro swore audibly. "I don't see," he said, "that you're any plainer +than you were! What's all that got to do with the man's marriage?" + +"Everything! Everything--the way I look at it, at least. You know as +well as I do, how saturated he is with admiration for those delightful +escapades of the Quartier Latin that Murger makes such pretty stories +of. Well--he has acted up to them. The trouble is that this is not the +Quartier Latin, and that sort of thing is a trifle awkward when you make +a Christian ceremony of it. Here are the facts: Belden and myself were +coming home from the theatre a good while ago, when we came to a couple +that were decidedly in liquor. The man had been out to dinner, or a +dance or somewhere; he had his dress clothes on, and his white shirt was +still immaculate. His silk hat was on straight enough. His walk was the +only thing that betrayed him. He had his arm around the girl. When we +passed them, or began to, we could hear that the girl was crying. Her +boots were shabby and the skirt that trailed over them was badly fringed +at the bottom; above the waist she had on such sham finery and her face, +once pretty, had such a stale, hunted look, as told plainly to what +class she belonged. The class that is no class at all, and yet that has +always been. "I'm afraid of you--you've been drinking--let me go," she +was crying out. Belden stopped at once. The man put his arm more tightly +about her waist, and tried, drunkenly, to kiss her. The girl wrenched +herself almost away from him. She screamed out, "Let loose of me, you +beast!" Then she began to moan a little. That settled Belden. He walked +in front of the man in the white shirt-front, and told him to let the +woman go. The man said he would see him damned first. The words had +hardly tortured their stuttering way from the drunken man's mouth, +before Belden gave him a blow between the eyes that sent the fellow to +the sidewalk. He lay there cursing, drunkenly. Belden asked the woman, +quietly, where she lived. She looked at him and laughed. Laughed aloud! +I've seen most things, in my time, but that woman's laugh, and the look +on her face are about the most grewsome things I remember. She laughed, +you know as if someone had just told her that he would like to walk down +to hell with her. She laughed in that high, unnatural key, in which only +women of that sort can laugh; it was a laugh that had in it the scorn of +the Devil for his toy, man. There was in it a memory of a time when she +might have unblushingly answered that question of 'Where do you live?' +There was in it something like pity for this innocent who asked her that +question in good faith, or seemed to. Then she steadied herself against +a lamp-post, and said, with the whine coming back into her voice, 'What +d'ye want to know for?' 'I'll see that you get there all right,' said +Belden. The woman laughed again. She took her hand away from the +lamp-post, and began an effort to walk on without replying; but in an +instant she swayed, and, had not Belden jumped toward her and put an arm +about her shoulders, would have fallen. + +"She cursed feebly. 'Tell me where you live?' Belden persevered. His +voice was harsher and almost a command. She stammered out more sneering +evasions; then she flung out the name of the dismal street where she had +such residence as that sort ever has. What do you suppose that man +Belden did? Hailed a cab, put the woman in, and got in after her. Simply +shouted a hasty goodnight to me, and drove off. Well,--that's where it +all began." Stanley stopped, got up, and walked over to the wall, +pressing a button that showed there. + +"But you don't mean to say--" began one of the others, with wonder and +incredulity in his tone. + +"Oh, yes, I do, though. Russell, take the orders, will you? What'll you +men drink--or smoke? I've been talking, and my throat's dry." + +The darky waited patiently until the several orders had been given. Then +he glided away as noiselessly as he had come. + +"There is really where the story, as far as I know it, ends," Stanley +went on, after he had cooled his throat a little, "The other end of it +came to me from Belden the other day. 'Got anything to do Thursday +evening?' he asked me. We had been talking of dry-point etching. I told +him I thought not. 'Then will you help me jump off?' he went on. Then +the whole scene of that winter-night flashed back to me in a sort of +wave. I felt, before he answered my question for further information, +what his answer would be, 'Yes,' he said, 'it's the same girl. I know +her better than I did. Her's is a sad case; very sad. I'm lifting her up +out of it.' I didn't say anything, he hadn't asked my opinion. As +between man and man there was nothing for me to cavil at; I was invited +to a friend's wedding, that was all. I went. I was the only other person +present, barring the old German minister that Belden fished out from +some dark corner. It was the queerest proceeding! Belden had brought the +girl up into a righteous neighborhood some months ago, it seemed; had +been paying her way; the neighbors thought she was a person of some +means, I suppose. He introduced me to her on the morning of his +wedding-day; I think she remembered me, although she has caught manners +enough from Belden or her past to conceal what she felt. And so--they +were married." + +"My God!" groaned Vanstruther, "what an awful thing to do! Lifting her +up out of it, does he say? No! He's bringing himself down to it! That's +what it always ends in. Always. Oh, I've known cases! Every man thinks +he is going to succeed where the others have failed. For they have +failed, there is no doubt about that! Look at the case of Gripler, the +Elevated magnate!--he did that sort of thing, and the world says and +does the same old thing it has always done--sneers a little, and cuts +her! He is having the most magnificent house in all Gotham built for +himself, I understand, and they are going to move there, but do you +suppose for a minute they will ever get into the circle of the elect? +Not in a thousand years! Don't misunderstand me: I'm not considering +merely the society of the 'society column,' I'm thinking of society at +large, the entire human body, the mass of individuals scripturally +enveloped in the phrase 'thy neighbor.' The taint never fades; a surface +gloss may hide the spot, but some day it blazons itself to the world +again in all it's unpleasantness. Take this case of our friend Belden. +We, who sit here, are all men who know the world we live in; we will +treat Belden himself as we have always done. We will even argue, in that +exaggerated spirit of broadness that might better be called laxness, +typical of our time, that the man has done a braver thing than ourselves +had courage for had the temptation come to us. We will acknowledge that +his motive was a good one. He honestly believes that he will educate the +girl into the higher life. He thinks the past can be sunk into the pit +of forgetfulness; but there is no pit deep enough to hide the past. We +will say that he is putting into action what the rest of the radicals +continually vapor about; the equal consideration, in matters of +morality, of man and woman. He is remembering that a man, we argue, +should in strict ethics demand of a woman no more than himself can +bring. But, mark my words, the centuries have been wiser than we knew. +It is ordained that the man who shall take to wife a woman that has what +the world meaningly call 'a past,' shall see the ghost of that past +shaking the piece of his house for ever and ever." + +There was silence for a few moments. Beyond the curtains, someone came +in and threw himself down on the sofa. Marsboro, looking vaguely out at +window, said, somewhat irrelevantly, "I suppose that will be the end +of the Sunday evening seances?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Stanley. "If I know anything about Belden, I +shall not be surprised if he asks us all up there again one of these +evenings. He has lived so long in Free-and-easy-dom that no thought of +what people call 'the proprieties' will ever touch him." + +"Heigh!" Vanstruther stretched himself reflectively. "It's a queer life +a man leads, a queer life! God send us all easy consciences!" + +"Don't be pathetic!" Stanley frowned. "The life is generally of our own +choosing, and if we play the game we should pay the forfeits. Besides +which, it is one of the few things I believe in, that the man who has +tasted of sin, and in whose mouth the bitters of revulsion have +corroded, is the only one who can ever safely be called good. It is +different with a woman. If once she tastes--there's an end of her! Oh, I +know very well that we never think this way at first. At first--when we +are very young--we think there is nothing in the world so delightful as +being for ever and ever as white as the driven snow; then Life sends his +card, we make his acquaintance, he introduces us to some of his fastest +friends, and we, h'm, begin to change our views a little. In accordance +with the faint soiling that is gradually covering up the snowy hues of +our being, the strictness of our opinions on the matter of whiteness +relaxes notably. Arm in arm with Life, we step slowly down the ladder. +Then, if we are in luck, there is a reaction, and we go up again--so +far!--only so far, and never any further; if we are particularly fond of +Life, we are likely to get very far down indeed; and the end is that +Life bids us farewell of his own accord. That is the history of a modern +man of the world." + +"I believe you are right," said Marsboro, "I know, in my own case at +least, that I can remember distinctly how beautiful my young ideal was. +But Life is jealous of ideals; he shatters them with a single whiff of +experience. And it happened as you just now said: as I descended, my +ideals descended. I only hope"--he sighed, half in jest, half in +earnest,--"that I will begin the upward climb and succeed in winning +up." + +"Ah," assented Stanley, "that is always the interesting problem. Which +it will be: the elevator with the index pointing to 'Up' or the one +destined 'Down.' You needn't look so curiously at me, Van, I know what +you are wondering. Well you can rest easy in the assurance I give you: +the nether slopes are beckoning to me. I became aware of it long ago, +reconciled moreover. I live merely for the moment. My senses must amuse +me until there is nothing left of them; that is all. But look here: +don't think there is no reverse to the medal. I have, fate knows, my +moments of being horrified at myself. It is, I presume, at the times +when the ghost of my conscience comes to ask why it was murdered." He +appeared to be concentrating all his attention on the ashes at the end +of his cigarette. "Why, don't you know that there is no longer any +meaning for me in any of those words: honor, and truth, and virtue? I +have no standards, except my digestion, and my nerves. I don't mistreat +my wife simply because it would come back to me in a thousand little +annoyances that would grate on my nerves." He sipped slowly at the glass +by his side. "And I'm not worse than some other men!" + +"True. All of which is a pity. But we've got off the subject. The +villainy of ourselves is too patent a proposition. The question is, by +what right we continue to expect of the women we marry that which they +dare not expect of us. + +"Are you the mouthpiece of the New Woman? Well, the Creator made man +king, and the laws of physiology cannot be twisted to suit the New +Woman. For it is, in essentials, unfortunately a question of +physiological consequences. Wherefore, suppose we stop the argument. +This is not a medical congress!" + +Stanley went over to the desk where the periodicals lay, and picking one +up, began, with a cigarette in his mouth, to let his eyes rest on the +printed pages. + +"Will you go, if you're asked?" Marsboro said, presently. + +"I?" Stanley looked up carelessly. "Certainly. As far as I'm concerned +a man may marry the devil and all his angels. But I wouldn't take my +wife or my sister." + +Vanstruther laughed dryly. "If women were to apply the tit-for-tat +principle," he said, "what terribly small visiting lists most of us +fellows would have!" + +But Stanley disdained further discussion, and the other men got up to +go. When they had passed beyond the curtains Stanley laid down the paper +he had been reading, and smiled to himself. He was wondering why he had +been led into this waste of breath. A man's life was a man's life, and +what was the use of cavilling at facts! The only thing to do was to take +life lightly and to let nothing matter. Also, one must amuse oneself! If +the manner of the amusement was distasteful or hurtful to others, +why--so much the worse for the others! + +So musing, Laurence Stanley passed into a light slumber, and dreamed of +impossible virtues. + +But Dick Lancaster, who, from the sofa beyond the curtains, had heard +all of this conversation, did not dream of pleasant things that night. +In fact, he spent a white night. Like a flood the horrors of +self-revelation had come upon him at sound of those arguments and +dissections; he saw himself as he was, compared with what he had been; +he shuddered and shivered in the grip of remorse. + +In the white light of shame he saw whither the wish to taste of life had +led him; he realized that something of that hopeless corruption that +Stanley had spoken of was already etched into his conscience. Oh, the +terrible temptation of all those shibboleths, that told us that we must +live while we may! He felt, now that he had seen how deep was the abyss +below him, that his feet were long since on the decline, and that from a +shy attempt at worldliness he had gone on to what, to his suddenly +re-awakened conscience, constituted dissoluteness. + +To the man of the world, perhaps, his slight defections from the +puritanic code would have seemed ridiculously vague. But, he repeated to +himself with quickened anguish, if he began to consider things from the +standpoint of the world, he was utterly lost; he would soon be like +those others. + +He got up and opened the window of his bed-room. Below him was the hum +of the cable; a dense mist obscured the electric lights, and the town +seemed reeking with a white sweat. He felt as if he were a prisoner. He +began to feel a loathing for this town that had made him dispise himself +so much. The roar of it sounded like a wild animal's. + +Then a breeze came and swept the mist away, and left the streets shining +with silvery moisture. Lights crept out of the darkness, and the veil +passed from the stars. The wild animal seemed to be smiling. But the +watcher at the window merely shrank back a little, closing the window. +Fascinating, as a serpent; poisonous as a cobra! The glitter and glamour +of society; the devil-may-care fascinations of Bohemia; they had lured +him to such agony as this! + +Such agony? What, you ask, had this young man to be in agony about? He +was a very nice young man--all the world would have told you that! Ah, +but was there never a moment in your lives, my dear fellow-sinners--you +men and women of the world--when it came to your conscience like a +sword-thrust, that the beautiful bloom of your youth and innocence was +gone from you forever and that ever afterward there would be a bitter +memory or a bitterer forgetfulness? And was that not agony? Ah, we all +hold the masks up before our faces, but sometimes our arms tire, and +they slip down, and then how haggard we look! Perhaps, if we had +listened to our consciences when they were quicker, we would not have +those lines of care upon our faces now. You say you have a complexion +and a conscience as clear as the dew? Ah, well, then I am not addressing +you, of course. But how about your neighbors? Ah, you admit--? Well, +then we will each of us moralize about our neighbor. It is so much +pleasanter, so much more diverting! + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +With the coming of morning, Lancaster shook himself out of his painful +rêveries, and decided that he must escape from this metropolitan prison, +if for ever so short a time. He would go out into the country, home. He +would go where the air was pure, and all life was not tainted. He +walked to a telegraph office and sent a dispatch to his mother, telling +of his coming. + +Then he went for a walk in the park. Now that he had made up his mind to +get out of this choking dungeon for a while he felt suddenly buoyant, +refreshed. He tried to forget Stanley and the Imperial Theatre, and all +other unpleasant memories of that sort. Some of the park policemen +concluded that this was a young man who was feeling very cheerful +indeed--else, why such fervid whistling? + +When he got to his studio he found some people waiting for him. They had +some commercial work for him to do. He shook his head at all of them. + +"I'm going out of town for a week," he said, "and I can do nothing until +I return. If this is a case of 'rush' you'll have to take it somewhere +else." + +He turned the key in the door with a wonderful feeling of elation, and +the pinning of the small explanatory notice on his door almost made him +laugh aloud. He thought of the joy that a jail bird must feel when he +sees the gates opening to let him into the free world. No more elevated +roads, no more cable cars, no more clanging of wheels over granite, no +more deafening shouts of newsboys; no more tortuous windings through +streets crowded with hurrying barbarians; no more passing the +bewildering glances of countless handsome women; no more--town! + +There was a train in half an hour. He bought his ticket and strolled up +and down the platform. He wondered how the dear old village would look. +He had been away only a little over a year, and yet, how much had +happened in that short time! Then he smiled, thinking of the intangible +nature of those happenings. There was nothing,--nothing that would make +as much as a paragraph in the daily paper. Yet how it had changed him, +this subtle flow of soul-searing circumstances! It was of such curious +woof that modern life was made; so rich in things that in themselves +were dismally commonplace and matters of course, and yet in total +exerted such strong influences; so rich, too, in crime and casuality, +that, though served up as daily dishes, yet seemed always far and +outside of ourselves! + +The novel he purchased to while away the hours between the town and +Lincolnville confirmed his thoughts in this direction. It was one of the +modern pictures of "life as it is." There was nothing of romance, hardly +any action; it was nearly all introspection and contemplations of the +complexity of modern existence. The story bored him I immensely, and yet +he felt that it was a voice of the time. It was hard to invest today +with romance. + +Was it, he wondered, a real difference, or was it merely the difference +in the point of view? Perhaps there was still romance abroad, but our +minds had become too analytical to see the picture of it?--too much +engaged in observing the quality of the paint? + +His mother was waiting for him at the station. It was pleasant to see +how proud she was of this tall young son of hers, and how wistfully she +looked deep into his eyes. "You're looking pale, Dick," she said, +holding him at the stretch of her arms. "And your eyes look like they +needed sleep." + +Dick gave a little forced laugh and patted his mother's hand. + +"Yes, I guess you're right mother. I need a little fresh air and a +rest." + +"Ah, you shall have both, my boy. And now tell me all you've been doing +up there in that big place." + +They walked down to the little house wherein Dick had first seen the +light of this world. He looked taller than ever beside the little woman +who kept looking him over so wistfully. He told her many things, but he +felt that he was talking to her in a language that was rusty on his +lips, the language of the country, of simplicity and truth. The language +of the world, in which his tongue was now glib, would be so full of +mysteries to this sweet mother of his that he must needs eschew it for +the nonce. It was a small thing, but he felt it as an evidence of the +changes that had been wrought in him. + +He told her of his work, of his career. Of the _Torch_, of his +subsequent renting of a studio, and free-lance life. Yes, he was making +money. He was independent; he had his own hours; work came to him so +readily that he was in a position to refuse such as pleased him least. +But, he sighed, it was all in black-and-white, so far. Paint loomed up, +as before, merely as a golden dream. In illustrating and decorating, +using black-and-white mediums, that _was_ where the money lay, and he +supposed he would have to stick to that for a time. But he was saving +money for a trip abroad. + +They talked on and on until nearly midnight. He asked after some of his +old acquaintances; he listened patiently to his mother's gentle gossip +and tried to feel interested. + +"The Wares are back," explained Mrs. Lancaster. + +"Ah," Dick looked up quickly. "Does Dorothy look well?" + +"I don't think so, though I'm bound I hadn't the courage to tell her so +to her face. She looks just like you do, Dick,--kinder fagged out." + +"Yes. They say traveling is hard work. And her mother?" + +"Oh, she's about the same as usual. Looks stouter, maybe." + +"I must get over and call there, before I get back to town," he said, +reflectively. "Well, mother, I suppose I'm keeping you up beyond your +regular time. I'm a trifle tired, too. So goodnight." + +He kissed her and passed up stairs to his old room. There were the same +pictures that he had decorated the walls with a few years ago. He +smiled; they were, fortunately, very crude compared to the work he was +doing now. When all was dark, he lay awake for a long time, drinking in +the deep silence of the place. He could hear the chirrup of the +crickets over in the meadows, and from far over the western hills came +the deep boom of a locomotive's whistle. The incessant roar of the town, +in which even the shrillest of individual noises are swallowed into one +huge conglomerate, was utterly gone. He could hear the wind slightly +swaying the branches; the deep blue of the star-spotted sky was full of +a caressing silence. The peace of it all soothed him, and ushered him +into deep, refreshing sleep. + +The sun touched him early in the morning, and seeing the beauty of the +dawning day, he dressed quickly and went quietly down stairs and out, +for a stroll about the dear old village. He passed the familiar houses, +smiling to himself. He thought of all the quaint and queer characters in +a little place of this sort. Presently he left the region of houses and +passed into the woods that were beginning to blush at the approach of +their snow-clad bridegroom. The picture of the sun rising over the +fringe of trees, gilding the browned leaves with a burnish that blazed +and sparkled, filled him with artistic delight. He said to himself that +after he had been abroad, and after his hand was grown cunning in +colors, he would ask for no better subject than these October woods of +the West. He sat down on the log of a tree and watched the golden, +crescent lamp of day. He had forgotten the town utterly, for the moment, +and for the moment he was happy. + +But the sun's progress warned him that it was time to start back to the +house. With swinging stride he passed over the highway, over the slopes +that led to the village. Suddenly he heard his named called, and +turning, saw a tall figure hastening toward him. + +It was Mr. Fairly, the minister. + +"My dear Dick," he said, shaking the young man's hand, "I am rejoiced to +see you. We have heard of you, of course; we have heard of you. But that +is not seeing you. Let me look at you!" + +Dick smiled. "I've grown, I believe." + +"Yes. In stature and wisdom, I dare say. But--" He slipped his arm +within Dick's, and walked with him silently for a few minutes. "The +town," he went on, "has a brand of its own, and all that live there, +wear it." They passed a boy going to school. "Look at that youngster. +Isn't he bright-eyed!" A farm wagon drove by, the farmer and his wife +sitting side by side on the springless seat. "Did you get the sparkle of +their faces?" said the minister. "Their skins were tanned and rough, no +doubt, but their eyes were clear. Now, Dick, your eyes have been reading +many pages of the Book of Knowledge and they are tired. I know, my boy, +I know. We buzz about the electric arc-light till we singe our wings, +and then, perhaps, we are wiser. Have you been singeing your's?" + +"Not enough, I'm afraid. The fascination is still there. Sometimes it is +the fascination of danger, sometimes of repulsion; but it is always +fascination." + +"Ah, so you have got to the repulsion!" + +The minister spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "And you no longer +think the world is all beautiful, and sometimes you wonder whether +virtue is a dream or a reality? I know, I know! And sometimes you wish +you were blind again, as once you were; and you want to wipe away the +taste of the fruit of knowledge?" + +Dick said nothing. + +"Those who chose the world as their arena," the minister went on, "must +suffer the world's jars and jeers. The world is a magnet that draws all +the men of courage; it sucks their talents and their virtues and spews +them forth, as often as not into the waters of oblivion. To swim ashore +needs wonderful strength! Here in the calmer waters we are but tame +fellows; we miss most of the prizes, but, we also miss the dangers. +Perhaps, some day, Dick, you'll come back to us again?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. But I don't think so. That other taste is +bitter, perhaps, but it holds one captive. And I'm changed, you see; the +old things that delighted me once are stale, and I need the perpetual +excitation of the town's unceasing changes. The town is a juggernaut +with prismatic wheels." + +They had nearly reached the minister's house. + +"I haven't preached to you, have I Dick?" + +Dick looked at the minister quickly. There was a sort of wistfulness +behind the eye-glasses, and a half smile beneath the waving mustache. + +"No. I wish you would!" + +"Ah, Dick, I can't! I'm not competent. You're in one world, and I'm in +another. Too many make the mistake that they can live in the valleys and +yet tell the mountaineers how to climb. But, Dick, whatever you do, keep +your self-respect! In this complex time of ours, circumstances and +comparisons alter nearly everything, and one sometimes wonders whether +b-a-d does not, after all, spell good; but self-respect should stand +against all confusions! Goodbye, Dick. Remember we're all fond of you! I +go to a convention in one of the neighboring towns tonight, and I won't +see you again before you go back. Goodbye!" + +Dick carried the picture of the kindly, military-looking old face with +him for many minutes. If there were more such ministers! He recalled +some of the pale, cold clergymen he had met at various houses in town, +and remembered how repellant their naughty assumption of superiority has +been to him. He was still musing over his dear old friend's counsel, +when he noticed that he was approaching the house where the Wares lived. +There was the veranda, blood red with it's creeper-clothing, and full of +memories for him. + +He began to walk slowly as he drew nearer. He was thinking of the last +time that he had seen Dorothy Ware. He recalled, with a queer smile, her +parting words: 'Goodbye, Dick, be good!' He realized that the Dick of +that day and the Dick of today were two very differing persons. And +she, too, doubtless, would no longer be the Dorothy Ware he once had +known. Something of fierce hate toward the world and fate came to him as +he thought of the way of human plans and planning were truthlessly +canceled by the decrees of change. Had he been good? Bah, the thought of +it made him sneer. If these memories were not to be driven away he would +presently settle down into determined, desperate melancolia. + +The conflict, in this man, was always between the intrinsic good and the +veneer of vice that the world puts on. In most men the veneer chokes +everything else. When those men read this, if they ever do, they will +wonder why in the world this young man was torturing himself with +fancies? But the men whose outer veneer has not yet choked the soul will +remember and understand. + +Dorothy Ware was on the veranda, gathering some of the vine's dead +leaves when Dick's step sounded on the wooden sidewalk. As he saw her, +his face lit up. He never noticed that the flush on her face was of +another sort. + +She smiled at him. + +"How do you do, Dick? Come up and shake hands." + +Then they stood and looked at each other silently for an instant. "We're +both a little older," said Dick. "But I suppose we have so much to talk +about that we'll have to make this a very passing meeting. Besides, +mother's waiting for me; I've been for a morning walk, you see. You'll +be at the great and only Fair, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes; I've almost forgotten how it looks. I do hope they will have a +fine day for it." + +Miss Ware looked after him wistfully. She thought of the thunderstorm in +the forest at Schandau, and sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The first day of the County Fair was hardly eventful. The farmers were +busy bringing in their exhibits of stock and produce, and arranging them +properly for the inspection of the judges. It is all merely by way of +preparation for the big day, the day on which the trotting and running +races take place. + +Fortunately, it was a cloudless day. Shortly after sunrise clouds of +dust began to fill the air. All the roads leading fairwards are filled +all morning with every sort and condition of vehicle. Farmers come from +the farthest bounderies of the county, bringing their families; the +young men bringing their "best girls." This volume of traffic soon +reduces the road-bed to a fine, powdery dust, that rises, mist-like and +obscures the face of the earth and sky. + +Soon the presence of the Fair is felt in the village itself, and the +"square" resounds to the cries of the omnibus drivers soliciting fares. +"All aboard, now, for the Fair Grounds, only ten cents!" So runs the +invitation yelled from half a dozen lusty, though dusty throats. For +this occasion every livery stable in the place brings out all the +ramshackle conveyances it has. Everything on wheels is pressed into +service. Like Christmas, the great day of the County Fair, comes but +once a year, and must be made the most of. Few people are going to walk +on so dusty a day as this, so the 'bus drivers ply up and down from +seven in the morning until dusk sets in, and the last home-stragglers +have left the grounds. + +At noon, the highway was become a very sea of dust. Dick had walked down +to the "square," and was looking about for a conveyance of some sort +when a carriage came up with Mrs. Ware and her daughter inside. Dorothy +spoke to the coachman, and then waved a daintily gloved hand at Dick. +"Delighted!" said that young man, getting in quickly, and adding, in +Mrs. Ware's direction, "This is awfully kind in you!" In that course of +the drive there was as little said as possible, because each sentence +meant a mouthful of dust. + +As they passed through the gates at last, Dick smiled at the dear +familiar sight that yet seemed something strange. There was the +half-mile track in the open meadow; the ridiculously small grand-stand +perched against the western horizon, the acres of sloping ground, shaded +by lofty oaks, and covered by a mass of picturesquely rural humanity. +Against the inclosing fence the countless stalls, filled with the show +stock of the county. The crowd was surging around the track, the various +refreshment booths, the merry-go-rounds, and the spaces where the +"fakirs" held forth. The grand-stand was filled to running over. The air +was resonant with laughter; with the appeals of the "fakirs," with the +neighing of the hundreds of horses hitched in every part of the field. + +The driver halted his horses as close as possible to get to the centre +of attraction, the race-track. Then, the horses turning restive, Mrs. +Ware decided to get out and go over to the dairy-booth, and see some of +her friends from the farms. Dorothy and Dick accompanied her, but had +soon exhausted the attractions of the booth. Mrs. Ware guessed she +wouldn't go with them. They started out into the motley crew of +sightseers together. + +As they approached the grand-stand again, their ears were assailed with +by a number of quaint and characteristic cries. "Right down this way, +now, and see the man with the iron jaw! Free exhibition inside every +minute! Walk up, walk up, and see the ring-tailed monkey eat his own +tail!" The most laughable part of this exuberant invitation was that it +had nothing to do with a circus or a dime-museum, it was merely the +vocal hall-mark of an ambitious seller of lemonade and candy. It was one +of the tricks of the trade. It caught the fancy of the countryman. It +sounded well. + +There were other cries, such as: "Here's your chance. Ten shots for a +nickel," and "the stick you ring is the stick you gits!" "This way for +the great panoramy of Gettysburg, just from Chicago!" "Pink lemo, here, +five a glass; peanuts, popcorn!" "The only Californy fruit on the +grounds here!" "Ten cents admits you to the quarter-stretch--don't crowd +the steps, move on, keep a-moving!" Babel was come again. + +The farm-people themselves were a healthy, cheering sight. They were all +bent on as much wholesome enjoyment as was possible. It looked as if +every man, woman and child in the county was there. They had, most of +them, come for the day, eating their meals in their vehicles, or under +the trees on the green sward. The meadow was a blaze of color. The +dresses of the women, with the color-note in them exaggerated in rustic +love of brightness, gave the scene a touch of picturesqueness. The white +tents of the various booths, the greenleaf trees, the glaring yellow sun +over head, and the dust-white track stretching out in the gray mist of +heat and dust made a picture of cheer and warmth. + +A cheering from the grand-stand. A trotting heat is being run, and the +horses have been around for the first time. It is not like the big +circuit meeting, this, and Dick thought with something of gladness that +the absence of a betting-shed left the scene an unalloyed charm. + +Everybody thinks himself competent to speak of the merits of the horses. +"He ain't got that sorrel bitted right," declares one authority. "He'll +push the bay mare so she'll break on the turn; there--watch her--what 'd +I tell you!" triumphs another. A third utters the disgusted sentiment +that "Dandy Dan 'd win ef he wuz driv right." And so on. Dick and +Dorothy smile at each other as they listen. There is nothing pleasanter +in the world than a silent jest as jointure. + +Then there comes a rush of dust up the track, a clatter of hoofs over +the "stretch," a whirl of wheels, cheers from the crowd and the heat is +lost and won. + +And so the day wears on, and the program dwindles. There are several +trotting races, a pacing event, a running race, and some bicycle +exhibitions. The day is to be topped off with a balloon ascent, the +balloonist, a woman, being billed to descend, afterward, by way of a +parachute. + +But to neither of these two spectators did the events of the program +seem the most interesting of the displays. It was the country people +themselves that had the most of quaint charms. Miss Dorothy Ware was +become so saturated with the polish of cosmopolitan views, and the +manners caught from extensive travel, that these scenes, once so +familiar and natural, now struck her as very strange and extraordinary. +In Dick the air of the metropolis had so keyed him up to the quick, +unwholesome pleasures of the urban mob that this breath of country +holiday filled him with a pleasant sense of rest. Never again could he +be as these were, but he could, in a far-off, dreamy way, still +appreciate their primitive emotions. They were all so ingenious, so +openly joyful, so gayly bent on having a good time, these country folk! +They strolled about in groups of young folk, or in couples, or in family +parties. She casts a wistful look toward a fruit-stand; he must go +promptly and buy her something. He bargains closely; he is mindful, +doubtless, of the fact that there is still the yearning for the +merry-go-round, the phonograph, and the panorama, to be appeased. + +In the West the sun was taking on the dull red tone of shining, beaten +bronze. The haze of dust began to lift, mist-wise, up against the +shadowgirt horizon. From thousands of lips there presently issues a long +drawn "Ah-h!" and the unwieldy mass of a balloon is seen to rise up over +the meadow. A damsel in startling, grass-green tights floats in mid-air +upheld by the resisting parachute, and drops earthward to the safe +seclusion of a neighboring pasture. Vehicles are unhitched; there are +some moments of wild shouting and maneuvering, and then the stream of +humanity and horses pours out into the dusty road, and in a little while +the fair grounds are merely a place for the ghosts of the things that +were. + +When it was all over, when he had said goodbye to Miss Ware and her +mother, a sense of loneliness came over Dick, and he sank into one of +those moody states that nowadays invariably meant torment. He could not +remember to have talked to Dorothy of anything save commonplace and +obvious things, and yet with every glance of her eye, every tone of her +voice, the old glamour that he had felt aforetime had come upon him +again. She was no longer the same, he had observed so much; the girlish +exuberance and forth-rightness had given way to a more subdued manner, a +fine, but somewhat colorless polish. Something, too, of the sparkle +seemed to have gone from her; her smile had much of sadness. It flashed +over him that never once had either of them referred to the words with +which they once had parted. Had it been his fault, or hers? Once, she +had let him hope, had she not? He remembered the dead words, but he +smiled at the dim tone that yon whole picture took in his memory. It was +as if it had all happened to someone else. Well,--perhaps it had; +certainly he was separated by leagues of too well remembered things from +that other self, the self that had said to a girl, once, "Dorothy, will +you wish me luck?" + +But in spite of the changes in them both, Dick felt that her charm for +him was potent with a new fervor. He could not define it; it seemed a +halo that surrounded her, in his eyes at least. The sardonic recesses of +his memory flashed to him the echo of his foolish words to Mrs. Stewart, +at the opera. "Oh, damn the past," he muttered, hotly. He would begin +all over again, he would atone for those pretty steps aside; he would +pin his faith to the banner of his love for Dorothy. For he felt that he +did love this girl. He longed for her; she seemed to personify a harbor +of refuge, a comfort; he felt that if he could go to her, and tell her +everything, and feel her hand upon his forehead, her smile, and the +touch of her hand would wipe away all the ghostly cobwebs of his memory, +of his past, and leave him looking futureward with stern resolves for +white, and happy, wholesome days. + +Surely it would be madly foolish to let a Past spoil a Future! + +He saw the grin upon the face of Sophistry, and set his lips. No, there +were no excusing circumstances; he had gone the way of the world, +because that way was easy and pleasant. Only his weakness was to blame. + +"She is as far above me," he said, before he went to sleep that night, +"as the stars. But--we always want the stars!" + +As for Miss Ware, it need only be chronicled that she was very quiet and +abstracted that evening, so that her mother was prompted to remark that +"Lincolnville don't appear to suit you powerful well, Dorothy." As a +matter of fact, the girl was afar off, in thought, and her eyes were +bright with tears because of the things she was remembering. + +She had loved Dick, on a time. And to realize that never, in all time, +would her conscience permit her to satisfy that love--that was bitter, +very bitter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winter was coming over the town. The gripmen of the cable cars were +muffled to their noses in heavy buffalo coats, and the pedestrians were +heralded by the white steam that testified to the frostiness of the air. +The newspaper boys performed "break downs" on the corners for the mere +warmth thereof, and the beggars and tramps presented a more blue-nosed, +frost-bitten appearance than usual. + +Everybody was in town once more. The hills, the seaside and the watering +places had all given up their summer captives, and the metropolis held +them all. The Tremonts were returned from Europe. The opera season, +promising better entertainment than ever, had lured many of the +wealthier folk from the country, for the winter at least. Among these +were the Wares. It was a fashion steadily increasing in favor, this of +living in town the winter over, and retiring to rusticity for the dog +days. With the Wares it was not yet become a fashion; it was merely in +accordance with Dorothy's wish to hear the opera and the concert season +that the move townward was made. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart's little "evenings" were more popular than +ever. There seemed a positive danger that she would become known as the +possessor of a "salon" and have a society reporter describe a +representative gathering of her satellites. On this particular evening +the carriages drove up to the house and drove off again without +intermission all the evening. People had a habit of coming there before +the theatre, or after; of staying ten minutes or two hours, just as +their fancy, or Mrs. Stewart might dictate. + +One of the latest to arrive was Dick Lancaster. It was his first +appearance there that season. He had only come because he had heard that +Dorothy Ware was to be there. He hardly looked as well as usual. He had +been working very hard, making up for the time lost in the country. His +cheek-bones stood out a trifle prominently, and his eyes were tired. + +Mrs. Stewart proffered him the tips of her fingers, shaking her head at +him with mockery of a frown. + +"You ought to be introduced to me again," she said. + +"I've been tremendously busy." + +"Ah, you plagiarist! The sins that the word 'busy' is made to cover! +People escape debts, and calls, and engagements, nowadays, by simply +flourishing the magic word 'busy.'" She broke off, and began to look at +him steadily over the top of her fan. Then she went on in a very low +voice, "And have you found out how one's youth is lost in town?" + +"You're cruel," he murmured. + +"Not I. But there, go in and talk to the others. There are lots of +people you haven't met before, and there are some pretty girls. Go in, +and enjoy yourself if you can. And perhaps, if you find time, and I +think of it again, I shall ask you to introduce me to your new self. + +"I've never been introduced to that new self yet, _egomet ipse_." + +He found two arch-enemies, Mrs. Tremont and Miss Leigh, conversing with +cheerless enthusiasm. "I heard of you a good deal while I was abroad," +said Mrs. Tremont, after greetings had been exchanged. Dick bowed, and +looked a question. + +"It was Mr. Wooton mentioned you," Mrs. Tremont went on, pompously. "We +met in Germany. A charming man!" She said it with the air of one +conferring a knighthood. + +Dick was wondering how many times a day a woman like this one managed to +be sincere. Then he said, "Miss Tremont is well, I trust?" + +"Yes. She's here somewhere." She lifted her lorgnette deliberately and +gazed toward the piano, "Who is that playing?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Stewart herself," said Miss Leigh. + +"Dear me! I didn't know she played. I must go and congratulate her." She +moved off with severe dignity. + +Miss Leigh laughed as she watched the expression on Dick's face. + +"Do you believe in heredity?" he asked. + +"Yes, and no. Not in this case, if that's what you mean. Miss Tremont is +far too clever. Do you know," she went on, with slow distinctness, "that +you are changed." + +He made a movement of impatience. "I have heard nothing but that all +evening," he declared. "Simply because the town had put it's brand on +me, whether I wished it or no, am I to be forever upbraided?" There was +both petulence and pathos in his voice. + +"H'm," she said, "you still have all your old audacity. But I don't +think it is anything but genuine interest in you that prompts such +remarks." + +"You once said something about being genuine. You said it was pathetic. +Now I know why that is so true. The pathos comes after one has lost the +genuineness." + +"Yes, but when one does nothing but think and think, and brood and +brood, the pathos turns bathos. The thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Is that why there is so much flippancy?" + +"No doubt. Tragedy evokes flippancy and comedy starts tears." + +"You are a very fountain of worldly paradoxes. Where do you get them all +from?" + +"From my enemies. I love my enemies, you know, for what I can deprive +them of. That's right, leave me just when I'm getting brilliant! Go and +talk to Miss Ware about the rich red tints of the Indian summer leaves +and the poetry in the gurgle of the brook. Go on, it will be like a +breath of fresh air after the dismal gloom of my conversation!" She got +up, laughing, and added, in a voice that he had not heard before, "Go in +and win! Your eyes have told your secret." + +She moved off, and he saw Dorothy Ware coming toward him. He noticed how +delightfully she seemed to fit into this scene; how charmingly at ease +and how natural she looked. Her color was not as fresh as it once had +been: but he remembered how popular she had at once become in town, and +that her life was now a very whirl of dances and receptions and festive +occasions of that sort. He had hardly shaken hands when Mrs. Tremont and +her daughter approached from different directions. They were both, they +declared, so perfectly delighted to see Miss Ware again. + +Mrs. Stewart sailed majestically up to them at this juncture, and bore +Lancaster away in triumph. He heard Mrs. Tremont asking Dorothy, as he +moved away, "And how's your poor, dear mother?" Then he found himself +being introduced to a personage with a Vandyke beard. + +"Ah," said the personage, with some show of interest, "you're an artist? +Now, tell me, frankly, why do you Western artists never treat Western +subjects?" And then Dick found himself floundering about in a sea of +argument with this personage. Afterwards, when the agony was over, he +discovered that it was the author, Mr. Wreath, who had thus been +catechizing him. It was noised about the world that Mr. Wreath was a +monomaniac on the subject of realism. Dick remembered wishing he had +caught the man's name at the introduction. + +In the meanwhile Miss Tremont stood talking to Dorothy Ware in a dim +corner of the room. There was a small table near them, and upon it were +scattered portfolios of photographs. + +"Do you ever hear of Mr. Wooton?" Miss Tremont asked, smiling sweetly. + +Dorothy gave a little start, and a flush touched her cheek. + +"No," she said tonelessly. + +"He's a very clever man," persisted Miss Tremont. "I congratulate you." +She smiled meaningly. + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Dorothy's eyes flashed and her +fingers toyed nervously with the photographs. + +"If I were an expert photographer I could show you what I mean +instantly. Speech is so clumsy!" + +Dorothy still looked at her blankly, though she felt her heart beating +with accelerated speed. + +"From what I saw at Schandau," the other went on coldly, "I should say +it was time to announce the engagement." + +Dorothy gripped the little table with a tight clasp. Bending over, as if +to examine the pictures, she felt waves of heat and cold follow each +other over her cheeks and forehead. Her breath seemed to choke. How warm +the room was! She longed for a breath of fresh air. She would go and +tell her mother that she wanted to have the carriage called at once. +But there was her mother talking busily with Mrs. Tremont. And there, +beyond, was Dick. + +Something very like tears came to the borders of her eyes, as Miss +Dorothy Ware looked at, and thought of Dick. He had loved her, and +she--Ah, well, that was all over now! Even had she been able to compound +with her own conscience, Miss Tremont had effectually barred the way +to--ah, to everything! There was Miss Tremont talking, now, to Mr. +Wreath and to Dick. Surely the girl would not dare--but no, that was +absurd! + +Fortunately, Miss Leigh, noticing Dorothy's solitude, decided, just +then, that she would go and talk to the girl, which succeeded in +diverting Dorothy's mind from unpleasant thoughts. + +At the other end of the room the various groups were constantly +changing. Above the chatter one could hear the strains of music that +floated in from the music-room. Miss Tremont having finally succeeded in +luring Mr. Wreath on to a discussion of his own peculiar theory of the +art of fiction, Dick left them and strolled into the conservatory. He +wanted to be alone. He had been suffering more than ever before from +such accute pain as afflicts each individual soul that submits to +drowning itself in the meaningless chatter of society. As he himself put +it, with something like an oath of disgust, "I've been listening to +people I don't care a pin about; hearing rubbish and talking rubbish!" +The real key to his feeling of disgust, however, was in the fact that +his opportunities to a confidential talk with Miss Ware had all been +ruthlessly killed. + +"A nice way to contribute to the general entertainment!" It was Mrs. +Stewart herself. She was shaking her fan at him. "Don't get up!" she +went on, "I want to talk to you." She scrutenized him. "You don't look +cheerful!" + +"I'm not," he said curtly. + +"Remorse?" + +"No. Remorse is the divine right of cowards and gourmands. Mine is +merely a case of weariness." + +"With your own sweet self to blame. I know the feeling. You've been +thinking, or, rather, you think you have been thinking. And when one is +in that state, everything goes against the grain. Even such a galaxy as +that!" She waved her fan to the direction of the inner rooms, and a +smile of mischief curled her mouth. "What do you think of this year's +crop of lions?" + +"Bah!" he scorned viciously, with all the bitterness of the man knocking +at the closed portals. "Who was it that first gave your friend Clarence +Miller the idea that he was a novelist? His wife, I suppose. When a +man's single his follies are suggested by the devil; when he's married, +by his wife. I suppose she wants her husband to equal the notoriety +attained by her brother-in-law, the composer of 'Rip Van Winkle' and +other comic operas that society flocks to listen to. It's a great pity +that art and literature happen to be the thing this season." + +"You're thinking of the real artists and writers, I presume. Well, it is +rather hard on them." + +"Hard? Why, its death! Think of the author that finds the market glutted +with the free-gratis product of the society butterfly's pen. Its enough +to create suicides." + +"But you can't very well include Mr. Wreath in the free-gratis class?" + +"No. But he is a charlatan, for revenue only. He has so many fads that +they stud his conversation as barnacles cover a rock. He is a trumpeter +of theories. Oh, I don't deny that he writes well! But he is not +satisfied with that, unfortunately; he must needs preach, and the man +who preaches about his art is a dispiriting spectacle." + +"Dear, dear! What a change! It used to be that we others said all the +cutting things, while you listened in awe and trembling; now it is you +that uses the edge tools of language. You have beaten us at our own +game." Mrs. Stewart dropped her voice a little, and sighed. "But you +have lost as much as you have gained, have you not?" + +He nodded silently. "The world is a usurer that lends us wisdom if we +will but pay our youth as interest. And when we are bankrupt in youth, +the wisdom turns to ashes." + +"Don't be morbid. It's too fashionable. Cynicism is so cheap nowadays +that the poorest Philistine of us all can afford it. The only virtue in +optimism, it seems to me, is that it is suffering neglect today; for +that reason I may espouse it, merely to avoid the charge of being +commonplace. Come, be gay I Laugh! Forget!" + +"To forget is to forego one of life's sweetest pains." He laughed +mechanically, and got up, offering Mrs. Stewart his arm. "I'm a stupid, +morbid fool. My only saving grace is that I know just how big a fool I +am." They entered the inner rooms, and Mrs. Stewart, with a smile and a +bow, left Dick to talk flatteringly to the musical lion of the town. + +Some of the people were already leaving. Dick determined to slip away +quietly. But, as he turned to the vestibule, he found himself face to +face with Dorothy Ware. + +All his gloom vanished. "I've been trying to talk to you all evening," +he declared. "I've been wanting to ask you something. I asked you once +before. But that seems a very long time ago." He found himself carried +away in a whirl of eager enthusiasm and hope. "Dorothy," he said, +looking down at her, "there is still hope for me, is there not?" + +But in the girl's eyes there was nothing save pain, and shame. She +looked away. She played nervously with the lace of her dress. + +Blind, man-like, he took it all for shyness. "Only a little hope," he +repeated, tenderly. He tried to take her hand. + +She shrank away from him in a sort of horror. "No, no," she murmured, in +a voice of torture. She did not look him in the face. + +Dick stared at her dumbly. Now, at last, he understood her silence, her +averted head. He saw the expression that told him she feared to wound +him, even though she cared for him not at all. + +"Forget me!" she said, and moved away quickly. + +He stood, for an instant, looking after her, then he went, moving his +lips in a queer, mumbling way, to the vestibule, and asked for his +wraps. + +As he was leaving the house Dorothy was sinking into a chair by her +mother's side. She stared straight out in front of her. When her mother +spoke to her she turned slowly around and said, "It's very cold in +here." She shivered. + +And her mother, knowing that it was as warm as an oven in those rooms, +and watching the queer look on her daughter's face, decided the latter +was not very well, and must be taken home at once. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +He went down the steps with his hand clutching the rail with the fervor +of a tooth biting on a lip. If it had been daylight the twitching of his +eyes and lip-corners would have been peculiarly noticeable. + +For some reason or no reason he scorned the sidewalk; the middle of the +road presently felt his nervous footfall. Underneath him he could feel +and hear the droning of the cable. Some hundred yards before him he saw +the vivid glare that betokened the headlight of an approaching +cable-car. For an instant or two he asked himself why he should not +continue walking in that direction, in the path of the Juggernaut, and +allow himself to be ground into fragments--into the everlasting Forget. +Gravely he pondered it: why not? Could the game be worth the candle that +was snuffed? And yet, there was something so commonplace, so cheaply +melodramatic in that manner of going out that he drew back; he stepped +aside and let the dust of the passing car brush him spatteringly. To +commit suicide, to choose such a moment for it--a moment that, after +all, was but the repetition of a million similar ones--had something so +ordinary, so vulgar in it, that after he resisted the thought of it, he +shuddered. His lips took on a semblance of smiling. + +"What a play for the gallery it would have been!" he thought bitterly. + +Presently, as he walked, sobs broke through his lips. The measure of +what was lost to him seemed terribly great. All the light of the world +was but darkness for him now. What did it all matter now, this world, +this life, this aimless race? What was ambition worth, when ambition's +cause was gone? Could he take up the dream again, now that waking had +brought such pain? Incoherently his mind went back to the moments that +had elapsed just before he had left the house, moments that lasted +longer than lifetimes. He saw it all again, that scene so indelibly +graven on his mental film; he heard those fateful words again and felt +their blighting import. His arms went up wildly, with fists clenched, +toward the stars, and down again toward the earth like falling hammers, +driven with curses. + +If anyone had met him at that moment, Dick Lancaster would have been +called insane. + +Suddenly he stood still, and began to laugh. It was not a pleasant +sound, and he himself noticed that it had the discordance of the laugh +bred by artifice. He had remembered a sentence that someone had +addressed to him, "The thing to do is to laugh!" + +So it was. Yes, that was the only armor, the armor of indifference. He +walked on, evolving a philosophy of flippancy. Wounded sorely, as he +was, he found himself sympathetically wondering whether that flippancy +that he once had so despised in his fellow-men and women was not as +often a growth of experience as a mask of fashion. + +When he reached his room he flung himself on a couch. Outside everything +was still. He sent his mind back to the time when he had first entered +this town. How void of all suspicion, all cynicism, he was in those +days! Experience after experience had left its impress on his wax-like +mind and now, with the slipping away of beliefs, the vanishment of +idols, the twinges of fate, he found himself at the other extreme, in +the mood that laughs at all things, and believes that there is nothing +potent save chance. + +In that mood he resolved to remain. It was the only one that was no +longer unbearable. To attempt the old beliefs were merely to give +hostages to disenchantment. He was done now with disenchantment. He +would expect nothing, care for nothing. Except to laugh. + +But, in the meanwhile, he could no longer bear the scenes and sounds of +the town. He cast about for plans. The thought that in one mind at least +his flight would look like cowardice did not annoy him; that also was +merely a thing to laugh at. The country was not what he wanted. It was +not quiet he desired; it was struggle and strife with the dragons of +memory and boredom; he wanted new battles to fight, new experiences to +harvest--not sensitively, as of old, but coldly, cruelly--in other +fields, as far away as possible. + +He unlocked his desk and searched for his bank-book. The figures seemed +to satisfy him. + +"Three thousand," he murmured, "will be enough. I will take a year. I +will see everything that my fancy asks for, do everything, be +everything. They call it the Old World. Well, it must be able to +furnish amusement for me, be it old or young." + +He turned to the unfinished sketches, the letters and the other +impediments that littered the room. "These shall not hold me a minute," +he said. "I want a change of air. I am going to take it. Nor friends, +nor promises, nor prospects shall stay me. It's goodbye." + +He laughed again, and went out to buy an evening paper, to scan the +sailing-lists for the out-going steamers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On one of the hottest days of August, a month by no means the most +delightful of Berlin's moods, there sat in the pleasant, shady garden of +the restaurant "Zum Kapuziner," facing the Schlossplatz, a tall young +man, whose material externals proclaimed him, to the trained eye, either +as an Englishman or an American. It is a safe axiom that all the +well-dressed people in the German capital are either English or +American. + +In front of the young man, on the table, were a glass, a bottle of +_Mai-trank_ and an illustrated paper. But the young man was not +regarding any of these things, but kept his eyes to an observance of the +passers-by. This seemed to amuse him, for from time to time he smiled +softly. + +It was certainly a pleasant spot. In front there stretched the broad, +paved square that gave to the Old Castle of the first German Emperors on +the left, to the royal stables on the right, and beyond, straight ahead, +gave a glimpse of the quaint, old-fashioned architecture of the "_Alte +Stadt_." For the Schlossplatz marks the limits of the newer portion of +Berlin; beyond the bridge everything is the real Berlin, the Berlin +untouched by the triumphant splendors that came after '71, the Berlin +that knows but little of the passing stranger and the ways to despoil +him. And that was why Dick Lancaster had chosen the spot. The passers-by +were not at all cosmopolitan; there was little of that mixture of all +races, all garbs, all voices, that was to be seen and heard on the +"_Linden_." These were the real Berliners. + +In the months that lay between this day and the day on which Lancaster +had first felt the soil of Europe under his foot, there had come to him +many experiences, many amusements. He had accepted all things. +Unfettered by any restraints he had probed all the novelties that +presented themselves. He had lived in alternating fevers of +discriminations and hard work. For all these new aspects of life and +living filled him with the old, dear mania to create. He found himself +inspired by the very overflow of his sensations. From long draughts of +enjoyment he plunged into as long fits of artistic energy. + +He found, moreover, that the increased tension of his spiritual being +put a peculiar force into his pencil. Because it was merely one way of +laughter, because he began in a spirit of flippancy, the sketches all +succeeded immensely. Fortune began to favor him in artistic ways. In +Paris he had made a portfolio full of the most admirable sketches of +types. There was a crafty cynicism about his work that gave a +fascination to them; something not caricature, but finer. Now he chose +as his subject the traveling millionaire, now the splendid queen of the +boulevard, now the phantom of the "brasserie," and now the rag-picker. +One day he had showed some sketches to a man that had begged permission +to glance through the portfolio, as they sat, in a crowded café, at the +same table. The man was the manager of a famous illustrated paper. He +bought some of the sketches, and presently there appeared a most +astonishingly eulogistic article, about this young American. + +People carefully read the name. They had never heard of him. They looked +at the sketches. That was certainly talent of a significant sort. The +other papers followed suit. The noise of this discovery went across the +channel. There came to this young man orders from London, and the +newspapers of that town began to print the most extraordinary +inventions, by way of personalities, about him. The world, now as ever, +is always glad of a new subject. After that Parisian journal had sounded +the first note, the volume of sound that had as its burden Lancaster's +name, grew and grew. Of course, there were those that dissented, that +took occasion to flay this young man's achievements until there seemed +left only a skeleton of faults. But even that only swelled the flood. + +All the while, his sketches grew in force and individuality. For, +whatever else his detractors denied him, they admitted the originality +of his style. It had never been done before. Some called it hideous, +some grotesque; but all called it new. That was the great point. + +He became the fad. The representatives of American newspapers, who had +been prompt to cable home reports of the successes of this unheard-of +youth, began to attempt to interview him. Whereupon, having by that time +exhausted the immediate enjoyments of Paris, he fled abruptly. + +His success had at first surprised, then amused him. When, presently, he +found that his bank account was swelling most astonishingly, he was more +entertained than ever. He laughed--that unpleasant, mirthless laugh. But +he felt no duties toward his success. When Paris became tiresome, he had +no hesitation about quitting it without leaving an address. For that +matter, he did not, himself, know just whither he would go. + +His ticket had been taken for Monaco. The life of that place fascinated +him no less than that of Paris, when Paris was fresh to him. Day after +day he watched the procession that filed to and from the green tables; +the princes of the blood, the newest nabobs, the touring Americans, the +Russians, the worldlings and half-worldlings of all nations and degrees. +He watched the blue of the Mediterranean as a contrast to the +blacknesses of humanity that he saw daily. + +And then without an accompanying word, he sent a selection of sketches +to that Parisian paper whose discovery, so to say, he was. There came +another salvo of applause from the world of art. It seemed, so they all +said, as if this young man was destined to show such possibilities in +black-and-white as had not yet been dreampt of. + +From Monaco the wanderer went to Egypt. A white-sailed fishing-smack, +anchored in the bay below him, had started the thought in his mind one +sunny afternoon, when the attractions of Monte Carlo were beginning to +pall. He could afford extravagances now. The fisherman, when he was +accosted, had smiled. Yes, he might charter the boat. But where would +the gentleman wish to sail to? And it was of Egypt that Dick thought, +suddenly, with a longing for the cold silences of the sands, and the +pyramids, and the quaking waves of heat. And so the bargain was arranged +and to Egypt went the artist. + +Thence he swung back to Italy. Then through Switzerland. Everywhere he +roved through the corners that his fancy led him to; nowhere did he +merely echo the footsteps of the millions of tourists. Sometimes he +walked for whole days at a time. Sometimes he went to a petty inn and +astonished the host by staying all day in his room and working. Whenever +he found his purse suffering unduly through the vagaries of his nomadic +fancies, he posted some sketches to such of the Paris or London papers +as had been most clamorous for them. + +It was, perhaps, just because he cared so little for it all, that this +luck was come to him. In the old days he had chafed against +misfortunes, against limitations of all sorts; he had declared that +great successes were no longer possible, that everything worth doing had +been done long ago. Now, when he cared not at all, fortune kissed him. +Which also amused him. + +Another man would have laid plans for the furtherment of this fame, +would have counted the ways and means of plucking the fruit of success +at it's ripest, would have plotted against the erasure--by caprice, of +the world, or loss of his own skill, of his own name from the list of +the world's favorites. Dick Lancaster did none of these things. He +merely accepted the gifts of the moment, and continued recklessly in +alternate disappearances and bursts of splendid achievement. There was +nothing, he argued bitterly, for which he needed all the fame; so why +should he care to be Fame's courtier? If fame chose to pursue him, that +was another matter, and beyond his heed. + +So, carelessly, recklessly eager for novelties and excitements, this +young man adventured over the continent of Europe, gaining everywhere a +reputation for devil-may-care-dom and bitterness. + +And over many of these things he was thinking, as he sat in the garden +of the "Kapuziner." He thought, too, with something of amused +wistfulness of the Dick Lancaster that had once been himself,--the boy +that had suffered twinges of conscience at the thought of giving up a +Sunday to enjoyment, and had felt forever stained because of things that +now caused him little save ennui. Was it possible that he had once been +like that? Oh, yes, all things were possible; he had found that out +plainly enough. Indeed, he reflected, if it should happen to him that +the End came tomorrow, he would have the satisfaction of having lived +his life, completely, fully, even to satisfy, in half the time that most +men take for that task. Since that night, after a certain girl had told +him to "forget," he had spared himself in nothing that promised +entertainment. With the old restraints completely cast to the winds, +with nothing but studied recklessness as his Mentor, he had followed all +the promptings of that epicureanism that he now feigned to consider the +only philosophy. + +In all things he was fickle. Just as the artistic side of him tired +quickly of one place, one set of types, so his animal nature was +essentially of the dilettante rather than the enthusiast. Wherever he +saw a will-o'-the-wisp he followed; but it was no sooner caught than he +was repentant of his success. The taste of pleasure was of the briefest +to him; it turned to bitterness in a moment. + +And yet, he mused, with all his varied experiences, with the feeling of +satiety that sometimes overcame him from sheer excess of sensations, the +fascination of the town was still upon him. It was surely in his blood, +he speculated. He remembered with what passionate eagerness, after the +final shaking off of all the old consciences--all those moral skins +that he had shed, and left to rot, over there, in America--he had come +to the realization of the varied facets of that bewildering jewel, the +town. + +He shut his eyes to escape the glare of the noon-day, and evolve, behind +his closed lids, the aspect of the town after lamps are lit. The +constant current of humanity, of the swishing of the women's gowns as +they walked, the rattle of the cabs over the stones,--it all filled him +with a passion of pleasure. His young blood went more quickly at each +sight of that surging sea. The crowds going to the theatres and +music-halls; the shadows that flitted hawk-like about the corners; the +colors of the occasional uniforms; he drank in the picture thirstily. +Both the artist and the man were joined, too, in a passionate eagerness +for beauty; he had been known, in his folly as men may call it, to walk +a mile so that he might the more often meet an attractive face again. +The vision of a beautiful female figure, of a well-fitting gown, gave +him an almost painful joy; he felt that charm of mere feminity most +acutely and covetously. + +And yet, with all, he had been a lonely creature. His pleasures were +evanescent and he was ever constrained to browse upon fresh pastures. +From this novel experience, that colorful scene, and that delightful +companion he extracted the essence all too soon; and the dregs he ever +avoided. In his mind there was a gallery of places, faces and +voices--all loves of a moment. + +It was a cheerless train of thought that he found himself in. But, as he +sipped the pale _Mai-trank_, the glad reflection occurred that the world +was very large and that he had seen very little of it so far; there were +still plenty of things left that were new to him. Surprise would not die +for him just yet. + +He was watching the rainbows that glimpsed in and out of the streams of +cool water that the fountain, in the square, was sending up into the +sun-light. And as he was so engaged, there came to his ear the sound of +men's voices, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent. + +He turned about. + +One of the men was Wooton. As they came nearer, he recognized the other +as Laurence Stanley. They were coming directly toward the garden, and in +another instant they had seen him. Stanley put on his pince-nez. Then +they hurried up to him with a flourish of hands. + +"Why, God bless our home," laughed Wooton, "if here isn't our famous +young friend, Dick Lancaster, the talk of two continents! I'm glad to +see you, mighty glad." + +"Stanley," said Dick, after they had all shaken hands, "what are you +doing here? Where's Mrs. Stanley." + +"My boy, I'm enjoying myself. I presume Mrs. Stanley is doing the same. +For reasons not necessary of explanation to the mind capable in +deduction we are not, at this moment, breathing the air of the same +hemisphere." + +"Will you fellows take a bit of lunch? We ought to celebrate this +meeting with the famous, etcetera, etcetera," said Wooton. + +"Look here," said Lancaster, a trifle coldly, "I'd just as soon you'd +drop that adjective business. Here's the bill of the play, Stanley." He +handed the carte-du-jour over. + +While they were discussing their luncheon, chatting of the various +causes that had brought them together, and recounting stories, and +adventures, Wooton rose solemnly, after a few moments of reflection, and +held out his hand to Lancaster. "I want to shake hands with you," he +declared, "as with a genuine thoroughbred. I've been listening to you, +watching you, and--but that was a long time ago,--hearing about you. +You're not the Lancaster I knew." + +But, for some strange reason, Lancaster did not hold out his hand. He +pretended to be engaged in lifting his glass to his lips. Then he said, +"I don't consider that a compliment." + +Wooton scowled a little to himself, but passed the matter off lightly +enough. "Well," he continued, "at any rate it does me good to see you. +How are they all? I've not been back in years, you know." The reason +for, and occasion of his exodus did not seem to touch him with the least +shade of annoyance. + +Lancaster looked at Stanley. "I'm not the man to say. I left there +almost a year ago. Stanley was still there then. Stanley, tell us the +news from home." + +"Yes," was Stanley's reply, "and a nice lot of speculation there was +about your sudden disappearance, Dick. There were all sorts of rumors. +Some of them hinted at affairs of the heart." He caught the look on +Dick's face, and stopped. "However, that's not to the point, I suppose +you're thinking? Well, now let me see: they're all about as usual, I +think, except, of course, Mrs. Stewart." + +The others both started a little. + +"Yes. Her husband died in January. She gave up the 'salon' of course; in +fact, I think she went abroad." + +Lancaster wondered what she would say to him, were they ever to meet. +She must have heard about his sudden leap into public notice, his +vagabondian ways, his reckless career. He became moody, abstracted. The +others were not slow to observe the change in him. + +"Stanley," said Wooton, "its time we left the great man to his thoughts. +He is evolving a new and fearful sketch. Hope we've not intruded." They +got up and were for leaving him, but he protested, and they all strolled +away together. He accompanied them to their hotel, and then sauntered +off for a stroll in the _Thiergarten_. He found a bench that gave him a +view of the sandy ditch wherein the children played all day long in the +sun-light, while their nurses sat placidly knitting or reading. It +attracted him immediately, this picture of the little bare-legged +youngsters in their quaint German attire, digging about in the sand, +shouting and laughing and fighting, and all living in the evergreen +country of make-believe. + +He began to draw some rough sketches. So engrossed was he that the sun +had sunk behind the trees before he remembered that he had promised his +two townsmen to go to the "Linden" theatre with them. He got up, looked +at his watch, and hailed a passing Taxometer. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +In the days that immediately followed, these three were together a great +deal. Presently Stanley drawlingly, announced that he would have to be +packing up; his bank account was getting low, he declared, and he would +be forced once more to bask in the sunshine of his wife's presence. + +The other two still stayed on. Berlin was just beginning to be amusing. +People were beginning to return from Marienbad, from Schwalbach, from +Heringsdorf. All the theatres were once more open. Summer was saying +goodbye. + +One day Wooton asked: "Of course you've seen Potsdam?" + +Lancaster shook his head. + +"Well, then it's high time you did. Leaves beginning to fall and all +that sort of thing. The last chance. It's really very worth while. +Castles till you can't rest. Babelsberg, Sans-souci, and the New Palace. +To say nothing of a bit of Potsdam, near the Barberini Palace, that's +almost as good as Venice." + +They arranged to make the excursion the first sunny day, and had only to +wait until the sun rose again. They chose to travel by boat. It was a +splendid journey, in the bright sun-light, past the woods and rushes and +villas that skirt the little series of inland lakes between Spandau and +Potsdam. They left the steamer at the landing-stage for Babelsberg and +went leisurely through the grounds and the simple, comfortable, old +place. By the time a boatman had rowed them over to Potsdam, it was +luncheon time. + +They left the boat riding in the Venice-like waterway, and stepped +directly into the garden of the vine-covered, shady café that skirted +the water for quite a distance. Waiters were moving about and at tables +sat family parties, eating and drinking cheerily and honestly. It was +one of the things that enchanted Lancaster, this part of continental +life, this open-air freedom of taking one's glass of beer, this cheerful +way of supping out-doors _en famille_, of devoting to restaurant-garden +uses the most expensive corner-lots, of making the passing show of +strollers one of the sights that you paid for with your glass. + +They chose a table that directly overlooked the water-front. Behind them +lay the yellow shabbiness of the Barberini palace, that relic of a +king's devotion to a dancer. Below them gleamed the water. It was by no +means an unpicturesque spot. + +"By the way," said Wooton, casually, as they were discussing the entree, +"I met a friend of your's last summer, a Miss Ware." + +"Oh." There was not much interest in Lancaster's tone, but Wooton helped +himself to the Rauenthaler and went on: + +"Yes. Rather a pleasant girl. Charmingly unsophisticated. Known her +long?" + +"We were children together." + +"Ah, then she's a country girl, so to say, eh? I thought so." + +Lancaster was deep in thought. The other continued to ply himself with +wine. + +"We had some charming days together," he went on, reminiscently. "She +amused me immensely. The Tremonts were staying at the same place then, +and I used to amuse myself contrasting that Tremont girl with Miss Ware. +The one was like an armor-plate, the other impressionable as wax." + +He began to smile to himself mysteriously. "Do have some of this +Rauenthaler Berg," he urged, effusively. "It's really capital!" He +ordered another bottle, and helped himself liberally. Lancaster was +scarcely heeding his companion. He was looking out over the water. For +once, he was forgetting to be amused. + +"As between two men of the world, you know," Wooton was saying, leaning +impressively on his elbow, "it may as well be understood that that +Tremont girl is the newest kind a new woman." "Know what she said to me +one day? 'The only thing I don't like about love is its consequences!' +Nice girls, these new women, eh?" He laughed softly and drank again. +Lancaster turned to watch him. The man was showing all the cad in him; +the wine was bringing it out. "Women, nowadays," Wooton went on, "make a +fad of everything except the homely virtues. They deliver lectures on +art, and literature, and posters, and music, and the redemption of the +fallen; but they never care for the staple virtues that bring happiness +to households. I'm not saying that I'm a model, not by a damned sight, +but I have my eyes open, and I think the woman of today is trying to +usurp, chiefly, man's prerogative of being a _roue_ if he chooses. What +she needs is to go to a medical school. Then she knows the difference." +He crumbled a piece of bread, and flung it out to the swans that floated +down before them. + +"I don't mind telling you," he continued, confidentially, "that they +were both in love with me, Miss Tremont and Miss Ware. In Miss Tremont's +case, I naturally, had no scruples at all. The fact is, I think she took +the initiative." He stopped, smiling significantly, and sipping at the +yellow wine. + +Lancaster's eyes were glowing with anger. The man's brutality was so +disgusting! Not that there was anything surprising in these wine-woven +statements, for a man who could welch his debts in the way Wooton did, +two years ago, was hardly a man to suffer from scruples of any sort; but +the very fact of having the names of people well-known to him brought up +in this way was nauseating to Lancaster. + +"Why don't you drink some of this wine?" Wooton was holding the bottle +across the table. "No? You're missing something good, you can bet on +that! Wine is the way to forgetfulness, and most men would sell their +souls to be able to forget. Don't you agree with me? That's right." He +leered fatuously at his companion. "I've always liked you, y'know, +Lancaster, always liked you. Friend of mine, yessir, friend of mine; you +bet! Great artist, too, proud to know you. But, oh Scott! what a simple +sort of idiot you were when you first came to town! You'll excuse my +candor; friend of your's, I am, yessir, friend of yours." He proceeded +to watch the swans that glided past them, rippling the smooth water +gracefully. "Beautiful creature," he drawled in drunken sentimentality, +"beautiful creature! Reminds me of that girl's neck,--that girl I kissed +in Schandau. Beautiful neck, Lancaster, beautiful neck! White, and +smooth, and soft, Moreover, she had the most adorable lips; +extraordinarily sweet, I assure you. Lancaster, I understand you've been +rioting all over this continent, you dog you; but I defy you to say you +kissed any sweeter lips than those. I defy you to--!" He sank back into +his chair, chuckling to himself. "Excuse me, didn't mean to be so +energetic. Excuse me." + +Lancaster half turned his head away from the man and looked out over the +water. Where the canal widened out into the lake a crowd of youths were +amusing themselves in diving from a considerable height; the sun flashed +for one instant on each white body as it gleamed through the air down +into the cool canal. From across the water came the voices of sightseers +and pleasure-finders. Closer at hand, in the very garden they sat in, +the occasional clirring of a sword over the gravel denoted the entrance +or exit of an officer; in the warm sun-light all these things combined +to make a delightful impressionistic scene. Lancaster turned to it as a +relief from his companion. + +But Wooton, with the growing persistence of intoxication, was heedless +of the other's indifference. He began again, maunderingly: + +"I don't deny, y'know, that there's an attraction about the woman of +experience. Not for a minute! extremely fascinating person, woman of +experience. As good as a comedy to make love to her. But the women of +experience grow old, very old; while the fresh young sprigs of girlhood +never grow old." He chuckled again. "No; they never grow old. They grow +into experienced women. Axiom: I prefer the fresh flower of innocence +because it never grows old. Sometimes, sometimes it withers. To wither +innocence is one of the most fascinating games in the world. I wonder +how often the average man of the world has played that game in his +life?" He helped himself to the wine again, and looked at it lovingly as +it gleamed yellow between him and the sun. "You really should let me +pour you out some of this excellent vintage," he said, oilily smiling +upon Lancaster, "you really should. There is a deal of philosophy in +it." + +Lancaster was now watching the fellow in an increase of amused +attention. With the inflow of the wine the man's mood changed, from a +species of maudlin sentimentality to an extravagantly ornate loquacity. + +"Philosophy is one of the fairest jewels on the robe of fortune. In +misfortune it is marked worthless collateral. When we are well off, we +philosophize; when we are hard up we curse philosophy. Wine is the only +real philosopher. Do you know, I consider your abstinence, disgraceful, +positively disgraceful. It argues an unphilosophic mind.... There's that +swan, again! Beautiful neck. Such grace! And yet, I prefer the other +one. The other one had a beautiful face, as well as a glorious neck. +Moreover, the taste of those lips was positively intoxicating." He +looked solemnly at the glass of wine before him, and declared, +impressively: "As between the two, do you know, I actually believe I +prefer the lips?" He gulped at the liquor again. His eyes strayed +dreamily into an abstracted stare. "Dear Dorothy!" he murmured. + +"I beg your pardon?" Lancaster started savagely. He thought he might not +have heard aright. + +The other blandly continued. "I said 'Dear Dorothy!' That was her name, +you know. Her name is almost as sweet as her kisses. Dorothy" he +lingered over the syllables--"Dorothy Ware." + +"What!" Lancaster half sprung up from his chair. Then he curbed himself, +with intense efforts, to calmness. "Did I understand you to say that it +was Miss Dorothy Ware?" + +"Certainly, my dear boy. Most correct. Oh, yes; remember now: friend of +your's. Recommend your taste, my boy, I really do. She--" + +"Look here!" Lancaster's voice had grown hard and chill. "Do you mean to +say that--all that--is true?" + +Wooton noticed the other's repressed agitation, and it quickened this +mischief in him. "Most exactly true. Are you--can it be?--are you, h'm, +jealous? My dear boy, go in and win; I clear the field. I--only harvest +once." He laughed at the thought. And then, in a second, his laughter +choked to a rattling gurgle in his throat. + +Lancaster had sprung up, white and trembling with rage, and stood over +him, squeezing the breath out of the fellow's windpipe. "You drunken, +hideous hound you," he crunched from between his teeth, "you rifler of +reputations, you damnable dog!" He stopped. His rage scarcely permitted +words. "You're drunk, damn you, and you're a puny little brute, so I +can't whip you as you should be whipped. But if you don't take that +back, if you don't say you lied--I'll--give your burning head the +cooling it deserves." He eased his hold on the other's throat for a +time. Wooton glared at him, breathlessly, with a fantastically ugly +sneer attempting lodgment on the lips that still writhed for air. + +"Say you lied!" Lancaster loomed over him in tremendous wrath. + +Wooton glared doggedly. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he managed to +whisper. His left hand was sliding along the table to where the glass, +half full of wine, stood. Suddenly he gripped it and with a wrench, +splashed up the contents and the glass, full into Lancaster's face. The +crystal shattered on the artist's chin, fortunately, and so did but +little harm. Before the crash of the breaking glass was stilled, and the +wine spent, Lancaster's hands were about the other's throat again; he +gave a swing, viciously, and flung the body completely over the low +railing. + +It splashed into the still waters noisily. The swans swam away for a +moment, then returned in curiosity. As Wooton came to the surface, he +screamed out an oath and a cry for help. There was a boatman at the +water-steps of the adjoining café, and in a few minutes he had pulled +the choking man out of the water. + +Wooton glared up to where Lancaster stood, still hot with anger. "Damn +him," he thought, "if he were not so much stronger than I--" But the +thought prevailed, and he told the boatman to row further down the +canal. + +To the waiters who had rushed up, Lancaster had been very cool. "_Es +handelt sich um eine Wette_" he assured them. The whole thing had been +so swift, so silent, that up to the moment of the splash in the water, +there had been no eye-witnesses. He smiled at the waiters, paying his +bill, and leaving a liberal _trinkgeld_. "_Mein freund hat die wette +gewonnen_." Then he sauntered out with a final fierce glance in the +direction of the boat that was turning the corner in the far distance, +bearing away the scoundrelisms that lived in Wooton. + +When he reached the marble circle of the fountain in the gardens of +Sans-souci, Lancaster stopped, and addressed the spray, bitterly: "So +that was why I was refused? Well, well! It seems, as I said a little +while ago, that there are still new emotions in store for me." He +watched the spray turn to mist that was almost invisible. "That is the +way with ideals," he mused. Then he turned with a laugh in the direction +of the terraces. "How absurd he looked, in the water!" He went on, +laughing quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The late John Stewart had, in his lifetime, achieved the distinction of +being a model husband. He was devoted to his wife in more senses of the +word than one; he was content to appear stupid so she might shine the +more; content to slave at Mammon's shrine for his wife's sake. His fund +of patience, of tolerance, of faith, had been infinite. It was in return +for these things that his wife, as he lay in the dying moments of +typhoid, whispered to him, with a tremendous suspicion that she had +seemed blind to much of her fortune, "John, dear John, you musn't go, +not yet. I--I--" + +And though John assured her that he was going to get well, the next day +found the promise broken. + +Mrs. Stewart, after his death, realized all that he had been to her, all +that she, except in his loving fancy, had not been to him. And brooding +over such recollections she began to feel the ban of morbidness, the old +rooms, the dear, familiar haunts that had once known his voice, were +peopled now with sadness, and she resolved to seek escape, for a time at +least, from these living voices of a silenced lip. She had some cousins +in London; she determined to travel, to visit them. With her went her +nearer cousin, Miss Leigh, whose whimsical, cynical sincerities she +loved the while she combated them. + +So, in the spring, they found themselves in London, then harboring the +whirl of society at its swiftest. But that had palled on Mrs. Stewart, +and she dragged Miss Leigh off for an apparently aimless tour through +Wales, and the Lake district, and on up to Scotland. + +September found them in St. Andrews. + +Although it was one of the months that constitute the "short season" of +that dear old academic village, it was easily possible to escape the +crowds of golf-enthusiasts that studded the links with their glaringly +colorful costumes. The old castle, the ruins of the cathedral, the +legends of the historic, bloody occurrences that had taken place here +for religion's sake,--all these were full of charms to these two +American women, saturated, as is nearly all that Nation, with a +peculiar, wistful reverence for things antique. + +There were drives, too, that gave opportunities for enjoyment of the +Scotch autumn scenery. Along the banks of the Tay, with the solemn +Crampians showing dim in the distance. + +Mrs. Stewart loved to sit in the silent coolness of the college +quadrangles and dream. It seemed to her that only for such places were +dreams fit companions. + +One day, they were sitting together on the turf that once had marked a +cathedral wall. Miss Leigh was reading; Mrs. Stewart idly watching the +breakers roll up to the cliffs. + +"I beg your pardon!" + +The two ladies looked up, and turned to find Lancaster standing before +them, with his hat off and a look of amused surprise on his face. + +"Well," said Mrs. Stewart, shaking hands heartily, "the world is small +as ever, is it not? It's like home, seeing you!" + +"It strikes me the same way." He sat down beside them. They noticed that +he was browned and furrowed; the marks of travel, the brace of different +climes, the scars caught in the thick of life's battle were all sharply +dominant in his externals. + +"We ought to feel honored," smiled Miss Leigh. "You are such a celebrity +nowadays! We have heard the most weird anecdotes about you of late, you +know. You are pictured as the Sphinx and the Chimera in one." + +"You are still," he answered, "as cruel as ever." + +"But we really feel very proud of you," said Mrs. Stewart. "We know each +other too well, I hope, to veil our honest opinions. I admire your work +immensely; but I think you're terribly bitter sometimes." + +"Ah," he laughed gently, "I'm glad it strikes you that way. Bitterness +is the only taste that lives after a complete course of life. But we +really must talk of something less embarassing than myself. Do tell me +the news! How are all the dear familiars?" He paused, and lowered his +voice a little. "If it pains you," he said gently, "let us talk of other +things. I--have heard. Believe me, I am sorry, very sorry. It is a poor +word, but--" he stopped as she looked up at him gratefully for an +instant, and then said with an effort at cheerfulness: + +"Oh, they were all well, when we left." + +"Yes," put in Miss Leigh, "and doing about the same old things. Mr. +Wreath still expounds, in and out of season, the doctrine of his own +surpassingly correct theories on veritism in literature; and +incidentally takes all occasions to assail the sincerity of every other +living writer. He's an amusing man, and if he had only been given a +sense of honor he would find himself an ever re-direct jest. Clarence +Miller has written another novel, and all society is wondering whether +it will be translated into Magyar or Mongolian. He calls it 'Five Loaves +and Two Fishes.' His brother-in-law has composed another comic opera +that some people have the originality to declare original. And--but why +continue the catalogue? It's just the same ridiculous circus it ever +was." + +Lancaster laughed. "Thank you. That's really a volume in a nutshell. I +wonder if the performers in that circus really know how amusing they +are?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stewart, "but they keep it up nevertheless. Of +course, it's only when one gets away from it that one really gets the +most entertaining focus on that sort of a thing. I'm sure," she sighed, +"I don't seem to belong to those ranks at all, now." She shivered a +little. The sun was setting, and a chill breeze blowing off the sea. +"I'm afraid we must go," she said, rising, "but you must be sure and +come to see us." She gave Lancaster a small card, and then, with smiles +and bows, and rustling of skirts, they were gone. + +In the weeks that followed Lancaster availed himself of the privilege +accorded in Mrs. Stewart's invitation as often as possible. The three +were together almost daily, if only for a few moments. Lancaster was +busily employed, the while, in fixing in black-and-white some of the +types and features that prevailed in this fashionable corner of Fife. +The London and Paris journals soon gave evidences of his industry. +Fortunately, but few of these papers found their way to St. Andrews, and +Lancaster's love of incognito was not disturbed. Sometimes the artist +would disappear for days; a fishing-boat would be his hope for the time, +and he would drink in the free winds of the sea, and the passing joy of +that toilsome life of the fishermen. The winds and the freshness of the +life were like a tonic to him, but he knew that it would presently pall +and he would give way to the fever for the metropolitan whirlpool. + +Occasionally Miss Leigh preferred to remain in her apartments, leaving +Mrs. Stewart to stroll along the links alone with the young artist. "Do +you know," remarked Mrs. Stewart, on one such occasion, "that my +cousin's tremendously fond of you?" + +Lancaster looked up in surprise: Then he gave a short laugh. "She's +tremendously mistaken," he said, "I'm not the sort that anyone should be +fond of--now." He looked out over the sea. "There goes a steamer. I +suppose it's the Aberdeen boat." He watched it wistfully. + +"She thinks," continued Mrs. Stewart, heedless of his abstraction, "that +you are a young man much to be envied. Already you have a name that is +known far and wide, and all life is yet before you. She--" + +He interrupted, bitterly: "Life is all behind me, you should say. All, +all! I have tried everything, the good and the evil. The one broke my +belief in all things; the other gives me the belief that the only thing +to do is to laugh. Strange! I heard that phrase first in your +drawing-room, Mrs. Stewart! Suppose we sit down. These rocks are +fashioned delightfully for easy chairs." + +The sun was burnishing the water with a lustre of copper. The sea-gulls +moaned as they circled about hungrily. The breakers hissed sullenly +below them. + +"My philosophy," he went on, after he had seen that Mrs. Stewart was +comfortably seated, "is very simple, now. Laugh! That is the text of +it." + +She mused in silence. "You used to be so different," she murmured, +presently. "You were, not so long ago, at the other extreme. You thought +everything was solemn, awful, important, that there were majestic duties +in life, splendid obligations, and splendid things to live for. +Now,--you say it is all a jest, and the only thing to do is to laugh. I +think you have had too much curiosity." + +"Perhaps. Curiosity is a guide that takes us into a labyrinth and leaves +us there. But why," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "why must we +be forever talking of this hapless personage, me? Suppose we talk, +instead, of you?" + +"Oh, no. You are the interesting one. You are a study. I should like to +help you. I think you are doing yourself an injustice: letting yourself +drift as you are. Your fame, alone, won't bring you happiness." + +"I'm not expecting happiness." + +Mrs. Stewart watched his face, hard set, with it's bitter drop to the +right corner of the mouth, and something of pity came to her. "Once," +she went on, "it seemed to me that there was a woman who meant for you +the same thing as happiness." + +"Perhaps." His voice was as hard as before. "That was a very long time +ago,--counting by experiences. Why talk of marriage? I don't think I +could stand it for an instant; I don't think any woman could stand me. +As I once was--that was different." + +"Some women are very patient." + +"Yes. And then I should go mad until they came out of their deadly +patience into something more exciting. A woman's fury would amuse me +vastly, I think." He twisted his stick into the rocks, and outlined +vague designs in the sandstone. "Why, supposing, for the sake of the +argument, that I asked you to marry me, you would, I am sure, consider +me a madman to expect you to make such a fool of yourself?" + +She flushed slightly. "Merely for the sake of the argument, I don't say +that I would do anything of the sort. I might consider it ill-timed, +inconsiderate." + +"Ah, I beg your pardon, humbly. I realize that deeply. Merely, I said, +for the sake of the argument. I want to show you the utter hopelessness +of my position. Suppose then, that I asked you that question, what would +you tell yourself? That I was a man, young in years, old in experiences, +soured in thought and taste, bitter in mind, selfish, a slave to the +most egoistic of epicureanisms. A man who considers nothing too sacred +for laughter, or too ridiculous for tears. A man who is a perpetual +evidence of the corroding influences of flippancy; whose very art, even, +is merely a means for amusement. No,--you, clever, shrewd, adaptable +woman of the world though you are, would realize at once that to enter +into a life-partnership with a man of that sort were to invite immediate +misery. Think: the man would be ungovernable, save by his moods; when he +should be at home acting as host to a dinner-party he would be tramping +the moors in a wild passion for solitude? A man who would perpetually +fling at his wife the most mordant of sarcasms, merely for the pleasure +they caused his powers of creation. If a biting jest came to him, he +would hurl it at his wife, without malice, but because she happened to +be present. Not even the cleverest woman in the world can decide between +the words and the motive in a case like that. No; this man has fed too +much on the lees of disenchantment to be himself aught but a sorry-devil +of a jester." + +She signed. "You have the modern disease in terrible +development--self-analysis. It seems to me to be quite as cruel as +vivisection. And I think you exaggerate your vices. After all--I may +speak frankly, may I not? I am a woman that has ever kept her eyes +open--you represent nothing so very dreadful. You are young, impetuous; +you have had the bandages of stern puritanism roughly torn from you, and +you have had a little of what the world calls 'your fling!' You realize +yourself far too much. You are not one whit worse than others. All men +worship, for a time, at the shrine of their animal natures, I suppose. +But instead of letting the thought of it all drive you further and +further into bitterness, why not resolve to shake off the whole cloak, +and put it back into the limbo of thinks henceforth to be avoided?" She +paused, and looked at him with a smile. "Get married. I believe, in +spite of your fears, that you will make a good husband. Believe me, you +will be a much better one than if you had never taught yourself the +revolting nausea that the other side of life brings." + +"Marry?" he repeated, "why do you harp on that? I tell you, there is no +one, no one at all! Unless--" he looked over the breakers to the setting +sun, "unless there were a woman somewhere that could understand and +forgive. A woman that knew something of the world, of the stings of +experience and the hollowness of hope. With a woman like that I might +become the owner of the new youth, might sink all these bitternesses, +live earnest in ambition and.... But there is no such woman, none...." A +sudden light flashed into his eyes, and with passion he continued, +"Except-yourself. Yes--you are the only one. You know; you understand. +Oh, listen to me, listen! Why tell me that this is a sacrilege, an +insult to a memory. Do you suppose I don't know that? I do; I feel it +deeply; but I also feel that I am pleading for a helping hand, that I +see in you the only chance of safety, that you mean for me a new life, +and that I must tell you so now, before the opportunity is gone. Oh, +don't tell me I'm a coward--I know that, too, well enough. I confess it; +I am a coward, a broken-hearted cur." He groaned, and getting up, began +to walk slowly up and down before her. "Is it so impossible? I +would--you yourself admitted that hope!--improve. Is there no hope?" + +"What a boy you are, what a boy! You have all the headstrong, passionate +eagerness of youth, and yet you pretend to play the wearied liver of +many lives! No, Dick," her voice grew gentler, and it came to him like a +pleasant harmony, "we will do nothing so foolish. You and I are always +to be very good friends, and we will help each other always, but not +that, not that! You are too young; regret would come to you all too +soon. No matter how nicely each of us were to fashion his or her temper +to the other's, there would come that thought: for the hope of mere +comfort I have sacrificed an idol. For, Dick, think, think! Dorothy +Ware! Do you think I have not watched you, found you out long ago? What +was it, Dick, a tiff? A refusal?" + +He stopped in his sentry-go, and began to whistle, softly, '_La donna e +Mobile_.' "I--I beg your pardon," he added, hastily, "I fear I forget my +manners. Was it a refusal? you ask. Well,--perhaps, perhaps not. At the +time, I thought it was. Since then I have found out things--things--Bah, +what does it matter!" + +"Go on," she said, "tell me!" + +"In Germany, I met Wooton--" + +She interrupted. "Ah, yes; I remember a terrible cruel picture you drew +of a man at a café table, drinking. It was his face, unmistakably. Why +did you do that?" + +"That was--only an afterthought. Well, he had been--drinking, and he +talked a good deal. Some of it was about Miss Ware." + +For a moment there was silence. + +Then "And you believed it?" she asked. + +"At the time, no. Lord knows I did not want to. But, afterward, I +remembered the look on her face when she gave me that last refusal. It +was a strange look; it meant more than I could account for, at that +time. Yes," he sighed, "I believe it. Why shouldn't I? I know how vile a +man may be; be a woman only half as weak, or half as 'new,' and she is +a thing for loathing." + +"Hush! What a conventional man it is, after all. Always the same old +tune, one thing for the man, another for the woman! Listen: I know +Dorothy Ware, better, perhaps, than you do; I know her later self, you +only know her as a child. There are great points of similarity between +you two. She has much of your absurd sensitiveness; self-torment is one +of her vices. She is very much given to making mountains out of +molehills. She--" + +"No, no," he interrupted, wearily, "I tell you I believe it. All, all of +it!" + +"Well," she said, somewhat angrily, "and suppose you do! What then! Who +are you, that you should judge?" + +He winced slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, of course, of +course; I've heard all about that. But it won't do, in practice." + +"Won't it? Let us put the cases plainly, for comparison's sake: You are +a young man that has had more than his share of selfish indulgence; you +have thrown aside all scruples and done everything and anything you +pleased. Your actual transgressions of the commandments we will waive; +there is a greater crime: you have allowed yourself to become a soured, +bitter, heartless creature, fit only to disseminate scorn and distaste. +She, the woman in the case, once, we will say, allowed her senses to +oust her sense. Ever since, she has suffered agonies of regret. Unlike +the man she has not told herself that she might as well let fate have +it's play out. She is as sweet as the dew of Maytime, and the slight +trace of sadness only needs the touch of love to fall and almost fade. I +think she loves you; I am not sure--she is a woman, and it is hard to +say. As for you, in spite of everything, you love her. You coward! Why +don't you ask her again? She will tell you that it is impossible, of +course. She will say there was once another. Then, unless you are a +greater coward than I think you, you will tell her that compared to +yourself she is as pure as the driven snow, and you want nothing, only +her forgiveness for yourself." + +He was still stubborn. "It is the old story," he said, "one has heard it +all before. The woman is to be put on a par with the man; there is no +actual difference in ethics. But I once saw it tried; I shudder when I +think of it. To be sure--the woman was notorious." + +"Ah! How can you compare the cases? And yet--" she laughed a trifle +bitterly,--"in this case the man is notorious." She watched him wince +under the callousness of triumph. + +"Think," she continued, "what she could be to you, how she could help +you; how you could help each other! The happy days and dreams together, +the planning for new artistic achievements, the sweet companionship of a +soul capable of understanding! Instead of--what? Fierce flights into +forgetfulness; pursuits of vanishing pleasures, palling desires; short +triumphs in art merged into long revulsions from life! It seems, to me, +a fair exchange!" She rose, as if to end the subject. He put her shawl +about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back to the village, talking +of other things, gaily, lightly, insincerely. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Lancaster said goodbye on the following morning, and by noon he was in +Edinboro'. At the Travelers' club he found a letter from the firm of +publishers, at home, that had lately been using a great many of his +sketches. They took the liberty of informing him that owing to the +popularity of his work they had thought proper to open an exhibition of +his original sketches in the Museum Art Galleries. While they were aware +that possession of these originals was entirely vested in themselves, +they had decided to lay aside a share of the receipts from the +exhibition and sale for him, as a courtesy royalty. Lancaster folded the +letter up, drummed on the table for a second or two, and then went out +to get a paper. It had occurred to him that, if he sailed for home at +once, he could reach there before the exhibition closed. It would be a +grim bit of humor to appear there in person, and listen to the comments +of the very people who, a year ago, would have considered him and his +work beneath their notice. Now, with a European reputation, his stock, +so to put it, had gone far beyond par in his native country. +Besides,--the memory of the things that Mrs. Stewart had said to him +refused to pass from him--there was Dorothy! He would see her again; he +would put his fate to the touch once more. + +It had been a white night that had passed between his conversation with +Mrs. Stewart and his departure from St. Andrews. He had lain awake +listening to the hissing of the sea over the rocks, and recounting the +arguments that affected his feelings toward Miss Ware. Now, it had +seemed to him that she represented for him the one chance of happiness; +that the touch of sadness that had come to her would make her but the +more merciful to his own past. Then, again, the old bitterness, the old +distaste came; he could not escape the thought that the old conventions +teach, that one step aside means, for the woman, eternal disgrace. Well, +and even if the old conventions said so a thousand times, were they to +bind him now, when they had so long been thrust away by him in scorn? At +any rate, the torment of these conflicting thoughts was to be avoided. +He must decide upon one attempt or another--the return home and the +repetition of a certain question, or the effort to continue more +steadfast than ever in the philosophy of laughter. + +He decided for the return to America. + +No boat left Liverpool for two days. In the interval he roamed about the +most beautiful city in Scotland, enjoying the memories and pictures of +the past that Holyrood, the old Castle, and John Knox's house brought +up. The autumn sun turned Prince's Street Gardens, and the Scott +Monument into a green and gold and flowered picture that he remembered +no equal to, in his wanderings through the capitals of Europe, Prince's +Street, he maintained, was the prettiest thoroughfare in the world. He +left it with regret. + +His voyage across the Atlantic merely gave him material for a study of +the gowns adopted by the fair ocean travelers, and several chances for +cynical representations of the humors of upper-deck flirtations. +Otherwise his journey was as monotonous as the luxuriance of the modern +travel could make it. + +It was morning, when after another fatiguing journey by rail, he reached +the metropolis that held so many mixed memories for him. He went +straight to the Philistine club, and took some rooms there. The servants +hardly knew him. He had, it was true, changed a great deal. He was +browner, thinner; there were deep lines about his eyes and mouth. + +The first man he met in the smoking-room, after he had refreshed himself +with a bath and a lunch, was Vanstruther. + +"Why," said that gentleman, after a long, puzzled look, "dashed if it +isn't Dick Lancaster!" "Come into the light, most noble genius, and let +me gaze upon you. You--you put bright crimson tints on all the effete +European cities, didn't you? I declare it's good to see you again! +You've seemed a good deal like a myth lately, you know; no one ever +seemed to know just where you were, or whether you were alive at all." + +They walked up and down the room, asking and answering such pleasant +questions as come between two familiars after a long absence. + +"Oh, there's not much change," Vanstruther was explaining, "except in +yourself. You'll be no end of a lion, I'm afraid. Have to do a couple of +paragraphs about you myself, just to scoop the other fellows. Give me a +text or two. Oh, but you have hit the fad in the exact centre, somehow! +I'm not saying a thing against the real value of your stuff, but the +fact remains that this whole blessed nation is fad-mad just now, and it +simply has got to have a fad or quit. Your European reputation came +along just about the time the fad for the newest English novel was +dying. You went, so to say, with a whoop. One can't pick up a Sunday +paper now but what one finds weird, impossible interviews with you; +descriptions of your favorite models, or reproductions of your newest +sketch. You are depicted as the founder of a new style; they talk of +women as being "Lancaster-like," and you are a pest generally. In print, +I mean, of course, only in print. You are about to furnish my own dear +self with material for about a column, so I shouldn't call you a pest; +but from the standpoint of the reader, rather than the penny-a-liner, I +abhor you!" He made a gesture of aversion, laughingly. + +"You want to know about the old guard, do you? Well, Stanley is still +the same dismal distiller of cynicisms that he ever was; his trip abroad +only seems to have made him worse. Belden? Oh, he plods along in the +same old way, drawing bloody battles for the dailies, and making all +creation look like the prize-ring 'toughs.' We have the same old Sunday +evenings up at his house, too; his wife's turned out well, as far as one +can see. He certainly doesn't look unhappy. We were all up there not +long ago, Marsboro, Stanley and myself. Mind you, I never take Mrs. Van. +I'm about the same as ever, too. I've got a blood-curdling dime-novel on +the stocks just now, and the 'season' is beginning for the winter, so +I'm not likely to have much time for idle trifling for a while. Oh,--did +you see Mrs. Stewart while you were abroad? Thanks! That'll be another +scoop on the rest of the society editors. Hallo! three o'clock,--got to +be off to the office--see you again!" He rushed off, leaving Lancaster +smiling at his frank, jerky sentences. + +Lancaster sat down and took up the morning paper. Before long the +advertisement of his exhibition at the museum met his eyes. It occurred +to him that if what Vanstruther had said was only in part true, it would +be wise for him to go and take a peep at the show this very afternoon, +before people knew he was in town. + +The place was crowded with well-dressed men and women. They flowed in +and out in a constant stream. They held catalogues in their hands, and +chatted volubly. In front of one picture, whereon was depicted a London +music-hall scene, there was an especially large gathering. + +"He's so dreadfully cynical, don't you think so?" one man was saying to +the girl that was with him. "I really think he ought to be called a +caricaturist." + +"Oh, but, after all, it's nearly all true, you know. Look at the +expression on that gallery-god's face, will you!" + +"Wonder what sort of a chap he is personally?" + +"Oh--impossible, I suppose. Although I ought not to say that; nothing is +impossible nowadays, there never was such a run on intellect. I never +saw anything like it! It positively seems as if society was +intellect-mad. Singers, actors, painters, writers--all sorts of queer +people go everywhere now, and that isn't the worst of it! The society +people won't be content with just playing at 'society' as they used to: +they want to sing, and paint, and write, too! It's awful! I'll have to +go on the stage, or something of that sort, myself, if I want to keep up +with the procession." + +Lancaster moved away from that corner. It was amusing, certainly; but it +was also painful. What pleased him more than the overheard conversations +were the little labels, displaying the word "SOLD" that decorated many +of his sketches. It was balm to him to think that these moneybags, these +puppets mumbling set phrases, were being despoiled of some of their +wealth for his sake. + +Walking over to the wall whereon hung the sketch for which Wooton had +been the unconscious model, Lancaster heard a voice that seemed +familiar. + +"It certainly looks like him," the voice was saying. "That would be a +wanton brutality." + +It was Miss Tremont. Lancaster flushed angrily. What had she to judge +by? It was Mrs. Tremont who was accompanying her daughter; the elder +lady moved away, that moment, to speak to an acquaintance. Miss Tremont +remained in front of the picture of the drunkard, her brows moving +nervously. + +Lancaster stepped close up to her. + +"If I were you," he said quietly, but distinctly, "I should go and look +after him. He needs it." + +The girl started quickly, turned momentarily pale, and then, seeing who +it was, nerved herself to stony calmness. "How dare you?" she said +twisting her catalogue into shapelessness. + +"Oh," he laughed, "I really mean it for the best. As you see--" he +looked sneeringly at the sketch--"he's not the pink of sobriety. And +when he drinks, he talks a good deal. He sometimes talks about--you, for +instance." He paused and seemed engrossed in nothing save the smoothing +out of the wrinkles in his gloves. + +"You coward!" If intention could have killed, Miss Tremont's eyes +committed murder. + +"True; I fear for you both. And I take such an interest in you! But I +believe he will make an excellent husband--for you!" He lifted his hat, +with a fleeting mockery of a smile, and left her before the picture, +staring, trembling. + +"That," he told himself, "was wanton brutality number two. But she +should not have judged me!" + +He left the galleries, taking with him a feeling of scorn for himself, +that he should have put himself on the level of the praise or blame of +the fadists in such a public way. Yet, he reflected, it had been not of +his own seeking. + +The afternoon was already touched with the darkening shadow of evening. +The town roared and hissed and seethed in all it's wonted fervor; the +chill-hardness of its material manners were painfully evident to +Lancaster as he came from the comparative quiet of the +picture-galleries. He contrasted the grim roar of the place with the +smiling, careless, jovial glitter of those other towns he had lately +enjoyed; for the bright cheer of the boulevards and the gardens and the +open-air café's he found the skypiercing buildings that shut out the +sun-light, hemmed in masses of money-mad humanity, and extended +apparently to all the horizons. For the strolling gayety he had grown to +love so; for the ever-changing current of picturesque triflers, idlers +and dandies,--he had received in exchange a breathless surge of anxious, +nervous, straining men and women, plunging wildly down the slopes to an +imaginary sea of gold. Something of the old repulsion made itself felt +in him; he foresaw that it would never again be possible for him to +endure life here. That other glittering, careless, joyous +maelstrom,--perhaps; this one, never! He realized that while for future +generations it was possible, for himself the hope of finding an American +metropolis tinged with aught but the feverish strivings after riches was +utterly vain. He tried to argue with himself about it; to persuade +himself that it was a nobler sign, this one of the masses all honest in +labor and in pursuit of it's fruits, than the evidences of inherited +wealth, or quiet content with small means, that were the prevailing +notes of older countries. But he failed. His temperament rebelled; he +loved the smooth, the finished sides of life; the artist in him rebelled +against the commercialism of his native haunts. If it should be the +decree of fate that he continue to seek out life's most distracting +enchantments, he would certainly have to bid his native land farewell +again. If there were anything else in store for him; if it happened that +he be required by Dame Chance to do something more serious than to +laugh, to laugh, and laugh--well, that consideration would bear +postponement. + +It seemed to him, as he walked through the streets that were now +beginning to glitter with the white and yellow lights born of +electricity and gas, that these faces were the same faces always, that +there was never any change, from year to year, in the puppets that +paraded on this urban stage. A thousand differing types, to be sure; but +always the same in their hard, tense, sinister look of restraint; all +wore the same tiring eyes, the same rounded shoulders. The same fierce +passion for excitement swam in the eyes of the women. In his morbidness +he fancied that it was as if all these city-dwellers were +life-prisoners, condemned forever to walk, and mumble and laugh shrilly. + +"The metropolis," he told himself, "is a maelstrom that never gives up +it's human prisoners: it merely changes their cells occasionally." At +which reflection he presently laughed. The old text came to him: "The +thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Yes," he thought, "but it's harder here than anywhere else. Much +harder." + +Arrived at the club, he ordered dinner, and in the short interval, set +down to write a letter to his mother. For the many months of his absence +abroad he had contented himself with sending her occasional newspapers, +the briefest of notes, and illustrated magazines. In none of these +missives had there ever been the real personal, familiar note. He had +given merely the scantest news of his whereabouts and his well-being. In +the life and the philosophy he had chosen there was little room for +comradeships, even with his own mother. Now, however, with the distance +between them so vastly less, he felt again some of the old affections +that he had thought to have slain with laughter. In any event, he wrote, +whether he decided to remain on this or that continent, he would pay +Lincolnville a visit presently. They would have that dear, delightful +talk that the months had despoiled them of. + +As he stepped into the dining-room, Vanstruther nailed him. "Saw a +friend of yours just now, Dick," he said, "Miss Ware!" + +"Ah," was the reply, given in apparent abstraction, "they still live +here then?" + +"Yes. Dick did it ever occur to you that she's a devilish pretty girl?" + +"Oh, look here, Van," said Dick, laughingly, "I came to feed on solids, +not the lilies of your imagination. The prettiest thing in the world to +me, at this date, is a good dinner." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It is impossible, even for the most harassed of human beings, to be +entirely pessimistic after a dinner that had been well prepared, +tastefully served, and finely appreciated. With the coffee and the +liqueur a warm glow of pleasant sentiment is sure to invade the dinner; +the dismal reflections that harrowed his soul an hour ago have fled at +the approach of that self-satisfied feeling that marks the man that has +dined. + +By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded +in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter +that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and +was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended +interview with Dorothy Ware. + +It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved +him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she +did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture +all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need +matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the +question: What art thou? + +He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was +changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for +pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying +to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through +the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness +of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing +and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, +skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more +as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade. + +It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to +head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza +whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his +card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness +of all other things--and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the +driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the +accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a +little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, +were so absurdly insignificant! + +When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when +Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon +it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an +entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, +paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders. + +But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. +Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the +driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such +an occasion. + +But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and +wistful happiness shining in her eyes. + +"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a +will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back +to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell +reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something +in return." + +"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion +should bring out such a lion!" + +"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know--anything about +me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else--anyone! For I do +detest--" + +She interrupted him gaily. "Oh, no; you are doomed. I shall introduce +you to the most portentous faddists; you shall suffer. That, sir, may be +your punishment for surprising me so!" She glided away, and returned +with Mrs. Ware. + +Never, thought Lancaster, had he seen Dorothy so gay, so cheerful, so +roguish. Whence came that playful mood of hers; that mocking, joyous +laughter? Talking to this and that person, Lancaster kept his watch upon +Miss Ware. He saw her go out of the room, laughing and chattering, and +the moment she reached the conservatory, put her hands up to her +forehead and press them swiftly over her eyes. The smile went from her +lips; her whole form testified to a sudden relaxation of an artificial +tension. + +A mask, Lancaster told himself, a mask for her feelings. She was +agitated, but she determined to hide all that under a cloak of gayety. +He understood. Had he not himself tested the expungent qualities of +laughter? + +As of old, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice had thrilled +him with a sense of wonderful gladness. At sight, at sound of her all +the good in him seemed to become vibrant; she was still the star, far +above him, that he longed for. The comforts of his cold philosophies, +the promises of the epicureanisms he had delved in so deeply--all faded +into ashes at approach of this girl. + +"We are really very fortunate," a voice behind him aroused him from his +rêverie, "in having such a distinguished guest with us tonight." It was +Stanley, who stood with his hand on Lancaster's shoulder. "Surprised to +see me here, are you? Well, to tell the truth, it's only of late that +I've gone into these rare regions. I find that it conserves one's +pessimism to enjoy the company of one's fellow-creatures. Will you +excuse me, I see that man Wreath coming over here. I really can't stand +him. He always remarks to me, sorrowfully, 'Ah, Mr. Stanley, I'm very +much afraid you're not in earnest!' Why, the man himself's an eternal +warning against being in earnest. There's nothing that spoils the look +of a person's mouth so much as earnestness." + +In truth, at that moment, just after Stanley had deftly slipped away, +Mr. Wreath had solemnly greeted the artist. "You have shown great +talent, Mr. Lancaster, great talent. But--" and he beamed reproach upon +the other, "why don't you dig deeper?" + +Lancaster felt as if he could have sworn at the man's presuming egoism. +But he merely laughed, and said, "Ah, you forget what a fellow-artist of +mine once said, _apropos_ of cleanliness. 'Wash,' he said, 'no, we don't +wash; we merely scratch and rub, scratch and rub.' I choose, in like +manner, only to scratch. If I can scratch an effective creation, why +should I dig?" + +Wreath shook his head, with a mournful smile. "Ah, you will agree with +me--later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about my next novel. +Do you think we could make it worth your while to illustrate it for us?" +He dragged Lancaster off into the library and bored him, for at least +ten minutes. From the other room came sounds of music. Someone was +singing. "_In Einem Kuehlen Grunde_" went the soft, sweet old ballad. +Lancaster promised Wreath that he would let the writer's publishers know +definitely in a day or so, whether he would undertake the illustrations. +He hurried back into the salon, muttering, as he went. + +"Several haystacks; two threshing-day scenes; several prairie pictures, +one for each season of the year--that's about what those illustrations +will have to be. Well, I'd do it twice over if that man would promise to +let me alone!" + +It was Dorothy Ware that had been singing. She got up just as he entered +the room. She caught his look, and smiled to him. "You must take me to +the conservatory," she commanded, with a pretty air of authority, "for +singing is warm work." She took his arm, and while someone else went to +the piano and began to play the ballet from "Sylvia," together they +strolled out into the cooler rooms beyond. + +"And now," she said, when they were snugly seated upon the cushioned +windowseat, "I must tell you how proud mother and I have been of you. +Oh, it was so good to read all these praises of you!" + +He smiled. "It came," he said, "because I did not care whether it came +or not. I was indifferent; and so success came." + +"Indifferent? Why, Dick? With such power it is not right to be +indifferent. Why--" + +"Why should I be anything other than indifferent? For myself? No. I +despise myself too much. I consider myself only a means toward +amusement. And if not for myself, for whom?" + +She was playing with the leaves of a palm that hung down over her +shoulder. + +"No," he went on, "there was never any motive in it all. It was all +sheer play. There was the joy, the delirium of creation; that was a +sufficient sensation; beyond that--nothing! It might be different +if...." He stopped with the word half spoken. + +"If what?" + +He looked at her swiftly. There was in her face only earnest curiosity +and sympathy. "If," he continued, "if there were--someone else. Oh, +Dorothy, dear, don't you see? Don't you realize that it is you, you for +whom I would work--yes, work and live? Dorothy, tell me that you are +not altogether indifferent. Once--long ago--you said you might care for +me. Then we were boy and girl; now we are man and woman. Then again you +told me to forget you. I tried. I tried--all ways into forgetfulness. I +tried to laugh away you, and all the past; to live only for the essence +of the moment. And now, Dorothy, why don't you speak?" + +She gently disengaged her hand from his. Her face was white, and she +could only shake her head. + +"But why?" he moaned, fiercely, "why? Can you not love me a little?" + +She looked at him reproachfully, and for a moment he thought he divined +the framing of the words, "Ah, but I do love you," then she merely +sighed, and looked away again. + +"Is it," he went on, "that I have put myself beyond your mercy? Have I +become too notorious a vagabond?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, it is all +true; I am come through all the highways and byways of life, and I am +touched with the scum of it all. Perhaps you are right. I am not worthy. +And yet--I only ask for forgiveness, and a little love. With that, I +might--be able to--sink the bitterness of the days behind. But, as I +said, I dare say you are right. Shall we go into the other room?" + +"Oh, Dick," she sighed, "how hard you make it! Dick, it is--it is I that +am not worthy." She put her hands to her face suddenly, and pressed +them feverishly to her cheeks and eyes, and then started as if to go +away. + +Lancaster took her hand and kissed it. "Dorothy," he said, "Don't talk +nonsense! Unworthy of me--of a man who has used the world as a +playground, and exhausted his days in satiating curiosity! Ah, no! That +is impossible. There is no one, Dorothy--no one, however wretched, who +would not be worthy of me." + +"You don't understand," she wailed, "you don't understand! I--" she hid +her face in her hands again, "I have sinned!" + +He put his arm about her, and whispered, "What does it matter Dorothy, +if only you love me? Do you, Dorothy, do you love me?" + +She sobbed, silently almost. Then she looked up, and, as if she were +defining a happiness that could never be, said, "Yes, Dick, I love you." +Then, as he covered her brow with kisses, she shuddered in his arms, and +again moaned, "But you don't know, you don't understand!" + +He smoothed the tears from her eyes, and looked tenderly upon her. "Yes, +dear, I do." He burst into a fierce trumpet of rage. "That cad, Wooton, +--he told me some damnable lies...! He was drunk...!" + +She shrank away from him. "Ah, then, you see it is quite--impossible!" + +"Dorothy," he said, "I am not speaking of that, am I, dear? I am asking +you to have pity on me, to help me see that there are bright and tender +and true things in life. I tell you that, past or no past, you are as +high above me as the stars. Why must we listen to the old shibboleths, +Dorothy? Have you not spent a lifetime of regret to atone for a moment +of folly? And who am I to judge? I, in whom there is no more of +whiteness left, save only that I love you! Consider, dear, if this is +not to be, what our lives will be! For me, all the old bitterness, the +efforts to drown all things in laughter. For you--memories! But if you +say 'yes,' Dorothy, think! How different the world will seem! We will go +and live in the country, close to the heart of Nature. All the noise and +noisomenesses of this town-world will be shut out; we will forget it. +For you, dear, I will work as I never worked before. Think, dear--think +of the dear old, silent, restful hills of Lincolnville! How the insects +hum in the clear nights; how blue, how deep, how tender the sky seems +there; how the very flowers seem to wear more natural faces than do +those of town! Do you remember how, in summer, we used to go camping by +the river? The simple pleasures, the healthy out-door life--can you not +believe that it would make new creatures of us two, Dorothy? The +house--think of the house we would plan, the orchard, the garden! And +are we to lose all that, dear, for a whim? Dorothy," he held out both +his hands to her, "see, Dorothy, I ask you to let me not see happiness +only to lose it?" + +For another moment she wavered, then with a choking "Ah, Dick, I love +you!" she let him take her to his arms. He kissed her shining eyes, and +said, fervidly, "Sweetheart, I thank you." + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +It was in the first beauty of June that Dick Lancaster brought her that +had been Dorothy Ware home to Lincolnville as his wife. The village, as +I remember, was looking its fairest; the trees were radiant and profuse +of shade; the grass was long and luscious, the birds were cheerful and +bold. We welcomed the two with all the heartiness we had command of; we +had known them as children, and we had loved their memory always, all +through the years they had been gone. Of Dick's fame we were +immeasurably proud. We wondered a little, indeed, that a man so dear to +the world's heart should find satisfaction in living so far from the +pulse of it all. But, we argued, if indeed, he preferred Lincolnville, +all the greater was the honor. + +Both, as we soon saw, had aged, Mr. Fairly, who had gone up to town to +marry them, had told us as much, but we were but little prepared for the +actual evidence. Those of us, too, who were permitted closer glimpses +into the life of these two, observed in the two a passionate fondness +for the fields, for the silence and stillness of our life there that was +something very different from the matter-of-course acceptance of those +attributes to our existence that existed in the rest of us. It was as if +the place were, for them, a very harbor of refuge, a hospital in which +to forget old ailment, or regain old healthfulness. These things, and +many other signs of something wistful in the affection they bore the +place and the dislike they long showed for leaving it, made up for me +and many others, something of a mystery. At that time, I knew nothing of +the things that had occurred since Dick left Lincolnville. + +Afterwards, long afterwards, it happened that I came to know all the +things that have been chronicled here. And, for my part, I came to love +them the more. As Mr. Fairly, who, I suspect, also knew something of +these things, once said to me, "If one has not seen the devil, one does +not know enough to get out of his way." I consider that Dick Lancaster +is much more to be commended for the honest life he lives among us than +old Scrattan, the milkman, who has never been out of Lincoln County in +his life. And as for Dorothy, all Lincolnville thinks she is the +sweetest woman breathing--and when a village as given to gossip as is +this place, agrees on any such eulogy as that, there must be potent +reasons. + +It is an ancient trick, I know, and an uncommendable, this of +chronicling the lives of two people only up to the church door. In the +lives of most people, I hear on all sides of me, the tragedy only begins +after marriage. Well, perhaps so. But I hope, for my part, that for +Dick Lancaster and his wife there is not to be much more of battling +against the buffets of the world. For them there had been so much of +tragedy--the tragedy that is almost intangible, the tragedy that +underlies the surface flippancy of our modern life--before Fate chose to +let them come together, that it would seem just that thereafter their +life be but a pleasant pastoral. As for that I cannot say. I know that +Dick's fame grows with each passing year; and that both he and his wife +are beginning to lose the look of weariness that was on them when they +came back to us. + +I have not given this chronicle as an example or a lesson. I do not mean +in telling it to declare my belief in the theory that Christ's words +"Go, and sin no more!" can be perpetually applied in the practice of +modern life. I have transcribed one episode, one group of characters, +one set of lives, and having done so, I refer the responsibility whither +it belongs to the Being that mapped, that directed those life-threads. I +do not mean to say that in like instances, a similar course would +inevitably lead to happiness. I only say that yesterday, as I was +walking in my garden, watching the blue-jays quarreling in the firs, I +heard Dick and Dorothy talking and laughing on their veranda. There was +something so infectious about their gladness that I paused and listened, +without thought of curiosity, but rather in something of wistful +appreciation of their happiness. + +"I had not thought," I heard him say, "that the world would ever seem +so fair to me." + +There was a pause, and I fancied I heard a kiss, but I will not be sure. + +"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you." + +Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened +whisper from her: "Dick--do you think we shall ever see--him--again?" + +He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of +his own safety. Besides--what matter if we did. He belongs to the things +that we have forgotten." + +Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually +died from my hearing. + +It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to +these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And +whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the +end. + +FINIS + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cape of Storms, by Percival Pollard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + +***** This file should be named 39781-8.txt or 39781-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/8/39781/ + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + +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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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: Cape of Storms + +Author: Percival Pollard + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39781] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + + + + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>CAPE OF STORMS</h1> + +<h4>A NOVEL</h4> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>PERCIVAL POLLARD</h2> + +<h5>CHICAGO</h5> + +<h5>THE ECHO</h5> + +<h5>1895</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/storms.jpg" width="450" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<blockquote><p>"So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that +place the cape of torments and of storms and blessed +his Maker that he was safely gone by it. And even so, +in the lives of us all, there is a Cape of Storms, the +which to pass safely is delightful fortune, and on +which to be wrecked is the common fate. For it often +happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman's +face." * * *</p> + +<p> +—An Unknown Author +</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> +<p><a href="#Contents">contents</a></p> +<p class="center">1894<br /> +ST. JOSEPH<br /> +FRIDENAU<br /> +CHICAGO<br /> +1895</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h3> + + +<p>"Life is a cup that is better to sip than to drain; the taste of the +dregs is very bitter in the mouth." I shall never forget those words of +our dear minister's, I suppose, because so much that has happened since +he first uttered them to us as we sat in his Sunday-school class has +shown me the truth of them. Dick himself, I remember, was especially +loth to believe Mr. Fairly's monition; indeed, none of us young bloods +cared to think that there was anything in the life before us that was +not altogether worth living, and when Dick spoke up plainly and quite +proudly, arguing against the pastor's words, we were all silent +approvers of his challenge. Dick was always the bravest boy in the +village; and we had long since come to be admirers rather than rivals. +But Mr. Fairly only shook his head and smiled a little—he had a +wonderful smile, and his eyes were always shining with kindness—and +patted Dick on the head, with a gentle, "Well, well, my boy, let us hope +so; let us hope so. Perhaps you will be fortunate above your fellows."</p> + +<p>The incident dwells in my memory for many reasons. It was, as I have +said, a curiously prophetic sentence of our pastor's; besides that, it +was the last Sunday that we were all together in Lincolnville, we boys +who had played, and fought and learned together. Early in the week, +Dick—somehow, long after the world has come to know him only as Richard +Lancaster, I am still unable to think of him as anything but the "Dick" +of my boyhood—was to leave the village for the world; he was going to +begin a life for himself, up there in that mysteriously magnetic +maelstrom—the town. Like Dick Whittington of old, and every fresh +young blood every day of this world's life, he was going up to town to +conquer. Before him lay the beautiful pathway into a glorious future; +promises and pleasures were like hedges to that way that he was going to +tread. He was all eagerness, all hope, all ambition. And, to be just, +perhaps there was never a boy went up to town from Lincolnville who had +better cause to be full of pleasant hopes for his future than Dick. +Certainly, it was the first time the little place had evolved such a +talent; and it felt a pardonable pride in the boy; it expected, perhaps, +even more than he did, and was looking forward to the reflected glory of +being his native village.</p> + +<p>If you have traveled through the West at all, and have anything more +than a car-window acquaintance with the great Middle West, you know +Lincolnville fairly well, I think. Not that you may ever have been to +the village itself, but because it is a type of thousands of other +villages scattered throughout the country.</p> + +<p>It is the county-seat, and is built upon the checker-board plan, with a +sort of hollow square in the middle, filled, as an Irishman might say, +with a park. The sides of this square form the business heart of the +place; each street that runs away from the square is lined with pretty +dwelling-houses of frame or brick, so that the village looks like an +octopus with four large tentacles stretching toward every point of the +compass. The streets are fringed with shade trees of every sort, and in +midsummer the place looks like a veritable nest of green and cool +bowers. The county is strictly and agricultural one; the farmers come to +"town," as they call it, every Saturday; at least, hitch their horses to +the iron railing that surrounds the park, and spend the day selling +produce, buying dry goods, implements or other necessaries. The face of +the village rarely changes; there is an occasional fire on the "square," +mayhap, and then the newer building that fills the gap is in decided +improvement over the old one; young men are forever going out into the +world, and old men are for ever coming back thither to die; for the rest, +one might fancy that, if you came into the world again a hundred years +from now, you would find the same farmers doing their "trading" at +exactly the same stores that they now favor. On occasions of a political +convention, or a circus, the town takes on a festive aspect, and the +roads leading to the square are filled, all day long, with wagons that +have come from the further edges of the county. During the three or four +days of the County Fair, too, there is great activity between the +village and the Fair Grounds, and, if it be a dry summer, the air +between those places is merely one huge cloud of dust. Occasionally the +pretty little Opera House has an entertainment that draws out such of +the citizens as have no very severe religious scruples against the +theatre. For the rest, the place is an admirable home of quiet. Young +blood chafes at this quiet; old blood finds there the peace it seeks.</p> + +<p>In the very nature of things, a place of this sort is chiefly concerned +with its own affairs; the main theme of conversation are its own people. +Everyone is perfectly acquainted with his neighbor's affairs, and not +infrequently, in fact, is able to inform that neighbor of certain +details relating to the latter, that had until then been unknown to him. +So it was that, at the time of Dick's leaving Lincolnville, the good +people of that place knew, much better than he did himself, the surety +of his engagement to Dorothy Ware. He himself would have been only too +glad to be as sure as they were, when he heard the rumors he was given +to smiling rather sardonically.</p> + +<p>He came to me once, I remember, and looked at me for a long time with +those clear, grey eyes of his. "Tell me, old man," he said, "do you +think she cares for me?" It is a stupid question, this; but almost +every boy who is in love puts it to some friend or other, in the quest +for confirmation of his fears or hopes. "Why, Dick," I said—still more +foolishly, perhaps, now that I look back on it—"Why, Dick, of course +she does. We all do." "Oh," he flung in, impatiently, "I don't mean +that!" I knew what he meant; but who shall tell, being a man, whether a +girl cares or not? Although, if ever a boy was made to be well beloved, +surely it was Dick.</p> + +<p>He was always a high-spirited youngster; some of his tricks are still +legends of the old high-school in his native place. He never liked to +fight, being naturally mild of temper; but when he was roused beyond +endurance lie was a veritable Daniel. His father died when he was only +four years old; to his mother he was the most devoted of sons.</p> + +<p>It was when he was about ten years old that his talent for drawing first +proved itself. It came to him in the way that it has come to many who +have since made the world listen to their names—on the old black-board +in the schoolroom. It was a caricature of Mr. Fairly, I remember, who +was always very tall and very thin, and whose face was like that of a +French general's under the empire. Dick exaggerated all these +peculiarities most deftly with his chalk, and then it so happened that +Mr. Fairly himself walked in and found the caricature. He only looked at +Dick quietly, and put his hand down on his shoulder with a subdued, "I +am a good deal older than you, my boy, a good deal older. You're sorry, +aren't you?" And something in our minister's tone must have touched +Dick, for the boy put his head down and said: "Yes, sir," with a little +choke in his voice. Nor do I think that from that day to this Dick has +ever drawn or painted in caricature. But in all other ways he developed +his talent day by day with really wonderful results. He always had a +rare notion of color; the autumn foliage thereabouts gave him the most +startling effects. He used to go out into the woods in mid-summer and +mid-winter—it made little difference to him—and come back with some of +the prettiest bits of landscape work I have ever seen. There were, it is +true, certain palpable crudities in his work, due to the lack of any +training save that of his instincts, but those would undoubtedly +disappear as soon as he came under the influence of a proper instructor. +It was for this that he was going to leave the village and become of the +greater world in town. His mother had rebelled at first; she was growing +old, and she feared the thought of losing sight of him; but there was no +restraining his ambition. To remain cooped up in that little corral of a +place all his life—oh, no; that was not at all the thing for Dick +Lancaster. That great world, out there, that he had read and heard so +much about, that was where he ought to be; and it was there he wanted to +wager and to win; what was there left in Lincolnville? He could do +nothing more there; his life was beginning to be a mere stagnation. He +must out and away. This longing for shaking off the shackles of that +narrow village life was, as much as ambition, the spur that sent him out +into the larger world. And I do not wonder at him. Those small places +are not fit arenas for the disporting of ambitions or freedoms.</p> + +<p>At this time, Dick was a little over one-and-twenty. He was handsome in +a dark, olive-skinned sort of way, and his eyes had the longest lashes I +have ever seen in a man. His hair curled a little, though he was forever +trying to comb and coax the curl away; he hated it, saying that curls +were all right for a girl, perhaps, but not for a man. He was, but for +the fact that he was very fond of good cigars, a veritable Pierrot. He +had always been very closely under his mother's influence; even his +association with the boys of his own age and class had not been enough +to taint him at all. He had a fancy that, now as I consider it, after +all these years, seems a most pathetic one, that the world was a very +beautiful place in which the wicked were always punished, if not by +actual stripes, at least by the disdain of their fellow-men. It seems +strange, perhaps, that a young man of his age should still hold such +notions, but you must remember that in the quieter villages of our +country it is possible to hold these fancies all one's life; the town is +the great disenchanter. Dick considered that he had two things to live +for—his ambition and Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>It was beautiful, the way the boy sometimes rhapsodized; beautiful, and +yet in the light of after events, sad. "One day, you know," he said in +one of his bursts of enthusiasm, "I will be known all the world over as +a great painter. People will come to my studio and wonder at it, and the +work in it. They will invite me everywhere. I will be a lion. But I +shall always place my work first; admiration shall go into the last +place. And there will be Dorothy! Dear Dorothy! I haven't asked her yet, +you know, but I hope—oh, yes, I hope—that it will be all right between +us. Dorothy will help me in everything; when I begin to flag, or to lose +spirit, she will spur me on. She will represent me to the great world of +society when I am hard at work; she will be my veritable Alter Ego. And +some day—some day, when I feel that my brush and my hand have in them +the passion for my masterpiece, I will paint her face—her face!" He +took up a photograph that lay on the table before him and looked at it +steadily for an instant or two. "Sweet face!" he went on, "how shall +mere paint ever represent you? There must be love, too. Love and paint. +The one is a mere trick of the hand and eye; the other is mine and mine +alone. For no one can love her as I do."</p> + +<p>As for Miss Dorothy Ware, she was eighteen and beautiful. I do not know +that any woman really needs a fuller description than that. As for her +wit, it is too early in this chronicle to speak of that; nor do I, +personally, differ much from Théophile Gautier, when he states that a +woman who has wit enough to be beautiful has all she needs.</p> + +<p>Miss Ware's father had made a great deal of money by the very simple +process of growing old; he had been one of the pioneer settlers in that +county and his had been most of the land that the village now stood on. +Miss Ware herself, while sensible of her riches, was unspoilt by them. +By nature she was of the disposition that one can call nothing else but +"sweet;" she was tender and gracious; she was fond of fun, so long as +that fun annoyed no one else; in a word, she was considerate and gentle +and lovable. She had been brought up in the south, and she had retained +a trace of the southern accent, so that her speech was in itself a +charm; she had natural talents for looking pretty under all +circumstances; some might have said that she had the instincts of a +coquette, but I do not believe it of her. She was devoted to children +and dumb animals. And whoso has those instincts is intrinsically good. +But Miss Ware held that she had by no means had enough of this world's +pleasures to begin thinking of so solemn a thing as marriage. Like a +large number of the girls of today, she was, first and foremost, "out +for a good time," as the slang of the time has it. She had certainly the +intention of some day marrying the man she loved and making him as happy +as she could; but in the meanwhile she wanted to test the world's +ability to furnish entertainment quite a little while yet. Which was +why, although she was very fond of Dick, she had invariably put him +off, when he grew importunate, with a laugh. "Why, Dick," she would say, +"don't you know you're absurd to think of such a thing? We're just +children yet. Oh, I know we're of age, but what of that? You don't mean +to tell me that you think your life has shaped, or even begun to shape +itself yet? No. And as for me, I'm going to skirmish around a while yet +before I settle down and become old married people! Be sensible, Dick!" +And Dick, with a sigh in his heart, was, perforce, fain to say that he +would try. "Skirmish around!" It grated on him, somehow, that phrase; it +seemed to hold for him visions of innumerable flirtations; of contact +with the world, the flesh and the devil, with the brushing off of the +faint, roseate bloom of innocence.</p> + +<p>It was on the day before Dick's departure for town that Lincolnville +received the news of another intended going abroad. The Wares' were to +sail for Europe before the month was out. Mrs. Ware had long been an +invalid; for years the doctors had advised travel, but her husband's +objections to any sort of change had hitherto prevailed against her +wishes. But now the really dangerous state of Mrs. Ware's health, added +to the entreaties of Dorothy, who longed, as do all American girls, for +a glimpse of the old country, had brought the old gentleman to +acquiescence. He would not go himself; he was getting too old for such a +trip; but his wife and daughter should go, if they had set their hearts +on it. So that, with the prospective departure of both Richard Lancaster +and the girl that rumor had him engaged to, the tongues of the gossips +had plenty to do on that day. When Dick first heard the news about the +Wares' he was inclined to be downhearted; then it struck him that it +would give him an opportunity for another effort at getting from Dorothy +at least the promise of a promise.</p> + +<p>Than Lincolnville in mid-summer I know few fairer places; there is a +cool, green quiet all about that makes for peace and gentleness, and in +the whispering of the breeze as it curls through the thick foliage of +the spreading trees there is the note of happiness. Happiness, indeed, +lies nearer to man in one of these small, serene villages, than anywhere +else in the world, save in solitude; but it is rarely that man sees the +sleeping beauty that he has sought all his life long. Dick, as he walked +along toward the Ware house that splendid afternoon, caught something of +the warm, comfortable languor that was in the air, and looked about him +with a note of regret in his regard. "How pretty it all is!" he thought, +looking at the familiar houses, with their well-kept lawns and +ivy-covered verandahs, "how pretty! And yet—" he sighed, and then +smiled with a proud lift of the head—"there are other things!"</p> + +<p>He found Miss Ware seated in a hammock on what was known as the +front-porch. It was a long, low, cool stretch of verandah, reminding one +of the style of architecture in vogue in the old south. It was all +harbored in vines that were so luxurious they hardly gave the breeze a +fair chance to penetrate; on the other hand, the sun's rays were safely +guarded against.</p> + +<p>Young Lancaster drew up a chair, after she had smiled and reached him +one of her hands. He looked at her critically for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Dorothy," he said, "I have never seen you looking so pretty."</p> + +<p>"I have never felt so happy, Dick," she said.</p> + +<p>"Because you are going away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I am happy, too. And yet, I am rather sorry. I have lived here all my +life; this is the first time that I am going away from home. There is +something solemn about it; but then—the end, oh, the end—justifies it +all. That is not the chief reason why I am not altogether satisfied to +go away. Dorothy, don't you know the other reason?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes a little, and smiled a trifle at the corners of her +mouth. "I, Dick, why, how should I know?" Then she saw that he looked +hurt and she changed her tone. "Dick," she went on, "why won't you be +sensible about it? I suppose you mean about me? Why, Dick, you know I +like you, don't you? I've always liked you and admired you, but—dear +me, can I help it if I feel sure that I don't like anyone yet—in that +way? I'd like to, perhaps, but—well, I don't. What can I do?" She +looked at him appealingly and reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," he said, soothingly, "I'm an impetuous, thoughtless +idiot, I'm afraid, and I hurt you. And, oh, Dorothy! don't you know I'd +rather suffer torments unspeakable than hurt you?" He put out his hand +and touched the one hand of hers that swung beside him, over the edge of +the hammock. "But yet, dear," he went on, "if I only had a word from you +to remember, be it ever so slight, I would fight so much better against +the world. For it is the same to-day as it was in the middle ages; we go +to our crusades, all of us, and if we have a sweetheart who will give us +her love as an armor, we fight the better fight. Our crusades have a +different air, to be sure, but the idea is the same. Don't you know, +Dorothy, that if you only gave, me some little thing to cling to, I +would feel a hundred times stronger. Come, Dorothy, it costs you little +to say it!"</p> + +<p>"But if I say that word, I must live up to it."</p> + +<p>"True; your fair conscience would let you do nothing less. And yet, +there are words so slight that they would cost you scarcely anything, +while to me they would be coats of mail."</p> + +<p>For a time there was silence, both looking out over the street where the +school children were passing homewards. A buggy rattled by, throwing +clouds of dust; then there was quiet again. "If you could say to me, +Dorothy, 'Dick, I won't marry anyone until I see you again, until I +come home again. And I'll try to like you—that way,' why, that would be +enough for me."</p> + +<p>She held up her right hand with a pretty little gesture. "I do solemnly +swear," she said. Then she went on more seriously, "Why, yes, Dick, I'll +promise that. Small chance of my getting married for a few years, +anyway, so I won't have such a very awful time living up to that +promise. Now, do you think, sir, that you're engaged to me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear; not at all. But you've let me hope, haven't you? That's +all I want. You don't know how much happier I'll feel all the time +you're away. How long, by the way, do you think you'll be abroad?"</p> + +<p>"A year, at the least. I want to see it all, you know, when I do get the +chance. Mamma'll want to stay in Carlsbad or Ems, or somewhere all the +time; but I'm going to get her well real soon, you see if I don't, and +then we'll just travel for fun and nothing else. Dick, wouldn't it be +great if you could go along?"</p> + +<p>"It would, for a fact," he assented, "but it's too good to be true. +Besides I'm going to have some fun of my own!"</p> + +<p>"Your work, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Isn't it fun to succeed? And I'm going to succeed! The fighting +for success will be fun, and the victory will be fun!" His eyes flashed +with a fierce battle-light. Today this fire of ambition is the only +thing that at all takes the place of the blood fervor that spurred on +the knights of the olden times. "Dorothy," he said, presently, with a +sudden softness in his voice, "will you wish me luck?"</p> + +<p>She gave him, for answer, her right hand, and looked at him wistfully. +She was wondering, perhaps, why it was that she did not love this +lovable boy. "I wish you all the success in the world," she said +quietly. And then, as he turned to go, she called after him, in the old +formula they had used to each other a thousand times as boy and +girl—"Good-bye, Dick. Be good!"</p> + +<p>The love affairs of a boy and a girl, you may think, are hardly the +things that matter very much in the world of today. But the boy and girl +of today are the man and the woman of tomorrow; and between these stages +there is only the little gulf, so easily crossed, wherein runs the river +of knowledge of the world we live in. As soon as we have crossed that we +are become men and women, and are left of our childhood nothing but the +wish that it were ours again.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h3> + + +<p>Although the western windows were open, it was decidedly warm in the +offices of the <i>Weekly Torch</i>. The offices were on the tenth floor in +one of the town's best known sky-scrapers—the Aurora. There was a view, +through the windows, of innumerable roofs and streets; here and there +the tower of a railway station or a new hotel protruded—in the words +of A.B. Wooton owner of the <i>Torch</i>—"like a sore thumb." Mr. Wooton was +at that moment engaged in the diverting pastime of having his feet +stretched over the side of his desk; and watching the smoke of his +cigarette curl out of the window. Besides his own, there were three +other desks, of the roller-top pattern, in the room, the door of which +was marked "Editorial Rooms," but was rarely, if ever, seen closed. As a +usual thing the outer door to the corridor was, in the summer-time at +least, also left wide open; you could see from the window clear to the +outer door. Indeed, it was one of Wooten's special talents, this ability +of his to see at a glance, from his seat by the window, who it was that +was coming in through the farther door. At one of the other desks a man +was smoking a pipe and shoving a pencil rapidly over sheet of paper. +Presently this man laid his pencil down, took his pipe out of his mouth +and knocked the ashes over into the cuspidor. Then he leaned back in his +chair and inquired,</p> + +<p>"Who was it?"</p> + +<p>"Young fellow from the Art Institute," said Wooten. "Sketches to show; +wants to do illustrating; same old gag. They all come to it. Paint and +fame come altogether too high, and a fellow's got to live. Although, as +the Frenchman remarked, '<i>Je ne vois pahs la nécessité</i>.'" The ability to +hideously mispronounce French with a sort of bravado that almost made it +seem correct was one of Wooten's peculiarities.</p> + +<p>The other man gave a mock shudder. "If your morals," he said, "were as +bad as your French, you wouldn't be fit to print. Was his stuff any +good?"</p> + +<p>"Very fair. Got a thing or two to learn about working for reproduction, +as all these art-school men have; but he's got it in him. I told him to +go and see young Belden, on the <i>Chronicle</i>, to get a few points about +reproduction. I believe I'll be able to use him. If he's cheap." Wooton +laughed, and threw the stub of his cigarette out of the window. Then he +began throwing the papers on his desk all in a heap and looking into, +under and around them. "Confound the luck," he began; then, turning to +the other man, "Got a cigarette, Van?"</p> + +<p>Van, whose full name was Vanstruther, and whom his intimates called +alternately "Tom" and "Van," threw a box over to the other's desk, +laughing. "I swear," he said, "it's my firm belief that if a man were to +put you in a story and try to draw you with a single stroke he would +only have to say that you spent your life between buying and losing +cigarettes."</p> + +<p>"And matches," added the other calmly. "Got one?"</p> + +<p>"Jupiter! If this thing goes on I'm going to strike for higher rates. +It's not in the contract that I furnish the office with smokes!"</p> + +<p>"No. But the stuff you write, Van, is what drives me to cigarettes. So +you make your own bed, you see. Hallo! Here's alone female to see me! +Wonder who?"</p> + +<p>He got up and went towards the door. "Did you wish to see me?" he +inquired.</p> + +<p>"The editor?" She hesitated a little but he assured her with a slight +nod that she had found her man, and she followed him towards his desk. +She took a seat beside him, and they began conversing in a tone so low +that Vanstruther could only catch a stray word now and again. Presently +she got up. "Very well then," she was saying, "you have my address; if +anything should turn up, you will let me know, won't you?" With a little +rustling of skirts she was gone. Presently they could here her voice +saying "Down!" to the elevator boy.</p> + +<p>"What was her game?" asked Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Wanted to contribute poetry as a regular department. You can't fling a +club around a corner anywhere in this town without hitting one of her +kind, nowadays!"</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't you tell her right away you weren't using anything of +that sort?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you infernal idiot, didn't you look at her?"</p> + +<p>"No. Choice?"</p> + +<p>"Very." He put a slip of paper into a pigeon hole, remarking as he did +so, "Filed for future reference."</p> + +<p>From the next room came a gruff voice, "Column of editorial to fill yet, +Mr. Wooton."</p> + +<p>"That foreman of mine's like Banquo's ghost," muttered Wooton, as he +put his pen into the ink and bent down over the desk. For a while there +was only the sound of pen and pencil going over paper, and the click of +the type in the next room. Then there was a heavy step heard in the +passage outside, and presently Wooton muttered: "The Lord's giving us +this day our daily loafers, I see. I wonder why it is," he went on +aloud, as a tall, heavy-set man, with a military mustache and eyeglasses +in front of mild blue eyes, came into the room, "that you fellows always +show up on Friday. Which, being the day we go to press—what's that? +More copy? Oh, all right!" The foreman was taking all the written sheets +from his desk and pleading for more. The new comer was evidently used to +this sort of greeting; he calmly picked a cigarette from the box on +Vanstruther's desk, lit it and sat down on a chair that was drawn up to +the table-where the "exchanges" lay piled in heaps. He finally found +what he had been apparently looking for—a paper with a very gaudy and +risky picture on the front of the cover; he folded it to his +satisfaction and began to look through it. "Say, Van," he began, +presently, "what's this I hear about their going to play the +Ober-Ammergau Passion Play here? Anything in it?"</p> + +<p>Vanstruther was terribly busy. "Haven't heard," was all he said.</p> + +<p>"I heard that it was all fixed," the other went on. "They've even got +the man to play the leading part. Fellow called Tom Vanstruther. They +say he's going to play the part without a makeup, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here," said Vanstruther, half turning around in his chair, +"you go to the devil, will you?"</p> + +<p>The other man took out a huge cigar-holder, inserted his cigarette and +curled his mustache. "Van's still a little sore about that," he said, +turning to Wooton, who merely nodded his head. There came again the +sound of footsteps in the outer hall, and Wooton, peering forward a +little, broke into a cheery "Hallo, Dante Gabriel Belden, glad to see +you! Come in. By the way, I just sent a young fellow who has your +disease over to see you this morning. Wants to learn the reproduction +rules of the game. See him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Had a little talk with him. Clever chap. Tell you about him in a +minute. Hallo, Van, how are the other three hundred and ninety-nine? +Hallo, Stanley, haven't they got you under the vagrancy ordinance yet?"</p> + +<p>The man with the huge mustache and the lengthy cigar-holder shook his +head and said, "Not yet. But I understand they're on the trail. Well, +how is Art, and what are the books you have lately bought, and what is +the latest of your schemes that has died?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, give them to me one at a time. Hang it, Wooton, why do you allow +this man to come up here, anyway, to wear out your furniture and the +patience of us all?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Wooton, "he's an amusing animal, and I forgive any man +anything if only he will amuse me."</p> + +<p>"That's beastly bad morals!" said the artist.</p> + +<p>"Morals!" echoed Wooton, with a bland smile, "my dear boy, you want to +take a pill. No; take two! Morals in this day and age; moreover, on the +borders of Bohemia, to talk about morals! Jove, I see myself forced to +seek the solace of the deadly cigarette." He lit one of those slender +rolls of tobacco and paper and went on, "However you haven't answered +Stanley's questions yet. For you must know, Van, that Belden is one of +the most extravagant and insatiable hunters of art books in all this +town. Ever been in his flat? Well, it's a series of rooms, completely +lined with books and pictures, with a very small hole in the middle of +each room. Said hole being usually filled—to use an Irishism—with a +center-table loaded to the guards with art portfolios. I don't believe +there's a book or art store in town that the man doesn't owe large bills +to; and I know, for a fact, that when it comes to be a question between +a new overcoat and a new art book, he always takes the latter. And as +for his schemes—well, I will admit they're all good, but, like the +good, they die young. While they have the merit of exceeding novelty, +they ride him like the plague; but presently a new idol comes and the +old one falls into decay. Tell us, Dante, about the newest scheme!"</p> + +<p>"H'm," replied the artist, "I don't see that you've left me anything to +tell. I've got a new book of Vierge's stuff that you fellows want to +come up and see one of these days; that's about all that I can think +of."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for the pressing invitation," said Wooton.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and about that fellow you sent up to see me," Belden continued, "I +liked his stuff immensely. He needs a little experience and hard luck on +the practical side of getting his stuff made into cuts, and he'll be all +right. The fact is, Wooton, seeing you like the fellow's sketches fairly +well, and I'm rushed to death with other work, I've thought of turning +my work for the Torch over to him. Would you object?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, provided he does it as well; and he won't have to get much +of a move on to do that. And then they're cheaper when they're green!"</p> + +<p>Belden groaned. "You're the most awful specimen of materialism I ever +hope to run up against. Then you don't object to this fellow—what's his +name again, Lancaster, isn't it?—doing your sketches? All right, I'll +train him a bit for you. And then I guess it would be a good scheme for +him to have a desk here in your office somewhere, so that he can have a +workshop and be right at hand for you. It isn't as if he had a studio of +his own."</p> + +<p>"That'll be all right; we've got plenty of room. But while you're +training him, old man, I hope you won't inoculate him with that +villainous style of dressing you adopt at the end of your pen. You're +very hot people on everything that's got to be done in a hurry, and +you're great on fine work of the etching order, but when it comes to +making people look like the men and women one would care to be seen +with, you're simply not in this county, that's all there is about it. +I've always claimed, you know," he went on, turning a little so that he +faced Vanstruther and Stanley, "that the great fault common to all the +black-and-white artists in this town was that they couldn't define the +difference between a gentleman and a hoodlum. They talk to me about +technique, and drawing, and all the rest of it, none of which, I will +admit, I know a mortal thing about; but all I answer is that I'm going +from the point of view of the man who doesn't know how the drawing is +made, but who does know how it looks when it's finished. The people of +today look at nearly everything for it's merely superficial aspect; and +the finer people look to our artists to display taste in clothing their +pictorial creatures. If you only dress your people well, they'll want +your drawings so that they can get fashion pointers from them. +Now-a-days an illustrator has got to be more than a mere manipulator of +pen and ink; he has got to keep an eye on the fashions, and even a +little ahead of them. At least, that's what the man I'm looking for +should be."</p> + +<p>Stanley muttered, around the edges of his mustache, so that only +Vanstruther could hear, "Yes; and he'd want to pay him as much as ten +dollars a week!"</p> + +<p>Belden laughed, and got up. "Why don't you put all that into a lecture, +Wooton, and give the fellows over at the Institute a glimpse of this +higher knowledge of yours. However, I've got to be going. I'll send that +man Lancaster over here in a day or so. Goodbye, people!"</p> + +<p>"There's one of the cleverest fellows with a pen in this town," said +Wooten, as soon as the artist's footsteps had died away down the +corridor, "but he's utterly spoiled himself by the work he's been doing +of late years. He's a very fast worker, and one of the best men a daily +paper ever got hold of. Then, too, I've seen copy-work of his—that is, +from photographs or paintings—done in pen-and-ink, that had all the +fine detail and effect of an etching. But, for the sake of the money +there is in it, he does blood and thunder illustrations for a paper of +that sort. After a man has done that sort of thing for a year or two, it +gets into his style. I don't believe he'll ever be able to do anything +else, now. Of course, he'll aways make good money, because his speed and +capacity for work are simply invaluable; but art, as far as he is +concerned, must be weeping large salty tears."</p> + +<p>"This picture of you, A.B. Wooton, pleading the cause of art," remarked +Stanley, "is one of the most affecting I have ever beheld. It really +makes me feel—hungry."</p> + +<p>"Your invitation, sir," said Wooton, walking over toward the closet and +getting his hat, "is cordially accepted. Come on, Van; we are invited to +lunch by the Honorable Mr. Stanley, exchange reader to the <i>Torch</i>. +Never linger in a case like this!"</p> + +<p>"For consummate nerve," Stanley suggested, "you really take the medal, +A.B. However, seeing I made a little borrow from the old lady yesterday, +I will go you one lunch on the strength of it. But I do hope you men had +late breakfasts."</p> + +<p>Just before they were ready to pass out, Tony, the office boy came in. +"Say," he said to Wooton, in a low tone, "you remember that letter I +took to the house day before yesterday? Well, does the quarter walk +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Which," Wooton explained, as he handed the boy a quarter, "is Tony's +peculiar way of inquiring whether he is going to get that twenty-five +cents or not." Tony grinned and went back to his desk were he was busy +addressing wrappers.</p> + +<p>When the three men came back from lunch, they found a young man, holding +a black leather case in his hand, such as bank messengers carry, sitting +patiently in a chair in the outer office. He got up when they entered, +and handed Wooton a paper. Wooton took it to the light, read it slowly, +and handed it back. "Tell him to send that around again on the tenth, +will you." Then he walked into the composing room and began talking to +the foreman. The collector put the slip of paper back into his portfolio +and went out.</p> + +<p>"Van," said Wooton, as they sat down at his desk, presently, "I wish +you'd try and hurry that stuff of yours along a little, will you? I've +got to go to a tea at Mrs. Stewart's at four, and the ghost tells me +that your page is half a column shy yet."</p> + +<p>Vanstruther nodded silently, while Stanley inquired, "Excuse my +ignorance Mr. Wooten, but who is Mrs. Stewart?"</p> + +<p>"What? You don't know the great and only Annie McCallum Stewart? Oh, +misericordia, can such things be?"</p> + +<p>"They are."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Stewart is a remarkably clever woman. One of the cleverest +women our society affords, in fact. She is the daughter of one of the +town's best known and most popular doctors, and everyone in society knew +her so well when she was only Annie McCallum that now, when she is +married to Stewart, one still uses her old name as well as her new one. +That's all the result of individuality. She has read a great deal, and +kept her eyes open a great deal. She has a husband who is ridiculously +fond of her, and otherwise as blind as a bat. She, on the other hand, +has a mania for young men. Whenever you see her with a young man of any +sort of looks, somebody will tell you that Annie McCallum Stewart has +got a new youth in the net. She likes to lure them up into her 'den,' as +she calls it, and talk to them about the higher life. Then they fall in +love with her and she forgives them and elaborates upon the beauties of +pure Platonism. In a word, Stanley, she's one of the most perfect forms +of the mental flirt I ever come across."</p> + +<p>"H'm. Is your tea today to be in duet form, or is it a general +scramble?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a general all-comers' game. But I always like to go to that +house; she interests me immensely. I'm always wondering how near she +really can skate to the edge without breaking over."</p> + +<p>"Yes," acquiesced the other, reflectively, "that is an interesting +speculation. Hallo, here's another friend of yours!"</p> + +<p>The new-comer laid an envelope on Wooton's desk and waited. The latter +opened it hastily, and then said, "I sent that down by this morning's +mail."</p> + +<p>The man had hardly gone before Stanley laid down the paper he had been +paging through and said, looking steadily at Wooton, "Jupiter, but you +do that easily! If I could do that only half as well I'd count myself as +free from debts for the rest of my life. It's my solemn belief that you +can tell a collector from an ordinary mortal as soon as he steps inside +the door. I've heard you tell a man, who had only just turned inside the +outer office, that you were 'going to send that down in the morning,' +and I've seen you look the enemy calmly in the face and tell him that +you had fixed that up with his employer about an hour ago. And you do it +as easily as if you were lighting a cigarette. Another man might get +embarrassed, and hesitate, or feel guilty! But you! Not in a hundred +years! You never quail worth a cent. It's positive genius, my boy, +positive genius!"</p> + +<p>"No; it's only business, that's all."</p> + +<p>"H'm, by the way, speaking of business, aren't you running the game a +trifle extravagantly here? I don't want to mix in, of course, but is the +thing paying so well as—"</p> + +<p>The other interrupted him. "My dear fellow," he said, "it's evident you +haven't any idea how well this thing is paying. Why, man, look at me! Do +I economise much? No. Well, I don't have to, that's why! But come on and +let's saunter down street. Van's finished, and they've got all the copy +they want, and I expect there are a few pretty girls out today. Let's go +and take a glimpse at the parade on the Avenue. And then I'll go down to +that tea."</p> + +<p>There were several callers at the office after they had left; some +bill-collectors, a society man who left the announcement for some +forthcoming dances; a boy to buy ten copies of last week's paper; a +printer looking for work; and the mail-carrier. Towards six o'clock the +foreman and the compositors left; then Tony, the office-boy, shut up his +desk, and went out, locking the door behind him. The Weekly Torch had +gone to rest for the day.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h3> + + +<p>In the very air and life that prevailed in the office of the <i>Torch</i> +there was, as one may suppose, something strange, and at first repugnant +to Dick Lancaster. To one of his bringing up, his earnest intentions, +his thirst for real things, it seemed that all this was very like a +gaudy sham, a bubble of pretense, of surface prattle. He could scarcely +believe that the flippancy of these men was serious with them; their +talk, their point of view astonished and horrified him. If they were to +be believed, life was nothing but a skimming of more or less uneven +surfaces; the only thing to be tried for was pleasure, and there was no +moral line at all. And then again he rebuked himself for being, perhaps, +a homesick young idiot, overgiven to morbid speculation. That was not +what he had come to town for; he was going to do some good work and make +a name and fame for himself.</p> + +<p>He had found, very early in his career, that in order to get upon the +first steps of the ladder he must become an illustrator. If he had had +the means that would have enabled him to wait through studio-work, a +trip to Paris, and the dreary years ere orders came from dealers, he +would have clung to paint at any risk; but he saw himself forced to earn +some bread-and-butter even while he waited for his dreams to come true. +So, with some slight reluctance at first, to be sure, but afterwards +with all his energy, he applied himself to pen and ink work. In course +of time, as we have seen, he became the staff-artist of the Torch, He +was making a very fair living for so young a man, and he made a great +many acquaintances. And life every day showed him a new aspect.</p> + +<p>One of the men he had so far taken the greatest liking to was Belden, +the artist, who had, to all intents and purposes, put him into his +present position with the <i>Torch</i>, Belden, whose name was Daniel Grant +Belden, but whom his friends chaffingly called, on account of the +similarity of the initials, Dante Gabriel, was one of the most +happy-go-lucky individuals that ever breathed. His mania for art books +kept him more or less hard-up; yet he undoubtedly had one of the finest +collections, in that sort, in town. He got orders for work from a +publisher; he took the manuscript that he was to illustrate home with +him; he kept it three weeks; then, without having read it, he returned +it saying he was too busy to attempt the commission. And if ever there +was one in this present day of ours, he was a Bohemian. The peculiar +part of it was that in addition to being a Bohemian by instinct, he was +one by intention. He read Henri Murger with avidity, and thought of him +always. On the street he was a curious object; his overcoat was a trifle +shiny, and his hat was always an old, or at least, a misused one; his +trousers were too tight at the knees; his boots rarely polished. He +usually walked with a long, quick stride; and a long, peculiar cigar, of +the sort the Wheeling people call "stogy," was almost always in his +mouth. You rarely saw him on the Elevated except with an armful of books +and papers. He would come home at one in the morning and sit down at his +wide drawing table and work until dawn. Then, with not much more than +his coat hastily thrown off, he would fling himself on the couch and be +fast asleep in an instant. Often, too, he would go fast to sleep while +his pen was traveling over the paper; in ten minutes, or sometimes half +an hour, he would wake up and continue the stroke that had been +interrupted; his pen would have not spilled a single drop. He did all +his own cooking, and marvelous were the meals that resulted. He liked +nothing better than to fill his rooms with a number of choice, congenial +souls. They would talk art-shop for hours, or listen to music; he knew a +great many clever young fellows who were gifted in playing the piano, +the flute or the violin; and while his own musical tastes were barbaric, +and called, chiefly, for the spirited rendition of darky-minstrelsies, +he gave the rest of his company the freedom of their choice, also, and +sat patiently through the most beautiful of operatic strains. Sunday was +the day singled out more especially for those pleasant little "evenings" +at Belden's flat.</p> + +<p>Dick Lancaster had been asked up to these evenings a great many times +before he ever went. For long, he could not make up his mind to it; in +spite of all the thousand and one laxities that he saw in the daily life +around him, to devote oneself to anything in the nature of sheer +pleasure, on Sunday, still seemed to him a decided mis-step.</p> + +<p>But one day, toward the beginning of winter, Belden, who had been in to +call on his young protégée at the <i>Torch</i> office, said to him,</p> + +<p>"Look here, Dick, why don't you come up some Sunday evening and join our +gang? Goodness, you can't afford to be as straight-laced as all that, in +this town. Besides, we don't do anything that's against the law and the +prophets, you know. We talk a little shop, and some man reads something, +perhaps, and Stanley plays a thing or two on the violin. Then we go out +and help ourselves to whatever I may happen to have in the larder. And +then you go home, or you bunk up there, and where's the harm done? Look +at it sensibly, my boy; we are all slaves in the same bondage, in this +town, and Sunday is our one off-day; you don't mean to say we're +heathens and creatures of the devil if we seek the sweetest rest we can +on that day? To some men, rest means church; to me and most of the men +you know, it means relaxation, and relaxation means recreation. The +others get their music in church, I get mine at home. Now, Dick, say +you'll come up next Sunday."</p> + +<p>And Dick, looking at Belden as if to make out whether that artist were +an emissary of the Evil One or merely a man of the present day, coughed +a little, and then said, rather sheepishly, "Very well, I'll come—to +please you, Belden." He felt, the next minute, as if he had slipped and +fallen; he grew a little faint; he thought he could hear the sound of +the church bells as they used to come singing over the meadows in +Lincolnville; he saw himself and his mother sitting side by side in the +old pew, listening to the pleasant voice of Mr. Fairly droning out his +prayer; then he shook himself together and blushed at his fancies. +Belden had gone already, but Dick felt as if he would run after him and +tell him, "No, no, I cannot, must not come!" He ran to the door; the +corridor was empty; Belden was half way down the next block by this +time. Then he solaced himself with the thought, "Surely it can be no +great harm after all—besides, I have promised!"</p> + +<p>He bent down over the drawing-board once more, but he could no longer +chain his thoughts to the work before him. They flew round and round in +a curious circling way about this new life that he had become a part of. +It was, he was forced to admit to himself, not as beautiful a thing as +he had expected; but it was certainly novel, and it interested him +immensely, it kept his curiosity excited, it touched his senses. As he +began to consider that quiet country village that he had left, out +yonder on the plains, and this busy beehive of a metropolis, he came, +also, to consider the men he was beginning to know. He leaned back in +the chair, smiling a little. The office was nearly empty at this time; +it was during the noon hour, and Dick was alone in the outer office. He +passed over, in his thoughts, the men that he was thrown with in the +<i>Torch</i> office. There was Wooton himself: tall, thin, with a face that +was all profile—a wonderfully pure profile—with a mouth almost too +small for a man, a nose that bent a little like those of the Cæsars. +Dick did not know, yet, what to make of Wooton. The man had a wonderful +charm; he could talk most entertainingly, most logically and he had some +curiously interesting theories. There was a sort of <i>laisser-aller</i> +negligence in his manner; his manners were admirable, and there was some +occult fascination about him that one could scarcely define. As Dick +considered him, he remembered that on several occasions, he had listened +to Wooton's dissertations on subjects that otherwise would have offended +him, merely because the man's charm of person and speech were so +alluring. As to whether it was genuine or a mere veneer, well, how could +one tell as soon as this? Time, which tells so many things, would +doubtless tell that too.</p> + +<p>Then Vanstruther! He had a blonde beard that came to a point, and he +always wore glasses. For the rest, Dick knew but little of him save what +he had heard. Vanstruther "did" the more important of the society events +for the <i>Torch</i>, and himself moved and had his nightly being in the +smartest circles in town. The peculiar part of it was that he was +married, and had several children; barring the hour or so a day that he +spent in the office of the <i>Torch</i> he was the most devoted husband and +father in the world, and spent the most of his day at home, where in his +little study-room he sat in front of a typewriter stand and +manufactured at lightning speed—what do you suppose?—dime novels. This +was, among the man's intimates, a more or less open secret; but to the +world at large, and particularly the world of society, he was known +merely as a delightful person, socially, and something of a flaneur, +intellectually.</p> + +<p>As for Stanley—the man's full name was Laurence Stanley—Dick had +somehow taken a dislike to him. He knew little of him except that he was +a professional do-nothing, who lived off his wife's money, speculated +occasionally, and appeared a great deal in society. No one ever saw his +wife, who was an invalid. He talked with inveterate cynicism; it was +this that made him repugnant to young Lancaster. He had a sneer and a +cigarette always with him, and Dick hated both.</p> + +<p>The tip-tapping of a light foot-step over the oil-cloth brought Dick +back from the land of day-dreams. It was rather a pretty woman that +stood before him, and she was gowned in a manner that even with his +inexperience he knew to be distinctly up-to-date, and that he certainly +admitted as attractive from an artistic standpoint. She looked past him +into the inner office, lifted her eyebrows a trifle and inquired: "Is +Mr. Wooton not in?"</p> + +<p>"Not just now," responded Dick, getting up, "but he will be back in a +very little while. If you would care to wait—" He took hold of the back +of a revolving chair that stood close by.</p> + +<p>"No," she declared, "I only had a minute. Will you tell him Mrs. Stewart +was up? Or, stay; I'll write him a line."</p> + +<p>Dick gave her some letterheads, and pen and ink; she sat down at his +desk and began writing, with a good deal of scratching and scraping. +"There," she said when she had addressed the envelope, "If you will +please give him that as soon as he comes in. Thank you. Do you do this?" +She pointed with one gloved finger to the drawing he had been busy on. +He bowed silently. She looked at him with a quick, comprehensive glance, +smiled a trifle, and swept out of the door.</p> + +<p>"So that is Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart!" was Dick's first mental +exclamation, "well, she's certainly not an ordinary woman. Wonder if +I'll ever get to know her?"</p> + +<p>With which speculation he turned to his work. When Wooton returned, and +had read the note, he broke into a low chuckle, "That's like her! Just +like her. What do you suppose she says?"</p> + +<p>Dick was the only other person in the outer office, so he was forced to +take the question as addressed to himself. "I have no idea," he +declared.</p> + +<p>"She says she is getting awfully tired of her present lot of young men, +and wants me, for goodness sake, to bring down some one different, and +bring him soon. She says she is tired to death of the man who has lived +and seen and heard everything, and she is dying for a man who is as like +Pierrot as two peas!" Wooton tore the letter up mechanically, and put +the pieces into the waste-basket. "Well," he went on, "I wish I could—" +he stopped and looked at Dick, breaking out the next instant into a +broad grin, "Jupiter!" he added, "you're just the man! Do you want to +join the noble army of martyrs in ordinary to the extraordinary Annie? +She'll do you lots of good; she'll be a pocket education in the +philosophy of today, and she'll put you through all manner of +interesting paces. Seriously, she's a woman who can do a man a lot of +good, socially. And society never does a man much harm; it broadens him, +and gives him finish. Now, you're just the sort of youth she'll like +immensely; and yet she'll soon find out that you've heard about her and +her ways. Never mind; she won't like you any the worse for that; she's +too much a woman of the world. What do you think? The next time I go +down to tea at her house I'll take you along, eh? All you've got to do +is to be clever and amusing and different to the others; Mrs. Stewart is +like the rest of society in that she demands something of the people she +takes up, but she doesn't demand such impossibilities. I'll write and +tell her I've got the very man!" He went on into the inner office, +before Dick had time to say anything in reply. And, to tell the truth, +the idea rather interested him. He had seen her, and had felt interested +in her; he had heard so much about her; and now he was going to meet +her! As to being clever and amusing, he thought he was likely to fail +miserably; but he might, unconsciously perhaps, succeed in being what +Wooten called "different."</p> + +<p>Just then Wooton gave a sudden exclamation. "This is Wednesday, isn't +it? Well, that is her afternoon. You'd better shut up your desk for +today; go up to your rooms and get an artistic twirl or two to your +locks, and then come down to the smoking-room of the Cosmopolitan Club +about quarter to four; I'll be there waiting for you. Then we'll go on +down to Mrs. Stewart's together."</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h3> + +<p>The days were getting very short now, and darkness was already hovering +over the town as Dick passed through the portals of the Cosmopolitan. +When they came out together, Wooton and he, it seemed to Dick that the +town was in one of its most characteristic tempers. It was in the +beginning of winter; the air was a little damp, and smoke hung in it so +that it begrimed in an incredibly short space of time. The buildings, in +the twilight that was half of the day's natural dusk and half the +murkiness of the smoke, loomed against the hardly denned sky like some +towering, threatening genii. The electric lights were beginning to peer +through the gloom. The sidewalks were alive with a never-tiring throng, +men and women jostling each other, never stopping to apologize; all +intent not so much on the present as on something that was always just +a little ahead. This, the onlooker mused, was what it meant to "get +ahead," a blind physical rush in the dark, a callous indifference to +others, a selfish brutality, a putting into effect the doctrine of the +survival of the fittest. The streets clanged with the roll of wheels; +carriages with monograms on the panels rolled by with clatter of chains +and much spattering of mud; huge drays drawn by four, and sometimes +six-horse teams, and blazening to the world the name of some mercantile +genius whom soap or pork had enriched, thundered heavily over the +granite blocks; the roar and underground buzz of the cable mingled with +the deafening ringing of the bell that announced the approach of the +cable trains; overhead was the thunderous noise of the Elevated. It was +all like a huge cauldron of noise and dangers. Dick declared to himself +that it was the modern Inferno. And yet, as he passed toward the station +of the Elevated with Wooton, Dick began to understand something of the +fascination that the place, even in its most noisome aspects, was able +to exert. In the very rush and roar, in the ceaseless hum and murmur and +groaning, there was epitomized the eager fever of life, its joys and its +pains. Here, after all, was life. And it was life that Dick had come to +taste.</p> + +<p>There was a quick ride on the Elevated, Dick catching various glimpses +of unsightly buildings that showed their undress uniform, of dim-lit +back rooms where one caught hints of dismal poverty, of roofs that +seemed to shudder under the banner of dirty clothes fluttering in the +breeze. The town seemed, from this view, like the slattern who is all +radiant at night, at the ball, but who, next morning, is an unkempt, +untidy hag.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart rose rather languidly as they were +announced. Dick noticed that in some mysterious way she managed to give +a peculiar grace to almost her every movement; there was something of a +tigress in the way she walked. She gave her hand to Wooton—"Delightful +of you to come so soon," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"One of the things I live for, my dear Mrs. Stewart," said Wooton, "is +to surprise people. Knew you didn't expect me, so I came. Brought a dear +friend of mine, Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Lancaster. Want you to like him."</p> + +<p>"My only prejudice against you, Mr. Lancaster," was Mrs. Stewart's +smiling reply, "is that you come under Mr. Wooton's protection. I +pretend I'm immensely fond of him, but I'm not; I'm only afraid of him; +he's too clever." And, still laughing at Wooton in such a way as to show +the exquisite perfection of her teeth, she presented young Lancaster to +several of the others who were sitting about the room, chatting and +sipping tea. He had a vague idea of several stiff young men bowing to +him, of an equal number of splendidly appareled, but unhandsome girls, +looking at him with supercilious nods, and of hearing names that faded +as easily as they touched him. He found himself, presently, sitting on +a low divan, opposite to a girl with dreamy blue eyes behind pince-nez +eyeglasses. He hadn't caught her name; he knew no more of her tastes, of +the things she was likely to converse about than did the Man in the +Moon. But he instinctively opined that it was necessary to seem rather +than to be, to skim rather than to dive.</p> + +<p>"I've been 'round the circle," he said, trying a smile, "and I'm +delivered up to you. I hope you'll treat me well."</p> + +<p>The girl with the blue eyes looked at him a moment in silence. Then she +said, abruptly: "This is the first time that you've been down here, +isn't it? I knew it! Well, these things are not bad—when you get used +to them. Now, you're not used to them. Confess, are you?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "I am innocent as a lamb," he said, with mock +apology.</p> + +<p>The girl went on: "Well, that may do as a novelty. Annie's great on new +blood, you know. Shouldn't wonder if she took you up. How are you on +theosophy?"</p> + +<p>Dick stared. What sort of a torrent of curiosity was this that was +gushing forth from this peculiar creature? "To tell you the truth," he +hazarded, "I am not 'on' at all."</p> + +<p>She smiled. "Ah, that's bad. However, I dare say there's something else. +Now, how are you on art?"</p> + +<p>"I know a little something." He smiled to himself, wondering how much of +the actual practical knowledge of art there was in all that room, +outside of what he himself possessed.</p> + +<p>"Ah, a little something. Well, that's all that's needed, nowadays. The +great point is to know 'a little something' about everything. To know +anything thoroughly is to be a bore. A man of that sort is always +didactic on the one subject he is familiar with, and absolutely stupid +on all other things. However, what's the use of considering those +people? They're quite impossible." She began tapping the carpet with her +slipper. "Speaking of impossible people," she went on, "there's Mrs. +Tremont. Over there with the grey waist. Intellectually, she's +impossible; socially she is the possible in essence. She was a Miss +Alexander, of Virginia; then she married Tremont, and lived in Boston +long enough to get Boston superciliousness added to the natural +haughtiness given to her in her birth. She talks pedigree, and dreams of +precedence. She goes everywhere, and I fancy she thinks that when she +hands St. Peter her card that personage will bow in deference and +announce her name in particularly awestruck tones. The girl who is +talking to the tall man with the military mustache is Miss Tremont. She +is her mother, plus the world and the devil."</p> + +<p>Dick interrupted her, as she paused to sip her tea. "Yes," he said, "and +now tell me who you are?"</p> + +<p>She, lifted her eyebrows a trifle. "You have audacity," she said, "and I +begin to think you are clever. Audacity is successful only when one is +clever. When one is stupid, audacity is a crime. Who am I? Well—" she +smiled again at the thought of his assurance. "Why not ask my enemies? +But you don't know who is my enemy, who is my friend. Well, I am the +Philistine in this circle of the elect. I'm a cousin of Mrs. Stewart's, +and I come because I am fond of being amused. She herself amuses me +most. She seems to be so tremendously in earnest, and she's so +unfathomably insincere. She hates me, you know, because I didn't marry +John Stewart when he proposed to me. Then, I never did anything, or had +a fad, or was eccentric, so I don't really belong here; but, as I said +before, the house amuses me, and I come. I don't know why I tell you +this, but I don't care very much, and besides, I believe you're still +genuine. It's so pathetic to be genuine; it reminds me of a baby +rabbit—blind eyes and fuzz. I'm not sure, but it's my idea, that if you +want to keep Mrs. Stewart's good graces you'll have to do nothing harder +than stay genuine. It's so novel. Most of us, today, couldn't be genuine +again any more than we could be born again. Ah, here's my dear cousin +approaching. I suppose she comes to rescue you from my clutches. If you +want to please her immensely, tell her I bored you to death. She'll have +the thought for desert all week."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart sailed toward them with a queenly sweep that was decidedly +imposing. She had decided to have a chat with young Lancaster. When she +had seen him in the office of the <i>Torch</i>, and now, when he first +entered the room, she had seen at a glance that he was handsome enough +not to need cleverness; but she was curious to see whether he would +interest her in other than visual ways. "You've been most fortunate," +she said to Dick, as she reached them, "with Miss Leigh to interpret us +for you. Has she told you, I wonder, that she is my favorite cousin? But +now, I want to talk to you about art. If Miss Leigh will surrender you +to me—?"</p> + +<p>"I've been talking to Mr. Wooton about you," she said as she bore him +away in triumph, "and he tells me you've only been in town for a few +weeks. You still have vivid impressions, I suppose. When one has lived +here for years and years, one's impressionability gets hardened. It +takes something very forcible to really rouse us. And even then we +prefer to let some one of us experience the sensation; it is so much +easier to take another's word for it, and follow in the rut. That is how +most of our present day fads come about. Some one gets pierced between +the casings of the armour of indifference, and the rest of us take the +cue and join in the chorus of ecstasy. We don't go to hear Patti or +Paderewski, you know, because, we really feel their art deeply; it is +because someone once felt it and it became the fashion." While she +talked, she had led him into a window-nook and motioned him to a +fauteuil that covered the crescent-shaped niche. As she sat down, the +lines of her figure could be traced through the perfect fit of her gown. +He noticed what finish, what art there was about the picture she made as +she sat there, beside him. Her gown was a delicate shade of gray; the +crepe seemed to love her as a vine loves a tree, so closely did it +follow and cling to the lines of her hips, her waist, her shoulders. +Over her sleeves, immensely wide, as the fashion of the time decreed, +fell lapels of silk. She had on low shoes, and above them he could see +the neat contour of her ankles, also clad in gray. "However," she went +on, "I did not intend to talk of the fashion; I wanted to ask you how +the town struck your artistic side. Don't you find as great pictures in +a street full of life as in a valley full of shadow? Isn't there more of +the history of today in the faces of the people you meet on the Avenue +than in a stretch of blue sky, a white sail, and a background of +Venice?"</p> + +<p>"I see you're something of a realist?"</p> + +<p>"Don't! Please don't! That word gets on my nerves. I suppose my amiable +cousin, Miss Leigh, told you we were all blue-stockings, and +dilettantes. I assure you we've got beyond the Realism <i>versus</i> Romance +stage of disputation. Really, you don't know how you disappointed me +with that question. Mr. Wooton told me you were original!"</p> + +<p>Dick flushed a little. "He also told me," he retorted, "that you were +extraordinary. I begin to believe him." His tone had a suspicion of +pique in it. But Mrs. Stewart beamed.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "I like you when you look like that. That's—h'm, now +what is that?—anger, I suppose? It's really so long since I had a real +emotion that I don't know how it's done. Do you know, I think you and I +are going to be great friends! Yes, I feel I'm going to like you +immensely. Won't you try to like me?" She leaned over toward him, and +his shy young eyes caught the faint flutter of lace on her breast with +something of dim bewilderment. Her lips were parted, and her teeth shone +like twin rows of pearls. She went on, before he had time to do more +than begin a stammer of embarassment, "Yes, just as long as you stay +real, and genuine, I want you to come and see me very often; as often as +you possibly can. I imagine that talking to you is going to be like +dipping in the fountain of youth. Tell me, you people out there in the +country, how do you keep so young?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me that, Mrs. Stewart, when I have found out how it is that you in +town lose your youth so soon."</p> + +<p>"True. You will be the better judge. But you never told me how it +strikes the artist in you, this town of ours."</p> + +<p>"I haven't had time to think yet how it strikes me. I'm busy finding out +all about it. Just at present it's all like the genius that came from +the fisherman's vessel in the Arabian Nights: it is a huge coil of +smoke that stifles me with its might and its thickness. I know there are +wonderful color-effects all about me, but my nerves are still so eager +for the mere taste of it all that I can't digest anything. Besides—" he +stopped and sighed a little—"I must not begin to think of paint for +years. I'm a mere apprentice. I just scratch and rub, and scratch and +rub, as a brother artist puts it."</p> + +<p>"But one sees some very pretty effects in black-and-white. Look at +<i>Life</i>, for instance—"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Stewart, if you would be loyal to me, don't look at the +aforesaid 'loathsome contemporary,' as they say out West." It was Wooton +who had approached, and interrupted Mrs. Stewart with an easy +nonchalance that, in almost any other man, would have been an +unpardonable rudeness. He threw himself on a chair and continued: "Mrs. +Stewart, you have wounded me sorely. I bring you a disciple and what do +you do? You buttonhole him, as it were, and preach treason to him. For, +you must confess, that to tell people to look at <i>Life</i> when they might +be looking at—h'm—another periodical, whose name I reverence too +highly to mention before a traitoress, is High Treason."</p> + +<p>For reply, Mrs. Stewart tapped Wooton lightly on the lips with a large +ivory paper-cutter that she had been toying with. "As I was saying, when +rudely interrupted, look at—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Stewart, why this feverish desire to look at life? I ask +you both, is life pretty? Remember M. Zola and Mr. Howells. They are +supposed to give us life, are they not? Well, the one flushes a sewer, +and the other hands us weak tea. I prefer not to contemplate life. I am +obliged to read the morning papers because it is become necessary to +know today the unpleasantness that happened yesterday. But otherwise I +assure you that life—"</p> + +<p>This time, Mrs. Stewart tapped him quite smartly with the paper-cutter.</p> + +<p>"You know very well that puns have been out of fashion for more years +than you have been of age. We were talking about art, and incidentally +about a paper that encourages art, and you begin a dissertation on life! +What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Wooton mockingly stifled an effort to yawn. "As if I ever, by the +vaguest chance, meant anything! I hate to be asked what I mean. If I +knew, I would probably not tell, and if I do not know why should I lie? +The safest course in this world is never to mean anything and to say +everything. If I had my life to live over again—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart looked at him with a shudder, lifting her shoulders, while +her mouth showed a smile. "Why speak of anything so unpleasant?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, had you there, Wooton, eh!" It was Vanstruther, who had strolled +over to pay his respects to Mrs. Stewart. She held out a hand; he +pressed it lightly. He nodded to Lancaster, and then looked through the +half-drawn portiers to where in the black-and-gold drawing-room the +others were sitting and standing in colorful groups. Someone was at the +piano playing a mazurka of Chopin's. There was a faint click of cups +touching saucers; the high notes of the women and the low drawl of the +men. Vanstruther looked at them all slowly, and then turned to Mrs. +Stewart again. "All in?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart nodded and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I've not been at your house for so long," Vanstruther continued, "that +I'm a little out of the running. Several people here that are new to me. +Now, that girl in black?"</p> + +<p>"Talking to young Hexam? That's Madge Winters. You remember young +Winters who was runner-up in the tennis tournament last season?—sister +of his. She's just back from Japan. Has some idea of doing a sort of +Edmund Russell gospel of the beautiful <i>a la</i> Japan course of readings. +Her brother amused me once and I'm going to do what I can for her. Now, +who else is there? Let me see: I don't think you ever met Miss Farcreigh +before—she's talking to the man at the piano. Delightful girl—her +father's the big Standard Oil man, you know—and collects china. Sings a +little, too. But chiefly I like her because she's pretty and a great +catch. There's a German prince madly in love with her, but her father +objects to him because his majesty never did a stroke of work in his +life. I believe you know all the others."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, yes." Vanstruther turned to Dick and said to him, with a +smile at Mrs. Stewart, "You may find eccentric people here, Lancaster, +but you will never find unpleasant ones."</p> + +<p>"That's where Mrs. Stewart makes the inevitable mistake," drawled +Wooton. "There should be one or two unpleasant ones, merely for the sake +of the others. If it were not for the unpleasant people in the world, it +would hardly be worth while being the other kind."</p> + +<p>"You're as unpleasant as need be," was Mrs. Stewart's reply.</p> + +<p>"Delighted!" murmured Wooton. "To have done a duty is always a delight. +I have done several. I have brought you a new disciple, I have leavened +your heaven with intrusion of myself, and now—now I must really go. My +virtues are still like incense in my nostrils. Allow me to waft myself +gently away before they grow rank and stale."</p> + +<p>Dick rose at the same moment. "Oh," Wooton said to him, "you're not +obliged to go yet. Stay and let Mrs. Stewart enchant you with the nectar +of proximity! I've got to be down at the Midwinter dance tonight, so I +must be off now."</p> + +<p>But Dick, in spite of the other's protestations, insisted that he must +really go also. He assured Mrs. Stewart that lie had enjoyed himself +immensely, promised to come soon and often, and was presently whirling +down-town again with Wooton. The latter had bought an evening paper and +was carefully perusing the sporting columns. Dick closed his eyes, +trying to recall the picture he had just left: the dim-lit +drawing-room, with its well-dressed, graceful people; Mrs. Stewart's +fascinating voice and figure; the flippant frivolity of all their +discourse; the useless sham of all their isms and fads; the clever ease +with which everything seemed to be taken for granted, and nothing was +ever truly analyzed—how like a phantasmagoria of repellant things it +all was, and yet how fascinating! Everyone appeared to know everything; +no surprise was ever expressed; no emotion was ever visible. It was +fully expected that everyone was possessed of no real aim in life save +the riding of a hobby; it was agreed that to appear ignorant of anything +was to be vulgar. And yet, in that circle, Dick was hailed as "so +delightfully genuine," and was told that he would stand high at court as +long as he remained so! Surely these were strange days, and stranger +ways! That phrase of Mrs. Stewart's about young Winters grated harshly, +too—"He amused me once!"</p> + +<p>Was life merely an effort at being forever amused?</p> + +<p>Almost, it seemed so.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h3> + + +<p>The room was dim with smoke. Through the faint veil that curled +incessantly toward the ceiling the pictures on the wall took on a misty +haze that heightened rather than spoilt their effect. It was not a large +room, but the walls were covered with pictures of every sort. It was +impossible to escape observing the artistic carelessness that had +prevailed in the arrangement of the furniture. Bookcases lined the lower +portion of each wall; then came pictures. There was an original by Blum; +a marvelously executed facsimile of a black-and-white by Abbey; a +Vierge, and a Myrbach. Not the least remarkable Mature of these +ornaments was the manner of their framing, A Parisienne, by Jules +Cheret, for instance, all skirts and chic, looked as if she had just +burst through the confines of a prison-wall of a daily paper. The +carelessly serrated edges, then the white matting, and the brown frame +gave a whole that was worth looking at twice. An etching—one of +Beardsley's fantasies—was framed all in black; it was more effective +than the original.</p> + +<p>Over the mantel were scattered photographs of stage divinities in +profusion. Many of them had autographs scrawled across the face of the +picture. In a niche in the wall a human skull, with a clay pipe stuck +jauntily between the teeth, looked out over the smoke.</p> + +<p>From the next room, beyond the open portieres, came the sound of a +violin and a piano.</p> + +<p>The air of Mascagni's "Intermezzo" died away, and for it was substituted +a slow dirge-like melody. Belden, in the front room, broke out into an +explosive, "Ah, that's the stuff! Everybody sing: 'For they're hangin' +Danny Deever in the mohn-nin'.'" The wail of that solemn ballad went +echoing through the house, all the men present joining in. Belden, who +had been lying at full length on the floor, explaining the beauties of a +charcoal drawing by Menzel to a group of three other artists—Marsboro, +of the <i>Telegraph</i>, Evans, of the <i>Standard</i>, and a younger man, +Stevely, who was still going to the Art School—had jumped to his feet +and was slowly waving a pencil in mock leadership of a chorus. +Vanstruther, who was stealing an evening from society for Bohemia's +sake, was far back in a huge rocking chair; a fantastic work by Octave +Uzanne on his knee, and his legs stretched out over the center table; he +now held his pipe in his hand and hummed the refrain in a deep bass.</p> + +<p>"Go on," urged Belden, as the last notes moaned themselves away in the +smoke, "go on, give us something else!" But Stanley laid his violin down +on a bookcase and declared that his arm was tired.</p> + +<p>Vanstruther pulled at his pipe again, until he was sure he still had +fire. Then he declared, oracularly, "Stanley, you look tremendously +religious tonight. Been jilted?</p> + +<p>"No, shaved. You confirm an impression I have that a man never feels so +religious as when he has just been shaved. I assure you that in this way +I could really read one of your 'shockers,' Van, and feel that I was +doing my duty."</p> + +<p>"Oh," Belden cut in, going over to one of the bookcases, "anything to +stop Stanley from hearing himself talk. It makes him drunk. Seeing we +had a ballad of Kipling's just now, suppose some one reads something of +his. Then someone else can sit still, and think of his sins, while the +pen-and-ink men make sketches of him. How'll that do, eh?</p> + +<p>"All right." It was Vanstruther, whose voice came from over the smoke. +"I'll read if you like; and Stanley can get a far-away expression into +his countenance, while you other fellows put his ephemeral beauty on +paper. What'll it be?"</p> + +<p>Stanley, who was rolling himself onto a sofa in the corner, murmured, +while he rolled a cigarette with a deft motion of his fingers, "Oh, give +us that yarn about the things in a dead man's eye, what's the title +again—'At the End of the Passage', isn't it? I'm in the mood for +something of that pleasant sort. By the way, aren't we a man shy, +Belden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Young Lancaster hasn't arrived yet. I had a great time getting him +to say he would come; he has scruples about Sunday, and all that sort of +thing; but he'll turn up pretty soon, I know. Here's the book, Van." He +handed the volume across the table. Stanley, after a few chaffing +remarks had passed back and forth, was arranged into a position that +would give the artists a sharp profile to work from. The artists began +sharpening pencils, and pinning paper on drawing boards. And then, for +a time, there was nothing but the sounds of pens and pencils going over +paper, and Vanstruther's voice reading that story of Indian heat and +hopelessness. In the other room McRoy, the man who had been playing +Stanley's piano accompaniment, was reading Swinburne to himself.</p> + +<p>The bell rang suddenly. Belden threw his sketch down and opened the +door. "Lancaster, I suppose," he said. Then they heard his voice in the +hall, greeting the newcomer, who was presently ushered in and airily +made known to such of the men as he had not yet been introduced to.</p> + +<p>"You've just missed a treat, my boy," said Belden, pushing Dick into a +chair. "Vanstruther has been reading us a yarn of Kipling's. You're fond +of Kip., I suppose?"</p> + +<p>While Dick said, "Oh, yes, indeed," Stanley put in.</p> + +<p>"It's lucky for you you are, because Belden here swears by the trinity +of Kipling, Riley and Henri Murger. He has occasional flirtations with +other authors, but he generally comes back to those three. But then, +when you get to know Belden better, you will realize that he has what is +technically known as 'rats in his garret.' Do you know what he once did, +just to illustrate? Walked miles in a bleak country district that he +might reach a certain half-disabled bridge and there sit, reading De +Quincey's 'Vision of Sudden Death' by moonlight! The man who can do +that can do anything that's weird."</p> + +<p>"There's only one way to stop your tongue, Stanley," Belden remarked +humoredly, "and that is to ask you to play for us again. Lancaster has +never heard you yet, you know."</p> + +<p>Stanley looked out into the other room. "What do you say, Mac? Shall we +tune our harps again?"</p> + +<p>"Just as cheap," said the other, without looking up from his book.</p> + +<p>They began to play. From Raff's "Cavatina," they strayed into a melody +by Rubinstein; then it was a wild gallop through comic operas, popular +songs, and Bowery catches. While they played the men in the other room +began comparing sketches. Vanstruther ushered Dick into many of the +artistic treasure-holds that the room contained. Also, he supplied him +with running comments on some of the things they saw all about them. +Dick, though he scarcely felt at ease, felt strongly the fascination of +all this devil-may-care atmosphere. The haze of smoke; the melodious +airs from beyond the portieres; the careless attire and jaunty +nonchalance of the men, all drew him with a sort of sensual hypnotism, +even while his inner being felt that he himself was a little better than +this. He was in the land of Don't-Care; dogmas, creeds, faiths had no +place here; everything was "do as you please, and let your neighbor +please himself." He said but little; he thought a great deal.</p> + +<p>One of the artists called Vanstruther over to the open bookcase, to show +him a sketch by Gibson. Dick looked about him, picked up a copy of Omar +Khayyam, that had Vedder's illustrations, and buried himself in the +gentle philosophy of that classic.</p> + +<p>But Belden was again become restless. Mere melody never did anything but +irritate him. "Oh, play some nigger music," he asked. Then, when a few +merry jingles from "'Way down South" had played themselves in and out of +the echoes, Stanley put his violin down with a decisive gesture. "There, +I've paid my way, I think!" When the piano had been closed, and the +violin laid away in its case, he went on, "'Seems to me it's about time +you were bringing along your friend Murger?"</p> + +<p>Belden walked toward the shelf where the "Scènes de la Vie de Bohème" +had its place. As he took it out, however, he said, "Come to think of +it, Marsboro's going to commit matrimony pretty soon, I hear. Any +objections?" He held the volume in the air, questioningly.</p> + +<p>Marsboro laughed, and shook his head. "No, no," he said, "go on!"</p> + +<p>"Just as if," Stanley observed, "a man about to be married knew what +objections were! Dante Gabriel Belden, in some things you are weirdly +primitive."</p> + +<p>"I would sooner be primitive than effete," was Belden's retort.</p> + +<p>Stanley turned to Marsboro. "Don't think me curious, old man, but is it +any girl I know?"</p> + +<p>Before Marsboro could reply, Vanstruther broke in with, "I'll bet money +it's not! You don't suppose Marsboro is likely to think of marrying a +woman with a past!"</p> + +<p>Marsboro flushed a little; and moved uneasily in his chair. Dick, +looking up from his Omar Khayam, wondered how the man could endure such +verbal pitch and toss with such a subject.</p> + +<p>But Stanley turned away from the matter with a sneer. "My dear fellow," +he said, "if it will soothe your sweet soul, I am quite willing to admit +that in the course of my life I have known some women who had pasts. +They are invariably interesting. The only difference between a woman +with a past and a man of the same sort is that the man still has a +future before him. And a man with a future is as pathetic as a little +boy chasing a butterfly: even if he wins the game, there is nothing but +a corpse, and some dust on his fingers."</p> + +<p>Belden, turning the pages of the Murger, said, deprecatingly, "Don't get +Stanley started on moral reflections: in the first place, they are not +moral; in the second place they reflect nothing but his own perverted +soul. Talking morals with some men is like turning the pages of an +edition de luxe with inky fingers."</p> + +<p>Stanley laughed. "Good boy! But now go on with Rodolph and his +flirtations. Where did you leave off? Hadn't he just written some +poetry, spent the proceeds on feasting his friends, and the night in a +tree?"</p> + +<p>Belden began to read.</p> + +<p>In spite of himself, Dick began to feel the fascination of Murger's +recital of all those rollicking, roystering episodes in the Latin +Quarter. He let the Omar fall idly into his lap, and gave himself up to +listening to Belden's reading. The other men smoked and smiled. Dick's +sense of humor told him that there was something quaint in the way +Belden intentionally fed his own love for Bohemianism with another's +description; none the less he admitted that there was no sham, +dilettante Bohemianism about this place and the men present. It was not +the Bohemianism of claw-hammer coats and high-priced champagne; of +little suppers, after the theater, in a black and gold boudoir, where +the women tasted some Welsh rarebit and declared that they were afraid +it was "awfully Bohemian, don't you know!" It was the Bohemia that +recked naught of others, but had as banner, "Do as you please," and as +watchword "Don't care." It was the old philosophy of Epicurus brought to +modern usage.</p> + +<p>The good-humored account that. Henri Murger gave of so many picturesque +light-love escapades, that had so much of pathos mingled with their +unmorality, began to find in Dick a vein of sympathy. He felt that it +was all very pleasant; all was charmingly put; it was interesting.</p> + +<p>"There," Belden declared, as he finished reading the episode of the +flowers that Musette watered every night, because she had promised to +love while those blossoms lived, "I'm dry, that's what I am. I think +it's about time we investigated. Come on into the kitchen, people. +There's some coffee and cake and fruit. Shouldn't wonder if you could +find a bottle or two of beer on the ice, too."</p> + +<p>They trooped out, through a room and corridor, to the kitchen. There was +a bare, deal table, a cooking range, a gas stove, a refrigerator and +several doors leading to closets. Every man brought his own chair. A +search was begun for cups, plates, knives and forks. Each man sat down +where he pleased. The coffee that was made was hardly such as one gets +at Tortoni's, but it was refreshing, nevertheless. The sound of corks +drawing from beer-bottles, of knives rattling on plates, and of +indiscriminate, lusty chatter filled the place. Belden was the +master-spirit. He saw that everyone helped himself; he chaffed and he +laughed; he looked after the provender and the cigars. The infection of +all this jollity touched Dick; he began to say to himself that to worry +himself "with conscientious scruples just because it was on a Sunday +instead of a Monday that all this happened, was to be something of a +prig." And he had always had a decided aversion to being that particular +sort of nuisance. He resigned himself completely to the spirit of the +time and place.</p> + +<p>McRoy broke into the babel of talk with a plaintive, "Everybody listen +for about a minute, will you? I want to ask Belden a solemn question: +Belden, have you finished that copy of 'Old-World Idyls' that you were +going to illustrate for me in pen-and-ink, on the margins?"</p> + +<p>Belden smiled. "Why, to tell you the truth, old man—" he began, but the +other interrupted him with, "There! publicly branded! Belden, you're the +awfulest breaker of oaths that ever was let live. You've had the book +six months, and I'll bet you've never drawn a stroke on it!"</p> + +<p>"The mistake you made," put in Stanley, "was to believe that he ever +<i>would</i> do the thing. He once made a promise of that sort to me, but +that was so long ago that I think I'm another person now."</p> + +<p>"If the theory of evolution is correct," said Vanstruther, "your late +lamented self must have been and abominably corrupt person."</p> + +<p>Stanley sighed, "Perhaps so. I am trying, you know, day by day, to +approach the sublime pinnacle on which you, my dear Van, tower above the +rest of mankind. However—" he reached his arm out over the table—"Any +beer left over there?"</p> + +<p>Belden handed a mug and a bottle over to him.</p> + +<p>"By the way," cut in Marsboro, "ever had any more trouble with the +neighbors here? Said you kept them awake Sunday nights with your unholy +orgies, didn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I said if they were going to kick on that score I would get +out an injunction against that girl of theirs that is always trying to +play 'After the Ball', with one hand. So I fancy our lances are both at +rest."</p> + +<p>So, with much careless clatter, and exchange of banter, they ate and +drank lustily until their hunger was appeased. Then, pushing their +plates and mugs into the middle of the table they leaned back to enjoy +the pleasures of the god Nicotine. And presently someone hinted that the +empty plates and the litter of the late-lamentedness in general was not +a cheering sight and they might as well proceed into the studio again. +There was a shoving back of chairs, a trooping through the corridor, and +they were all assembled once more in the front rooms. McRoy hid himself +behind a book. The others grouped themselves around the piano. The +plaintiff strains of Chevalier's "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins" filled the +room, born aloft on the impetus of five pairs of lungs.</p> + +<p>There was a violent ringing at the outer bell. It was some little time +before the men at the piano heard the din; it was only at McRoy's +muttered "Somebody's pulling your front door bell off the wires, +Belden!" that the latter went to open. The men in the room could hear +the sound of a man's voice, a quick passage of sentences, then +good-nights, all vaguely, over the strains of the coster-ditty.</p> + +<p>"What do you think," said Belden, coming in again, "has happened? It was +Ditton, of the <i>Telegraph</i>—lives a door or two north—just dropped in +to tell me a bit of news that he thought would interest me. Wooton of +the '<i>Torch</i>'? has disappeared, leaving the property deeply in debt. +Nobody knows where he is. Jove, come to think of it, that's pretty rough +news for you, Lancaster!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lancaster, "it is. And yet there is one consolation, he paid +me within a week of what was due me."</p> + +<p>There was a cessation of all other discussion to make room for the +consideration of this bit of news. Everybody agreed that it was too bad +that so good a sheet as the "Torch" should go the way of the majority. +Concerning Wooton the opinions differed. Belden began to apologize to +Lancaster for having led him into this "mess," as he called it, while +Stanley sneered at everybody for not having seen through Wooton long +ago.</p> + +<p>"He is inordinately vain," said Stanley, "and frightfully extravagant. +Clever. Lazy—awfully lazy. He can sit back in his chair and tell you +how to run the New York <i>Herald</i>, and he has been able to get nothing +profitable into or out of his paper from the time he began until now. He +theorizes beautifully; the only thing he can really do successfully is +to borrow money and talk to women. He used to amuse me just in the way +an actor amuses me. Half the time I think he was deceiving even himself. +I always thought he would do this very thing, one of these days. He used +to have what old women call 'spells' now and again, when he found +himself hard up for cash, that were really the most curious +performances. He would stay away from his office altogether; genius as +he was in warding off collectors, he used to prefer not to face them +sometimes. There was—I should say there is—a woman, one of the +cleverest, most cultured woman in town, who was fond of him in an +elderly-sister sort of way, and he used to go to her and borrow money. +Think of it: borrow money from a woman! She saw through him long ago, I +know, and yet he used to use such artifice—such tears, and promises of +betterment as the men employed!—that she always helped him in the end. +Then he gambled to try to make the big stake that would enable him to +run a rich man's paper; the only result is that he got deeper and deeper +into the hole. All the time he avoided his office; if he scraped up a +banknote or two he would send them along, per messenger boy, to the +foreman of the composing-room and have the printers paid, at least. You +must pay the printers and the pressmen, you know, even if you let a lot +of literary devils starve! And then some guardian angel would send along +a college chum, or some fellow with more loyality than discretion, and +A.B. Wooton would make a big 'borrow' and be once more the genial, +cynical man-of-the-world that the rest of you know. This time I presume +the angel refused to come. The end had to come; it was simply a huge +game of 'bluff.'"</p> + +<p>"How is it you know all this?" asked one of the others.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," was Stanley's answer, "I have <i>gambled</i> with him. All +through one of those periods when he was engaged, ostrich-like, in +sticking his head into the sand, I was with him. Besides, I know +something of his private affairs. He had sunk all of his own money long +ago; for the last year or so the <i>Torch</i> and Wooton have been living on +the gullibility of others. It seems strange that this should be possible +in this smart American city, but Wooton was not an ordinary bluffer; he +was a genius. Owing you hundreds of dollars he could talk to you all day +so skilfully on the one especial vanity of your heart that you would +feel much more like offering him another hundred than like even so much +as mentioning the old debt. I feel sorry for him. He should have a +patron, to humor him in all his extravagances; he would be splendid, +splendid!"</p> + +<p>But Lancaster, whom the news had touched a good deal, declared that it +was time he was taking himself off. Belden accompanied him to the door, +and spoke to him encouragingly about another position that he thought +Dick could easily obtain. Then Lancaster passed out into the night.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h3> + + +<p>Carriages lined the sidewalk for blocks in every direction. There was a +slight sprinkle of rain falling, and the shining rubber coats and hats +of the coachmen caught the electric light in fantastic streaks. Horses +were stamping, and chafing the bit. From every direction came a stream +of humanity, all making for the Auditorium. Carriages were arriving +every moment; the bystanders and ticket scalpers caught glimpses of +light hose and dainty opera shoes and skirts that were lifted for an +instant. Men in black capes were hurrying about busily. The cable cars +emptied load after load of well-dressed men and women. All the world and +his wife was going to the opera.</p> + +<p>Dick Lancaster, as he got out of his hansom, looked appreciatively at +the picture that all this hurrying throng made, and shaking some of the +rain drops off his coat, entered the opera house. As he looked about him +at the richly caparisoned human animals all on pleasure bent, at the +nonchalance that the mirrors told him he himself was displaying, it came +over him with something of amusement that there had been decided changes +in Richard Lancaster since that young person first came to town. +Impressionable as wax, the town had already cast its fascinations over +him; he was in the charmed circle. He had been put up at one of the best +of the clubs; he had been made much of, socially, by the select set that +allowed the preferences of Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart to dictate the +distinction between the Somebodies and the Nobodies; he had been +successful enough, professionally, to enable him to move in the world as +befitted his tastes. It is to be confessed that his tastes, now that +they had been whetted by the approach of opportunities, were not of the +most economical. He was fond of all things that show the intellectual +aristocrat; he liked to look well, to dine well, to talk well, and to +enjoy good music. He liked the comfort, the remoteness from the mere +vagaries of the weather, that this town life afforded. Here was a night +such as in the country would be dismal unspeakably; yet nothing but +brilliance and enjoyment was evident in his present surroundings.</p> + +<p>He threw his shoulders back with something of proud pleasure in his own +well-being, as he handed his cape and opera-hat to the caretaker. Yes, +life was good! It tasted well, and he was young, and there would yet be +many long, delicious draughts of it!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart was in her box. Several girls, whose low-cut dresses seemed +to be longing for something more worth showing, were seated on the +chairs that surrounded the central figure, Mrs. Stewart. In the +background of this, as of all other boxes, was a phalanx of white +shirt-fronts. It looked like the fore-front of an attacking army; first +the flash of bayonets, as they are to be found in woman's eyes, and then +the heavier artillery, the stolid force of masculinity. In the wide +corridors behind the boxes, in the foyers, and up and down the marble +stairways, the stream of people flowed back and forth. Presently the +conductor of the orchestra took his seat. There was a hastening toward +seats and boxes, and the overture of the "Cavalleria Rusticana" floated +out in echoes.</p> + +<p>Young Lancaster reached the Stewart box just as the first bars were +streaming forth. Mrs. Stewart leaned her head gracefully back over her +right shoulder, and smiled up at him. She stretched up a beautifully +gloved hand, and whispered a "Glad you came through the rain, after all. +Awfully disappointed if you hadn't!" at him. He nodded to the other +women, and shook hands with Mr. Stewart and some of the other members of +the white-shirted, blank-faced phalanx.</p> + +<p>"Ah," whispered Mrs. Stewart with a languid show of interest, and +putting her lorgnette up, "there is Calve!"</p> + +<p>There was a flutter of hand-clappings that went like a light wave from +the stalls to the upper balconies. And then began that exquisite, +dramatic exposition of rustic jealousy that Mascagni has so wonderfully +set to music. As Santuzza, Calve was magnetic. Actress as much as singer +she riveted all attention. Her face was the picture of agony the while +she was contemplating: the inner vision of her betrayal by Turiddu. +Then, the jealous hatred flashing out at Lola, her rival; and lastly the +self-accusing sorrow that covered her when she saw the effect of her +tale-bearing against her former lover. In the interval there was the +marvellous Intermezzo. Mrs. Stewart leaned back in her chair and closed +her eyes. When it was over she said, "There is something of the world's +joy and something of its pain in that melody. It appeals to me +wonderfully."</p> + +<p>Lancaster put in, "One of the men at the club declared that it was the +only thing that had given him real emotion for—oh, years."</p> + +<p>"He must have been a very blasé creature," said one of the other women.</p> + +<p>"He is," assented Lancaster.</p> + +<p>Their further conversation was interrupted by the rising of the curtain. +When it came down again there was a general movement toward the foyers. +Some of the tall and pale young men strolled out to smoke cigars and +talk of the boxing match that was going to come off at the club in a day +or so. With much fluttering of fans and swishing of skirts the angular +girls betook themselves from Mrs. Stewart's box to see if they "could +see any of the other girls." Mrs. Stewart and Dick Lancaster were left +in sole possession. He took a chair beside her and looked over into the +stalls.</p> + +<p>"Only fair," she said, noting his visual measurement of the size of the +audience.</p> + +<p>"Yes. These people don't want the New. They want 'Faust' and 'Aida,' and +they think 'Tannhäuser' is the very last in music. It will be years +before they see the gem-like beauty of this new Italian school."</p> + +<p>"And yet—it's a return to the old."</p> + +<p>"That is why. The old things are the best, if you only go far enough +into the past. We are never really modern, we are merely old in a new +way."</p> + +<p>"Do you know—" she leaned her white elbow on the cushioned chair-back +and placed her forefinger just under her ear, so that from the elbow up +her arm formed a white, beautiful rest for the attractive face, and +looking young Lancaster smilingly in the eyes, tapped her foot +caressingly to the floor—"do you know that I think I shall have to cut +you off my list very soon? You have—h'm—changed a great deal in the +few months I have known you. You occasionally make speeches that sound +almost cynical. You were always clever; you always talked brightly, but +you never used to believe some of the sharp things you said; now I think +you are beginning to. I liked you because you were different; you are +not different any more, at least not different in the same way. You will +never be as stupid as most of the others; but I am afraid, too, that you +will never be quite as genuine as you were."</p> + +<p>He sighed as he looked at her. He smiled very faintly as he answered, +"Yes, I am afraid you are right. I am not as I was." His gaze swept out +over the stalls, the crowded foyer, the brilliance everywhere. "But how +could I have done anything else than let all this affect me a little? I +am pliable, I suppose, and I bend easily to the wind. I came here to +taste life. As soon as I began to sip the cup I found that I was going +to like it immensely. I trod the way of the world that I might see what +manner of men walk there, and what sort of a road it was. Presently, I +found that I liked that path so much that I preferred it to the bypaths +of solitude and asceticism. And what has it mattered as long as I have +not neglected the work there is for me to do? No one can say I have +changed in that respect. I work harder than ever. It's not fair of you +to upbraid me. A great deal of it is your own doing."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is. You have been my pilot out of the land of the Narrows. +When I came up here I was narrow. I thought about things dogmatically, +and applied hard and fast rules to every sort of conduct. Now I am +broader. I know that where the world moves at lightning speed you cannot +apply the same tenets that hold good in a village where life is lived at +a cripple's gait and where routine is the reigning deity."</p> + +<p>"You would not have called it a 'cripple's gait' a little while ago," +interposed Mrs. Stewart.</p> + +<p>He flushed slightly but went on: "I realize now that since we have but +one life to live, we should live it as fully as we may. I could not have +seen the life that all of you here are living without realizing that it +was a fuller life than the one the country afforded me. So, cost what it +may, I must needs live it also."</p> + +<p>She looked at him curiously. "Yes," she repeated, half to him and half +to herself, "cost what it may."</p> + +<p>"Besides," he went on, looking away from her, and with something of +regret in his voice, "I have grown worldly because I loved a worldly +woman. You—you have made me love you."</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyebrows a trifle, turned her head, with the eyelids +drawn down over her eyes, toward him, and opened the lids slowly, with a +smile on her lips. Then she looked past him to where her husband was +leaning over a chair in one of the other boxes.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think John is looking very handsome tonight?" she asked +softly.</p> + +<p>Lancaster, who had gone red and pale in waves, answered, through set +lips, "Very."</p> + +<p>Then the curtain went up on "Pagliacci."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was the first time that Lancaster had heard Leoncavallo's opera. In +its novel charm his shame and mortification—shame at having spoken +those words to Mrs. Stewart and mortification at the rebuff they had +only naturally brought him—were for the time being swallowed up. With +eager eyes and attentive ears he watched and listened to the play within +the play. First the arrival of the mountebanks. Amid the laughs and +rejoicings of the villagers the theater-tent is set. Then the effort of +the clown to make love to Canio's wife; the slash of the whip from her, +the muttered curses from him. But the woman is fickle, after all; the +villager, Silvio, is more successful than the clown was. The sudden +approach of Canio, the husband, led hither by the vengeful clown, still +smarting under the whip; the escape of Silvio, and the woman's refusal +to tell the name of her lover. And so, to the wonderful second act, +where tragedy is so dexterously woven into comedy; where, under the +guise of a drama that the mountebanks proffer the villagers on their +little stage, the greater drama of Canio's jealousy is spun out to its +tragic ending. In between the lines of the dialogue intended for the +village audience come lines wrung from Canio's heart that sear their way +into his wife's breast, spite of her stage-smiles and graces. And when, +at the last, Canio, in his baffled rage, would strike her, and Silvio, +her lover, rushes from the audience in rescue, only to be stabbed by the +finally exultant husband, young Lancaster involuntarily shuddered. There +was something griping in the wonderful display of human rage and +jealousy that this young tenor gave in Canio; in the final words, full +of tragic, double, ironical meaning, "La comedie e finita!" there was +something of a sentence of death. And somehow, in Silvio there seemed to +be something of himself: that lover's terrible fate was fraught for him, +in the conscience-stricken state he found himself in, with warning and +protest. While the applause, reaching curtain-call after curtain-call, +surged all about him, young Lancaster was lost in rêverie. He was +changed, yes. He had adapted himself to the manners of the town; but he +still had a most nervous conscience, sharp, unblunted. He sat still, +with his chin hiding his upper shirt stud.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart's voice roused him. Her husband was already engaged in +putting her cloak about her shoulders. "Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said +sweetly. "We shall see you Wednesday, shall we not?"</p> + +<p>He bowed and stammered something, he hardly knew what.</p> + +<p>The opera was over.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That night, before he took off his dress' clothes, Dick sat down and +wrote to his mother. It was a thing he had not been so steadfast in of +late as once he had been.</p> + +<p>In one place he wrote: "You ask me, mother mine, how I like the town now +that it is no longer strange to me. Oh, I like it only too well. The old +place, the old friends, the sweet gentle tenor of all the old life out +there in Lincolnville, all seem like some far-off dream to me. My ears +and eyes are full of the many sounds and sights of the town; the +multifarious vistas, and the ever-changing face of the street. I like +the town and yet I fear it. Sometimes its might oppresses me, and I feel +as if I wanted to get out in the woods near our home and lie down at +full length on the mossy bank, where the creek sings soothingly and the +sun hangs like a golden ball in a clear sky. I want to hear the +crickets, and the deep silence of the nights, and the echoes of +detached laughter floating over the meadows. I want to watch the +sun-light as it comes through the leaves and plays hide-and-seek on the +lawn; I want to watch the hawk circling in the air, the chickens +scurrying fearfully at the sight of him. And then again the feverish +itch to be in the very middle of this maelstrom, the town, seizes me. I +long for the very thick and foremost of the struggle, and the picture of +Lincolnville fades away. At this present time of the year, though, I can +really prefer the town without seeming a slave to it.</p> + +<p>"It is in the winter, or in the early spring, when country places are +chiefly seas of mud and slush that one most deeply realizes the delights +of dwelling in town. Modern invention has put the town dweller beyond +the weather's jealous bites. We step into a hansom, we drive to the +club, we have dinner; behind club doors, and in club comfort we are +above all the slings and arrows of the elements; we drive to the +theatre, and the black-and-white splendor of our men, as well as the +fur-decked rosiness of our women, is only enhanced by contrast against +the frowny murkings of the sky. I have noticed that the finale, the +curtain-fall of any important public event, such as a dinner, a dance, +or an opera, is always a more picturesque thing when the carriages have +to drive away through the sleet. Whereas, the country! The weather is +the world and all that therein is; you can't get away from it. Mud is +king!</p> + +<p>"I am doing something in paint now, just to feed this terrible ambition +of mine. The pen-and-ink work is all very-well, and it does bring the +bread and butter, but it is not what I want for ever and ever. And I +think I am going to have for my subject just such a scene as I wrote of +a moment ago: the moment before the carriages drive away through the +rain, with everybody in gala attire and scintillant with brightness and +insincerity. For the town is insincere, mother, and cruel. Some day, +perhaps I, too, will become insincere. I do not know. I pray it may not +be so. But I am alarming you causelessly. I am only a little tired and +unnerved tonight. I have been to the opera, and it was just a little +affecting. So don't mind what I said just now. * * * * I am getting +rather tired and will say good-night. * * *"</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h3> + + +<p>In the early dawn there had been a slight shower of rain, but by the +time the sun was high enough to shine over the town's highest buildings, +the clouds parted, and presently drifted away altogether, leaving the +golden disc full freedom in giving a brilliant look to the clean-washed +streets. By noon everything was as bright as a newly-scoured kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was at that time of the year when spring is kissing a greeting to +summer. There was not too much heat. Growth and activity were not yet +subdued by the later lassitude of midsummer. In the parks the trees +were full of blossoms, the flowers were spelling out the runes that the +gardners had contrived for the Sunday sight-seers, and the roadways were +alive with well-equipped traps of every sort. The avenue was colorful +and kaleidoscopic. Dog-carts, driven by smartly-gowned, square-sitting +girls, bowled along noiselessly, the footmen looking as stolid as if +carved in wood. Landaus, with elderly women leaning far back into the +cushions, and shading their complexions under lace-decked parasols, went +by with an occasional rattling of chains. The careful observer might +have noticed that the number of smart vehicles was a trifle larger than +usual; there were more coaches out, and the air resounded more often to +the various military and hunting-calls that the English grooms were +executing on their horns.</p> + +<p>It was Derby Day.</p> + +<p>Dick was walking along the avenue watching, with his artist eyes open +for all the picturesque effect of the whole—the yellow haze of the sun +that filled the atmosphere in and out of which all these rapid +color-effects flashed swiftly, the thin strip of sky-reflecting water to +the east, the line of grass and the sky-touching horizon of huge +buildings—when he heard someone calling out his name.</p> + +<p>"Lancaster!" It was Stanley, driving a dog-cart and a neat bay cob. "The +very man! Jump in, won't you? Going down to the Derby. Thing you +shouldn't miss; lots of color and all that sort of thing! Asked +Vanstruther to go down with me, but one of his dime-novel heroes is ill +or something of that sort, and he's off the list. That's good of you. +Look how you're stepping. This brute has been eating his head off all +week, and isn't really fit for a Christian to drive. That's it! Now." +They went spinning along the avenue.</p> + +<p>In the instant or two before he climbed into the dog-cart, Dick had +reflected that while he was not over-fond of Stanley in a good many +ways, the man was undeniably a clever fellow, always to be depended on +for bright talk; besides he did feel very much like studying the scene +of a Derby Day with its many-colored facets.</p> + +<p>Watching the rapid, shifting beauties of the boulevard, Dick burst into +a little sigh of admiration. "Ah," he said, "this is good! This is +living!"</p> + +<p>"Youthful enthusiasm," muttered the other man. "Delightful +thing—youthful enthusiasm—to get over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! I hope I never shall! What is life worth if one is not to show +that one enjoys it? How can you look at a day like this—a splendid, +champagnelike day—and yet—"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," interrupted Stanley, with a queer smile, "when a man +gets to my time of life there is always something melancholy to him in +the picture of a spring day. It reminds him of his own youth: all tears +and sunshine. Today there are neither tears or sunshine; it is all just +contemplation. I don't seem to belong to the play at ail, any more, +myself; I'm merely a spectator. To the spectator there is always +something pathetic about joy."</p> + +<p>"Your lunch was indigestable, that's all that is the matter with you," +laughed Dick. "It's a dogma of mine that pessimism is merely another +word for indigestion."</p> + +<p>"Dogma!" sighed Stanley, "Don't you know that all dogmas are obsolete? +Don't you know that in this rapid age we believe everything, accept +everything and yet doubt everything?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't that a trifle paradoxical?"</p> + +<p>"No; only modern! We believe everything that inventors or scientists may +tell us; but in the world spiritual we believe nothing. Is that a +paradox?"</p> + +<p>"But indigestion is surely, h'm, material rather than spiritual?" Dick +enjoyed the verbal parries that he was always sure of with Stanley. He +was always trying to get at the secret man's cynicism, a cynicism that +was the essence of what many other men of the world he lived in seemed +to feel, but were not all, perhaps, so well able to express.</p> + +<p>"Oh well," was Stanley's answer, "after all, it doesn't matter. Nothing +makes any difference." He looked blankly ahead as if all the world was +contained in the space occupied between the cob's ears. Then he went on, +in his minor monotone, "No, nothing, except—"</p> + +<p>Dick, thinking to be cheery, put in "Except marriage?"</p> + +<p>"No!" came from Stanley, with a sudden flick of the whip over the cob's +flanks, "that only makes differences."</p> + +<p>Dick laughed somewhat impatiently. "Oh!" he urged, "why sit there and be +dismal? Why not wake up and live? Surely the air is full of it, of this +fair Life? Enjoy it, brace up, be young!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I only could again, if I only could! Oh, to be young again! He +is the Autocrat of today, the young man." He lapsed into his sneer once +more. "The young man of today thinks he has the experience of the +centuries at his fingertips, whereas he really has only the gloves that +were made yesterday and will split tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"You are not only unjust," protested Dick, "you are flippant."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am! The keynote of this end of the century is lightness. +The modern declares that life is but a joke, and a bad one at best. How +to live without ever allowing oneself to suspect that life is more than +a game in which the odds are heads, Death wins; tails, Man loses: that +is the great problem of the decade. The universal solution of the +difficulty is the practice of superficiality. Skim! Be light! Never +penetrate below the surfaces! Never search the deep! Make love as if it +were a tourney of jests; die as if it were a riddle well guessed! Be +scintillantly versatile, rather than thorough; hide your ignorance with +bland blasédom; treat tragedy as an intruder, comedy as a chum, and as a +reward you will be called 'up-to-date.' Nay, more: your fashionable +friends may even mispronounce French in your behalf and dub you <i>fin de +siècle</i>!"</p> + +<p>Dick shuddered laughingly. "A horrible philosophy," he said. And yet he +was glad of the other's bitterness; it showed, through all its veil of +sneers and scorn, something of the point of view of the foremost in that +race toward Death that some of the town-dwellers are wont to call Life.</p> + +<p>Yet he could not keep his thoughts long on the serious import of the +other's scornful flippancy. How shall two-and-twenty years, and health, +and sunshine, and a spirit susceptible to enjoyments that the very +atmosphere seemed redolent of, allow a young man to brood on the +progress of the world's cancer? No; there were too many distractions! +Tandems whirling by with horsy young men handling the ribbons; brakes +full of laughing girls and straw-hatted young men; hackney carriages +with four occupants unmistakably of the bookmaker guild.</p> + +<p>Just before they rolled into sight of the grand-stand, Stanley said, +"Oh, who do you suppose I had a letter from yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"No idea."</p> + +<p>"The most noble A.B. Wooton, of the late lamented '<i>Torch</i>'."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so. His nerve never dies, eh?"</p> + +<p>"As I said before, his is not a case of 'nerve'; it is genius. He has +the prettiest story you ever read, swears his advertising man deceived +him and got the paper into all manner of tight places; found himself +forced to get away from the ruins so that he could the better repay his +creditors, which he states he has instructed his lawyers to do, and all +the rest of it! I don't believe a word of it; but he has got grit!"</p> + +<p>"That is a national fault," said Dick soberly, "the admiration of 'grit' +in scoundrels. For that is all that Wooton is, after all!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, why split hairs? He never did you any harm, did he? However, +about his letter. He writes from Dresden. Says he has just met some +Americans—name of Ware, I think. Enjoying himself immensely—girl in +the party—moonlight rides and all that sort of thing. Wonder how long +he'll last over there?"</p> + +<p>"I know some Wares," said Dick quietly; "but I hardly think it could be +the same ones. Though they are in Europe just now, that's true." His +thoughts tried to hark back to Lincolnville, to his parting with Dorothy +Ware, and to her return; but the present was too strong for him. They +were driving across the course at this moment, and over into the field, +which was already a motly, colored mass of vehicles, white dresses, +parasols and stamping horses. The tops of coaches were made over into +sitting room for summer-dressed girls, of whose faces one caught only +the white under-half—the chin and the mouth, in high sun relief—while +the eyes were in shade of the huge parasols. One caught glimpses of +light shoes and hose; of young men walking, in earnest converse over +betting tickets held in hand; of wicker lunch-baskets being brought +from the inner chambers of the coaches and prepared for a future hunger; +and, beyond, in the grand stand, of a black, indistinguishable mass of +spectators, noisy, tremendous.</p> + +<p>As soon as they had found a place for the dog-cart, from which they +would be able to see the finish with tolerable comfort and completeness, +Stanley said, with a noticeable alacrity succeeding the languid +pessimism that had distinguished him all during the drive down.</p> + +<p>"Now then, Lancaster, let's hurry over to the betting-shed!"</p> + +<p>For a moment only Dick hesitated. "Going to bet, or just to look on?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Bet, of course, you innocent infant! But, Scotland, you don't have to! +You can just soak in the—what do you call it—the impressionistic view +of it. But hurry up, whatever you are going to do, I don't want the odds +to tumble down too far before I get there!"</p> + +<p>Not so long ago Dick would have cavilled, hesitated, perhaps refused. +Now he caught his half-uttered objections being met by a whisper in his +own mind of 'Don't be a prig!' and he followed Stanley silently. It +occurred to him, presently, that to warn oneself of becoming a prig was +in itself evidence of priggishness. Impatiently he shook his head, as if +to get all analytical reflections out of his head altogether. He looked +at the scene around him, and forgot everything else.</p> + +<p>The scene in the betting-shed was, just as is the stock exchange floor, +the boiling-point of the kettle of froth called metropolitan life. +Around the bookmakers' stands was a seething, struggling mass of +humanity. Each member of this mob was pushing, striving, perspiring for +—what?—the chance to get something for nothing! The bookmakers +themselves were straining every nerve to keep pace with the public's +feverish desire to get rid of it's money. On their little stands, their +heads on a level with the black-board that furnished the names of the +horses and the odds against, they stood; one hand busy taking in money +that was handed in to the inner part of the stand, the other grasping +the piece of chalk that ever and again touched the black-board to effect +some change in the odds. One man inside was busy with pencil and paper, +registering each ticket as it was handed out; another covered the face +of the ticket with the hasty hieroglyphics that stood for the horse +chosen and the amount wagered and the amount that might be won. Here and +there a bookmaker encouraged the "plunge" on some horse that he +professed to scorn by shouting forth his odds and the horse's name. The +blind struggle of the majority was an amusing spectacle; it certainly +seemed to vouch for the truth of the saying that man is a gambling +animal. Like serpents, the "touts," professional vendors of spurious +stable information, went winding in and out through the throng, +sometimes displaying judgment in the would-be bettors they approached, +but as often as not displaying most lamentable indiscretion. Dick +watched, with an amused smile, how one of these fellows sided up to a +quiet man, who, program in hand, was leaning against a pillar watching +the boards and the changes in odds. The quiet man listened to the tout's +hoarse whisperings, and then threw his coat back showing an "owner's" +badge. The tout slunk sheepishly into the crowd.</p> + +<p>"If you take my advice," said Stanley who was fighting his way towards +some remote goal or other, "you'll take a little flyer on Dr. Rice. +That's what I'm going to do. There's a fellow on the other side of the +ring has him a point higher than anyone else."</p> + +<p>Dick, without having made up his mind as to his own betting or not +betting, helped his companion in his struggle to get through the crowd. +Desperate energy was necessary. There was never any time for apologies; +elbows were pushed into sides, toes were trodden on, scarfs twisted and +sleeve-links broken; no matter, there was money to be won and there was +no time either to consider passing annoyances or the possibility of +loss.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Stanley, finally, as they found themselves in front of a +black-board that had a figure "7" chalked to the left of the name Dr. +Rice and a "3" to the right. "Here we are! Now then, what are you going +to do?" He whipped out a twenty dollar bill and crumpled it carefully +into the palm of his hand.</p> + +<p>Dick thought quickly. After all, it was merely the foregoing of some +luxury or another; he would postpone joining that polo club, perhaps, +or go without that new edition of Menzel's drawing's that he had been +promising himself. He took a bill out of his card-case and handed it, +without a word, to Stanley.</p> + +<p>The ticket that Stanley presently handed him had "Rice" almost illigibly +scrawled across it, and the figures "70" and "10." Dick stood to lose +ten or to win seventy dollars.</p> + +<p>By the time they had got comfortably ensconsed in their seats in the +dog-cart once more, the horses were at the post for the great event of +the day, the American Derby. Dick had begun to feel something of the +torment of expectation and fear and hope that makes the gambler's nerves +either like a sheet of reeds in the wind or like a tightly-drawn wire. +If he won it would be, as he heard some men in the betting-shed remark, +"just like finding money." He could allow himself all sorts of +extravagances. He observed the horses making false start after false +start without even a suspicion of qualmishness as to the moral aspect of +the case coming over him. He had grown, to use his own phase, broader.</p> + +<p>Down beyond the turn into the stretch was the bunch of restless horses, +the vari-colored jackets, the starter's carriage, and the assistant +starter's flag. There was the sky-blue jacket that showed where the +favorite, The Ghost, was pirouetting on his hind legs; the black and +yellow bars of Ætna's jockey, and many others. But Dick's eyes were +focused on Dr. Rice; the horse's jockey was in all-black.</p> + +<p>"Ah—h!" The vast crowd roars and cheers as a start is made. All +together, like a herd of cattle, they sweep on toward the grand-stand. +It is not racing yet. Favorite and second favorite are back in the +centre of the bunch. In front of the grand-stand one jockey sends his +horse out a length in front. It is an outsider, but there are plenty of +backers of outsiders, and a cheer goes up. "He'll walk away from them!" +"The others are standing still!" and such-like shouts go up. The pace +begins to get killing. At the half Ætna is seen to move up to the +leader, finally to pass him. The favorite is also creeping from out the +ruck. Slowly, surely he forges past all the leaders but Ætna; the latter +shoots ahead again for the distance of a length and The Ghost drops back +to fourth place. It was evidently merely a feeler to find out whether +Ætna was going too fast or whether there was still time to get up when +the stretch was reached.</p> + +<p>Round the turn they sweep into the stretch. It is a dangerous picture, +with so many horses so close together, with such speed, and such +possibility of collisions. But the turn is made in a second; now they +are in the straight road for home. The Ghost is creeping up again, +wearing down horse after horse, finally reaching Ætna's throatlatch. +Neck and neck these two race up the last furlong; then a sudden, +surprised roar breaks out from the mob of onlookers; another horse has +cut loose from the bunch that has now become a straggling, attenuated +string of tired horses. The shout goes up: "Look at Dr. Rice!" "Dr. +Rice!"</p> + +<p>Now he is up to Ætna's flanks and going under a pull; his jockey has +never yet touched spur to him. The whip comes down on Ætna; it is no +use; he is raced out. Now Dr. Rice has reached The Ghost, and the +latter's jockey begins using the whip. In the grand-stand there is an +inferno of cheering; men are shouting themselves hoarse, and jumping up +and down in nervous paroxysms. Dr. Rice's jockey never moves a muscle to +all appearances. The cries go up from the mob: "Come Rice!" "Come +Ghost!" The judges begin to strain their their attention to the viewing +of a very close finish. Then with a final mighty lift, Dr. Rice, in the +very last stride, snoots forward under the wire a neck in front of The +Ghost.</p> + +<p>Dr. Rice has won.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On the way home Stanley was another man. He talked as if such a thing as +a regret for a lost youth had never entered his head; he was young +again. He recounted his impression of the race, asked Dick what he had +thought of it all, was full of amusing anecdotes about men who had tried +to get him to back the favorite, and was fertile in suggestions for what +they should do that evening. Of course it was understood they must +celebrate in some way. Surely! Surely!</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said, finally, "I know what we'll do. We'll go along to the +Imperial Theatre. I know some of the girls in the burlesque there. I'll +introduce you. We'll enjoy ourselves."</p> + +<p>Dick began to demur.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a d——-d idiot," said the other man, half smiling, half +frowning.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h3> + + +<p>No one that has ever been in Dresden is likely to forget the beauties of +the Bruehlsche Terrasse. The cool plash of waters from the Elbe come up +invitingly; the green of the neighboring gardens is luscious, and there +are nearly always strains of music in the air. Especially pleasing is +the picture on a summer's evening.</p> + +<p>In one of the concert gardens they give out on the Terrasse, there sat +at a small round table, one dreamy midsummer evening, Mrs. Ware and her +daughter, Dorothy. In front of them were small cups of coffee, and such +appetising rolls as only the Conditors of the continent can make. The +garden was in no wise different from a thousand others to be found in +German cities; save only that it was especially happy in its location. +There was a light, gravelly soil; a multitude of round tables; chairs +occupied by a cosmopolitan crew of both sexes; at one end, in the shadow +of huge lime trees, was the <i>Capelle</i>. Over all was the star-gemmed sky. +The air was sweet with the song of the violins, and the cheery laughter +of the many family parties came echoing along from time to time in +musical accompaniment. There were German students, with the +vari-colored caps and occasional sword-wounds on their faces; officers +with clanking swords and clothes fitting in lines that suggested stays; +English tourists, easily distinguishable by costumes they would not have +dared to startle Hyde Park with; Americans with high pitched voices; and +a few Russians, excessively polite of manner and cruel of eye.</p> + +<p>Miss Dorothy Ware was engaged in munching at a roll that had been +steeping in the strong coffee, when she suddenly turned to her mother +with an eager exclamation.</p> + +<p>"I declare, mamma," she said, "if there isn't Mr. Wooton coming this +way. The idea of meeting him again at all. I'm sure I never thought we +would; there are so many people away traveling about this time of the +year, and there are so many places. He has just seen us, mamma, and he's +coming over here. See he's lifting his hat. I'm glad we've got this +vacant chair."</p> + +<p>Wooton shook hands with them. "The old platitude about the world being a +very small place seems to strike true," he said. "Do you know, it's a +positive relief to talk to people of my own sort once more." He had sat +down beside Dorothy, and placed his stick and gloves on the gravel +beside him. He looked decidedly handsome; his small mouth seemed smaller +than ever, and his face was paler than when he dictated the fortunes of +the <i>Torch</i>. He was scrupulously dressed; every detail was so nicely +adjusted that he would have successfully run the gauntlet of all the +comment of Piccadilly and Broadway.</p> + +<p>"I've just come from Berlin," he went on, "it was like an oven there. +Nearly everybody was away; some of them in Heringsdorf, some in +Switzerland, some down in this district. My compartment in the train was +filled with a lot of officers on leave, and they talked army slang until +my head swam, and I would have given gold for the sound of an American +voice."</p> + +<p>"You seem to rush about a good deal," ventured Mrs. Ware. "Didn't we +meet you in Schwalbach?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma forgets so," put in Dorothy, "she's been meeting so many people, +I begin to think she jumbles them all up. But it was in Schwalbach, +mamma; you're right. Don't you remember? We were sitting near the +Stahlbrunnen, with the Tremonts—we used to set next to them at the +Hotel d'Europe—when Mr. Wooton came up and said how-d'ye-do to the +Tremonts, and they presented him to us. When Mrs. Tremont was at +boarding-school, you know," she went on, turning to Wooton, "she and +mamma were great chums. She was a Miss Alexander." She put her hand up +to her hat and gave it a mysterious pressure, presumably to rectify some +invisible displacement. She turned and looked out into the darkness +whence came the sullen swish of the river. "It was delightful in +Schwalbach," she said finally.</p> + +<p>"It was horribly expensive," commented Mrs. Ware, sipping her coffee.</p> + +<p>"But the waters did you good, I hope?" inquired Wooton, suavely +solicitous.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess so. But I don't seem to improve right along, as I should? +But I shouldn't complain. I'm a good deal stouter than when I left home. +Besides, Dorothy is having a right good time."</p> + +<p>"Ah," smiled Wooton, to the girl, "you like it—the life here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I like it. I don't say that I like it better than other things. +But who could help liking that?" She swept her parasol around so that it +pointed out toward the river. There was complete darkness there, lit up +occasionally by the lights of passing steamers. Fog-whistles sounded +occasionally; on the opposite shore there was a dim glow of yellow +lights. The water sobbed ceaselessly; there was a mist rising, and the +steamer lights began to seem hazier than ever, mere golden circles +hanging in the dense darkness. The violins were playing something of +Waldteufel's.</p> + +<p>It was true; not even the most patriotic of Americans could have helped +granting that all this was very pleasant. Dorothy Ware had certainly +given up being half-hearted in her enthusiasm for European things; they +had met so many people and had rubbed up against so much of +cosmopolitanism that unconsciously she had come to see that to apply the +narrow Lincolnville view to all the people she saw now was a trifle +absurd. She gave herself candidly over to enjoy it all. That was what +she had come for. And it must be confessed that, during this process of +enjoyment, her memories of her former self became ghosts of +ever-increasing vagueness. When she caught herself thinking of Dick +Lancaster it was usually to wonder what sort of a girl he had married. +She smiled when she thought of the things he had said to her before they +parted. It didn't seem to touch her at all now, and she seemed sure that +a man slips out of that sort of thing much earlier than the woman.</p> + +<p>They met Wooton a good deal after that. He spent a good deal of time +among the pictures, and when they visited the <i>Gruene Gwoeble</i> they +found him there. He was invariably bright and amusing; he offered to +pilot them and smooth things for them generally; Mrs. Ware began to +think he was tremendously nice. She remembered that Miss Alexander—now +Mrs. Tremont—had always been one of the most aristocratic of girls; she +recalled with something of a shudder, her own awe at her school-mate's +lengthy dissertation upon blood and family and kindred subjects. So, she +argued, if Wooton was in Mrs. Tremont's set in town, there was certainly +not the vestige of a doubt concerning his being eminently the correct +thing. She had lived in the country so long herself that she admitted +she was no longer able to note the difference between good coin and bad; +but she had infinite faith in Mrs. Tremont. Dorothy, too, got to feel +that he was very charming; he was so handsome, and dressed so well. It +was very pleasant to have him in the party; he added distinction. +Wooton had admitted that he knew young Lancaster; he divined that she +had liked the boy; he was wise enough to tell her only pleasant things +about Dick. The only thing Dorothy objected to was that Wooton went +about a good deal with the Tremonts. It seemed to her that he was quite +devoted to Miss Eugenie.</p> + +<p>"I don't like her a bit," she told him rather tactlessly, speaking of +Miss Tremont, "she's so supercilious. I never know when she's laughing +at me and when she's not listening to me. I suppose she thinks I'm a +country chit and don't know anything. But I wouldn't be clever the way +she's clever for anything in the world. Why does she have to sneer at +innocence and goodness? Nobody ever accused her of either, did they?"</p> + +<p>Which, Wooton thought to himself, was not half bad. As a matter of fact +he enjoyed being with Eugene Tremont immensely. She was one of those +intensely modern girls that the world is so unhappily rich in just now. +She would talk about any subject under the sun. She declared that she +had always cared more for male society anyway; she despised her own sex +and said spiteful things about it. She pretended to be completely +cognizant of all the wickedness there was in the world; and she went on +the presumption that man was a sort of infernal machine that there was +unlimited fun—the fun of danger—in handling. Men liked her at first +invariably; there was something refreshing and stimulating in the +nonchalance with which she tabooed no subject from her conversation; +they said to themselves that this was a person, thank goodness, whom one +did not eternally have to consider in the light of a sex, but rather of +a sexless cleverness. But, somehow or other, her cleverness wearied +presently; she palled as all surfaces must inevitably pall. Wooton, +however, turned to her because she was of his own special calibre—all +cleverness, and no apparent sharply defined system of conduct. With the +Wares he was so perpetually on a grid-iron; he was afraid of saying +something that would startle them. They amused him, these people, with +their simplicity, their taking virtue for granted and vice for an +abhorent mystery! To talk to them it was necessary to keep a constant +check on his cynical; while with Eugene Tremont it was sword to sword, a +sharp continuous fencing with verbal weapons.</p> + +<p>So, when Dorothy Ware made the cutting little speech about Miss Tremont, +Wooton told himself that there was something more than mere dislike for +the Boston girl at the bottom of it. Considering the matter, he broke +into a laugh. Was it possible, h'm. That would really be too rich.</p> + +<p>He began to be seen with the Tremonts oftener than ever. He went with +them to the opera, he took a seat in their landau. He went to Teplitz +with them.</p> + +<p>"They're more in the same set, I suppose," said Mrs. Ware, when Dorothy +spoke of it. "He was at college with her brother, too; I guess they talk +about him a good deal."</p> + +<p>Dorothy guessed that she knew better; but she said nothing. Somehow, +Dresden began to seem fearfully dreary. She began importuning her mother +to pack up and go to Munich; they had some friends there. Dorothy +declared Dresden made her homesick; she said it was all so small and +pretty, anyway; it wasn't a metropolis, yet it tried to ape the real +article. And then there were so many Americans—you couldn't talk +English anywhere without having people understand you, which was +distinctly annoying, because occasionally one likes to make personal +asides about costumes and hats and complexions—and, well, what was the +use of staying there any longer anyhow? But Mrs. Ware declared the +climate agreed with her. She said she hadn't felt so well for ever so +long, she wasn't going to try any other place as this one agreed with +her. Did Dorothy want to see her die? No; Dorothy did not. She +submitted, and went about looking dismal.</p> + +<p>And then, one day, the sunshine came back into here face once more. It +was not that the good fairies had remodeled the town of Dresden; it was +not that all English-speaking people had suddenly deserted the place; in +fact, it was hard to say just what made the difference. It was just +possible that Wooton's return from Teplitz had something to do with the +good humor in which Dorothy came back to her mother that noon, after a +walk down to the Conditorei. She had almost cannoned into him, rounding +a corner; they had shaken hands; he had avowed the pleasure he felt at +seeing her again. It is just possible that the sight of this young man +was a talisman for Miss Ware's temper; it is at least certain that her +melancholia was gone.</p> + +<p>He called on them, in a day or so, at their apartments in the Hotel +Bellevue. Mrs. Ware was very glad to see him; she was more vivacious +than she had yet shown herself. She proposed that they take their coffee +out in the garden, on the river front, under the trees. They sat +watching the boats, and the little boys paddling about barefooted; it +was in the cool of sunset, and there were red bars slanting across the +western horizon. It was very pleasant. The waiter moved about +noiselessly; there were some children making merry in the swing set up +at the far end of the garden.</p> + +<p>"Is Teplitz very full?" asked Mrs. Ware.</p> + +<p>"Yes; more people than usual, I believe. I should think the hot baths +would do you good, too, Mrs. Ware?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess I'll stay here awhile yet. I'm getting to feel quite spry +again. You left the Tremonts there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>Dorothy turned away from the river and looked at him a trifle +reproachfully. "You must be awfully fond of those people," she said, +trying to smile.</p> + +<p>Wooton shrugged his shoulders carelessly.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "I can't say that exactly. But Mrs. Tremont really +insisted on my going; she said she had never been there before, and +thought that as I knew the ropes of the place, it would be a small thing +for me to play pilot for them for a while. What was I to do?" He looked +at Dorothy appealingly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ware was pushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek.</p> + +<p>"In Boston, Dorothy," she said, "I guess Mrs. Tremont is quite a society +leader." She said it as if that was an assertion of crushing +significance, intended to quiet any possible questionings as to why any +young man should think it necessary to comply with the wishes of so +great a personage.</p> + +<p>"What if she is?" was Dorothy's quick reply; "that doesn't make her any +better, does it? I don't see how you can go around with them so much, +that's all, Mr. Wooton."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed, "I assure you I don't like them so very much myself; +but I don't dislike them. And I hate to offend people. They asked me to +go!"</p> + +<p>They drank their coffee, and watched the twilight settling down. They +talked lightly, and laughed a good deal.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ware," Wooton asked presently, "you've never been down to +Schandau, have you?"</p> + +<p>"No. Is it worth while?"</p> + +<p>"Immensely! You ought to make the trip."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I simply can't begin to get mamma to move from this town. She's +perfectly enchanted with it, somehow." She looked at her mother, and +patted her on the arm. Mrs. Ware said nothing, only smiled back at her +daughter, who went on, "but I'd like it mightily."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me show you the place," Wooton persevered. He looked +over at Mrs. Ware in a hesitating way. "Perhaps—if Mrs. Ware would +rather not stir from the hotel—there would be no objection to Miss Ware +making the trip with me? The place is really pretty; the royal residence +there is one of the sights. It's only half an hour or so by the steamer. +You'd hardly notice our absence; I think she'd enjoy it." He wondered a +little whether they would look at him in frigid horror, or take it as a +proposition quite in accord with the conventions they were accustomed +to. He knew perfectly well that most of the people he knew in the East +would have considered him insane if he had ventured such a proposal; +but, in regard to these people, and this girl in particular, he +remembered that a friend of his had once used a phrase that had struck +him at the time as rather good, and that was, perhaps, applicable. The +man had declared, half in a spirit of banter, half in chivalrous +defense, that the girl of the West paraphrased the old motto to read: +"<i>Sans peur, sans reproche et sans chaperon</i>."</p> + +<p>To his relief, Mrs. Ware's answer was merely a smile at her daughter, +and a "You'll have to see what Dorothy thinks about it, I guess. It's +her picnic. If she wares to go—." She left the sentence unfinished, as +if to convey the impression that under the circumstances mentioned her +own preference would be allowed lapse.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Dorothy, with a little clasping together of her hands, +"that it would be simply delightful! You wouldn't worry, would you, +mamma? There are always so many waiters around and—dear, dear, I talk +just as if we were going this very minute!" She looked gratefully at +Wooton. Somehow or other, he felt himself blushing. He caught himself +regretting the fact that he was no longer as genuine as this girl was. +"I think it's simply perfect of you to ask me," she went on, "I'm sure +I'll enjoy it ever so much."</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, airily, "we'll consider that settled. It's very good of +you to say you'll go, I'm sure. Suppose we say Wednesday?"</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h3> + + +<p>It was certainly a sunny enough day, and the Elbe glistened invitingly. +Wooton had been up earlier than was usual for him and had taken a walk +out into the level country; when he came into the hallway of the +Bellevue he was in the best of spirits. Miss Ware came down the +stairway, presently, her parasol in rest over her left arm, and her +gloves still in process of being buttoned. She smiled down at him +radiantly.</p> + +<p>"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Not a moment," he answered, adding, with a smile, "strange to say. You +young ladies usually do! But—do you notice how kind the clerk of the +weather is?"</p> + +<p>"Delightful!" They went slowly down toward the wharf where the little +steamer was puffing lazily in the rising heat.</p> + +<p>"Your mother is well?" He asked the I question as solicitously as if he +were the family physician.</p> + +<p>"Quite well. The fact is," she added with a comic effort to seem +melancholy, "I'm afraid she'll be so well soon that she'll want to go +back to the States."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so you don't want to go just yet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't half seen it all, you know! Still,—" she sighed gently +and looked out beyond the real horizon, "it will be nice to be home +again."</p> + +<p>Wooton brought a couple of steamer chairs and placed them on the +deck-space that was well in the shadow of the awning. The sun was +beginning to grow almost unpleasantly strong. Presently, with a minute +or so of wriggling away from the wharf, of backing and sidling, the +little steamer got proper headway and proceeded slowly on its way up the +river. The central portion of the town was soon passed; green +garden-spaces, and houses shut in by cherry-trees, gave way to low-lying +meadows and hills rising up in the distance. The perpetual +"shug-shug-shug" of the engines, and the hushed whispering of the river +as the steamer bows cut through the water were almost the only sounds +that broke the quiet. There was not a cloud in the sky. Swallows darted +arrow-like through the air.</p> + +<p>Wooton had pushed his hat back from his forehead and sat with +half-closed eyes. He was silent. Miss Ware, looking at him shyly, +wondered what he was thinking about; told herself once more that he was +the handsomest man she had ever seen, and then sent her clear gaze +riverward again. What Wooton was thinking at that moment was that he +would give many things if in his spirit there were still that simplicity +that would ask of life no more feverish pleasures than those he was now +enjoying—the pleasures of peace and quiet. To be able to sit thus, with +half-closed eyes, as it were, and let the wind of the world always blow +merely a gentle breath across one's face!—perhaps, after all, that was +the road to happiness. On the other hand, the thousand and one +experiences; missed, the opportunities wasted! Surely it was impossible +to appreciate the sweets of good had one not first tasted of the fruit +of knowledge of evil! But supposing one so got the taste of the bitter +apple into one's mouth that thereafter all things tasted bitter and the +good, especially, created only nausea? For that was his own state. Well, +in that case—he smiled to himself in his silence—there was nothing to +be done but enjoy, enjoy to think of the once easily reached contentment +as of a dream that is dead, and to strive so ceaselessly to blow the +embers of the fires of pleasure that they would at least keep +smouldering until all the vessel was ashes. The pleasures of the +moment—those were the things to seize! The moment was the thing to +enjoy; the morrow might not come.</p> + +<p>He turned to look at the girl beside him, who had by this time resigned +herself with something of quiet amusement to his silence, and now sat, +veilless, her lips slightly open to the breeze, her face unspeakably +fair-seeming with its rosy flush and its look of eager, expectant +enjoyment. He told himself that, as far as this moment at least went, it +left little to be desired; to sit beside so sweety a girl as Dorothy +Ware was surely pleasure enough. And then he thought somewhat grimly +that he himself was, unfortunately, impregnable to the infection of such +simple joys.</p> + +<p>"A penny!" he spoke softly, as if not to wake her too brusquely from a +rêverie.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she cried, with a little start, and, turning toward him, "they are +not worth so much, really! I was thinking of Mr. Lancaster. He used to +be so terribly ambitious; you know. Didn't you say you knew of him, in +town?"</p> + +<p>Wooton realized that he must needs be diplomatic. He called it +diplomacy; some persons might have rudely termed it mendacity. The two +are commonly confounded.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "some artists that I knew used to mention his name +occasionally." He paused an instant or two and then continued, +impassively, "I seem to remember hearing someone say that he was +engaged to some very rich girl."</p> + +<p>Dorothy Ware smiled sadly. "I supposed he would be," she said, simply. +She felt angry at herself for not feeling the news more deeply; yet it +hardly seemed to touch her at all; it was just as if she had heard that +one of her girl friends had married. She recalled Dick's impassioned, if +soberly worded, farewell; she remembered her own words; she wondered how +it was possible that the passing months could have changed her so that +now she seemed almost indifferent as to young Lancaster's fortunes or +misfortunes.</p> + +<p>Wooton's exclamation of "Ah, there's Schandau!" broke in upon the train +of her self-questioning thoughts. They walked over to the rail of the +boat together, and looked out to where the roofs of summer-villas and +hotels came peeping through the wooded banks of the river. As they stood +thus she felt his right hand just touching her own left. Somehow, the +blood came rushing into her face, and she took her hand away under +pretense of fastening up her veil.</p> + +<p>From the landing-stage they walked up to one of the hotels, where Wooton +ordered a light repast. Miss Ware was in excellent spirits. The beauty +of the day and the picturesqueness of the place, with its cozy villas +tucked away against the hillside, its leafy lanes and its mountain +shadows, filled her with the elixir of happiness. She chatted and +laughed incessantly. She asked Wooton if they couldn't go for a walk +into the woods. Walk, of course! No, she didn't want to drive; that was +too much like poking along the boulevards at home in the States. She +wanted to stroll up little foot-paths, into the heart of the wood, and +gather flowers, and have the birds whistle to her! Didn't he remember +that she was a country girl? She hadn't been in a real wood since she +left Lincolnville, and did he suppose she was going to enjoy this one by +halves?</p> + +<p>They walked out along the white, dusty <i>chaussee</i> until it reached the +denser part of the hill-forest; then they struck off into a by-path. In +the shadow of the pines it was cool and refreshing; the scent of pines +filled the air. In the thick undergrowth there were occasional clumps of +blue-berries. Dorothy Ware picked them eagerly, laughing carelessly when +she stained her gloves with the juice. She plucked flowers in abundance, +and had Wooton carry them. They strayed heedlessly into the forest, +hardly noting whether they followed the path or not. They found +themselves, presently, in the lee of a huge rock that some long-silent +volcanic upheaval must once have thrust through the earth's shell. Close +to the earth this rock was narrower than at its summit; under its +sloping base there was a cavity all covered with moss. Overhead the +pines shut out the sky.</p> + +<p>A trifle tired with her walk, Miss Ware hailed the sight of this spot +with unfeigned gladness. Wooton spread his top-coat for her. Sitting +there, in the silence made voiceful by the rustling of the pines, +Wooton felt his heart beat faster than it had in years. She was pretty, +this girl; her voice was so caressing, and her presence and manner such +a charm! Young enough, too, to be taught many things. He watched her, as +she sat there, binding the flowers with the stems of long grasses, stray +curls playing about her cheeks, and her mouth snowing the slight down on +the upper lip, and, for an instant, there came to him a feeling of pity. +It is possible, perhaps, that the serpent occasionally pauses to admire +the pigeon's plumage.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he began, softly, "whether you know Hugh McCulloch's 'Scent +o' Pines'? No? I think you will like it:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Love shall I liken thee unto the rose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">That is so sweet?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Nay, since for a single day she grows,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Beneath our feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"But to the perfume shed when forests nod,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">When noonday shines;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Eternal as the eternal peace of God—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">The scent of pines."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He quoted the verses musically. He gave the words all the sincerity that +never found its way into his actions. He was one of those men who read a +thing better than the man that wrote it, because they know better the +art of simulating an emotion that he knows only how to feel.</p> + +<p>"A pretty idea," she admitted. They talked on ramblingly, lightly. +Overhead the sun was sinking into the west. A wind had sprung up from +the southwest, and in the north-west banks of clouds had gathered, thick +and threatening. Occasional flashes of lightning darted across the +cloud-space. A thunderstorm was evidently approaching, proceeding +stubbornly against the wind. The sun dipped behind the clouds, that rose +higher, presently over-casting all the heavens. Light gusts of wind went +puffing through the forest, scattering leaves and whirling twigs.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the mountain storm broke over the +forest. Almost on the stroke of the first flash of lightning came the +thunder; then as if the clouds had been bulls charging in the arena, the +furious concussion was followed by the gush of the blood of heaven. The +rain came down in lances that struck the earth and bounded up again. +About the heads of the pines the wind roared and wailed.</p> + +<p>Coming upon them so suddenly, this riot of the elements made the two +young people sitting there in the lee of the rock, start to their feet +in dismay. A momentary gleam came into Wooton's eyes; whether it was +anger or joy only himself could have told. All about them the storm was +playing its tremendous tarantelle; the whole earth seemed to shake with +the repeated cannonades of the thunderous artillery of the heavens, and +through the darkness that had fallen the lightning sent such vivid +streaks of light as only made the succeeding gloom more dismal. It was +to tempt fate to venture out of the shelter the rock was giving. +Instinctively the girl shrank a little toward Wooton. She looked at him +appealingly. "It's dreadful," she said, "it—it hurts my eyes so! +And—the steamer! Mamma will think—" She stopped and covered her eyes +with her hands just as another flash seared its way into the forest.</p> + +<p>Wooton stood still, biting his underlip nervously. "I—I'm afraid it's +all my fault," he said, "I ought to have known it was getting late. And +these storms come up so quickly here in the mountains. We can't stir +from here. The storm is playing right around this wood. It means +waiting." He saw her shivering slightly. Bending down, he picked up his +top-coat, and put it gently about her shoulders. "You'll catch cold," he +warned, in a tender voice.</p> + +<p>She said nothing; but he could see gratitude in her eyes. Something +seemed to draw her toward him. At each glaring flash she shrank nearer +to him. He was looking tensely at her, his hand against a ledge of rock, +lest the gusts of wind should swing him out into the open.</p> + +<p>A crash that seemed to deafen all hearing for several instants; a flying +mass of splintered wood, torn from a suddenly stricken tree that fell +straight across the opening of their shelter; a light so white that it +hurt the eyes; and a trembling under foot that shook the very ground +these two storm-stayed ones stood. In the instant that followed the +crash Wooton felt the girl beside him lean heavily towards him; her eyes +were closed; she had fainted. Keeping her tightly in his arms, a queer +smile played about the corners of his mouth. "It was ordained!" His +thoughts uttered themselves almost unconsciously. Holding her so, with +the thunder still rolling its chariot wheels all about the reverberate +rocks, he kissed her.</p> + +<p>The wind veered about, sending the rain spatteringly into their faces. +Wooton unfastened the girl's veil, and took her hat off, very gently and +carefully. The rain splashed into her face, streaming over the brow and +the heavy lashes.</p> + +<p>Slowly the lashes lifted; her breast moved in a tremulous breath. As +comprehension of her position came to her awakening faculties she seemed +to shudder a little, to attempt withdrawal; then her eyes sought his, +and something found there seemed to soothe; she sighed again and sank +more closely into his embrace. And now fires went coursing through the +man; he pressed the girl's slight body to him fiercely, and kissing her +upon both eyes, whispered into the rosy shell of her ear, "Dorothy—I +love you!"</p> + +<p>The storm still played relentlessly about them. The rain came further +and further into the shelter-hole. But these two, lip to lip, and breath +to breath, gave no heed save to the promptings of their own emotions. +The elements might rend the rocks; but hearts they could not scar! The +girl felt herself irresistibly drawn by this man. Something in him had +always attracted her wonderfully—something she had never sought to +explain, scarcely heeding it for any length of time. But now that chance +had, as it seemed, thrown the magnet and the steel so closely together, +she felt this hidden, mysterious force more mightily than ever; it +seemed to her that in his kisses all the earth might melt away and +become nothing. Moments when she feared him, when he inspired her with +something not unlike anger, were succeeded by moments when she felt that +he had put an arrow into her heart which to withdraw meant unutterable +anguish; but which to bury more deeply meant the bitterest and sweetest +of the bitter-sweets of love.</p> + +<p>While the storm raged on and over the mountain, these two sat there +where whatsoever forest-gods of love there be had drawn their magic +circle. Reeling over the mountain top like a drunken man, the storm +passed on along the river-banks, waking up echoes in the Bastei, and +flying, presently, into Austria. Its muttered curses grew fainter and +fainter, gradually to be swallowed up altogether in the swaying of the +pines and the streaming of the rain.</p> + +<p>Then, presently, the pines began to lift their heads again, to shake +themselves as if in angry impatience, so that the rain dropped heavily, +and after the flying column of darkness, light came in once more from +the west. The sun was still above the horizon. Turning the rain-drops +into opals that glistened with the rain-bow hues, the sunshine streamed +over the forest. The afternoon, that had seen such a terrible battle of +the elements, was to die in peace, and light, and sweetness.</p> + +<p>They walked together to an eminence that was almost bared of trees. +Below them the forest swept in every direction like a field of dark +grass. The sun sent its last rays ricochetting over the waves of green +to where they stood, silently. Another instant, and the great bronzed +body was below the line of hills that made the horizon; only the +salmon-colored streaks that stained the lower strata of the western sky +remained to tell the tale of the sun-god's day. The air grew slightly +chill.</p> + +<p>With that first forerunner of the fall of night, there came into the +dream that Dorothy Ware had moved in, the chilling thought of—certain +facts. They had most assuredly missed the boat back to Dresden. Would +there be another when they reached Schandau? Could they get home by +carriage?</p> + +<p>Wooton could only shrug his shoulders in despair. He did not know. He +had counted only on the two hours—the hour of the departure from +Dresden and the return from Schandau; the storm had upset all his plans. +He was utterly at sea; he could say nothing until they reached Schandau +and made inquiries. Would she not let the thought drop until then. Was +there not the sweet present?</p> + +<p>As they walked through the forest, picking their way as best they could, +without a compass, and uncertain whether their direction was the right +one or the wrong one, night falling surely and swiftly, Wooton held his +arm about the young girl's waist, lest she stumble or slip. She looked +up at him smilingly and trustingly, yet tremulous at the behest of that +mysterious something that drove her to accept his caresses instead of +spurning them, that made her quiver at his touch, like a wind-kissed +aspen, and had her still the storm within her by giving it a storm to +fight.</p> + +<p>The darkness became denser. Their feet stumbled, and trees were hardly +distinguishable in the blackness. Had there been no other thought save +that considering their condition and surroundings, the girl, at least, +would have been trembling in fear and and uncertainty. As it was, each +loophole for a doubt was closed up by a kiss.</p> + +<p>A streak of white came suddenly in view, and they found themselves upon +the chaussee once more. But in which direction lay Schandau? Overhead the +the stars were shining, but neither of these two could use the night +heavens as a chart.</p> + +<p>Behind them came the dull rumble of wheels. Around a turn of the road +came carriage-lights. As they flashed close upon them, Wooton spoke to +the driver.</p> + +<p>"Sie fahren nach Schandau? nicht wahr?"</p> + +<p>The driver assented, without stopping. At the sound of the questioner's +voice, one of the occupants of the carriage had leaned window-ward.</p> + +<p>It was Miss Tremont, of Boston. In the glare of the lanterns she had +caught the faces plainly.</p> + +<p>She leaned back to the cushions, smiling slightly.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h3> + + +<p>"It's dark as an inferno, and the stairs make a man's back ache," said +Laurence Stanley dismally to himself, as he climbed up to the Philistine +Club, "but," as he caught his breath again and consequently began to +feel more cheerful, "it's comfortable when you get there."</p> + +<p>Which was distinctly true. The furniture, the carpets, the hangings in +the spacious, rambling old rooms were all ancient and worn, but comfort +was as common to them all as was age. When you came in and slid down +into the shiny leather cavern of an arm chair you felt that you were at +home. At least, the men who were members did. They were a queer lot, +these members. Just what they had in common, no man might say; there +were artists, and writers, and musicians, and men-about-town. To +outsiders it seemed as if a certain sort of cleverness was the open +sesame to the membership rolls. In the matter of name, it was doubtless, +the effect of a stroke of humor that came to one of the founders. +Perhaps, for the very reason that most of the members were men of the +sort that one instinctively knew to be modern, and broad and untramelled +by dogmas or doctrines, the club had been named the Philistine Club. It +was no longer in its first youth. The walls were behung with the +portraits of former presidents—portraits that were all alike in their +effect of displaying an execrable sort of painting; it was evident that +in its selection of painters in ordinary the club had lived strictly up +to its name. The building that housed the club was an old one, on one of +the busiest business thoroughfares in the city. It was very convenient, +as the hard-working fellows among the members phrased it; in a minute +you could drop out of the rush and roar of the street-traffic into the +quiet gloom of the club, a lounge, and a book.</p> + +<p>Stanley had not been in the dark corner that he usually affected very +long before Vanstruther came in, his beard more pointed than ever. He +dropped limply into a chair, put his feet on one of the whist tables, +and said, as he lit a cigar: "Do you know this is about the time of year +that I realize that this town is a hole? I repeat it—a hole! A hole, +moreover, with the bottom out. I tell you there's not a soul in town +just now."</p> + +<p>"Most true," assented Stanley, "for neither you nor I have anything that +deserves the name."</p> + +<p>"Bosh! What I mean is that the place is a howling desert. Everybody is +still at the seashore, or the mountains, or the mineral springs. Newport +or the White Mountains, or Manitou, or Mackinac Island—there's where +every self-respecting person is at this time; not in this old sweat-box. +Why, it's a positive fact that there are no pretty girls at all on the +avenue these days; or, if there are any, you can tell at a glance that +they're from Podunk or Egypt."</p> + +<p>"In other words, there is a scarcity of 'Mrs. Tomnoddy received +yesterday,' and 'there will be a meeting of the Contributors' Club at +Mrs. Mausoleum's on Friday.' People who like to see their names in the +daily papers are out of town, so the society journalist waileth; is it +not so? It all comes down to bread and butter in this country. Just as +soon as we get away from bread and butter, we'll be greater idiots than +the others ever knew how to be." He waved a hand carelessly to some +remote space in which he inferred the continent of Europe.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well," rejoined the other, "you are always great on +magniloquent generalizations, but you never trouble about the concrete +things. I'm up a tree for copy, day in, day out, and I groan just once, +and what do you do? You moralize loftily. But do you help me with a real +bit of news? Not a bit of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," Stanley said, lazily, "I'm the last man in the world +to come to for items of news concerning <i>le monde où l'on s'amuse</i>. But +if you want something a notch or two lower—say about the grade of +members of this club. Do you notice that Dante Belden's sofa is empty +today?"</p> + +<p>The journalist looked around to the other side of the room where an old +black leather lounge stood. It was the sofa that had long since become +the special property, in the eyes of the other members, of the artist, +Dante Gabriel Belden. He used to sleep there a great deal; and he used +to dream also. Occasionally he waxed talkative, and then there usually +grew up around him a circle of chairs. In such conclave, there passed +anecdotes that were delightful, criticisms that were incisive, and, in +total, nothing that was altogether stupid.</p> + +<p>"Where is he?" asked Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Where is who?" It was Marsboro, the <i>Chronicle's</i> artist, that had +sauntered over.</p> + +<p>"Belden."</p> + +<p>"Married," said Stanley, laconically.</p> + +<p>"The devil!" exclaimed Vanstruther, putting his cigar down on the +window-ledge.</p> + +<p>"Not the same," was the quiet reply. "Although—" and Stanley paused to +smile—"it might be interesting to trace the relationship."</p> + +<p>"Oh, talk straight talk for a minute, can't you! I never knew the man +was thinking of it."</p> + +<p>"Nor did I. Well, we're all friends of his, and men don't think any less +of each other in a case of this kind, so I'll tell you the story. In my +opinion, it's a clear case of 'Tomlinson, of Berkley Square'. However, +that's open to individual interpretation. Belden has succumbed to a +lifelong passion for Henri Murger?"</p> + +<p>Marsboro swore audibly. "I don't see," he said, "that you're any plainer +than you were! What's all that got to do with the man's marriage?"</p> + +<p>"Everything! Everything—the way I look at it, at least. You know as +well as I do, how saturated he is with admiration for those delightful +escapades of the Quartier Latin that Murger makes such pretty stories +of. Well—he has acted up to them. The trouble is that this is not the +Quartier Latin, and that sort of thing is a trifle awkward when you make +a Christian ceremony of it. Here are the facts: Belden and myself were +coming home from the theatre a good while ago, when we came to a couple +that were decidedly in liquor. The man had been out to dinner, or a +dance or somewhere; he had his dress clothes on, and his white shirt was +still immaculate. His silk hat was on straight enough. His walk was the +only thing that betrayed him. He had his arm around the girl. When we +passed them, or began to, we could hear that the girl was crying. Her +boots were shabby and the skirt that trailed over them was badly fringed +at the bottom; above the waist she had on such sham finery and her face, +once pretty, had such a stale, hunted look, as told plainly to what +class she belonged. The class that is no class at all, and yet that has +always been. "I'm afraid of you—you've been drinking—let me go," she +was crying out. Belden stopped at once. The man put his arm more tightly +about her waist, and tried, drunkenly, to kiss her. The girl wrenched +herself almost away from him. She screamed out, "Let loose of me, you +beast!" Then she began to moan a little. That settled Belden. He walked +in front of the man in the white shirt-front, and told him to let the +woman go. The man said he would see him damned first. The words had +hardly tortured their stuttering way from the drunken man's mouth, +before Belden gave him a blow between the eyes that sent the fellow to +the sidewalk. He lay there cursing, drunkenly. Belden asked the woman, +quietly, where she lived. She looked at him and laughed. Laughed aloud! +I've seen most things, in my time, but that woman's laugh, and the look +on her face are about the most grewsome things I remember. She laughed, +you know as if someone had just told her that he would like to walk down +to hell with her. She laughed in that high, unnatural key, in which only +women of that sort can laugh; it was a laugh that had in it the scorn of +the Devil for his toy, man. There was in it a memory of a time when she +might have unblushingly answered that question of 'Where do you live?' +There was in it something like pity for this innocent who asked her that +question in good faith, or seemed to. Then she steadied herself against +a lamp-post, and said, with the whine coming back into her voice, 'What +d'ye want to know for?' 'I'll see that you get there all right,' said +Belden. The woman laughed again. She took her hand away from the +lamp-post, and began an effort to walk on without replying; but in an +instant she swayed, and, had not Belden jumped toward her and put an arm +about her shoulders, would have fallen.</p> + +<p>"She cursed feebly. 'Tell me where you live?' Belden persevered. His +voice was harsher and almost a command. She stammered out more sneering +evasions; then she flung out the name of the dismal street where she had +such residence as that sort ever has. What do you suppose that man +Belden did? Hailed a cab, put the woman in, and got in after her. Simply +shouted a hasty goodnight to me, and drove off. Well,—that's where it +all began." Stanley stopped, got up, and walked over to the wall, +pressing a button that showed there.</p> + +<p>"But you don't mean to say—" began one of the others, with wonder and +incredulity in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do, though. Russell, take the orders, will you? What'll you +men drink—or smoke? I've been talking, and my throat's dry."</p> + +<p>The darky waited patiently until the several orders had been given. Then +he glided away as noiselessly as he had come.</p> + +<p>"There is really where the story, as far as I know it, ends," Stanley +went on, after he had cooled his throat a little, "The other end of it +came to me from Belden the other day. 'Got anything to do Thursday +evening?' he asked me. We had been talking of dry-point etching. I told +him I thought not. 'Then will you help me jump off?' he went on. Then +the whole scene of that winter-night flashed back to me in a sort of +wave. I felt, before he answered my question for further information, +what his answer would be, 'Yes,' he said, 'it's the same girl. I know +her better than I did. Her's is a sad case; very sad. I'm lifting her up +out of it.' I didn't say anything, he hadn't asked my opinion. As +between man and man there was nothing for me to cavil at; I was invited +to a friend's wedding, that was all. I went. I was the only other person +present, barring the old German minister that Belden fished out from +some dark corner. It was the queerest proceeding! Belden had brought the +girl up into a righteous neighborhood some months ago, it seemed; had +been paying her way; the neighbors thought she was a person of some +means, I suppose. He introduced me to her on the morning of his +wedding-day; I think she remembered me, although she has caught manners +enough from Belden or her past to conceal what she felt. And so—they +were married."</p> + +<p>"My God!" groaned Vanstruther, "what an awful thing to do! Lifting her +up out of it, does he say? No! He's bringing himself down to it! That's +what it always ends in. Always. Oh, I've known cases! Every man thinks +he is going to succeed where the others have failed. For they have +failed, there is no doubt about that! Look at the case of Gripler, the +Elevated magnate!—he did that sort of thing, and the world says and +does the same old thing it has always done—sneers a little, and cuts +her! He is having the most magnificent house in all Gotham built for +himself, I understand, and they are going to move there, but do you +suppose for a minute they will ever get into the circle of the elect? +Not in a thousand years! Don't misunderstand me: I'm not considering +merely the society of the 'society column,' I'm thinking of society at +large, the entire human body, the mass of individuals scripturally +enveloped in the phrase 'thy neighbor.' The taint never fades; a surface +gloss may hide the spot, but some day it blazons itself to the world +again in all it's unpleasantness. Take this case of our friend Belden. +We, who sit here, are all men who know the world we live in; we will +treat Belden himself as we have always done. We will even argue, in that +exaggerated spirit of broadness that might better be called laxness, +typical of our time, that the man has done a braver thing than ourselves +had courage for had the temptation come to us. We will acknowledge that +his motive was a good one. He honestly believes that he will educate the +girl into the higher life. He thinks the past can be sunk into the pit +of forgetfulness; but there is no pit deep enough to hide the past. We +will say that he is putting into action what the rest of the radicals +continually vapor about; the equal consideration, in matters of +morality, of man and woman. He is remembering that a man, we argue, +should in strict ethics demand of a woman no more than himself can +bring. But, mark my words, the centuries have been wiser than we knew. +It is ordained that the man who shall take to wife a woman that has what +the world meaningly call 'a past,' shall see the ghost of that past +shaking the piece of his house for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a few moments. Beyond the curtains, someone came +in and threw himself down on the sofa. Marsboro, looking vaguely out at +window, said, somewhat irrelevantly, "I suppose that will be the end +of the Sunday evening seances?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Stanley. "If I know anything about Belden, I +shall not be surprised if he asks us all up there again one of these +evenings. He has lived so long in Free-and-easy-dom that no thought of +what people call 'the proprieties' will ever touch him."</p> + +<p>"Heigh!" Vanstruther stretched himself reflectively. "It's a queer life +a man leads, a queer life! God send us all easy consciences!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be pathetic!" Stanley frowned. "The life is generally of our own +choosing, and if we play the game we should pay the forfeits. Besides +which, it is one of the few things I believe in, that the man who has +tasted of sin, and in whose mouth the bitters of revulsion have +corroded, is the only one who can ever safely be called good. It is +different with a woman. If once she tastes—there's an end of her! Oh, I +know very well that we never think this way at first. At first—when we +are very young—we think there is nothing in the world so delightful as +being for ever and ever as white as the driven snow; then Life sends his +card, we make his acquaintance, he introduces us to some of his fastest +friends, and we, h'm, begin to change our views a little. In accordance +with the faint soiling that is gradually covering up the snowy hues of +our being, the strictness of our opinions on the matter of whiteness +relaxes notably. Arm in arm with Life, we step slowly down the ladder. +Then, if we are in luck, there is a reaction, and we go up again—so +far!—only so far, and never any further; if we are particularly fond of +Life, we are likely to get very far down indeed; and the end is that +Life bids us farewell of his own accord. That is the history of a modern +man of the world."</p> + +<p>"I believe you are right," said Marsboro, "I know, in my own case at +least, that I can remember distinctly how beautiful my young ideal was. +But Life is jealous of ideals; he shatters them with a single whiff of +experience. And it happened as you just now said: as I descended, my +ideals descended. I only hope"—he sighed, half in jest, half in +earnest,—"that I will begin the upward climb and succeed in winning +up."</p> + +<p>"Ah," assented Stanley, "that is always the interesting problem. Which +it will be: the elevator with the index pointing to 'Up' or the one +destined 'Down.' You needn't look so curiously at me, Van, I know what +you are wondering. Well you can rest easy in the assurance I give you: +the nether slopes are beckoning to me. I became aware of it long ago, +reconciled moreover. I live merely for the moment. My senses must amuse +me until there is nothing left of them; that is all. But look here: +don't think there is no reverse to the medal. I have, fate knows, my +moments of being horrified at myself. It is, I presume, at the times +when the ghost of my conscience comes to ask why it was murdered." He +appeared to be concentrating all his attention on the ashes at the end +of his cigarette. "Why, don't you know that there is no longer any +meaning for me in any of those words: honor, and truth, and virtue? I +have no standards, except my digestion, and my nerves. I don't mistreat +my wife simply because it would come back to me in a thousand little +annoyances that would grate on my nerves." He sipped slowly at the glass +by his side. "And I'm not worse than some other men!"</p> + +<p>"True. All of which is a pity. But we've got off the subject. The +villainy of ourselves is too patent a proposition. The question is, by +what right we continue to expect of the women we marry that which they +dare not expect of us.</p> + +<p>"Are you the mouthpiece of the New Woman? Well, the Creator made man +king, and the laws of physiology cannot be twisted to suit the New +Woman. For it is, in essentials, unfortunately a question of +physiological consequences. Wherefore, suppose we stop the argument. +This is not a medical congress!"</p> + +<p>Stanley went over to the desk where the periodicals lay, and picking one +up, began, with a cigarette in his mouth, to let his eyes rest on the +printed pages.</p> + +<p>"Will you go, if you're asked?" Marsboro said, presently.</p> + +<p>"I?" Stanley looked up carelessly. "Certainly. As far as I'm concerned +a man may marry the devil and all his angels. But I wouldn't take my +wife or my sister."</p> + +<p>Vanstruther laughed dryly. "If women were to apply the tit-for-tat +principle," he said, "what terribly small visiting lists most of us +fellows would have!"</p> + +<p>But Stanley disdained further discussion, and the other men got up to +go. When they had passed beyond the curtains Stanley laid down the paper +he had been reading, and smiled to himself. He was wondering why he had +been led into this waste of breath. A man's life was a man's life, and +what was the use of cavilling at facts! The only thing to do was to take +life lightly and to let nothing matter. Also, one must amuse oneself! If +the manner of the amusement was distasteful or hurtful to others, +why—so much the worse for the others!</p> + +<p>So musing, Laurence Stanley passed into a light slumber, and dreamed of +impossible virtues.</p> + +<p>But Dick Lancaster, who, from the sofa beyond the curtains, had heard +all of this conversation, did not dream of pleasant things that night. +In fact, he spent a white night. Like a flood the horrors of +self-revelation had come upon him at sound of those arguments and +dissections; he saw himself as he was, compared with what he had been; +he shuddered and shivered in the grip of remorse.</p> + +<p>In the white light of shame he saw whither the wish to taste of life had +led him; he realized that something of that hopeless corruption that +Stanley had spoken of was already etched into his conscience. Oh, the +terrible temptation of all those shibboleths, that told us that we must +live while we may! He felt, now that he had seen how deep was the abyss +below him, that his feet were long since on the decline, and that from a +shy attempt at worldliness he had gone on to what, to his suddenly +re-awakened conscience, constituted dissoluteness.</p> + +<p>To the man of the world, perhaps, his slight defections from the +puritanic code would have seemed ridiculously vague. But, he repeated to +himself with quickened anguish, if he began to consider things from the +standpoint of the world, he was utterly lost; he would soon be like +those others.</p> + +<p>He got up and opened the window of his bed-room. Below him was the hum +of the cable; a dense mist obscured the electric lights, and the town +seemed reeking with a white sweat. He felt as if he were a prisoner. He +began to feel a loathing for this town that had made him dispise himself +so much. The roar of it sounded like a wild animal's.</p> + +<p>Then a breeze came and swept the mist away, and left the streets shining +with silvery moisture. Lights crept out of the darkness, and the veil +passed from the stars. The wild animal seemed to be smiling. But the +watcher at the window merely shrank back a little, closing the window. +Fascinating, as a serpent; poisonous as a cobra! The glitter and glamour +of society; the devil-may-care fascinations of Bohemia; they had lured +him to such agony as this!</p> + +<p>Such agony? What, you ask, had this young man to be in agony about? He +was a very nice young man—all the world would have told you that! Ah, +but was there never a moment in your lives, my dear fellow-sinners—you +men and women of the world—when it came to your conscience like a +sword-thrust, that the beautiful bloom of your youth and innocence was +gone from you forever and that ever afterward there would be a bitter +memory or a bitterer forgetfulness? And was that not agony? Ah, we all +hold the masks up before our faces, but sometimes our arms tire, and +they slip down, and then how haggard we look! Perhaps, if we had +listened to our consciences when they were quicker, we would not have +those lines of care upon our faces now. You say you have a complexion +and a conscience as clear as the dew? Ah, well, then I am not addressing +you, of course. But how about your neighbors? Ah, you admit—? Well, +then we will each of us moralize about our neighbor. It is so much +pleasanter, so much more diverting!</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h3> + + +<p>With the coming of morning, Lancaster shook himself out of his painful +rêveries, and decided that he must escape from this metropolitan prison, +if for ever so short a time. He would go out into the country, home. He +would go where the air was pure, and all life was not tainted. He +walked to a telegraph office and sent a dispatch to his mother, telling +of his coming.</p> + +<p>Then he went for a walk in the park. Now that he had made up his mind to +get out of this choking dungeon for a while he felt suddenly buoyant, +refreshed. He tried to forget Stanley and the Imperial Theatre, and all +other unpleasant memories of that sort. Some of the park policemen +concluded that this was a young man who was feeling very cheerful +indeed—else, why such fervid whistling?</p> + +<p>When he got to his studio he found some people waiting for him. They had +some commercial work for him to do. He shook his head at all of them.</p> + +<p>"I'm going out of town for a week," he said, "and I can do nothing until +I return. If this is a case of 'rush' you'll have to take it somewhere +else."</p> + +<p>He turned the key in the door with a wonderful feeling of elation, and +the pinning of the small explanatory notice on his door almost made him +laugh aloud. He thought of the joy that a jail bird must feel when he +sees the gates opening to let him into the free world. No more elevated +roads, no more cable cars, no more clanging of wheels over granite, no +more deafening shouts of newsboys; no more tortuous windings through +streets crowded with hurrying barbarians; no more passing the +bewildering glances of countless handsome women; no more—town!</p> + +<p>There was a train in half an hour. He bought his ticket and strolled up +and down the platform. He wondered how the dear old village would look. +He had been away only a little over a year, and yet, how much had +happened in that short time! Then he smiled, thinking of the intangible +nature of those happenings. There was nothing,—nothing that would make +as much as a paragraph in the daily paper. Yet how it had changed him, +this subtle flow of soul-searing circumstances! It was of such curious +woof that modern life was made; so rich in things that in themselves +were dismally commonplace and matters of course, and yet in total +exerted such strong influences; so rich, too, in crime and casuality, +that, though served up as daily dishes, yet seemed always far and +outside of ourselves!</p> + +<p>The novel he purchased to while away the hours between the town and +Lincolnville confirmed his thoughts in this direction. It was one of the +modern pictures of "life as it is." There was nothing of romance, hardly +any action; it was nearly all introspection and contemplations of the +complexity of modern existence. The story bored him I immensely, and yet +he felt that it was a voice of the time. It was hard to invest today +with romance.</p> + +<p>Was it, he wondered, a real difference, or was it merely the difference +in the point of view? Perhaps there was still romance abroad, but our +minds had become too analytical to see the picture of it?—too much +engaged in observing the quality of the paint?</p> + +<p>His mother was waiting for him at the station. It was pleasant to see +how proud she was of this tall young son of hers, and how wistfully she +looked deep into his eyes. "You're looking pale, Dick," she said, +holding him at the stretch of her arms. "And your eyes look like they +needed sleep."</p> + +<p>Dick gave a little forced laugh and patted his mother's hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess you're right mother. I need a little fresh air and a +rest."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you shall have both, my boy. And now tell me all you've been doing +up there in that big place."</p> + +<p>They walked down to the little house wherein Dick had first seen the +light of this world. He looked taller than ever beside the little woman +who kept looking him over so wistfully. He told her many things, but he +felt that he was talking to her in a language that was rusty on his +lips, the language of the country, of simplicity and truth. The language +of the world, in which his tongue was now glib, would be so full of +mysteries to this sweet mother of his that he must needs eschew it for +the nonce. It was a small thing, but he felt it as an evidence of the +changes that had been wrought in him.</p> + +<p>He told her of his work, of his career. Of the <i>Torch</i>, of his +subsequent renting of a studio, and free-lance life. Yes, he was making +money. He was independent; he had his own hours; work came to him so +readily that he was in a position to refuse such as pleased him least. +But, he sighed, it was all in black-and-white, so far. Paint loomed up, +as before, merely as a golden dream. In illustrating and decorating, +using black-and-white mediums, that <i>was</i> where the money lay, and he +supposed he would have to stick to that for a time. But he was saving +money for a trip abroad.</p> + +<p>They talked on and on until nearly midnight. He asked after some of his +old acquaintances; he listened patiently to his mother's gentle gossip +and tried to feel interested.</p> + +<p>"The Wares are back," explained Mrs. Lancaster.</p> + +<p>"Ah," Dick looked up quickly. "Does Dorothy look well?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, though I'm bound I hadn't the courage to tell her so +to her face. She looks just like you do, Dick,—kinder fagged out."</p> + +<p>"Yes. They say traveling is hard work. And her mother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's about the same as usual. Looks stouter, maybe."</p> + +<p>"I must get over and call there, before I get back to town," he said, +reflectively. "Well, mother, I suppose I'm keeping you up beyond your +regular time. I'm a trifle tired, too. So goodnight."</p> + +<p>He kissed her and passed up stairs to his old room. There were the same +pictures that he had decorated the walls with a few years ago. He +smiled; they were, fortunately, very crude compared to the work he was +doing now. When all was dark, he lay awake for a long time, drinking in +the deep silence of the place. He could hear the chirrup of the +crickets over in the meadows, and from far over the western hills came +the deep boom of a locomotive's whistle. The incessant roar of the town, +in which even the shrillest of individual noises are swallowed into one +huge conglomerate, was utterly gone. He could hear the wind slightly +swaying the branches; the deep blue of the star-spotted sky was full of +a caressing silence. The peace of it all soothed him, and ushered him +into deep, refreshing sleep.</p> + +<p>The sun touched him early in the morning, and seeing the beauty of the +dawning day, he dressed quickly and went quietly down stairs and out, +for a stroll about the dear old village. He passed the familiar houses, +smiling to himself. He thought of all the quaint and queer characters in +a little place of this sort. Presently he left the region of houses and +passed into the woods that were beginning to blush at the approach of +their snow-clad bridegroom. The picture of the sun rising over the +fringe of trees, gilding the browned leaves with a burnish that blazed +and sparkled, filled him with artistic delight. He said to himself that +after he had been abroad, and after his hand was grown cunning in +colors, he would ask for no better subject than these October woods of +the West. He sat down on the log of a tree and watched the golden, +crescent lamp of day. He had forgotten the town utterly, for the moment, +and for the moment he was happy.</p> + +<p>But the sun's progress warned him that it was time to start back to the +house. With swinging stride he passed over the highway, over the slopes +that led to the village. Suddenly he heard his named called, and +turning, saw a tall figure hastening toward him.</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Fairly, the minister.</p> + +<p>"My dear Dick," he said, shaking the young man's hand, "I am rejoiced to +see you. We have heard of you, of course; we have heard of you. But that +is not seeing you. Let me look at you!"</p> + +<p>Dick smiled. "I've grown, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes. In stature and wisdom, I dare say. But—" He slipped his arm +within Dick's, and walked with him silently for a few minutes. "The +town," he went on, "has a brand of its own, and all that live there, +wear it." They passed a boy going to school. "Look at that youngster. +Isn't he bright-eyed!" A farm wagon drove by, the farmer and his wife +sitting side by side on the springless seat. "Did you get the sparkle of +their faces?" said the minister. "Their skins were tanned and rough, no +doubt, but their eyes were clear. Now, Dick, your eyes have been reading +many pages of the Book of Knowledge and they are tired. I know, my boy, +I know. We buzz about the electric arc-light till we singe our wings, +and then, perhaps, we are wiser. Have you been singeing your's?"</p> + +<p>"Not enough, I'm afraid. The fascination is still there. Sometimes it is +the fascination of danger, sometimes of repulsion; but it is always +fascination."</p> + +<p>"Ah, so you have got to the repulsion!"</p> + +<p>The minister spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "And you no longer +think the world is all beautiful, and sometimes you wonder whether +virtue is a dream or a reality? I know, I know! And sometimes you wish +you were blind again, as once you were; and you want to wipe away the +taste of the fruit of knowledge?"</p> + +<p>Dick said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Those who chose the world as their arena," the minister went on, "must +suffer the world's jars and jeers. The world is a magnet that draws all +the men of courage; it sucks their talents and their virtues and spews +them forth, as often as not into the waters of oblivion. To swim ashore +needs wonderful strength! Here in the calmer waters we are but tame +fellows; we miss most of the prizes, but, we also miss the dangers. +Perhaps, some day, Dick, you'll come back to us again?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps. But I don't think so. That other taste is +bitter, perhaps, but it holds one captive. And I'm changed, you see; the +old things that delighted me once are stale, and I need the perpetual +excitation of the town's unceasing changes. The town is a juggernaut +with prismatic wheels."</p> + +<p>They had nearly reached the minister's house.</p> + +<p>"I haven't preached to you, have I Dick?"</p> + +<p>Dick looked at the minister quickly. There was a sort of wistfulness +behind the eye-glasses, and a half smile beneath the waving mustache.</p> + +<p>"No. I wish you would!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Dick, I can't! I'm not competent. You're in one world, and I'm in +another. Too many make the mistake that they can live in the valleys and +yet tell the mountaineers how to climb. But, Dick, whatever you do, keep +your self-respect! In this complex time of ours, circumstances and +comparisons alter nearly everything, and one sometimes wonders whether +b-a-d does not, after all, spell good; but self-respect should stand +against all confusions! Goodbye, Dick. Remember we're all fond of you! I +go to a convention in one of the neighboring towns tonight, and I won't +see you again before you go back. Goodbye!"</p> + +<p>Dick carried the picture of the kindly, military-looking old face with +him for many minutes. If there were more such ministers! He recalled +some of the pale, cold clergymen he had met at various houses in town, +and remembered how repellant their naughty assumption of superiority has +been to him. He was still musing over his dear old friend's counsel, +when he noticed that he was approaching the house where the Wares lived. +There was the veranda, blood red with it's creeper-clothing, and full of +memories for him.</p> + +<p>He began to walk slowly as he drew nearer. He was thinking of the last +time that he had seen Dorothy Ware. He recalled, with a queer smile, her +parting words: 'Goodbye, Dick, be good!' He realized that the Dick of +that day and the Dick of today were two very differing persons. And +she, too, doubtless, would no longer be the Dorothy Ware he once had +known. Something of fierce hate toward the world and fate came to him as +he thought of the way of human plans and planning were truthlessly +canceled by the decrees of change. Had he been good? Bah, the thought of +it made him sneer. If these memories were not to be driven away he would +presently settle down into determined, desperate melancolia.</p> + +<p>The conflict, in this man, was always between the intrinsic good and the +veneer of vice that the world puts on. In most men the veneer chokes +everything else. When those men read this, if they ever do, they will +wonder why in the world this young man was torturing himself with +fancies? But the men whose outer veneer has not yet choked the soul will +remember and understand.</p> + +<p>Dorothy Ware was on the veranda, gathering some of the vine's dead +leaves when Dick's step sounded on the wooden sidewalk. As he saw her, +his face lit up. He never noticed that the flush on her face was of +another sort.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Dick? Come up and shake hands."</p> + +<p>Then they stood and looked at each other silently for an instant. "We're +both a little older," said Dick. "But I suppose we have so much to talk +about that we'll have to make this a very passing meeting. Besides, +mother's waiting for me; I've been for a morning walk, you see. You'll +be at the great and only Fair, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I've almost forgotten how it looks. I do hope they will have a +fine day for it."</p> + +<p>Miss Ware looked after him wistfully. She thought of the thunderstorm in +the forest at Schandau, and sighed.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h3> + + +<p>The first day of the County Fair was hardly eventful. The farmers were +busy bringing in their exhibits of stock and produce, and arranging them +properly for the inspection of the judges. It is all merely by way of +preparation for the big day, the day on which the trotting and running +races take place.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, it was a cloudless day. Shortly after sunrise clouds of +dust began to fill the air. All the roads leading fairwards are filled +all morning with every sort and condition of vehicle. Farmers come from +the farthest bounderies of the county, bringing their families; the +young men bringing their "best girls." This volume of traffic soon +reduces the road-bed to a fine, powdery dust, that rises, mist-like and +obscures the face of the earth and sky.</p> + +<p>Soon the presence of the Fair is felt in the village itself, and the +"square" resounds to the cries of the omnibus drivers soliciting fares. +"All aboard, now, for the Fair Grounds, only ten cents!" So runs the +invitation yelled from half a dozen lusty, though dusty throats. For +this occasion every livery stable in the place brings out all the +ramshackle conveyances it has. Everything on wheels is pressed into +service. Like Christmas, the great day of the County Fair, comes but +once a year, and must be made the most of. Few people are going to walk +on so dusty a day as this, so the 'bus drivers ply up and down from +seven in the morning until dusk sets in, and the last home-stragglers +have left the grounds.</p> + +<p>At noon, the highway was become a very sea of dust. Dick had walked down +to the "square," and was looking about for a conveyance of some sort +when a carriage came up with Mrs. Ware and her daughter inside. Dorothy +spoke to the coachman, and then waved a daintily gloved hand at Dick. +"Delighted!" said that young man, getting in quickly, and adding, in +Mrs. Ware's direction, "This is awfully kind in you!" In that course of +the drive there was as little said as possible, because each sentence +meant a mouthful of dust.</p> + +<p>As they passed through the gates at last, Dick smiled at the dear +familiar sight that yet seemed something strange. There was the +half-mile track in the open meadow; the ridiculously small grand-stand +perched against the western horizon, the acres of sloping ground, shaded +by lofty oaks, and covered by a mass of picturesquely rural humanity. +Against the inclosing fence the countless stalls, filled with the show +stock of the county. The crowd was surging around the track, the various +refreshment booths, the merry-go-rounds, and the spaces where the +"fakirs" held forth. The grand-stand was filled to running over. The air +was resonant with laughter; with the appeals of the "fakirs," with the +neighing of the hundreds of horses hitched in every part of the field.</p> + +<p>The driver halted his horses as close as possible to get to the centre +of attraction, the race-track. Then, the horses turning restive, Mrs. +Ware decided to get out and go over to the dairy-booth, and see some of +her friends from the farms. Dorothy and Dick accompanied her, but had +soon exhausted the attractions of the booth. Mrs. Ware guessed she +wouldn't go with them. They started out into the motley crew of +sightseers together.</p> + +<p>As they approached the grand-stand again, their ears were assailed with +by a number of quaint and characteristic cries. "Right down this way, +now, and see the man with the iron jaw! Free exhibition inside every +minute! Walk up, walk up, and see the ring-tailed monkey eat his own +tail!" The most laughable part of this exuberant invitation was that it +had nothing to do with a circus or a dime-museum, it was merely the +vocal hall-mark of an ambitious seller of lemonade and candy. It was one +of the tricks of the trade. It caught the fancy of the countryman. It +sounded well.</p> + +<p>There were other cries, such as: "Here's your chance. Ten shots for a +nickel," and "the stick you ring is the stick you gits!" "This way for +the great panoramy of Gettysburg, just from Chicago!" "Pink lemo, here, +five a glass; peanuts, popcorn!" "The only Californy fruit on the +grounds here!" "Ten cents admits you to the quarter-stretch—don't crowd +the steps, move on, keep a-moving!" Babel was come again.</p> + +<p>The farm-people themselves were a healthy, cheering sight. They were all +bent on as much wholesome enjoyment as was possible. It looked as if +every man, woman and child in the county was there. They had, most of +them, come for the day, eating their meals in their vehicles, or under +the trees on the green sward. The meadow was a blaze of color. The +dresses of the women, with the color-note in them exaggerated in rustic +love of brightness, gave the scene a touch of picturesqueness. The white +tents of the various booths, the greenleaf trees, the glaring yellow sun +over head, and the dust-white track stretching out in the gray mist of +heat and dust made a picture of cheer and warmth.</p> + +<p>A cheering from the grand-stand. A trotting heat is being run, and the +horses have been around for the first time. It is not like the big +circuit meeting, this, and Dick thought with something of gladness that +the absence of a betting-shed left the scene an unalloyed charm.</p> + +<p>Everybody thinks himself competent to speak of the merits of the horses. +"He ain't got that sorrel bitted right," declares one authority. "He'll +push the bay mare so she'll break on the turn; there—watch her—what 'd +I tell you!" triumphs another. A third utters the disgusted sentiment +that "Dandy Dan 'd win ef he wuz driv right." And so on. Dick and +Dorothy smile at each other as they listen. There is nothing pleasanter +in the world than a silent jest as jointure.</p> + +<p>Then there comes a rush of dust up the track, a clatter of hoofs over +the "stretch," a whirl of wheels, cheers from the crowd and the heat is +lost and won.</p> + +<p>And so the day wears on, and the program dwindles. There are several +trotting races, a pacing event, a running race, and some bicycle +exhibitions. The day is to be topped off with a balloon ascent, the +balloonist, a woman, being billed to descend, afterward, by way of a +parachute.</p> + +<p>But to neither of these two spectators did the events of the program +seem the most interesting of the displays. It was the country people +themselves that had the most of quaint charms. Miss Dorothy Ware was +become so saturated with the polish of cosmopolitan views, and the +manners caught from extensive travel, that these scenes, once so +familiar and natural, now struck her as very strange and extraordinary. +In Dick the air of the metropolis had so keyed him up to the quick, +unwholesome pleasures of the urban mob that this breath of country +holiday filled him with a pleasant sense of rest. Never again could he +be as these were, but he could, in a far-off, dreamy way, still +appreciate their primitive emotions. They were all so ingenious, so +openly joyful, so gayly bent on having a good time, these country folk! +They strolled about in groups of young folk, or in couples, or in family +parties. She casts a wistful look toward a fruit-stand; he must go +promptly and buy her something. He bargains closely; he is mindful, +doubtless, of the fact that there is still the yearning for the +merry-go-round, the phonograph, and the panorama, to be appeased.</p> + +<p>In the West the sun was taking on the dull red tone of shining, beaten +bronze. The haze of dust began to lift, mist-wise, up against the +shadowgirt horizon. From thousands of lips there presently issues a long +drawn "Ah-h!" and the unwieldy mass of a balloon is seen to rise up over +the meadow. A damsel in startling, grass-green tights floats in mid-air +upheld by the resisting parachute, and drops earthward to the safe +seclusion of a neighboring pasture. Vehicles are unhitched; there are +some moments of wild shouting and maneuvering, and then the stream of +humanity and horses pours out into the dusty road, and in a little while +the fair grounds are merely a place for the ghosts of the things that +were.</p> + +<p>When it was all over, when he had said goodbye to Miss Ware and her +mother, a sense of loneliness came over Dick, and he sank into one of +those moody states that nowadays invariably meant torment. He could not +remember to have talked to Dorothy of anything save commonplace and +obvious things, and yet with every glance of her eye, every tone of her +voice, the old glamour that he had felt aforetime had come upon him +again. She was no longer the same, he had observed so much; the girlish +exuberance and forth-rightness had given way to a more subdued manner, a +fine, but somewhat colorless polish. Something, too, of the sparkle +seemed to have gone from her; her smile had much of sadness. It flashed +over him that never once had either of them referred to the words with +which they once had parted. Had it been his fault, or hers? Once, she +had let him hope, had she not? He remembered the dead words, but he +smiled at the dim tone that yon whole picture took in his memory. It was +as if it had all happened to someone else. Well,—perhaps it had; +certainly he was separated by leagues of too well remembered things from +that other self, the self that had said to a girl, once, "Dorothy, will +you wish me luck?"</p> + +<p>But in spite of the changes in them both, Dick felt that her charm for +him was potent with a new fervor. He could not define it; it seemed a +halo that surrounded her, in his eyes at least. The sardonic recesses of +his memory flashed to him the echo of his foolish words to Mrs. Stewart, +at the opera. "Oh, damn the past," he muttered, hotly. He would begin +all over again, he would atone for those pretty steps aside; he would +pin his faith to the banner of his love for Dorothy. For he felt that he +did love this girl. He longed for her; she seemed to personify a harbor +of refuge, a comfort; he felt that if he could go to her, and tell her +everything, and feel her hand upon his forehead, her smile, and the +touch of her hand would wipe away all the ghostly cobwebs of his memory, +of his past, and leave him looking futureward with stern resolves for +white, and happy, wholesome days.</p> + +<p>Surely it would be madly foolish to let a Past spoil a Future!</p> + +<p>He saw the grin upon the face of Sophistry, and set his lips. No, there +were no excusing circumstances; he had gone the way of the world, +because that way was easy and pleasant. Only his weakness was to blame.</p> + +<p>"She is as far above me," he said, before he went to sleep that night, +"as the stars. But—we always want the stars!"</p> + +<p>As for Miss Ware, it need only be chronicled that she was very quiet and +abstracted that evening, so that her mother was prompted to remark that +"Lincolnville don't appear to suit you powerful well, Dorothy." As a +matter of fact, the girl was afar off, in thought, and her eyes were +bright with tears because of the things she was remembering.</p> + +<p>She had loved Dick, on a time. And to realize that never, in all time, +would her conscience permit her to satisfy that love—that was bitter, +very bitter.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h3> + + +<p>Winter was coming over the town. The gripmen of the cable cars were +muffled to their noses in heavy buffalo coats, and the pedestrians were +heralded by the white steam that testified to the frostiness of the air. +The newspaper boys performed "break downs" on the corners for the mere +warmth thereof, and the beggars and tramps presented a more blue-nosed, +frost-bitten appearance than usual.</p> + +<p>Everybody was in town once more. The hills, the seaside and the watering +places had all given up their summer captives, and the metropolis held +them all. The Tremonts were returned from Europe. The opera season, +promising better entertainment than ever, had lured many of the +wealthier folk from the country, for the winter at least. Among these +were the Wares. It was a fashion steadily increasing in favor, this of +living in town the winter over, and retiring to rusticity for the dog +days. With the Wares it was not yet become a fashion; it was merely in +accordance with Dorothy's wish to hear the opera and the concert season +that the move townward was made.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart's little "evenings" were more popular than +ever. There seemed a positive danger that she would become known as the +possessor of a "salon" and have a society reporter describe a +representative gathering of her satellites. On this particular evening +the carriages drove up to the house and drove off again without +intermission all the evening. People had a habit of coming there before +the theatre, or after; of staying ten minutes or two hours, just as +their fancy, or Mrs. Stewart might dictate.</p> + +<p>One of the latest to arrive was Dick Lancaster. It was his first +appearance there that season. He had only come because he had heard that +Dorothy Ware was to be there. He hardly looked as well as usual. He had +been working very hard, making up for the time lost in the country. His +cheek-bones stood out a trifle prominently, and his eyes were tired.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart proffered him the tips of her fingers, shaking her head at +him with mockery of a frown.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be introduced to me again," she said.</p> + +<p>"I've been tremendously busy."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you plagiarist! The sins that the word 'busy' is made to cover! +People escape debts, and calls, and engagements, nowadays, by simply +flourishing the magic word 'busy.'" She broke off, and began to look at +him steadily over the top of her fan. Then she went on in a very low +voice, "And have you found out how one's youth is lost in town?"</p> + +<p>"You're cruel," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Not I. But there, go in and talk to the others. There are lots of +people you haven't met before, and there are some pretty girls. Go in, +and enjoy yourself if you can. And perhaps, if you find time, and I +think of it again, I shall ask you to introduce me to your new self.</p> + +<p>"I've never been introduced to that new self yet, <i>egomet ipse</i>."</p> + +<p>He found two arch-enemies, Mrs. Tremont and Miss Leigh, conversing with +cheerless enthusiasm. "I heard of you a good deal while I was abroad," +said Mrs. Tremont, after greetings had been exchanged. Dick bowed, and +looked a question.</p> + +<p>"It was Mr. Wooton mentioned you," Mrs. Tremont went on, pompously. "We +met in Germany. A charming man!" She said it with the air of one +conferring a knighthood.</p> + +<p>Dick was wondering how many times a day a woman like this one managed to +be sincere. Then he said, "Miss Tremont is well, I trust?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She's here somewhere." She lifted her lorgnette deliberately and +gazed toward the piano, "Who is that playing?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Stewart herself," said Miss Leigh.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! I didn't know she played. I must go and congratulate her." She +moved off with severe dignity.</p> + +<p>Miss Leigh laughed as she watched the expression on Dick's face.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in heredity?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and no. Not in this case, if that's what you mean. Miss Tremont is +far too clever. Do you know," she went on, with slow distinctness, "that +you are changed."</p> + +<p>He made a movement of impatience. "I have heard nothing but that all +evening," he declared. "Simply because the town had put it's brand on +me, whether I wished it or no, am I to be forever upbraided?" There was +both petulence and pathos in his voice.</p> + +<p>"H'm," she said, "you still have all your old audacity. But I don't +think it is anything but genuine interest in you that prompts such +remarks."</p> + +<p>"You once said something about being genuine. You said it was pathetic. +Now I know why that is so true. The pathos comes after one has lost the +genuineness."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but when one does nothing but think and think, and brood and +brood, the pathos turns bathos. The thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>"Is that why there is so much flippancy?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt. Tragedy evokes flippancy and comedy starts tears."</p> + +<p>"You are a very fountain of worldly paradoxes. Where do you get them all +from?"</p> + +<p>"From my enemies. I love my enemies, you know, for what I can deprive +them of. That's right, leave me just when I'm getting brilliant! Go and +talk to Miss Ware about the rich red tints of the Indian summer leaves +and the poetry in the gurgle of the brook. Go on, it will be like a +breath of fresh air after the dismal gloom of my conversation!" She got +up, laughing, and added, in a voice that he had not heard before, "Go in +and win! Your eyes have told your secret."</p> + +<p>She moved off, and he saw Dorothy Ware coming toward him. He noticed how +delightfully she seemed to fit into this scene; how charmingly at ease +and how natural she looked. Her color was not as fresh as it once had +been: but he remembered how popular she had at once become in town, and +that her life was now a very whirl of dances and receptions and festive +occasions of that sort. He had hardly shaken hands when Mrs. Tremont and +her daughter approached from different directions. They were both, they +declared, so perfectly delighted to see Miss Ware again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart sailed majestically up to them at this juncture, and bore +Lancaster away in triumph. He heard Mrs. Tremont asking Dorothy, as he +moved away, "And how's your poor, dear mother?" Then he found himself +being introduced to a personage with a Vandyke beard.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the personage, with some show of interest, "you're an artist? +Now, tell me, frankly, why do you Western artists never treat Western +subjects?" And then Dick found himself floundering about in a sea of +argument with this personage. Afterwards, when the agony was over, he +discovered that it was the author, Mr. Wreath, who had thus been +catechizing him. It was noised about the world that Mr. Wreath was a +monomaniac on the subject of realism. Dick remembered wishing he had +caught the man's name at the introduction.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Miss Tremont stood talking to Dorothy Ware in a dim +corner of the room. There was a small table near them, and upon it were +scattered portfolios of photographs.</p> + +<p>"Do you ever hear of Mr. Wooton?" Miss Tremont asked, smiling sweetly.</p> + +<p>Dorothy gave a little start, and a flush touched her cheek.</p> + +<p>"No," she said tonelessly.</p> + +<p>"He's a very clever man," persisted Miss Tremont. "I congratulate you." +She smiled meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Dorothy's eyes flashed and her +fingers toyed nervously with the photographs.</p> + +<p>"If I were an expert photographer I could show you what I mean +instantly. Speech is so clumsy!"</p> + +<p>Dorothy still looked at her blankly, though she felt her heart beating +with accelerated speed.</p> + +<p>"From what I saw at Schandau," the other went on coldly, "I should say +it was time to announce the engagement."</p> + +<p>Dorothy gripped the little table with a tight clasp. Bending over, as if +to examine the pictures, she felt waves of heat and cold follow each +other over her cheeks and forehead. Her breath seemed to choke. How warm +the room was! She longed for a breath of fresh air. She would go and +tell her mother that she wanted to have the carriage called at once. +But there was her mother talking busily with Mrs. Tremont. And there, +beyond, was Dick.</p> + +<p>Something very like tears came to the borders of her eyes, as Miss +Dorothy Ware looked at, and thought of Dick. He had loved her, and +she—Ah, well, that was all over now! Even had she been able to compound +with her own conscience, Miss Tremont had effectually barred the way +to—ah, to everything! There was Miss Tremont talking, now, to Mr. +Wreath and to Dick. Surely the girl would not dare—but no, that was +absurd!</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Miss Leigh, noticing Dorothy's solitude, decided, just +then, that she would go and talk to the girl, which succeeded in +diverting Dorothy's mind from unpleasant thoughts.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the room the various groups were constantly +changing. Above the chatter one could hear the strains of music that +floated in from the music-room. Miss Tremont having finally succeeded in +luring Mr. Wreath on to a discussion of his own peculiar theory of the +art of fiction, Dick left them and strolled into the conservatory. He +wanted to be alone. He had been suffering more than ever before from +such accute pain as afflicts each individual soul that submits to +drowning itself in the meaningless chatter of society. As he himself put +it, with something like an oath of disgust, "I've been listening to +people I don't care a pin about; hearing rubbish and talking rubbish!" +The real key to his feeling of disgust, however, was in the fact that +his opportunities to a confidential talk with Miss Ware had all been +ruthlessly killed.</p> + +<p>"A nice way to contribute to the general entertainment!" It was Mrs. +Stewart herself. She was shaking her fan at him. "Don't get up!" she +went on, "I want to talk to you." She scrutenized him. "You don't look +cheerful!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not," he said curtly.</p> + +<p>"Remorse?"</p> + +<p>"No. Remorse is the divine right of cowards and gourmands. Mine is +merely a case of weariness."</p> + +<p>"With your own sweet self to blame. I know the feeling. You've been +thinking, or, rather, you think you have been thinking. And when one is +in that state, everything goes against the grain. Even such a galaxy as +that!" She waved her fan to the direction of the inner rooms, and a +smile of mischief curled her mouth. "What do you think of this year's +crop of lions?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" he scorned viciously, with all the bitterness of the man knocking +at the closed portals. "Who was it that first gave your friend Clarence +Miller the idea that he was a novelist? His wife, I suppose. When a +man's single his follies are suggested by the devil; when he's married, +by his wife. I suppose she wants her husband to equal the notoriety +attained by her brother-in-law, the composer of 'Rip Van Winkle' and +other comic operas that society flocks to listen to. It's a great pity +that art and literature happen to be the thing this season."</p> + +<p>"You're thinking of the real artists and writers, I presume. Well, it is +rather hard on them."</p> + +<p>"Hard? Why, its death! Think of the author that finds the market glutted +with the free-gratis product of the society butterfly's pen. Its enough +to create suicides."</p> + +<p>"But you can't very well include Mr. Wreath in the free-gratis class?"</p> + +<p>"No. But he is a charlatan, for revenue only. He has so many fads that +they stud his conversation as barnacles cover a rock. He is a trumpeter +of theories. Oh, I don't deny that he writes well! But he is not +satisfied with that, unfortunately; he must needs preach, and the man +who preaches about his art is a dispiriting spectacle."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear! What a change! It used to be that we others said all the +cutting things, while you listened in awe and trembling; now it is you +that uses the edge tools of language. You have beaten us at our own +game." Mrs. Stewart dropped her voice a little, and sighed. "But you +have lost as much as you have gained, have you not?"</p> + +<p>He nodded silently. "The world is a usurer that lends us wisdom if we +will but pay our youth as interest. And when we are bankrupt in youth, +the wisdom turns to ashes."</p> + +<p>"Don't be morbid. It's too fashionable. Cynicism is so cheap nowadays +that the poorest Philistine of us all can afford it. The only virtue in +optimism, it seems to me, is that it is suffering neglect today; for +that reason I may espouse it, merely to avoid the charge of being +commonplace. Come, be gay I Laugh! Forget!"</p> + +<p>"To forget is to forego one of life's sweetest pains." He laughed +mechanically, and got up, offering Mrs. Stewart his arm. "I'm a stupid, +morbid fool. My only saving grace is that I know just how big a fool I +am." They entered the inner rooms, and Mrs. Stewart, with a smile and a +bow, left Dick to talk flatteringly to the musical lion of the town.</p> + +<p>Some of the people were already leaving. Dick determined to slip away +quietly. But, as he turned to the vestibule, he found himself face to +face with Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>All his gloom vanished. "I've been trying to talk to you all evening," +he declared. "I've been wanting to ask you something. I asked you once +before. But that seems a very long time ago." He found himself carried +away in a whirl of eager enthusiasm and hope. "Dorothy," he said, +looking down at her, "there is still hope for me, is there not?"</p> + +<p>But in the girl's eyes there was nothing save pain, and shame. She +looked away. She played nervously with the lace of her dress.</p> + +<p>Blind, man-like, he took it all for shyness. "Only a little hope," he +repeated, tenderly. He tried to take her hand.</p> + +<p>She shrank away from him in a sort of horror. "No, no," she murmured, in +a voice of torture. She did not look him in the face.</p> + +<p>Dick stared at her dumbly. Now, at last, he understood her silence, her +averted head. He saw the expression that told him she feared to wound +him, even though she cared for him not at all.</p> + +<p>"Forget me!" she said, and moved away quickly.</p> + +<p>He stood, for an instant, looking after her, then he went, moving his +lips in a queer, mumbling way, to the vestibule, and asked for his +wraps.</p> + +<p>As he was leaving the house Dorothy was sinking into a chair by her +mother's side. She stared straight out in front of her. When her mother +spoke to her she turned slowly around and said, "It's very cold in +here." She shivered.</p> + +<p>And her mother, knowing that it was as warm as an oven in those rooms, +and watching the queer look on her daughter's face, decided the latter +was not very well, and must be taken home at once.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h3> + + +<p>He went down the steps with his hand clutching the rail with the fervor +of a tooth biting on a lip. If it had been daylight the twitching of his +eyes and lip-corners would have been peculiarly noticeable.</p> + +<p>For some reason or no reason he scorned the sidewalk; the middle of the +road presently felt his nervous footfall. Underneath him he could feel +and hear the droning of the cable. Some hundred yards before him he saw +the vivid glare that betokened the headlight of an approaching +cable-car. For an instant or two he asked himself why he should not +continue walking in that direction, in the path of the Juggernaut, and +allow himself to be ground into fragments—into the everlasting Forget. +Gravely he pondered it: why not? Could the game be worth the candle that +was snuffed? And yet, there was something so commonplace, so cheaply +melodramatic in that manner of going out that he drew back; he stepped +aside and let the dust of the passing car brush him spatteringly. To +commit suicide, to choose such a moment for it—a moment that, after +all, was but the repetition of a million similar ones—had something so +ordinary, so vulgar in it, that after he resisted the thought of it, he +shuddered. His lips took on a semblance of smiling.</p> + +<p>"What a play for the gallery it would have been!" he thought bitterly.</p> + +<p>Presently, as he walked, sobs broke through his lips. The measure of +what was lost to him seemed terribly great. All the light of the world +was but darkness for him now. What did it all matter now, this world, +this life, this aimless race? What was ambition worth, when ambition's +cause was gone? Could he take up the dream again, now that waking had +brought such pain? Incoherently his mind went back to the moments that +had elapsed just before he had left the house, moments that lasted +longer than lifetimes. He saw it all again, that scene so indelibly +graven on his mental film; he heard those fateful words again and felt +their blighting import. His arms went up wildly, with fists clenched, +toward the stars, and down again toward the earth like falling hammers, +driven with curses.</p> + +<p>If anyone had met him at that moment, Dick Lancaster would have been +called insane.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stood still, and began to laugh. It was not a pleasant +sound, and he himself noticed that it had the discordance of the laugh +bred by artifice. He had remembered a sentence that someone had +addressed to him, "The thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>So it was. Yes, that was the only armor, the armor of indifference. He +walked on, evolving a philosophy of flippancy. Wounded sorely, as he +was, he found himself sympathetically wondering whether that flippancy +that he once had so despised in his fellow-men and women was not as +often a growth of experience as a mask of fashion.</p> + +<p>When he reached his room he flung himself on a couch. Outside everything +was still. He sent his mind back to the time when he had first entered +this town. How void of all suspicion, all cynicism, he was in those +days! Experience after experience had left its impress on his wax-like +mind and now, with the slipping away of beliefs, the vanishment of +idols, the twinges of fate, he found himself at the other extreme, in +the mood that laughs at all things, and believes that there is nothing +potent save chance.</p> + +<p>In that mood he resolved to remain. It was the only one that was no +longer unbearable. To attempt the old beliefs were merely to give +hostages to disenchantment. He was done now with disenchantment. He +would expect nothing, care for nothing. Except to laugh.</p> + +<p>But, in the meanwhile, he could no longer bear the scenes and sounds of +the town. He cast about for plans. The thought that in one mind at least +his flight would look like cowardice did not annoy him; that also was +merely a thing to laugh at. The country was not what he wanted. It was +not quiet he desired; it was struggle and strife with the dragons of +memory and boredom; he wanted new battles to fight, new experiences to +harvest—not sensitively, as of old, but coldly, cruelly—in other +fields, as far away as possible.</p> + +<p>He unlocked his desk and searched for his bank-book. The figures seemed +to satisfy him.</p> + +<p>"Three thousand," he murmured, "will be enough. I will take a year. I +will see everything that my fancy asks for, do everything, be +everything. They call it the Old World. Well, it must be able to +furnish amusement for me, be it old or young."</p> + +<p>He turned to the unfinished sketches, the letters and the other +impediments that littered the room. "These shall not hold me a minute," +he said. "I want a change of air. I am going to take it. Nor friends, +nor promises, nor prospects shall stay me. It's goodbye."</p> + +<p>He laughed again, and went out to buy an evening paper, to scan the +sailing-lists for the out-going steamers.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h3> + + +<p>On one of the hottest days of August, a month by no means the most +delightful of Berlin's moods, there sat in the pleasant, shady garden of +the restaurant "Zum Kapuziner," facing the Schlossplatz, a tall young +man, whose material externals proclaimed him, to the trained eye, either +as an Englishman or an American. It is a safe axiom that all the +well-dressed people in the German capital are either English or +American.</p> + +<p>In front of the young man, on the table, were a glass, a bottle of +<i>Mai-trank</i> and an illustrated paper. But the young man was not +regarding any of these things, but kept his eyes to an observance of the +passers-by. This seemed to amuse him, for from time to time he smiled +softly.</p> + +<p>It was certainly a pleasant spot. In front there stretched the broad, +paved square that gave to the Old Castle of the first German Emperors on +the left, to the royal stables on the right, and beyond, straight ahead, +gave a glimpse of the quaint, old-fashioned architecture of the "<i>Alte +Stadt</i>." For the Schlossplatz marks the limits of the newer portion of +Berlin; beyond the bridge everything is the real Berlin, the Berlin +untouched by the triumphant splendors that came after '71, the Berlin +that knows but little of the passing stranger and the ways to despoil +him. And that was why Dick Lancaster had chosen the spot. The passers-by +were not at all cosmopolitan; there was little of that mixture of all +races, all garbs, all voices, that was to be seen and heard on the +"<i>Linden</i>." These were the real Berliners.</p> + +<p>In the months that lay between this day and the day on which Lancaster +had first felt the soil of Europe under his foot, there had come to him +many experiences, many amusements. He had accepted all things. +Unfettered by any restraints he had probed all the novelties that +presented themselves. He had lived in alternating fevers of +discriminations and hard work. For all these new aspects of life and +living filled him with the old, dear mania to create. He found himself +inspired by the very overflow of his sensations. From long draughts of +enjoyment he plunged into as long fits of artistic energy.</p> + +<p>He found, moreover, that the increased tension of his spiritual being +put a peculiar force into his pencil. Because it was merely one way of +laughter, because he began in a spirit of flippancy, the sketches all +succeeded immensely. Fortune began to favor him in artistic ways. In +Paris he had made a portfolio full of the most admirable sketches of +types. There was a crafty cynicism about his work that gave a +fascination to them; something not caricature, but finer. Now he chose +as his subject the traveling millionaire, now the splendid queen of the +boulevard, now the phantom of the "brasserie," and now the rag-picker. +One day he had showed some sketches to a man that had begged permission +to glance through the portfolio, as they sat, in a crowded café, at the +same table. The man was the manager of a famous illustrated paper. He +bought some of the sketches, and presently there appeared a most +astonishingly eulogistic article, about this young American.</p> + +<p>People carefully read the name. They had never heard of him. They looked +at the sketches. That was certainly talent of a significant sort. The +other papers followed suit. The noise of this discovery went across the +channel. There came to this young man orders from London, and the +newspapers of that town began to print the most extraordinary +inventions, by way of personalities, about him. The world, now as ever, +is always glad of a new subject. After that Parisian journal had sounded +the first note, the volume of sound that had as its burden Lancaster's +name, grew and grew. Of course, there were those that dissented, that +took occasion to flay this young man's achievements until there seemed +left only a skeleton of faults. But even that only swelled the flood.</p> + +<p>All the while, his sketches grew in force and individuality. For, +whatever else his detractors denied him, they admitted the originality +of his style. It had never been done before. Some called it hideous, +some grotesque; but all called it new. That was the great point.</p> + +<p>He became the fad. The representatives of American newspapers, who had +been prompt to cable home reports of the successes of this unheard-of +youth, began to attempt to interview him. Whereupon, having by that time +exhausted the immediate enjoyments of Paris, he fled abruptly.</p> + +<p>His success had at first surprised, then amused him. When, presently, he +found that his bank account was swelling most astonishingly, he was more +entertained than ever. He laughed—that unpleasant, mirthless laugh. But +he felt no duties toward his success. When Paris became tiresome, he had +no hesitation about quitting it without leaving an address. For that +matter, he did not, himself, know just whither he would go.</p> + +<p>His ticket had been taken for Monaco. The life of that place fascinated +him no less than that of Paris, when Paris was fresh to him. Day after +day he watched the procession that filed to and from the green tables; +the princes of the blood, the newest nabobs, the touring Americans, the +Russians, the worldlings and half-worldlings of all nations and degrees. +He watched the blue of the Mediterranean as a contrast to the +blacknesses of humanity that he saw daily.</p> + +<p>And then without an accompanying word, he sent a selection of sketches +to that Parisian paper whose discovery, so to say, he was. There came +another salvo of applause from the world of art. It seemed, so they all +said, as if this young man was destined to show such possibilities in +black-and-white as had not yet been dreampt of.</p> + +<p>From Monaco the wanderer went to Egypt. A white-sailed fishing-smack, +anchored in the bay below him, had started the thought in his mind one +sunny afternoon, when the attractions of Monte Carlo were beginning to +pall. He could afford extravagances now. The fisherman, when he was +accosted, had smiled. Yes, he might charter the boat. But where would +the gentleman wish to sail to? And it was of Egypt that Dick thought, +suddenly, with a longing for the cold silences of the sands, and the +pyramids, and the quaking waves of heat. And so the bargain was arranged +and to Egypt went the artist.</p> + +<p>Thence he swung back to Italy. Then through Switzerland. Everywhere he +roved through the corners that his fancy led him to; nowhere did he +merely echo the footsteps of the millions of tourists. Sometimes he +walked for whole days at a time. Sometimes he went to a petty inn and +astonished the host by staying all day in his room and working. Whenever +he found his purse suffering unduly through the vagaries of his nomadic +fancies, he posted some sketches to such of the Paris or London papers +as had been most clamorous for them.</p> + +<p>It was, perhaps, just because he cared so little for it all, that this +luck was come to him. In the old days he had chafed against +misfortunes, against limitations of all sorts; he had declared that +great successes were no longer possible, that everything worth doing had +been done long ago. Now, when he cared not at all, fortune kissed him. +Which also amused him.</p> + +<p>Another man would have laid plans for the furtherment of this fame, +would have counted the ways and means of plucking the fruit of success +at it's ripest, would have plotted against the erasure—by caprice, of +the world, or loss of his own skill, of his own name from the list of +the world's favorites. Dick Lancaster did none of these things. He +merely accepted the gifts of the moment, and continued recklessly in +alternate disappearances and bursts of splendid achievement. There was +nothing, he argued bitterly, for which he needed all the fame; so why +should he care to be Fame's courtier? If fame chose to pursue him, that +was another matter, and beyond his heed.</p> + +<p>So, carelessly, recklessly eager for novelties and excitements, this +young man adventured over the continent of Europe, gaining everywhere a +reputation for devil-may-care-dom and bitterness.</p> + +<p>And over many of these things he was thinking, as he sat in the garden +of the "Kapuziner." He thought, too, with something of amused +wistfulness of the Dick Lancaster that had once been himself,—the boy +that had suffered twinges of conscience at the thought of giving up a +Sunday to enjoyment, and had felt forever stained because of things that +now caused him little save ennui. Was it possible that he had once been +like that? Oh, yes, all things were possible; he had found that out +plainly enough. Indeed, he reflected, if it should happen to him that +the End came tomorrow, he would have the satisfaction of having lived +his life, completely, fully, even to satisfy, in half the time that most +men take for that task. Since that night, after a certain girl had told +him to "forget," he had spared himself in nothing that promised +entertainment. With the old restraints completely cast to the winds, +with nothing but studied recklessness as his Mentor, he had followed all +the promptings of that epicureanism that he now feigned to consider the +only philosophy.</p> + +<p>In all things he was fickle. Just as the artistic side of him tired +quickly of one place, one set of types, so his animal nature was +essentially of the dilettante rather than the enthusiast. Wherever he +saw a will-o'-the-wisp he followed; but it was no sooner caught than he +was repentant of his success. The taste of pleasure was of the briefest +to him; it turned to bitterness in a moment.</p> + +<p>And yet, he mused, with all his varied experiences, with the feeling of +satiety that sometimes overcame him from sheer excess of sensations, the +fascination of the town was still upon him. It was surely in his blood, +he speculated. He remembered with what passionate eagerness, after the +final shaking off of all the old consciences—all those moral skins +that he had shed, and left to rot, over there, in America—he had come +to the realization of the varied facets of that bewildering jewel, the +town.</p> + +<p>He shut his eyes to escape the glare of the noon-day, and evolve, behind +his closed lids, the aspect of the town after lamps are lit. The +constant current of humanity, of the swishing of the women's gowns as +they walked, the rattle of the cabs over the stones,—it all filled him +with a passion of pleasure. His young blood went more quickly at each +sight of that surging sea. The crowds going to the theatres and +music-halls; the shadows that flitted hawk-like about the corners; the +colors of the occasional uniforms; he drank in the picture thirstily. +Both the artist and the man were joined, too, in a passionate eagerness +for beauty; he had been known, in his folly as men may call it, to walk +a mile so that he might the more often meet an attractive face again. +The vision of a beautiful female figure, of a well-fitting gown, gave +him an almost painful joy; he felt that charm of mere feminity most +acutely and covetously.</p> + +<p>And yet, with all, he had been a lonely creature. His pleasures were +evanescent and he was ever constrained to browse upon fresh pastures. +From this novel experience, that colorful scene, and that delightful +companion he extracted the essence all too soon; and the dregs he ever +avoided. In his mind there was a gallery of places, faces and +voices—all loves of a moment.</p> + +<p>It was a cheerless train of thought that he found himself in. But, as he +sipped the pale <i>Mai-trank</i>, the glad reflection occurred that the world +was very large and that he had seen very little of it so far; there were +still plenty of things left that were new to him. Surprise would not die +for him just yet.</p> + +<p>He was watching the rainbows that glimpsed in and out of the streams of +cool water that the fountain, in the square, was sending up into the +sun-light. And as he was so engaged, there came to his ear the sound of +men's voices, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent.</p> + +<p>He turned about.</p> + +<p>One of the men was Wooton. As they came nearer, he recognized the other +as Laurence Stanley. They were coming directly toward the garden, and in +another instant they had seen him. Stanley put on his pince-nez. Then +they hurried up to him with a flourish of hands.</p> + +<p>"Why, God bless our home," laughed Wooton, "if here isn't our famous +young friend, Dick Lancaster, the talk of two continents! I'm glad to +see you, mighty glad."</p> + +<p>"Stanley," said Dick, after they had all shaken hands, "what are you +doing here? Where's Mrs. Stanley."</p> + +<p>"My boy, I'm enjoying myself. I presume Mrs. Stanley is doing the same. +For reasons not necessary of explanation to the mind capable in +deduction we are not, at this moment, breathing the air of the same +hemisphere."</p> + +<p>"Will you fellows take a bit of lunch? We ought to celebrate this +meeting with the famous, etcetera, etcetera," said Wooton.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Lancaster, a trifle coldly, "I'd just as soon you'd +drop that adjective business. Here's the bill of the play, Stanley." He +handed the carte-du-jour over.</p> + +<p>While they were discussing their luncheon, chatting of the various +causes that had brought them together, and recounting stories, and +adventures, Wooton rose solemnly, after a few moments of reflection, and +held out his hand to Lancaster. "I want to shake hands with you," he +declared, "as with a genuine thoroughbred. I've been listening to you, +watching you, and—but that was a long time ago,—hearing about you. +You're not the Lancaster I knew."</p> + +<p>But, for some strange reason, Lancaster did not hold out his hand. He +pretended to be engaged in lifting his glass to his lips. Then he said, +"I don't consider that a compliment."</p> + +<p>Wooton scowled a little to himself, but passed the matter off lightly +enough. "Well," he continued, "at any rate it does me good to see you. +How are they all? I've not been back in years, you know." The reason +for, and occasion of his exodus did not seem to touch him with the least +shade of annoyance.</p> + +<p>Lancaster looked at Stanley. "I'm not the man to say. I left there +almost a year ago. Stanley was still there then. Stanley, tell us the +news from home."</p> + +<p>"Yes," was Stanley's reply, "and a nice lot of speculation there was +about your sudden disappearance, Dick. There were all sorts of rumors. +Some of them hinted at affairs of the heart." He caught the look on +Dick's face, and stopped. "However, that's not to the point, I suppose +you're thinking? Well, now let me see: they're all about as usual, I +think, except, of course, Mrs. Stewart."</p> + +<p>The others both started a little.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Her husband died in January. She gave up the 'salon' of course; in +fact, I think she went abroad."</p> + +<p>Lancaster wondered what she would say to him, were they ever to meet. +She must have heard about his sudden leap into public notice, his +vagabondian ways, his reckless career. He became moody, abstracted. The +others were not slow to observe the change in him.</p> + +<p>"Stanley," said Wooton, "its time we left the great man to his thoughts. +He is evolving a new and fearful sketch. Hope we've not intruded." They +got up and were for leaving him, but he protested, and they all strolled +away together. He accompanied them to their hotel, and then sauntered +off for a stroll in the <i>Thiergarten</i>. He found a bench that gave him a +view of the sandy ditch wherein the children played all day long in the +sun-light, while their nurses sat placidly knitting or reading. It +attracted him immediately, this picture of the little bare-legged +youngsters in their quaint German attire, digging about in the sand, +shouting and laughing and fighting, and all living in the evergreen +country of make-believe.</p> + +<p>He began to draw some rough sketches. So engrossed was he that the sun +had sunk behind the trees before he remembered that he had promised his +two townsmen to go to the "Linden" theatre with them. He got up, looked +at his watch, and hailed a passing Taxometer.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h3> + + +<p>In the days that immediately followed, these three were together a great +deal. Presently Stanley drawlingly, announced that he would have to be +packing up; his bank account was getting low, he declared, and he would +be forced once more to bask in the sunshine of his wife's presence.</p> + +<p>The other two still stayed on. Berlin was just beginning to be amusing. +People were beginning to return from Marienbad, from Schwalbach, from +Heringsdorf. All the theatres were once more open. Summer was saying +goodbye.</p> + +<p>One day Wooton asked: "Of course you've seen Potsdam?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, then it's high time you did. Leaves beginning to fall and all +that sort of thing. The last chance. It's really very worth while. +Castles till you can't rest. Babelsberg, Sans-souci, and the New Palace. +To say nothing of a bit of Potsdam, near the Barberini Palace, that's +almost as good as Venice."</p> + +<p>They arranged to make the excursion the first sunny day, and had only to +wait until the sun rose again. They chose to travel by boat. It was a +splendid journey, in the bright sun-light, past the woods and rushes and +villas that skirt the little series of inland lakes between Spandau and +Potsdam. They left the steamer at the landing-stage for Babelsberg and +went leisurely through the grounds and the simple, comfortable, old +place. By the time a boatman had rowed them over to Potsdam, it was +luncheon time.</p> + +<p>They left the boat riding in the Venice-like waterway, and stepped +directly into the garden of the vine-covered, shady café that skirted +the water for quite a distance. Waiters were moving about and at tables +sat family parties, eating and drinking cheerily and honestly. It was +one of the things that enchanted Lancaster, this part of continental +life, this open-air freedom of taking one's glass of beer, this cheerful +way of supping out-doors <i>en famille</i>, of devoting to restaurant-garden +uses the most expensive corner-lots, of making the passing show of +strollers one of the sights that you paid for with your glass.</p> + +<p>They chose a table that directly overlooked the water-front. Behind them +lay the yellow shabbiness of the Barberini palace, that relic of a +king's devotion to a dancer. Below them gleamed the water. It was by no +means an unpicturesque spot.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Wooton, casually, as they were discussing the entree, +"I met a friend of your's last summer, a Miss Ware."</p> + +<p>"Oh." There was not much interest in Lancaster's tone, but Wooton helped +himself to the Rauenthaler and went on:</p> + +<p>"Yes. Rather a pleasant girl. Charmingly unsophisticated. Known her +long?"</p> + +<p>"We were children together."</p> + +<p>"Ah, then she's a country girl, so to say, eh? I thought so."</p> + +<p>Lancaster was deep in thought. The other continued to ply himself with +wine.</p> + +<p>"We had some charming days together," he went on, reminiscently. "She +amused me immensely. The Tremonts were staying at the same place then, +and I used to amuse myself contrasting that Tremont girl with Miss Ware. +The one was like an armor-plate, the other impressionable as wax."</p> + +<p>He began to smile to himself mysteriously. "Do have some of this +Rauenthaler Berg," he urged, effusively. "It's really capital!" He +ordered another bottle, and helped himself liberally. Lancaster was +scarcely heeding his companion. He was looking out over the water. For +once, he was forgetting to be amused.</p> + +<p>"As between two men of the world, you know," Wooton was saying, leaning +impressively on his elbow, "it may as well be understood that that +Tremont girl is the newest kind a new woman." "Know what she said to me +one day? 'The only thing I don't like about love is its consequences!' +Nice girls, these new women, eh?" He laughed softly and drank again. +Lancaster turned to watch him. The man was showing all the cad in him; +the wine was bringing it out. "Women, nowadays," Wooton went on, "make a +fad of everything except the homely virtues. They deliver lectures on +art, and literature, and posters, and music, and the redemption of the +fallen; but they never care for the staple virtues that bring happiness +to households. I'm not saying that I'm a model, not by a damned sight, +but I have my eyes open, and I think the woman of today is trying to +usurp, chiefly, man's prerogative of being a <i>roue</i> if he chooses. What +she needs is to go to a medical school. Then she knows the difference." +He crumbled a piece of bread, and flung it out to the swans that floated +down before them.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind telling you," he continued, confidentially, "that they +were both in love with me, Miss Tremont and Miss Ware. In Miss Tremont's +case, I naturally, had no scruples at all. The fact is, I think she took +the initiative." He stopped, smiling significantly, and sipping at the +yellow wine.</p> + +<p>Lancaster's eyes were glowing with anger. The man's brutality was so +disgusting! Not that there was anything surprising in these wine-woven +statements, for a man who could welch his debts in the way Wooton did, +two years ago, was hardly a man to suffer from scruples of any sort; but +the very fact of having the names of people well-known to him brought up +in this way was nauseating to Lancaster.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you drink some of this wine?" Wooton was holding the bottle +across the table. "No? You're missing something good, you can bet on +that! Wine is the way to forgetfulness, and most men would sell their +souls to be able to forget. Don't you agree with me? That's right." He +leered fatuously at his companion. "I've always liked you, y'know, +Lancaster, always liked you. Friend of mine, yessir, friend of mine; you +bet! Great artist, too, proud to know you. But, oh Scott! what a simple +sort of idiot you were when you first came to town! You'll excuse my +candor; friend of your's, I am, yessir, friend of yours." He proceeded +to watch the swans that glided past them, rippling the smooth water +gracefully. "Beautiful creature," he drawled in drunken sentimentality, +"beautiful creature! Reminds me of that girl's neck,—that girl I kissed +in Schandau. Beautiful neck, Lancaster, beautiful neck! White, and +smooth, and soft, Moreover, she had the most adorable lips; +extraordinarily sweet, I assure you. Lancaster, I understand you've been +rioting all over this continent, you dog you; but I defy you to say you +kissed any sweeter lips than those. I defy you to—!" He sank back into +his chair, chuckling to himself. "Excuse me, didn't mean to be so +energetic. Excuse me."</p> + +<p>Lancaster half turned his head away from the man and looked out over the +water. Where the canal widened out into the lake a crowd of youths were +amusing themselves in diving from a considerable height; the sun flashed +for one instant on each white body as it gleamed through the air down +into the cool canal. From across the water came the voices of sightseers +and pleasure-finders. Closer at hand, in the very garden they sat in, +the occasional clirring of a sword over the gravel denoted the entrance +or exit of an officer; in the warm sun-light all these things combined +to make a delightful impressionistic scene. Lancaster turned to it as a +relief from his companion.</p> + +<p>But Wooton, with the growing persistence of intoxication, was heedless +of the other's indifference. He began again, maunderingly:</p> + +<p>"I don't deny, y'know, that there's an attraction about the woman of +experience. Not for a minute! extremely fascinating person, woman of +experience. As good as a comedy to make love to her. But the women of +experience grow old, very old; while the fresh young sprigs of girlhood +never grow old." He chuckled again. "No; they never grow old. They grow +into experienced women. Axiom: I prefer the fresh flower of innocence +because it never grows old. Sometimes, sometimes it withers. To wither +innocence is one of the most fascinating games in the world. I wonder +how often the average man of the world has played that game in his +life?" He helped himself to the wine again, and looked at it lovingly as +it gleamed yellow between him and the sun. "You really should let me +pour you out some of this excellent vintage," he said, oilily smiling +upon Lancaster, "you really should. There is a deal of philosophy in +it."</p> + +<p>Lancaster was now watching the fellow in an increase of amused +attention. With the inflow of the wine the man's mood changed, from a +species of maudlin sentimentality to an extravagantly ornate loquacity.</p> + +<p>"Philosophy is one of the fairest jewels on the robe of fortune. In +misfortune it is marked worthless collateral. When we are well off, we +philosophize; when we are hard up we curse philosophy. Wine is the only +real philosopher. Do you know, I consider your abstinence, disgraceful, +positively disgraceful. It argues an unphilosophic mind.... There's that +swan, again! Beautiful neck. Such grace! And yet, I prefer the other +one. The other one had a beautiful face, as well as a glorious neck. +Moreover, the taste of those lips was positively intoxicating." He +looked solemnly at the glass of wine before him, and declared, +impressively: "As between the two, do you know, I actually believe I +prefer the lips?" He gulped at the liquor again. His eyes strayed +dreamily into an abstracted stare. "Dear Dorothy!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?" Lancaster started savagely. He thought he might not +have heard aright.</p> + +<p>The other blandly continued. "I said 'Dear Dorothy!' That was her name, +you know. Her name is almost as sweet as her kisses. Dorothy" he +lingered over the syllables—"Dorothy Ware."</p> + +<p>"What!" Lancaster half sprung up from his chair. Then he curbed himself, +with intense efforts, to calmness. "Did I understand you to say that it +was Miss Dorothy Ware?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear boy. Most correct. Oh, yes; remember now: friend of +your's. Recommend your taste, my boy, I really do. She—"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" Lancaster's voice had grown hard and chill. "Do you mean to +say that—all that—is true?"</p> + +<p>Wooton noticed the other's repressed agitation, and it quickened this +mischief in him. "Most exactly true. Are you—can it be?—are you, h'm, +jealous? My dear boy, go in and win; I clear the field. I—only harvest +once." He laughed at the thought. And then, in a second, his laughter +choked to a rattling gurgle in his throat.</p> + +<p>Lancaster had sprung up, white and trembling with rage, and stood over +him, squeezing the breath out of the fellow's windpipe. "You drunken, +hideous hound you," he crunched from between his teeth, "you rifler of +reputations, you damnable dog!" He stopped. His rage scarcely permitted +words. "You're drunk, damn you, and you're a puny little brute, so I +can't whip you as you should be whipped. But if you don't take that +back, if you don't say you lied—I'll—give your burning head the +cooling it deserves." He eased his hold on the other's throat for a +time. Wooton glared at him, breathlessly, with a fantastically ugly +sneer attempting lodgment on the lips that still writhed for air.</p> + +<p>"Say you lied!" Lancaster loomed over him in tremendous wrath.</p> + +<p>Wooton glared doggedly. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he managed to +whisper. His left hand was sliding along the table to where the glass, +half full of wine, stood. Suddenly he gripped it and with a wrench, +splashed up the contents and the glass, full into Lancaster's face. The +crystal shattered on the artist's chin, fortunately, and so did but +little harm. Before the crash of the breaking glass was stilled, and the +wine spent, Lancaster's hands were about the other's throat again; he +gave a swing, viciously, and flung the body completely over the low +railing.</p> + +<p>It splashed into the still waters noisily. The swans swam away for a +moment, then returned in curiosity. As Wooton came to the surface, he +screamed out an oath and a cry for help. There was a boatman at the +water-steps of the adjoining café, and in a few minutes he had pulled +the choking man out of the water.</p> + +<p>Wooton glared up to where Lancaster stood, still hot with anger. "Damn +him," he thought, "if he were not so much stronger than I—" But the +thought prevailed, and he told the boatman to row further down the +canal.</p> + +<p>To the waiters who had rushed up, Lancaster had been very cool. "<i>Es +handelt sich um eine Wette</i>" he assured them. The whole thing had been +so swift, so silent, that up to the moment of the splash in the water, +there had been no eye-witnesses. He smiled at the waiters, paying his +bill, and leaving a liberal <i>trinkgeld</i>. "<i>Mein freund hat die wette +gewonnen</i>." Then he sauntered out with a final fierce glance in the +direction of the boat that was turning the corner in the far distance, +bearing away the scoundrelisms that lived in Wooton.</p> + +<p>When he reached the marble circle of the fountain in the gardens of +Sans-souci, Lancaster stopped, and addressed the spray, bitterly: "So +that was why I was refused? Well, well! It seems, as I said a little +while ago, that there are still new emotions in store for me." He +watched the spray turn to mist that was almost invisible. "That is the +way with ideals," he mused. Then he turned with a laugh in the direction +of the terraces. "How absurd he looked, in the water!" He went on, +laughing quietly.</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h3> + + +<p>The late John Stewart had, in his lifetime, achieved the distinction of +being a model husband. He was devoted to his wife in more senses of the +word than one; he was content to appear stupid so she might shine the +more; content to slave at Mammon's shrine for his wife's sake. His fund +of patience, of tolerance, of faith, had been infinite. It was in return +for these things that his wife, as he lay in the dying moments of +typhoid, whispered to him, with a tremendous suspicion that she had +seemed blind to much of her fortune, "John, dear John, you musn't go, +not yet. I—I—"</p> + +<p>And though John assured her that he was going to get well, the next day +found the promise broken.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart, after his death, realized all that he had been to her, all +that she, except in his loving fancy, had not been to him. And brooding +over such recollections she began to feel the ban of morbidness, the old +rooms, the dear, familiar haunts that had once known his voice, were +peopled now with sadness, and she resolved to seek escape, for a time at +least, from these living voices of a silenced lip. She had some cousins +in London; she determined to travel, to visit them. With her went her +nearer cousin, Miss Leigh, whose whimsical, cynical sincerities she +loved the while she combated them.</p> + +<p>So, in the spring, they found themselves in London, then harboring the +whirl of society at its swiftest. But that had palled on Mrs. Stewart, +and she dragged Miss Leigh off for an apparently aimless tour through +Wales, and the Lake district, and on up to Scotland.</p> + +<p>September found them in St. Andrews.</p> + +<p>Although it was one of the months that constitute the "short season" of +that dear old academic village, it was easily possible to escape the +crowds of golf-enthusiasts that studded the links with their glaringly +colorful costumes. The old castle, the ruins of the cathedral, the +legends of the historic, bloody occurrences that had taken place here +for religion's sake,—all these were full of charms to these two +American women, saturated, as is nearly all that Nation, with a +peculiar, wistful reverence for things antique.</p> + +<p>There were drives, too, that gave opportunities for enjoyment of the +Scotch autumn scenery. Along the banks of the Tay, with the solemn +Crampians showing dim in the distance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart loved to sit in the silent coolness of the college +quadrangles and dream. It seemed to her that only for such places were +dreams fit companions.</p> + +<p>One day, they were sitting together on the turf that once had marked a +cathedral wall. Miss Leigh was reading; Mrs. Stewart idly watching the +breakers roll up to the cliffs.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>The two ladies looked up, and turned to find Lancaster standing before +them, with his hat off and a look of amused surprise on his face.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Stewart, shaking hands heartily, "the world is small +as ever, is it not? It's like home, seeing you!"</p> + +<p>"It strikes me the same way." He sat down beside them. They noticed that +he was browned and furrowed; the marks of travel, the brace of different +climes, the scars caught in the thick of life's battle were all sharply +dominant in his externals.</p> + +<p>"We ought to feel honored," smiled Miss Leigh. "You are such a celebrity +nowadays! We have heard the most weird anecdotes about you of late, you +know. You are pictured as the Sphinx and the Chimera in one."</p> + +<p>"You are still," he answered, "as cruel as ever."</p> + +<p>"But we really feel very proud of you," said Mrs. Stewart. "We know each +other too well, I hope, to veil our honest opinions. I admire your work +immensely; but I think you're terribly bitter sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Ah," he laughed gently, "I'm glad it strikes you that way. Bitterness +is the only taste that lives after a complete course of life. But we +really must talk of something less embarassing than myself. Do tell me +the news! How are all the dear familiars?" He paused, and lowered his +voice a little. "If it pains you," he said gently, "let us talk of other +things. I—have heard. Believe me, I am sorry, very sorry. It is a poor +word, but—" he stopped as she looked up at him gratefully for an +instant, and then said with an effort at cheerfulness:</p> + +<p>"Oh, they were all well, when we left."</p> + +<p>"Yes," put in Miss Leigh, "and doing about the same old things. Mr. +Wreath still expounds, in and out of season, the doctrine of his own +surpassingly correct theories on veritism in literature; and +incidentally takes all occasions to assail the sincerity of every other +living writer. He's an amusing man, and if he had only been given a +sense of honor he would find himself an ever re-direct jest. Clarence +Miller has written another novel, and all society is wondering whether +it will be translated into Magyar or Mongolian. He calls it 'Five Loaves +and Two Fishes.' His brother-in-law has composed another comic opera +that some people have the originality to declare original. And—but why +continue the catalogue? It's just the same ridiculous circus it ever +was."</p> + +<p>Lancaster laughed. "Thank you. That's really a volume in a nutshell. I +wonder if the performers in that circus really know how amusing they +are?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stewart, "but they keep it up nevertheless. Of +course, it's only when one gets away from it that one really gets the +most entertaining focus on that sort of a thing. I'm sure," she sighed, +"I don't seem to belong to those ranks at all, now." She shivered a +little. The sun was setting, and a chill breeze blowing off the sea. +"I'm afraid we must go," she said, rising, "but you must be sure and +come to see us." She gave Lancaster a small card, and then, with smiles +and bows, and rustling of skirts, they were gone.</p> + +<p>In the weeks that followed Lancaster availed himself of the privilege +accorded in Mrs. Stewart's invitation as often as possible. The three +were together almost daily, if only for a few moments. Lancaster was +busily employed, the while, in fixing in black-and-white some of the +types and features that prevailed in this fashionable corner of Fife. +The London and Paris journals soon gave evidences of his industry. +Fortunately, but few of these papers found their way to St. Andrews, and +Lancaster's love of incognito was not disturbed. Sometimes the artist +would disappear for days; a fishing-boat would be his hope for the time, +and he would drink in the free winds of the sea, and the passing joy of +that toilsome life of the fishermen. The winds and the freshness of the +life were like a tonic to him, but he knew that it would presently pall +and he would give way to the fever for the metropolitan whirlpool.</p> + +<p>Occasionally Miss Leigh preferred to remain in her apartments, leaving +Mrs. Stewart to stroll along the links alone with the young artist. "Do +you know," remarked Mrs. Stewart, on one such occasion, "that my +cousin's tremendously fond of you?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster looked up in surprise: Then he gave a short laugh. "She's +tremendously mistaken," he said, "I'm not the sort that anyone should be +fond of—now." He looked out over the sea. "There goes a steamer. I +suppose it's the Aberdeen boat." He watched it wistfully.</p> + +<p>"She thinks," continued Mrs. Stewart, heedless of his abstraction, "that +you are a young man much to be envied. Already you have a name that is +known far and wide, and all life is yet before you. She—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted, bitterly: "Life is all behind me, you should say. All, +all! I have tried everything, the good and the evil. The one broke my +belief in all things; the other gives me the belief that the only thing +to do is to laugh. Strange! I heard that phrase first in your +drawing-room, Mrs. Stewart! Suppose we sit down. These rocks are +fashioned delightfully for easy chairs."</p> + +<p>The sun was burnishing the water with a lustre of copper. The sea-gulls +moaned as they circled about hungrily. The breakers hissed sullenly +below them.</p> + +<p>"My philosophy," he went on, after he had seen that Mrs. Stewart was +comfortably seated, "is very simple, now. Laugh! That is the text of +it."</p> + +<p>She mused in silence. "You used to be so different," she murmured, +presently. "You were, not so long ago, at the other extreme. You thought +everything was solemn, awful, important, that there were majestic duties +in life, splendid obligations, and splendid things to live for. +Now,—you say it is all a jest, and the only thing to do is to laugh. I +think you have had too much curiosity."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. Curiosity is a guide that takes us into a labyrinth and leaves +us there. But why," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "why must we +be forever talking of this hapless personage, me? Suppose we talk, +instead, of you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. You are the interesting one. You are a study. I should like to +help you. I think you are doing yourself an injustice: letting yourself +drift as you are. Your fame, alone, won't bring you happiness."</p> + +<p>"I'm not expecting happiness."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stewart watched his face, hard set, with it's bitter drop to the +right corner of the mouth, and something of pity came to her. "Once," +she went on, "it seemed to me that there was a woman who meant for you +the same thing as happiness."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." His voice was as hard as before. "That was a very long time +ago,—counting by experiences. Why talk of marriage? I don't think I +could stand it for an instant; I don't think any woman could stand me. +As I once was—that was different."</p> + +<p>"Some women are very patient."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And then I should go mad until they came out of their deadly +patience into something more exciting. A woman's fury would amuse me +vastly, I think." He twisted his stick into the rocks, and outlined +vague designs in the sandstone. "Why, supposing, for the sake of the +argument, that I asked you to marry me, you would, I am sure, consider +me a madman to expect you to make such a fool of yourself?"</p> + +<p>She flushed slightly. "Merely for the sake of the argument, I don't say +that I would do anything of the sort. I might consider it ill-timed, +inconsiderate."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I beg your pardon, humbly. I realize that deeply. Merely, I said, +for the sake of the argument. I want to show you the utter hopelessness +of my position. Suppose then, that I asked you that question, what would +you tell yourself? That I was a man, young in years, old in experiences, +soured in thought and taste, bitter in mind, selfish, a slave to the +most egoistic of epicureanisms. A man who considers nothing too sacred +for laughter, or too ridiculous for tears. A man who is a perpetual +evidence of the corroding influences of flippancy; whose very art, even, +is merely a means for amusement. No,—you, clever, shrewd, adaptable +woman of the world though you are, would realize at once that to enter +into a life-partnership with a man of that sort were to invite immediate +misery. Think: the man would be ungovernable, save by his moods; when he +should be at home acting as host to a dinner-party he would be tramping +the moors in a wild passion for solitude? A man who would perpetually +fling at his wife the most mordant of sarcasms, merely for the pleasure +they caused his powers of creation. If a biting jest came to him, he +would hurl it at his wife, without malice, but because she happened to +be present. Not even the cleverest woman in the world can decide between +the words and the motive in a case like that. No; this man has fed too +much on the lees of disenchantment to be himself aught but a sorry-devil +of a jester."</p> + +<p>She signed. "You have the modern disease in terrible +development—self-analysis. It seems to me to be quite as cruel as +vivisection. And I think you exaggerate your vices. After all—I may +speak frankly, may I not? I am a woman that has ever kept her eyes +open—you represent nothing so very dreadful. You are young, impetuous; +you have had the bandages of stern puritanism roughly torn from you, and +you have had a little of what the world calls 'your fling!' You realize +yourself far too much. You are not one whit worse than others. All men +worship, for a time, at the shrine of their animal natures, I suppose. +But instead of letting the thought of it all drive you further and +further into bitterness, why not resolve to shake off the whole cloak, +and put it back into the limbo of thinks henceforth to be avoided?" She +paused, and looked at him with a smile. "Get married. I believe, in +spite of your fears, that you will make a good husband. Believe me, you +will be a much better one than if you had never taught yourself the +revolting nausea that the other side of life brings."</p> + +<p>"Marry?" he repeated, "why do you harp on that? I tell you, there is no +one, no one at all! Unless—" he looked over the breakers to the setting +sun, "unless there were a woman somewhere that could understand and +forgive. A woman that knew something of the world, of the stings of +experience and the hollowness of hope. With a woman like that I might +become the owner of the new youth, might sink all these bitternesses, +live earnest in ambition and.... But there is no such woman, none...." A +sudden light flashed into his eyes, and with passion he continued, +"Except-yourself. Yes—you are the only one. You know; you understand. +Oh, listen to me, listen! Why tell me that this is a sacrilege, an +insult to a memory. Do you suppose I don't know that? I do; I feel it +deeply; but I also feel that I am pleading for a helping hand, that I +see in you the only chance of safety, that you mean for me a new life, +and that I must tell you so now, before the opportunity is gone. Oh, +don't tell me I'm a coward—I know that, too, well enough. I confess it; +I am a coward, a broken-hearted cur." He groaned, and getting up, began +to walk slowly up and down before her. "Is it so impossible? I +would—you yourself admitted that hope!—improve. Is there no hope?"</p> + +<p>"What a boy you are, what a boy! You have all the headstrong, passionate +eagerness of youth, and yet you pretend to play the wearied liver of +many lives! No, Dick," her voice grew gentler, and it came to him like a +pleasant harmony, "we will do nothing so foolish. You and I are always +to be very good friends, and we will help each other always, but not +that, not that! You are too young; regret would come to you all too +soon. No matter how nicely each of us were to fashion his or her temper +to the other's, there would come that thought: for the hope of mere +comfort I have sacrificed an idol. For, Dick, think, think! Dorothy +Ware! Do you think I have not watched you, found you out long ago? What +was it, Dick, a tiff? A refusal?"</p> + +<p>He stopped in his sentry-go, and began to whistle, softly, '<i>La donna e +Mobile</i>.' "I—I beg your pardon," he added, hastily, "I fear I forget my +manners. Was it a refusal? you ask. Well,—perhaps, perhaps not. At the +time, I thought it was. Since then I have found out things—things—Bah, +what does it matter!"</p> + +<p>"Go on," she said, "tell me!"</p> + +<p>"In Germany, I met Wooton—"</p> + +<p>She interrupted. "Ah, yes; I remember a terrible cruel picture you drew +of a man at a café table, drinking. It was his face, unmistakably. Why +did you do that?"</p> + +<p>"That was—only an afterthought. Well, he had been—drinking, and he +talked a good deal. Some of it was about Miss Ware."</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence.</p> + +<p>Then "And you believed it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"At the time, no. Lord knows I did not want to. But, afterward, I +remembered the look on her face when she gave me that last refusal. It +was a strange look; it meant more than I could account for, at that +time. Yes," he sighed, "I believe it. Why shouldn't I? I know how vile a +man may be; be a woman only half as weak, or half as 'new,' and she is +a thing for loathing."</p> + +<p>"Hush! What a conventional man it is, after all. Always the same old +tune, one thing for the man, another for the woman! Listen: I know +Dorothy Ware, better, perhaps, than you do; I know her later self, you +only know her as a child. There are great points of similarity between +you two. She has much of your absurd sensitiveness; self-torment is one +of her vices. She is very much given to making mountains out of +molehills. She—"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he interrupted, wearily, "I tell you I believe it. All, all of +it!"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, somewhat angrily, "and suppose you do! What then! Who +are you, that you should judge?"</p> + +<p>He winced slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, of course, of +course; I've heard all about that. But it won't do, in practice."</p> + +<p>"Won't it? Let us put the cases plainly, for comparison's sake: You are +a young man that has had more than his share of selfish indulgence; you +have thrown aside all scruples and done everything and anything you +pleased. Your actual transgressions of the commandments we will waive; +there is a greater crime: you have allowed yourself to become a soured, +bitter, heartless creature, fit only to disseminate scorn and distaste. +She, the woman in the case, once, we will say, allowed her senses to +oust her sense. Ever since, she has suffered agonies of regret. Unlike +the man she has not told herself that she might as well let fate have +it's play out. She is as sweet as the dew of Maytime, and the slight +trace of sadness only needs the touch of love to fall and almost fade. I +think she loves you; I am not sure—she is a woman, and it is hard to +say. As for you, in spite of everything, you love her. You coward! Why +don't you ask her again? She will tell you that it is impossible, of +course. She will say there was once another. Then, unless you are a +greater coward than I think you, you will tell her that compared to +yourself she is as pure as the driven snow, and you want nothing, only +her forgiveness for yourself."</p> + +<p>He was still stubborn. "It is the old story," he said, "one has heard it +all before. The woman is to be put on a par with the man; there is no +actual difference in ethics. But I once saw it tried; I shudder when I +think of it. To be sure—the woman was notorious."</p> + +<p>"Ah! How can you compare the cases? And yet—" she laughed a trifle +bitterly,—"in this case the man is notorious." She watched him wince +under the callousness of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Think," she continued, "what she could be to you, how she could help +you; how you could help each other! The happy days and dreams together, +the planning for new artistic achievements, the sweet companionship of a +soul capable of understanding! Instead of—what? Fierce flights into +forgetfulness; pursuits of vanishing pleasures, palling desires; short +triumphs in art merged into long revulsions from life! It seems, to me, +a fair exchange!" She rose, as if to end the subject. He put her shawl +about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back to the village, talking +of other things, gaily, lightly, insincerely.</p> + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + + +<p>Lancaster said goodbye on the following morning, and by noon he was in +Edinboro'. At the Travelers' club he found a letter from the firm of +publishers, at home, that had lately been using a great many of his +sketches. They took the liberty of informing him that owing to the +popularity of his work they had thought proper to open an exhibition of +his original sketches in the Museum Art Galleries. While they were aware +that possession of these originals was entirely vested in themselves, +they had decided to lay aside a share of the receipts from the +exhibition and sale for him, as a courtesy royalty. Lancaster folded the +letter up, drummed on the table for a second or two, and then went out +to get a paper. It had occurred to him that, if he sailed for home at +once, he could reach there before the exhibition closed. It would be a +grim bit of humor to appear there in person, and listen to the comments +of the very people who, a year ago, would have considered him and his +work beneath their notice. Now, with a European reputation, his stock, +so to put it, had gone far beyond par in his native country. +Besides,—the memory of the things that Mrs. Stewart had said to him +refused to pass from him—there was Dorothy! He would see her again; he +would put his fate to the touch once more.</p> + +<p>It had been a white night that had passed between his conversation with +Mrs. Stewart and his departure from St. Andrews. He had lain awake +listening to the hissing of the sea over the rocks, and recounting the +arguments that affected his feelings toward Miss Ware. Now, it had +seemed to him that she represented for him the one chance of happiness; +that the touch of sadness that had come to her would make her but the +more merciful to his own past. Then, again, the old bitterness, the old +distaste came; he could not escape the thought that the old conventions +teach, that one step aside means, for the woman, eternal disgrace. Well, +and even if the old conventions said so a thousand times, were they to +bind him now, when they had so long been thrust away by him in scorn? At +any rate, the torment of these conflicting thoughts was to be avoided. +He must decide upon one attempt or another—the return home and the +repetition of a certain question, or the effort to continue more +steadfast than ever in the philosophy of laughter.</p> + +<p>He decided for the return to America.</p> + +<p>No boat left Liverpool for two days. In the interval he roamed about the +most beautiful city in Scotland, enjoying the memories and pictures of +the past that Holyrood, the old Castle, and John Knox's house brought +up. The autumn sun turned Prince's Street Gardens, and the Scott +Monument into a green and gold and flowered picture that he remembered +no equal to, in his wanderings through the capitals of Europe, Prince's +Street, he maintained, was the prettiest thoroughfare in the world. He +left it with regret.</p> + +<p>His voyage across the Atlantic merely gave him material for a study of +the gowns adopted by the fair ocean travelers, and several chances for +cynical representations of the humors of upper-deck flirtations. +Otherwise his journey was as monotonous as the luxuriance of the modern +travel could make it.</p> + +<p>It was morning, when after another fatiguing journey by rail, he reached +the metropolis that held so many mixed memories for him. He went +straight to the Philistine club, and took some rooms there. The servants +hardly knew him. He had, it was true, changed a great deal. He was +browner, thinner; there were deep lines about his eyes and mouth.</p> + +<p>The first man he met in the smoking-room, after he had refreshed himself +with a bath and a lunch, was Vanstruther.</p> + +<p>"Why," said that gentleman, after a long, puzzled look, "dashed if it +isn't Dick Lancaster!" "Come into the light, most noble genius, and let +me gaze upon you. You—you put bright crimson tints on all the effete +European cities, didn't you? I declare it's good to see you again! +You've seemed a good deal like a myth lately, you know; no one ever +seemed to know just where you were, or whether you were alive at all."</p> + +<p>They walked up and down the room, asking and answering such pleasant +questions as come between two familiars after a long absence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's not much change," Vanstruther was explaining, "except in +yourself. You'll be no end of a lion, I'm afraid. Have to do a couple of +paragraphs about you myself, just to scoop the other fellows. Give me a +text or two. Oh, but you have hit the fad in the exact centre, somehow! +I'm not saying a thing against the real value of your stuff, but the +fact remains that this whole blessed nation is fad-mad just now, and it +simply has got to have a fad or quit. Your European reputation came +along just about the time the fad for the newest English novel was +dying. You went, so to say, with a whoop. One can't pick up a Sunday +paper now but what one finds weird, impossible interviews with you; +descriptions of your favorite models, or reproductions of your newest +sketch. You are depicted as the founder of a new style; they talk of +women as being "Lancaster-like," and you are a pest generally. In print, +I mean, of course, only in print. You are about to furnish my own dear +self with material for about a column, so I shouldn't call you a pest; +but from the standpoint of the reader, rather than the penny-a-liner, I +abhor you!" He made a gesture of aversion, laughingly.</p> + +<p>"You want to know about the old guard, do you? Well, Stanley is still +the same dismal distiller of cynicisms that he ever was; his trip abroad +only seems to have made him worse. Belden? Oh, he plods along in the +same old way, drawing bloody battles for the dailies, and making all +creation look like the prize-ring 'toughs.' We have the same old Sunday +evenings up at his house, too; his wife's turned out well, as far as one +can see. He certainly doesn't look unhappy. We were all up there not +long ago, Marsboro, Stanley and myself. Mind you, I never take Mrs. Van. +I'm about the same as ever, too. I've got a blood-curdling dime-novel on +the stocks just now, and the 'season' is beginning for the winter, so +I'm not likely to have much time for idle trifling for a while. Oh,—did +you see Mrs. Stewart while you were abroad? Thanks! That'll be another +scoop on the rest of the society editors. Hallo! three o'clock,—got to +be off to the office—see you again!" He rushed off, leaving Lancaster +smiling at his frank, jerky sentences.</p> + +<p>Lancaster sat down and took up the morning paper. Before long the +advertisement of his exhibition at the museum met his eyes. It occurred +to him that if what Vanstruther had said was only in part true, it would +be wise for him to go and take a peep at the show this very afternoon, +before people knew he was in town.</p> + +<p>The place was crowded with well-dressed men and women. They flowed in +and out in a constant stream. They held catalogues in their hands, and +chatted volubly. In front of one picture, whereon was depicted a London +music-hall scene, there was an especially large gathering.</p> + +<p>"He's so dreadfully cynical, don't you think so?" one man was saying to +the girl that was with him. "I really think he ought to be called a +caricaturist."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but, after all, it's nearly all true, you know. Look at the +expression on that gallery-god's face, will you!"</p> + +<p>"Wonder what sort of a chap he is personally?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—impossible, I suppose. Although I ought not to say that; nothing is +impossible nowadays, there never was such a run on intellect. I never +saw anything like it! It positively seems as if society was +intellect-mad. Singers, actors, painters, writers—all sorts of queer +people go everywhere now, and that isn't the worst of it! The society +people won't be content with just playing at 'society' as they used to: +they want to sing, and paint, and write, too! It's awful! I'll have to +go on the stage, or something of that sort, myself, if I want to keep up +with the procession."</p> + +<p>Lancaster moved away from that corner. It was amusing, certainly; but it +was also painful. What pleased him more than the overheard conversations +were the little labels, displaying the word "SOLD" that decorated many +of his sketches. It was balm to him to think that these moneybags, these +puppets mumbling set phrases, were being despoiled of some of their +wealth for his sake.</p> + +<p>Walking over to the wall whereon hung the sketch for which Wooton had +been the unconscious model, Lancaster heard a voice that seemed +familiar.</p> + +<p>"It certainly looks like him," the voice was saying. "That would be a +wanton brutality."</p> + +<p>It was Miss Tremont. Lancaster flushed angrily. What had she to judge +by? It was Mrs. Tremont who was accompanying her daughter; the elder +lady moved away, that moment, to speak to an acquaintance. Miss Tremont +remained in front of the picture of the drunkard, her brows moving +nervously.</p> + +<p>Lancaster stepped close up to her.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," he said quietly, but distinctly, "I should go and look +after him. He needs it."</p> + +<p>The girl started quickly, turned momentarily pale, and then, seeing who +it was, nerved herself to stony calmness. "How dare you?" she said +twisting her catalogue into shapelessness.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed, "I really mean it for the best. As you see—" he +looked sneeringly at the sketch—"he's not the pink of sobriety. And +when he drinks, he talks a good deal. He sometimes talks about—you, for +instance." He paused and seemed engrossed in nothing save the smoothing +out of the wrinkles in his gloves.</p> + +<p>"You coward!" If intention could have killed, Miss Tremont's eyes +committed murder.</p> + +<p>"True; I fear for you both. And I take such an interest in you! But I +believe he will make an excellent husband—for you!" He lifted his hat, +with a fleeting mockery of a smile, and left her before the picture, +staring, trembling.</p> + +<p>"That," he told himself, "was wanton brutality number two. But she +should not have judged me!"</p> + +<p>He left the galleries, taking with him a feeling of scorn for himself, +that he should have put himself on the level of the praise or blame of +the fadists in such a public way. Yet, he reflected, it had been not of +his own seeking.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was already touched with the darkening shadow of evening. +The town roared and hissed and seethed in all it's wonted fervor; the +chill-hardness of its material manners were painfully evident to +Lancaster as he came from the comparative quiet of the +picture-galleries. He contrasted the grim roar of the place with the +smiling, careless, jovial glitter of those other towns he had lately +enjoyed; for the bright cheer of the boulevards and the gardens and the +open-air café's he found the skypiercing buildings that shut out the +sun-light, hemmed in masses of money-mad humanity, and extended +apparently to all the horizons. For the strolling gayety he had grown to +love so; for the ever-changing current of picturesque triflers, idlers +and dandies,—he had received in exchange a breathless surge of anxious, +nervous, straining men and women, plunging wildly down the slopes to an +imaginary sea of gold. Something of the old repulsion made itself felt +in him; he foresaw that it would never again be possible for him to +endure life here. That other glittering, careless, joyous +maelstrom,—perhaps; this one, never! He realized that while for future +generations it was possible, for himself the hope of finding an American +metropolis tinged with aught but the feverish strivings after riches was +utterly vain. He tried to argue with himself about it; to persuade +himself that it was a nobler sign, this one of the masses all honest in +labor and in pursuit of it's fruits, than the evidences of inherited +wealth, or quiet content with small means, that were the prevailing +notes of older countries. But he failed. His temperament rebelled; he +loved the smooth, the finished sides of life; the artist in him rebelled +against the commercialism of his native haunts. If it should be the +decree of fate that he continue to seek out life's most distracting +enchantments, he would certainly have to bid his native land farewell +again. If there were anything else in store for him; if it happened that +he be required by Dame Chance to do something more serious than to +laugh, to laugh, and laugh—well, that consideration would bear +postponement.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him, as he walked through the streets that were now +beginning to glitter with the white and yellow lights born of +electricity and gas, that these faces were the same faces always, that +there was never any change, from year to year, in the puppets that +paraded on this urban stage. A thousand differing types, to be sure; but +always the same in their hard, tense, sinister look of restraint; all +wore the same tiring eyes, the same rounded shoulders. The same fierce +passion for excitement swam in the eyes of the women. In his morbidness +he fancied that it was as if all these city-dwellers were +life-prisoners, condemned forever to walk, and mumble and laugh shrilly.</p> + +<p>"The metropolis," he told himself, "is a maelstrom that never gives up +it's human prisoners: it merely changes their cells occasionally." At +which reflection he presently laughed. The old text came to him: "The +thing to do is to laugh!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he thought, "but it's harder here than anywhere else. Much +harder."</p> + +<p>Arrived at the club, he ordered dinner, and in the short interval, set +down to write a letter to his mother. For the many months of his absence +abroad he had contented himself with sending her occasional newspapers, +the briefest of notes, and illustrated magazines. In none of these +missives had there ever been the real personal, familiar note. He had +given merely the scantest news of his whereabouts and his well-being. In +the life and the philosophy he had chosen there was little room for +comradeships, even with his own mother. Now, however, with the distance +between them so vastly less, he felt again some of the old affections +that he had thought to have slain with laughter. In any event, he wrote, +whether he decided to remain on this or that continent, he would pay +Lincolnville a visit presently. They would have that dear, delightful +talk that the months had despoiled them of.</p> + +<p>As he stepped into the dining-room, Vanstruther nailed him. "Saw a +friend of yours just now, Dick," he said, "Miss Ware!"</p> + +<p>"Ah," was the reply, given in apparent abstraction, "they still live +here then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Dick did it ever occur to you that she's a devilish pretty girl?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here, Van," said Dick, laughingly, "I came to feed on solids, +not the lilies of your imagination. The prettiest thing in the world to +me, at this date, is a good dinner."</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h3> + + +<p>It is impossible, even for the most harassed of human beings, to be +entirely pessimistic after a dinner that had been well prepared, +tastefully served, and finely appreciated. With the coffee and the +liqueur a warm glow of pleasant sentiment is sure to invade the dinner; +the dismal reflections that harrowed his soul an hour ago have fled at +the approach of that self-satisfied feeling that marks the man that has +dined.</p> + +<p>By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded +in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter +that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and +was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended +interview with Dorothy Ware.</p> + +<p>It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved +him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she +did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture +all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need +matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the +question: What art thou?</p> + +<p>He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was +changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for +pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying +to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through +the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness +of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing +and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, +skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more +as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade.</p> + +<p>It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to +head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza +whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his +card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness +of all other things—and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the +driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the +accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a +little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, +were so absurdly insignificant!</p> + +<p>When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when +Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon +it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an +entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, +paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders.</p> + +<p>But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. +Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the +driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such +an occasion.</p> + +<p>But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and +wistful happiness shining in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a +will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back +to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell +reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something +in return."</p> + +<p>"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion +should bring out such a lion!"</p> + +<p>"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know—anything about +me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else—anyone! For I do +detest—"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him gaily. "Oh, no; you are doomed. I shall introduce +you to the most portentous faddists; you shall suffer. That, sir, may be +your punishment for surprising me so!" She glided away, and returned +with Mrs. Ware.</p> + +<p>Never, thought Lancaster, had he seen Dorothy so gay, so cheerful, so +roguish. Whence came that playful mood of hers; that mocking, joyous +laughter? Talking to this and that person, Lancaster kept his watch upon +Miss Ware. He saw her go out of the room, laughing and chattering, and +the moment she reached the conservatory, put her hands up to her +forehead and press them swiftly over her eyes. The smile went from her +lips; her whole form testified to a sudden relaxation of an artificial +tension.</p> + +<p>A mask, Lancaster told himself, a mask for her feelings. She was +agitated, but she determined to hide all that under a cloak of gayety. +He understood. Had he not himself tested the expungent qualities of +laughter?</p> + +<p>As of old, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice had thrilled +him with a sense of wonderful gladness. At sight, at sound of her all +the good in him seemed to become vibrant; she was still the star, far +above him, that he longed for. The comforts of his cold philosophies, +the promises of the epicureanisms he had delved in so deeply—all faded +into ashes at approach of this girl.</p> + +<p>"We are really very fortunate," a voice behind him aroused him from his +rêverie, "in having such a distinguished guest with us tonight." It was +Stanley, who stood with his hand on Lancaster's shoulder. "Surprised to +see me here, are you? Well, to tell the truth, it's only of late that +I've gone into these rare regions. I find that it conserves one's +pessimism to enjoy the company of one's fellow-creatures. Will you +excuse me, I see that man Wreath coming over here. I really can't stand +him. He always remarks to me, sorrowfully, 'Ah, Mr. Stanley, I'm very +much afraid you're not in earnest!' Why, the man himself's an eternal +warning against being in earnest. There's nothing that spoils the look +of a person's mouth so much as earnestness."</p> + +<p>In truth, at that moment, just after Stanley had deftly slipped away, +Mr. Wreath had solemnly greeted the artist. "You have shown great +talent, Mr. Lancaster, great talent. But—" and he beamed reproach upon +the other, "why don't you dig deeper?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster felt as if he could have sworn at the man's presuming egoism. +But he merely laughed, and said, "Ah, you forget what a fellow-artist of +mine once said, <i>apropos</i> of cleanliness. 'Wash,' he said, 'no, we don't +wash; we merely scratch and rub, scratch and rub.' I choose, in like +manner, only to scratch. If I can scratch an effective creation, why +should I dig?"</p> + +<p>Wreath shook his head, with a mournful smile. "Ah, you will agree with +me—later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about my next novel. +Do you think we could make it worth your while to illustrate it for us?" +He dragged Lancaster off into the library and bored him, for at least +ten minutes. From the other room came sounds of music. Someone was +singing. "<i>In Einem Kuehlen Grunde</i>" went the soft, sweet old ballad. +Lancaster promised Wreath that he would let the writer's publishers know +definitely in a day or so, whether he would undertake the illustrations. +He hurried back into the salon, muttering, as he went.</p> + +<p>"Several haystacks; two threshing-day scenes; several prairie pictures, +one for each season of the year—that's about what those illustrations +will have to be. Well, I'd do it twice over if that man would promise to +let me alone!"</p> + +<p>It was Dorothy Ware that had been singing. She got up just as he entered +the room. She caught his look, and smiled to him. "You must take me to +the conservatory," she commanded, with a pretty air of authority, "for +singing is warm work." She took his arm, and while someone else went to +the piano and began to play the ballet from "Sylvia," together they +strolled out into the cooler rooms beyond.</p> + +<p>"And now," she said, when they were snugly seated upon the cushioned +windowseat, "I must tell you how proud mother and I have been of you. +Oh, it was so good to read all these praises of you!"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "It came," he said, "because I did not care whether it came +or not. I was indifferent; and so success came."</p> + +<p>"Indifferent? Why, Dick? With such power it is not right to be +indifferent. Why—"</p> + +<p>"Why should I be anything other than indifferent? For myself? No. I +despise myself too much. I consider myself only a means toward +amusement. And if not for myself, for whom?"</p> + +<p>She was playing with the leaves of a palm that hung down over her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"No," he went on, "there was never any motive in it all. It was all +sheer play. There was the joy, the delirium of creation; that was a +sufficient sensation; beyond that—nothing! It might be different +if...." He stopped with the word half spoken.</p> + +<p>"If what?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her swiftly. There was in her face only earnest curiosity +and sympathy. "If," he continued, "if there were—someone else. Oh, +Dorothy, dear, don't you see? Don't you realize that it is you, you for +whom I would work—yes, work and live? Dorothy, tell me that you are +not altogether indifferent. Once—long ago—you said you might care for +me. Then we were boy and girl; now we are man and woman. Then again you +told me to forget you. I tried. I tried—all ways into forgetfulness. I +tried to laugh away you, and all the past; to live only for the essence +of the moment. And now, Dorothy, why don't you speak?"</p> + +<p>She gently disengaged her hand from his. Her face was white, and she +could only shake her head.</p> + +<p>"But why?" he moaned, fiercely, "why? Can you not love me a little?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him reproachfully, and for a moment he thought he divined +the framing of the words, "Ah, but I do love you," then she merely +sighed, and looked away again.</p> + +<p>"Is it," he went on, "that I have put myself beyond your mercy? Have I +become too notorious a vagabond?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, it is all +true; I am come through all the highways and byways of life, and I am +touched with the scum of it all. Perhaps you are right. I am not worthy. +And yet—I only ask for forgiveness, and a little love. With that, I +might—be able to—sink the bitterness of the days behind. But, as I +said, I dare say you are right. Shall we go into the other room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dick," she sighed, "how hard you make it! Dick, it is—it is I that +am not worthy." She put her hands to her face suddenly, and pressed +them feverishly to her cheeks and eyes, and then started as if to go +away.</p> + +<p>Lancaster took her hand and kissed it. "Dorothy," he said, "Don't talk +nonsense! Unworthy of me—of a man who has used the world as a +playground, and exhausted his days in satiating curiosity! Ah, no! That +is impossible. There is no one, Dorothy—no one, however wretched, who +would not be worthy of me."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," she wailed, "you don't understand! I—" she hid +her face in her hands again, "I have sinned!"</p> + +<p>He put his arm about her, and whispered, "What does it matter Dorothy, +if only you love me? Do you, Dorothy, do you love me?"</p> + +<p>She sobbed, silently almost. Then she looked up, and, as if she were +defining a happiness that could never be, said, "Yes, Dick, I love you." +Then, as he covered her brow with kisses, she shuddered in his arms, and +again moaned, "But you don't know, you don't understand!"</p> + +<p>He smoothed the tears from her eyes, and looked tenderly upon her. "Yes, +dear, I do." He burst into a fierce trumpet of rage. "That cad, Wooton, +—he told me some damnable lies...! He was drunk...!"</p> + +<p>She shrank away from him. "Ah, then, you see it is quite—impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Dorothy," he said, "I am not speaking of that, am I, dear? I am asking +you to have pity on me, to help me see that there are bright and tender +and true things in life. I tell you that, past or no past, you are as +high above me as the stars. Why must we listen to the old shibboleths, +Dorothy? Have you not spent a lifetime of regret to atone for a moment +of folly? And who am I to judge? I, in whom there is no more of +whiteness left, save only that I love you! Consider, dear, if this is +not to be, what our lives will be! For me, all the old bitterness, the +efforts to drown all things in laughter. For you—memories! But if you +say 'yes,' Dorothy, think! How different the world will seem! We will go +and live in the country, close to the heart of Nature. All the noise and +noisomenesses of this town-world will be shut out; we will forget it. +For you, dear, I will work as I never worked before. Think, dear—think +of the dear old, silent, restful hills of Lincolnville! How the insects +hum in the clear nights; how blue, how deep, how tender the sky seems +there; how the very flowers seem to wear more natural faces than do +those of town! Do you remember how, in summer, we used to go camping by +the river? The simple pleasures, the healthy out-door life—can you not +believe that it would make new creatures of us two, Dorothy? The +house—think of the house we would plan, the orchard, the garden! And +are we to lose all that, dear, for a whim? Dorothy," he held out both +his hands to her, "see, Dorothy, I ask you to let me not see happiness +only to lose it?"</p> + +<p>For another moment she wavered, then with a choking "Ah, Dick, I love +you!" she let him take her to his arms. He kissed her shining eyes, and +said, fervidly, "Sweetheart, I thank you."</p> + + +<hr class="hr.chap" /> + +<h3><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h3> + + +<p>It was in the first beauty of June that Dick Lancaster brought her that +had been Dorothy Ware home to Lincolnville as his wife. The village, as +I remember, was looking its fairest; the trees were radiant and profuse +of shade; the grass was long and luscious, the birds were cheerful and +bold. We welcomed the two with all the heartiness we had command of; we +had known them as children, and we had loved their memory always, all +through the years they had been gone. Of Dick's fame we were +immeasurably proud. We wondered a little, indeed, that a man so dear to +the world's heart should find satisfaction in living so far from the +pulse of it all. But, we argued, if indeed, he preferred Lincolnville, +all the greater was the honor.</p> + +<p>Both, as we soon saw, had aged, Mr. Fairly, who had gone up to town to +marry them, had told us as much, but we were but little prepared for the +actual evidence. Those of us, too, who were permitted closer glimpses +into the life of these two, observed in the two a passionate fondness +for the fields, for the silence and stillness of our life there that was +something very different from the matter-of-course acceptance of those +attributes to our existence that existed in the rest of us. It was as if +the place were, for them, a very harbor of refuge, a hospital in which +to forget old ailment, or regain old healthfulness. These things, and +many other signs of something wistful in the affection they bore the +place and the dislike they long showed for leaving it, made up for me +and many others, something of a mystery. At that time, I knew nothing of +the things that had occurred since Dick left Lincolnville.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, long afterwards, it happened that I came to know all the +things that have been chronicled here. And, for my part, I came to love +them the more. As Mr. Fairly, who, I suspect, also knew something of +these things, once said to me, "If one has not seen the devil, one does +not know enough to get out of his way." I consider that Dick Lancaster +is much more to be commended for the honest life he lives among us than +old Scrattan, the milkman, who has never been out of Lincoln County in +his life. And as for Dorothy, all Lincolnville thinks she is the +sweetest woman breathing—and when a village as given to gossip as is +this place, agrees on any such eulogy as that, there must be potent +reasons.</p> + +<p>It is an ancient trick, I know, and an uncommendable, this of +chronicling the lives of two people only up to the church door. In the +lives of most people, I hear on all sides of me, the tragedy only begins +after marriage. Well, perhaps so. But I hope, for my part, that for +Dick Lancaster and his wife there is not to be much more of battling +against the buffets of the world. For them there had been so much of +tragedy—the tragedy that is almost intangible, the tragedy that +underlies the surface flippancy of our modern life—before Fate chose to +let them come together, that it would seem just that thereafter their +life be but a pleasant pastoral. As for that I cannot say. I know that +Dick's fame grows with each passing year; and that both he and his wife +are beginning to lose the look of weariness that was on them when they +came back to us.</p> + +<p>I have not given this chronicle as an example or a lesson. I do not mean +in telling it to declare my belief in the theory that Christ's words +"Go, and sin no more!" can be perpetually applied in the practice of +modern life. I have transcribed one episode, one group of characters, +one set of lives, and having done so, I refer the responsibility whither +it belongs to the Being that mapped, that directed those life-threads. I +do not mean to say that in like instances, a similar course would +inevitably lead to happiness. I only say that yesterday, as I was +walking in my garden, watching the blue-jays quarreling in the firs, I +heard Dick and Dorothy talking and laughing on their veranda. There was +something so infectious about their gladness that I paused and listened, +without thought of curiosity, but rather in something of wistful +appreciation of their happiness.</p> + +<p>"I had not thought," I heard him say, "that the world would ever seem +so fair to me."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and I fancied I heard a kiss, but I will not be sure.</p> + +<p>"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you."</p> + +<p>Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened +whisper from her: "Dick—do you think we shall ever see—him—again?"</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of +his own safety. Besides—what matter if we did. He belongs to the things +that we have forgotten."</p> + +<p>Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually +died from my hearing.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to +these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And +whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the +end.</p> + +<p>FINIS</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="caption"><a id="Contents"></a>Contents</p> +<p style="font-size: 0.8em"> +<a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cape of Storms, by Percival Pollard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + +***** This file should be named 39781-h.htm or 39781-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/8/39781/ + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + +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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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: Cape of Storms + +Author: Percival Pollard + +Release Date: May 24, 2012 [EBook #39781] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + + + + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + + + + +CAPE OF STORMS + +A NOVEL + +BY + +PERCIVAL POLLARD + +CHICAGO + +THE ECHO + +1895 + + + + + "So this old mariner, Bartholomew Diaz, called that + place the cape of torments and of storms and blessed + his Maker that he was safely gone by it. And even so, + in the lives of us all, there is a Cape of Storms, the + which to pass safely is delightful fortune, and on + which to be wrecked is the common fate. For it often + happens that this Corner Dangerous holds a woman's + face." * * * + + --An Unknown Author + + +1894 +ST. JOSEPH +FRIDENAU +CHICAGO +1895 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +"Life is a cup that is better to sip than to drain; the taste of the +dregs is very bitter in the mouth." I shall never forget those words of +our dear minister's, I suppose, because so much that has happened since +he first uttered them to us as we sat in his Sunday-school class has +shown me the truth of them. Dick himself, I remember, was especially +loth to believe Mr. Fairly's monition; indeed, none of us young bloods +cared to think that there was anything in the life before us that was +not altogether worth living, and when Dick spoke up plainly and quite +proudly, arguing against the pastor's words, we were all silent +approvers of his challenge. Dick was always the bravest boy in the +village; and we had long since come to be admirers rather than rivals. +But Mr. Fairly only shook his head and smiled a little--he had a +wonderful smile, and his eyes were always shining with kindness--and +patted Dick on the head, with a gentle, "Well, well, my boy, let us hope +so; let us hope so. Perhaps you will be fortunate above your fellows." + +The incident dwells in my memory for many reasons. It was, as I have +said, a curiously prophetic sentence of our pastor's; besides that, it +was the last Sunday that we were all together in Lincolnville, we boys +who had played, and fought and learned together. Early in the week, +Dick--somehow, long after the world has come to know him only as Richard +Lancaster, I am still unable to think of him as anything but the "Dick" +of my boyhood--was to leave the village for the world; he was going to +begin a life for himself, up there in that mysteriously magnetic +maelstrom--the town. Like Dick Whittington of old, and every fresh +young blood every day of this world's life, he was going up to town to +conquer. Before him lay the beautiful pathway into a glorious future; +promises and pleasures were like hedges to that way that he was going to +tread. He was all eagerness, all hope, all ambition. And, to be just, +perhaps there was never a boy went up to town from Lincolnville who had +better cause to be full of pleasant hopes for his future than Dick. +Certainly, it was the first time the little place had evolved such a +talent; and it felt a pardonable pride in the boy; it expected, perhaps, +even more than he did, and was looking forward to the reflected glory of +being his native village. + +If you have traveled through the West at all, and have anything more +than a car-window acquaintance with the great Middle West, you know +Lincolnville fairly well, I think. Not that you may ever have been to +the village itself, but because it is a type of thousands of other +villages scattered throughout the country. + +It is the county-seat, and is built upon the checker-board plan, with a +sort of hollow square in the middle, filled, as an Irishman might say, +with a park. The sides of this square form the business heart of the +place; each street that runs away from the square is lined with pretty +dwelling-houses of frame or brick, so that the village looks like an +octopus with four large tentacles stretching toward every point of the +compass. The streets are fringed with shade trees of every sort, and in +midsummer the place looks like a veritable nest of green and cool +bowers. The county is strictly and agricultural one; the farmers come to +"town," as they call it, every Saturday; at least, hitch their horses to +the iron railing that surrounds the park, and spend the day selling +produce, buying dry goods, implements or other necessaries. The face of +the village rarely changes; there is an occasional fire on the "square," +mayhap, and then the newer building that fills the gap is in decided +improvement over the old one; young men are forever going out into the +world, and old men are for ever coming back thither to die; for the rest, +one might fancy that, if you came into the world again a hundred years +from now, you would find the same farmers doing their "trading" at +exactly the same stores that they now favor. On occasions of a political +convention, or a circus, the town takes on a festive aspect, and the +roads leading to the square are filled, all day long, with wagons that +have come from the further edges of the county. During the three or four +days of the County Fair, too, there is great activity between the +village and the Fair Grounds, and, if it be a dry summer, the air +between those places is merely one huge cloud of dust. Occasionally the +pretty little Opera House has an entertainment that draws out such of +the citizens as have no very severe religious scruples against the +theatre. For the rest, the place is an admirable home of quiet. Young +blood chafes at this quiet; old blood finds there the peace it seeks. + +In the very nature of things, a place of this sort is chiefly concerned +with its own affairs; the main theme of conversation are its own people. +Everyone is perfectly acquainted with his neighbor's affairs, and not +infrequently, in fact, is able to inform that neighbor of certain +details relating to the latter, that had until then been unknown to him. +So it was that, at the time of Dick's leaving Lincolnville, the good +people of that place knew, much better than he did himself, the surety +of his engagement to Dorothy Ware. He himself would have been only too +glad to be as sure as they were, when he heard the rumors he was given +to smiling rather sardonically. + +He came to me once, I remember, and looked at me for a long time with +those clear, grey eyes of his. "Tell me, old man," he said, "do you +think she cares for me?" It is a stupid question, this; but almost +every boy who is in love puts it to some friend or other, in the quest +for confirmation of his fears or hopes. "Why, Dick," I said--still more +foolishly, perhaps, now that I look back on it--"Why, Dick, of course +she does. We all do." "Oh," he flung in, impatiently, "I don't mean +that!" I knew what he meant; but who shall tell, being a man, whether a +girl cares or not? Although, if ever a boy was made to be well beloved, +surely it was Dick. + +He was always a high-spirited youngster; some of his tricks are still +legends of the old high-school in his native place. He never liked to +fight, being naturally mild of temper; but when he was roused beyond +endurance lie was a veritable Daniel. His father died when he was only +four years old; to his mother he was the most devoted of sons. + +It was when he was about ten years old that his talent for drawing first +proved itself. It came to him in the way that it has come to many who +have since made the world listen to their names--on the old black-board +in the schoolroom. It was a caricature of Mr. Fairly, I remember, who +was always very tall and very thin, and whose face was like that of a +French general's under the empire. Dick exaggerated all these +peculiarities most deftly with his chalk, and then it so happened that +Mr. Fairly himself walked in and found the caricature. He only looked at +Dick quietly, and put his hand down on his shoulder with a subdued, "I +am a good deal older than you, my boy, a good deal older. You're sorry, +aren't you?" And something in our minister's tone must have touched +Dick, for the boy put his head down and said: "Yes, sir," with a little +choke in his voice. Nor do I think that from that day to this Dick has +ever drawn or painted in caricature. But in all other ways he developed +his talent day by day with really wonderful results. He always had a +rare notion of color; the autumn foliage thereabouts gave him the most +startling effects. He used to go out into the woods in mid-summer and +mid-winter--it made little difference to him--and come back with some of +the prettiest bits of landscape work I have ever seen. There were, it is +true, certain palpable crudities in his work, due to the lack of any +training save that of his instincts, but those would undoubtedly +disappear as soon as he came under the influence of a proper instructor. +It was for this that he was going to leave the village and become of the +greater world in town. His mother had rebelled at first; she was growing +old, and she feared the thought of losing sight of him; but there was no +restraining his ambition. To remain cooped up in that little corral of a +place all his life--oh, no; that was not at all the thing for Dick +Lancaster. That great world, out there, that he had read and heard so +much about, that was where he ought to be; and it was there he wanted to +wager and to win; what was there left in Lincolnville? He could do +nothing more there; his life was beginning to be a mere stagnation. He +must out and away. This longing for shaking off the shackles of that +narrow village life was, as much as ambition, the spur that sent him out +into the larger world. And I do not wonder at him. Those small places +are not fit arenas for the disporting of ambitions or freedoms. + +At this time, Dick was a little over one-and-twenty. He was handsome in +a dark, olive-skinned sort of way, and his eyes had the longest lashes I +have ever seen in a man. His hair curled a little, though he was forever +trying to comb and coax the curl away; he hated it, saying that curls +were all right for a girl, perhaps, but not for a man. He was, but for +the fact that he was very fond of good cigars, a veritable Pierrot. He +had always been very closely under his mother's influence; even his +association with the boys of his own age and class had not been enough +to taint him at all. He had a fancy that, now as I consider it, after +all these years, seems a most pathetic one, that the world was a very +beautiful place in which the wicked were always punished, if not by +actual stripes, at least by the disdain of their fellow-men. It seems +strange, perhaps, that a young man of his age should still hold such +notions, but you must remember that in the quieter villages of our +country it is possible to hold these fancies all one's life; the town is +the great disenchanter. Dick considered that he had two things to live +for--his ambition and Dorothy Ware. + +It was beautiful, the way the boy sometimes rhapsodized; beautiful, and +yet in the light of after events, sad. "One day, you know," he said in +one of his bursts of enthusiasm, "I will be known all the world over as +a great painter. People will come to my studio and wonder at it, and the +work in it. They will invite me everywhere. I will be a lion. But I +shall always place my work first; admiration shall go into the last +place. And there will be Dorothy! Dear Dorothy! I haven't asked her yet, +you know, but I hope--oh, yes, I hope--that it will be all right between +us. Dorothy will help me in everything; when I begin to flag, or to lose +spirit, she will spur me on. She will represent me to the great world of +society when I am hard at work; she will be my veritable Alter Ego. And +some day--some day, when I feel that my brush and my hand have in them +the passion for my masterpiece, I will paint her face--her face!" He +took up a photograph that lay on the table before him and looked at it +steadily for an instant or two. "Sweet face!" he went on, "how shall +mere paint ever represent you? There must be love, too. Love and paint. +The one is a mere trick of the hand and eye; the other is mine and mine +alone. For no one can love her as I do." + +As for Miss Dorothy Ware, she was eighteen and beautiful. I do not know +that any woman really needs a fuller description than that. As for her +wit, it is too early in this chronicle to speak of that; nor do I, +personally, differ much from Theophile Gautier, when he states that a +woman who has wit enough to be beautiful has all she needs. + +Miss Ware's father had made a great deal of money by the very simple +process of growing old; he had been one of the pioneer settlers in that +county and his had been most of the land that the village now stood on. +Miss Ware herself, while sensible of her riches, was unspoilt by them. +By nature she was of the disposition that one can call nothing else but +"sweet;" she was tender and gracious; she was fond of fun, so long as +that fun annoyed no one else; in a word, she was considerate and gentle +and lovable. She had been brought up in the south, and she had retained +a trace of the southern accent, so that her speech was in itself a +charm; she had natural talents for looking pretty under all +circumstances; some might have said that she had the instincts of a +coquette, but I do not believe it of her. She was devoted to children +and dumb animals. And whoso has those instincts is intrinsically good. +But Miss Ware held that she had by no means had enough of this world's +pleasures to begin thinking of so solemn a thing as marriage. Like a +large number of the girls of today, she was, first and foremost, "out +for a good time," as the slang of the time has it. She had certainly the +intention of some day marrying the man she loved and making him as happy +as she could; but in the meanwhile she wanted to test the world's +ability to furnish entertainment quite a little while yet. Which was +why, although she was very fond of Dick, she had invariably put him +off, when he grew importunate, with a laugh. "Why, Dick," she would say, +"don't you know you're absurd to think of such a thing? We're just +children yet. Oh, I know we're of age, but what of that? You don't mean +to tell me that you think your life has shaped, or even begun to shape +itself yet? No. And as for me, I'm going to skirmish around a while yet +before I settle down and become old married people! Be sensible, Dick!" +And Dick, with a sigh in his heart, was, perforce, fain to say that he +would try. "Skirmish around!" It grated on him, somehow, that phrase; it +seemed to hold for him visions of innumerable flirtations; of contact +with the world, the flesh and the devil, with the brushing off of the +faint, roseate bloom of innocence. + +It was on the day before Dick's departure for town that Lincolnville +received the news of another intended going abroad. The Wares' were to +sail for Europe before the month was out. Mrs. Ware had long been an +invalid; for years the doctors had advised travel, but her husband's +objections to any sort of change had hitherto prevailed against her +wishes. But now the really dangerous state of Mrs. Ware's health, added +to the entreaties of Dorothy, who longed, as do all American girls, for +a glimpse of the old country, had brought the old gentleman to +acquiescence. He would not go himself; he was getting too old for such a +trip; but his wife and daughter should go, if they had set their hearts +on it. So that, with the prospective departure of both Richard Lancaster +and the girl that rumor had him engaged to, the tongues of the gossips +had plenty to do on that day. When Dick first heard the news about the +Wares' he was inclined to be downhearted; then it struck him that it +would give him an opportunity for another effort at getting from Dorothy +at least the promise of a promise. + +Than Lincolnville in mid-summer I know few fairer places; there is a +cool, green quiet all about that makes for peace and gentleness, and in +the whispering of the breeze as it curls through the thick foliage of +the spreading trees there is the note of happiness. Happiness, indeed, +lies nearer to man in one of these small, serene villages, than anywhere +else in the world, save in solitude; but it is rarely that man sees the +sleeping beauty that he has sought all his life long. Dick, as he walked +along toward the Ware house that splendid afternoon, caught something of +the warm, comfortable languor that was in the air, and looked about him +with a note of regret in his regard. "How pretty it all is!" he thought, +looking at the familiar houses, with their well-kept lawns and +ivy-covered verandahs, "how pretty! And yet--" he sighed, and then +smiled with a proud lift of the head--"there are other things!" + +He found Miss Ware seated in a hammock on what was known as the +front-porch. It was a long, low, cool stretch of verandah, reminding one +of the style of architecture in vogue in the old south. It was all +harbored in vines that were so luxurious they hardly gave the breeze a +fair chance to penetrate; on the other hand, the sun's rays were safely +guarded against. + +Young Lancaster drew up a chair, after she had smiled and reached him +one of her hands. He looked at her critically for a moment. + +"Dorothy," he said, "I have never seen you looking so pretty." + +"I have never felt so happy, Dick," she said. + +"Because you are going away?" + +"Yes. And you?" + +"I am happy, too. And yet, I am rather sorry. I have lived here all my +life; this is the first time that I am going away from home. There is +something solemn about it; but then--the end, oh, the end--justifies it +all. That is not the chief reason why I am not altogether satisfied to +go away. Dorothy, don't you know the other reason?" + +She opened her eyes a little, and smiled a trifle at the corners of her +mouth. "I, Dick, why, how should I know?" Then she saw that he looked +hurt and she changed her tone. "Dick," she went on, "why won't you be +sensible about it? I suppose you mean about me? Why, Dick, you know I +like you, don't you? I've always liked you and admired you, but--dear +me, can I help it if I feel sure that I don't like anyone yet--in that +way? I'd like to, perhaps, but--well, I don't. What can I do?" She +looked at him appealingly and reproachfully. + +"I know, I know," he said, soothingly, "I'm an impetuous, thoughtless +idiot, I'm afraid, and I hurt you. And, oh, Dorothy! don't you know I'd +rather suffer torments unspeakable than hurt you?" He put out his hand +and touched the one hand of hers that swung beside him, over the edge of +the hammock. "But yet, dear," he went on, "if I only had a word from you +to remember, be it ever so slight, I would fight so much better against +the world. For it is the same to-day as it was in the middle ages; we go +to our crusades, all of us, and if we have a sweetheart who will give us +her love as an armor, we fight the better fight. Our crusades have a +different air, to be sure, but the idea is the same. Don't you know, +Dorothy, that if you only gave, me some little thing to cling to, I +would feel a hundred times stronger. Come, Dorothy, it costs you little +to say it!" + +"But if I say that word, I must live up to it." + +"True; your fair conscience would let you do nothing less. And yet, +there are words so slight that they would cost you scarcely anything, +while to me they would be coats of mail." + +For a time there was silence, both looking out over the street where the +school children were passing homewards. A buggy rattled by, throwing +clouds of dust; then there was quiet again. "If you could say to me, +Dorothy, 'Dick, I won't marry anyone until I see you again, until I +come home again. And I'll try to like you--that way,' why, that would be +enough for me." + +She held up her right hand with a pretty little gesture. "I do solemnly +swear," she said. Then she went on more seriously, "Why, yes, Dick, I'll +promise that. Small chance of my getting married for a few years, +anyway, so I won't have such a very awful time living up to that +promise. Now, do you think, sir, that you're engaged to me?" + +"No, no, dear; not at all. But you've let me hope, haven't you? That's +all I want. You don't know how much happier I'll feel all the time +you're away. How long, by the way, do you think you'll be abroad?" + +"A year, at the least. I want to see it all, you know, when I do get the +chance. Mamma'll want to stay in Carlsbad or Ems, or somewhere all the +time; but I'm going to get her well real soon, you see if I don't, and +then we'll just travel for fun and nothing else. Dick, wouldn't it be +great if you could go along?" + +"It would, for a fact," he assented, "but it's too good to be true. +Besides I'm going to have some fun of my own!" + +"Your work, you mean?" + +"Yes. Isn't it fun to succeed? And I'm going to succeed! The fighting +for success will be fun, and the victory will be fun!" His eyes flashed +with a fierce battle-light. Today this fire of ambition is the only +thing that at all takes the place of the blood fervor that spurred on +the knights of the olden times. "Dorothy," he said, presently, with a +sudden softness in his voice, "will you wish me luck?" + +She gave him, for answer, her right hand, and looked at him wistfully. +She was wondering, perhaps, why it was that she did not love this +lovable boy. "I wish you all the success in the world," she said +quietly. And then, as he turned to go, she called after him, in the old +formula they had used to each other a thousand times as boy and +girl--"Good-bye, Dick. Be good!" + +The love affairs of a boy and a girl, you may think, are hardly the +things that matter very much in the world of today. But the boy and girl +of today are the man and the woman of tomorrow; and between these stages +there is only the little gulf, so easily crossed, wherein runs the river +of knowledge of the world we live in. As soon as we have crossed that we +are become men and women, and are left of our childhood nothing but the +wish that it were ours again. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Although the western windows were open, it was decidedly warm in the +offices of the _Weekly Torch_. The offices were on the tenth floor in +one of the town's best known sky-scrapers--the Aurora. There was a view, +through the windows, of innumerable roofs and streets; here and there +the tower of a railway station or a new hotel protruded--in the words +of A.B. Wooton owner of the _Torch_--"like a sore thumb." Mr. Wooton was +at that moment engaged in the diverting pastime of having his feet +stretched over the side of his desk; and watching the smoke of his +cigarette curl out of the window. Besides his own, there were three +other desks, of the roller-top pattern, in the room, the door of which +was marked "Editorial Rooms," but was rarely, if ever, seen closed. As a +usual thing the outer door to the corridor was, in the summer-time at +least, also left wide open; you could see from the window clear to the +outer door. Indeed, it was one of Wooten's special talents, this ability +of his to see at a glance, from his seat by the window, who it was that +was coming in through the farther door. At one of the other desks a man +was smoking a pipe and shoving a pencil rapidly over sheet of paper. +Presently this man laid his pencil down, took his pipe out of his mouth +and knocked the ashes over into the cuspidor. Then he leaned back in his +chair and inquired, + +"Who was it?" + +"Young fellow from the Art Institute," said Wooten. "Sketches to show; +wants to do illustrating; same old gag. They all come to it. Paint and +fame come altogether too high, and a fellow's got to live. Although, as +the Frenchman remarked, '_Je ne vois pahs la necessite_.'" The ability to +hideously mispronounce French with a sort of bravado that almost made it +seem correct was one of Wooten's peculiarities. + +The other man gave a mock shudder. "If your morals," he said, "were as +bad as your French, you wouldn't be fit to print. Was his stuff any +good?" + +"Very fair. Got a thing or two to learn about working for reproduction, +as all these art-school men have; but he's got it in him. I told him to +go and see young Belden, on the _Chronicle_, to get a few points about +reproduction. I believe I'll be able to use him. If he's cheap." Wooton +laughed, and threw the stub of his cigarette out of the window. Then he +began throwing the papers on his desk all in a heap and looking into, +under and around them. "Confound the luck," he began; then, turning to +the other man, "Got a cigarette, Van?" + +Van, whose full name was Vanstruther, and whom his intimates called +alternately "Tom" and "Van," threw a box over to the other's desk, +laughing. "I swear," he said, "it's my firm belief that if a man were to +put you in a story and try to draw you with a single stroke he would +only have to say that you spent your life between buying and losing +cigarettes." + +"And matches," added the other calmly. "Got one?" + +"Jupiter! If this thing goes on I'm going to strike for higher rates. +It's not in the contract that I furnish the office with smokes!" + +"No. But the stuff you write, Van, is what drives me to cigarettes. So +you make your own bed, you see. Hallo! Here's alone female to see me! +Wonder who?" + +He got up and went towards the door. "Did you wish to see me?" he +inquired. + +"The editor?" She hesitated a little but he assured her with a slight +nod that she had found her man, and she followed him towards his desk. +She took a seat beside him, and they began conversing in a tone so low +that Vanstruther could only catch a stray word now and again. Presently +she got up. "Very well then," she was saying, "you have my address; if +anything should turn up, you will let me know, won't you?" With a little +rustling of skirts she was gone. Presently they could here her voice +saying "Down!" to the elevator boy. + +"What was her game?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Wanted to contribute poetry as a regular department. You can't fling a +club around a corner anywhere in this town without hitting one of her +kind, nowadays!" + +"Then why didn't you tell her right away you weren't using anything of +that sort?" + +"Why, you infernal idiot, didn't you look at her?" + +"No. Choice?" + +"Very." He put a slip of paper into a pigeon hole, remarking as he did +so, "Filed for future reference." + +From the next room came a gruff voice, "Column of editorial to fill yet, +Mr. Wooton." + +"That foreman of mine's like Banquo's ghost," muttered Wooton, as he +put his pen into the ink and bent down over the desk. For a while there +was only the sound of pen and pencil going over paper, and the click of +the type in the next room. Then there was a heavy step heard in the +passage outside, and presently Wooton muttered: "The Lord's giving us +this day our daily loafers, I see. I wonder why it is," he went on +aloud, as a tall, heavy-set man, with a military mustache and eyeglasses +in front of mild blue eyes, came into the room, "that you fellows always +show up on Friday. Which, being the day we go to press--what's that? +More copy? Oh, all right!" The foreman was taking all the written sheets +from his desk and pleading for more. The new comer was evidently used to +this sort of greeting; he calmly picked a cigarette from the box on +Vanstruther's desk, lit it and sat down on a chair that was drawn up to +the table-where the "exchanges" lay piled in heaps. He finally found +what he had been apparently looking for--a paper with a very gaudy and +risky picture on the front of the cover; he folded it to his +satisfaction and began to look through it. "Say, Van," he began, +presently, "what's this I hear about their going to play the +Ober-Ammergau Passion Play here? Anything in it?" + +Vanstruther was terribly busy. "Haven't heard," was all he said. + +"I heard that it was all fixed," the other went on. "They've even got +the man to play the leading part. Fellow called Tom Vanstruther. They +say he's going to play the part without a makeup, and--" + +"Oh, look here," said Vanstruther, half turning around in his chair, +"you go to the devil, will you?" + +The other man took out a huge cigar-holder, inserted his cigarette and +curled his mustache. "Van's still a little sore about that," he said, +turning to Wooton, who merely nodded his head. There came again the +sound of footsteps in the outer hall, and Wooton, peering forward a +little, broke into a cheery "Hallo, Dante Gabriel Belden, glad to see +you! Come in. By the way, I just sent a young fellow who has your +disease over to see you this morning. Wants to learn the reproduction +rules of the game. See him?" + +"Yes. Had a little talk with him. Clever chap. Tell you about him in a +minute. Hallo, Van, how are the other three hundred and ninety-nine? +Hallo, Stanley, haven't they got you under the vagrancy ordinance yet?" + +The man with the huge mustache and the lengthy cigar-holder shook his +head and said, "Not yet. But I understand they're on the trail. Well, +how is Art, and what are the books you have lately bought, and what is +the latest of your schemes that has died?" + +"Oh, give them to me one at a time. Hang it, Wooton, why do you allow +this man to come up here, anyway, to wear out your furniture and the +patience of us all?" + +"Oh," said Wooton, "he's an amusing animal, and I forgive any man +anything if only he will amuse me." + +"That's beastly bad morals!" said the artist. + +"Morals!" echoed Wooton, with a bland smile, "my dear boy, you want to +take a pill. No; take two! Morals in this day and age; moreover, on the +borders of Bohemia, to talk about morals! Jove, I see myself forced to +seek the solace of the deadly cigarette." He lit one of those slender +rolls of tobacco and paper and went on, "However you haven't answered +Stanley's questions yet. For you must know, Van, that Belden is one of +the most extravagant and insatiable hunters of art books in all this +town. Ever been in his flat? Well, it's a series of rooms, completely +lined with books and pictures, with a very small hole in the middle of +each room. Said hole being usually filled--to use an Irishism--with a +center-table loaded to the guards with art portfolios. I don't believe +there's a book or art store in town that the man doesn't owe large bills +to; and I know, for a fact, that when it comes to be a question between +a new overcoat and a new art book, he always takes the latter. And as +for his schemes--well, I will admit they're all good, but, like the +good, they die young. While they have the merit of exceeding novelty, +they ride him like the plague; but presently a new idol comes and the +old one falls into decay. Tell us, Dante, about the newest scheme!" + +"H'm," replied the artist, "I don't see that you've left me anything to +tell. I've got a new book of Vierge's stuff that you fellows want to +come up and see one of these days; that's about all that I can think +of." + +"Thank you for the pressing invitation," said Wooton. + +"Oh, and about that fellow you sent up to see me," Belden continued, "I +liked his stuff immensely. He needs a little experience and hard luck on +the practical side of getting his stuff made into cuts, and he'll be all +right. The fact is, Wooton, seeing you like the fellow's sketches fairly +well, and I'm rushed to death with other work, I've thought of turning +my work for the Torch over to him. Would you object?" + +"Not a bit, provided he does it as well; and he won't have to get much +of a move on to do that. And then they're cheaper when they're green!" + +Belden groaned. "You're the most awful specimen of materialism I ever +hope to run up against. Then you don't object to this fellow--what's his +name again, Lancaster, isn't it?--doing your sketches? All right, I'll +train him a bit for you. And then I guess it would be a good scheme for +him to have a desk here in your office somewhere, so that he can have a +workshop and be right at hand for you. It isn't as if he had a studio of +his own." + +"That'll be all right; we've got plenty of room. But while you're +training him, old man, I hope you won't inoculate him with that +villainous style of dressing you adopt at the end of your pen. You're +very hot people on everything that's got to be done in a hurry, and +you're great on fine work of the etching order, but when it comes to +making people look like the men and women one would care to be seen +with, you're simply not in this county, that's all there is about it. +I've always claimed, you know," he went on, turning a little so that he +faced Vanstruther and Stanley, "that the great fault common to all the +black-and-white artists in this town was that they couldn't define the +difference between a gentleman and a hoodlum. They talk to me about +technique, and drawing, and all the rest of it, none of which, I will +admit, I know a mortal thing about; but all I answer is that I'm going +from the point of view of the man who doesn't know how the drawing is +made, but who does know how it looks when it's finished. The people of +today look at nearly everything for it's merely superficial aspect; and +the finer people look to our artists to display taste in clothing their +pictorial creatures. If you only dress your people well, they'll want +your drawings so that they can get fashion pointers from them. +Now-a-days an illustrator has got to be more than a mere manipulator of +pen and ink; he has got to keep an eye on the fashions, and even a +little ahead of them. At least, that's what the man I'm looking for +should be." + +Stanley muttered, around the edges of his mustache, so that only +Vanstruther could hear, "Yes; and he'd want to pay him as much as ten +dollars a week!" + +Belden laughed, and got up. "Why don't you put all that into a lecture, +Wooton, and give the fellows over at the Institute a glimpse of this +higher knowledge of yours. However, I've got to be going. I'll send that +man Lancaster over here in a day or so. Goodbye, people!" + +"There's one of the cleverest fellows with a pen in this town," said +Wooten, as soon as the artist's footsteps had died away down the +corridor, "but he's utterly spoiled himself by the work he's been doing +of late years. He's a very fast worker, and one of the best men a daily +paper ever got hold of. Then, too, I've seen copy-work of his--that is, +from photographs or paintings--done in pen-and-ink, that had all the +fine detail and effect of an etching. But, for the sake of the money +there is in it, he does blood and thunder illustrations for a paper of +that sort. After a man has done that sort of thing for a year or two, it +gets into his style. I don't believe he'll ever be able to do anything +else, now. Of course, he'll aways make good money, because his speed and +capacity for work are simply invaluable; but art, as far as he is +concerned, must be weeping large salty tears." + +"This picture of you, A.B. Wooton, pleading the cause of art," remarked +Stanley, "is one of the most affecting I have ever beheld. It really +makes me feel--hungry." + +"Your invitation, sir," said Wooton, walking over toward the closet and +getting his hat, "is cordially accepted. Come on, Van; we are invited to +lunch by the Honorable Mr. Stanley, exchange reader to the _Torch_. +Never linger in a case like this!" + +"For consummate nerve," Stanley suggested, "you really take the medal, +A.B. However, seeing I made a little borrow from the old lady yesterday, +I will go you one lunch on the strength of it. But I do hope you men had +late breakfasts." + +Just before they were ready to pass out, Tony, the office boy came in. +"Say," he said to Wooton, in a low tone, "you remember that letter I +took to the house day before yesterday? Well, does the quarter walk +to-day?" + +"Which," Wooton explained, as he handed the boy a quarter, "is Tony's +peculiar way of inquiring whether he is going to get that twenty-five +cents or not." Tony grinned and went back to his desk were he was busy +addressing wrappers. + +When the three men came back from lunch, they found a young man, holding +a black leather case in his hand, such as bank messengers carry, sitting +patiently in a chair in the outer office. He got up when they entered, +and handed Wooton a paper. Wooton took it to the light, read it slowly, +and handed it back. "Tell him to send that around again on the tenth, +will you." Then he walked into the composing room and began talking to +the foreman. The collector put the slip of paper back into his portfolio +and went out. + +"Van," said Wooton, as they sat down at his desk, presently, "I wish +you'd try and hurry that stuff of yours along a little, will you? I've +got to go to a tea at Mrs. Stewart's at four, and the ghost tells me +that your page is half a column shy yet." + +Vanstruther nodded silently, while Stanley inquired, "Excuse my +ignorance Mr. Wooten, but who is Mrs. Stewart?" + +"What? You don't know the great and only Annie McCallum Stewart? Oh, +misericordia, can such things be?" + +"They are." + +"Well, Mrs. Stewart is a remarkably clever woman. One of the cleverest +women our society affords, in fact. She is the daughter of one of the +town's best known and most popular doctors, and everyone in society knew +her so well when she was only Annie McCallum that now, when she is +married to Stewart, one still uses her old name as well as her new one. +That's all the result of individuality. She has read a great deal, and +kept her eyes open a great deal. She has a husband who is ridiculously +fond of her, and otherwise as blind as a bat. She, on the other hand, +has a mania for young men. Whenever you see her with a young man of any +sort of looks, somebody will tell you that Annie McCallum Stewart has +got a new youth in the net. She likes to lure them up into her 'den,' as +she calls it, and talk to them about the higher life. Then they fall in +love with her and she forgives them and elaborates upon the beauties of +pure Platonism. In a word, Stanley, she's one of the most perfect forms +of the mental flirt I ever come across." + +"H'm. Is your tea today to be in duet form, or is it a general +scramble?" + +"Oh, it's a general all-comers' game. But I always like to go to that +house; she interests me immensely. I'm always wondering how near she +really can skate to the edge without breaking over." + +"Yes," acquiesced the other, reflectively, "that is an interesting +speculation. Hallo, here's another friend of yours!" + +The new-comer laid an envelope on Wooton's desk and waited. The latter +opened it hastily, and then said, "I sent that down by this morning's +mail." + +The man had hardly gone before Stanley laid down the paper he had been +paging through and said, looking steadily at Wooton, "Jupiter, but you +do that easily! If I could do that only half as well I'd count myself as +free from debts for the rest of my life. It's my solemn belief that you +can tell a collector from an ordinary mortal as soon as he steps inside +the door. I've heard you tell a man, who had only just turned inside the +outer office, that you were 'going to send that down in the morning,' +and I've seen you look the enemy calmly in the face and tell him that +you had fixed that up with his employer about an hour ago. And you do it +as easily as if you were lighting a cigarette. Another man might get +embarrassed, and hesitate, or feel guilty! But you! Not in a hundred +years! You never quail worth a cent. It's positive genius, my boy, +positive genius!" + +"No; it's only business, that's all." + +"H'm, by the way, speaking of business, aren't you running the game a +trifle extravagantly here? I don't want to mix in, of course, but is the +thing paying so well as--" + +The other interrupted him. "My dear fellow," he said, "it's evident you +haven't any idea how well this thing is paying. Why, man, look at me! Do +I economise much? No. Well, I don't have to, that's why! But come on and +let's saunter down street. Van's finished, and they've got all the copy +they want, and I expect there are a few pretty girls out today. Let's go +and take a glimpse at the parade on the Avenue. And then I'll go down to +that tea." + +There were several callers at the office after they had left; some +bill-collectors, a society man who left the announcement for some +forthcoming dances; a boy to buy ten copies of last week's paper; a +printer looking for work; and the mail-carrier. Towards six o'clock the +foreman and the compositors left; then Tony, the office-boy, shut up his +desk, and went out, locking the door behind him. The Weekly Torch had +gone to rest for the day. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In the very air and life that prevailed in the office of the _Torch_ +there was, as one may suppose, something strange, and at first repugnant +to Dick Lancaster. To one of his bringing up, his earnest intentions, +his thirst for real things, it seemed that all this was very like a +gaudy sham, a bubble of pretense, of surface prattle. He could scarcely +believe that the flippancy of these men was serious with them; their +talk, their point of view astonished and horrified him. If they were to +be believed, life was nothing but a skimming of more or less uneven +surfaces; the only thing to be tried for was pleasure, and there was no +moral line at all. And then again he rebuked himself for being, perhaps, +a homesick young idiot, overgiven to morbid speculation. That was not +what he had come to town for; he was going to do some good work and make +a name and fame for himself. + +He had found, very early in his career, that in order to get upon the +first steps of the ladder he must become an illustrator. If he had had +the means that would have enabled him to wait through studio-work, a +trip to Paris, and the dreary years ere orders came from dealers, he +would have clung to paint at any risk; but he saw himself forced to earn +some bread-and-butter even while he waited for his dreams to come true. +So, with some slight reluctance at first, to be sure, but afterwards +with all his energy, he applied himself to pen and ink work. In course +of time, as we have seen, he became the staff-artist of the Torch, He +was making a very fair living for so young a man, and he made a great +many acquaintances. And life every day showed him a new aspect. + +One of the men he had so far taken the greatest liking to was Belden, +the artist, who had, to all intents and purposes, put him into his +present position with the _Torch_, Belden, whose name was Daniel Grant +Belden, but whom his friends chaffingly called, on account of the +similarity of the initials, Dante Gabriel, was one of the most +happy-go-lucky individuals that ever breathed. His mania for art books +kept him more or less hard-up; yet he undoubtedly had one of the finest +collections, in that sort, in town. He got orders for work from a +publisher; he took the manuscript that he was to illustrate home with +him; he kept it three weeks; then, without having read it, he returned +it saying he was too busy to attempt the commission. And if ever there +was one in this present day of ours, he was a Bohemian. The peculiar +part of it was that in addition to being a Bohemian by instinct, he was +one by intention. He read Henri Murger with avidity, and thought of him +always. On the street he was a curious object; his overcoat was a trifle +shiny, and his hat was always an old, or at least, a misused one; his +trousers were too tight at the knees; his boots rarely polished. He +usually walked with a long, quick stride; and a long, peculiar cigar, of +the sort the Wheeling people call "stogy," was almost always in his +mouth. You rarely saw him on the Elevated except with an armful of books +and papers. He would come home at one in the morning and sit down at his +wide drawing table and work until dawn. Then, with not much more than +his coat hastily thrown off, he would fling himself on the couch and be +fast asleep in an instant. Often, too, he would go fast to sleep while +his pen was traveling over the paper; in ten minutes, or sometimes half +an hour, he would wake up and continue the stroke that had been +interrupted; his pen would have not spilled a single drop. He did all +his own cooking, and marvelous were the meals that resulted. He liked +nothing better than to fill his rooms with a number of choice, congenial +souls. They would talk art-shop for hours, or listen to music; he knew a +great many clever young fellows who were gifted in playing the piano, +the flute or the violin; and while his own musical tastes were barbaric, +and called, chiefly, for the spirited rendition of darky-minstrelsies, +he gave the rest of his company the freedom of their choice, also, and +sat patiently through the most beautiful of operatic strains. Sunday was +the day singled out more especially for those pleasant little "evenings" +at Belden's flat. + +Dick Lancaster had been asked up to these evenings a great many times +before he ever went. For long, he could not make up his mind to it; in +spite of all the thousand and one laxities that he saw in the daily life +around him, to devote oneself to anything in the nature of sheer +pleasure, on Sunday, still seemed to him a decided mis-step. + +But one day, toward the beginning of winter, Belden, who had been in to +call on his young protegee at the _Torch_ office, said to him, + +"Look here, Dick, why don't you come up some Sunday evening and join our +gang? Goodness, you can't afford to be as straight-laced as all that, in +this town. Besides, we don't do anything that's against the law and the +prophets, you know. We talk a little shop, and some man reads something, +perhaps, and Stanley plays a thing or two on the violin. Then we go out +and help ourselves to whatever I may happen to have in the larder. And +then you go home, or you bunk up there, and where's the harm done? Look +at it sensibly, my boy; we are all slaves in the same bondage, in this +town, and Sunday is our one off-day; you don't mean to say we're +heathens and creatures of the devil if we seek the sweetest rest we can +on that day? To some men, rest means church; to me and most of the men +you know, it means relaxation, and relaxation means recreation. The +others get their music in church, I get mine at home. Now, Dick, say +you'll come up next Sunday." + +And Dick, looking at Belden as if to make out whether that artist were +an emissary of the Evil One or merely a man of the present day, coughed +a little, and then said, rather sheepishly, "Very well, I'll come--to +please you, Belden." He felt, the next minute, as if he had slipped and +fallen; he grew a little faint; he thought he could hear the sound of +the church bells as they used to come singing over the meadows in +Lincolnville; he saw himself and his mother sitting side by side in the +old pew, listening to the pleasant voice of Mr. Fairly droning out his +prayer; then he shook himself together and blushed at his fancies. +Belden had gone already, but Dick felt as if he would run after him and +tell him, "No, no, I cannot, must not come!" He ran to the door; the +corridor was empty; Belden was half way down the next block by this +time. Then he solaced himself with the thought, "Surely it can be no +great harm after all--besides, I have promised!" + +He bent down over the drawing-board once more, but he could no longer +chain his thoughts to the work before him. They flew round and round in +a curious circling way about this new life that he had become a part of. +It was, he was forced to admit to himself, not as beautiful a thing as +he had expected; but it was certainly novel, and it interested him +immensely, it kept his curiosity excited, it touched his senses. As he +began to consider that quiet country village that he had left, out +yonder on the plains, and this busy beehive of a metropolis, he came, +also, to consider the men he was beginning to know. He leaned back in +the chair, smiling a little. The office was nearly empty at this time; +it was during the noon hour, and Dick was alone in the outer office. He +passed over, in his thoughts, the men that he was thrown with in the +_Torch_ office. There was Wooton himself: tall, thin, with a face that +was all profile--a wonderfully pure profile--with a mouth almost too +small for a man, a nose that bent a little like those of the Caesars. +Dick did not know, yet, what to make of Wooton. The man had a wonderful +charm; he could talk most entertainingly, most logically and he had some +curiously interesting theories. There was a sort of _laisser-aller_ +negligence in his manner; his manners were admirable, and there was some +occult fascination about him that one could scarcely define. As Dick +considered him, he remembered that on several occasions, he had listened +to Wooton's dissertations on subjects that otherwise would have offended +him, merely because the man's charm of person and speech were so +alluring. As to whether it was genuine or a mere veneer, well, how could +one tell as soon as this? Time, which tells so many things, would +doubtless tell that too. + +Then Vanstruther! He had a blonde beard that came to a point, and he +always wore glasses. For the rest, Dick knew but little of him save what +he had heard. Vanstruther "did" the more important of the society events +for the _Torch_, and himself moved and had his nightly being in the +smartest circles in town. The peculiar part of it was that he was +married, and had several children; barring the hour or so a day that he +spent in the office of the _Torch_ he was the most devoted husband and +father in the world, and spent the most of his day at home, where in his +little study-room he sat in front of a typewriter stand and +manufactured at lightning speed--what do you suppose?--dime novels. This +was, among the man's intimates, a more or less open secret; but to the +world at large, and particularly the world of society, he was known +merely as a delightful person, socially, and something of a flaneur, +intellectually. + +As for Stanley--the man's full name was Laurence Stanley--Dick had +somehow taken a dislike to him. He knew little of him except that he was +a professional do-nothing, who lived off his wife's money, speculated +occasionally, and appeared a great deal in society. No one ever saw his +wife, who was an invalid. He talked with inveterate cynicism; it was +this that made him repugnant to young Lancaster. He had a sneer and a +cigarette always with him, and Dick hated both. + +The tip-tapping of a light foot-step over the oil-cloth brought Dick +back from the land of day-dreams. It was rather a pretty woman that +stood before him, and she was gowned in a manner that even with his +inexperience he knew to be distinctly up-to-date, and that he certainly +admitted as attractive from an artistic standpoint. She looked past him +into the inner office, lifted her eyebrows a trifle and inquired: "Is +Mr. Wooton not in?" + +"Not just now," responded Dick, getting up, "but he will be back in a +very little while. If you would care to wait--" He took hold of the back +of a revolving chair that stood close by. + +"No," she declared, "I only had a minute. Will you tell him Mrs. Stewart +was up? Or, stay; I'll write him a line." + +Dick gave her some letterheads, and pen and ink; she sat down at his +desk and began writing, with a good deal of scratching and scraping. +"There," she said when she had addressed the envelope, "If you will +please give him that as soon as he comes in. Thank you. Do you do this?" +She pointed with one gloved finger to the drawing he had been busy on. +He bowed silently. She looked at him with a quick, comprehensive glance, +smiled a trifle, and swept out of the door. + +"So that is Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart!" was Dick's first mental +exclamation, "well, she's certainly not an ordinary woman. Wonder if +I'll ever get to know her?" + +With which speculation he turned to his work. When Wooton returned, and +had read the note, he broke into a low chuckle, "That's like her! Just +like her. What do you suppose she says?" + +Dick was the only other person in the outer office, so he was forced to +take the question as addressed to himself. "I have no idea," he +declared. + +"She says she is getting awfully tired of her present lot of young men, +and wants me, for goodness sake, to bring down some one different, and +bring him soon. She says she is tired to death of the man who has lived +and seen and heard everything, and she is dying for a man who is as like +Pierrot as two peas!" Wooton tore the letter up mechanically, and put +the pieces into the waste-basket. "Well," he went on, "I wish I could--" +he stopped and looked at Dick, breaking out the next instant into a +broad grin, "Jupiter!" he added, "you're just the man! Do you want to +join the noble army of martyrs in ordinary to the extraordinary Annie? +She'll do you lots of good; she'll be a pocket education in the +philosophy of today, and she'll put you through all manner of +interesting paces. Seriously, she's a woman who can do a man a lot of +good, socially. And society never does a man much harm; it broadens him, +and gives him finish. Now, you're just the sort of youth she'll like +immensely; and yet she'll soon find out that you've heard about her and +her ways. Never mind; she won't like you any the worse for that; she's +too much a woman of the world. What do you think? The next time I go +down to tea at her house I'll take you along, eh? All you've got to do +is to be clever and amusing and different to the others; Mrs. Stewart is +like the rest of society in that she demands something of the people she +takes up, but she doesn't demand such impossibilities. I'll write and +tell her I've got the very man!" He went on into the inner office, +before Dick had time to say anything in reply. And, to tell the truth, +the idea rather interested him. He had seen her, and had felt interested +in her; he had heard so much about her; and now he was going to meet +her! As to being clever and amusing, he thought he was likely to fail +miserably; but he might, unconsciously perhaps, succeed in being what +Wooten called "different." + +Just then Wooton gave a sudden exclamation. "This is Wednesday, isn't +it? Well, that is her afternoon. You'd better shut up your desk for +today; go up to your rooms and get an artistic twirl or two to your +locks, and then come down to the smoking-room of the Cosmopolitan Club +about quarter to four; I'll be there waiting for you. Then we'll go on +down to Mrs. Stewart's together." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The days were getting very short now, and darkness was already hovering +over the town as Dick passed through the portals of the Cosmopolitan. +When they came out together, Wooton and he, it seemed to Dick that the +town was in one of its most characteristic tempers. It was in the +beginning of winter; the air was a little damp, and smoke hung in it so +that it begrimed in an incredibly short space of time. The buildings, in +the twilight that was half of the day's natural dusk and half the +murkiness of the smoke, loomed against the hardly denned sky like some +towering, threatening genii. The electric lights were beginning to peer +through the gloom. The sidewalks were alive with a never-tiring throng, +men and women jostling each other, never stopping to apologize; all +intent not so much on the present as on something that was always just +a little ahead. This, the onlooker mused, was what it meant to "get +ahead," a blind physical rush in the dark, a callous indifference to +others, a selfish brutality, a putting into effect the doctrine of the +survival of the fittest. The streets clanged with the roll of wheels; +carriages with monograms on the panels rolled by with clatter of chains +and much spattering of mud; huge drays drawn by four, and sometimes +six-horse teams, and blazening to the world the name of some mercantile +genius whom soap or pork had enriched, thundered heavily over the +granite blocks; the roar and underground buzz of the cable mingled with +the deafening ringing of the bell that announced the approach of the +cable trains; overhead was the thunderous noise of the Elevated. It was +all like a huge cauldron of noise and dangers. Dick declared to himself +that it was the modern Inferno. And yet, as he passed toward the station +of the Elevated with Wooton, Dick began to understand something of the +fascination that the place, even in its most noisome aspects, was able +to exert. In the very rush and roar, in the ceaseless hum and murmur and +groaning, there was epitomized the eager fever of life, its joys and its +pains. Here, after all, was life. And it was life that Dick had come to +taste. + +There was a quick ride on the Elevated, Dick catching various glimpses +of unsightly buildings that showed their undress uniform, of dim-lit +back rooms where one caught hints of dismal poverty, of roofs that +seemed to shudder under the banner of dirty clothes fluttering in the +breeze. The town seemed, from this view, like the slattern who is all +radiant at night, at the ball, but who, next morning, is an unkempt, +untidy hag. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart rose rather languidly as they were +announced. Dick noticed that in some mysterious way she managed to give +a peculiar grace to almost her every movement; there was something of a +tigress in the way she walked. She gave her hand to Wooton--"Delightful +of you to come so soon," she murmured. + +"One of the things I live for, my dear Mrs. Stewart," said Wooton, "is +to surprise people. Knew you didn't expect me, so I came. Brought a dear +friend of mine, Mrs. Stewart, Mr. Lancaster. Want you to like him." + +"My only prejudice against you, Mr. Lancaster," was Mrs. Stewart's +smiling reply, "is that you come under Mr. Wooton's protection. I +pretend I'm immensely fond of him, but I'm not; I'm only afraid of him; +he's too clever." And, still laughing at Wooton in such a way as to show +the exquisite perfection of her teeth, she presented young Lancaster to +several of the others who were sitting about the room, chatting and +sipping tea. He had a vague idea of several stiff young men bowing to +him, of an equal number of splendidly appareled, but unhandsome girls, +looking at him with supercilious nods, and of hearing names that faded +as easily as they touched him. He found himself, presently, sitting on +a low divan, opposite to a girl with dreamy blue eyes behind pince-nez +eyeglasses. He hadn't caught her name; he knew no more of her tastes, of +the things she was likely to converse about than did the Man in the +Moon. But he instinctively opined that it was necessary to seem rather +than to be, to skim rather than to dive. + +"I've been 'round the circle," he said, trying a smile, "and I'm +delivered up to you. I hope you'll treat me well." + +The girl with the blue eyes looked at him a moment in silence. Then she +said, abruptly: "This is the first time that you've been down here, +isn't it? I knew it! Well, these things are not bad--when you get used +to them. Now, you're not used to them. Confess, are you?" + +Dick shook his head. "I am innocent as a lamb," he said, with mock +apology. + +The girl went on: "Well, that may do as a novelty. Annie's great on new +blood, you know. Shouldn't wonder if she took you up. How are you on +theosophy?" + +Dick stared. What sort of a torrent of curiosity was this that was +gushing forth from this peculiar creature? "To tell you the truth," he +hazarded, "I am not 'on' at all." + +She smiled. "Ah, that's bad. However, I dare say there's something else. +Now, how are you on art?" + +"I know a little something." He smiled to himself, wondering how much of +the actual practical knowledge of art there was in all that room, +outside of what he himself possessed. + +"Ah, a little something. Well, that's all that's needed, nowadays. The +great point is to know 'a little something' about everything. To know +anything thoroughly is to be a bore. A man of that sort is always +didactic on the one subject he is familiar with, and absolutely stupid +on all other things. However, what's the use of considering those +people? They're quite impossible." She began tapping the carpet with her +slipper. "Speaking of impossible people," she went on, "there's Mrs. +Tremont. Over there with the grey waist. Intellectually, she's +impossible; socially she is the possible in essence. She was a Miss +Alexander, of Virginia; then she married Tremont, and lived in Boston +long enough to get Boston superciliousness added to the natural +haughtiness given to her in her birth. She talks pedigree, and dreams of +precedence. She goes everywhere, and I fancy she thinks that when she +hands St. Peter her card that personage will bow in deference and +announce her name in particularly awestruck tones. The girl who is +talking to the tall man with the military mustache is Miss Tremont. She +is her mother, plus the world and the devil." + +Dick interrupted her, as she paused to sip her tea. "Yes," he said, "and +now tell me who you are?" + +She, lifted her eyebrows a trifle. "You have audacity," she said, "and I +begin to think you are clever. Audacity is successful only when one is +clever. When one is stupid, audacity is a crime. Who am I? Well--" she +smiled again at the thought of his assurance. "Why not ask my enemies? +But you don't know who is my enemy, who is my friend. Well, I am the +Philistine in this circle of the elect. I'm a cousin of Mrs. Stewart's, +and I come because I am fond of being amused. She herself amuses me +most. She seems to be so tremendously in earnest, and she's so +unfathomably insincere. She hates me, you know, because I didn't marry +John Stewart when he proposed to me. Then, I never did anything, or had +a fad, or was eccentric, so I don't really belong here; but, as I said +before, the house amuses me, and I come. I don't know why I tell you +this, but I don't care very much, and besides, I believe you're still +genuine. It's so pathetic to be genuine; it reminds me of a baby +rabbit--blind eyes and fuzz. I'm not sure, but it's my idea, that if you +want to keep Mrs. Stewart's good graces you'll have to do nothing harder +than stay genuine. It's so novel. Most of us, today, couldn't be genuine +again any more than we could be born again. Ah, here's my dear cousin +approaching. I suppose she comes to rescue you from my clutches. If you +want to please her immensely, tell her I bored you to death. She'll have +the thought for desert all week." + +Mrs. Stewart sailed toward them with a queenly sweep that was decidedly +imposing. She had decided to have a chat with young Lancaster. When she +had seen him in the office of the _Torch_, and now, when he first +entered the room, she had seen at a glance that he was handsome enough +not to need cleverness; but she was curious to see whether he would +interest her in other than visual ways. "You've been most fortunate," +she said to Dick, as she reached them, "with Miss Leigh to interpret us +for you. Has she told you, I wonder, that she is my favorite cousin? But +now, I want to talk to you about art. If Miss Leigh will surrender you +to me--?" + +"I've been talking to Mr. Wooton about you," she said as she bore him +away in triumph, "and he tells me you've only been in town for a few +weeks. You still have vivid impressions, I suppose. When one has lived +here for years and years, one's impressionability gets hardened. It +takes something very forcible to really rouse us. And even then we +prefer to let some one of us experience the sensation; it is so much +easier to take another's word for it, and follow in the rut. That is how +most of our present day fads come about. Some one gets pierced between +the casings of the armour of indifference, and the rest of us take the +cue and join in the chorus of ecstasy. We don't go to hear Patti or +Paderewski, you know, because, we really feel their art deeply; it is +because someone once felt it and it became the fashion." While she +talked, she had led him into a window-nook and motioned him to a +fauteuil that covered the crescent-shaped niche. As she sat down, the +lines of her figure could be traced through the perfect fit of her gown. +He noticed what finish, what art there was about the picture she made as +she sat there, beside him. Her gown was a delicate shade of gray; the +crepe seemed to love her as a vine loves a tree, so closely did it +follow and cling to the lines of her hips, her waist, her shoulders. +Over her sleeves, immensely wide, as the fashion of the time decreed, +fell lapels of silk. She had on low shoes, and above them he could see +the neat contour of her ankles, also clad in gray. "However," she went +on, "I did not intend to talk of the fashion; I wanted to ask you how +the town struck your artistic side. Don't you find as great pictures in +a street full of life as in a valley full of shadow? Isn't there more of +the history of today in the faces of the people you meet on the Avenue +than in a stretch of blue sky, a white sail, and a background of +Venice?" + +"I see you're something of a realist?" + +"Don't! Please don't! That word gets on my nerves. I suppose my amiable +cousin, Miss Leigh, told you we were all blue-stockings, and +dilettantes. I assure you we've got beyond the Realism _versus_ Romance +stage of disputation. Really, you don't know how you disappointed me +with that question. Mr. Wooton told me you were original!" + +Dick flushed a little. "He also told me," he retorted, "that you were +extraordinary. I begin to believe him." His tone had a suspicion of +pique in it. But Mrs. Stewart beamed. + +"Ah," she said, "I like you when you look like that. That's--h'm, now +what is that?--anger, I suppose? It's really so long since I had a real +emotion that I don't know how it's done. Do you know, I think you and I +are going to be great friends! Yes, I feel I'm going to like you +immensely. Won't you try to like me?" She leaned over toward him, and +his shy young eyes caught the faint flutter of lace on her breast with +something of dim bewilderment. Her lips were parted, and her teeth shone +like twin rows of pearls. She went on, before he had time to do more +than begin a stammer of embarassment, "Yes, just as long as you stay +real, and genuine, I want you to come and see me very often; as often as +you possibly can. I imagine that talking to you is going to be like +dipping in the fountain of youth. Tell me, you people out there in the +country, how do you keep so young?" + +"Ask me that, Mrs. Stewart, when I have found out how it is that you in +town lose your youth so soon." + +"True. You will be the better judge. But you never told me how it +strikes the artist in you, this town of ours." + +"I haven't had time to think yet how it strikes me. I'm busy finding out +all about it. Just at present it's all like the genius that came from +the fisherman's vessel in the Arabian Nights: it is a huge coil of +smoke that stifles me with its might and its thickness. I know there are +wonderful color-effects all about me, but my nerves are still so eager +for the mere taste of it all that I can't digest anything. Besides--" he +stopped and sighed a little--"I must not begin to think of paint for +years. I'm a mere apprentice. I just scratch and rub, and scratch and +rub, as a brother artist puts it." + +"But one sees some very pretty effects in black-and-white. Look at +_Life_, for instance--" + +"No, Mrs. Stewart, if you would be loyal to me, don't look at the +aforesaid 'loathsome contemporary,' as they say out West." It was Wooton +who had approached, and interrupted Mrs. Stewart with an easy +nonchalance that, in almost any other man, would have been an +unpardonable rudeness. He threw himself on a chair and continued: "Mrs. +Stewart, you have wounded me sorely. I bring you a disciple and what do +you do? You buttonhole him, as it were, and preach treason to him. For, +you must confess, that to tell people to look at _Life_ when they might +be looking at--h'm--another periodical, whose name I reverence too +highly to mention before a traitoress, is High Treason." + +For reply, Mrs. Stewart tapped Wooton lightly on the lips with a large +ivory paper-cutter that she had been toying with. "As I was saying, when +rudely interrupted, look at--" + +"My dear Mrs. Stewart, why this feverish desire to look at life? I ask +you both, is life pretty? Remember M. Zola and Mr. Howells. They are +supposed to give us life, are they not? Well, the one flushes a sewer, +and the other hands us weak tea. I prefer not to contemplate life. I am +obliged to read the morning papers because it is become necessary to +know today the unpleasantness that happened yesterday. But otherwise I +assure you that life--" + +This time, Mrs. Stewart tapped him quite smartly with the paper-cutter. + +"You know very well that puns have been out of fashion for more years +than you have been of age. We were talking about art, and incidentally +about a paper that encourages art, and you begin a dissertation on life! +What do you mean?" + +Wooton mockingly stifled an effort to yawn. "As if I ever, by the +vaguest chance, meant anything! I hate to be asked what I mean. If I +knew, I would probably not tell, and if I do not know why should I lie? +The safest course in this world is never to mean anything and to say +everything. If I had my life to live over again--" + +Mrs. Stewart looked at him with a shudder, lifting her shoulders, while +her mouth showed a smile. "Why speak of anything so unpleasant?" + +"Ah, had you there, Wooton, eh!" It was Vanstruther, who had strolled +over to pay his respects to Mrs. Stewart. She held out a hand; he +pressed it lightly. He nodded to Lancaster, and then looked through the +half-drawn portiers to where in the black-and-gold drawing-room the +others were sitting and standing in colorful groups. Someone was at the +piano playing a mazurka of Chopin's. There was a faint click of cups +touching saucers; the high notes of the women and the low drawl of the +men. Vanstruther looked at them all slowly, and then turned to Mrs. +Stewart again. "All in?" he inquired. + +Mrs. Stewart nodded and smiled. + +"I've not been at your house for so long," Vanstruther continued, "that +I'm a little out of the running. Several people here that are new to me. +Now, that girl in black?" + +"Talking to young Hexam? That's Madge Winters. You remember young +Winters who was runner-up in the tennis tournament last season?--sister +of his. She's just back from Japan. Has some idea of doing a sort of +Edmund Russell gospel of the beautiful _a la_ Japan course of readings. +Her brother amused me once and I'm going to do what I can for her. Now, +who else is there? Let me see: I don't think you ever met Miss Farcreigh +before--she's talking to the man at the piano. Delightful girl--her +father's the big Standard Oil man, you know--and collects china. Sings a +little, too. But chiefly I like her because she's pretty and a great +catch. There's a German prince madly in love with her, but her father +objects to him because his majesty never did a stroke of work in his +life. I believe you know all the others." + +"Thank you, yes." Vanstruther turned to Dick and said to him, with a +smile at Mrs. Stewart, "You may find eccentric people here, Lancaster, +but you will never find unpleasant ones." + +"That's where Mrs. Stewart makes the inevitable mistake," drawled +Wooton. "There should be one or two unpleasant ones, merely for the sake +of the others. If it were not for the unpleasant people in the world, it +would hardly be worth while being the other kind." + +"You're as unpleasant as need be," was Mrs. Stewart's reply. + +"Delighted!" murmured Wooton. "To have done a duty is always a delight. +I have done several. I have brought you a new disciple, I have leavened +your heaven with intrusion of myself, and now--now I must really go. My +virtues are still like incense in my nostrils. Allow me to waft myself +gently away before they grow rank and stale." + +Dick rose at the same moment. "Oh," Wooton said to him, "you're not +obliged to go yet. Stay and let Mrs. Stewart enchant you with the nectar +of proximity! I've got to be down at the Midwinter dance tonight, so I +must be off now." + +But Dick, in spite of the other's protestations, insisted that he must +really go also. He assured Mrs. Stewart that lie had enjoyed himself +immensely, promised to come soon and often, and was presently whirling +down-town again with Wooton. The latter had bought an evening paper and +was carefully perusing the sporting columns. Dick closed his eyes, +trying to recall the picture he had just left: the dim-lit +drawing-room, with its well-dressed, graceful people; Mrs. Stewart's +fascinating voice and figure; the flippant frivolity of all their +discourse; the useless sham of all their isms and fads; the clever ease +with which everything seemed to be taken for granted, and nothing was +ever truly analyzed--how like a phantasmagoria of repellant things it +all was, and yet how fascinating! Everyone appeared to know everything; +no surprise was ever expressed; no emotion was ever visible. It was +fully expected that everyone was possessed of no real aim in life save +the riding of a hobby; it was agreed that to appear ignorant of anything +was to be vulgar. And yet, in that circle, Dick was hailed as "so +delightfully genuine," and was told that he would stand high at court as +long as he remained so! Surely these were strange days, and stranger +ways! That phrase of Mrs. Stewart's about young Winters grated harshly, +too--"He amused me once!" + +Was life merely an effort at being forever amused? + +Almost, it seemed so. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +The room was dim with smoke. Through the faint veil that curled +incessantly toward the ceiling the pictures on the wall took on a misty +haze that heightened rather than spoilt their effect. It was not a large +room, but the walls were covered with pictures of every sort. It was +impossible to escape observing the artistic carelessness that had +prevailed in the arrangement of the furniture. Bookcases lined the lower +portion of each wall; then came pictures. There was an original by Blum; +a marvelously executed facsimile of a black-and-white by Abbey; a +Vierge, and a Myrbach. Not the least remarkable Mature of these +ornaments was the manner of their framing, A Parisienne, by Jules +Cheret, for instance, all skirts and chic, looked as if she had just +burst through the confines of a prison-wall of a daily paper. The +carelessly serrated edges, then the white matting, and the brown frame +gave a whole that was worth looking at twice. An etching--one of +Beardsley's fantasies--was framed all in black; it was more effective +than the original. + +Over the mantel were scattered photographs of stage divinities in +profusion. Many of them had autographs scrawled across the face of the +picture. In a niche in the wall a human skull, with a clay pipe stuck +jauntily between the teeth, looked out over the smoke. + +From the next room, beyond the open portieres, came the sound of a +violin and a piano. + +The air of Mascagni's "Intermezzo" died away, and for it was substituted +a slow dirge-like melody. Belden, in the front room, broke out into an +explosive, "Ah, that's the stuff! Everybody sing: 'For they're hangin' +Danny Deever in the mohn-nin'.'" The wail of that solemn ballad went +echoing through the house, all the men present joining in. Belden, who +had been lying at full length on the floor, explaining the beauties of a +charcoal drawing by Menzel to a group of three other artists--Marsboro, +of the _Telegraph_, Evans, of the _Standard_, and a younger man, +Stevely, who was still going to the Art School--had jumped to his feet +and was slowly waving a pencil in mock leadership of a chorus. +Vanstruther, who was stealing an evening from society for Bohemia's +sake, was far back in a huge rocking chair; a fantastic work by Octave +Uzanne on his knee, and his legs stretched out over the center table; he +now held his pipe in his hand and hummed the refrain in a deep bass. + +"Go on," urged Belden, as the last notes moaned themselves away in the +smoke, "go on, give us something else!" But Stanley laid his violin down +on a bookcase and declared that his arm was tired. + +Vanstruther pulled at his pipe again, until he was sure he still had +fire. Then he declared, oracularly, "Stanley, you look tremendously +religious tonight. Been jilted? + +"No, shaved. You confirm an impression I have that a man never feels so +religious as when he has just been shaved. I assure you that in this way +I could really read one of your 'shockers,' Van, and feel that I was +doing my duty." + +"Oh," Belden cut in, going over to one of the bookcases, "anything to +stop Stanley from hearing himself talk. It makes him drunk. Seeing we +had a ballad of Kipling's just now, suppose some one reads something of +his. Then someone else can sit still, and think of his sins, while the +pen-and-ink men make sketches of him. How'll that do, eh? + +"All right." It was Vanstruther, whose voice came from over the smoke. +"I'll read if you like; and Stanley can get a far-away expression into +his countenance, while you other fellows put his ephemeral beauty on +paper. What'll it be?" + +Stanley, who was rolling himself onto a sofa in the corner, murmured, +while he rolled a cigarette with a deft motion of his fingers, "Oh, give +us that yarn about the things in a dead man's eye, what's the title +again--'At the End of the Passage', isn't it? I'm in the mood for +something of that pleasant sort. By the way, aren't we a man shy, +Belden?" + +"Yes. Young Lancaster hasn't arrived yet. I had a great time getting him +to say he would come; he has scruples about Sunday, and all that sort of +thing; but he'll turn up pretty soon, I know. Here's the book, Van." He +handed the volume across the table. Stanley, after a few chaffing +remarks had passed back and forth, was arranged into a position that +would give the artists a sharp profile to work from. The artists began +sharpening pencils, and pinning paper on drawing boards. And then, for +a time, there was nothing but the sounds of pens and pencils going over +paper, and Vanstruther's voice reading that story of Indian heat and +hopelessness. In the other room McRoy, the man who had been playing +Stanley's piano accompaniment, was reading Swinburne to himself. + +The bell rang suddenly. Belden threw his sketch down and opened the +door. "Lancaster, I suppose," he said. Then they heard his voice in the +hall, greeting the newcomer, who was presently ushered in and airily +made known to such of the men as he had not yet been introduced to. + +"You've just missed a treat, my boy," said Belden, pushing Dick into a +chair. "Vanstruther has been reading us a yarn of Kipling's. You're fond +of Kip., I suppose?" + +While Dick said, "Oh, yes, indeed," Stanley put in. + +"It's lucky for you you are, because Belden here swears by the trinity +of Kipling, Riley and Henri Murger. He has occasional flirtations with +other authors, but he generally comes back to those three. But then, +when you get to know Belden better, you will realize that he has what is +technically known as 'rats in his garret.' Do you know what he once did, +just to illustrate? Walked miles in a bleak country district that he +might reach a certain half-disabled bridge and there sit, reading De +Quincey's 'Vision of Sudden Death' by moonlight! The man who can do +that can do anything that's weird." + +"There's only one way to stop your tongue, Stanley," Belden remarked +humoredly, "and that is to ask you to play for us again. Lancaster has +never heard you yet, you know." + +Stanley looked out into the other room. "What do you say, Mac? Shall we +tune our harps again?" + +"Just as cheap," said the other, without looking up from his book. + +They began to play. From Raff's "Cavatina," they strayed into a melody +by Rubinstein; then it was a wild gallop through comic operas, popular +songs, and Bowery catches. While they played the men in the other room +began comparing sketches. Vanstruther ushered Dick into many of the +artistic treasure-holds that the room contained. Also, he supplied him +with running comments on some of the things they saw all about them. +Dick, though he scarcely felt at ease, felt strongly the fascination of +all this devil-may-care atmosphere. The haze of smoke; the melodious +airs from beyond the portieres; the careless attire and jaunty +nonchalance of the men, all drew him with a sort of sensual hypnotism, +even while his inner being felt that he himself was a little better than +this. He was in the land of Don't-Care; dogmas, creeds, faiths had no +place here; everything was "do as you please, and let your neighbor +please himself." He said but little; he thought a great deal. + +One of the artists called Vanstruther over to the open bookcase, to show +him a sketch by Gibson. Dick looked about him, picked up a copy of Omar +Khayyam, that had Vedder's illustrations, and buried himself in the +gentle philosophy of that classic. + +But Belden was again become restless. Mere melody never did anything but +irritate him. "Oh, play some nigger music," he asked. Then, when a few +merry jingles from "'Way down South" had played themselves in and out of +the echoes, Stanley put his violin down with a decisive gesture. "There, +I've paid my way, I think!" When the piano had been closed, and the +violin laid away in its case, he went on, "'Seems to me it's about time +you were bringing along your friend Murger?" + +Belden walked toward the shelf where the "Scenes de la Vie de Boheme" +had its place. As he took it out, however, he said, "Come to think of +it, Marsboro's going to commit matrimony pretty soon, I hear. Any +objections?" He held the volume in the air, questioningly. + +Marsboro laughed, and shook his head. "No, no," he said, "go on!" + +"Just as if," Stanley observed, "a man about to be married knew what +objections were! Dante Gabriel Belden, in some things you are weirdly +primitive." + +"I would sooner be primitive than effete," was Belden's retort. + +Stanley turned to Marsboro. "Don't think me curious, old man, but is it +any girl I know?" + +Before Marsboro could reply, Vanstruther broke in with, "I'll bet money +it's not! You don't suppose Marsboro is likely to think of marrying a +woman with a past!" + +Marsboro flushed a little; and moved uneasily in his chair. Dick, +looking up from his Omar Khayam, wondered how the man could endure such +verbal pitch and toss with such a subject. + +But Stanley turned away from the matter with a sneer. "My dear fellow," +he said, "if it will soothe your sweet soul, I am quite willing to admit +that in the course of my life I have known some women who had pasts. +They are invariably interesting. The only difference between a woman +with a past and a man of the same sort is that the man still has a +future before him. And a man with a future is as pathetic as a little +boy chasing a butterfly: even if he wins the game, there is nothing but +a corpse, and some dust on his fingers." + +Belden, turning the pages of the Murger, said, deprecatingly, "Don't get +Stanley started on moral reflections: in the first place, they are not +moral; in the second place they reflect nothing but his own perverted +soul. Talking morals with some men is like turning the pages of an +edition de luxe with inky fingers." + +Stanley laughed. "Good boy! But now go on with Rodolph and his +flirtations. Where did you leave off? Hadn't he just written some +poetry, spent the proceeds on feasting his friends, and the night in a +tree?" + +Belden began to read. + +In spite of himself, Dick began to feel the fascination of Murger's +recital of all those rollicking, roystering episodes in the Latin +Quarter. He let the Omar fall idly into his lap, and gave himself up to +listening to Belden's reading. The other men smoked and smiled. Dick's +sense of humor told him that there was something quaint in the way +Belden intentionally fed his own love for Bohemianism with another's +description; none the less he admitted that there was no sham, +dilettante Bohemianism about this place and the men present. It was not +the Bohemianism of claw-hammer coats and high-priced champagne; of +little suppers, after the theater, in a black and gold boudoir, where +the women tasted some Welsh rarebit and declared that they were afraid +it was "awfully Bohemian, don't you know!" It was the Bohemia that +recked naught of others, but had as banner, "Do as you please," and as +watchword "Don't care." It was the old philosophy of Epicurus brought to +modern usage. + +The good-humored account that. Henri Murger gave of so many picturesque +light-love escapades, that had so much of pathos mingled with their +unmorality, began to find in Dick a vein of sympathy. He felt that it +was all very pleasant; all was charmingly put; it was interesting. + +"There," Belden declared, as he finished reading the episode of the +flowers that Musette watered every night, because she had promised to +love while those blossoms lived, "I'm dry, that's what I am. I think +it's about time we investigated. Come on into the kitchen, people. +There's some coffee and cake and fruit. Shouldn't wonder if you could +find a bottle or two of beer on the ice, too." + +They trooped out, through a room and corridor, to the kitchen. There was +a bare, deal table, a cooking range, a gas stove, a refrigerator and +several doors leading to closets. Every man brought his own chair. A +search was begun for cups, plates, knives and forks. Each man sat down +where he pleased. The coffee that was made was hardly such as one gets +at Tortoni's, but it was refreshing, nevertheless. The sound of corks +drawing from beer-bottles, of knives rattling on plates, and of +indiscriminate, lusty chatter filled the place. Belden was the +master-spirit. He saw that everyone helped himself; he chaffed and he +laughed; he looked after the provender and the cigars. The infection of +all this jollity touched Dick; he began to say to himself that to worry +himself "with conscientious scruples just because it was on a Sunday +instead of a Monday that all this happened, was to be something of a +prig." And he had always had a decided aversion to being that particular +sort of nuisance. He resigned himself completely to the spirit of the +time and place. + +McRoy broke into the babel of talk with a plaintive, "Everybody listen +for about a minute, will you? I want to ask Belden a solemn question: +Belden, have you finished that copy of 'Old-World Idyls' that you were +going to illustrate for me in pen-and-ink, on the margins?" + +Belden smiled. "Why, to tell you the truth, old man--" he began, but the +other interrupted him with, "There! publicly branded! Belden, you're the +awfulest breaker of oaths that ever was let live. You've had the book +six months, and I'll bet you've never drawn a stroke on it!" + +"The mistake you made," put in Stanley, "was to believe that he ever +_would_ do the thing. He once made a promise of that sort to me, but +that was so long ago that I think I'm another person now." + +"If the theory of evolution is correct," said Vanstruther, "your late +lamented self must have been and abominably corrupt person." + +Stanley sighed, "Perhaps so. I am trying, you know, day by day, to +approach the sublime pinnacle on which you, my dear Van, tower above the +rest of mankind. However--" he reached his arm out over the table--"Any +beer left over there?" + +Belden handed a mug and a bottle over to him. + +"By the way," cut in Marsboro, "ever had any more trouble with the +neighbors here? Said you kept them awake Sunday nights with your unholy +orgies, didn't they?" + +"Yes. But I said if they were going to kick on that score I would get +out an injunction against that girl of theirs that is always trying to +play 'After the Ball', with one hand. So I fancy our lances are both at +rest." + +So, with much careless clatter, and exchange of banter, they ate and +drank lustily until their hunger was appeased. Then, pushing their +plates and mugs into the middle of the table they leaned back to enjoy +the pleasures of the god Nicotine. And presently someone hinted that the +empty plates and the litter of the late-lamentedness in general was not +a cheering sight and they might as well proceed into the studio again. +There was a shoving back of chairs, a trooping through the corridor, and +they were all assembled once more in the front rooms. McRoy hid himself +behind a book. The others grouped themselves around the piano. The +plaintiff strains of Chevalier's "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins" filled the +room, born aloft on the impetus of five pairs of lungs. + +There was a violent ringing at the outer bell. It was some little time +before the men at the piano heard the din; it was only at McRoy's +muttered "Somebody's pulling your front door bell off the wires, +Belden!" that the latter went to open. The men in the room could hear +the sound of a man's voice, a quick passage of sentences, then +good-nights, all vaguely, over the strains of the coster-ditty. + +"What do you think," said Belden, coming in again, "has happened? It was +Ditton, of the _Telegraph_--lives a door or two north--just dropped in +to tell me a bit of news that he thought would interest me. Wooton of +the '_Torch_'? has disappeared, leaving the property deeply in debt. +Nobody knows where he is. Jove, come to think of it, that's pretty rough +news for you, Lancaster!" + +"Yes," said Lancaster, "it is. And yet there is one consolation, he paid +me within a week of what was due me." + +There was a cessation of all other discussion to make room for the +consideration of this bit of news. Everybody agreed that it was too bad +that so good a sheet as the "Torch" should go the way of the majority. +Concerning Wooton the opinions differed. Belden began to apologize to +Lancaster for having led him into this "mess," as he called it, while +Stanley sneered at everybody for not having seen through Wooton long +ago. + +"He is inordinately vain," said Stanley, "and frightfully extravagant. +Clever. Lazy--awfully lazy. He can sit back in his chair and tell you +how to run the New York _Herald_, and he has been able to get nothing +profitable into or out of his paper from the time he began until now. He +theorizes beautifully; the only thing he can really do successfully is +to borrow money and talk to women. He used to amuse me just in the way +an actor amuses me. Half the time I think he was deceiving even himself. +I always thought he would do this very thing, one of these days. He used +to have what old women call 'spells' now and again, when he found +himself hard up for cash, that were really the most curious +performances. He would stay away from his office altogether; genius as +he was in warding off collectors, he used to prefer not to face them +sometimes. There was--I should say there is--a woman, one of the +cleverest, most cultured woman in town, who was fond of him in an +elderly-sister sort of way, and he used to go to her and borrow money. +Think of it: borrow money from a woman! She saw through him long ago, I +know, and yet he used to use such artifice--such tears, and promises of +betterment as the men employed!--that she always helped him in the end. +Then he gambled to try to make the big stake that would enable him to +run a rich man's paper; the only result is that he got deeper and deeper +into the hole. All the time he avoided his office; if he scraped up a +banknote or two he would send them along, per messenger boy, to the +foreman of the composing-room and have the printers paid, at least. You +must pay the printers and the pressmen, you know, even if you let a lot +of literary devils starve! And then some guardian angel would send along +a college chum, or some fellow with more loyality than discretion, and +A.B. Wooton would make a big 'borrow' and be once more the genial, +cynical man-of-the-world that the rest of you know. This time I presume +the angel refused to come. The end had to come; it was simply a huge +game of 'bluff.'" + +"How is it you know all this?" asked one of the others. + +"My dear fellow," was Stanley's answer, "I have _gambled_ with him. All +through one of those periods when he was engaged, ostrich-like, in +sticking his head into the sand, I was with him. Besides, I know +something of his private affairs. He had sunk all of his own money long +ago; for the last year or so the _Torch_ and Wooton have been living on +the gullibility of others. It seems strange that this should be possible +in this smart American city, but Wooton was not an ordinary bluffer; he +was a genius. Owing you hundreds of dollars he could talk to you all day +so skilfully on the one especial vanity of your heart that you would +feel much more like offering him another hundred than like even so much +as mentioning the old debt. I feel sorry for him. He should have a +patron, to humor him in all his extravagances; he would be splendid, +splendid!" + +But Lancaster, whom the news had touched a good deal, declared that it +was time he was taking himself off. Belden accompanied him to the door, +and spoke to him encouragingly about another position that he thought +Dick could easily obtain. Then Lancaster passed out into the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Carriages lined the sidewalk for blocks in every direction. There was a +slight sprinkle of rain falling, and the shining rubber coats and hats +of the coachmen caught the electric light in fantastic streaks. Horses +were stamping, and chafing the bit. From every direction came a stream +of humanity, all making for the Auditorium. Carriages were arriving +every moment; the bystanders and ticket scalpers caught glimpses of +light hose and dainty opera shoes and skirts that were lifted for an +instant. Men in black capes were hurrying about busily. The cable cars +emptied load after load of well-dressed men and women. All the world and +his wife was going to the opera. + +Dick Lancaster, as he got out of his hansom, looked appreciatively at +the picture that all this hurrying throng made, and shaking some of the +rain drops off his coat, entered the opera house. As he looked about him +at the richly caparisoned human animals all on pleasure bent, at the +nonchalance that the mirrors told him he himself was displaying, it came +over him with something of amusement that there had been decided changes +in Richard Lancaster since that young person first came to town. +Impressionable as wax, the town had already cast its fascinations over +him; he was in the charmed circle. He had been put up at one of the best +of the clubs; he had been made much of, socially, by the select set that +allowed the preferences of Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart to dictate the +distinction between the Somebodies and the Nobodies; he had been +successful enough, professionally, to enable him to move in the world as +befitted his tastes. It is to be confessed that his tastes, now that +they had been whetted by the approach of opportunities, were not of the +most economical. He was fond of all things that show the intellectual +aristocrat; he liked to look well, to dine well, to talk well, and to +enjoy good music. He liked the comfort, the remoteness from the mere +vagaries of the weather, that this town life afforded. Here was a night +such as in the country would be dismal unspeakably; yet nothing but +brilliance and enjoyment was evident in his present surroundings. + +He threw his shoulders back with something of proud pleasure in his own +well-being, as he handed his cape and opera-hat to the caretaker. Yes, +life was good! It tasted well, and he was young, and there would yet be +many long, delicious draughts of it! + +Mrs. Stewart was in her box. Several girls, whose low-cut dresses seemed +to be longing for something more worth showing, were seated on the +chairs that surrounded the central figure, Mrs. Stewart. In the +background of this, as of all other boxes, was a phalanx of white +shirt-fronts. It looked like the fore-front of an attacking army; first +the flash of bayonets, as they are to be found in woman's eyes, and then +the heavier artillery, the stolid force of masculinity. In the wide +corridors behind the boxes, in the foyers, and up and down the marble +stairways, the stream of people flowed back and forth. Presently the +conductor of the orchestra took his seat. There was a hastening toward +seats and boxes, and the overture of the "Cavalleria Rusticana" floated +out in echoes. + +Young Lancaster reached the Stewart box just as the first bars were +streaming forth. Mrs. Stewart leaned her head gracefully back over her +right shoulder, and smiled up at him. She stretched up a beautifully +gloved hand, and whispered a "Glad you came through the rain, after all. +Awfully disappointed if you hadn't!" at him. He nodded to the other +women, and shook hands with Mr. Stewart and some of the other members of +the white-shirted, blank-faced phalanx. + +"Ah," whispered Mrs. Stewart with a languid show of interest, and +putting her lorgnette up, "there is Calve!" + +There was a flutter of hand-clappings that went like a light wave from +the stalls to the upper balconies. And then began that exquisite, +dramatic exposition of rustic jealousy that Mascagni has so wonderfully +set to music. As Santuzza, Calve was magnetic. Actress as much as singer +she riveted all attention. Her face was the picture of agony the while +she was contemplating: the inner vision of her betrayal by Turiddu. +Then, the jealous hatred flashing out at Lola, her rival; and lastly the +self-accusing sorrow that covered her when she saw the effect of her +tale-bearing against her former lover. In the interval there was the +marvellous Intermezzo. Mrs. Stewart leaned back in her chair and closed +her eyes. When it was over she said, "There is something of the world's +joy and something of its pain in that melody. It appeals to me +wonderfully." + +Lancaster put in, "One of the men at the club declared that it was the +only thing that had given him real emotion for--oh, years." + +"He must have been a very blase creature," said one of the other women. + +"He is," assented Lancaster. + +Their further conversation was interrupted by the rising of the curtain. +When it came down again there was a general movement toward the foyers. +Some of the tall and pale young men strolled out to smoke cigars and +talk of the boxing match that was going to come off at the club in a day +or so. With much fluttering of fans and swishing of skirts the angular +girls betook themselves from Mrs. Stewart's box to see if they "could +see any of the other girls." Mrs. Stewart and Dick Lancaster were left +in sole possession. He took a chair beside her and looked over into the +stalls. + +"Only fair," she said, noting his visual measurement of the size of the +audience. + +"Yes. These people don't want the New. They want 'Faust' and 'Aida,' and +they think 'Tannhaeuser' is the very last in music. It will be years +before they see the gem-like beauty of this new Italian school." + +"And yet--it's a return to the old." + +"That is why. The old things are the best, if you only go far enough +into the past. We are never really modern, we are merely old in a new +way." + +"Do you know--" she leaned her white elbow on the cushioned chair-back +and placed her forefinger just under her ear, so that from the elbow up +her arm formed a white, beautiful rest for the attractive face, and +looking young Lancaster smilingly in the eyes, tapped her foot +caressingly to the floor--"do you know that I think I shall have to cut +you off my list very soon? You have--h'm--changed a great deal in the +few months I have known you. You occasionally make speeches that sound +almost cynical. You were always clever; you always talked brightly, but +you never used to believe some of the sharp things you said; now I think +you are beginning to. I liked you because you were different; you are +not different any more, at least not different in the same way. You will +never be as stupid as most of the others; but I am afraid, too, that you +will never be quite as genuine as you were." + +He sighed as he looked at her. He smiled very faintly as he answered, +"Yes, I am afraid you are right. I am not as I was." His gaze swept out +over the stalls, the crowded foyer, the brilliance everywhere. "But how +could I have done anything else than let all this affect me a little? I +am pliable, I suppose, and I bend easily to the wind. I came here to +taste life. As soon as I began to sip the cup I found that I was going +to like it immensely. I trod the way of the world that I might see what +manner of men walk there, and what sort of a road it was. Presently, I +found that I liked that path so much that I preferred it to the bypaths +of solitude and asceticism. And what has it mattered as long as I have +not neglected the work there is for me to do? No one can say I have +changed in that respect. I work harder than ever. It's not fair of you +to upbraid me. A great deal of it is your own doing." + +"Yes?" + +"Of course it is. You have been my pilot out of the land of the Narrows. +When I came up here I was narrow. I thought about things dogmatically, +and applied hard and fast rules to every sort of conduct. Now I am +broader. I know that where the world moves at lightning speed you cannot +apply the same tenets that hold good in a village where life is lived at +a cripple's gait and where routine is the reigning deity." + +"You would not have called it a 'cripple's gait' a little while ago," +interposed Mrs. Stewart. + +He flushed slightly but went on: "I realize now that since we have but +one life to live, we should live it as fully as we may. I could not have +seen the life that all of you here are living without realizing that it +was a fuller life than the one the country afforded me. So, cost what it +may, I must needs live it also." + +She looked at him curiously. "Yes," she repeated, half to him and half +to herself, "cost what it may." + +"Besides," he went on, looking away from her, and with something of +regret in his voice, "I have grown worldly because I loved a worldly +woman. You--you have made me love you." + +She lifted her eyebrows a trifle, turned her head, with the eyelids +drawn down over her eyes, toward him, and opened the lids slowly, with a +smile on her lips. Then she looked past him to where her husband was +leaning over a chair in one of the other boxes. + +"Don't you think John is looking very handsome tonight?" she asked +softly. + +Lancaster, who had gone red and pale in waves, answered, through set +lips, "Very." + +Then the curtain went up on "Pagliacci." + + * * * * * + +It was the first time that Lancaster had heard Leoncavallo's opera. In +its novel charm his shame and mortification--shame at having spoken +those words to Mrs. Stewart and mortification at the rebuff they had +only naturally brought him--were for the time being swallowed up. With +eager eyes and attentive ears he watched and listened to the play within +the play. First the arrival of the mountebanks. Amid the laughs and +rejoicings of the villagers the theater-tent is set. Then the effort of +the clown to make love to Canio's wife; the slash of the whip from her, +the muttered curses from him. But the woman is fickle, after all; the +villager, Silvio, is more successful than the clown was. The sudden +approach of Canio, the husband, led hither by the vengeful clown, still +smarting under the whip; the escape of Silvio, and the woman's refusal +to tell the name of her lover. And so, to the wonderful second act, +where tragedy is so dexterously woven into comedy; where, under the +guise of a drama that the mountebanks proffer the villagers on their +little stage, the greater drama of Canio's jealousy is spun out to its +tragic ending. In between the lines of the dialogue intended for the +village audience come lines wrung from Canio's heart that sear their way +into his wife's breast, spite of her stage-smiles and graces. And when, +at the last, Canio, in his baffled rage, would strike her, and Silvio, +her lover, rushes from the audience in rescue, only to be stabbed by the +finally exultant husband, young Lancaster involuntarily shuddered. There +was something griping in the wonderful display of human rage and +jealousy that this young tenor gave in Canio; in the final words, full +of tragic, double, ironical meaning, "La comedie e finita!" there was +something of a sentence of death. And somehow, in Silvio there seemed to +be something of himself: that lover's terrible fate was fraught for him, +in the conscience-stricken state he found himself in, with warning and +protest. While the applause, reaching curtain-call after curtain-call, +surged all about him, young Lancaster was lost in reverie. He was +changed, yes. He had adapted himself to the manners of the town; but he +still had a most nervous conscience, sharp, unblunted. He sat still, +with his chin hiding his upper shirt stud. + +Mrs. Stewart's voice roused him. Her husband was already engaged in +putting her cloak about her shoulders. "Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said +sweetly. "We shall see you Wednesday, shall we not?" + +He bowed and stammered something, he hardly knew what. + +The opera was over. + + * * * * * + +That night, before he took off his dress' clothes, Dick sat down and +wrote to his mother. It was a thing he had not been so steadfast in of +late as once he had been. + +In one place he wrote: "You ask me, mother mine, how I like the town now +that it is no longer strange to me. Oh, I like it only too well. The old +place, the old friends, the sweet gentle tenor of all the old life out +there in Lincolnville, all seem like some far-off dream to me. My ears +and eyes are full of the many sounds and sights of the town; the +multifarious vistas, and the ever-changing face of the street. I like +the town and yet I fear it. Sometimes its might oppresses me, and I feel +as if I wanted to get out in the woods near our home and lie down at +full length on the mossy bank, where the creek sings soothingly and the +sun hangs like a golden ball in a clear sky. I want to hear the +crickets, and the deep silence of the nights, and the echoes of +detached laughter floating over the meadows. I want to watch the +sun-light as it comes through the leaves and plays hide-and-seek on the +lawn; I want to watch the hawk circling in the air, the chickens +scurrying fearfully at the sight of him. And then again the feverish +itch to be in the very middle of this maelstrom, the town, seizes me. I +long for the very thick and foremost of the struggle, and the picture of +Lincolnville fades away. At this present time of the year, though, I can +really prefer the town without seeming a slave to it. + +"It is in the winter, or in the early spring, when country places are +chiefly seas of mud and slush that one most deeply realizes the delights +of dwelling in town. Modern invention has put the town dweller beyond +the weather's jealous bites. We step into a hansom, we drive to the +club, we have dinner; behind club doors, and in club comfort we are +above all the slings and arrows of the elements; we drive to the +theatre, and the black-and-white splendor of our men, as well as the +fur-decked rosiness of our women, is only enhanced by contrast against +the frowny murkings of the sky. I have noticed that the finale, the +curtain-fall of any important public event, such as a dinner, a dance, +or an opera, is always a more picturesque thing when the carriages have +to drive away through the sleet. Whereas, the country! The weather is +the world and all that therein is; you can't get away from it. Mud is +king! + +"I am doing something in paint now, just to feed this terrible ambition +of mine. The pen-and-ink work is all very-well, and it does bring the +bread and butter, but it is not what I want for ever and ever. And I +think I am going to have for my subject just such a scene as I wrote of +a moment ago: the moment before the carriages drive away through the +rain, with everybody in gala attire and scintillant with brightness and +insincerity. For the town is insincere, mother, and cruel. Some day, +perhaps I, too, will become insincere. I do not know. I pray it may not +be so. But I am alarming you causelessly. I am only a little tired and +unnerved tonight. I have been to the opera, and it was just a little +affecting. So don't mind what I said just now. * * * * I am getting +rather tired and will say good-night. * * *" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +In the early dawn there had been a slight shower of rain, but by the +time the sun was high enough to shine over the town's highest buildings, +the clouds parted, and presently drifted away altogether, leaving the +golden disc full freedom in giving a brilliant look to the clean-washed +streets. By noon everything was as bright as a newly-scoured kitchen. + +It was at that time of the year when spring is kissing a greeting to +summer. There was not too much heat. Growth and activity were not yet +subdued by the later lassitude of midsummer. In the parks the trees +were full of blossoms, the flowers were spelling out the runes that the +gardners had contrived for the Sunday sight-seers, and the roadways were +alive with well-equipped traps of every sort. The avenue was colorful +and kaleidoscopic. Dog-carts, driven by smartly-gowned, square-sitting +girls, bowled along noiselessly, the footmen looking as stolid as if +carved in wood. Landaus, with elderly women leaning far back into the +cushions, and shading their complexions under lace-decked parasols, went +by with an occasional rattling of chains. The careful observer might +have noticed that the number of smart vehicles was a trifle larger than +usual; there were more coaches out, and the air resounded more often to +the various military and hunting-calls that the English grooms were +executing on their horns. + +It was Derby Day. + +Dick was walking along the avenue watching, with his artist eyes open +for all the picturesque effect of the whole--the yellow haze of the sun +that filled the atmosphere in and out of which all these rapid +color-effects flashed swiftly, the thin strip of sky-reflecting water to +the east, the line of grass and the sky-touching horizon of huge +buildings--when he heard someone calling out his name. + +"Lancaster!" It was Stanley, driving a dog-cart and a neat bay cob. "The +very man! Jump in, won't you? Going down to the Derby. Thing you +shouldn't miss; lots of color and all that sort of thing! Asked +Vanstruther to go down with me, but one of his dime-novel heroes is ill +or something of that sort, and he's off the list. That's good of you. +Look how you're stepping. This brute has been eating his head off all +week, and isn't really fit for a Christian to drive. That's it! Now." +They went spinning along the avenue. + +In the instant or two before he climbed into the dog-cart, Dick had +reflected that while he was not over-fond of Stanley in a good many +ways, the man was undeniably a clever fellow, always to be depended on +for bright talk; besides he did feel very much like studying the scene +of a Derby Day with its many-colored facets. + +Watching the rapid, shifting beauties of the boulevard, Dick burst into +a little sigh of admiration. "Ah," he said, "this is good! This is +living!" + +"Youthful enthusiasm," muttered the other man. "Delightful +thing--youthful enthusiasm--to get over." + +"Oh, no! I hope I never shall! What is life worth if one is not to show +that one enjoys it? How can you look at a day like this--a splendid, +champagnelike day--and yet--" + +"My dear fellow," interrupted Stanley, with a queer smile, "when a man +gets to my time of life there is always something melancholy to him in +the picture of a spring day. It reminds him of his own youth: all tears +and sunshine. Today there are neither tears or sunshine; it is all just +contemplation. I don't seem to belong to the play at ail, any more, +myself; I'm merely a spectator. To the spectator there is always +something pathetic about joy." + +"Your lunch was indigestable, that's all that is the matter with you," +laughed Dick. "It's a dogma of mine that pessimism is merely another +word for indigestion." + +"Dogma!" sighed Stanley, "Don't you know that all dogmas are obsolete? +Don't you know that in this rapid age we believe everything, accept +everything and yet doubt everything?" + +"Isn't that a trifle paradoxical?" + +"No; only modern! We believe everything that inventors or scientists may +tell us; but in the world spiritual we believe nothing. Is that a +paradox?" + +"But indigestion is surely, h'm, material rather than spiritual?" Dick +enjoyed the verbal parries that he was always sure of with Stanley. He +was always trying to get at the secret man's cynicism, a cynicism that +was the essence of what many other men of the world he lived in seemed +to feel, but were not all, perhaps, so well able to express. + +"Oh well," was Stanley's answer, "after all, it doesn't matter. Nothing +makes any difference." He looked blankly ahead as if all the world was +contained in the space occupied between the cob's ears. Then he went on, +in his minor monotone, "No, nothing, except--" + +Dick, thinking to be cheery, put in "Except marriage?" + +"No!" came from Stanley, with a sudden flick of the whip over the cob's +flanks, "that only makes differences." + +Dick laughed somewhat impatiently. "Oh!" he urged, "why sit there and be +dismal? Why not wake up and live? Surely the air is full of it, of this +fair Life? Enjoy it, brace up, be young!" + +"Ah, if I only could again, if I only could! Oh, to be young again! He +is the Autocrat of today, the young man." He lapsed into his sneer once +more. "The young man of today thinks he has the experience of the +centuries at his fingertips, whereas he really has only the gloves that +were made yesterday and will split tomorrow." + +"You are not only unjust," protested Dick, "you are flippant." + +"Of course I am! The keynote of this end of the century is lightness. +The modern declares that life is but a joke, and a bad one at best. How +to live without ever allowing oneself to suspect that life is more than +a game in which the odds are heads, Death wins; tails, Man loses: that +is the great problem of the decade. The universal solution of the +difficulty is the practice of superficiality. Skim! Be light! Never +penetrate below the surfaces! Never search the deep! Make love as if it +were a tourney of jests; die as if it were a riddle well guessed! Be +scintillantly versatile, rather than thorough; hide your ignorance with +bland blasedom; treat tragedy as an intruder, comedy as a chum, and as a +reward you will be called 'up-to-date.' Nay, more: your fashionable +friends may even mispronounce French in your behalf and dub you _fin de +siecle_!" + +Dick shuddered laughingly. "A horrible philosophy," he said. And yet he +was glad of the other's bitterness; it showed, through all its veil of +sneers and scorn, something of the point of view of the foremost in that +race toward Death that some of the town-dwellers are wont to call Life. + +Yet he could not keep his thoughts long on the serious import of the +other's scornful flippancy. How shall two-and-twenty years, and health, +and sunshine, and a spirit susceptible to enjoyments that the very +atmosphere seemed redolent of, allow a young man to brood on the +progress of the world's cancer? No; there were too many distractions! +Tandems whirling by with horsy young men handling the ribbons; brakes +full of laughing girls and straw-hatted young men; hackney carriages +with four occupants unmistakably of the bookmaker guild. + +Just before they rolled into sight of the grand-stand, Stanley said, +"Oh, who do you suppose I had a letter from yesterday?" + +"No idea." + +"The most noble A.B. Wooton, of the late lamented '_Torch_'." + +"You don't say so. His nerve never dies, eh?" + +"As I said before, his is not a case of 'nerve'; it is genius. He has +the prettiest story you ever read, swears his advertising man deceived +him and got the paper into all manner of tight places; found himself +forced to get away from the ruins so that he could the better repay his +creditors, which he states he has instructed his lawyers to do, and all +the rest of it! I don't believe a word of it; but he has got grit!" + +"That is a national fault," said Dick soberly, "the admiration of 'grit' +in scoundrels. For that is all that Wooton is, after all!" + +"Oh, well, why split hairs? He never did you any harm, did he? However, +about his letter. He writes from Dresden. Says he has just met some +Americans--name of Ware, I think. Enjoying himself immensely--girl in +the party--moonlight rides and all that sort of thing. Wonder how long +he'll last over there?" + +"I know some Wares," said Dick quietly; "but I hardly think it could be +the same ones. Though they are in Europe just now, that's true." His +thoughts tried to hark back to Lincolnville, to his parting with Dorothy +Ware, and to her return; but the present was too strong for him. They +were driving across the course at this moment, and over into the field, +which was already a motly, colored mass of vehicles, white dresses, +parasols and stamping horses. The tops of coaches were made over into +sitting room for summer-dressed girls, of whose faces one caught only +the white under-half--the chin and the mouth, in high sun relief--while +the eyes were in shade of the huge parasols. One caught glimpses of +light shoes and hose; of young men walking, in earnest converse over +betting tickets held in hand; of wicker lunch-baskets being brought +from the inner chambers of the coaches and prepared for a future hunger; +and, beyond, in the grand stand, of a black, indistinguishable mass of +spectators, noisy, tremendous. + +As soon as they had found a place for the dog-cart, from which they +would be able to see the finish with tolerable comfort and completeness, +Stanley said, with a noticeable alacrity succeeding the languid +pessimism that had distinguished him all during the drive down. + +"Now then, Lancaster, let's hurry over to the betting-shed!" + +For a moment only Dick hesitated. "Going to bet, or just to look on?" he +asked. + +"Bet, of course, you innocent infant! But, Scotland, you don't have to! +You can just soak in the--what do you call it--the impressionistic view +of it. But hurry up, whatever you are going to do, I don't want the odds +to tumble down too far before I get there!" + +Not so long ago Dick would have cavilled, hesitated, perhaps refused. +Now he caught his half-uttered objections being met by a whisper in his +own mind of 'Don't be a prig!' and he followed Stanley silently. It +occurred to him, presently, that to warn oneself of becoming a prig was +in itself evidence of priggishness. Impatiently he shook his head, as if +to get all analytical reflections out of his head altogether. He looked +at the scene around him, and forgot everything else. + +The scene in the betting-shed was, just as is the stock exchange floor, +the boiling-point of the kettle of froth called metropolitan life. +Around the bookmakers' stands was a seething, struggling mass of +humanity. Each member of this mob was pushing, striving, perspiring for +--what?--the chance to get something for nothing! The bookmakers +themselves were straining every nerve to keep pace with the public's +feverish desire to get rid of it's money. On their little stands, their +heads on a level with the black-board that furnished the names of the +horses and the odds against, they stood; one hand busy taking in money +that was handed in to the inner part of the stand, the other grasping +the piece of chalk that ever and again touched the black-board to effect +some change in the odds. One man inside was busy with pencil and paper, +registering each ticket as it was handed out; another covered the face +of the ticket with the hasty hieroglyphics that stood for the horse +chosen and the amount wagered and the amount that might be won. Here and +there a bookmaker encouraged the "plunge" on some horse that he +professed to scorn by shouting forth his odds and the horse's name. The +blind struggle of the majority was an amusing spectacle; it certainly +seemed to vouch for the truth of the saying that man is a gambling +animal. Like serpents, the "touts," professional vendors of spurious +stable information, went winding in and out through the throng, +sometimes displaying judgment in the would-be bettors they approached, +but as often as not displaying most lamentable indiscretion. Dick +watched, with an amused smile, how one of these fellows sided up to a +quiet man, who, program in hand, was leaning against a pillar watching +the boards and the changes in odds. The quiet man listened to the tout's +hoarse whisperings, and then threw his coat back showing an "owner's" +badge. The tout slunk sheepishly into the crowd. + +"If you take my advice," said Stanley who was fighting his way towards +some remote goal or other, "you'll take a little flyer on Dr. Rice. +That's what I'm going to do. There's a fellow on the other side of the +ring has him a point higher than anyone else." + +Dick, without having made up his mind as to his own betting or not +betting, helped his companion in his struggle to get through the crowd. +Desperate energy was necessary. There was never any time for apologies; +elbows were pushed into sides, toes were trodden on, scarfs twisted and +sleeve-links broken; no matter, there was money to be won and there was +no time either to consider passing annoyances or the possibility of +loss. + +"Ah," said Stanley, finally, as they found themselves in front of a +black-board that had a figure "7" chalked to the left of the name Dr. +Rice and a "3" to the right. "Here we are! Now then, what are you going +to do?" He whipped out a twenty dollar bill and crumpled it carefully +into the palm of his hand. + +Dick thought quickly. After all, it was merely the foregoing of some +luxury or another; he would postpone joining that polo club, perhaps, +or go without that new edition of Menzel's drawing's that he had been +promising himself. He took a bill out of his card-case and handed it, +without a word, to Stanley. + +The ticket that Stanley presently handed him had "Rice" almost illigibly +scrawled across it, and the figures "70" and "10." Dick stood to lose +ten or to win seventy dollars. + +By the time they had got comfortably ensconsed in their seats in the +dog-cart once more, the horses were at the post for the great event of +the day, the American Derby. Dick had begun to feel something of the +torment of expectation and fear and hope that makes the gambler's nerves +either like a sheet of reeds in the wind or like a tightly-drawn wire. +If he won it would be, as he heard some men in the betting-shed remark, +"just like finding money." He could allow himself all sorts of +extravagances. He observed the horses making false start after false +start without even a suspicion of qualmishness as to the moral aspect of +the case coming over him. He had grown, to use his own phase, broader. + +Down beyond the turn into the stretch was the bunch of restless horses, +the vari-colored jackets, the starter's carriage, and the assistant +starter's flag. There was the sky-blue jacket that showed where the +favorite, The Ghost, was pirouetting on his hind legs; the black and +yellow bars of AEtna's jockey, and many others. But Dick's eyes were +focused on Dr. Rice; the horse's jockey was in all-black. + +"Ah--h!" The vast crowd roars and cheers as a start is made. All +together, like a herd of cattle, they sweep on toward the grand-stand. +It is not racing yet. Favorite and second favorite are back in the +centre of the bunch. In front of the grand-stand one jockey sends his +horse out a length in front. It is an outsider, but there are plenty of +backers of outsiders, and a cheer goes up. "He'll walk away from them!" +"The others are standing still!" and such-like shouts go up. The pace +begins to get killing. At the half AEtna is seen to move up to the +leader, finally to pass him. The favorite is also creeping from out the +ruck. Slowly, surely he forges past all the leaders but AEtna; the latter +shoots ahead again for the distance of a length and The Ghost drops back +to fourth place. It was evidently merely a feeler to find out whether +AEtna was going too fast or whether there was still time to get up when +the stretch was reached. + +Round the turn they sweep into the stretch. It is a dangerous picture, +with so many horses so close together, with such speed, and such +possibility of collisions. But the turn is made in a second; now they +are in the straight road for home. The Ghost is creeping up again, +wearing down horse after horse, finally reaching AEtna's throatlatch. +Neck and neck these two race up the last furlong; then a sudden, +surprised roar breaks out from the mob of onlookers; another horse has +cut loose from the bunch that has now become a straggling, attenuated +string of tired horses. The shout goes up: "Look at Dr. Rice!" "Dr. +Rice!" + +Now he is up to AEtna's flanks and going under a pull; his jockey has +never yet touched spur to him. The whip comes down on AEtna; it is no +use; he is raced out. Now Dr. Rice has reached The Ghost, and the +latter's jockey begins using the whip. In the grand-stand there is an +inferno of cheering; men are shouting themselves hoarse, and jumping up +and down in nervous paroxysms. Dr. Rice's jockey never moves a muscle to +all appearances. The cries go up from the mob: "Come Rice!" "Come +Ghost!" The judges begin to strain their their attention to the viewing +of a very close finish. Then with a final mighty lift, Dr. Rice, in the +very last stride, snoots forward under the wire a neck in front of The +Ghost. + +Dr. Rice has won. + + * * * * * + +On the way home Stanley was another man. He talked as if such a thing as +a regret for a lost youth had never entered his head; he was young +again. He recounted his impression of the race, asked Dick what he had +thought of it all, was full of amusing anecdotes about men who had tried +to get him to back the favorite, and was fertile in suggestions for what +they should do that evening. Of course it was understood they must +celebrate in some way. Surely! Surely! + +"Oh," he said, finally, "I know what we'll do. We'll go along to the +Imperial Theatre. I know some of the girls in the burlesque there. I'll +introduce you. We'll enjoy ourselves." + +Dick began to demur. + +"Don't be a d-----d idiot," said the other man, half smiling, half +frowning. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +No one that has ever been in Dresden is likely to forget the beauties of +the Bruehlsche Terrasse. The cool plash of waters from the Elbe come up +invitingly; the green of the neighboring gardens is luscious, and there +are nearly always strains of music in the air. Especially pleasing is +the picture on a summer's evening. + +In one of the concert gardens they give out on the Terrasse, there sat +at a small round table, one dreamy midsummer evening, Mrs. Ware and her +daughter, Dorothy. In front of them were small cups of coffee, and such +appetising rolls as only the Conditors of the continent can make. The +garden was in no wise different from a thousand others to be found in +German cities; save only that it was especially happy in its location. +There was a light, gravelly soil; a multitude of round tables; chairs +occupied by a cosmopolitan crew of both sexes; at one end, in the shadow +of huge lime trees, was the _Capelle_. Over all was the star-gemmed sky. +The air was sweet with the song of the violins, and the cheery laughter +of the many family parties came echoing along from time to time in +musical accompaniment. There were German students, with the +vari-colored caps and occasional sword-wounds on their faces; officers +with clanking swords and clothes fitting in lines that suggested stays; +English tourists, easily distinguishable by costumes they would not have +dared to startle Hyde Park with; Americans with high pitched voices; and +a few Russians, excessively polite of manner and cruel of eye. + +Miss Dorothy Ware was engaged in munching at a roll that had been +steeping in the strong coffee, when she suddenly turned to her mother +with an eager exclamation. + +"I declare, mamma," she said, "if there isn't Mr. Wooton coming this +way. The idea of meeting him again at all. I'm sure I never thought we +would; there are so many people away traveling about this time of the +year, and there are so many places. He has just seen us, mamma, and he's +coming over here. See he's lifting his hat. I'm glad we've got this +vacant chair." + +Wooton shook hands with them. "The old platitude about the world being a +very small place seems to strike true," he said. "Do you know, it's a +positive relief to talk to people of my own sort once more." He had sat +down beside Dorothy, and placed his stick and gloves on the gravel +beside him. He looked decidedly handsome; his small mouth seemed smaller +than ever, and his face was paler than when he dictated the fortunes of +the _Torch_. He was scrupulously dressed; every detail was so nicely +adjusted that he would have successfully run the gauntlet of all the +comment of Piccadilly and Broadway. + +"I've just come from Berlin," he went on, "it was like an oven there. +Nearly everybody was away; some of them in Heringsdorf, some in +Switzerland, some down in this district. My compartment in the train was +filled with a lot of officers on leave, and they talked army slang until +my head swam, and I would have given gold for the sound of an American +voice." + +"You seem to rush about a good deal," ventured Mrs. Ware. "Didn't we +meet you in Schwalbach?" + +"Mamma forgets so," put in Dorothy, "she's been meeting so many people, +I begin to think she jumbles them all up. But it was in Schwalbach, +mamma; you're right. Don't you remember? We were sitting near the +Stahlbrunnen, with the Tremonts--we used to set next to them at the +Hotel d'Europe--when Mr. Wooton came up and said how-d'ye-do to the +Tremonts, and they presented him to us. When Mrs. Tremont was at +boarding-school, you know," she went on, turning to Wooton, "she and +mamma were great chums. She was a Miss Alexander." She put her hand up +to her hat and gave it a mysterious pressure, presumably to rectify some +invisible displacement. She turned and looked out into the darkness +whence came the sullen swish of the river. "It was delightful in +Schwalbach," she said finally. + +"It was horribly expensive," commented Mrs. Ware, sipping her coffee. + +"But the waters did you good, I hope?" inquired Wooton, suavely +solicitous. + +"Oh, I guess so. But I don't seem to improve right along, as I should? +But I shouldn't complain. I'm a good deal stouter than when I left home. +Besides, Dorothy is having a right good time." + +"Ah," smiled Wooton, to the girl, "you like it--the life here?" + +"Yes; I like it. I don't say that I like it better than other things. +But who could help liking that?" She swept her parasol around so that it +pointed out toward the river. There was complete darkness there, lit up +occasionally by the lights of passing steamers. Fog-whistles sounded +occasionally; on the opposite shore there was a dim glow of yellow +lights. The water sobbed ceaselessly; there was a mist rising, and the +steamer lights began to seem hazier than ever, mere golden circles +hanging in the dense darkness. The violins were playing something of +Waldteufel's. + +It was true; not even the most patriotic of Americans could have helped +granting that all this was very pleasant. Dorothy Ware had certainly +given up being half-hearted in her enthusiasm for European things; they +had met so many people and had rubbed up against so much of +cosmopolitanism that unconsciously she had come to see that to apply the +narrow Lincolnville view to all the people she saw now was a trifle +absurd. She gave herself candidly over to enjoy it all. That was what +she had come for. And it must be confessed that, during this process of +enjoyment, her memories of her former self became ghosts of +ever-increasing vagueness. When she caught herself thinking of Dick +Lancaster it was usually to wonder what sort of a girl he had married. +She smiled when she thought of the things he had said to her before they +parted. It didn't seem to touch her at all now, and she seemed sure that +a man slips out of that sort of thing much earlier than the woman. + +They met Wooton a good deal after that. He spent a good deal of time +among the pictures, and when they visited the _Gruene Gwoeble_ they +found him there. He was invariably bright and amusing; he offered to +pilot them and smooth things for them generally; Mrs. Ware began to +think he was tremendously nice. She remembered that Miss Alexander--now +Mrs. Tremont--had always been one of the most aristocratic of girls; she +recalled with something of a shudder, her own awe at her school-mate's +lengthy dissertation upon blood and family and kindred subjects. So, she +argued, if Wooton was in Mrs. Tremont's set in town, there was certainly +not the vestige of a doubt concerning his being eminently the correct +thing. She had lived in the country so long herself that she admitted +she was no longer able to note the difference between good coin and bad; +but she had infinite faith in Mrs. Tremont. Dorothy, too, got to feel +that he was very charming; he was so handsome, and dressed so well. It +was very pleasant to have him in the party; he added distinction. +Wooton had admitted that he knew young Lancaster; he divined that she +had liked the boy; he was wise enough to tell her only pleasant things +about Dick. The only thing Dorothy objected to was that Wooton went +about a good deal with the Tremonts. It seemed to her that he was quite +devoted to Miss Eugenie. + +"I don't like her a bit," she told him rather tactlessly, speaking of +Miss Tremont, "she's so supercilious. I never know when she's laughing +at me and when she's not listening to me. I suppose she thinks I'm a +country chit and don't know anything. But I wouldn't be clever the way +she's clever for anything in the world. Why does she have to sneer at +innocence and goodness? Nobody ever accused her of either, did they?" + +Which, Wooton thought to himself, was not half bad. As a matter of fact +he enjoyed being with Eugene Tremont immensely. She was one of those +intensely modern girls that the world is so unhappily rich in just now. +She would talk about any subject under the sun. She declared that she +had always cared more for male society anyway; she despised her own sex +and said spiteful things about it. She pretended to be completely +cognizant of all the wickedness there was in the world; and she went on +the presumption that man was a sort of infernal machine that there was +unlimited fun--the fun of danger--in handling. Men liked her at first +invariably; there was something refreshing and stimulating in the +nonchalance with which she tabooed no subject from her conversation; +they said to themselves that this was a person, thank goodness, whom one +did not eternally have to consider in the light of a sex, but rather of +a sexless cleverness. But, somehow or other, her cleverness wearied +presently; she palled as all surfaces must inevitably pall. Wooton, +however, turned to her because she was of his own special calibre--all +cleverness, and no apparent sharply defined system of conduct. With the +Wares he was so perpetually on a grid-iron; he was afraid of saying +something that would startle them. They amused him, these people, with +their simplicity, their taking virtue for granted and vice for an +abhorent mystery! To talk to them it was necessary to keep a constant +check on his cynical; while with Eugene Tremont it was sword to sword, a +sharp continuous fencing with verbal weapons. + +So, when Dorothy Ware made the cutting little speech about Miss Tremont, +Wooton told himself that there was something more than mere dislike for +the Boston girl at the bottom of it. Considering the matter, he broke +into a laugh. Was it possible, h'm. That would really be too rich. + +He began to be seen with the Tremonts oftener than ever. He went with +them to the opera, he took a seat in their landau. He went to Teplitz +with them. + +"They're more in the same set, I suppose," said Mrs. Ware, when Dorothy +spoke of it. "He was at college with her brother, too; I guess they talk +about him a good deal." + +Dorothy guessed that she knew better; but she said nothing. Somehow, +Dresden began to seem fearfully dreary. She began importuning her mother +to pack up and go to Munich; they had some friends there. Dorothy +declared Dresden made her homesick; she said it was all so small and +pretty, anyway; it wasn't a metropolis, yet it tried to ape the real +article. And then there were so many Americans--you couldn't talk +English anywhere without having people understand you, which was +distinctly annoying, because occasionally one likes to make personal +asides about costumes and hats and complexions--and, well, what was the +use of staying there any longer anyhow? But Mrs. Ware declared the +climate agreed with her. She said she hadn't felt so well for ever so +long, she wasn't going to try any other place as this one agreed with +her. Did Dorothy want to see her die? No; Dorothy did not. She +submitted, and went about looking dismal. + +And then, one day, the sunshine came back into here face once more. It +was not that the good fairies had remodeled the town of Dresden; it was +not that all English-speaking people had suddenly deserted the place; in +fact, it was hard to say just what made the difference. It was just +possible that Wooton's return from Teplitz had something to do with the +good humor in which Dorothy came back to her mother that noon, after a +walk down to the Conditorei. She had almost cannoned into him, rounding +a corner; they had shaken hands; he had avowed the pleasure he felt at +seeing her again. It is just possible that the sight of this young man +was a talisman for Miss Ware's temper; it is at least certain that her +melancholia was gone. + +He called on them, in a day or so, at their apartments in the Hotel +Bellevue. Mrs. Ware was very glad to see him; she was more vivacious +than she had yet shown herself. She proposed that they take their coffee +out in the garden, on the river front, under the trees. They sat +watching the boats, and the little boys paddling about barefooted; it +was in the cool of sunset, and there were red bars slanting across the +western horizon. It was very pleasant. The waiter moved about +noiselessly; there were some children making merry in the swing set up +at the far end of the garden. + +"Is Teplitz very full?" asked Mrs. Ware. + +"Yes; more people than usual, I believe. I should think the hot baths +would do you good, too, Mrs. Ware?" + +"Oh, I guess I'll stay here awhile yet. I'm getting to feel quite spry +again. You left the Tremonts there?" + +"Yes?" + +Dorothy turned away from the river and looked at him a trifle +reproachfully. "You must be awfully fond of those people," she said, +trying to smile. + +Wooton shrugged his shoulders carelessly. + +"No," he replied, "I can't say that exactly. But Mrs. Tremont really +insisted on my going; she said she had never been there before, and +thought that as I knew the ropes of the place, it would be a small thing +for me to play pilot for them for a while. What was I to do?" He looked +at Dorothy appealingly. + +Mrs. Ware was pushing a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. + +"In Boston, Dorothy," she said, "I guess Mrs. Tremont is quite a society +leader." She said it as if that was an assertion of crushing +significance, intended to quiet any possible questionings as to why any +young man should think it necessary to comply with the wishes of so +great a personage. + +"What if she is?" was Dorothy's quick reply; "that doesn't make her any +better, does it? I don't see how you can go around with them so much, +that's all, Mr. Wooton." + +"Oh," he laughed, "I assure you I don't like them so very much myself; +but I don't dislike them. And I hate to offend people. They asked me to +go!" + +They drank their coffee, and watched the twilight settling down. They +talked lightly, and laughed a good deal. + +"Miss Ware," Wooton asked presently, "you've never been down to +Schandau, have you?" + +"No. Is it worth while?" + +"Immensely! You ought to make the trip." + +"Oh, I simply can't begin to get mamma to move from this town. She's +perfectly enchanted with it, somehow." She looked at her mother, and +patted her on the arm. Mrs. Ware said nothing, only smiled back at her +daughter, who went on, "but I'd like it mightily." + +"I wish you'd let me show you the place," Wooton persevered. He looked +over at Mrs. Ware in a hesitating way. "Perhaps--if Mrs. Ware would +rather not stir from the hotel--there would be no objection to Miss Ware +making the trip with me? The place is really pretty; the royal residence +there is one of the sights. It's only half an hour or so by the steamer. +You'd hardly notice our absence; I think she'd enjoy it." He wondered a +little whether they would look at him in frigid horror, or take it as a +proposition quite in accord with the conventions they were accustomed +to. He knew perfectly well that most of the people he knew in the East +would have considered him insane if he had ventured such a proposal; +but, in regard to these people, and this girl in particular, he +remembered that a friend of his had once used a phrase that had struck +him at the time as rather good, and that was, perhaps, applicable. The +man had declared, half in a spirit of banter, half in chivalrous +defense, that the girl of the West paraphrased the old motto to read: +"_Sans peur, sans reproche et sans chaperon_." + +To his relief, Mrs. Ware's answer was merely a smile at her daughter, +and a "You'll have to see what Dorothy thinks about it, I guess. It's +her picnic. If she wares to go--." She left the sentence unfinished, as +if to convey the impression that under the circumstances mentioned her +own preference would be allowed lapse. + +"I think," said Dorothy, with a little clasping together of her hands, +"that it would be simply delightful! You wouldn't worry, would you, +mamma? There are always so many waiters around and--dear, dear, I talk +just as if we were going this very minute!" She looked gratefully at +Wooton. Somehow or other, he felt himself blushing. He caught himself +regretting the fact that he was no longer as genuine as this girl was. +"I think it's simply perfect of you to ask me," she went on, "I'm sure +I'll enjoy it ever so much." + +"Then," he said, airily, "we'll consider that settled. It's very good of +you to say you'll go, I'm sure. Suppose we say Wednesday?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +It was certainly a sunny enough day, and the Elbe glistened invitingly. +Wooton had been up earlier than was usual for him and had taken a walk +out into the level country; when he came into the hallway of the +Bellevue he was in the best of spirits. Miss Ware came down the +stairway, presently, her parasol in rest over her left arm, and her +gloves still in process of being buttoned. She smiled down at him +radiantly. + +"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" she cried. + +"Not a moment," he answered, adding, with a smile, "strange to say. You +young ladies usually do! But--do you notice how kind the clerk of the +weather is?" + +"Delightful!" They went slowly down toward the wharf where the little +steamer was puffing lazily in the rising heat. + +"Your mother is well?" He asked the I question as solicitously as if he +were the family physician. + +"Quite well. The fact is," she added with a comic effort to seem +melancholy, "I'm afraid she'll be so well soon that she'll want to go +back to the States." + +"Ah, so you don't want to go just yet?" + +"Oh, I haven't half seen it all, you know! Still,--" she sighed gently +and looked out beyond the real horizon, "it will be nice to be home +again." + +Wooton brought a couple of steamer chairs and placed them on the +deck-space that was well in the shadow of the awning. The sun was +beginning to grow almost unpleasantly strong. Presently, with a minute +or so of wriggling away from the wharf, of backing and sidling, the +little steamer got proper headway and proceeded slowly on its way up the +river. The central portion of the town was soon passed; green +garden-spaces, and houses shut in by cherry-trees, gave way to low-lying +meadows and hills rising up in the distance. The perpetual +"shug-shug-shug" of the engines, and the hushed whispering of the river +as the steamer bows cut through the water were almost the only sounds +that broke the quiet. There was not a cloud in the sky. Swallows darted +arrow-like through the air. + +Wooton had pushed his hat back from his forehead and sat with +half-closed eyes. He was silent. Miss Ware, looking at him shyly, +wondered what he was thinking about; told herself once more that he was +the handsomest man she had ever seen, and then sent her clear gaze +riverward again. What Wooton was thinking at that moment was that he +would give many things if in his spirit there were still that simplicity +that would ask of life no more feverish pleasures than those he was now +enjoying--the pleasures of peace and quiet. To be able to sit thus, with +half-closed eyes, as it were, and let the wind of the world always blow +merely a gentle breath across one's face!--perhaps, after all, that was +the road to happiness. On the other hand, the thousand and one +experiences; missed, the opportunities wasted! Surely it was impossible +to appreciate the sweets of good had one not first tasted of the fruit +of knowledge of evil! But supposing one so got the taste of the bitter +apple into one's mouth that thereafter all things tasted bitter and the +good, especially, created only nausea? For that was his own state. Well, +in that case--he smiled to himself in his silence--there was nothing to +be done but enjoy, enjoy to think of the once easily reached contentment +as of a dream that is dead, and to strive so ceaselessly to blow the +embers of the fires of pleasure that they would at least keep +smouldering until all the vessel was ashes. The pleasures of the +moment--those were the things to seize! The moment was the thing to +enjoy; the morrow might not come. + +He turned to look at the girl beside him, who had by this time resigned +herself with something of quiet amusement to his silence, and now sat, +veilless, her lips slightly open to the breeze, her face unspeakably +fair-seeming with its rosy flush and its look of eager, expectant +enjoyment. He told himself that, as far as this moment at least went, it +left little to be desired; to sit beside so sweety a girl as Dorothy +Ware was surely pleasure enough. And then he thought somewhat grimly +that he himself was, unfortunately, impregnable to the infection of such +simple joys. + +"A penny!" he spoke softly, as if not to wake her too brusquely from a +reverie. + +"Oh," she cried, with a little start, and, turning toward him, "they are +not worth so much, really! I was thinking of Mr. Lancaster. He used to +be so terribly ambitious; you know. Didn't you say you knew of him, in +town?" + +Wooton realized that he must needs be diplomatic. He called it +diplomacy; some persons might have rudely termed it mendacity. The two +are commonly confounded. + +"Yes," he replied, "some artists that I knew used to mention his name +occasionally." He paused an instant or two and then continued, +impassively, "I seem to remember hearing someone say that he was +engaged to some very rich girl." + +Dorothy Ware smiled sadly. "I supposed he would be," she said, simply. +She felt angry at herself for not feeling the news more deeply; yet it +hardly seemed to touch her at all; it was just as if she had heard that +one of her girl friends had married. She recalled Dick's impassioned, if +soberly worded, farewell; she remembered her own words; she wondered how +it was possible that the passing months could have changed her so that +now she seemed almost indifferent as to young Lancaster's fortunes or +misfortunes. + +Wooton's exclamation of "Ah, there's Schandau!" broke in upon the train +of her self-questioning thoughts. They walked over to the rail of the +boat together, and looked out to where the roofs of summer-villas and +hotels came peeping through the wooded banks of the river. As they stood +thus she felt his right hand just touching her own left. Somehow, the +blood came rushing into her face, and she took her hand away under +pretense of fastening up her veil. + +From the landing-stage they walked up to one of the hotels, where Wooton +ordered a light repast. Miss Ware was in excellent spirits. The beauty +of the day and the picturesqueness of the place, with its cozy villas +tucked away against the hillside, its leafy lanes and its mountain +shadows, filled her with the elixir of happiness. She chatted and +laughed incessantly. She asked Wooton if they couldn't go for a walk +into the woods. Walk, of course! No, she didn't want to drive; that was +too much like poking along the boulevards at home in the States. She +wanted to stroll up little foot-paths, into the heart of the wood, and +gather flowers, and have the birds whistle to her! Didn't he remember +that she was a country girl? She hadn't been in a real wood since she +left Lincolnville, and did he suppose she was going to enjoy this one by +halves? + +They walked out along the white, dusty _chaussee_ until it reached the +denser part of the hill-forest; then they struck off into a by-path. In +the shadow of the pines it was cool and refreshing; the scent of pines +filled the air. In the thick undergrowth there were occasional clumps of +blue-berries. Dorothy Ware picked them eagerly, laughing carelessly when +she stained her gloves with the juice. She plucked flowers in abundance, +and had Wooton carry them. They strayed heedlessly into the forest, +hardly noting whether they followed the path or not. They found +themselves, presently, in the lee of a huge rock that some long-silent +volcanic upheaval must once have thrust through the earth's shell. Close +to the earth this rock was narrower than at its summit; under its +sloping base there was a cavity all covered with moss. Overhead the +pines shut out the sky. + +A trifle tired with her walk, Miss Ware hailed the sight of this spot +with unfeigned gladness. Wooton spread his top-coat for her. Sitting +there, in the silence made voiceful by the rustling of the pines, +Wooton felt his heart beat faster than it had in years. She was pretty, +this girl; her voice was so caressing, and her presence and manner such +a charm! Young enough, too, to be taught many things. He watched her, as +she sat there, binding the flowers with the stems of long grasses, stray +curls playing about her cheeks, and her mouth snowing the slight down on +the upper lip, and, for an instant, there came to him a feeling of pity. +It is possible, perhaps, that the serpent occasionally pauses to admire +the pigeon's plumage. + +"I wonder," he began, softly, "whether you know Hugh McCulloch's 'Scent +o' Pines'? No? I think you will like it: + + "Love shall I liken thee unto the rose + That is so sweet? + Nay, since for a single day she grows, + Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows + Beneath our feet. + + "But to the perfume shed when forests nod, + When noonday shines; + That lulls us as we tread the wood-land sod, + Eternal as the eternal peace of God-- + The scent of pines." + +He quoted the verses musically. He gave the words all the sincerity that +never found its way into his actions. He was one of those men who read a +thing better than the man that wrote it, because they know better the +art of simulating an emotion that he knows only how to feel. + +"A pretty idea," she admitted. They talked on ramblingly, lightly. +Overhead the sun was sinking into the west. A wind had sprung up from +the southwest, and in the north-west banks of clouds had gathered, thick +and threatening. Occasional flashes of lightning darted across the +cloud-space. A thunderstorm was evidently approaching, proceeding +stubbornly against the wind. The sun dipped behind the clouds, that rose +higher, presently over-casting all the heavens. Light gusts of wind went +puffing through the forest, scattering leaves and whirling twigs. + +Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the mountain storm broke over the +forest. Almost on the stroke of the first flash of lightning came the +thunder; then as if the clouds had been bulls charging in the arena, the +furious concussion was followed by the gush of the blood of heaven. The +rain came down in lances that struck the earth and bounded up again. +About the heads of the pines the wind roared and wailed. + +Coming upon them so suddenly, this riot of the elements made the two +young people sitting there in the lee of the rock, start to their feet +in dismay. A momentary gleam came into Wooton's eyes; whether it was +anger or joy only himself could have told. All about them the storm was +playing its tremendous tarantelle; the whole earth seemed to shake with +the repeated cannonades of the thunderous artillery of the heavens, and +through the darkness that had fallen the lightning sent such vivid +streaks of light as only made the succeeding gloom more dismal. It was +to tempt fate to venture out of the shelter the rock was giving. +Instinctively the girl shrank a little toward Wooton. She looked at him +appealingly. "It's dreadful," she said, "it--it hurts my eyes so! +And--the steamer! Mamma will think--" She stopped and covered her eyes +with her hands just as another flash seared its way into the forest. + +Wooton stood still, biting his underlip nervously. "I--I'm afraid it's +all my fault," he said, "I ought to have known it was getting late. And +these storms come up so quickly here in the mountains. We can't stir +from here. The storm is playing right around this wood. It means +waiting." He saw her shivering slightly. Bending down, he picked up his +top-coat, and put it gently about her shoulders. "You'll catch cold," he +warned, in a tender voice. + +She said nothing; but he could see gratitude in her eyes. Something +seemed to draw her toward him. At each glaring flash she shrank nearer +to him. He was looking tensely at her, his hand against a ledge of rock, +lest the gusts of wind should swing him out into the open. + +A crash that seemed to deafen all hearing for several instants; a flying +mass of splintered wood, torn from a suddenly stricken tree that fell +straight across the opening of their shelter; a light so white that it +hurt the eyes; and a trembling under foot that shook the very ground +these two storm-stayed ones stood. In the instant that followed the +crash Wooton felt the girl beside him lean heavily towards him; her eyes +were closed; she had fainted. Keeping her tightly in his arms, a queer +smile played about the corners of his mouth. "It was ordained!" His +thoughts uttered themselves almost unconsciously. Holding her so, with +the thunder still rolling its chariot wheels all about the reverberate +rocks, he kissed her. + +The wind veered about, sending the rain spatteringly into their faces. +Wooton unfastened the girl's veil, and took her hat off, very gently and +carefully. The rain splashed into her face, streaming over the brow and +the heavy lashes. + +Slowly the lashes lifted; her breast moved in a tremulous breath. As +comprehension of her position came to her awakening faculties she seemed +to shudder a little, to attempt withdrawal; then her eyes sought his, +and something found there seemed to soothe; she sighed again and sank +more closely into his embrace. And now fires went coursing through the +man; he pressed the girl's slight body to him fiercely, and kissing her +upon both eyes, whispered into the rosy shell of her ear, "Dorothy--I +love you!" + +The storm still played relentlessly about them. The rain came further +and further into the shelter-hole. But these two, lip to lip, and breath +to breath, gave no heed save to the promptings of their own emotions. +The elements might rend the rocks; but hearts they could not scar! The +girl felt herself irresistibly drawn by this man. Something in him had +always attracted her wonderfully--something she had never sought to +explain, scarcely heeding it for any length of time. But now that chance +had, as it seemed, thrown the magnet and the steel so closely together, +she felt this hidden, mysterious force more mightily than ever; it +seemed to her that in his kisses all the earth might melt away and +become nothing. Moments when she feared him, when he inspired her with +something not unlike anger, were succeeded by moments when she felt that +he had put an arrow into her heart which to withdraw meant unutterable +anguish; but which to bury more deeply meant the bitterest and sweetest +of the bitter-sweets of love. + +While the storm raged on and over the mountain, these two sat there +where whatsoever forest-gods of love there be had drawn their magic +circle. Reeling over the mountain top like a drunken man, the storm +passed on along the river-banks, waking up echoes in the Bastei, and +flying, presently, into Austria. Its muttered curses grew fainter and +fainter, gradually to be swallowed up altogether in the swaying of the +pines and the streaming of the rain. + +Then, presently, the pines began to lift their heads again, to shake +themselves as if in angry impatience, so that the rain dropped heavily, +and after the flying column of darkness, light came in once more from +the west. The sun was still above the horizon. Turning the rain-drops +into opals that glistened with the rain-bow hues, the sunshine streamed +over the forest. The afternoon, that had seen such a terrible battle of +the elements, was to die in peace, and light, and sweetness. + +They walked together to an eminence that was almost bared of trees. +Below them the forest swept in every direction like a field of dark +grass. The sun sent its last rays ricochetting over the waves of green +to where they stood, silently. Another instant, and the great bronzed +body was below the line of hills that made the horizon; only the +salmon-colored streaks that stained the lower strata of the western sky +remained to tell the tale of the sun-god's day. The air grew slightly +chill. + +With that first forerunner of the fall of night, there came into the +dream that Dorothy Ware had moved in, the chilling thought of--certain +facts. They had most assuredly missed the boat back to Dresden. Would +there be another when they reached Schandau? Could they get home by +carriage? + +Wooton could only shrug his shoulders in despair. He did not know. He +had counted only on the two hours--the hour of the departure from +Dresden and the return from Schandau; the storm had upset all his plans. +He was utterly at sea; he could say nothing until they reached Schandau +and made inquiries. Would she not let the thought drop until then. Was +there not the sweet present? + +As they walked through the forest, picking their way as best they could, +without a compass, and uncertain whether their direction was the right +one or the wrong one, night falling surely and swiftly, Wooton held his +arm about the young girl's waist, lest she stumble or slip. She looked +up at him smilingly and trustingly, yet tremulous at the behest of that +mysterious something that drove her to accept his caresses instead of +spurning them, that made her quiver at his touch, like a wind-kissed +aspen, and had her still the storm within her by giving it a storm to +fight. + +The darkness became denser. Their feet stumbled, and trees were hardly +distinguishable in the blackness. Had there been no other thought save +that considering their condition and surroundings, the girl, at least, +would have been trembling in fear and and uncertainty. As it was, each +loophole for a doubt was closed up by a kiss. + +A streak of white came suddenly in view, and they found themselves upon +the chaussee once more. But in which direction lay Schandau? Overhead the +the stars were shining, but neither of these two could use the night +heavens as a chart. + +Behind them came the dull rumble of wheels. Around a turn of the road +came carriage-lights. As they flashed close upon them, Wooton spoke to +the driver. + +"Sie fahren nach Schandau? nicht wahr?" + +The driver assented, without stopping. At the sound of the questioner's +voice, one of the occupants of the carriage had leaned window-ward. + +It was Miss Tremont, of Boston. In the glare of the lanterns she had +caught the faces plainly. + +She leaned back to the cushions, smiling slightly. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"It's dark as an inferno, and the stairs make a man's back ache," said +Laurence Stanley dismally to himself, as he climbed up to the Philistine +Club, "but," as he caught his breath again and consequently began to +feel more cheerful, "it's comfortable when you get there." + +Which was distinctly true. The furniture, the carpets, the hangings in +the spacious, rambling old rooms were all ancient and worn, but comfort +was as common to them all as was age. When you came in and slid down +into the shiny leather cavern of an arm chair you felt that you were at +home. At least, the men who were members did. They were a queer lot, +these members. Just what they had in common, no man might say; there +were artists, and writers, and musicians, and men-about-town. To +outsiders it seemed as if a certain sort of cleverness was the open +sesame to the membership rolls. In the matter of name, it was doubtless, +the effect of a stroke of humor that came to one of the founders. +Perhaps, for the very reason that most of the members were men of the +sort that one instinctively knew to be modern, and broad and untramelled +by dogmas or doctrines, the club had been named the Philistine Club. It +was no longer in its first youth. The walls were behung with the +portraits of former presidents--portraits that were all alike in their +effect of displaying an execrable sort of painting; it was evident that +in its selection of painters in ordinary the club had lived strictly up +to its name. The building that housed the club was an old one, on one of +the busiest business thoroughfares in the city. It was very convenient, +as the hard-working fellows among the members phrased it; in a minute +you could drop out of the rush and roar of the street-traffic into the +quiet gloom of the club, a lounge, and a book. + +Stanley had not been in the dark corner that he usually affected very +long before Vanstruther came in, his beard more pointed than ever. He +dropped limply into a chair, put his feet on one of the whist tables, +and said, as he lit a cigar: "Do you know this is about the time of year +that I realize that this town is a hole? I repeat it--a hole! A hole, +moreover, with the bottom out. I tell you there's not a soul in town +just now." + +"Most true," assented Stanley, "for neither you nor I have anything that +deserves the name." + +"Bosh! What I mean is that the place is a howling desert. Everybody is +still at the seashore, or the mountains, or the mineral springs. Newport +or the White Mountains, or Manitou, or Mackinac Island--there's where +every self-respecting person is at this time; not in this old sweat-box. +Why, it's a positive fact that there are no pretty girls at all on the +avenue these days; or, if there are any, you can tell at a glance that +they're from Podunk or Egypt." + +"In other words, there is a scarcity of 'Mrs. Tomnoddy received +yesterday,' and 'there will be a meeting of the Contributors' Club at +Mrs. Mausoleum's on Friday.' People who like to see their names in the +daily papers are out of town, so the society journalist waileth; is it +not so? It all comes down to bread and butter in this country. Just as +soon as we get away from bread and butter, we'll be greater idiots than +the others ever knew how to be." He waved a hand carelessly to some +remote space in which he inferred the continent of Europe. + +"That's all very well," rejoined the other, "you are always great on +magniloquent generalizations, but you never trouble about the concrete +things. I'm up a tree for copy, day in, day out, and I groan just once, +and what do you do? You moralize loftily. But do you help me with a real +bit of news? Not a bit of it." + +"Well, you know," Stanley said, lazily, "I'm the last man in the world +to come to for items of news concerning _le monde ou l'on s'amuse_. But +if you want something a notch or two lower--say about the grade of +members of this club. Do you notice that Dante Belden's sofa is empty +today?" + +The journalist looked around to the other side of the room where an old +black leather lounge stood. It was the sofa that had long since become +the special property, in the eyes of the other members, of the artist, +Dante Gabriel Belden. He used to sleep there a great deal; and he used +to dream also. Occasionally he waxed talkative, and then there usually +grew up around him a circle of chairs. In such conclave, there passed +anecdotes that were delightful, criticisms that were incisive, and, in +total, nothing that was altogether stupid. + +"Where is he?" asked Vanstruther. + +"Where is who?" It was Marsboro, the _Chronicle's_ artist, that had +sauntered over. + +"Belden." + +"Married," said Stanley, laconically. + +"The devil!" exclaimed Vanstruther, putting his cigar down on the +window-ledge. + +"Not the same," was the quiet reply. "Although--" and Stanley paused to +smile--"it might be interesting to trace the relationship." + +"Oh, talk straight talk for a minute, can't you! I never knew the man +was thinking of it." + +"Nor did I. Well, we're all friends of his, and men don't think any less +of each other in a case of this kind, so I'll tell you the story. In my +opinion, it's a clear case of 'Tomlinson, of Berkley Square'. However, +that's open to individual interpretation. Belden has succumbed to a +lifelong passion for Henri Murger?" + +Marsboro swore audibly. "I don't see," he said, "that you're any plainer +than you were! What's all that got to do with the man's marriage?" + +"Everything! Everything--the way I look at it, at least. You know as +well as I do, how saturated he is with admiration for those delightful +escapades of the Quartier Latin that Murger makes such pretty stories +of. Well--he has acted up to them. The trouble is that this is not the +Quartier Latin, and that sort of thing is a trifle awkward when you make +a Christian ceremony of it. Here are the facts: Belden and myself were +coming home from the theatre a good while ago, when we came to a couple +that were decidedly in liquor. The man had been out to dinner, or a +dance or somewhere; he had his dress clothes on, and his white shirt was +still immaculate. His silk hat was on straight enough. His walk was the +only thing that betrayed him. He had his arm around the girl. When we +passed them, or began to, we could hear that the girl was crying. Her +boots were shabby and the skirt that trailed over them was badly fringed +at the bottom; above the waist she had on such sham finery and her face, +once pretty, had such a stale, hunted look, as told plainly to what +class she belonged. The class that is no class at all, and yet that has +always been. "I'm afraid of you--you've been drinking--let me go," she +was crying out. Belden stopped at once. The man put his arm more tightly +about her waist, and tried, drunkenly, to kiss her. The girl wrenched +herself almost away from him. She screamed out, "Let loose of me, you +beast!" Then she began to moan a little. That settled Belden. He walked +in front of the man in the white shirt-front, and told him to let the +woman go. The man said he would see him damned first. The words had +hardly tortured their stuttering way from the drunken man's mouth, +before Belden gave him a blow between the eyes that sent the fellow to +the sidewalk. He lay there cursing, drunkenly. Belden asked the woman, +quietly, where she lived. She looked at him and laughed. Laughed aloud! +I've seen most things, in my time, but that woman's laugh, and the look +on her face are about the most grewsome things I remember. She laughed, +you know as if someone had just told her that he would like to walk down +to hell with her. She laughed in that high, unnatural key, in which only +women of that sort can laugh; it was a laugh that had in it the scorn of +the Devil for his toy, man. There was in it a memory of a time when she +might have unblushingly answered that question of 'Where do you live?' +There was in it something like pity for this innocent who asked her that +question in good faith, or seemed to. Then she steadied herself against +a lamp-post, and said, with the whine coming back into her voice, 'What +d'ye want to know for?' 'I'll see that you get there all right,' said +Belden. The woman laughed again. She took her hand away from the +lamp-post, and began an effort to walk on without replying; but in an +instant she swayed, and, had not Belden jumped toward her and put an arm +about her shoulders, would have fallen. + +"She cursed feebly. 'Tell me where you live?' Belden persevered. His +voice was harsher and almost a command. She stammered out more sneering +evasions; then she flung out the name of the dismal street where she had +such residence as that sort ever has. What do you suppose that man +Belden did? Hailed a cab, put the woman in, and got in after her. Simply +shouted a hasty goodnight to me, and drove off. Well,--that's where it +all began." Stanley stopped, got up, and walked over to the wall, +pressing a button that showed there. + +"But you don't mean to say--" began one of the others, with wonder and +incredulity in his tone. + +"Oh, yes, I do, though. Russell, take the orders, will you? What'll you +men drink--or smoke? I've been talking, and my throat's dry." + +The darky waited patiently until the several orders had been given. Then +he glided away as noiselessly as he had come. + +"There is really where the story, as far as I know it, ends," Stanley +went on, after he had cooled his throat a little, "The other end of it +came to me from Belden the other day. 'Got anything to do Thursday +evening?' he asked me. We had been talking of dry-point etching. I told +him I thought not. 'Then will you help me jump off?' he went on. Then +the whole scene of that winter-night flashed back to me in a sort of +wave. I felt, before he answered my question for further information, +what his answer would be, 'Yes,' he said, 'it's the same girl. I know +her better than I did. Her's is a sad case; very sad. I'm lifting her up +out of it.' I didn't say anything, he hadn't asked my opinion. As +between man and man there was nothing for me to cavil at; I was invited +to a friend's wedding, that was all. I went. I was the only other person +present, barring the old German minister that Belden fished out from +some dark corner. It was the queerest proceeding! Belden had brought the +girl up into a righteous neighborhood some months ago, it seemed; had +been paying her way; the neighbors thought she was a person of some +means, I suppose. He introduced me to her on the morning of his +wedding-day; I think she remembered me, although she has caught manners +enough from Belden or her past to conceal what she felt. And so--they +were married." + +"My God!" groaned Vanstruther, "what an awful thing to do! Lifting her +up out of it, does he say? No! He's bringing himself down to it! That's +what it always ends in. Always. Oh, I've known cases! Every man thinks +he is going to succeed where the others have failed. For they have +failed, there is no doubt about that! Look at the case of Gripler, the +Elevated magnate!--he did that sort of thing, and the world says and +does the same old thing it has always done--sneers a little, and cuts +her! He is having the most magnificent house in all Gotham built for +himself, I understand, and they are going to move there, but do you +suppose for a minute they will ever get into the circle of the elect? +Not in a thousand years! Don't misunderstand me: I'm not considering +merely the society of the 'society column,' I'm thinking of society at +large, the entire human body, the mass of individuals scripturally +enveloped in the phrase 'thy neighbor.' The taint never fades; a surface +gloss may hide the spot, but some day it blazons itself to the world +again in all it's unpleasantness. Take this case of our friend Belden. +We, who sit here, are all men who know the world we live in; we will +treat Belden himself as we have always done. We will even argue, in that +exaggerated spirit of broadness that might better be called laxness, +typical of our time, that the man has done a braver thing than ourselves +had courage for had the temptation come to us. We will acknowledge that +his motive was a good one. He honestly believes that he will educate the +girl into the higher life. He thinks the past can be sunk into the pit +of forgetfulness; but there is no pit deep enough to hide the past. We +will say that he is putting into action what the rest of the radicals +continually vapor about; the equal consideration, in matters of +morality, of man and woman. He is remembering that a man, we argue, +should in strict ethics demand of a woman no more than himself can +bring. But, mark my words, the centuries have been wiser than we knew. +It is ordained that the man who shall take to wife a woman that has what +the world meaningly call 'a past,' shall see the ghost of that past +shaking the piece of his house for ever and ever." + +There was silence for a few moments. Beyond the curtains, someone came +in and threw himself down on the sofa. Marsboro, looking vaguely out at +window, said, somewhat irrelevantly, "I suppose that will be the end +of the Sunday evening seances?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Stanley. "If I know anything about Belden, I +shall not be surprised if he asks us all up there again one of these +evenings. He has lived so long in Free-and-easy-dom that no thought of +what people call 'the proprieties' will ever touch him." + +"Heigh!" Vanstruther stretched himself reflectively. "It's a queer life +a man leads, a queer life! God send us all easy consciences!" + +"Don't be pathetic!" Stanley frowned. "The life is generally of our own +choosing, and if we play the game we should pay the forfeits. Besides +which, it is one of the few things I believe in, that the man who has +tasted of sin, and in whose mouth the bitters of revulsion have +corroded, is the only one who can ever safely be called good. It is +different with a woman. If once she tastes--there's an end of her! Oh, I +know very well that we never think this way at first. At first--when we +are very young--we think there is nothing in the world so delightful as +being for ever and ever as white as the driven snow; then Life sends his +card, we make his acquaintance, he introduces us to some of his fastest +friends, and we, h'm, begin to change our views a little. In accordance +with the faint soiling that is gradually covering up the snowy hues of +our being, the strictness of our opinions on the matter of whiteness +relaxes notably. Arm in arm with Life, we step slowly down the ladder. +Then, if we are in luck, there is a reaction, and we go up again--so +far!--only so far, and never any further; if we are particularly fond of +Life, we are likely to get very far down indeed; and the end is that +Life bids us farewell of his own accord. That is the history of a modern +man of the world." + +"I believe you are right," said Marsboro, "I know, in my own case at +least, that I can remember distinctly how beautiful my young ideal was. +But Life is jealous of ideals; he shatters them with a single whiff of +experience. And it happened as you just now said: as I descended, my +ideals descended. I only hope"--he sighed, half in jest, half in +earnest,--"that I will begin the upward climb and succeed in winning +up." + +"Ah," assented Stanley, "that is always the interesting problem. Which +it will be: the elevator with the index pointing to 'Up' or the one +destined 'Down.' You needn't look so curiously at me, Van, I know what +you are wondering. Well you can rest easy in the assurance I give you: +the nether slopes are beckoning to me. I became aware of it long ago, +reconciled moreover. I live merely for the moment. My senses must amuse +me until there is nothing left of them; that is all. But look here: +don't think there is no reverse to the medal. I have, fate knows, my +moments of being horrified at myself. It is, I presume, at the times +when the ghost of my conscience comes to ask why it was murdered." He +appeared to be concentrating all his attention on the ashes at the end +of his cigarette. "Why, don't you know that there is no longer any +meaning for me in any of those words: honor, and truth, and virtue? I +have no standards, except my digestion, and my nerves. I don't mistreat +my wife simply because it would come back to me in a thousand little +annoyances that would grate on my nerves." He sipped slowly at the glass +by his side. "And I'm not worse than some other men!" + +"True. All of which is a pity. But we've got off the subject. The +villainy of ourselves is too patent a proposition. The question is, by +what right we continue to expect of the women we marry that which they +dare not expect of us. + +"Are you the mouthpiece of the New Woman? Well, the Creator made man +king, and the laws of physiology cannot be twisted to suit the New +Woman. For it is, in essentials, unfortunately a question of +physiological consequences. Wherefore, suppose we stop the argument. +This is not a medical congress!" + +Stanley went over to the desk where the periodicals lay, and picking one +up, began, with a cigarette in his mouth, to let his eyes rest on the +printed pages. + +"Will you go, if you're asked?" Marsboro said, presently. + +"I?" Stanley looked up carelessly. "Certainly. As far as I'm concerned +a man may marry the devil and all his angels. But I wouldn't take my +wife or my sister." + +Vanstruther laughed dryly. "If women were to apply the tit-for-tat +principle," he said, "what terribly small visiting lists most of us +fellows would have!" + +But Stanley disdained further discussion, and the other men got up to +go. When they had passed beyond the curtains Stanley laid down the paper +he had been reading, and smiled to himself. He was wondering why he had +been led into this waste of breath. A man's life was a man's life, and +what was the use of cavilling at facts! The only thing to do was to take +life lightly and to let nothing matter. Also, one must amuse oneself! If +the manner of the amusement was distasteful or hurtful to others, +why--so much the worse for the others! + +So musing, Laurence Stanley passed into a light slumber, and dreamed of +impossible virtues. + +But Dick Lancaster, who, from the sofa beyond the curtains, had heard +all of this conversation, did not dream of pleasant things that night. +In fact, he spent a white night. Like a flood the horrors of +self-revelation had come upon him at sound of those arguments and +dissections; he saw himself as he was, compared with what he had been; +he shuddered and shivered in the grip of remorse. + +In the white light of shame he saw whither the wish to taste of life had +led him; he realized that something of that hopeless corruption that +Stanley had spoken of was already etched into his conscience. Oh, the +terrible temptation of all those shibboleths, that told us that we must +live while we may! He felt, now that he had seen how deep was the abyss +below him, that his feet were long since on the decline, and that from a +shy attempt at worldliness he had gone on to what, to his suddenly +re-awakened conscience, constituted dissoluteness. + +To the man of the world, perhaps, his slight defections from the +puritanic code would have seemed ridiculously vague. But, he repeated to +himself with quickened anguish, if he began to consider things from the +standpoint of the world, he was utterly lost; he would soon be like +those others. + +He got up and opened the window of his bed-room. Below him was the hum +of the cable; a dense mist obscured the electric lights, and the town +seemed reeking with a white sweat. He felt as if he were a prisoner. He +began to feel a loathing for this town that had made him dispise himself +so much. The roar of it sounded like a wild animal's. + +Then a breeze came and swept the mist away, and left the streets shining +with silvery moisture. Lights crept out of the darkness, and the veil +passed from the stars. The wild animal seemed to be smiling. But the +watcher at the window merely shrank back a little, closing the window. +Fascinating, as a serpent; poisonous as a cobra! The glitter and glamour +of society; the devil-may-care fascinations of Bohemia; they had lured +him to such agony as this! + +Such agony? What, you ask, had this young man to be in agony about? He +was a very nice young man--all the world would have told you that! Ah, +but was there never a moment in your lives, my dear fellow-sinners--you +men and women of the world--when it came to your conscience like a +sword-thrust, that the beautiful bloom of your youth and innocence was +gone from you forever and that ever afterward there would be a bitter +memory or a bitterer forgetfulness? And was that not agony? Ah, we all +hold the masks up before our faces, but sometimes our arms tire, and +they slip down, and then how haggard we look! Perhaps, if we had +listened to our consciences when they were quicker, we would not have +those lines of care upon our faces now. You say you have a complexion +and a conscience as clear as the dew? Ah, well, then I am not addressing +you, of course. But how about your neighbors? Ah, you admit--? Well, +then we will each of us moralize about our neighbor. It is so much +pleasanter, so much more diverting! + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +With the coming of morning, Lancaster shook himself out of his painful +reveries, and decided that he must escape from this metropolitan prison, +if for ever so short a time. He would go out into the country, home. He +would go where the air was pure, and all life was not tainted. He +walked to a telegraph office and sent a dispatch to his mother, telling +of his coming. + +Then he went for a walk in the park. Now that he had made up his mind to +get out of this choking dungeon for a while he felt suddenly buoyant, +refreshed. He tried to forget Stanley and the Imperial Theatre, and all +other unpleasant memories of that sort. Some of the park policemen +concluded that this was a young man who was feeling very cheerful +indeed--else, why such fervid whistling? + +When he got to his studio he found some people waiting for him. They had +some commercial work for him to do. He shook his head at all of them. + +"I'm going out of town for a week," he said, "and I can do nothing until +I return. If this is a case of 'rush' you'll have to take it somewhere +else." + +He turned the key in the door with a wonderful feeling of elation, and +the pinning of the small explanatory notice on his door almost made him +laugh aloud. He thought of the joy that a jail bird must feel when he +sees the gates opening to let him into the free world. No more elevated +roads, no more cable cars, no more clanging of wheels over granite, no +more deafening shouts of newsboys; no more tortuous windings through +streets crowded with hurrying barbarians; no more passing the +bewildering glances of countless handsome women; no more--town! + +There was a train in half an hour. He bought his ticket and strolled up +and down the platform. He wondered how the dear old village would look. +He had been away only a little over a year, and yet, how much had +happened in that short time! Then he smiled, thinking of the intangible +nature of those happenings. There was nothing,--nothing that would make +as much as a paragraph in the daily paper. Yet how it had changed him, +this subtle flow of soul-searing circumstances! It was of such curious +woof that modern life was made; so rich in things that in themselves +were dismally commonplace and matters of course, and yet in total +exerted such strong influences; so rich, too, in crime and casuality, +that, though served up as daily dishes, yet seemed always far and +outside of ourselves! + +The novel he purchased to while away the hours between the town and +Lincolnville confirmed his thoughts in this direction. It was one of the +modern pictures of "life as it is." There was nothing of romance, hardly +any action; it was nearly all introspection and contemplations of the +complexity of modern existence. The story bored him I immensely, and yet +he felt that it was a voice of the time. It was hard to invest today +with romance. + +Was it, he wondered, a real difference, or was it merely the difference +in the point of view? Perhaps there was still romance abroad, but our +minds had become too analytical to see the picture of it?--too much +engaged in observing the quality of the paint? + +His mother was waiting for him at the station. It was pleasant to see +how proud she was of this tall young son of hers, and how wistfully she +looked deep into his eyes. "You're looking pale, Dick," she said, +holding him at the stretch of her arms. "And your eyes look like they +needed sleep." + +Dick gave a little forced laugh and patted his mother's hand. + +"Yes, I guess you're right mother. I need a little fresh air and a +rest." + +"Ah, you shall have both, my boy. And now tell me all you've been doing +up there in that big place." + +They walked down to the little house wherein Dick had first seen the +light of this world. He looked taller than ever beside the little woman +who kept looking him over so wistfully. He told her many things, but he +felt that he was talking to her in a language that was rusty on his +lips, the language of the country, of simplicity and truth. The language +of the world, in which his tongue was now glib, would be so full of +mysteries to this sweet mother of his that he must needs eschew it for +the nonce. It was a small thing, but he felt it as an evidence of the +changes that had been wrought in him. + +He told her of his work, of his career. Of the _Torch_, of his +subsequent renting of a studio, and free-lance life. Yes, he was making +money. He was independent; he had his own hours; work came to him so +readily that he was in a position to refuse such as pleased him least. +But, he sighed, it was all in black-and-white, so far. Paint loomed up, +as before, merely as a golden dream. In illustrating and decorating, +using black-and-white mediums, that _was_ where the money lay, and he +supposed he would have to stick to that for a time. But he was saving +money for a trip abroad. + +They talked on and on until nearly midnight. He asked after some of his +old acquaintances; he listened patiently to his mother's gentle gossip +and tried to feel interested. + +"The Wares are back," explained Mrs. Lancaster. + +"Ah," Dick looked up quickly. "Does Dorothy look well?" + +"I don't think so, though I'm bound I hadn't the courage to tell her so +to her face. She looks just like you do, Dick,--kinder fagged out." + +"Yes. They say traveling is hard work. And her mother?" + +"Oh, she's about the same as usual. Looks stouter, maybe." + +"I must get over and call there, before I get back to town," he said, +reflectively. "Well, mother, I suppose I'm keeping you up beyond your +regular time. I'm a trifle tired, too. So goodnight." + +He kissed her and passed up stairs to his old room. There were the same +pictures that he had decorated the walls with a few years ago. He +smiled; they were, fortunately, very crude compared to the work he was +doing now. When all was dark, he lay awake for a long time, drinking in +the deep silence of the place. He could hear the chirrup of the +crickets over in the meadows, and from far over the western hills came +the deep boom of a locomotive's whistle. The incessant roar of the town, +in which even the shrillest of individual noises are swallowed into one +huge conglomerate, was utterly gone. He could hear the wind slightly +swaying the branches; the deep blue of the star-spotted sky was full of +a caressing silence. The peace of it all soothed him, and ushered him +into deep, refreshing sleep. + +The sun touched him early in the morning, and seeing the beauty of the +dawning day, he dressed quickly and went quietly down stairs and out, +for a stroll about the dear old village. He passed the familiar houses, +smiling to himself. He thought of all the quaint and queer characters in +a little place of this sort. Presently he left the region of houses and +passed into the woods that were beginning to blush at the approach of +their snow-clad bridegroom. The picture of the sun rising over the +fringe of trees, gilding the browned leaves with a burnish that blazed +and sparkled, filled him with artistic delight. He said to himself that +after he had been abroad, and after his hand was grown cunning in +colors, he would ask for no better subject than these October woods of +the West. He sat down on the log of a tree and watched the golden, +crescent lamp of day. He had forgotten the town utterly, for the moment, +and for the moment he was happy. + +But the sun's progress warned him that it was time to start back to the +house. With swinging stride he passed over the highway, over the slopes +that led to the village. Suddenly he heard his named called, and +turning, saw a tall figure hastening toward him. + +It was Mr. Fairly, the minister. + +"My dear Dick," he said, shaking the young man's hand, "I am rejoiced to +see you. We have heard of you, of course; we have heard of you. But that +is not seeing you. Let me look at you!" + +Dick smiled. "I've grown, I believe." + +"Yes. In stature and wisdom, I dare say. But--" He slipped his arm +within Dick's, and walked with him silently for a few minutes. "The +town," he went on, "has a brand of its own, and all that live there, +wear it." They passed a boy going to school. "Look at that youngster. +Isn't he bright-eyed!" A farm wagon drove by, the farmer and his wife +sitting side by side on the springless seat. "Did you get the sparkle of +their faces?" said the minister. "Their skins were tanned and rough, no +doubt, but their eyes were clear. Now, Dick, your eyes have been reading +many pages of the Book of Knowledge and they are tired. I know, my boy, +I know. We buzz about the electric arc-light till we singe our wings, +and then, perhaps, we are wiser. Have you been singeing your's?" + +"Not enough, I'm afraid. The fascination is still there. Sometimes it is +the fascination of danger, sometimes of repulsion; but it is always +fascination." + +"Ah, so you have got to the repulsion!" + +The minister spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "And you no longer +think the world is all beautiful, and sometimes you wonder whether +virtue is a dream or a reality? I know, I know! And sometimes you wish +you were blind again, as once you were; and you want to wipe away the +taste of the fruit of knowledge?" + +Dick said nothing. + +"Those who chose the world as their arena," the minister went on, "must +suffer the world's jars and jeers. The world is a magnet that draws all +the men of courage; it sucks their talents and their virtues and spews +them forth, as often as not into the waters of oblivion. To swim ashore +needs wonderful strength! Here in the calmer waters we are but tame +fellows; we miss most of the prizes, but, we also miss the dangers. +Perhaps, some day, Dick, you'll come back to us again?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. But I don't think so. That other taste is +bitter, perhaps, but it holds one captive. And I'm changed, you see; the +old things that delighted me once are stale, and I need the perpetual +excitation of the town's unceasing changes. The town is a juggernaut +with prismatic wheels." + +They had nearly reached the minister's house. + +"I haven't preached to you, have I Dick?" + +Dick looked at the minister quickly. There was a sort of wistfulness +behind the eye-glasses, and a half smile beneath the waving mustache. + +"No. I wish you would!" + +"Ah, Dick, I can't! I'm not competent. You're in one world, and I'm in +another. Too many make the mistake that they can live in the valleys and +yet tell the mountaineers how to climb. But, Dick, whatever you do, keep +your self-respect! In this complex time of ours, circumstances and +comparisons alter nearly everything, and one sometimes wonders whether +b-a-d does not, after all, spell good; but self-respect should stand +against all confusions! Goodbye, Dick. Remember we're all fond of you! I +go to a convention in one of the neighboring towns tonight, and I won't +see you again before you go back. Goodbye!" + +Dick carried the picture of the kindly, military-looking old face with +him for many minutes. If there were more such ministers! He recalled +some of the pale, cold clergymen he had met at various houses in town, +and remembered how repellant their naughty assumption of superiority has +been to him. He was still musing over his dear old friend's counsel, +when he noticed that he was approaching the house where the Wares lived. +There was the veranda, blood red with it's creeper-clothing, and full of +memories for him. + +He began to walk slowly as he drew nearer. He was thinking of the last +time that he had seen Dorothy Ware. He recalled, with a queer smile, her +parting words: 'Goodbye, Dick, be good!' He realized that the Dick of +that day and the Dick of today were two very differing persons. And +she, too, doubtless, would no longer be the Dorothy Ware he once had +known. Something of fierce hate toward the world and fate came to him as +he thought of the way of human plans and planning were truthlessly +canceled by the decrees of change. Had he been good? Bah, the thought of +it made him sneer. If these memories were not to be driven away he would +presently settle down into determined, desperate melancolia. + +The conflict, in this man, was always between the intrinsic good and the +veneer of vice that the world puts on. In most men the veneer chokes +everything else. When those men read this, if they ever do, they will +wonder why in the world this young man was torturing himself with +fancies? But the men whose outer veneer has not yet choked the soul will +remember and understand. + +Dorothy Ware was on the veranda, gathering some of the vine's dead +leaves when Dick's step sounded on the wooden sidewalk. As he saw her, +his face lit up. He never noticed that the flush on her face was of +another sort. + +She smiled at him. + +"How do you do, Dick? Come up and shake hands." + +Then they stood and looked at each other silently for an instant. "We're +both a little older," said Dick. "But I suppose we have so much to talk +about that we'll have to make this a very passing meeting. Besides, +mother's waiting for me; I've been for a morning walk, you see. You'll +be at the great and only Fair, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes; I've almost forgotten how it looks. I do hope they will have a +fine day for it." + +Miss Ware looked after him wistfully. She thought of the thunderstorm in +the forest at Schandau, and sighed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The first day of the County Fair was hardly eventful. The farmers were +busy bringing in their exhibits of stock and produce, and arranging them +properly for the inspection of the judges. It is all merely by way of +preparation for the big day, the day on which the trotting and running +races take place. + +Fortunately, it was a cloudless day. Shortly after sunrise clouds of +dust began to fill the air. All the roads leading fairwards are filled +all morning with every sort and condition of vehicle. Farmers come from +the farthest bounderies of the county, bringing their families; the +young men bringing their "best girls." This volume of traffic soon +reduces the road-bed to a fine, powdery dust, that rises, mist-like and +obscures the face of the earth and sky. + +Soon the presence of the Fair is felt in the village itself, and the +"square" resounds to the cries of the omnibus drivers soliciting fares. +"All aboard, now, for the Fair Grounds, only ten cents!" So runs the +invitation yelled from half a dozen lusty, though dusty throats. For +this occasion every livery stable in the place brings out all the +ramshackle conveyances it has. Everything on wheels is pressed into +service. Like Christmas, the great day of the County Fair, comes but +once a year, and must be made the most of. Few people are going to walk +on so dusty a day as this, so the 'bus drivers ply up and down from +seven in the morning until dusk sets in, and the last home-stragglers +have left the grounds. + +At noon, the highway was become a very sea of dust. Dick had walked down +to the "square," and was looking about for a conveyance of some sort +when a carriage came up with Mrs. Ware and her daughter inside. Dorothy +spoke to the coachman, and then waved a daintily gloved hand at Dick. +"Delighted!" said that young man, getting in quickly, and adding, in +Mrs. Ware's direction, "This is awfully kind in you!" In that course of +the drive there was as little said as possible, because each sentence +meant a mouthful of dust. + +As they passed through the gates at last, Dick smiled at the dear +familiar sight that yet seemed something strange. There was the +half-mile track in the open meadow; the ridiculously small grand-stand +perched against the western horizon, the acres of sloping ground, shaded +by lofty oaks, and covered by a mass of picturesquely rural humanity. +Against the inclosing fence the countless stalls, filled with the show +stock of the county. The crowd was surging around the track, the various +refreshment booths, the merry-go-rounds, and the spaces where the +"fakirs" held forth. The grand-stand was filled to running over. The air +was resonant with laughter; with the appeals of the "fakirs," with the +neighing of the hundreds of horses hitched in every part of the field. + +The driver halted his horses as close as possible to get to the centre +of attraction, the race-track. Then, the horses turning restive, Mrs. +Ware decided to get out and go over to the dairy-booth, and see some of +her friends from the farms. Dorothy and Dick accompanied her, but had +soon exhausted the attractions of the booth. Mrs. Ware guessed she +wouldn't go with them. They started out into the motley crew of +sightseers together. + +As they approached the grand-stand again, their ears were assailed with +by a number of quaint and characteristic cries. "Right down this way, +now, and see the man with the iron jaw! Free exhibition inside every +minute! Walk up, walk up, and see the ring-tailed monkey eat his own +tail!" The most laughable part of this exuberant invitation was that it +had nothing to do with a circus or a dime-museum, it was merely the +vocal hall-mark of an ambitious seller of lemonade and candy. It was one +of the tricks of the trade. It caught the fancy of the countryman. It +sounded well. + +There were other cries, such as: "Here's your chance. Ten shots for a +nickel," and "the stick you ring is the stick you gits!" "This way for +the great panoramy of Gettysburg, just from Chicago!" "Pink lemo, here, +five a glass; peanuts, popcorn!" "The only Californy fruit on the +grounds here!" "Ten cents admits you to the quarter-stretch--don't crowd +the steps, move on, keep a-moving!" Babel was come again. + +The farm-people themselves were a healthy, cheering sight. They were all +bent on as much wholesome enjoyment as was possible. It looked as if +every man, woman and child in the county was there. They had, most of +them, come for the day, eating their meals in their vehicles, or under +the trees on the green sward. The meadow was a blaze of color. The +dresses of the women, with the color-note in them exaggerated in rustic +love of brightness, gave the scene a touch of picturesqueness. The white +tents of the various booths, the greenleaf trees, the glaring yellow sun +over head, and the dust-white track stretching out in the gray mist of +heat and dust made a picture of cheer and warmth. + +A cheering from the grand-stand. A trotting heat is being run, and the +horses have been around for the first time. It is not like the big +circuit meeting, this, and Dick thought with something of gladness that +the absence of a betting-shed left the scene an unalloyed charm. + +Everybody thinks himself competent to speak of the merits of the horses. +"He ain't got that sorrel bitted right," declares one authority. "He'll +push the bay mare so she'll break on the turn; there--watch her--what 'd +I tell you!" triumphs another. A third utters the disgusted sentiment +that "Dandy Dan 'd win ef he wuz driv right." And so on. Dick and +Dorothy smile at each other as they listen. There is nothing pleasanter +in the world than a silent jest as jointure. + +Then there comes a rush of dust up the track, a clatter of hoofs over +the "stretch," a whirl of wheels, cheers from the crowd and the heat is +lost and won. + +And so the day wears on, and the program dwindles. There are several +trotting races, a pacing event, a running race, and some bicycle +exhibitions. The day is to be topped off with a balloon ascent, the +balloonist, a woman, being billed to descend, afterward, by way of a +parachute. + +But to neither of these two spectators did the events of the program +seem the most interesting of the displays. It was the country people +themselves that had the most of quaint charms. Miss Dorothy Ware was +become so saturated with the polish of cosmopolitan views, and the +manners caught from extensive travel, that these scenes, once so +familiar and natural, now struck her as very strange and extraordinary. +In Dick the air of the metropolis had so keyed him up to the quick, +unwholesome pleasures of the urban mob that this breath of country +holiday filled him with a pleasant sense of rest. Never again could he +be as these were, but he could, in a far-off, dreamy way, still +appreciate their primitive emotions. They were all so ingenious, so +openly joyful, so gayly bent on having a good time, these country folk! +They strolled about in groups of young folk, or in couples, or in family +parties. She casts a wistful look toward a fruit-stand; he must go +promptly and buy her something. He bargains closely; he is mindful, +doubtless, of the fact that there is still the yearning for the +merry-go-round, the phonograph, and the panorama, to be appeased. + +In the West the sun was taking on the dull red tone of shining, beaten +bronze. The haze of dust began to lift, mist-wise, up against the +shadowgirt horizon. From thousands of lips there presently issues a long +drawn "Ah-h!" and the unwieldy mass of a balloon is seen to rise up over +the meadow. A damsel in startling, grass-green tights floats in mid-air +upheld by the resisting parachute, and drops earthward to the safe +seclusion of a neighboring pasture. Vehicles are unhitched; there are +some moments of wild shouting and maneuvering, and then the stream of +humanity and horses pours out into the dusty road, and in a little while +the fair grounds are merely a place for the ghosts of the things that +were. + +When it was all over, when he had said goodbye to Miss Ware and her +mother, a sense of loneliness came over Dick, and he sank into one of +those moody states that nowadays invariably meant torment. He could not +remember to have talked to Dorothy of anything save commonplace and +obvious things, and yet with every glance of her eye, every tone of her +voice, the old glamour that he had felt aforetime had come upon him +again. She was no longer the same, he had observed so much; the girlish +exuberance and forth-rightness had given way to a more subdued manner, a +fine, but somewhat colorless polish. Something, too, of the sparkle +seemed to have gone from her; her smile had much of sadness. It flashed +over him that never once had either of them referred to the words with +which they once had parted. Had it been his fault, or hers? Once, she +had let him hope, had she not? He remembered the dead words, but he +smiled at the dim tone that yon whole picture took in his memory. It was +as if it had all happened to someone else. Well,--perhaps it had; +certainly he was separated by leagues of too well remembered things from +that other self, the self that had said to a girl, once, "Dorothy, will +you wish me luck?" + +But in spite of the changes in them both, Dick felt that her charm for +him was potent with a new fervor. He could not define it; it seemed a +halo that surrounded her, in his eyes at least. The sardonic recesses of +his memory flashed to him the echo of his foolish words to Mrs. Stewart, +at the opera. "Oh, damn the past," he muttered, hotly. He would begin +all over again, he would atone for those pretty steps aside; he would +pin his faith to the banner of his love for Dorothy. For he felt that he +did love this girl. He longed for her; she seemed to personify a harbor +of refuge, a comfort; he felt that if he could go to her, and tell her +everything, and feel her hand upon his forehead, her smile, and the +touch of her hand would wipe away all the ghostly cobwebs of his memory, +of his past, and leave him looking futureward with stern resolves for +white, and happy, wholesome days. + +Surely it would be madly foolish to let a Past spoil a Future! + +He saw the grin upon the face of Sophistry, and set his lips. No, there +were no excusing circumstances; he had gone the way of the world, +because that way was easy and pleasant. Only his weakness was to blame. + +"She is as far above me," he said, before he went to sleep that night, +"as the stars. But--we always want the stars!" + +As for Miss Ware, it need only be chronicled that she was very quiet and +abstracted that evening, so that her mother was prompted to remark that +"Lincolnville don't appear to suit you powerful well, Dorothy." As a +matter of fact, the girl was afar off, in thought, and her eyes were +bright with tears because of the things she was remembering. + +She had loved Dick, on a time. And to realize that never, in all time, +would her conscience permit her to satisfy that love--that was bitter, +very bitter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winter was coming over the town. The gripmen of the cable cars were +muffled to their noses in heavy buffalo coats, and the pedestrians were +heralded by the white steam that testified to the frostiness of the air. +The newspaper boys performed "break downs" on the corners for the mere +warmth thereof, and the beggars and tramps presented a more blue-nosed, +frost-bitten appearance than usual. + +Everybody was in town once more. The hills, the seaside and the watering +places had all given up their summer captives, and the metropolis held +them all. The Tremonts were returned from Europe. The opera season, +promising better entertainment than ever, had lured many of the +wealthier folk from the country, for the winter at least. Among these +were the Wares. It was a fashion steadily increasing in favor, this of +living in town the winter over, and retiring to rusticity for the dog +days. With the Wares it was not yet become a fashion; it was merely in +accordance with Dorothy's wish to hear the opera and the concert season +that the move townward was made. + +Mrs. Annie McCallum Stewart's little "evenings" were more popular than +ever. There seemed a positive danger that she would become known as the +possessor of a "salon" and have a society reporter describe a +representative gathering of her satellites. On this particular evening +the carriages drove up to the house and drove off again without +intermission all the evening. People had a habit of coming there before +the theatre, or after; of staying ten minutes or two hours, just as +their fancy, or Mrs. Stewart might dictate. + +One of the latest to arrive was Dick Lancaster. It was his first +appearance there that season. He had only come because he had heard that +Dorothy Ware was to be there. He hardly looked as well as usual. He had +been working very hard, making up for the time lost in the country. His +cheek-bones stood out a trifle prominently, and his eyes were tired. + +Mrs. Stewart proffered him the tips of her fingers, shaking her head at +him with mockery of a frown. + +"You ought to be introduced to me again," she said. + +"I've been tremendously busy." + +"Ah, you plagiarist! The sins that the word 'busy' is made to cover! +People escape debts, and calls, and engagements, nowadays, by simply +flourishing the magic word 'busy.'" She broke off, and began to look at +him steadily over the top of her fan. Then she went on in a very low +voice, "And have you found out how one's youth is lost in town?" + +"You're cruel," he murmured. + +"Not I. But there, go in and talk to the others. There are lots of +people you haven't met before, and there are some pretty girls. Go in, +and enjoy yourself if you can. And perhaps, if you find time, and I +think of it again, I shall ask you to introduce me to your new self. + +"I've never been introduced to that new self yet, _egomet ipse_." + +He found two arch-enemies, Mrs. Tremont and Miss Leigh, conversing with +cheerless enthusiasm. "I heard of you a good deal while I was abroad," +said Mrs. Tremont, after greetings had been exchanged. Dick bowed, and +looked a question. + +"It was Mr. Wooton mentioned you," Mrs. Tremont went on, pompously. "We +met in Germany. A charming man!" She said it with the air of one +conferring a knighthood. + +Dick was wondering how many times a day a woman like this one managed to +be sincere. Then he said, "Miss Tremont is well, I trust?" + +"Yes. She's here somewhere." She lifted her lorgnette deliberately and +gazed toward the piano, "Who is that playing?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Stewart herself," said Miss Leigh. + +"Dear me! I didn't know she played. I must go and congratulate her." She +moved off with severe dignity. + +Miss Leigh laughed as she watched the expression on Dick's face. + +"Do you believe in heredity?" he asked. + +"Yes, and no. Not in this case, if that's what you mean. Miss Tremont is +far too clever. Do you know," she went on, with slow distinctness, "that +you are changed." + +He made a movement of impatience. "I have heard nothing but that all +evening," he declared. "Simply because the town had put it's brand on +me, whether I wished it or no, am I to be forever upbraided?" There was +both petulence and pathos in his voice. + +"H'm," she said, "you still have all your old audacity. But I don't +think it is anything but genuine interest in you that prompts such +remarks." + +"You once said something about being genuine. You said it was pathetic. +Now I know why that is so true. The pathos comes after one has lost the +genuineness." + +"Yes, but when one does nothing but think and think, and brood and +brood, the pathos turns bathos. The thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Is that why there is so much flippancy?" + +"No doubt. Tragedy evokes flippancy and comedy starts tears." + +"You are a very fountain of worldly paradoxes. Where do you get them all +from?" + +"From my enemies. I love my enemies, you know, for what I can deprive +them of. That's right, leave me just when I'm getting brilliant! Go and +talk to Miss Ware about the rich red tints of the Indian summer leaves +and the poetry in the gurgle of the brook. Go on, it will be like a +breath of fresh air after the dismal gloom of my conversation!" She got +up, laughing, and added, in a voice that he had not heard before, "Go in +and win! Your eyes have told your secret." + +She moved off, and he saw Dorothy Ware coming toward him. He noticed how +delightfully she seemed to fit into this scene; how charmingly at ease +and how natural she looked. Her color was not as fresh as it once had +been: but he remembered how popular she had at once become in town, and +that her life was now a very whirl of dances and receptions and festive +occasions of that sort. He had hardly shaken hands when Mrs. Tremont and +her daughter approached from different directions. They were both, they +declared, so perfectly delighted to see Miss Ware again. + +Mrs. Stewart sailed majestically up to them at this juncture, and bore +Lancaster away in triumph. He heard Mrs. Tremont asking Dorothy, as he +moved away, "And how's your poor, dear mother?" Then he found himself +being introduced to a personage with a Vandyke beard. + +"Ah," said the personage, with some show of interest, "you're an artist? +Now, tell me, frankly, why do you Western artists never treat Western +subjects?" And then Dick found himself floundering about in a sea of +argument with this personage. Afterwards, when the agony was over, he +discovered that it was the author, Mr. Wreath, who had thus been +catechizing him. It was noised about the world that Mr. Wreath was a +monomaniac on the subject of realism. Dick remembered wishing he had +caught the man's name at the introduction. + +In the meanwhile Miss Tremont stood talking to Dorothy Ware in a dim +corner of the room. There was a small table near them, and upon it were +scattered portfolios of photographs. + +"Do you ever hear of Mr. Wooton?" Miss Tremont asked, smiling sweetly. + +Dorothy gave a little start, and a flush touched her cheek. + +"No," she said tonelessly. + +"He's a very clever man," persisted Miss Tremont. "I congratulate you." +She smiled meaningly. + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Dorothy's eyes flashed and her +fingers toyed nervously with the photographs. + +"If I were an expert photographer I could show you what I mean +instantly. Speech is so clumsy!" + +Dorothy still looked at her blankly, though she felt her heart beating +with accelerated speed. + +"From what I saw at Schandau," the other went on coldly, "I should say +it was time to announce the engagement." + +Dorothy gripped the little table with a tight clasp. Bending over, as if +to examine the pictures, she felt waves of heat and cold follow each +other over her cheeks and forehead. Her breath seemed to choke. How warm +the room was! She longed for a breath of fresh air. She would go and +tell her mother that she wanted to have the carriage called at once. +But there was her mother talking busily with Mrs. Tremont. And there, +beyond, was Dick. + +Something very like tears came to the borders of her eyes, as Miss +Dorothy Ware looked at, and thought of Dick. He had loved her, and +she--Ah, well, that was all over now! Even had she been able to compound +with her own conscience, Miss Tremont had effectually barred the way +to--ah, to everything! There was Miss Tremont talking, now, to Mr. +Wreath and to Dick. Surely the girl would not dare--but no, that was +absurd! + +Fortunately, Miss Leigh, noticing Dorothy's solitude, decided, just +then, that she would go and talk to the girl, which succeeded in +diverting Dorothy's mind from unpleasant thoughts. + +At the other end of the room the various groups were constantly +changing. Above the chatter one could hear the strains of music that +floated in from the music-room. Miss Tremont having finally succeeded in +luring Mr. Wreath on to a discussion of his own peculiar theory of the +art of fiction, Dick left them and strolled into the conservatory. He +wanted to be alone. He had been suffering more than ever before from +such accute pain as afflicts each individual soul that submits to +drowning itself in the meaningless chatter of society. As he himself put +it, with something like an oath of disgust, "I've been listening to +people I don't care a pin about; hearing rubbish and talking rubbish!" +The real key to his feeling of disgust, however, was in the fact that +his opportunities to a confidential talk with Miss Ware had all been +ruthlessly killed. + +"A nice way to contribute to the general entertainment!" It was Mrs. +Stewart herself. She was shaking her fan at him. "Don't get up!" she +went on, "I want to talk to you." She scrutenized him. "You don't look +cheerful!" + +"I'm not," he said curtly. + +"Remorse?" + +"No. Remorse is the divine right of cowards and gourmands. Mine is +merely a case of weariness." + +"With your own sweet self to blame. I know the feeling. You've been +thinking, or, rather, you think you have been thinking. And when one is +in that state, everything goes against the grain. Even such a galaxy as +that!" She waved her fan to the direction of the inner rooms, and a +smile of mischief curled her mouth. "What do you think of this year's +crop of lions?" + +"Bah!" he scorned viciously, with all the bitterness of the man knocking +at the closed portals. "Who was it that first gave your friend Clarence +Miller the idea that he was a novelist? His wife, I suppose. When a +man's single his follies are suggested by the devil; when he's married, +by his wife. I suppose she wants her husband to equal the notoriety +attained by her brother-in-law, the composer of 'Rip Van Winkle' and +other comic operas that society flocks to listen to. It's a great pity +that art and literature happen to be the thing this season." + +"You're thinking of the real artists and writers, I presume. Well, it is +rather hard on them." + +"Hard? Why, its death! Think of the author that finds the market glutted +with the free-gratis product of the society butterfly's pen. Its enough +to create suicides." + +"But you can't very well include Mr. Wreath in the free-gratis class?" + +"No. But he is a charlatan, for revenue only. He has so many fads that +they stud his conversation as barnacles cover a rock. He is a trumpeter +of theories. Oh, I don't deny that he writes well! But he is not +satisfied with that, unfortunately; he must needs preach, and the man +who preaches about his art is a dispiriting spectacle." + +"Dear, dear! What a change! It used to be that we others said all the +cutting things, while you listened in awe and trembling; now it is you +that uses the edge tools of language. You have beaten us at our own +game." Mrs. Stewart dropped her voice a little, and sighed. "But you +have lost as much as you have gained, have you not?" + +He nodded silently. "The world is a usurer that lends us wisdom if we +will but pay our youth as interest. And when we are bankrupt in youth, +the wisdom turns to ashes." + +"Don't be morbid. It's too fashionable. Cynicism is so cheap nowadays +that the poorest Philistine of us all can afford it. The only virtue in +optimism, it seems to me, is that it is suffering neglect today; for +that reason I may espouse it, merely to avoid the charge of being +commonplace. Come, be gay I Laugh! Forget!" + +"To forget is to forego one of life's sweetest pains." He laughed +mechanically, and got up, offering Mrs. Stewart his arm. "I'm a stupid, +morbid fool. My only saving grace is that I know just how big a fool I +am." They entered the inner rooms, and Mrs. Stewart, with a smile and a +bow, left Dick to talk flatteringly to the musical lion of the town. + +Some of the people were already leaving. Dick determined to slip away +quietly. But, as he turned to the vestibule, he found himself face to +face with Dorothy Ware. + +All his gloom vanished. "I've been trying to talk to you all evening," +he declared. "I've been wanting to ask you something. I asked you once +before. But that seems a very long time ago." He found himself carried +away in a whirl of eager enthusiasm and hope. "Dorothy," he said, +looking down at her, "there is still hope for me, is there not?" + +But in the girl's eyes there was nothing save pain, and shame. She +looked away. She played nervously with the lace of her dress. + +Blind, man-like, he took it all for shyness. "Only a little hope," he +repeated, tenderly. He tried to take her hand. + +She shrank away from him in a sort of horror. "No, no," she murmured, in +a voice of torture. She did not look him in the face. + +Dick stared at her dumbly. Now, at last, he understood her silence, her +averted head. He saw the expression that told him she feared to wound +him, even though she cared for him not at all. + +"Forget me!" she said, and moved away quickly. + +He stood, for an instant, looking after her, then he went, moving his +lips in a queer, mumbling way, to the vestibule, and asked for his +wraps. + +As he was leaving the house Dorothy was sinking into a chair by her +mother's side. She stared straight out in front of her. When her mother +spoke to her she turned slowly around and said, "It's very cold in +here." She shivered. + +And her mother, knowing that it was as warm as an oven in those rooms, +and watching the queer look on her daughter's face, decided the latter +was not very well, and must be taken home at once. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +He went down the steps with his hand clutching the rail with the fervor +of a tooth biting on a lip. If it had been daylight the twitching of his +eyes and lip-corners would have been peculiarly noticeable. + +For some reason or no reason he scorned the sidewalk; the middle of the +road presently felt his nervous footfall. Underneath him he could feel +and hear the droning of the cable. Some hundred yards before him he saw +the vivid glare that betokened the headlight of an approaching +cable-car. For an instant or two he asked himself why he should not +continue walking in that direction, in the path of the Juggernaut, and +allow himself to be ground into fragments--into the everlasting Forget. +Gravely he pondered it: why not? Could the game be worth the candle that +was snuffed? And yet, there was something so commonplace, so cheaply +melodramatic in that manner of going out that he drew back; he stepped +aside and let the dust of the passing car brush him spatteringly. To +commit suicide, to choose such a moment for it--a moment that, after +all, was but the repetition of a million similar ones--had something so +ordinary, so vulgar in it, that after he resisted the thought of it, he +shuddered. His lips took on a semblance of smiling. + +"What a play for the gallery it would have been!" he thought bitterly. + +Presently, as he walked, sobs broke through his lips. The measure of +what was lost to him seemed terribly great. All the light of the world +was but darkness for him now. What did it all matter now, this world, +this life, this aimless race? What was ambition worth, when ambition's +cause was gone? Could he take up the dream again, now that waking had +brought such pain? Incoherently his mind went back to the moments that +had elapsed just before he had left the house, moments that lasted +longer than lifetimes. He saw it all again, that scene so indelibly +graven on his mental film; he heard those fateful words again and felt +their blighting import. His arms went up wildly, with fists clenched, +toward the stars, and down again toward the earth like falling hammers, +driven with curses. + +If anyone had met him at that moment, Dick Lancaster would have been +called insane. + +Suddenly he stood still, and began to laugh. It was not a pleasant +sound, and he himself noticed that it had the discordance of the laugh +bred by artifice. He had remembered a sentence that someone had +addressed to him, "The thing to do is to laugh!" + +So it was. Yes, that was the only armor, the armor of indifference. He +walked on, evolving a philosophy of flippancy. Wounded sorely, as he +was, he found himself sympathetically wondering whether that flippancy +that he once had so despised in his fellow-men and women was not as +often a growth of experience as a mask of fashion. + +When he reached his room he flung himself on a couch. Outside everything +was still. He sent his mind back to the time when he had first entered +this town. How void of all suspicion, all cynicism, he was in those +days! Experience after experience had left its impress on his wax-like +mind and now, with the slipping away of beliefs, the vanishment of +idols, the twinges of fate, he found himself at the other extreme, in +the mood that laughs at all things, and believes that there is nothing +potent save chance. + +In that mood he resolved to remain. It was the only one that was no +longer unbearable. To attempt the old beliefs were merely to give +hostages to disenchantment. He was done now with disenchantment. He +would expect nothing, care for nothing. Except to laugh. + +But, in the meanwhile, he could no longer bear the scenes and sounds of +the town. He cast about for plans. The thought that in one mind at least +his flight would look like cowardice did not annoy him; that also was +merely a thing to laugh at. The country was not what he wanted. It was +not quiet he desired; it was struggle and strife with the dragons of +memory and boredom; he wanted new battles to fight, new experiences to +harvest--not sensitively, as of old, but coldly, cruelly--in other +fields, as far away as possible. + +He unlocked his desk and searched for his bank-book. The figures seemed +to satisfy him. + +"Three thousand," he murmured, "will be enough. I will take a year. I +will see everything that my fancy asks for, do everything, be +everything. They call it the Old World. Well, it must be able to +furnish amusement for me, be it old or young." + +He turned to the unfinished sketches, the letters and the other +impediments that littered the room. "These shall not hold me a minute," +he said. "I want a change of air. I am going to take it. Nor friends, +nor promises, nor prospects shall stay me. It's goodbye." + +He laughed again, and went out to buy an evening paper, to scan the +sailing-lists for the out-going steamers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On one of the hottest days of August, a month by no means the most +delightful of Berlin's moods, there sat in the pleasant, shady garden of +the restaurant "Zum Kapuziner," facing the Schlossplatz, a tall young +man, whose material externals proclaimed him, to the trained eye, either +as an Englishman or an American. It is a safe axiom that all the +well-dressed people in the German capital are either English or +American. + +In front of the young man, on the table, were a glass, a bottle of +_Mai-trank_ and an illustrated paper. But the young man was not +regarding any of these things, but kept his eyes to an observance of the +passers-by. This seemed to amuse him, for from time to time he smiled +softly. + +It was certainly a pleasant spot. In front there stretched the broad, +paved square that gave to the Old Castle of the first German Emperors on +the left, to the royal stables on the right, and beyond, straight ahead, +gave a glimpse of the quaint, old-fashioned architecture of the "_Alte +Stadt_." For the Schlossplatz marks the limits of the newer portion of +Berlin; beyond the bridge everything is the real Berlin, the Berlin +untouched by the triumphant splendors that came after '71, the Berlin +that knows but little of the passing stranger and the ways to despoil +him. And that was why Dick Lancaster had chosen the spot. The passers-by +were not at all cosmopolitan; there was little of that mixture of all +races, all garbs, all voices, that was to be seen and heard on the +"_Linden_." These were the real Berliners. + +In the months that lay between this day and the day on which Lancaster +had first felt the soil of Europe under his foot, there had come to him +many experiences, many amusements. He had accepted all things. +Unfettered by any restraints he had probed all the novelties that +presented themselves. He had lived in alternating fevers of +discriminations and hard work. For all these new aspects of life and +living filled him with the old, dear mania to create. He found himself +inspired by the very overflow of his sensations. From long draughts of +enjoyment he plunged into as long fits of artistic energy. + +He found, moreover, that the increased tension of his spiritual being +put a peculiar force into his pencil. Because it was merely one way of +laughter, because he began in a spirit of flippancy, the sketches all +succeeded immensely. Fortune began to favor him in artistic ways. In +Paris he had made a portfolio full of the most admirable sketches of +types. There was a crafty cynicism about his work that gave a +fascination to them; something not caricature, but finer. Now he chose +as his subject the traveling millionaire, now the splendid queen of the +boulevard, now the phantom of the "brasserie," and now the rag-picker. +One day he had showed some sketches to a man that had begged permission +to glance through the portfolio, as they sat, in a crowded cafe, at the +same table. The man was the manager of a famous illustrated paper. He +bought some of the sketches, and presently there appeared a most +astonishingly eulogistic article, about this young American. + +People carefully read the name. They had never heard of him. They looked +at the sketches. That was certainly talent of a significant sort. The +other papers followed suit. The noise of this discovery went across the +channel. There came to this young man orders from London, and the +newspapers of that town began to print the most extraordinary +inventions, by way of personalities, about him. The world, now as ever, +is always glad of a new subject. After that Parisian journal had sounded +the first note, the volume of sound that had as its burden Lancaster's +name, grew and grew. Of course, there were those that dissented, that +took occasion to flay this young man's achievements until there seemed +left only a skeleton of faults. But even that only swelled the flood. + +All the while, his sketches grew in force and individuality. For, +whatever else his detractors denied him, they admitted the originality +of his style. It had never been done before. Some called it hideous, +some grotesque; but all called it new. That was the great point. + +He became the fad. The representatives of American newspapers, who had +been prompt to cable home reports of the successes of this unheard-of +youth, began to attempt to interview him. Whereupon, having by that time +exhausted the immediate enjoyments of Paris, he fled abruptly. + +His success had at first surprised, then amused him. When, presently, he +found that his bank account was swelling most astonishingly, he was more +entertained than ever. He laughed--that unpleasant, mirthless laugh. But +he felt no duties toward his success. When Paris became tiresome, he had +no hesitation about quitting it without leaving an address. For that +matter, he did not, himself, know just whither he would go. + +His ticket had been taken for Monaco. The life of that place fascinated +him no less than that of Paris, when Paris was fresh to him. Day after +day he watched the procession that filed to and from the green tables; +the princes of the blood, the newest nabobs, the touring Americans, the +Russians, the worldlings and half-worldlings of all nations and degrees. +He watched the blue of the Mediterranean as a contrast to the +blacknesses of humanity that he saw daily. + +And then without an accompanying word, he sent a selection of sketches +to that Parisian paper whose discovery, so to say, he was. There came +another salvo of applause from the world of art. It seemed, so they all +said, as if this young man was destined to show such possibilities in +black-and-white as had not yet been dreampt of. + +From Monaco the wanderer went to Egypt. A white-sailed fishing-smack, +anchored in the bay below him, had started the thought in his mind one +sunny afternoon, when the attractions of Monte Carlo were beginning to +pall. He could afford extravagances now. The fisherman, when he was +accosted, had smiled. Yes, he might charter the boat. But where would +the gentleman wish to sail to? And it was of Egypt that Dick thought, +suddenly, with a longing for the cold silences of the sands, and the +pyramids, and the quaking waves of heat. And so the bargain was arranged +and to Egypt went the artist. + +Thence he swung back to Italy. Then through Switzerland. Everywhere he +roved through the corners that his fancy led him to; nowhere did he +merely echo the footsteps of the millions of tourists. Sometimes he +walked for whole days at a time. Sometimes he went to a petty inn and +astonished the host by staying all day in his room and working. Whenever +he found his purse suffering unduly through the vagaries of his nomadic +fancies, he posted some sketches to such of the Paris or London papers +as had been most clamorous for them. + +It was, perhaps, just because he cared so little for it all, that this +luck was come to him. In the old days he had chafed against +misfortunes, against limitations of all sorts; he had declared that +great successes were no longer possible, that everything worth doing had +been done long ago. Now, when he cared not at all, fortune kissed him. +Which also amused him. + +Another man would have laid plans for the furtherment of this fame, +would have counted the ways and means of plucking the fruit of success +at it's ripest, would have plotted against the erasure--by caprice, of +the world, or loss of his own skill, of his own name from the list of +the world's favorites. Dick Lancaster did none of these things. He +merely accepted the gifts of the moment, and continued recklessly in +alternate disappearances and bursts of splendid achievement. There was +nothing, he argued bitterly, for which he needed all the fame; so why +should he care to be Fame's courtier? If fame chose to pursue him, that +was another matter, and beyond his heed. + +So, carelessly, recklessly eager for novelties and excitements, this +young man adventured over the continent of Europe, gaining everywhere a +reputation for devil-may-care-dom and bitterness. + +And over many of these things he was thinking, as he sat in the garden +of the "Kapuziner." He thought, too, with something of amused +wistfulness of the Dick Lancaster that had once been himself,--the boy +that had suffered twinges of conscience at the thought of giving up a +Sunday to enjoyment, and had felt forever stained because of things that +now caused him little save ennui. Was it possible that he had once been +like that? Oh, yes, all things were possible; he had found that out +plainly enough. Indeed, he reflected, if it should happen to him that +the End came tomorrow, he would have the satisfaction of having lived +his life, completely, fully, even to satisfy, in half the time that most +men take for that task. Since that night, after a certain girl had told +him to "forget," he had spared himself in nothing that promised +entertainment. With the old restraints completely cast to the winds, +with nothing but studied recklessness as his Mentor, he had followed all +the promptings of that epicureanism that he now feigned to consider the +only philosophy. + +In all things he was fickle. Just as the artistic side of him tired +quickly of one place, one set of types, so his animal nature was +essentially of the dilettante rather than the enthusiast. Wherever he +saw a will-o'-the-wisp he followed; but it was no sooner caught than he +was repentant of his success. The taste of pleasure was of the briefest +to him; it turned to bitterness in a moment. + +And yet, he mused, with all his varied experiences, with the feeling of +satiety that sometimes overcame him from sheer excess of sensations, the +fascination of the town was still upon him. It was surely in his blood, +he speculated. He remembered with what passionate eagerness, after the +final shaking off of all the old consciences--all those moral skins +that he had shed, and left to rot, over there, in America--he had come +to the realization of the varied facets of that bewildering jewel, the +town. + +He shut his eyes to escape the glare of the noon-day, and evolve, behind +his closed lids, the aspect of the town after lamps are lit. The +constant current of humanity, of the swishing of the women's gowns as +they walked, the rattle of the cabs over the stones,--it all filled him +with a passion of pleasure. His young blood went more quickly at each +sight of that surging sea. The crowds going to the theatres and +music-halls; the shadows that flitted hawk-like about the corners; the +colors of the occasional uniforms; he drank in the picture thirstily. +Both the artist and the man were joined, too, in a passionate eagerness +for beauty; he had been known, in his folly as men may call it, to walk +a mile so that he might the more often meet an attractive face again. +The vision of a beautiful female figure, of a well-fitting gown, gave +him an almost painful joy; he felt that charm of mere feminity most +acutely and covetously. + +And yet, with all, he had been a lonely creature. His pleasures were +evanescent and he was ever constrained to browse upon fresh pastures. +From this novel experience, that colorful scene, and that delightful +companion he extracted the essence all too soon; and the dregs he ever +avoided. In his mind there was a gallery of places, faces and +voices--all loves of a moment. + +It was a cheerless train of thought that he found himself in. But, as he +sipped the pale _Mai-trank_, the glad reflection occurred that the world +was very large and that he had seen very little of it so far; there were +still plenty of things left that were new to him. Surprise would not die +for him just yet. + +He was watching the rainbows that glimpsed in and out of the streams of +cool water that the fountain, in the square, was sending up into the +sun-light. And as he was so engaged, there came to his ear the sound of +men's voices, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent. + +He turned about. + +One of the men was Wooton. As they came nearer, he recognized the other +as Laurence Stanley. They were coming directly toward the garden, and in +another instant they had seen him. Stanley put on his pince-nez. Then +they hurried up to him with a flourish of hands. + +"Why, God bless our home," laughed Wooton, "if here isn't our famous +young friend, Dick Lancaster, the talk of two continents! I'm glad to +see you, mighty glad." + +"Stanley," said Dick, after they had all shaken hands, "what are you +doing here? Where's Mrs. Stanley." + +"My boy, I'm enjoying myself. I presume Mrs. Stanley is doing the same. +For reasons not necessary of explanation to the mind capable in +deduction we are not, at this moment, breathing the air of the same +hemisphere." + +"Will you fellows take a bit of lunch? We ought to celebrate this +meeting with the famous, etcetera, etcetera," said Wooton. + +"Look here," said Lancaster, a trifle coldly, "I'd just as soon you'd +drop that adjective business. Here's the bill of the play, Stanley." He +handed the carte-du-jour over. + +While they were discussing their luncheon, chatting of the various +causes that had brought them together, and recounting stories, and +adventures, Wooton rose solemnly, after a few moments of reflection, and +held out his hand to Lancaster. "I want to shake hands with you," he +declared, "as with a genuine thoroughbred. I've been listening to you, +watching you, and--but that was a long time ago,--hearing about you. +You're not the Lancaster I knew." + +But, for some strange reason, Lancaster did not hold out his hand. He +pretended to be engaged in lifting his glass to his lips. Then he said, +"I don't consider that a compliment." + +Wooton scowled a little to himself, but passed the matter off lightly +enough. "Well," he continued, "at any rate it does me good to see you. +How are they all? I've not been back in years, you know." The reason +for, and occasion of his exodus did not seem to touch him with the least +shade of annoyance. + +Lancaster looked at Stanley. "I'm not the man to say. I left there +almost a year ago. Stanley was still there then. Stanley, tell us the +news from home." + +"Yes," was Stanley's reply, "and a nice lot of speculation there was +about your sudden disappearance, Dick. There were all sorts of rumors. +Some of them hinted at affairs of the heart." He caught the look on +Dick's face, and stopped. "However, that's not to the point, I suppose +you're thinking? Well, now let me see: they're all about as usual, I +think, except, of course, Mrs. Stewart." + +The others both started a little. + +"Yes. Her husband died in January. She gave up the 'salon' of course; in +fact, I think she went abroad." + +Lancaster wondered what she would say to him, were they ever to meet. +She must have heard about his sudden leap into public notice, his +vagabondian ways, his reckless career. He became moody, abstracted. The +others were not slow to observe the change in him. + +"Stanley," said Wooton, "its time we left the great man to his thoughts. +He is evolving a new and fearful sketch. Hope we've not intruded." They +got up and were for leaving him, but he protested, and they all strolled +away together. He accompanied them to their hotel, and then sauntered +off for a stroll in the _Thiergarten_. He found a bench that gave him a +view of the sandy ditch wherein the children played all day long in the +sun-light, while their nurses sat placidly knitting or reading. It +attracted him immediately, this picture of the little bare-legged +youngsters in their quaint German attire, digging about in the sand, +shouting and laughing and fighting, and all living in the evergreen +country of make-believe. + +He began to draw some rough sketches. So engrossed was he that the sun +had sunk behind the trees before he remembered that he had promised his +two townsmen to go to the "Linden" theatre with them. He got up, looked +at his watch, and hailed a passing Taxometer. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +In the days that immediately followed, these three were together a great +deal. Presently Stanley drawlingly, announced that he would have to be +packing up; his bank account was getting low, he declared, and he would +be forced once more to bask in the sunshine of his wife's presence. + +The other two still stayed on. Berlin was just beginning to be amusing. +People were beginning to return from Marienbad, from Schwalbach, from +Heringsdorf. All the theatres were once more open. Summer was saying +goodbye. + +One day Wooton asked: "Of course you've seen Potsdam?" + +Lancaster shook his head. + +"Well, then it's high time you did. Leaves beginning to fall and all +that sort of thing. The last chance. It's really very worth while. +Castles till you can't rest. Babelsberg, Sans-souci, and the New Palace. +To say nothing of a bit of Potsdam, near the Barberini Palace, that's +almost as good as Venice." + +They arranged to make the excursion the first sunny day, and had only to +wait until the sun rose again. They chose to travel by boat. It was a +splendid journey, in the bright sun-light, past the woods and rushes and +villas that skirt the little series of inland lakes between Spandau and +Potsdam. They left the steamer at the landing-stage for Babelsberg and +went leisurely through the grounds and the simple, comfortable, old +place. By the time a boatman had rowed them over to Potsdam, it was +luncheon time. + +They left the boat riding in the Venice-like waterway, and stepped +directly into the garden of the vine-covered, shady cafe that skirted +the water for quite a distance. Waiters were moving about and at tables +sat family parties, eating and drinking cheerily and honestly. It was +one of the things that enchanted Lancaster, this part of continental +life, this open-air freedom of taking one's glass of beer, this cheerful +way of supping out-doors _en famille_, of devoting to restaurant-garden +uses the most expensive corner-lots, of making the passing show of +strollers one of the sights that you paid for with your glass. + +They chose a table that directly overlooked the water-front. Behind them +lay the yellow shabbiness of the Barberini palace, that relic of a +king's devotion to a dancer. Below them gleamed the water. It was by no +means an unpicturesque spot. + +"By the way," said Wooton, casually, as they were discussing the entree, +"I met a friend of your's last summer, a Miss Ware." + +"Oh." There was not much interest in Lancaster's tone, but Wooton helped +himself to the Rauenthaler and went on: + +"Yes. Rather a pleasant girl. Charmingly unsophisticated. Known her +long?" + +"We were children together." + +"Ah, then she's a country girl, so to say, eh? I thought so." + +Lancaster was deep in thought. The other continued to ply himself with +wine. + +"We had some charming days together," he went on, reminiscently. "She +amused me immensely. The Tremonts were staying at the same place then, +and I used to amuse myself contrasting that Tremont girl with Miss Ware. +The one was like an armor-plate, the other impressionable as wax." + +He began to smile to himself mysteriously. "Do have some of this +Rauenthaler Berg," he urged, effusively. "It's really capital!" He +ordered another bottle, and helped himself liberally. Lancaster was +scarcely heeding his companion. He was looking out over the water. For +once, he was forgetting to be amused. + +"As between two men of the world, you know," Wooton was saying, leaning +impressively on his elbow, "it may as well be understood that that +Tremont girl is the newest kind a new woman." "Know what she said to me +one day? 'The only thing I don't like about love is its consequences!' +Nice girls, these new women, eh?" He laughed softly and drank again. +Lancaster turned to watch him. The man was showing all the cad in him; +the wine was bringing it out. "Women, nowadays," Wooton went on, "make a +fad of everything except the homely virtues. They deliver lectures on +art, and literature, and posters, and music, and the redemption of the +fallen; but they never care for the staple virtues that bring happiness +to households. I'm not saying that I'm a model, not by a damned sight, +but I have my eyes open, and I think the woman of today is trying to +usurp, chiefly, man's prerogative of being a _roue_ if he chooses. What +she needs is to go to a medical school. Then she knows the difference." +He crumbled a piece of bread, and flung it out to the swans that floated +down before them. + +"I don't mind telling you," he continued, confidentially, "that they +were both in love with me, Miss Tremont and Miss Ware. In Miss Tremont's +case, I naturally, had no scruples at all. The fact is, I think she took +the initiative." He stopped, smiling significantly, and sipping at the +yellow wine. + +Lancaster's eyes were glowing with anger. The man's brutality was so +disgusting! Not that there was anything surprising in these wine-woven +statements, for a man who could welch his debts in the way Wooton did, +two years ago, was hardly a man to suffer from scruples of any sort; but +the very fact of having the names of people well-known to him brought up +in this way was nauseating to Lancaster. + +"Why don't you drink some of this wine?" Wooton was holding the bottle +across the table. "No? You're missing something good, you can bet on +that! Wine is the way to forgetfulness, and most men would sell their +souls to be able to forget. Don't you agree with me? That's right." He +leered fatuously at his companion. "I've always liked you, y'know, +Lancaster, always liked you. Friend of mine, yessir, friend of mine; you +bet! Great artist, too, proud to know you. But, oh Scott! what a simple +sort of idiot you were when you first came to town! You'll excuse my +candor; friend of your's, I am, yessir, friend of yours." He proceeded +to watch the swans that glided past them, rippling the smooth water +gracefully. "Beautiful creature," he drawled in drunken sentimentality, +"beautiful creature! Reminds me of that girl's neck,--that girl I kissed +in Schandau. Beautiful neck, Lancaster, beautiful neck! White, and +smooth, and soft, Moreover, she had the most adorable lips; +extraordinarily sweet, I assure you. Lancaster, I understand you've been +rioting all over this continent, you dog you; but I defy you to say you +kissed any sweeter lips than those. I defy you to--!" He sank back into +his chair, chuckling to himself. "Excuse me, didn't mean to be so +energetic. Excuse me." + +Lancaster half turned his head away from the man and looked out over the +water. Where the canal widened out into the lake a crowd of youths were +amusing themselves in diving from a considerable height; the sun flashed +for one instant on each white body as it gleamed through the air down +into the cool canal. From across the water came the voices of sightseers +and pleasure-finders. Closer at hand, in the very garden they sat in, +the occasional clirring of a sword over the gravel denoted the entrance +or exit of an officer; in the warm sun-light all these things combined +to make a delightful impressionistic scene. Lancaster turned to it as a +relief from his companion. + +But Wooton, with the growing persistence of intoxication, was heedless +of the other's indifference. He began again, maunderingly: + +"I don't deny, y'know, that there's an attraction about the woman of +experience. Not for a minute! extremely fascinating person, woman of +experience. As good as a comedy to make love to her. But the women of +experience grow old, very old; while the fresh young sprigs of girlhood +never grow old." He chuckled again. "No; they never grow old. They grow +into experienced women. Axiom: I prefer the fresh flower of innocence +because it never grows old. Sometimes, sometimes it withers. To wither +innocence is one of the most fascinating games in the world. I wonder +how often the average man of the world has played that game in his +life?" He helped himself to the wine again, and looked at it lovingly as +it gleamed yellow between him and the sun. "You really should let me +pour you out some of this excellent vintage," he said, oilily smiling +upon Lancaster, "you really should. There is a deal of philosophy in +it." + +Lancaster was now watching the fellow in an increase of amused +attention. With the inflow of the wine the man's mood changed, from a +species of maudlin sentimentality to an extravagantly ornate loquacity. + +"Philosophy is one of the fairest jewels on the robe of fortune. In +misfortune it is marked worthless collateral. When we are well off, we +philosophize; when we are hard up we curse philosophy. Wine is the only +real philosopher. Do you know, I consider your abstinence, disgraceful, +positively disgraceful. It argues an unphilosophic mind.... There's that +swan, again! Beautiful neck. Such grace! And yet, I prefer the other +one. The other one had a beautiful face, as well as a glorious neck. +Moreover, the taste of those lips was positively intoxicating." He +looked solemnly at the glass of wine before him, and declared, +impressively: "As between the two, do you know, I actually believe I +prefer the lips?" He gulped at the liquor again. His eyes strayed +dreamily into an abstracted stare. "Dear Dorothy!" he murmured. + +"I beg your pardon?" Lancaster started savagely. He thought he might not +have heard aright. + +The other blandly continued. "I said 'Dear Dorothy!' That was her name, +you know. Her name is almost as sweet as her kisses. Dorothy" he +lingered over the syllables--"Dorothy Ware." + +"What!" Lancaster half sprung up from his chair. Then he curbed himself, +with intense efforts, to calmness. "Did I understand you to say that it +was Miss Dorothy Ware?" + +"Certainly, my dear boy. Most correct. Oh, yes; remember now: friend of +your's. Recommend your taste, my boy, I really do. She--" + +"Look here!" Lancaster's voice had grown hard and chill. "Do you mean to +say that--all that--is true?" + +Wooton noticed the other's repressed agitation, and it quickened this +mischief in him. "Most exactly true. Are you--can it be?--are you, h'm, +jealous? My dear boy, go in and win; I clear the field. I--only harvest +once." He laughed at the thought. And then, in a second, his laughter +choked to a rattling gurgle in his throat. + +Lancaster had sprung up, white and trembling with rage, and stood over +him, squeezing the breath out of the fellow's windpipe. "You drunken, +hideous hound you," he crunched from between his teeth, "you rifler of +reputations, you damnable dog!" He stopped. His rage scarcely permitted +words. "You're drunk, damn you, and you're a puny little brute, so I +can't whip you as you should be whipped. But if you don't take that +back, if you don't say you lied--I'll--give your burning head the +cooling it deserves." He eased his hold on the other's throat for a +time. Wooton glared at him, breathlessly, with a fantastically ugly +sneer attempting lodgment on the lips that still writhed for air. + +"Say you lied!" Lancaster loomed over him in tremendous wrath. + +Wooton glared doggedly. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he managed to +whisper. His left hand was sliding along the table to where the glass, +half full of wine, stood. Suddenly he gripped it and with a wrench, +splashed up the contents and the glass, full into Lancaster's face. The +crystal shattered on the artist's chin, fortunately, and so did but +little harm. Before the crash of the breaking glass was stilled, and the +wine spent, Lancaster's hands were about the other's throat again; he +gave a swing, viciously, and flung the body completely over the low +railing. + +It splashed into the still waters noisily. The swans swam away for a +moment, then returned in curiosity. As Wooton came to the surface, he +screamed out an oath and a cry for help. There was a boatman at the +water-steps of the adjoining cafe, and in a few minutes he had pulled +the choking man out of the water. + +Wooton glared up to where Lancaster stood, still hot with anger. "Damn +him," he thought, "if he were not so much stronger than I--" But the +thought prevailed, and he told the boatman to row further down the +canal. + +To the waiters who had rushed up, Lancaster had been very cool. "_Es +handelt sich um eine Wette_" he assured them. The whole thing had been +so swift, so silent, that up to the moment of the splash in the water, +there had been no eye-witnesses. He smiled at the waiters, paying his +bill, and leaving a liberal _trinkgeld_. "_Mein freund hat die wette +gewonnen_." Then he sauntered out with a final fierce glance in the +direction of the boat that was turning the corner in the far distance, +bearing away the scoundrelisms that lived in Wooton. + +When he reached the marble circle of the fountain in the gardens of +Sans-souci, Lancaster stopped, and addressed the spray, bitterly: "So +that was why I was refused? Well, well! It seems, as I said a little +while ago, that there are still new emotions in store for me." He +watched the spray turn to mist that was almost invisible. "That is the +way with ideals," he mused. Then he turned with a laugh in the direction +of the terraces. "How absurd he looked, in the water!" He went on, +laughing quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The late John Stewart had, in his lifetime, achieved the distinction of +being a model husband. He was devoted to his wife in more senses of the +word than one; he was content to appear stupid so she might shine the +more; content to slave at Mammon's shrine for his wife's sake. His fund +of patience, of tolerance, of faith, had been infinite. It was in return +for these things that his wife, as he lay in the dying moments of +typhoid, whispered to him, with a tremendous suspicion that she had +seemed blind to much of her fortune, "John, dear John, you musn't go, +not yet. I--I--" + +And though John assured her that he was going to get well, the next day +found the promise broken. + +Mrs. Stewart, after his death, realized all that he had been to her, all +that she, except in his loving fancy, had not been to him. And brooding +over such recollections she began to feel the ban of morbidness, the old +rooms, the dear, familiar haunts that had once known his voice, were +peopled now with sadness, and she resolved to seek escape, for a time at +least, from these living voices of a silenced lip. She had some cousins +in London; she determined to travel, to visit them. With her went her +nearer cousin, Miss Leigh, whose whimsical, cynical sincerities she +loved the while she combated them. + +So, in the spring, they found themselves in London, then harboring the +whirl of society at its swiftest. But that had palled on Mrs. Stewart, +and she dragged Miss Leigh off for an apparently aimless tour through +Wales, and the Lake district, and on up to Scotland. + +September found them in St. Andrews. + +Although it was one of the months that constitute the "short season" of +that dear old academic village, it was easily possible to escape the +crowds of golf-enthusiasts that studded the links with their glaringly +colorful costumes. The old castle, the ruins of the cathedral, the +legends of the historic, bloody occurrences that had taken place here +for religion's sake,--all these were full of charms to these two +American women, saturated, as is nearly all that Nation, with a +peculiar, wistful reverence for things antique. + +There were drives, too, that gave opportunities for enjoyment of the +Scotch autumn scenery. Along the banks of the Tay, with the solemn +Crampians showing dim in the distance. + +Mrs. Stewart loved to sit in the silent coolness of the college +quadrangles and dream. It seemed to her that only for such places were +dreams fit companions. + +One day, they were sitting together on the turf that once had marked a +cathedral wall. Miss Leigh was reading; Mrs. Stewart idly watching the +breakers roll up to the cliffs. + +"I beg your pardon!" + +The two ladies looked up, and turned to find Lancaster standing before +them, with his hat off and a look of amused surprise on his face. + +"Well," said Mrs. Stewart, shaking hands heartily, "the world is small +as ever, is it not? It's like home, seeing you!" + +"It strikes me the same way." He sat down beside them. They noticed that +he was browned and furrowed; the marks of travel, the brace of different +climes, the scars caught in the thick of life's battle were all sharply +dominant in his externals. + +"We ought to feel honored," smiled Miss Leigh. "You are such a celebrity +nowadays! We have heard the most weird anecdotes about you of late, you +know. You are pictured as the Sphinx and the Chimera in one." + +"You are still," he answered, "as cruel as ever." + +"But we really feel very proud of you," said Mrs. Stewart. "We know each +other too well, I hope, to veil our honest opinions. I admire your work +immensely; but I think you're terribly bitter sometimes." + +"Ah," he laughed gently, "I'm glad it strikes you that way. Bitterness +is the only taste that lives after a complete course of life. But we +really must talk of something less embarassing than myself. Do tell me +the news! How are all the dear familiars?" He paused, and lowered his +voice a little. "If it pains you," he said gently, "let us talk of other +things. I--have heard. Believe me, I am sorry, very sorry. It is a poor +word, but--" he stopped as she looked up at him gratefully for an +instant, and then said with an effort at cheerfulness: + +"Oh, they were all well, when we left." + +"Yes," put in Miss Leigh, "and doing about the same old things. Mr. +Wreath still expounds, in and out of season, the doctrine of his own +surpassingly correct theories on veritism in literature; and +incidentally takes all occasions to assail the sincerity of every other +living writer. He's an amusing man, and if he had only been given a +sense of honor he would find himself an ever re-direct jest. Clarence +Miller has written another novel, and all society is wondering whether +it will be translated into Magyar or Mongolian. He calls it 'Five Loaves +and Two Fishes.' His brother-in-law has composed another comic opera +that some people have the originality to declare original. And--but why +continue the catalogue? It's just the same ridiculous circus it ever +was." + +Lancaster laughed. "Thank you. That's really a volume in a nutshell. I +wonder if the performers in that circus really know how amusing they +are?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Stewart, "but they keep it up nevertheless. Of +course, it's only when one gets away from it that one really gets the +most entertaining focus on that sort of a thing. I'm sure," she sighed, +"I don't seem to belong to those ranks at all, now." She shivered a +little. The sun was setting, and a chill breeze blowing off the sea. +"I'm afraid we must go," she said, rising, "but you must be sure and +come to see us." She gave Lancaster a small card, and then, with smiles +and bows, and rustling of skirts, they were gone. + +In the weeks that followed Lancaster availed himself of the privilege +accorded in Mrs. Stewart's invitation as often as possible. The three +were together almost daily, if only for a few moments. Lancaster was +busily employed, the while, in fixing in black-and-white some of the +types and features that prevailed in this fashionable corner of Fife. +The London and Paris journals soon gave evidences of his industry. +Fortunately, but few of these papers found their way to St. Andrews, and +Lancaster's love of incognito was not disturbed. Sometimes the artist +would disappear for days; a fishing-boat would be his hope for the time, +and he would drink in the free winds of the sea, and the passing joy of +that toilsome life of the fishermen. The winds and the freshness of the +life were like a tonic to him, but he knew that it would presently pall +and he would give way to the fever for the metropolitan whirlpool. + +Occasionally Miss Leigh preferred to remain in her apartments, leaving +Mrs. Stewart to stroll along the links alone with the young artist. "Do +you know," remarked Mrs. Stewart, on one such occasion, "that my +cousin's tremendously fond of you?" + +Lancaster looked up in surprise: Then he gave a short laugh. "She's +tremendously mistaken," he said, "I'm not the sort that anyone should be +fond of--now." He looked out over the sea. "There goes a steamer. I +suppose it's the Aberdeen boat." He watched it wistfully. + +"She thinks," continued Mrs. Stewart, heedless of his abstraction, "that +you are a young man much to be envied. Already you have a name that is +known far and wide, and all life is yet before you. She--" + +He interrupted, bitterly: "Life is all behind me, you should say. All, +all! I have tried everything, the good and the evil. The one broke my +belief in all things; the other gives me the belief that the only thing +to do is to laugh. Strange! I heard that phrase first in your +drawing-room, Mrs. Stewart! Suppose we sit down. These rocks are +fashioned delightfully for easy chairs." + +The sun was burnishing the water with a lustre of copper. The sea-gulls +moaned as they circled about hungrily. The breakers hissed sullenly +below them. + +"My philosophy," he went on, after he had seen that Mrs. Stewart was +comfortably seated, "is very simple, now. Laugh! That is the text of +it." + +She mused in silence. "You used to be so different," she murmured, +presently. "You were, not so long ago, at the other extreme. You thought +everything was solemn, awful, important, that there were majestic duties +in life, splendid obligations, and splendid things to live for. +Now,--you say it is all a jest, and the only thing to do is to laugh. I +think you have had too much curiosity." + +"Perhaps. Curiosity is a guide that takes us into a labyrinth and leaves +us there. But why," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, "why must we +be forever talking of this hapless personage, me? Suppose we talk, +instead, of you?" + +"Oh, no. You are the interesting one. You are a study. I should like to +help you. I think you are doing yourself an injustice: letting yourself +drift as you are. Your fame, alone, won't bring you happiness." + +"I'm not expecting happiness." + +Mrs. Stewart watched his face, hard set, with it's bitter drop to the +right corner of the mouth, and something of pity came to her. "Once," +she went on, "it seemed to me that there was a woman who meant for you +the same thing as happiness." + +"Perhaps." His voice was as hard as before. "That was a very long time +ago,--counting by experiences. Why talk of marriage? I don't think I +could stand it for an instant; I don't think any woman could stand me. +As I once was--that was different." + +"Some women are very patient." + +"Yes. And then I should go mad until they came out of their deadly +patience into something more exciting. A woman's fury would amuse me +vastly, I think." He twisted his stick into the rocks, and outlined +vague designs in the sandstone. "Why, supposing, for the sake of the +argument, that I asked you to marry me, you would, I am sure, consider +me a madman to expect you to make such a fool of yourself?" + +She flushed slightly. "Merely for the sake of the argument, I don't say +that I would do anything of the sort. I might consider it ill-timed, +inconsiderate." + +"Ah, I beg your pardon, humbly. I realize that deeply. Merely, I said, +for the sake of the argument. I want to show you the utter hopelessness +of my position. Suppose then, that I asked you that question, what would +you tell yourself? That I was a man, young in years, old in experiences, +soured in thought and taste, bitter in mind, selfish, a slave to the +most egoistic of epicureanisms. A man who considers nothing too sacred +for laughter, or too ridiculous for tears. A man who is a perpetual +evidence of the corroding influences of flippancy; whose very art, even, +is merely a means for amusement. No,--you, clever, shrewd, adaptable +woman of the world though you are, would realize at once that to enter +into a life-partnership with a man of that sort were to invite immediate +misery. Think: the man would be ungovernable, save by his moods; when he +should be at home acting as host to a dinner-party he would be tramping +the moors in a wild passion for solitude? A man who would perpetually +fling at his wife the most mordant of sarcasms, merely for the pleasure +they caused his powers of creation. If a biting jest came to him, he +would hurl it at his wife, without malice, but because she happened to +be present. Not even the cleverest woman in the world can decide between +the words and the motive in a case like that. No; this man has fed too +much on the lees of disenchantment to be himself aught but a sorry-devil +of a jester." + +She signed. "You have the modern disease in terrible +development--self-analysis. It seems to me to be quite as cruel as +vivisection. And I think you exaggerate your vices. After all--I may +speak frankly, may I not? I am a woman that has ever kept her eyes +open--you represent nothing so very dreadful. You are young, impetuous; +you have had the bandages of stern puritanism roughly torn from you, and +you have had a little of what the world calls 'your fling!' You realize +yourself far too much. You are not one whit worse than others. All men +worship, for a time, at the shrine of their animal natures, I suppose. +But instead of letting the thought of it all drive you further and +further into bitterness, why not resolve to shake off the whole cloak, +and put it back into the limbo of thinks henceforth to be avoided?" She +paused, and looked at him with a smile. "Get married. I believe, in +spite of your fears, that you will make a good husband. Believe me, you +will be a much better one than if you had never taught yourself the +revolting nausea that the other side of life brings." + +"Marry?" he repeated, "why do you harp on that? I tell you, there is no +one, no one at all! Unless--" he looked over the breakers to the setting +sun, "unless there were a woman somewhere that could understand and +forgive. A woman that knew something of the world, of the stings of +experience and the hollowness of hope. With a woman like that I might +become the owner of the new youth, might sink all these bitternesses, +live earnest in ambition and.... But there is no such woman, none...." A +sudden light flashed into his eyes, and with passion he continued, +"Except-yourself. Yes--you are the only one. You know; you understand. +Oh, listen to me, listen! Why tell me that this is a sacrilege, an +insult to a memory. Do you suppose I don't know that? I do; I feel it +deeply; but I also feel that I am pleading for a helping hand, that I +see in you the only chance of safety, that you mean for me a new life, +and that I must tell you so now, before the opportunity is gone. Oh, +don't tell me I'm a coward--I know that, too, well enough. I confess it; +I am a coward, a broken-hearted cur." He groaned, and getting up, began +to walk slowly up and down before her. "Is it so impossible? I +would--you yourself admitted that hope!--improve. Is there no hope?" + +"What a boy you are, what a boy! You have all the headstrong, passionate +eagerness of youth, and yet you pretend to play the wearied liver of +many lives! No, Dick," her voice grew gentler, and it came to him like a +pleasant harmony, "we will do nothing so foolish. You and I are always +to be very good friends, and we will help each other always, but not +that, not that! You are too young; regret would come to you all too +soon. No matter how nicely each of us were to fashion his or her temper +to the other's, there would come that thought: for the hope of mere +comfort I have sacrificed an idol. For, Dick, think, think! Dorothy +Ware! Do you think I have not watched you, found you out long ago? What +was it, Dick, a tiff? A refusal?" + +He stopped in his sentry-go, and began to whistle, softly, '_La donna e +Mobile_.' "I--I beg your pardon," he added, hastily, "I fear I forget my +manners. Was it a refusal? you ask. Well,--perhaps, perhaps not. At the +time, I thought it was. Since then I have found out things--things--Bah, +what does it matter!" + +"Go on," she said, "tell me!" + +"In Germany, I met Wooton--" + +She interrupted. "Ah, yes; I remember a terrible cruel picture you drew +of a man at a cafe table, drinking. It was his face, unmistakably. Why +did you do that?" + +"That was--only an afterthought. Well, he had been--drinking, and he +talked a good deal. Some of it was about Miss Ware." + +For a moment there was silence. + +Then "And you believed it?" she asked. + +"At the time, no. Lord knows I did not want to. But, afterward, I +remembered the look on her face when she gave me that last refusal. It +was a strange look; it meant more than I could account for, at that +time. Yes," he sighed, "I believe it. Why shouldn't I? I know how vile a +man may be; be a woman only half as weak, or half as 'new,' and she is +a thing for loathing." + +"Hush! What a conventional man it is, after all. Always the same old +tune, one thing for the man, another for the woman! Listen: I know +Dorothy Ware, better, perhaps, than you do; I know her later self, you +only know her as a child. There are great points of similarity between +you two. She has much of your absurd sensitiveness; self-torment is one +of her vices. She is very much given to making mountains out of +molehills. She--" + +"No, no," he interrupted, wearily, "I tell you I believe it. All, all of +it!" + +"Well," she said, somewhat angrily, "and suppose you do! What then! Who +are you, that you should judge?" + +He winced slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, of course, of +course; I've heard all about that. But it won't do, in practice." + +"Won't it? Let us put the cases plainly, for comparison's sake: You are +a young man that has had more than his share of selfish indulgence; you +have thrown aside all scruples and done everything and anything you +pleased. Your actual transgressions of the commandments we will waive; +there is a greater crime: you have allowed yourself to become a soured, +bitter, heartless creature, fit only to disseminate scorn and distaste. +She, the woman in the case, once, we will say, allowed her senses to +oust her sense. Ever since, she has suffered agonies of regret. Unlike +the man she has not told herself that she might as well let fate have +it's play out. She is as sweet as the dew of Maytime, and the slight +trace of sadness only needs the touch of love to fall and almost fade. I +think she loves you; I am not sure--she is a woman, and it is hard to +say. As for you, in spite of everything, you love her. You coward! Why +don't you ask her again? She will tell you that it is impossible, of +course. She will say there was once another. Then, unless you are a +greater coward than I think you, you will tell her that compared to +yourself she is as pure as the driven snow, and you want nothing, only +her forgiveness for yourself." + +He was still stubborn. "It is the old story," he said, "one has heard it +all before. The woman is to be put on a par with the man; there is no +actual difference in ethics. But I once saw it tried; I shudder when I +think of it. To be sure--the woman was notorious." + +"Ah! How can you compare the cases? And yet--" she laughed a trifle +bitterly,--"in this case the man is notorious." She watched him wince +under the callousness of triumph. + +"Think," she continued, "what she could be to you, how she could help +you; how you could help each other! The happy days and dreams together, +the planning for new artistic achievements, the sweet companionship of a +soul capable of understanding! Instead of--what? Fierce flights into +forgetfulness; pursuits of vanishing pleasures, palling desires; short +triumphs in art merged into long revulsions from life! It seems, to me, +a fair exchange!" She rose, as if to end the subject. He put her shawl +about her shoulders, and they walked slowly back to the village, talking +of other things, gaily, lightly, insincerely. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Lancaster said goodbye on the following morning, and by noon he was in +Edinboro'. At the Travelers' club he found a letter from the firm of +publishers, at home, that had lately been using a great many of his +sketches. They took the liberty of informing him that owing to the +popularity of his work they had thought proper to open an exhibition of +his original sketches in the Museum Art Galleries. While they were aware +that possession of these originals was entirely vested in themselves, +they had decided to lay aside a share of the receipts from the +exhibition and sale for him, as a courtesy royalty. Lancaster folded the +letter up, drummed on the table for a second or two, and then went out +to get a paper. It had occurred to him that, if he sailed for home at +once, he could reach there before the exhibition closed. It would be a +grim bit of humor to appear there in person, and listen to the comments +of the very people who, a year ago, would have considered him and his +work beneath their notice. Now, with a European reputation, his stock, +so to put it, had gone far beyond par in his native country. +Besides,--the memory of the things that Mrs. Stewart had said to him +refused to pass from him--there was Dorothy! He would see her again; he +would put his fate to the touch once more. + +It had been a white night that had passed between his conversation with +Mrs. Stewart and his departure from St. Andrews. He had lain awake +listening to the hissing of the sea over the rocks, and recounting the +arguments that affected his feelings toward Miss Ware. Now, it had +seemed to him that she represented for him the one chance of happiness; +that the touch of sadness that had come to her would make her but the +more merciful to his own past. Then, again, the old bitterness, the old +distaste came; he could not escape the thought that the old conventions +teach, that one step aside means, for the woman, eternal disgrace. Well, +and even if the old conventions said so a thousand times, were they to +bind him now, when they had so long been thrust away by him in scorn? At +any rate, the torment of these conflicting thoughts was to be avoided. +He must decide upon one attempt or another--the return home and the +repetition of a certain question, or the effort to continue more +steadfast than ever in the philosophy of laughter. + +He decided for the return to America. + +No boat left Liverpool for two days. In the interval he roamed about the +most beautiful city in Scotland, enjoying the memories and pictures of +the past that Holyrood, the old Castle, and John Knox's house brought +up. The autumn sun turned Prince's Street Gardens, and the Scott +Monument into a green and gold and flowered picture that he remembered +no equal to, in his wanderings through the capitals of Europe, Prince's +Street, he maintained, was the prettiest thoroughfare in the world. He +left it with regret. + +His voyage across the Atlantic merely gave him material for a study of +the gowns adopted by the fair ocean travelers, and several chances for +cynical representations of the humors of upper-deck flirtations. +Otherwise his journey was as monotonous as the luxuriance of the modern +travel could make it. + +It was morning, when after another fatiguing journey by rail, he reached +the metropolis that held so many mixed memories for him. He went +straight to the Philistine club, and took some rooms there. The servants +hardly knew him. He had, it was true, changed a great deal. He was +browner, thinner; there were deep lines about his eyes and mouth. + +The first man he met in the smoking-room, after he had refreshed himself +with a bath and a lunch, was Vanstruther. + +"Why," said that gentleman, after a long, puzzled look, "dashed if it +isn't Dick Lancaster!" "Come into the light, most noble genius, and let +me gaze upon you. You--you put bright crimson tints on all the effete +European cities, didn't you? I declare it's good to see you again! +You've seemed a good deal like a myth lately, you know; no one ever +seemed to know just where you were, or whether you were alive at all." + +They walked up and down the room, asking and answering such pleasant +questions as come between two familiars after a long absence. + +"Oh, there's not much change," Vanstruther was explaining, "except in +yourself. You'll be no end of a lion, I'm afraid. Have to do a couple of +paragraphs about you myself, just to scoop the other fellows. Give me a +text or two. Oh, but you have hit the fad in the exact centre, somehow! +I'm not saying a thing against the real value of your stuff, but the +fact remains that this whole blessed nation is fad-mad just now, and it +simply has got to have a fad or quit. Your European reputation came +along just about the time the fad for the newest English novel was +dying. You went, so to say, with a whoop. One can't pick up a Sunday +paper now but what one finds weird, impossible interviews with you; +descriptions of your favorite models, or reproductions of your newest +sketch. You are depicted as the founder of a new style; they talk of +women as being "Lancaster-like," and you are a pest generally. In print, +I mean, of course, only in print. You are about to furnish my own dear +self with material for about a column, so I shouldn't call you a pest; +but from the standpoint of the reader, rather than the penny-a-liner, I +abhor you!" He made a gesture of aversion, laughingly. + +"You want to know about the old guard, do you? Well, Stanley is still +the same dismal distiller of cynicisms that he ever was; his trip abroad +only seems to have made him worse. Belden? Oh, he plods along in the +same old way, drawing bloody battles for the dailies, and making all +creation look like the prize-ring 'toughs.' We have the same old Sunday +evenings up at his house, too; his wife's turned out well, as far as one +can see. He certainly doesn't look unhappy. We were all up there not +long ago, Marsboro, Stanley and myself. Mind you, I never take Mrs. Van. +I'm about the same as ever, too. I've got a blood-curdling dime-novel on +the stocks just now, and the 'season' is beginning for the winter, so +I'm not likely to have much time for idle trifling for a while. Oh,--did +you see Mrs. Stewart while you were abroad? Thanks! That'll be another +scoop on the rest of the society editors. Hallo! three o'clock,--got to +be off to the office--see you again!" He rushed off, leaving Lancaster +smiling at his frank, jerky sentences. + +Lancaster sat down and took up the morning paper. Before long the +advertisement of his exhibition at the museum met his eyes. It occurred +to him that if what Vanstruther had said was only in part true, it would +be wise for him to go and take a peep at the show this very afternoon, +before people knew he was in town. + +The place was crowded with well-dressed men and women. They flowed in +and out in a constant stream. They held catalogues in their hands, and +chatted volubly. In front of one picture, whereon was depicted a London +music-hall scene, there was an especially large gathering. + +"He's so dreadfully cynical, don't you think so?" one man was saying to +the girl that was with him. "I really think he ought to be called a +caricaturist." + +"Oh, but, after all, it's nearly all true, you know. Look at the +expression on that gallery-god's face, will you!" + +"Wonder what sort of a chap he is personally?" + +"Oh--impossible, I suppose. Although I ought not to say that; nothing is +impossible nowadays, there never was such a run on intellect. I never +saw anything like it! It positively seems as if society was +intellect-mad. Singers, actors, painters, writers--all sorts of queer +people go everywhere now, and that isn't the worst of it! The society +people won't be content with just playing at 'society' as they used to: +they want to sing, and paint, and write, too! It's awful! I'll have to +go on the stage, or something of that sort, myself, if I want to keep up +with the procession." + +Lancaster moved away from that corner. It was amusing, certainly; but it +was also painful. What pleased him more than the overheard conversations +were the little labels, displaying the word "SOLD" that decorated many +of his sketches. It was balm to him to think that these moneybags, these +puppets mumbling set phrases, were being despoiled of some of their +wealth for his sake. + +Walking over to the wall whereon hung the sketch for which Wooton had +been the unconscious model, Lancaster heard a voice that seemed +familiar. + +"It certainly looks like him," the voice was saying. "That would be a +wanton brutality." + +It was Miss Tremont. Lancaster flushed angrily. What had she to judge +by? It was Mrs. Tremont who was accompanying her daughter; the elder +lady moved away, that moment, to speak to an acquaintance. Miss Tremont +remained in front of the picture of the drunkard, her brows moving +nervously. + +Lancaster stepped close up to her. + +"If I were you," he said quietly, but distinctly, "I should go and look +after him. He needs it." + +The girl started quickly, turned momentarily pale, and then, seeing who +it was, nerved herself to stony calmness. "How dare you?" she said +twisting her catalogue into shapelessness. + +"Oh," he laughed, "I really mean it for the best. As you see--" he +looked sneeringly at the sketch--"he's not the pink of sobriety. And +when he drinks, he talks a good deal. He sometimes talks about--you, for +instance." He paused and seemed engrossed in nothing save the smoothing +out of the wrinkles in his gloves. + +"You coward!" If intention could have killed, Miss Tremont's eyes +committed murder. + +"True; I fear for you both. And I take such an interest in you! But I +believe he will make an excellent husband--for you!" He lifted his hat, +with a fleeting mockery of a smile, and left her before the picture, +staring, trembling. + +"That," he told himself, "was wanton brutality number two. But she +should not have judged me!" + +He left the galleries, taking with him a feeling of scorn for himself, +that he should have put himself on the level of the praise or blame of +the fadists in such a public way. Yet, he reflected, it had been not of +his own seeking. + +The afternoon was already touched with the darkening shadow of evening. +The town roared and hissed and seethed in all it's wonted fervor; the +chill-hardness of its material manners were painfully evident to +Lancaster as he came from the comparative quiet of the +picture-galleries. He contrasted the grim roar of the place with the +smiling, careless, jovial glitter of those other towns he had lately +enjoyed; for the bright cheer of the boulevards and the gardens and the +open-air cafe's he found the skypiercing buildings that shut out the +sun-light, hemmed in masses of money-mad humanity, and extended +apparently to all the horizons. For the strolling gayety he had grown to +love so; for the ever-changing current of picturesque triflers, idlers +and dandies,--he had received in exchange a breathless surge of anxious, +nervous, straining men and women, plunging wildly down the slopes to an +imaginary sea of gold. Something of the old repulsion made itself felt +in him; he foresaw that it would never again be possible for him to +endure life here. That other glittering, careless, joyous +maelstrom,--perhaps; this one, never! He realized that while for future +generations it was possible, for himself the hope of finding an American +metropolis tinged with aught but the feverish strivings after riches was +utterly vain. He tried to argue with himself about it; to persuade +himself that it was a nobler sign, this one of the masses all honest in +labor and in pursuit of it's fruits, than the evidences of inherited +wealth, or quiet content with small means, that were the prevailing +notes of older countries. But he failed. His temperament rebelled; he +loved the smooth, the finished sides of life; the artist in him rebelled +against the commercialism of his native haunts. If it should be the +decree of fate that he continue to seek out life's most distracting +enchantments, he would certainly have to bid his native land farewell +again. If there were anything else in store for him; if it happened that +he be required by Dame Chance to do something more serious than to +laugh, to laugh, and laugh--well, that consideration would bear +postponement. + +It seemed to him, as he walked through the streets that were now +beginning to glitter with the white and yellow lights born of +electricity and gas, that these faces were the same faces always, that +there was never any change, from year to year, in the puppets that +paraded on this urban stage. A thousand differing types, to be sure; but +always the same in their hard, tense, sinister look of restraint; all +wore the same tiring eyes, the same rounded shoulders. The same fierce +passion for excitement swam in the eyes of the women. In his morbidness +he fancied that it was as if all these city-dwellers were +life-prisoners, condemned forever to walk, and mumble and laugh shrilly. + +"The metropolis," he told himself, "is a maelstrom that never gives up +it's human prisoners: it merely changes their cells occasionally." At +which reflection he presently laughed. The old text came to him: "The +thing to do is to laugh!" + +"Yes," he thought, "but it's harder here than anywhere else. Much +harder." + +Arrived at the club, he ordered dinner, and in the short interval, set +down to write a letter to his mother. For the many months of his absence +abroad he had contented himself with sending her occasional newspapers, +the briefest of notes, and illustrated magazines. In none of these +missives had there ever been the real personal, familiar note. He had +given merely the scantest news of his whereabouts and his well-being. In +the life and the philosophy he had chosen there was little room for +comradeships, even with his own mother. Now, however, with the distance +between them so vastly less, he felt again some of the old affections +that he had thought to have slain with laughter. In any event, he wrote, +whether he decided to remain on this or that continent, he would pay +Lincolnville a visit presently. They would have that dear, delightful +talk that the months had despoiled them of. + +As he stepped into the dining-room, Vanstruther nailed him. "Saw a +friend of yours just now, Dick," he said, "Miss Ware!" + +"Ah," was the reply, given in apparent abstraction, "they still live +here then?" + +"Yes. Dick did it ever occur to you that she's a devilish pretty girl?" + +"Oh, look here, Van," said Dick, laughingly, "I came to feed on solids, +not the lilies of your imagination. The prettiest thing in the world to +me, at this date, is a good dinner." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It is impossible, even for the most harassed of human beings, to be +entirely pessimistic after a dinner that had been well prepared, +tastefully served, and finely appreciated. With the coffee and the +liqueur a warm glow of pleasant sentiment is sure to invade the dinner; +the dismal reflections that harrowed his soul an hour ago have fled at +the approach of that self-satisfied feeling that marks the man that has +dined. + +By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded +in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter +that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and +was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended +interview with Dorothy Ware. + +It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved +him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she +did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture +all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need +matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the +question: What art thou? + +He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was +changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for +pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying +to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through +the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness +of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing +and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, +skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more +as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade. + +It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to +head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza +whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his +card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness +of all other things--and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the +driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the +accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a +little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, +were so absurdly insignificant! + +When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when +Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon +it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an +entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, +paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders. + +But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. +Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the +driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such +an occasion. + +But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and +wistful happiness shining in her eyes. + +"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a +will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back +to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell +reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something +in return." + +"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion +should bring out such a lion!" + +"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know--anything about +me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else--anyone! For I do +detest--" + +She interrupted him gaily. "Oh, no; you are doomed. I shall introduce +you to the most portentous faddists; you shall suffer. That, sir, may be +your punishment for surprising me so!" She glided away, and returned +with Mrs. Ware. + +Never, thought Lancaster, had he seen Dorothy so gay, so cheerful, so +roguish. Whence came that playful mood of hers; that mocking, joyous +laughter? Talking to this and that person, Lancaster kept his watch upon +Miss Ware. He saw her go out of the room, laughing and chattering, and +the moment she reached the conservatory, put her hands up to her +forehead and press them swiftly over her eyes. The smile went from her +lips; her whole form testified to a sudden relaxation of an artificial +tension. + +A mask, Lancaster told himself, a mask for her feelings. She was +agitated, but she determined to hide all that under a cloak of gayety. +He understood. Had he not himself tested the expungent qualities of +laughter? + +As of old, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice had thrilled +him with a sense of wonderful gladness. At sight, at sound of her all +the good in him seemed to become vibrant; she was still the star, far +above him, that he longed for. The comforts of his cold philosophies, +the promises of the epicureanisms he had delved in so deeply--all faded +into ashes at approach of this girl. + +"We are really very fortunate," a voice behind him aroused him from his +reverie, "in having such a distinguished guest with us tonight." It was +Stanley, who stood with his hand on Lancaster's shoulder. "Surprised to +see me here, are you? Well, to tell the truth, it's only of late that +I've gone into these rare regions. I find that it conserves one's +pessimism to enjoy the company of one's fellow-creatures. Will you +excuse me, I see that man Wreath coming over here. I really can't stand +him. He always remarks to me, sorrowfully, 'Ah, Mr. Stanley, I'm very +much afraid you're not in earnest!' Why, the man himself's an eternal +warning against being in earnest. There's nothing that spoils the look +of a person's mouth so much as earnestness." + +In truth, at that moment, just after Stanley had deftly slipped away, +Mr. Wreath had solemnly greeted the artist. "You have shown great +talent, Mr. Lancaster, great talent. But--" and he beamed reproach upon +the other, "why don't you dig deeper?" + +Lancaster felt as if he could have sworn at the man's presuming egoism. +But he merely laughed, and said, "Ah, you forget what a fellow-artist of +mine once said, _apropos_ of cleanliness. 'Wash,' he said, 'no, we don't +wash; we merely scratch and rub, scratch and rub.' I choose, in like +manner, only to scratch. If I can scratch an effective creation, why +should I dig?" + +Wreath shook his head, with a mournful smile. "Ah, you will agree with +me--later. In the meantime, I want to talk to you about my next novel. +Do you think we could make it worth your while to illustrate it for us?" +He dragged Lancaster off into the library and bored him, for at least +ten minutes. From the other room came sounds of music. Someone was +singing. "_In Einem Kuehlen Grunde_" went the soft, sweet old ballad. +Lancaster promised Wreath that he would let the writer's publishers know +definitely in a day or so, whether he would undertake the illustrations. +He hurried back into the salon, muttering, as he went. + +"Several haystacks; two threshing-day scenes; several prairie pictures, +one for each season of the year--that's about what those illustrations +will have to be. Well, I'd do it twice over if that man would promise to +let me alone!" + +It was Dorothy Ware that had been singing. She got up just as he entered +the room. She caught his look, and smiled to him. "You must take me to +the conservatory," she commanded, with a pretty air of authority, "for +singing is warm work." She took his arm, and while someone else went to +the piano and began to play the ballet from "Sylvia," together they +strolled out into the cooler rooms beyond. + +"And now," she said, when they were snugly seated upon the cushioned +windowseat, "I must tell you how proud mother and I have been of you. +Oh, it was so good to read all these praises of you!" + +He smiled. "It came," he said, "because I did not care whether it came +or not. I was indifferent; and so success came." + +"Indifferent? Why, Dick? With such power it is not right to be +indifferent. Why--" + +"Why should I be anything other than indifferent? For myself? No. I +despise myself too much. I consider myself only a means toward +amusement. And if not for myself, for whom?" + +She was playing with the leaves of a palm that hung down over her +shoulder. + +"No," he went on, "there was never any motive in it all. It was all +sheer play. There was the joy, the delirium of creation; that was a +sufficient sensation; beyond that--nothing! It might be different +if...." He stopped with the word half spoken. + +"If what?" + +He looked at her swiftly. There was in her face only earnest curiosity +and sympathy. "If," he continued, "if there were--someone else. Oh, +Dorothy, dear, don't you see? Don't you realize that it is you, you for +whom I would work--yes, work and live? Dorothy, tell me that you are +not altogether indifferent. Once--long ago--you said you might care for +me. Then we were boy and girl; now we are man and woman. Then again you +told me to forget you. I tried. I tried--all ways into forgetfulness. I +tried to laugh away you, and all the past; to live only for the essence +of the moment. And now, Dorothy, why don't you speak?" + +She gently disengaged her hand from his. Her face was white, and she +could only shake her head. + +"But why?" he moaned, fiercely, "why? Can you not love me a little?" + +She looked at him reproachfully, and for a moment he thought he divined +the framing of the words, "Ah, but I do love you," then she merely +sighed, and looked away again. + +"Is it," he went on, "that I have put myself beyond your mercy? Have I +become too notorious a vagabond?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, it is all +true; I am come through all the highways and byways of life, and I am +touched with the scum of it all. Perhaps you are right. I am not worthy. +And yet--I only ask for forgiveness, and a little love. With that, I +might--be able to--sink the bitterness of the days behind. But, as I +said, I dare say you are right. Shall we go into the other room?" + +"Oh, Dick," she sighed, "how hard you make it! Dick, it is--it is I that +am not worthy." She put her hands to her face suddenly, and pressed +them feverishly to her cheeks and eyes, and then started as if to go +away. + +Lancaster took her hand and kissed it. "Dorothy," he said, "Don't talk +nonsense! Unworthy of me--of a man who has used the world as a +playground, and exhausted his days in satiating curiosity! Ah, no! That +is impossible. There is no one, Dorothy--no one, however wretched, who +would not be worthy of me." + +"You don't understand," she wailed, "you don't understand! I--" she hid +her face in her hands again, "I have sinned!" + +He put his arm about her, and whispered, "What does it matter Dorothy, +if only you love me? Do you, Dorothy, do you love me?" + +She sobbed, silently almost. Then she looked up, and, as if she were +defining a happiness that could never be, said, "Yes, Dick, I love you." +Then, as he covered her brow with kisses, she shuddered in his arms, and +again moaned, "But you don't know, you don't understand!" + +He smoothed the tears from her eyes, and looked tenderly upon her. "Yes, +dear, I do." He burst into a fierce trumpet of rage. "That cad, Wooton, +--he told me some damnable lies...! He was drunk...!" + +She shrank away from him. "Ah, then, you see it is quite--impossible!" + +"Dorothy," he said, "I am not speaking of that, am I, dear? I am asking +you to have pity on me, to help me see that there are bright and tender +and true things in life. I tell you that, past or no past, you are as +high above me as the stars. Why must we listen to the old shibboleths, +Dorothy? Have you not spent a lifetime of regret to atone for a moment +of folly? And who am I to judge? I, in whom there is no more of +whiteness left, save only that I love you! Consider, dear, if this is +not to be, what our lives will be! For me, all the old bitterness, the +efforts to drown all things in laughter. For you--memories! But if you +say 'yes,' Dorothy, think! How different the world will seem! We will go +and live in the country, close to the heart of Nature. All the noise and +noisomenesses of this town-world will be shut out; we will forget it. +For you, dear, I will work as I never worked before. Think, dear--think +of the dear old, silent, restful hills of Lincolnville! How the insects +hum in the clear nights; how blue, how deep, how tender the sky seems +there; how the very flowers seem to wear more natural faces than do +those of town! Do you remember how, in summer, we used to go camping by +the river? The simple pleasures, the healthy out-door life--can you not +believe that it would make new creatures of us two, Dorothy? The +house--think of the house we would plan, the orchard, the garden! And +are we to lose all that, dear, for a whim? Dorothy," he held out both +his hands to her, "see, Dorothy, I ask you to let me not see happiness +only to lose it?" + +For another moment she wavered, then with a choking "Ah, Dick, I love +you!" she let him take her to his arms. He kissed her shining eyes, and +said, fervidly, "Sweetheart, I thank you." + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +It was in the first beauty of June that Dick Lancaster brought her that +had been Dorothy Ware home to Lincolnville as his wife. The village, as +I remember, was looking its fairest; the trees were radiant and profuse +of shade; the grass was long and luscious, the birds were cheerful and +bold. We welcomed the two with all the heartiness we had command of; we +had known them as children, and we had loved their memory always, all +through the years they had been gone. Of Dick's fame we were +immeasurably proud. We wondered a little, indeed, that a man so dear to +the world's heart should find satisfaction in living so far from the +pulse of it all. But, we argued, if indeed, he preferred Lincolnville, +all the greater was the honor. + +Both, as we soon saw, had aged, Mr. Fairly, who had gone up to town to +marry them, had told us as much, but we were but little prepared for the +actual evidence. Those of us, too, who were permitted closer glimpses +into the life of these two, observed in the two a passionate fondness +for the fields, for the silence and stillness of our life there that was +something very different from the matter-of-course acceptance of those +attributes to our existence that existed in the rest of us. It was as if +the place were, for them, a very harbor of refuge, a hospital in which +to forget old ailment, or regain old healthfulness. These things, and +many other signs of something wistful in the affection they bore the +place and the dislike they long showed for leaving it, made up for me +and many others, something of a mystery. At that time, I knew nothing of +the things that had occurred since Dick left Lincolnville. + +Afterwards, long afterwards, it happened that I came to know all the +things that have been chronicled here. And, for my part, I came to love +them the more. As Mr. Fairly, who, I suspect, also knew something of +these things, once said to me, "If one has not seen the devil, one does +not know enough to get out of his way." I consider that Dick Lancaster +is much more to be commended for the honest life he lives among us than +old Scrattan, the milkman, who has never been out of Lincoln County in +his life. And as for Dorothy, all Lincolnville thinks she is the +sweetest woman breathing--and when a village as given to gossip as is +this place, agrees on any such eulogy as that, there must be potent +reasons. + +It is an ancient trick, I know, and an uncommendable, this of +chronicling the lives of two people only up to the church door. In the +lives of most people, I hear on all sides of me, the tragedy only begins +after marriage. Well, perhaps so. But I hope, for my part, that for +Dick Lancaster and his wife there is not to be much more of battling +against the buffets of the world. For them there had been so much of +tragedy--the tragedy that is almost intangible, the tragedy that +underlies the surface flippancy of our modern life--before Fate chose to +let them come together, that it would seem just that thereafter their +life be but a pleasant pastoral. As for that I cannot say. I know that +Dick's fame grows with each passing year; and that both he and his wife +are beginning to lose the look of weariness that was on them when they +came back to us. + +I have not given this chronicle as an example or a lesson. I do not mean +in telling it to declare my belief in the theory that Christ's words +"Go, and sin no more!" can be perpetually applied in the practice of +modern life. I have transcribed one episode, one group of characters, +one set of lives, and having done so, I refer the responsibility whither +it belongs to the Being that mapped, that directed those life-threads. I +do not mean to say that in like instances, a similar course would +inevitably lead to happiness. I only say that yesterday, as I was +walking in my garden, watching the blue-jays quarreling in the firs, I +heard Dick and Dorothy talking and laughing on their veranda. There was +something so infectious about their gladness that I paused and listened, +without thought of curiosity, but rather in something of wistful +appreciation of their happiness. + +"I had not thought," I heard him say, "that the world would ever seem +so fair to me." + +There was a pause, and I fancied I heard a kiss, but I will not be sure. + +"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you." + +Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened +whisper from her: "Dick--do you think we shall ever see--him--again?" + +He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of +his own safety. Besides--what matter if we did. He belongs to the things +that we have forgotten." + +Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually +died from my hearing. + +It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to +these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And +whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the +end. + +FINIS + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cape of Storms, by Percival Pollard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE OF STORMS *** + +***** This file should be named 39781.txt or 39781.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/8/39781/ + +Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org +(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) + + +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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