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diff --git a/old/60435-h/60435-h.htm b/old/60435-h/60435-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f9c1304..0000000 --- a/old/60435-h/60435-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9738 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Emblems of Fidelity, -by James Lane Allen -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.salutation {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 50% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.closing {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Emblems of Fidelity, by James Lane Allen - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Emblems of Fidelity - A Comedy in Letters - -Author: James Lane Allen - -Release Date: October 5, 2019 [EBook #60435] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMBLEMS OF FIDELITY *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - THE EMBLEMS OF<br /> - FIDELITY<br /> -</h1> - -<p class="t3b"> - A Comedy in Letters<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> - JAMES LANE ALLEN<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - AUTHOR OF<br /> - "THE KENTUCKY CARDINAL,"<br /> - "THE KENTUCKY WARBLER," ETC.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - There is nothing so ill-bred as audible<br /> - laughter.... I am sure that since I have<br /> - had the full use of my reason nobody has<br /> - ever heard me laugh.<br /> - —Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - GARDEN CITY NEW YORK<br /> - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> - 1919<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> - COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY<br /> - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF<br /> - TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,<br /> - INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - To<br /> - THE SPIRIT OF COMEDY<br /> -<br /> - INCOMPARABLE ALLY<br /> - OF VICTORY<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -LIST OF CHARACTERS -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -EDWARD BLACKTHORNE . . . Famous elderly English novelist -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -BEVERLEY SANDS . . . Rising young American novelist -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE . . . Practical lawyer, friend of Beverley Sands -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -GEORGE MARIGOLD . . . Fashionable physician -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -CLAUDE MULLEN . . . Fashionable nerve-specialist, friend of George Marigold<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -RUFUS KENT . . . Long-winded president of a club -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -NOAH CHAMBERLAIN . . . Very learned, very absent-minded professor -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -PHILLIPS AND FAULDS . . . Florists -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -BURNS AND BRUCE . . . Florists -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -JUDD AND JUDD . . . Florists -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -ANDY PETERS . . . Florist -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -HODGE . . . Stupid gardener of Edward Blackthorne -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -TILLY SNOWDEN . . . Dangerous sweetheart of Beverley Sands -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -POLLY BOLES . . . Dangerous sweetheart of Benjamin Doolittle, friend of Tilly Snowden<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN . . . Very devoted, very proud sensitive daughter of Noah Chamberlain<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -ANNE RAEBURN . . . Protective secretary of Edward Blackthorne -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -CONTENTS -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#chap02">PART SECOND</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#chap03">PART THIRD</a> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<h2> -THE EMBLEMS OF FIDELITY -</h2> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -EDWARD BLACKTHORNE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England,<br /> - May 1, 1910.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I have just read to the end of your latest -novel and under the outdoor influence of that -Kentucky story have sat here at my windows -with my eyes on the English landscape of the -first of May: on as much of the landscape, at -least, as lies within the grey, ivy-tumbled, -rose-besprinkled wall of a companionable old -Warwickshire garden. -</p> - -<p> -You may or you may not know that I, too, -am a novelist. The fact, however negligible -otherwise, may help to disarm you of some -very natural hostility at the approach of this -letter from a stranger; for you probably agree -with me that the writing of novels—not, of -course, the mere odious manufacture of -novels—results in the making of friendly, brotherly -men across the barriers of nations, and that -we may often do as fellow-craftsmen what we -could do less well or not do at all as -fellow-creatures. -</p> - -<p> -I shall not loiter at the threshold of this -letter to fatigue your ear with particulars -regarding the several parts of your story most -enjoyed, though I do pause there long enough -to say that no admirable human being has -ever yet succeeded in wearying my own ears -by any such desirable procedure. In -England, and I presume in the United States, -novelists have long noses for incense [poets, -too, though of course only in their inferior -way]. I repeat that we English novelists are -a species of greyhound for running down on -the most distant horizon any scampering, -half-terrified rabbit of a compliment. But I -freely confess that nature loaded me beyond -the tendency of being a mere greyhound. I -am a veritable elephant in the matter, being -marvelously equipped with a huge, flexible -proboscis which is not only adapted to admit -praise but is quite capable of actively -reaching around in every direction to procure it. -Even the greyhound cannot run forever; but -an elephant, if he once possess it, will wave -such a proboscis till he dies. -</p> - -<p> -There are likely to be in any very readable -book a few pages which the reader feels -tempted to tear out for the contrary reason, -perhaps, that he cannot tear them out of his -tenderness. Some haunting picture of the -book-gallery that he would cut from the frame. -Should you be displeased by the discrimination, -I shall trust that you may be pleased -nevertheless by the avowal that there is a -scene in your novel which has peculiarly -ensnared my affections. -</p> - -<p> -At this point I think I can see you throw -down my letter with more insight into human -nature than patience with its foibles. You -toss it aside and exclaim: "What does this -Englishman drive at? Why does he not at -once say what he wants?" You are right. -My letter is perhaps no better than strangers' -letters commonly are: coins, one side of which -is stamped with your image and the other -side with their image, especially theirs. -</p> - -<p> -I might as well, therefore, present to you -my side of the coin with the selfish image. -Or, in terms of your blue-grass country life, -you are the horse in an open pasture and I -am the stableman who schemes to catch you: -to do this, I approach, calling to you -affectionately and shaking a bundle of oats behind -which is coiled a halter. You are thinking -that if I once clutch you by the mane you -will get no oats. But, my dear sir, you have -from the very first word of this letter already -been nibbling the oats. And now you are my -animal! -</p> - -<p> -There is, then, in your novel a remarkable -description of a noonday woodland scene -somewhere on your enchanted Kentucky -uplands—a cool, moist forest spot. Into this -scene you introduced some rare, beautiful -Kentucky ferns. I can <i>see</i> the ferns! I can -see the sunlight striking through the waving -treetops down upon them! Now, as it -happens, in the old garden under my windows, -loving the shade and moisture of its trees -and its wall, I have a bank of ferns. They are -a marvelous company, in their way as good -as Wordsworth's flock of daffodils; for they -have been collected out of England's best -and from other countries. -</p> - -<p> -Here, then, is literally the root of this letter: -Will you send me the root-stocks of some of -those Kentucky ferns to grow and wave on -my Warwickshire fern bank? -</p> - -<p> -Do not suppose that my garden is on a -small scale a public park or exhibition, made -as we have created Kensington Gardens. -Everything in it is, on the contrary, enriched -with some personal association. I began it -when a young man in the following way: -</p> - -<p> -At that period I was much under the -influence of the Barbizon painters, and I -sometimes entertained myself in the forests where -masters of that school had worked by hunting -up what I supposed were the scenes of -some of Corot's masterpieces. -</p> - -<p> -Corot, if my eyes tell me the truth, painted -trees as though he were looking at enormous -ferns. His ferns spring out of the soil and -some rise higher than others as trees; his trees -descend through the air and are lost lower -down as ferns. One day I dug up some Corot -ferns for my good Warwickshire loam. Another -winter Christine Nilsson was singing at -Covent Garden. I spent several evenings -with her. When I bade her good-bye, I asked -her to send me some ferns from Norway in -memory of Balzac and <i>Seraphita</i>. Yet -another winter, being still a young man and he, -alas! a much older one, I passed an evening -in Paris with Turgenieff. I would persist in -talking about his novels and I remember -quoting these lines from one of them: "It -was a splendid clear morning; tiny mottled -cloudlets hung like snipe in the clear pale -azure; a fine dew was sprinkled on the leaves -and grass and glistened like silver on the -spiders' webs; the moist dark earth seemed -still to retain the rosy traces of the dawn; the -songs of larks showered down from all over -the sky." -</p> - -<p> -He sat looking at me in surprised, touched -silence. -</p> - -<p> -"But you left out something!" I suggested, -with the bumptiousness of a beginner in -letters. He laughed slightly to himself—and -perhaps more at me—as he replied: "I must -have left out a great deal"—he, fiction's -greatest master of compression. After a -moment he inquired with a kind of vast patient -condescension: "What is it that you definitely -missed?" "Ferns," I replied. "Ferns -were growing thereabouts." He smiled -reminiscently. "So there were," he replied, smiling -reminiscently. "If I knew where the spot -was," I said, "I should travel to it for some -ferns." A mystical look came into his eyes as -he muttered rather to himself than for my -ear: "That spot! Where is that spot? That -spot is all Russia!" In his exile, the whole of -Russia was to him one scene, one fatherland, -one pain, one passion. Sometime afterwards -there reached me at home a hamper of Russian -fern-roots with Turgenieff's card. -</p> - -<p> -I tell you all this as I make the request, -which is the body of this letter and, I hope, -its wings, in order that you may intimately -understand. I desire the ferns not only -because you have interested me in your -Kentucky by making it a living, lovely reality, -but because I have become interested in your -art and in you. While I read your book I -believed that I saw the hand of youth joyously -at work, creating where no hand had created -before; or if on its chosen scene it found a -ruin, then joyously trying to re-create reality -from that ruin. But to create where no hand -has created before, or to create them again -where human things lie in decay—that to me -is the true energy of literature. -</p> - -<p> -I should not omit to tell you that some of -our most tight-islanded, hard-headed -reviewers have been praising your work as of -the best that reaches us from America. It -was one such reviewer that first guided me to -your latest book. Now I myself have written -to some of our critics and have thrown my -influence in favour of your fresh, beautiful art, -which can only come from a fresh, beautiful -nature. -</p> - -<p> -Should you decide to bestow any notice -upon this rather amazing letter, you will bear -in mind of course that there will be pounds -sterling for plants. Whatever character my -deed or misdeed may later assume, it must -first and at least have the nature of a -transaction of the market-place. -</p> - -<p> -So, turn out as it may, or not turn out at all, -</p> - -<p> -I am, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Gratefully yours,<br /> - EDWARD BLACKTHORNE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO EDWARD BLACKTHORNE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Cathedral Heights, New York,<br /> - May 12, 1910.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. BLACKTHORNE: -</p> - -<p> -Your letter is as unreal to me as if I had, -in some modern Æsop's Fables, read how a -whale, at ease in the depths of the sea, had -taken the trouble to turn entirely round to -encourage a puffing young porpoise; or of -how a black oak, majestic dome of a forest, -had on some fine spring day looked down and -complimented a small dogwood tree upon its -size and the purity of its blossoms. And yet, -while thus unreal, your letter is in its way the -most encouragingly real thing that has ever -come into my life. Before I go further I -should like to say that I have read every book -you have written and have bought your books -and given them away with such zeal and zest -that your American publishers should feel -more interest in me than can possibly be felt -by the gentlemen who publish mine. -</p> - -<p> -It is too late to tell you this now. Too late, -in bad taste. A man's praise of another may -not follow upon that man's praise of him. -Our virtues have their hour. If they do not -act then, they are not like clocks which may -be set forward but resemble fruits which lose -their flavour when they pass into ripeness. -Still, what I have said is honest. You may -remember that I am yet moving amid life's -uncertainties as a beginner, while you walk -in quietness the world's highway of a great -career. My praise could have borne little to -you; yours brings everything to me. And -you must reflect also that it is just a little -easier for any Englishman to write to an -American in this way. The American could -but fear that his letter might seriously disturb -the repose of a gentleman who was reclining -with his head in Shakespeare's bosom; and -Shakespeare's entire bosom in this regard, as -you know, Mr. Blackthorne, does stay in -England. -</p> - -<p> -It will give me genuine pleasure to arrange -for the shipment of the ferns. A good many -years have passed since I lived in Kentucky -and I am no longer in close touch with people -and things down there. But without doubt -the matter can be managed through -correspondence and all that I await from you -now is express instructions. The ferns -described in my book are not known to me by -name. I have procured and have mailed to -you along with this, lest you may not have -any, some illustrated catalogues of American -ferns, Kentucky ferns included. You have -but to send me a list of those you want. With -that in hand I shall know exactly how to -proceed. -</p> - -<p> -You cannot possibly understand how happy -I am that my work has the approval of the -English reviews, which still remain the best -in the world. To know that my Kentucky -stories are liked in England—England which, -remaining true to so many great traditions, -holds fast to the classic tradition in her -literature. -</p> - -<p> -The putting forth of your own personal -influence in my behalf is a source of joy and -pride; and your wish to have Kentucky ferns -growing in your garden in token of me is the -most inspiring event yet to mark my life. -</p> - -<p> -I am, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Sincerely yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -EDWARD BLACKTHORNE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England,<br /> - May 22, 1910.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -Your letter was brought out to me as I was -hanging an old gate in a clover-field canopied -with skylarks. When I cannot make headway -against some obstruction in the development -of a story, for instance, putting the hinges of -the narrative where the reader will not see -any hinges, I let the book alone and go out -and do some piece of work, surrounded by -the creatures which succeed in all they -undertake through zest and joy. By the time I get -back, the hinges of the book have usually -hung themselves without my knowing when -or how. Hence the paradox: we achieve the -impossible by doing the possible; we climb -our mountain of troubles by walking away -from it. -</p> - -<p> -It is splendid news that I am to get the -Kentucky ferns. Thank you for the -catalogues. A list of those I most covet is -enclosed. The cost, shipping expenses included, -will not, I fear, exceed five pounds. Of course -it would be a pleasure to pay fifty guineas, but -I suppose I must restrict myself to the -despicable market price. Shamefully cheap many -of the dearest things in this world are; and -what exorbitant prices we pay for the worthless! -</p> - -<p> -A draft will be forwarded in advance upon -receipt of the American shipper's address. -Or I could send it forthwith to you. -Meantime from now on I shall be remembering -with impatience how many miles it is across -the Atlantic Ocean and at what a snail's pace -American ferns travel. These will be awaited -like guests whom one goes to the gate to meet. -</p> - -<p> -You do not know the names of those you -describe so wonderfully! I am glad. I abhor -the names of my own. Of course, as they are -bought, memoranda must be depended upon -by which to buy them. These data, verified -by catalogue, are inked on little wooden slabs -as fern headstones. When each fern is planted, -into the soil beside it is stuck its headstone, -which, like that for a human being, tells the -name, not the nature, of what it memorialises. -</p> - -<p> -Hodge is the fellow who knows the ferns -according to the slabs. It is time you should -know Hodge by his slab. No such being can -yet be found in the United States: your -civilisation is too young. Hodge is my -British-Empire gardener; and as he now looks out -for every birthday much as for any total -solar eclipse of the year—with a kind of -growing solicitude lest the sun or the birthday -should finally, as it passes, bowl him over for -good—he announced to me with visible relief -the other day that he had successfully passed -another total natal eclipse; that he was -fifty-eight. But Hodge is not fifty-eight years -old. The battle of Hastings was fought in -1066 and Hodge without knowing it was -beginning to be a well-grown lout then. For -Hodge is English landscape gardening in -human shape. He is the benevolent spirit of -the English turf, a malign spirit to English -weeds. He is wall ivy, a root, a bulb, a rake, -a wheelbarrow of spring manure, a pile of -autumn leaves, a crocus. In a distant future -mythology of our English rural life he will -perhaps rank where he belongs—as a -luminary next in importance to the sun: a -two-legged god be-earthed in old clothes, with a -stiff back, a stiff temper, the jaw of the -mastiff and the eye of a prophet. -</p> - -<p> -It is Hodge who does the slabs. He would -not allow anything to come into the garden -without mastering that thing. For the sake -of his own authority he must subdue as much -of the Latin language as invades his territory -along with the ferns. But I think nothing -comparable to such a struggle against -overwhelming odds—Hodge's brain pitted against -the Latin names of the ferns—nothing -comparable to the dull fury of that onset is to be -found in the history of man unless it be -England's war on Napoleon for twenty years. -England did conquer Napoleon and finally -shut him up in a desolate, rocky place; and -Hodge has finally conquered the names of -the ferns and shut them up in a desolate, -rocky place—his skull, his personal promontory. -</p> - -<p> -Nowadays you should see him meet me in -a garden path when I come down early some -morning. You should see him plant himself -before me and, taking off his cap and scratching -the back of his neck with the back of his -muddy thumb, make this announcement: -"The <i>Asplenium filix-faemina</i> put up two new -shoots last night, sir. Bishop's crooks, I -believe you calls 'em, sir." As though I were a -farmer and my shepherd should notify me -that one of the ewes had dropped twin lambs -at three A.M. Hodge's tone implies more yet: -the honour of the shoots—a questionable -honour—goes to Hodge as their botanical sire! -</p> - -<p> -When I receive visitors by reason of my -books—and strangers do sometimes make -pilgrimages to me on account of my grove of -"Black Oaks"—if the day is pleasant, we -have tea in the garden. While the strangers -drink tea, I begin to wave the well-known -proboscis over the company for any praise -they may have brought along. Should this -seem adequate, I later reward them with a -stroll. That is Hodge's hour and opportunity. -Unexpectedly, as it would appear, but -invariably, he steps out from some bush and -takes his place behind me as we move. -</p> - -<p> -When we reach the fern bank, the visitors -regularly begin to inquire: "What is the -name of this fern?" I turn helplessly to -Hodge much as a drum-major, if asked by a -by-stander what the music was that the band -had just been playing, might wheel in dismay -to the nearest horn. Hodge steps forward: -now comes the reward of all his toil. "That -is the <i>Polydactulum cruciato-cristatum</i>, -sir." "And what is this one?" "That is the -<i>Polypodium elegantissimum</i>, mum." Then you -would understand what it sometimes means -to attain scholarship without Oxford or -Cambridge; what upon occasion it is to be a Roman -orator and a garden ass. -</p> - -<p> -You will be wondering why I am telling -you this about Hodge. For the very particular -reason that Hodge will play a part, I know -not what part, in the pleasant business that -has come up between us. He looms as the -danger between me and the American ferns -after the ferns shall have arrived here. It is -a fact that very few foreign ferns have ever -done well in my garden, watch over them as -closely as I may: especially those planted in -more recent years. Could you believe it -possible of human nature to refuse to water a -fern, to deny a little earth to the root of a -fern? Actually to scrape the soil away from -it when there was nobody near to observe the -deed, to jab at it with a sharp trowel? I shall -not press the matter further, for I instinctively -turn away from it. Perhaps each of us has -within himself some incomprehensible little -terrible spot and I feel that this is Hodge's -spot. It is murder; Hodge is an assassin: he -will kill what he hates, if he dares. I have -been so aroused to defend his faithful -character that I have devised two pleadings: -first, Hodge is the essence of British -parliaments, the sum total of British institutions; -therefore he patriotically believes that things -British should be good enough for the British—of -course, their own ferns. At other times -I am rather inclined to surmise that his -malice and murderous resentment are due to -his inability to take on any more Latin, least -of all imported Latin. Hodge without doubt -now defends himself against any more Latin -as a man with his back to the wall fights for -his life: the personal promontory will hold no -more. -</p> - -<p> -You have written me an irresistible letter, -though frankly I made no effort to resist it. -Your praise of my books instantly endeared -you to me. -</p> - -<p> -Since a first plunge into ferns, then, has -already brought results so agreeable and -surprising, I am resolved to be bolder and to -plunge a second time and more deeply. -</p> - -<p> -Is there—how could there help being!—a -<i>Mrs.</i> Beverley Sands? Mrs. Blackthorne -wishes to know. I read your letter to -Mrs. Blackthorne. Mrs. Blackthorne was charmed -with it. Mrs. Blackthorne is charmed with -<i>you</i>. Mr. Blackthorne is charmed with you. -And Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorne would like to -know whether there is a Mrs. Beverley Sands -and, if so, whether she and you will not some -time follow the ferns and come and take -possession for a while of our English garden. -</p> - -<p> -You and I can go off to ourselves and -discuss our "dogwoods" and "black oaks"; -and Mrs. Sands and Mrs. Blackthorne, at -their tea across the garden, can exchange -copies of their highly illuminated and -privately circulated little masterpieces about -their husbands. (The husbands should always -edit the masterpieces!) -</p> - -<p> -Both of you, will you come? -</p> - -<p> -Finally, as to your generous propaganda -in behalf of my books and as to the favourable -reports which my publishers send me from -time to time in the guise of New World -royalties, you may think of the proboscis as -now being leveled straight and rigid like a -gun-barrel toward the shores of the United -States, whence blow gales scented with so -glorious a fragrance. I begin to feel that -Columbus was not mistaken: America is -turning out to be a place worth while. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Your deeply interested,<br /> - EDWARD BLACKTHORNE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 3.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR TILLY: -</p> - -<p> -Crown me with some kind of chaplet—nothing -classic, nothing sentimental, but something -American and practical—say with twigs -of Kentucky sassafras or, better, with the -leaves of that forest favourite which in -boyhood so fascinated me and lubricated me with -its inner bark—entwine me, O Tilly, with a -garland of slippery elm for the virtue of -always making haste to share with you my -slippery pleasures! I write at full speed now -to empty into your lap, a wonderfully receptive -lap, tidings of the fittest joy that has -ever come to me as your favourite author—and -favourite young husband to be. -</p> - -<p> -The great English novelist Blackthorne, -many of whose books we have read together -(whenever you listened), recently stumbled -over one of my obstructive tales; one of my -awkwardly placed literary hurdles on the -world's race-course of readers. As a result of -his fall he got up, dusted himself thoroughly -of his surprise, and actually despatched to me -an acknowledgment of his thanks for the -happy accident. I replied with a volley of -my own thanks, with salvos of praise for him. -Now he has written again, throwing wide -open his house and his heart, both of which -appear to be large and admirably suited to -entertain suitable guests. -</p> - -<p> -At this crisis place your careful hands over -your careful heart—can you find where it -is?—and draw "a deep, quivering breath," the -novelist's conventional breath for the excited -heroine. Mr. Blackthorne wishes to know -whether there is a <i>Mrs.</i> Beverley Sands. If -there is, and he feels sure there must be, -far-sighted man!—he invites her, invites <i>us</i>, -<i>Mrs.</i> Blackthorne invites <i>us</i>, should we sometime -be in England, to visit them at their beautiful, -far-famed country-house in Warwickshire. -If, then, our often postponed marriage, our -despairingly postponed marriage, should be -arranged to madden me and gladden the rest -of mankind before next summer, we could, -with our arms around one another's necks, be -conveyed by steam and electricity on our -wedding journey to the Blackthorne entrance -and be there deposited, still oblivious of -everything but ourselves. -</p> - -<p> -Think what it would mean to you to be -launched upon the rosy sea of English social -life amid the orisons and benisons of such -illustrious literary personages. Think of those -lovely English lawns, raked and rolled for -centuries, and of many-coloured <i>fêtes</i> on them; -of the national tea and the national sandwiches; -of national strawberries and clotted -cream and clotted crumpets; of Thackeray's -flunkies still flunkying and Queen Anne's -fads yet fadding; of week-ends without -end—as Mrs. Beverley Sands. Behold yourself -growing more and more a celebrity, as the -English mutton-chop or sirloined reviewers -gradually brought into public appreciation -the vague potentialities, not necessarily the -bare actualities, of modest young Sands -himself. Eventually, no doubt, there would be a -day for you at Sandringham with the royal -ladies. They would drive you over—I have -not the least idea how great the distance -is—to drink tea at Stonehenge. Imagine -yourself, it having naturally turned into a rainy -English afternoon, imagine yourself seated -under a heavy black-silk English umbrella on -a bare cromlech, the oldest throne in England, -tearing at an Anglo-Saxon muffin of purest -strain and surrounded by male and female -admirers, all under heavy black-silk -umbrellas—Spitalsfield, I suppose—as Mrs. Beverley -Sands. -</p> - -<p> -Remember, madam, or miss, that this foreign -triumph, this career of glory, comes -to you strictly from me. To you, of yourself, -it is inaccessible. Look upon it as in -part the property that I am to settle upon -you at the time of our union—my honours. -You have already understood from me that -my entire estate, both my real estate and my -unreal estate, consists of future honours. -Those I have just described are an early -payment on the marriage contract—foreign -exchange! -</p> - -<p> -What reply, then, in your behalf am I to -send to the lofty and benevolent -Blackthornes? As matters halt between us—he -also loves who only writes and waits—I can -merely inform Mr. Blackthorne that there is -a Mrs. Beverley Sands, but that she persists -in remaining a Miss Snowden. With this -realisation of what you will lose as Miss -Snowden and will gain as Mrs. Sands, do you -not think it wise—and wise you are, Tilly—any -longer to persist in your persistence? -You once, in a moment of weakness, confessed -to me—think of your having a moment of -weakness!—you once confessed to me, though -you may deny it now (Balzac defines woman -as the angel or devil who denies everything -when it suits her), you once confessed to me -that you feared your life would be taken up -with two protracted pleasures, each of which -curtailed the other: the pleasure of being -engaged to me a long time and the pleasure of -being married to me a long time. Nerve -yourself to shortening the first in order to -enter upon the compensations of the second. -</p> - -<p> -Yet remorse racks me even at the prospect -of obliterating from the world one whom I -first knew and loved in it as Tilly Snowden. -Where will Tilly Snowden be when only -Mrs. Beverley Sands is left? Where will be that -wild rose in a snow bank—the rose which was -truly wild, the snow bank which was not cold -(or was it?)? I think I should easily become -reconciled to your being known, say, as -Madame Snowden, so that you might still -stand out in your own right and wild-rose -individuality. We could visit England as the -rising American author, Beverley Sands, and -his lovely risen wife, Madame Snowden. -Everybody would then be asking who the -mysterious Madame Snowden was, and I -should relate that she was a retired opera -singer—having retired before she advanced. -</p> - -<p> -By the way, you confided to me some time -ago that you were not very well. You always -<i>look</i> well, mighty well to <i>me</i>, Tilly. Perfectly -well to <i>me</i>. Can your indisposition be -imaginary? Or is it merely fashionable? -Or—is it something else? What of late has -sickened me is an idea of yours that you -might sometime consult Doctor G. M. Tilly! -Tilly! If you knew the pains that rack me -when I think of that charlatan's door being -closed behind you as a patient of his! -</p> - -<p> -Tell me it isn't true, and answer about the -beautiful Blackthornes! -</p> - -<p> -Your easy and your uneasy -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>"Slippery Elm" Apartments,<br /> - June 4.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -I am perfectly willing, Beverley, to crown -you with slippery elm—you seem to think I -keep it on hand, dwell in a bower of it—if it -is the leaf you sigh for. But please do not -try to crown me with a wig of your creative -hair; that is, with your literary honours. -</p> - -<p> -How wonderfully the impressions of childhood -disappear from memory like breaths on -a warm mirror, but long afterwards return to -their shapes if the glass be coldly breathed -upon! As I read your letter, at least as I read -the very chilly Blackthorne parts of your -letter, I remembered, probably for the first -time in years, a friend of my mother's. -</p> - -<p> -She had been inveigled to become the wife, -that is, the legally installed life-assistant, of -an exceedingly popular minister; and when I -was a little girl, but not too little to -understand—was I ever too little to understand?—she -used to slip across the street to our house -and in confidence to my mother pour out her -sense of humour at the part assigned her by -the hired wedding march and evangelical -housekeeping. I recall one of those half-whispered, -always half-whispered, confidences—for -how often in life one feels guilty when -telling the truth and innocent when lying! -</p> - -<p> -On this particular morning she and my -mother laughed till they were weary, while I -danced round them with delight at the idea -of having even the tip of my small but very -active finger in any pie that savoured of mischief. -She had been telling my mother that if, some -Sunday, her husband accidentally preached a -sermon which brought people into the church, -she felt sure of soon receiving a turkey. If he -made a rousing plea for foreign missions, she -might possibly look out for a pair of ducks. -Her destiny, as she viewed it, was to be -merely a strip of worthless territory lying -alongside the land of Canaan; people simply -walked over her, tramped across her, on their -way to Canaan, carrying all sorts of bountiful -things to Canaan, her husband. -</p> - -<p> -That childish nonsense comes back to me -strangely, and yet not strangely as I think of -your funny letter, your very, very funny -letter, about the Blackthornes' invitation to -me because I am not myself but am possibly -a Mrs.—well, <i>some</i> Mrs. Sands. The English -scenes you describe I see but too vividly: it -is Canaan and his strip all over again—there -on the English lawns; a great many heavy -English people are tramping heavily over me -on their way to Canaan. The fabulous tea at -Sandringham would be Canaan's cup, and at -Stonehenge it would be Canaan's muffin that -at last choked to death the ill-fated Tilly -Snowden. -</p> - -<p> -In order to escape such a fate, Tilly Snowden, -then, begs that you will thank the Blackthornes, -Mr. and Mrs., as best you can for -their invitation; as best she can she thanks -you; but for the present, and for how much of -the future she does not know, she prefers to -remain what is very necessary to her -independence and therefore to her happiness; and -also what is quite pleasing to her ear—the -wild rose in the snow bank (cold or not cold, -according to the sun). -</p> - -<p> -In other words, my dear Beverley, it is true -that I have more than once postponed the -date of our marriage. I have never said why; -perhaps I myself have never known just why. -But at least do not expect me to shorten the -engagement in order that I may secure some -share of your literary honours. As a little -girl I always despised queens who were -crowned with their husbands. It seemed to -me that the queen was crowned with what -was left over and was merely allowed to sit -on the corner of the throne as the poor -connection. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -P.S.—Still, I <i>would</i> like to go to England. -I mean, of course, I wish <i>we</i> could go on our -wedding journey! If I got ready, could I -rely upon <i>you</i>? I have always wished to visit -England without being debarred from its -social life. Seriously, the invitation of the -Blackthornes looks to me like an opportunity -and an advantage not to be thrown away. -Wisdom never wastes, and you say I am -wise! -</p> - -<p> -It is true that I have not been feeling very -well. And it is true that I have consulted -Dr. Marigold and am now a patient of his. -That dreaded door has closed behind me! I -have been alone with him! The diagnosis at -least was delightful. He made it appear like -opening a golden door upon a charming -landscape. I had but to step outdoors and look -around with a pleasant smile and say: "Why, -Health, my former friend, how do you do! -Why did you go back on me?" He tells me -my trouble is a mild form of auto-intoxication. -I said to him that <i>must</i> be the disease; -namely, that it was <i>mild</i>. Never in my life -had I had anything that was mild! Disease -from my birth up had attacked me only in its -most virulent form: so had health. I had -always enjoyed—and suffered from—virulent -health. I am going to take the Bulgar bacillus. -</p> - -<p> -Why do <i>you</i> dislike Dr. Marigold? Popular -physicians are naturally hated by unpopular -physicians. But how does <i>he</i> run against or -run over you? -</p> - -<p> -Which of your books was it the condescending -Englishman liked? Suppose you -send me a copy. Why not send me a copy of -each of your books? Those you gave me as -they came out seem to have disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -The wild rose is now going to pour down -her graceful stalk a tubeful of the Balkan -bacillus. -</p> - -<p> -More trouble with the Balkans! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - (auto-intoxicated, not otherwise<br /> - intoxicated! Thank Heaven at least<br /> - for <i>that</i>!).<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 3.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -A bolt of divine lightning has struck me -out of the smiling blue, a benign fulmination -from an Olympian. -</p> - -<p> -To descend the long slope of Olympus to -you. A few days ago I received a letter from -the great English novelist, Edward Blackthorne, -in praise of my work. The great -Edward reads my books and the great Ben -Doolittle doesn't—score heavily for the -aforesaid illustrious Eddy. -</p> - -<p> -Of course I have for years known that you -do not cast your legal or illegal eyes on fiction, -though not long ago I heard you admit that -you had read "Ten Thousand a Year." On -the ground, that it is a lawyer's novel: which is -no ground at all, a mere mental bog. My -own opinion of why you read it is that you -were in search of information how to make -the ten thousand! As a literary performance -your reading "Ten Thousand a Year" may -be likened to the movement of a land-turtle -which has crossed to the opposite side of his -dusty road to bite off a new kind of weed, -waddling along his slow way under the -impenetrable roof of his own back. -</p> - -<p> -For, my dear Ben, whom I love and trust -as I love and trust no other human being in -this world, do you know what I think of you -as most truly being? The very finest possible -specimen of the highest order of human -land-turtle. A land-turtle is a creature that lives -under a shovel turned upside down over it, -called its back; and a human land-turtle is a -fellow who thrives under the roof of the five -senses and the practical. Never does a turtle -get from under his carapace, and never does -the man-turtle get beyond the shovel of his -five senses. Of course you realise that not -during our friendship have I paid you so -extravagant a compliment. For the human race -has to be largely made up of millions of -land-turtles. They cause the world to go slowly, -and it is the admirable stability of their lives -neither to soar nor to sink. You are a -land-turtle, Benjamin Doolittle, Esquire; you live -under the shell of the practical; that is, you -have no imagination; that is, you do not read -fiction; that is, you do not read Me! -Therefore I harbour no grievance against you, but -cherish all the confidence and love in the -world for you. But, mind you, only as an -unparalleled creeping thing. -</p> - -<p> -To get on with the business of this letter: -the English novelist laid aside his enthusiasm -for my work long enough to make a request: -he asked me to send him some Kentucky -ferns for his garden. Owing to my long -absence from Kentucky I am no longer in touch -with people and things down there. But you -left that better land only a few years ago. I -recollect that of old you manifested a -weakness for sending flowers to womankind—another -evidence, by the way, of lack of -imagination. Such conduct shows a mere -botanical estimate of the grand passion. The -only true lovers, the only real lovers, that -women ever have are men of imagination. -Why should these men send a common -florist's flowers! They grow and offer their -own—the roses of Elysium! -</p> - -<p> -To pass on, you must still have clinging to -your memory, like bats to a darkened, disused -wall, the addresses of various Louisville -florists who, by daylight or candlelight and no -light at all, were the former emissaries of your -folly and your fickleness. Will you send me -at once the address of a firm in whose hands -I could safely entrust this very high-minded -international piece of business? -</p> - -<p> -Inasmuch as you are now a New York -lawyer and inasmuch as New York lawyers -charge for everything—concentration of mind, -if they have any mind, tax on memory and -tax on income, their powers of locomotion and -of prevarication, club dues and death dues, -time and tumult, strikes and strokes, and all -other items of haste and waste, you are -authorised to regard this letter a professional -demand and to let me have a reasonable bill -at a not too early date. Charge for whatever -you will, but, I charge you, charge me not for -your friendship. "Naught that makes life -most worth while can be had for gold." (Rather -elegant extract from one of my -novels which you disdain to read!) -</p> - -<p> -I shall be greatly obliged if you will let me -have an immediate reply. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -How is the fair Polly Boles? Still pretending -to quarrel? And do you still keep up the -pretence? -</p> - -<p> -Predestined magpies! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>150 Broad Street,<br /> - June 5.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -Your highly complimentary and -philosophical missive is before my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -You understand French, not I. But I have -accumulated a few quotations which I -sometimes venture to use in writing, never in -my proud oral delivery. If I pronounced to -the French the French with which I am -familiar, the French themselves would drive -their own vernacular out of their land—over -into Germany! Here is one of those fond -inaudible phrases: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>A chaque oiseau<br /> - Son nid est beau.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -That is to say, in Greek, every Diogenes -prefers his own tub. -</p> - -<p> -The lines are a trophy captured at a college-club -dinner the other night. One of the -speakers launched the linguistic marvel on the -blue cloud of smoke and it went bumping -around the heads of the guests without -finding any head to enter, like a cork bobbing -about the edges of a pond, trying in vain to -strike a place to land. But everybody -cheered uproariously, made happy by the -discovery that someone actually could say -something at a New York dinner that nobody -had heard before. One man next to the -speaker (of course coached beforehand) passed -a translation to his elbow neighbour. It made -its way down the table to me at the other end -and I, in the New York way, laid it up for -future use at a dinner in some other city. -Meantime I use it now on you. -</p> - -<p> -It is true that I arrived in New York from -Kentucky some years ago. It is likewise -undeniable that for some years previous thereto -I had dealings with Louisville florists. But I -affirm now, and all these variegated -gentlemen, if they <i>are</i> gentlemen, would gladly -come on to New York as my witnesses and -bear me out in the joyful affidavit, that -whatever folly or recklessness or madness marked -my behaviour, never once did I commit the -futility, the imbecility, of trafficking in ferns. -</p> - -<p> -A great English novelist—ferns! A rising -young American novelist—ferns! Frogstools, -mushrooms, fungi! Man alive, why don't you -ship him a dray-load of Kentucky spiderwebs? -Or if they should be too gross for his delicate -soul, a birdcage containing a pair of warbling -young bluegrass moonbeams? -</p> - -<p> -I am a <i>land</i>-turtle, am I? If it be so, thank -God! If I have no imagination, thank God! -If I live and move and have my being under -the shovel of the five senses and of the -practical, thank God! But, my good fellow, whom -I love and trust as I love and trust no other -man, if I am a turtle, do you know what I -think of you as most truly being? -</p> - -<p> -A poor, harmless tinker. -</p> - -<p> -You, with your pastime of fabricating -novels, dwell in a little workshop of the -imagination; you tinker with what you are -pleased to call human lives, reality, truth. -On your shop door should hang a sign to -catch the eye: "Tinkering done here. Noble, -splendid tinkering. No matter who you are, -what your past career or present extremity, -come in and let the owner of this shop make -your acquaintance and he will work you over -into something finer than you have ever been -or in this world will ever be. For he will make -you into an unfallen original or into a -perfected final. If you have never had a chance -to do your best in life, he will give you that -chance in a story. All unfortunates, all the -broken-down, especially welcome. Everybody -made over to be as everybody should be by -Beverley Sands." -</p> - -<p> -But, brother, the sole thing with which you, -the tinker, do business is the sole thing with -which I, the turtle, do not do business. I, as -a lawyer, cannot tamper with human life, -actuality, truth. During the years that I -have been an attorney never have I had a -case in court without first of all things looking -for the element of imagination in it and trying -to stamp that element out of the case and kick -it out of the courtroom: that lurking scoundrel, -that indefatigable mischief-maker, your -beautiful and beloved patron power—imagination. -</p> - -<p> -Going on to testify out of my experience as -a land-turtle, I depose the following, having -kissed the Bible, to wit: that during the -turtle's travels he sooner or later crosses the -tracks of most of the other animal creatures -and gets to know them and their ways. But -there is one path of one creature marked for -unique renown among nose-bearing men: -that of a graceful, agile, little black-and-white -piece of soft-furred nocturnal innocence—surnamed -the polecat. -</p> - -<p> -Now the imagination, as long as it is favourably -disposed, may in your profession be the -harmless bird of paradise or whatever winged -thing you will that soars innocently toward -bright skies; but, once unkindly disposed, it -is in my profession, and in every other, the -polecat of the human faculties. When it has -testified against you, it vanishes from the -scene, but the whole atmosphere reeks with -its testimony. -</p> - -<p> -Hence it is that I go gunning first for this -same little animal whose common den is the -lawsuit. His abode is everywhere, though -you never seem to have encountered him in -your work and walks. If you should do so, if -you should ever run into the polecat of a hostile -imagination, oh, then, my dear fellow, may -the land-turtle be able to crawl to you and -stand by you in that hour! -</p> - -<p> -But—the tinker to his work, the turtle to -his! <i>A chaque oiseau</i>! Diogenes, your tub! -</p> - -<p> -As to the fern business, I'll inquire of Polly. -I paid for the flowers, <i>she</i> got them. Anybody -can receive money for blossoms, but only a -statesman and a Christian, I suppose, can -fill an order for flowers with equity and fresh -buds. Go ahead and try Phillips & Faulds. -You could reasonably rely upon them to fill -any order that you might place in their hands, -however nonsensical-comical, billy-goatian-satirical -it may be. They'd send your Englishman -an opossum with a pouch full of -blooming hyacinths if that would quiet his -longing and make him happy. I should think -it might. -</p> - -<p> -We are, sir, your obliged counsel and turtle, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p> -How is the fair Tilly Snowden? Still cooing? -Are you still cooing? -</p> - -<p> -Uncertain doves! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01b"></a></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>150 Broad Street,<br /> - June 5.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -I send you some red roses to go with your -black hair and your black eyes, never so -black as when black with temper. When -may I come to see you? Why not to-morrow -night? -</p> - -<p> -Another matter, not so vital but still -important: a few years before we left Louisville -to seek our fortunes (and misfortunes) in New -York, I at different times employed divers -common carriers known as florists to convey -to you inflammatory symbols of those emotions -that could not be depicted in writing -fluid. In other words, I hired those -mercenaries to impress my infatuation upon you in -terms of their costliest, most sensational -merchandise. You should be prepared to say -which of these florists struck you as the best -business agent. -</p> - -<p> -Would you send me the address of that man -or of that firm? Immediately you will want -to know why. Always suspicious! Let the -suspicions be quieted; it is not I, it is Beverley. -Some foggy-headed Englishman has besought -him to ship him (the foggy one) some -Kentucky vegetation all the way across the -broad Atlantic to his wet domain—interlocking -literary idiots! Beverley appeals to -me, I to you, the highest court in everything. -</p> - -<p> -Are you still enjoying the umbrageous -society of that giraffe-headed jackass, Doctor -Claude Mullen? Can you still tolerate his -unimpassioned propinquity and futile gyrations? -<i>He</i> a nerve specialist! The only nerve -in his practice is <i>his</i> nerve. Doesn't my -love satisfy you? Isn't there enough of it? -Isn't it the right kind? Will it ever give -out? -</p> - -<p> -Your reply, then, will cover four points: -to thank me for the red roses; to say when I -may come to see you; to send me the address -of the Louisville florist who became most -favourably known to you through a reckless -devotion; and to explain your patience with -that unhappy fool. -</p> - -<p> -Thy sworn and thy swain, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>The Franklin Flats,<br /> - June 6.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -Your writing to me for the name of a Louisville -florist is one of your flimsiest subterfuges. -What you wished to receive from me was a -letter of reassurance. You were disagreeable -on your last visit and you have since been -concerned as to how I felt about it afterwards. -Now you try to conciliate me by invoking my -aid as indispensable. That is like you men! -If one of you can but make a woman forget, -if he can but lead her to forgive him, by -flattering her with the idea that she is -indispensable! And that is like woman! I see her -figure standing on the long road of time: -dumbly, patiently standing there, waiting for -some male to pass along and permit her to -accompany him as his indispensable -fellow-traveller. I am now to be put in a good -humour by being honoured with your request -that I supply you with the name of a florist. -</p> - -<p> -Well, you poor, uninformed Ben, I'll supply -you. All the Louisville florists, as I thought -at the time, carried out their instructions -faithfully; that is, from each I occasionally -received flowers not fresh. Did it occur to -me to blame the florists? Never! I did what -a woman always does: she thinks less of—well, -she doesn't think less of the <i>florist</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Be this as it may, Beverley might try -Phillips & Faulds for whatever he is to export. -As nearly as I now remember they sent the -biggest boxes of whatever you ordered! -</p> - -<p> -I have an appointment for to-morrow night, -but I think I can arrange to divide the evening, -giving you the later half. It shall be for -you to say whether the best half was <i>yours</i>. -That will depend upon <i>you</i>. -</p> - -<p> -I still enjoy the "umbrageous society" of -Dr. Claude Mullen because he loves me and -I do not love him. The fascination of his -presence lies in my indifference. Perhaps -women are so seldom safe with the men who -love them, that any one of us feels herself -entitled to make the most of a rare chance! -I am not only safe, I am entertained. As I -go down into the parlour, I almost feel that -I ought to buy a ticket to a performance in -my own private theatre. -</p> - -<p> -Ben, dear, are you going to commit the -folly of being jealous? If I had to marry <i>him</i>, -do you know what my first wifely present -would be? A liberal transfusion of my own -blood! As soon as I enter the room, what -fascinates me are his lower eyelids, which -hold little cupfuls of sentimental fluid. I am -always expecting the little pools to run over: -then there would be tears. The night he goes -for good—perhaps they will be tears that -night. -</p> - -<p> -If you ask me how can I, if I feel thus about -him, still encourage his visits, I have simply -to say that I don't know. When it comes to -what a woman will "receive" in such cases, -the ground she walks on is very uncertain to -her own feet. It may be that the one thing -she forever craves and forever fears not to -get is absolute certainty, certainty that some -day love for her will not be over, everything be -not ended she knows not why. Dr. Mullen's -love is pitiful, and as long as a man's love is -pitiful at least a woman can be sure of it. -Therefore he is irresistible—as my guest! -</p> - -<p> -The roses are glorious. I bury my face in -them down to the thorns. And then I come -over and sign my name as the indispensable -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 6.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR TILLY: -</p> - -<p> -I have had a note from Beverley, asking -whether he could come this evening. I have -written that I have an appointment, but I did -not enlighten him as to the appointment being -with you. Why not let him suffer awhile? I -will explain afterwards. I told him that I -could perhaps arrange to divide the evening; -would you mind? And would you mind coming -early? I will do as much for you some -time, and <i>I suspect I couldn't do more</i>! -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -P.S.—Rather than come for the first half -of the evening perhaps you would prefer to -<i>postpone</i> your visit <i>altogether</i>. It would -suit me just as well; <i>better</i> in fact. There -really was something very <i>particular</i>, Tilly -dear, that I wanted to talk to Ben about -to-night. -</p> - -<p> -I shall not look for you at all <i>this</i> evening, -<i>best</i> of friends. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 6.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -The very particular something to talk to -Ben about to-night is the identical something -for every other night. And nothing could be -more characteristic of you, as soon as you -heard that my visit would clash with one of -his, than your eagerness to push me partly -out of the house in a hurried letter and then -push me completely out in a quiet postscript. -Being a woman, I understand your temptation -and your tactics. I fully sympathise -with you. -</p> - -<p> -Continue in ease of mind, my most trusted -intimate. I shall not drop in to interrupt you -and Ben—both not so young as you once were -and both getting stout—heavy Polly, heavy -Ben—as you sit side by side in your little -Franklin Flat parlour. That parlour always -suggests to me an enormous turnip hollowed -out square: with no windows; with a hole on -one side to come in and a hole on the other -side to go out; upholstered in enormous -bunches of beets and horse-radish, and lighted -with a wilted electric sunflower. There you -two will sit to-night, heavy Polly, heavy Ben, -suffocating for fresh air and murmuring to -each other as you have murmured for years: -</p> - -<p> -"I do! I do!" -</p> - -<p> -"I do! I do!" -</p> - -<p> -One sentence in your letter, Polly dear, -takes your photograph like a camera; the result -is a striking likeness. That sentence is this: -</p> - -<p> -"Why not let him suffer awhile? I will -explain afterwards." -</p> - -<p> -That is exactly what you will do, what you -would always do: explain afterwards. In -other words, you plot to make Ben jealous -but fear to make him too jealous lest he desert -you. If on the evening of this visit you should -forget "to explain," and if during the night -you should remember, you would, if need -were, walk barefoot through the streets in -your nightgown and tap on his window-shutter, -if you could reach it, and say: "Ben, -that appointment wasn't with any other man; -it was with Tilly. I could not sleep until I -had told you!" -</p> - -<p> -That is, you have already disposed of -yourself, breath and soul, to Ben; and while you -are waiting for the marriage ceremony, you -have espoused in his behalf what you consider -your best and strongest trait—loyalty. Under -the goadings of this vampire trait you will, a -few years after marriage, have devoured all -there is of Ben alive and will have taken your -seat beside what are virtually his bones. As -the years pass, the more ravenously you will -preside over the bones. Never shall the world -say that Polly Boles was disloyal to whatever -was left of her dear Ben Doolittle! -</p> - -<p> -<i>Your loyalty</i>! I believe the first I saw of it -was years ago one night in Louisville when -you and I were planning to come to New York -to live. Naturally we were much concerned -by the difficulties of choosing our respective -New York residences and we had written on -and had received thumb-nailed libraries of -romance about different places. As you -looked over the recommendations of each, you -came upon one called The Franklin Flats. -The circular contained appropriate -quotations from Poor Richard's Almanac. I -remember how your face brightened as you -said: "This ought to be the very thing." One -of the quotations on the circular ran -somewhat thus: "Beware of meat twice -boiled"; and you said in consequence: "So -they must have a good restaurant!" -</p> - -<p> -In other words, you believed that a house -named after Franklin could but resemble -Franklin. A building put up in New York -by a Tammany contractor, if named after -Benjamin Franklin and advertised with -quotations from Franklin's works, would embody -the traits of that remote national hero! To -your mind—not to your imagination, for you -haven't any—to your mind, and you have a -great deal of mind, the bell-boys, the -superintendent, the scrub woman, the chambermaids, -the flunkied knave who stands at the -front door—all these were loyally congregated -as about a beloved mausoleum. You are still -in the Franklin Flats! I know what you have -long suffered there; but move away! Not -Polly Boles. She will be loyal to the building -as long as the building stands by the -contractor and the contractor stands by profits -and losses. -</p> - -<p> -While on the subject of loyalty, not your -loyalty but woman's loyalty, I mean to -finish with it. And I shall go on to say that -occasionally I have sat behind a plate-glass -window in some Fifth Avenue shop and have -studied woman's organised loyalty, unionised -loyalty, standardised loyalty. This takes -effect in those processions that now and -then sweep up the Avenue as though they -were Crusaders to the Holy Sepulchre. The -marchers try first not to look self-conscious; -all try, secondly, to look devoted to "the -cause." But beneath all other expressions -and differences of expression I have always -seen one reigning look as plainly as though it -were printed in enormous letters on a banner -flying over their heads: -</p> - -<p> -"Strictly Monogamous Women." -</p> - -<p> -At such times I have felt a wild desire, when -I should hear of the next parade, to organise -a company of unenthralled young girls who -with unfettered natures and unfettered -features should tramp up the Avenue under their -own colours. If the women before them—those -loyal ones—would actually carry, as -they should, a banner with the legend I have -described, then my company of girls should -unfurl to the breeze their flag with the truth -blazoned on it: -</p> - -<p> -"Not Necessarily Monogamous!" -</p> - -<p> -The honest human crowd, watching and -applauding us, would pack the Avenue from -sidewalks to roofs. -</p> - -<p> -Between you and me everything seems to -be summed up in one difference: all my life -I have wanted to go barefoot and all your life, -no matter what the weather, you have been -solicitous to put on goloshes. -</p> - -<p> -My very nature is rooted in rebellion that -in a world alive and running over with -irresistible people, a woman must be doomed to -find her chief happiness in just one! The -heart going out to so many in succession, and -the hand held by one; year after year your -hand held by the first man who impulsively -got possession of it. Every instinct of my -nature would be to jerk my hand away and -be free! To give it again and again. -</p> - -<p> -This subject weighs crushingly on me as I -struggle with this letter because I have -tidings for you about myself. I am to write -words which I have long doubted I should -ever write, life's most iron-bound words. -Polly, I suppose I am going to be married at -last. Of course it is Beverley. Not without -waverings, not without misgivings. But I'd -feel those, be the man whoever he might. -Why I feel thus I do not know, but I know I -feel. I tell you this first because it was you -who brought Beverley and me together, who -have always believed in his career. (Though -I think that of late you have believed more -in him and less in me.) I, too, am beginning -to believe in his career. He has lately -ascertained that his work is making a splendid -impression in England. If he succeeds in -England, he will succeed in this country. He has -received an invitation to visit some delightful -and very influential people in England and -"to bring me along!" Think of anybody -bringing <i>me</i> along! If we should be -entertained by these people [they are the -Blackthornes], such is English social life, that we -should also get to know the white Thornes -and the red Thornes—the whole social forest. -The iron rule of my childhood was economy; -and the influence of that iron rule over me is -inexorable still: I cannot even contemplate -such prodigal wastage in life as not to accept -this invitation and gather in its wealth of -consequences. -</p> - -<p> -More news of me, very, very important: <i>at -last</i> I have made the acquaintance of George -Marigold. I have become one of his patients. -</p> - -<p> -Beverley is furious. I enclose a letter from -him. You need not return it. I shall not -answer it. I shall leave things to his imagination -and his imagination will give him no rest. -</p> - -<p> -If Ben hurled at <i>you</i> a jealous letter about -Dr. Mullen, you would immediately write to -remove his jealousy. You would even ridicule -Dr. Mullen to win greater favour in Ben's -eyes. That is, you would do an abominable -thing, never doubting that Ben would admire -you the more. And you would be right; for -as Ben observed you tear Dr. Mullen to -pieces to feed his vanity, he would lean back -in his chair and chuckle within himself: -"Glorious, staunch old Polly!" -</p> - -<p> -And what you would do in this instance you -will do all your life: you will practise disloyalty -to every other human being, as in this letter -you have practised it with me, for the sake -of loyalty to Ben: your most pronounced, -most horrible trait. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 7.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR TILLY: -</p> - -<p> -I return Beverley's letter. Without comment, -since I did not read it. You know how -I love Beverley, respect him, believe in him. -I have a feeling for him unlike that for any -other human being, not even Ben; I look upon -him as set apart and sacred because he has -genius and belongs to the world. -</p> - -<p> -As for his faults, those that I have not -already noticed I prefer to find out for -myself. I have never cared to discover any -human being's failings through a third person. -Instead of getting acquainted with the -pardonable traits of the abused, I might really -be introduced to the <i>abominable traits of the -abuser</i>. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Once more</i>, you think you are going to marry -Beverley! I shall reserve my congratulations -for the <i>event itself</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Thank you for surrendering your claim on -my friendship and society last night. Ben -and I had a most satisfactory evening, and -when not suffocating we murmured "I do" -to our hearts' content. -</p> - -<p> -Next time, should your visits clash, I'll -push <i>him</i> out. Yet I feel in honour bound to -say that this is only my present state of mind. -I might weaken at the last moment—even in -the Franklin Flats. -</p> - -<p> -As to some things in your letter, I have long -since learned not to bestow too much -attention upon anything you say. You court a -kind of irresponsibility in language. With -your inborn and over-indulged willfulness you -love to break through the actual and to revel -in the imaginary. I have become rather used -to this as one of your growing traits and I am -therefore not surprised that in this letter you -say things which, if seriously spoken, would -insult your sex and would make them recoil -from you—or make them wish to burn you at -the stake. When you march up Fifth Avenue -with your company of girls in that kind of -procession, there will not be any Fifth Avenue: -you will be tramping through the slums where -you belong. -</p> - -<p> -All this, I repeat, is merely your way—to -take things out in talking. But we can make -words our playthings in life's shallows until -words wreck us as their playthings in life's -deeps. -</p> - -<p> -Still, in return for your compliments to me, -<i>which, of course, you really mean</i>, I paid you -one the other night when thinking of you -quite by myself. It was this: nature seems -to leave something out of each of us, but we -presently discover that she perversely put it -where it does not belong. -</p> - -<p> -What she left out of you, my dear, was the -domestic tea-kettle. There isn't even any -place for one. But she made up for lack of -the kettle <i>by rather overdoing the stove</i>! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Your <i>discreet</i> friend,<br /> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO PHILLIPS & FAULDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Cathedral Heights, New York,<br /> - June 7, 1900.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -GENTLEMEN: -</p> - -<p> -A former customer of yours, Mr. Benjamin -Doolittle, has suggested your firm as reliable -agents to carry out an important commission, -which I herewith describe: -</p> - -<p> -I enclose a list of Kentucky ferns. I desire -you to make a collection of these ferns and to -ship them, expenses prepaid, to Edward -Blackthorne, Esquire, King Alfred's Wood, -Warwickshire, England. The cost is not to -exceed twenty-five dollars. To furnish you -the needed guarantee, as well as to avoid -unnecessary correspondence, I herewith enclose, -payable to your order, my check for that -amount. -</p> - -<p> -Will you let me have a prompt reply, stating -whether you will undertake this commission -and see it through? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -PHILLIPS & FAULDS TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Louisville, Ky.,<br /> - June 10, 1900.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Your valued letter with check for $25 -received. We handle most of the ferns on the -list, and know the others and can easily get -them. -</p> - -<p> -You may rely upon your valued order -receiving the best attention. Thanking you for -the same, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Yours very truly,<br /> - PHILLIPS & FAULDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO EDWARD BLACKTHORNE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Cathedral Heights, New York,<br /> - June 15, 1910.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. BLACKTHORNE: -</p> - -<p> -Your second letter came into the port of -my life like an argosy from a rich land. I -think you must have sent it with some -remembrance of your own youth, or out of your -mature knowledge of youth itself; how too -often it walks the shore of its rocky world, -cutting its bare feet on sharp stones, as it -strains its eyes toward things far beyond its -horizon but not beyond its faith and hope. -Some day its ship comes in and it sets sail -toward the distant ideal. How much the opening -of the door of your friendship, of your life, -means to me! A new consecration envelops -the world that I am to be the guest of a great -man. If words do not say more, it is because -words say so little. -</p> - -<p> -Delay has been unavoidable in any mere -formal acknowledgment of your letter. You -spoke in it of the hinges of a book. My -silence has been due to the arrangement of -hinges for the shipment of the ferns. I -wished to insure their safe transoceanic -passage and some inquiries had to be made in -Kentucky. -</p> - -<p> -You may rely upon it that the matter will -receive the best attention. In good time the -ferns, having reached the end of their journey, -will find themselves put down in your garden -as helpless immigrants. From what outlook -I can obtain upon the scene of their reception, -they should lack only hands to reach -confidingly to you and lack only feet to run with -all their might away from Hodge. -</p> - -<p> -I acknowledge—with the utmost thanks—the -unusual and beautiful courtesy of -Mrs. Blackthorne's and your invitation to my wife, -if I have one, and to me. It is the dilemma -of my life, at the age of twenty-seven, to be -obliged to say that such a being as Mrs. Sands -exists, but that nevertheless there is no -such person. -</p> - -<p> -Can you imagine a man's stretching out his -hand to pluck a peach and just before he -touched the peach, finding only the bough of -the tree? Then, as from disappointment he -was about to break off the offensive bough, -seeing again the dangling peach? Can you -imagine this situation to be of long -continuance, during which he could neither take -hold of the peach nor let go of the tree—nor -go away? If you can, you will understand -what I mean when I say that my bride -persists in remaining unwed and I persist in -wooing. I do not know why; she protests -that she does not know; but we do know that -life is short, love shorter, that time flies, and -we are not husband and wife. -</p> - -<p> -If she remains undecided when Summer -returns, I hope Mrs. Blackthorne and you will -let me come alone. -</p> - -<p> -Thus I can thank you with certainty for -one with the hope that I may yet thank you -for two. -</p> - -<p> -I am, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Sincerely yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -P.S.—Can you pardon the informality of -a postscript? -</p> - -<p> -As far as I can see clearly into a cloudy -situation, marriage is denied me on account -of the whole unhappy history of -woman—which is pretty hard. But a good many -American ladies—the one I woo among them—are -indignant just now that they are being -crowded out of their destinies by husbands—or -even possibly by bachelors. These ladies -deliver lectures to one another with discontented -eloquence and rouse their auditresses -to feministic frenzy by reminding them that -for ages woman has walked in the shadow of -man and that the time has come for the worm -[the woman] to turn on the shadow or to -crawl out of it. -</p> - -<p> -My dear Mr. Blackthorne, I need hardly -say that the only two shadows I could ever -think of casting on the woman I married -would be that of my umbrella whenever it -rained, and that of her parasol whenever the -sun shone. But I do maintain that if there -is not enough sunshine for the men and women -in the world, if there has to be some casting -of shadows in the competition and the crowding, -I do maintain that the casting of the -shadow would better be left to the man. He -has had long training, terrific experience, in -this mortal business of casting the shadow, -has learned how to moderate it and to hold -it steady! The woman at least knows where -it is to be found, should she wish to avail -herself of it. But what would be the state of a -man in his need of his spouse's penumbra? -He would be out of breath with running to -keep up with the penumbra or to find where -it was for the time being! -</p> - -<p> -I have seen some of these husbands who -live—or have gradually died out—in the -shadow of their wives; they are nature's -subdued farewell to men and gentlemen. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01c"></a></p> - -<p class="t3"> -DIARY OF BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 16.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -A remarkable thing has lately happened to -me. -</p> - -<p> -One of my Kentucky novels, upon being -republished in London some months ago, -fell into the hands of a sympathetic reviewer. -This critic's praise later made its way to the -stately library of Edward Blackthorne. What -especially induced the latter to read the book, -I infer, were lines quoted by the reviewer -from my description of a woodland scene with -ferns in it: the mighty novelist, as it happens, -is himself interested in ferns. He consequently -wrote to some other English authors -and critics, calling attention to my work, and -he sent a letter to me, asking for some ferns -for his garden. -</p> - -<p> -This recognition in England hilariously -affected my friends over here. Tilly, whose -mind suggests to me a delicately poised pair -of golden balances for weighing delight against -delight (always her most vital affair), when -this honour for me fell into the scales, found -them inclined in my favour. If it be true, as -I have often thought, that she has long been -holding on to me merely until she could take -sure hold of someone else of more splendid -worldly consequence, she suddenly at least -tightened her temporary grasp. Polly, good, -solid Polly, wholesome and dependable as a -well-browned whole-wheat baker's loaf -weighing a hundred and sixty pounds, when she -heard of it, gave me a Bohemian supper in -her Franklin Flat parlour, inviting only a -few undersized people, inasmuch as she and -Ben, the chief personages of the entertainment, -took up most of the room. We were -so packed in, that literally it was a night in -Bohemia <i>aux sardines</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Since the good news from England came -over, Ben, with his big, round, clean-shaven, -ruddy face and short, reddish curly hair, -which makes him look like a thirty-five-year-old -Bacchus who had never drunk a drop—even -Ben has beamed on me like a mellower -orb. He is as ashamed as ever of my books, -but is beginning to feel proud that so many -more people are being fooled by them. -Several times lately I have caught his eyes -resting on me with an expression of affectionate -doubt as to whether after all he might be -mistaken in not having thought more of me. -But he dies hard. My publisher, who is a -human refrigerator containing a mental -thermometer, which rises or falls toward like or -dislike over a background for book-sales, got -wind of the matter and promptly invited me -to one of his thermometric club-lunches—always -an occasion for acute gastritis. -</p> - -<p> -Rumour of my fame has permeated my club, -where, of course, the leading English reviews -are kept on file. Some of the members must -have seen the favourable criticisms. One -night I became aware as I passed through the -rooms that club heroes seated here and there -threw glances of fresh interest toward me and -exchanged auspicious words. The president—who -for so long a time has styled himself the -Nestor of the club that he now believes it is -the members who do this, the garrulous old -president, whose weaknesses have made holes -in him through which his virtues sometimes -leak out and get away, met me under the -main chandelier and congratulated me in -tones so intentionally audible that they -violated the rules but were not punishable under -his personal privileges. -</p> - -<p> -There was a sinister incident: two members -whom Ben and I wish to kick because they -have had the audacity to make the acquaintance -of Tilly and Polly, and whom we despise -also because they are fashionable charlatans -in their profession—these two with dark looks -saw the president congratulate me. -</p> - -<p> -More good fortune yet to come! The ferns -which I am sending Mr. Blackthorne will -soon be growing in his garden. The illustrious -man has many visitors; he leads them, -if he likes, to his fern bank. "These," he will -some day say, "came from Christine Nilsson. -These are from Barbizon in memory of Corot. -These were sent me by Turgenieff. And -these," he will add, turning to his guests, -"these came from a young American novelist, -a Kentuckian, whose work I greatly respect: -you must read his books." The guests -separate to their homes to pursue the subject. -Spreading fame—may it spread! Last of all, -the stirring effect of this on me, who now run -toward glory as Anacreon said Cupid ran -toward Venus—with both feet and wings. -</p> - -<p> -The ironic fact about all this commotion -affecting so many solid, substantial people—the -ironic fact is this: -</p> - -<p> -<i>There was no woodland scene and there were -no ferns.</i> -</p> - -<p> -Here I reach the curious part of my -story. -</p> - -<p> -When I was a country lad of some seventeen -years in Kentucky, one August afternoon -I was on my way home from a tramp of -several miles. My course lay through patches -of woods—last scant vestiges of the primeval -forest—and through fields garnered of summer -grain or green with the crops of coming -autumn. Now and then I climbed a fence -and crossed an old woods-pasture where stock -grazed. -</p> - -<p> -The August sky was clear and the sun beat -down with terrific heat. I had been walking -for hours and parching thirst came upon me. -</p> - -<p> -This led me to remember how once these -rich uplands had been the vast rolling forest -that stretched from far-off eastern mountains -to far-off western rivers, and how under its -shade, out of the rock, everywhere bubbled -crystal springs. A land of swift forest streams -diamond bright, drinking places of the bold -game. -</p> - -<p> -The sun beat down on me in the treeless -open field. My feet struck into a path. It, -too, became a reminder: it had once been a -trail of the wild animals of that verdurous -wilderness. I followed its windings—a sort of -gully—down a long, gentle slope. The -windings had no meaning now: the path could -better have been straight; it was devious -because the feet that first marked it off had -threaded their way crookedly hither and -thither past the thick-set trees. -</p> - -<p> -I reached the spring—a dry spot under the -hot sun; no tree overshadowing it, no vegetation -around it, not a blade of grass; only dust -in which were footprints of the stock which -could not break the habit of coming to it but -quenched their thirst elsewhere. The bulged -front of some limestone rock showed where -the ancient mouth of the spring had been. -Enough moisture still trickled forth to wet a -few clods. Hovering over these, rising and -sinking, a little quivering jet of gold, a flock -of butterflies. The grey stalk of a single dead -weed projected across the choked orifice of -the fountain and one long, brown grasshopper—spirit -of summer dryness—had crawled out -to the edge and sat motionless. -</p> - -<p> -A few yards away a young sycamore had -sprung up from some wind-carried seed. Its -grey-green leaves threw a thin scarred shadow -on the dry grass and I went over and lay -down under it to rest—my eyes fixed on the -forest ruin. -</p> - -<p> -Years followed with their changes. I being -in New York with my heart set on building -whatever share I could of American literature -upon Kentucky foundations, I at work on a -novel, remembered that hot August afternoon, -the dry spring, and in imagination restored -the scene as it had been in the Kentucky -of the pioneers. -</p> - -<p> -I now await with eagerness all further -felicities that may originate in a woodland -scene that did not exist. What else will grow -for me out of ferns that never grew? -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -PART SECOND -</h3> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -EDWARD BLACKTHORNE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England,<br /> - May 1, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -It is the first of the faithful leafy May -again. I sit at my windows as on this day a -year ago and look out with thankfulness upon -what a man may call the honour of the -vegetable world. -</p> - -<p> -A year ago to-day I, misled by a book of -yours or by some books—for I believe I read -more than one of them—I, betrayed by the -phrase that when we touch a book we touch -a man, overstepped the boundaries of caution -as to having any dealings with glib, plausible -strangers and wrote you a letter. I made a -request of you in that letter. I thought the -request bore with it a suitable reward: that -I should be grateful if you would undertake -to have some ferns sent to me for my collection. -</p> - -<p> -Your sleek reply led me still further astray -and I wrote again. I drew my English cloak -from my shoulders and spread it on the ground -for you to step on. I threw open to you the -doors of my hospitality, good-fellowship. -</p> - -<p> -That was last May. Now it is May again. -And now I know to a certainty what for -months I have been coming to realise always -with deeper shame: that you gave me your -word and did not keep your word; doubtless -never meant to keep it. -</p> - -<p> -Why, then, write you about this act of -dishonour now? How justify a letter to a man -I feel obliged to describe as I describe you? -</p> - -<p> -The reason is this, if you can appreciate -such a reason. My nature refuses to let go a -half-done deed. I remain annoyed by an -abandoned, a violated, bond. Once in a wood -I came upon a partly chopped-down tree, and -I must needs go far and fetch an axe and -finish the job. What I have begun to build I -must build at till the pattern is wrought out. -Otherwise I should weaken, soften, lose the -stamina of resolution. The upright moral -skeleton within me would decay and crumble and -I should sink down and flop like a human frog. -</p> - -<p> -Since, then, you dropped the matter in -your way—without so much as a thought of -a man's obligation to himself—I dismiss it in -my way—with the few words necessary to -enable me to rid my mind of it and of such a -character. -</p> - -<p> -I wish merely to say, then, that I despise -as I despise nothing else the ragged edge of a -man's behaviour. I put your conduct before -you in this way: do you happen to know of a -common cabbage in anybody's truck patch? -Observe that not even a common cabbage -starts out to do a thing and fails to do it if it -can. You must have some kind of perception -of an oak tree. Think what would become of -human beings in houses if builders were -deceived as to the trusty fibre of sound oak? -Do you ever see a grape-vine? Consider how -it takes hold and will not be shaken loose by -the capricious compelling winds. In your -country have you the plover? Think what -would be the plover's fate, if it did not steer -straight through time and space to a distant -shore. Why, some day pick up merely a -piece of common quartz. Study its powers -of crystallisation. And reflect that a man -ranks high or low in the scale of character -according to his possession or his lack of the -powers of crystallisation. If the forces of his -mind can assume fixity around an idea, if -they can adjust themselves unalterably about -a plan, expect something of him. If they run -through his hours like water, if memory is -a millstream, if remembrance floats forever -away, expect nothing. -</p> - -<p> -Simple, primitive folk long ago interpreted -for themselves the characters of familiar -plants about them. Do you know what to -them the fern stood for? The fern stood for -Fidelity. Those true, constant souls would -have said that you had been unfaithful even -with nature's emblems of Fidelity. -</p> - -<p> -The English sky is clear to-day. The sunlight -falls in a white radiance on my plants. -I sit at my windows with my grateful eyes on -honest out-of-doors. There is a shadow on a -certain spot in the garden; I dislike to look -at it. There is a shadow on the place where -your books once stood on my library shelves. -Your specious books!—your cleverly -manufactured books!—but there are successful -scamps in every profession. -</p> - -<p> -I am, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - EDWARD BLACKTHORNE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO EDWARD BLACKTHORNE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Cathedral Heights,<br /> - May 10, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I wish to inform you that I have just -received from you a letter in which you attack -my character. I wish in reply further to -inform you that I have never felt called upon -to defend my character. Nor will I, even -with this letter of yours as evidence, attack -your character. -</p> - -<p> -I am, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 13, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I ask your attention to the enclosed letter -from Mr. Edward Blackthorne. By way of -contrast and also of reminder, lest you may -have forgotten, I send you two other letters -received from him last year. I shared with -you at the time the agreeable purport of these -earlier letters. This last letter came three -days ago and for three days I have been -trying to quiet down sufficiently even to write -to you about it. At last I am able to do so. -</p> - -<p> -You will see that Mr. Blackthorne has -never received the ferns. Then where have -they been all this time? I took it for granted -that they had been shipped. The order was -last spring placed with the Louisville firm -recommended by you. They guaranteed the -execution of the order. I forwarded to them -my cheque. They cashed my cheque. The -voucher was duly returned to me cancelled -through my bank. I could not suppose they -would take my cheque unless they had -shipped the plants. They even wrote me -again in the Autumn of their own accord, -stating that the ferns were about to be sent -on—Autumn being the most favourable season. -Then where are the ferns? -</p> - -<p> -I felt so sure of their having reached -Mr. Blackthorne that I harboured a certain -grievance and confess that I tried to make generous -allowance for him as a genius in his never -having acknowledged their arrival. -</p> - -<p> -I have demanded of Phillips & Faulds an -immediate explanation. As soon as they reply -I shall let you hear further. The fault may -be with them; in the slipshod Southern way -they may have been negligent. My cheque -may even have gone as a bridal present to -some junior member of the firm or to help -pay the funeral expenses of the senior member. -</p> - -<p> -There is trouble somewhere behind and I -think there is trouble ahead. -</p> - -<p> -Premonitions are for nervous or over-sanguine -ladies; but if some lady will kindly -lend me one of her premonitions, I shall admit -that I have it and on the strength of it—or -the weakness—declare my belief that the -mystery of the ferns is going to uncover some -curious and funny things. -</p> - -<p> -As to the rest of Mr. Blackthorne's letter: -after these days of turbulence, I have come to -see my way clear to interpret it thus: a great -man, holding a great place in the world, -offered his best to a stranger and the stranger, -as the great man believes, turned his back on -it. That is the grievance, the insult. If -anything could be worse, it is my seeming -discourtesy to Mrs. Blackthorne, since the -invitation came also from her. In a word, here -is a genius who strove to advance my work -and me, and he feels himself outraged in his -kindness, his hospitality, his friendship and -his family—in all his best. -</p> - -<p> -But of course that is the hardest of all -human things to stand. Men who have -treated each other but fairly well or even -badly in ordinary matters often in time -become friends. But who of us ever forgives -the person that slights our best? Out of a -rebuff like that arises such life-long -unforgiveness, estrangement, hatred, that Holy Writ -itself doubtless for this very reason took pains -to issue its warning—no pearls before swine! -And perhaps of all known pearls a great native -British pearl is the most prized by its British -possessor! -</p> - -<p> -The reaction, then, from Mr. Blackthorne's -best has been his worst: if I did not merit his -best, I deserve his worst; hence his last letter. -God have mercy on the man who deserved -that letter! You will have observed that his -leading trait as revealed in all his letters is -enormous self-love. That's because he is a -genius. Genius <i>has</i> to have enormous -self-love. Beware the person who has none! -Without self-love no one ever wins any other's -love. -</p> - -<p> -Thus the mighty English archer with his -mighty bow shot his mighty arrow—but at -an innocent person. -</p> - -<p> -Still the arrow of this letter, though it -misses me, kills my plans. The first trouble -will be Tilly. Our marriage had been finally -fixed for June, and our plans embraced a -wedding journey to England and the acceptance -of the invitation of the Blackthornes. -The prospect of this wonderful English -summer—I might as well admit it—was one thing -that finally steadied all her wavering as to -marriage. -</p> - -<p> -Now the disappointment: no Blackthornes, -no English celebrities to greet us as American -celebrities, no courtesies from critics, no lawns, -no tea nor toast nor being toasted. Merely -two unknown, impoverished young Yankee -tourists, trying to get out of chilly England -what can be gotten by anybody with a few, -a very few, dollars. -</p> - -<p> -But Tilly dreads disappointment as she -dreads disease. To her disappointment is a -disease in the character of the person who -inflicts the disappointment. Once I tried to -get you to read one of Balzac's masterpieces, -<i>The Magic Skin</i>. I told you enough about it -to enable you to understand what I now say: -that ever since I became engaged to Tilly I -have been to her as a magic skin which, as -she cautiously watches it, has always shrunk -a little whenever I have encountered a defeat -or brought her a disappointment. No later -success, on the contrary, ever re-expands the -shrunken skin: it remains shrunken where -each latest disappointment has left it. -</p> - -<p> -Now when I tell her of my downfall and the -collapse of the gorgeous summer plans! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY<br /> - (the Expanding Scamp and the<br /> - Shrinking Skin).<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 14th.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -I have duly pondered the letters you send. -</p> - -<p> - "Fie, fee, fo, fum,<br /> - I smell the blood of an Englishman!"<br /> -</p> - -<p> -If you do not mind, I shall keep these documents -from him in my possession. And suppose -you send me all later letters, whether -from him or from anyone else, that bear on -this matter. It begins to grow interesting -and I believe it will bear watching. Make me, -then, as your lawyer, the custodian of all -pertinent and impertinent papers. They can go -into the locker where I keep your immortal -but impecunious Will. Some day I might -have to appear in court, I with my shovel and -five senses and no imagination, to plead <i>une -cause célèbre</i> (a little more of my scant -intimate French). -</p> - -<p> -The explanation I give of this gratuitously -insulting letter is that at last you have run -into a hostile human imagination in the -person of an old literary polecat, an aged -book-skunk. Of course if I could decorate my style -after the manner of your highly creative -gentlemen, I might say that you had unwarily -crossed the nocturnal path of his touchy -moonlit mephitic highness. -</p> - -<p> -I am not surprised, of course, that this -letter has caused you to think still more -highly of its writer. I tell you that is your -profession—to tinker—to turn reality into -something better than reality. -</p> - -<p> -Some day I expect to see you emerge from -your shop with a fish story. Intending buyers -will find that you have entered deeply into -the ideals and difficulties of the man-eating -shark: how he could not swim freely for -whales in his track and could not breathe -freely for minnows in his mouth; how he got -pinched from behind by the malice of the -lobster and got shocked on each side by the -eccentricities of the eel. The other fish did -not appreciate him and he grew embittered—and -then only began to bite. You will make -over the actual shark and exhibit him to your -reader as the ideal shark—a kind of beloved -disciple of the sea, the St. John of fish. -</p> - -<p> -Anything imaginative that you might make -out of a shark would be a minor achievement -compared with what you have done for this -Englishman. Might the day come, the -avenging day, when Benjamin Doolittle could get -a chance to write him just one letter! May -the god of battles somehow bring about a -meeting between the middle-aged land-turtle -and the aged skunk! On that field of Mars -somebody's fur will have to fly and it will -not be the turtle's, for he hasn't any. -</p> - -<p> -You speak of a trouble that looms up in -your love affair: let it loom. The nearer it -looms, the better for you. I have repeatedly -warned you that you have bound your life -and happiness to the wrong person, and the -person is constantly becoming worse. -Detach your apparatus of dreams at last from -her. Take off your glorious rainbow world-goggles -and see the truth before it is too late. -Do not fail, unless you object, to send me -all letters incoming about the ferns—those -now celebrated bushes. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -PHILLIPS & FAULDS TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 13, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -We acknowledge receipt of your letter of -May 10 relative to an order for ferns. -</p> - -<p> -It is decidedly rough. The senior member -of our firm who formerly had charge of this -branch of our business has been seriously ill -for several months, and it was only after we -had communicated with him at home in bed -that we were able to extract from him -anything at all concerning your esteemed order. -</p> - -<p> -He informs us that he turned the order -over to Messrs. Burns & Bruce, native fern -collectors of Dunkirk, Tenn., who wrote that -they would gather the ferns and forward them -to the designated address. He likewise -informs us that inasmuch as the firm of Burns -& Bruce, as we know only too well, has long -been indebted to this firm for a considerable -amount, he calculated that they would willingly -ship the ferns in partial liquidation of -our old claims. -</p> - -<p> -It seems, as he tells us, that they did -actually gather the ferns and get them ready -for shipment, but at the last minute changed -their mind and called on our firm for -payment. There the matter was unexpectedly -dropped owing to the sudden illness of the -aforesaid member of our house, and we knew -nothing at all of what had transpired until -your letter led us to obtain from him at his -bedside the statements above detailed. -</p> - -<p> -An additional embarrassment to the unusually -prosperous course of our business was -occasioned by the marriage of a junior member -of the firm and his consequent absence for a -considerable time, which resulted in an -augmentation of the expenses of our establishment -and an unfortunate diminution of our -profits. -</p> - -<p> -In view of the illness of the senior member -of our house and in view of the marriage of a -junior member and in view of the losses and -expenses consequent thereon, and in view of -the subsequent withdrawal of both from -active participation in the conduct of the -affairs of our firm, and in view also of a -disagreement which arose between both members -and the other members as to the financial -basis of a settlement on which the withdrawal -could take place, our affairs have of necessity -been thrown into court in litigation and are -still in litigation up to this date. -</p> - -<p> -Regretting that you should have been -seemingly inconvenienced in the slightest -degree by the apparent neglect of a former -member of our firm, we desire to add that as -soon as matters can be taken out of court our -firm will be reorganised and that we shall -continue to give, as heretofore, the most -scrupulous attention to all orders received. -</p> - -<p> -But we repeat that your letter is pretty -rough. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - PHILLIPS & FAULDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BURNS & BRUCE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Dunkirk, Tenn.,<br /> - May 20, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Your letter to hand. Phillips & Faulds -gave us the order for the ferns. Owing to -extreme drought last Fall the ferns withered -earlier than usual and it was unsafe to ship -at that time; in the Winter the weather was -so severe that even in February we were -unable to make any digging, as the frost had -not disappeared. When at last we got the -ferns ready, we called on them for payment -and they wouldn't pay. Phillips & Faulds -are not good paying bills and we could not -put ourselves to expense filling their new -order for ferns, not wishing to take more -risk. old, old accounts against them unpaid, -and could not afford to ship more. proved -very unsatisfactory and had to drop them -entirely. -</p> - -<p> -Are already out of pocket the cost of the -ferns, worthless to us when Phillips & Faulds -dodged and wouldn't pay, pretending we -owed them because they won't pay their bills. -If you do not wish to have any further -dealings with them you might write to Noah -Chamberlain at Seminole, North Carolina, -just over the state line, not far from here, an -authority on American ferns. We have -sometimes collected rare ferns for him to -ship to England and other European -countries. Vouch for him as an honest man. -Always paid his bills, old accounts against -Phillips & Faulds unpaid; dropped them -entirely. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BURNS & BRUCE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 24.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -You requested me to send you for possible -future reference all incoming letters upon the -subject of the ferns. Here are two more that -have just fluttered down from the blue -heaven of the unexpected or been thrust up -from the lower regions through a crack in -the earth's surface. -</p> - -<p> -Spare a few minutes to admire the rippling -eloquence of Messrs. Phillips & Faulds. When -the eloquence has ceased to ripple and settles -down to stay, their letter has the cold purity -of a whitewashed rotten Kentucky fence. -They and another firm of florists have a -law-suit as to which owes the other, and they -meantime compel me, an innocent bystander, -to deliver to them my pocketbook. -</p> - -<p> -Will you please immediately bring suit -against Phillips & Faulds on behalf of my -valuable twenty-five dollars and invaluable -indignation? Bring suit against and bring -your boot against them if you can. My -ducats! Have my ducats out of them or -their peace by day and night. -</p> - -<p> -The other letter seems of an unhewn -probity that wins my confidence. That is to -say, Burns & Bruce, whoever they are, assure -me that I ought to believe, and with all my -heart I do now believe, in the existence, just -over the Tennessee state line, of a florist of -good character and a business head. Thus I -now press on over the Tennessee state line -into North Carolina. -</p> - -<p> -For the ferns must be sent to Mr. Blackthorne; -more than ever they must go to him -now. Not the entire British army drawn up -on the white cliffs of Dover could keep me -from landing them on the British Isle. Even -if I had to cross over to England, travel to -his home, put the ferns down before him or -throw them at his head and walk out of his -house without a word. -</p> - -<p> -I told you I had a borrowed premonition -that there would be trouble ahead: now it is -not a premonition, it is my belief and terror. -I have grown to stand in dread of all florists, -and I approach this third one with my hat in -my hand (also with my other hand on my -pocketbook). -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO NOAH CHAMBERLAIN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Cathedral Heights, New York,<br /> - May 25, 1911.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -You have been recommended to me by -Messrs. Burns & Bruce, of Dunkirk, -Tennessee, as a nurseryman who can be relied -upon to keep his word and to carry out his -business obligations. -</p> - -<p> -Accepting at its face value their high -testimonial as to your trustworthiness, I desire -to place with you the following order: -</p> - -<p> -Messrs. Burns & Bruce, acting upon my -request, have forwarded to you a list of rare -Kentucky ferns. I desire you to collect these -ferns and to ship them to Mr. Edward Blackthorne, -Esq., King Alfred's Wood, Warwickshire, -England. As a guaranty of good faith -on my part, I enclose in payment my check -for twenty-five dollars. Will you have the -kindness to let me know at once whether you -will undertake this commission and give it -the strictest attention? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -NOAH CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - May 29.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I have received your letter with your check -in it. -</p> - -<p> -You are the first person that ever offered -me money as a florist. I am not a florist, if -I must take time to inform you. I had -supposed it to be generally known throughout -the United States and in Europe that I am -professor of botany in this college, and have -been for the past fifteen years. If Burns & -Bruce really told you I am a florist—and I -doubt it—they must be greater ignoramuses -than I took them to be. I always knew that -they did not have much sense, but I thought -they had a little. It is true that they have -at different times gathered specimens of ferns -for me, and more than once have shipped -them to Europe. But I never imagined they -were fools enough to think this made me a -florist. My collection of ferns embraces dried -specimens for study in my classrooms and -specimens growing on the college grounds. -The ferns I have shipped to Europe have -been sent to friends and correspondents. The -President of the Royal Botanical Society of -Great Britain is an old friend of mine. I -have sent him some and I have also sent some -to friends in Norway and Sweden and to -other scientific students of botany. -</p> - -<p> -It only shows that your next-door neighbour -may know nothing about you, especially -if you are a little over your neighbour's head. -</p> - -<p> -My daughter, who is my secretary, will -return your check, but I thought I had better -write and tell you myself that I am not a -florist. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Yours truly,<br /> - NOAH CHAMBERLAIN, A.M., B.S., Litt.D.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - May 29.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I can but express my intense indignation, -as Professor Chamberlain's only daughter, -that you should send a sum of money to my -distinguished father to hire his services as a -nurseryman. I had supposed that my father -was known to the entire intelligent American -public as an eminent scientist, to be ranked -with such men as Dana and Gray and -Alexander von Humboldt. -</p> - -<p> -People of our means and social position in -the South do not peddle bulbs. We do not -reside at the entrance to a cemetery and earn -our bread by making funeral wreaths and -crosses. -</p> - -<p> -You must be some kind of nonentity. -</p> - -<p> -Your cheque is pinned to this letter. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO NOAH CHAMBERLAIN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 3.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I am deeply mortified at having believed -Messrs. Burns & Bruce to be well-informed -and truthful Southern gentlemen. I find that -it is no longer safe for me to believe -anybody—not about nurserymen. I am not sure now -that I should believe you. You say you are a -famous botanist, but you may be merely a -famous liar, known as such to various learned -bodies in Europe. Proof to the contrary is -necessary, and you must admit that your -letter does not furnish me with that proof. -</p> - -<p> -Still I am going to believe you and I renew -the assurance of my mortification that I have -innocently caused you the chagrin of -discovering that you are not so well known, at -least in this country, as you supposed. I -suffer from the same chagrin: many of us do; -it is the tie that binds: blest be the tie. -</p> - -<p> -I shall be extremely obliged if you will -have the kindness to return to me the list of -ferns forwarded to you by Messrs. Burns & -Bruce, and for that purpose you will please -to find enclosed an envelope addressed and -stamped. -</p> - -<p> -I acknowledge the return of my cheque, -which occasions me some surprise and not a -little pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -Allow me once more to regret that through -my incurable habit of believing strangers, -believing everybody, I was misled into taking -the lower view of you as a florist instead of -the higher view as a botanist. But you must -admit that I was right in classification and -wrong only in elevation. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS, A.B. (merely).<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -NOAH CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 8.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I know nothing about any list of ferns. -Stop writing to me. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - NOAH CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 8.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -SIR: -</p> - -<p> -It is excruciating the way you continue to -persecute my great father. What is wrong -with you? What started you to begin on us -in this way? We never heard of <i>you</i>. Would -you let my dear father alone? -</p> - -<p> -He is a very deep student and it is intolerable -for me to see his priceless attention -drawn from his work at critical moments -when he might be on the point of making -profound discoveries. My father is a very -absent-minded man, as great scholars usually -are, and when he is interrupted he may even -forget what he has just been thinking about. -</p> - -<p> -Your letter was a very serious shock to -him, and after reading it he could not even -drink his tea at supper or enjoy his cold ham. -Time and again he put his cup down and said -to me in a trembling voice: "Think of his -calling me a famous liar!" Then he got up -from the table without eating anything and -left the room. He turned at the door and -said to me, with a confused expression: "I -<i>may</i>, once in my life—but <i>he</i> didn't know -anything about <i>that</i>." -</p> - -<p> -He shut his door and stayed in his library -all evening, thinking without nourishment. -</p> - -<p> -What a viper you are to call my great father -a liar. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 12.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I knew I was in for it! I send another -installment of incredible letters from -unbelievable people. -</p> - -<p> -In my wanderings over the earth after the -ferns I have innocently brought my foot -against an ant-hill of Chamberlains. I called -the head of the hill a florist and he is a botanist, -and the whole hill is frantic with fury. -As far as heard from, there are only two ants -in the hill, but the two make a lively many -in their letters. It's a Southern vendetta -and my end may draw nigh. -</p> - -<p> -Now, too, the inevitable quarrel with Tilly -is at hand. She has been out of town for a -house-party somewhere and is to return -to-morrow. When Tilly came to New York a -few years ago she had not an acquaintance; -now I marvel at the world of people she knows. -It is the result of her never declining an -invitation. Once I derided her about this, and -with her almost terrifying honesty she avowed -the reason: that no one ever knew what an -acquaintanceship might lead to. This -principle, or lack of principle, has led her far. -And wherever she goes, she is welcomed afterwards. -It is her mystery, her charm. I often -ask myself what is her charm. At least her -charm, as all charm, is victory. You are -defeated by her, chained and dragged along. -Of course, I expect all this to be reversed -after Tilly marries me. Then I am to have -my turn—she is to be led around, dragged -helpless by <i>my</i> charm. Magnificent outlook! -</p> - -<p> -To-morrow she is to return, and I shall -have to tell her that it is all over—our -wonderful summer in England. It is gone, the -whole vision drifts away like a gorgeous cloud, -carrying with it the bright raindrops of her -hopes. -</p> - -<p> -I have never, by the way, mentioned to -Tilly this matter of the ferns. My first idea -was to surprise her: as some day we strolled -through the Blackthorne garden he would -point to the Kentucky specimens flourishing -there in honour of me. I have always observed -that any unexpected pleasure flushes -her face with a new light, with an effulgence -of fresh beauty, just as every disappointment -makes her suddenly look old and rather ugly. -</p> - -<p> -This was the first reason. Now I do not -intend to tell her at all. Disappointment will -bring out her demand to know why she is -disappointed—naturally. But how am I to tell -on the threshold of marriage that it is all due -to a misunderstanding about a handful of -ferns! It would be ridiculous. She would -never believe me—naturally. She would -infer that I was keeping back the real reason, -as being too serious to be told. -</p> - -<p> -Here, then, I am. But where am I? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY (complete and final<br /> - disappearance of the Magic Skin).<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> -<i>June 13.</i> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -You are perfectly right not to tell Tilly -about the ferns. Here I come in: there must -always be things that a man must refuse to -tell a woman. As soon as he tells her everything, -she puts her foot on his neck. I have -always refused even to tell Polly some things, -not that they might not be told, but that -Polly must not be told them; not for the -things' sake, but for Polly's good—and for a -man's peaceful control of his own life. -</p> - -<p> -For whatever else a woman marries in a -man, one thing in him she must marry: a rock. -Times will come when she will storm and rage -around that rock; but the storms cannot last -forever, and when they are over, the rock will -be there. By degrees there will be less storm. -Polly's very loyalty to me inspires her to take -possession of my whole life; to enter into all -my affairs. I am to her a house, no closet of -which must remain locked. Thus there are -certain closets which she repeatedly tries to -open. I can tell by her very expression when -she is going to try once more. Were they -opened, she would not find much; but it is -much to be guarded that she shall not open -them. -</p> - -<p> -The matter is too trivial to explain to Tilly -as fact and too important as principle. -</p> - -<p> -Harbour no fear that Polly knows from me -anything about the ferns! When I am with -Polly, my thoughts are not on the grass of -the fields. -</p> - -<p> -Let me hear at once how the trouble turns -out with Tilly. -</p> - -<p> -I must not close without making a profound -obeisance to your new acquaintances—the -Chamberlains. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 15.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -Something extremely disagreeable has come -up between Beverley and me. He tells me -we're not to go to England on our wedding -journey as anyone's guests: we travel as -ordinary American tourists unknown to all -England. -</p> - -<p> -You can well understand what this means -to me: you have watched all along how I have -pinched on my small income to get ready for -this beautiful summer. There has been a -quarrel of some kind between Mr. Blackthorne -and Beverley. Beverley refuses to tell me -the nature of the quarrel. I insisted that it -was my right to know and he insisted that it -is a man's affair with another man and not -any woman's business. Think of a woman -marrying a man who lays it down as a law -that his affairs are none of her business! -</p> - -<p> -I gave Beverley to understand that our -marriage was deferred for the summer. He -broke off the engagement. -</p> - -<p> -I had not meant to tell you anything, since -I am coming to-night. I have merely wished -you to understand how truly anxious I am to -see you, even forgetting your last letter—no, -not forgetting it, but overlooking it. Remember -you <i>then</i> broke an appointment with me; -<i>this</i> time keep your appointment—being loyal! -The messenger will wait for your reply, stating -whether the way is clear for me to come. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 15.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR TILLY: -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Mullen had an appointment with me -for to-night, but I have written to excuse -myself, and I shall be waiting most -impatiently. The coast will be clear and I hope -the night will be. -</p> - -<p> -"The turnip," as you call it, will be empty; -"the horse-radish" and "the beets" will be -still the same; "the wilted sunflower" will -shed its usual ray on our heads. No breeze -will disturb us, for there will be no fresh air. -We shall have the long evening to ourselves, -and you can tell me just how it is that you -two, <i>not</i> heavy Tilly, <i>not</i> heavy Beverley, -sat on opposite sides of the room and -declared to each other: -</p> - -<p> -"I will not." -</p> - -<p> -"I will not." -</p> - -<p> -Since I have broken an engagement for -you, be sure not to let any later temptation -elsewhere keep you away. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Later in the day] -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 13.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -Beverley and Tilly have had the long-expected -final flare-up. Yesterday he wrote, -asking me to come up as soon as I was through -with business. I spent last night with him. -</p> - -<p> -We drew our chairs up to his opened window, -turned out the lights, got our cigars, and -with our feet on the window-sills and our -eyes on the stars across the sky talked the -long, quiet hours through. -</p> - -<p> -He talked, not I. Little could I have said -to him about the woman who has played fast -and loose with him while using him for her -convenience. He made it known at the -outset that not a word was to be spoken against -her. -</p> - -<p> -He just lay back in his big easy chair, -with his feet on his window-sill and his eyes -on the stars, and built up his defence of Tilly. -All night he worked to repair wreckage. -</p> - -<p> -As the grey of morning crept over the city -his work was well done: Tilly was restored to -more than she had ever been. Silence fell -upon him as he sat there with his eyes on the -reddening east; and it may be that he saw -her—now about to leave him at last—as some -white, angelic shape growing fainter and -fainter as it vanished in the flush of a new -day. -</p> - -<p> -You know what I think of this Tilly-angel. -If there were any wings anywhere around, it -was those of an aeroplane leaving its hangar -with an early start to bring down some other -victim: the angel-aeroplane out after more -prey. I think we both know who the prey -will be. -</p> - -<p> -The solemn influence of the night has -rested on me. Were it possible, I should feel -even a higher respect for Beverley; there is -something in him that fills me with awe. He -suffers. He could mend Tilly but he cannot -mend himself: in a way she has wrecked him. -</p> - -<p> -Their quarrel brings me with an aching -heart closer to you. I must come to-night. -The messenger will wait for a word that I -may. And a sudden strange chill of desolation -as to life's brittle ties frightens me into -sending you some roses. -</p> - -<p> -Your lover through many close and constant years, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Still later in the day] -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 15.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR, DEAR, DEAR TILLY: -</p> - -<p> -An incredible thing has happened. Ben -has just written that he wishes to see me -to-night. Will you, after all, wait until -to-morrow evening? My dear, I <i>have</i> to ask this -of you because there is something very -particular that Ben desires to talk to me about. -</p> - -<p> -<i>To-morrow night</i>, then, without fail, you -and I! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - POLLY BOLES AND BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Late at night of the same day] -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 15.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -We have talked the matter over and send -you our conjoined congratulations that your -engagement is broken off and your immediate -peril ended. But our immediate caution is -that the end of the betrothal will not -necessarily mean the end of entanglement: the -tempter will at once turn away from you in -pursuit of another man. She will begin to -weave her web about <i>him</i>. But if possible -she will still hold <i>you</i> to that web by a single -thread. Now, more than ever, you will need -to be on your guard, if such a thing is possible -to such a nature as yours. -</p> - -<p> -Not until obliged will she ever let you go -completely. She hath a devil—perhaps the -most famous devil in all the world—the love -devil. And all devils, famous or not famous, -are poor quitters. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - (Signed)<br /> - POLLY BOLES for Ben Doolittle.<br /> - BEN DOOLITTLE for Polly Boles.<br /> - (His handwriting; her ideas<br /> - and language.)<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO DR. MARIGOLD -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR DR. MARIGOLD: -</p> - -<p> -This is the third time within the past -several months that I have requested you to -let me have your bill for professional services. -I shall not suppose that you have relied upon -my willingness to remain under an obligation -of this kind; nor do I like to think I have -counted for so little among your many -patients that you have not cared whether I -paid you or not. If your motive has been -kindness, I must plainly tell you that I do -not desire such kindness; and if there has -been no motive at all, but simply indifference, -I must remind you that this indifference means -disrespect and that I resent it. -</p> - -<p> -The things you have indirectly done for -me in other ways—the songs, the books and -magazines, the flowers—these I accept with -warm responsive hands and a lavish mind. -</p> - -<p> -And with words not yet uttered, perhaps -never to be uttered. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Yours sincerely,<br /> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>June the Seventeenth.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO DR. MARIGOLD -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR DR. MARIGOLD: -</p> - -<p> -I have your bill and I make the due -remittance with all due thanks. -</p> - -<p> -Your note pleasantly reassures me how -greatly you are obliged that I could put you -in correspondence with some Kentucky cousins -about the purchase of a Kentucky saddle-horse. -It was a pleasure; in fact, a matter of -some pride to do this, and I am delighted that -they could furnish you a horse you approve. -</p> - -<p> -While taking my customary walk in the -Park yesterday morning, I had a chance to -see you and your new mount making -acquaintance with one another. I can pay you no -higher compliment than to say that you ride -like a Kentuckian. -</p> - -<p> -Unconsciously, I suppose, it has become a -habit of mine to choose the footways through -the Park which skirt the bridle path, drawn -to them by my childhood habit and girlish -love of riding. Even to see from day to day -what one once had but no longer has is to -keep alive hope that one may some day have -it again. -</p> - -<p> -You should some time go to Kentucky and -ride there. My cousins will look to that. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Yours sincerely,<br /> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>June the Eighteenth.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO DR. MARIGOLD -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR DR. MARIGOLD: -</p> - -<p> -I was passing this morning and witnessed -the accident, and I must express my -condolences for what might have been and -congratulations upon what was. -</p> - -<p> -You certainly fell well—not unlike a -Kentuckian! -</p> - -<p> -I feel sure that my cousins could not have -known the horse was tricky. Any horse is -tricky to the end of his days and the end of -his road. He may not show any tricks at -home, but becomes tricky in new places. -(Can this be the reason that he is called the -most human of beasts?) -</p> - -<p> -You buying a Kentucky horse brings freshly -to my mind that of late you have expressed -growing interest in Kentucky. More than -once, also (since you have begun to visit me), -you have asked me to tell you about my life -there. Frankly, this is because I am something -of a mystery and you would like to -have the mystery cleared up. You wish to -find out, without letting me know you are -finding out, whether there is not something -<i>wrong</i> about me, some <i>risk</i> for you in visiting -me. That is because you have never known -anybody like me. I frighten you because I -am not afraid of people, not afraid of life. -You are used to people who are afraid, -especially to women who are afraid. You -yourself are horribly afraid of nearly -everything. -</p> - -<p> -Suppose I do tell you a little about my life, -though it may not greatly explain why I am -without fear; still, the land and the people -might mean something; they ought to mean -much. -</p> - -<p> -I was born of not very poor and immensely -respectable parents in a poor and not very -respectable county of Kentucky. The first -thing I remember about life, my first social -consciousness, was the discovery that I was -entangled in a series of sisters: there were six -of us. I was as nearly as possible at the -middle of the procession—with three older -and two younger, so that I was crowded both -by what was before and by what was behind. -I early learned to fight for the present—against -both the past and the future—learned -to seize what I could, lest it be seized either -by hands reaching backward or by hands -reaching forward. Literally, I opened my -eyes upon life's insatiate competition and I -began to practise at home the game of the -world. -</p> - -<p> -Why my mother bore only daughters will -have to be referred to the new science which -takes as its field the forces and the mysteries -that are sovereign between the nuptials and -the cradle. But the reason, as openly laughed -about in the family when the family grew old -enough to laugh, as laughed about in the -neighbourhood, was this: -</p> - -<p> -Even before marriage my father and my -mother had waged a violent discussion about -woman's suffrage. You may not know that -in Kentucky from the first the cause of female -suffrage has been upheld by a strong minority -of strong women, a true pioneer movement -toward the nation's future now near. It -seems that my father, who was a brilliant -lawyer, always browbeat my mother in -argument, overwhelmed her, crushed her. -Unconvinced, in resentful silence, she quietly -rocked on her side of the fireplace and looked -deep into the coals. But regularly when the -time came she replied to all his arguments by -presenting him with another suffragette! -Throughout her life she declined even to -bear him a son to continue the argument! -Her six daughters—she would gladly have had -twelve if she could—were her triumphant -squad for the armies of the great rebellion. -</p> - -<p> -Does this help to explain me to you? -</p> - -<p> -What next I relate about my early life is -something that you perhaps have never given -a thought to—children's pets and playthings: -it explains a great deal. Have you ever -thought of a vital difference between country -children and town children? Country children -more quickly throw away their dolls, if they -have them, and attach their sympathies to -living objects. A child's love of a doll is at -best a sham: a little master-drama of the -child's imagination trying to fill two roles—its -own and the role of something which cannot -respond. But a child's love of a living -creature, which it chooses as the object of its -love and play and protection, is stimulating, -healthful and kicking with reality: because -it is vitalised by reciprocity in the playmate, -now affectionate and now hostile, but always -representing something intensely alive—which -is the whole main thing. -</p> - -<p> -We are just beginning to find out that the -dramas of childhood are the playgrounds of -life's battlefields. The ones prepare for the -others. A nature that will cling to a rag doll -without any return, will cling to a rag husband -without any return. A child's loyalty to an -automaton prepares a woman for endurance -of an automaton. Dolls have been the -undoing and the death of many wives. -</p> - -<p> -A multitude of dolls would have been needed -to supply the six destructive little girls of my -mother's household. We soon broke our -china tea sets or, more gladly, smashed one -another's. For whatever reason, all lifeless -pets, all shams, were quickly swept out of the -house and the little scattering herd of us -turned our restless and insatiate natures loose -upon life itself. Sooner or later we petted -nearly everything on the farm. My father -was a director of the County Fair, and I -remember that one autumn, about fair-time, we -roped off a corner of the yard and held a prize -exhibition of our favourites that year. They -comprised a kitten, a duck, a pullet, a calf, a -lamb and a puppy. -</p> - -<p> -Sooner or later our living playthings -outgrew us or died or were sold or made their -sacrificial way to the kitchen. Were we -disconsolate? Not a bit. Did we go down to -the branch and gather there under an old -weeping willow? Quite the contrary. Our -hearts thrived on death and destruction, -annihilation released us from old ties, change -gave us another chance, and we provided -substitutes and continued our devotion. -</p> - -<p> -And I think this explains a good deal. -And these two experiences of my childhood, -taken together, explain me better than -anything else I know. Competition first taught -me to seize what I wanted before anyone else -could seize it. Natural changes next taught -me to be prepared at any moment to give -that up without vain regret and to seize -something else. Thus I seemed to learn -life's lesson as I learned to walk: that what -you love will not last long, and that long -love is possible only when you love often. -</p> - -<p> -So many women know this; how few admit -it! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Sincerely yours,<br /> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>June the Nineteenth.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO DR. MARIGOLD -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR DR. MARIGOLD: -</p> - -<p> -You sail to-morrow. And to-morrow I go -away for the summer: first to some friends, -then further away to other friends, then still -further away to other friends: a summer -pageant of brilliant changes. -</p> - -<p> -There is no reason why I should write to -you. Your stateroom will be filled with -flowers; you will have letters and telegrams; -friends will wave to you from the pier. My -letter may be lost among the others, but at -least it will have been written, and writing it -is its pleasure to me. -</p> - -<p> -I was to go to England this summer, was -to go as a bride. A few nights since I -decided not to go because I did not approve of -the bridegroom. -</p> - -<p> -We marvel at life's coincidences: one -evening, not long ago, while speaking of your -expected summer in England, you mentioned -that you planned to make a pilgrimage to see -Edward Blackthorne. You were to join some -American friends over there and take them -with you. That is the coincidence: <i>I</i> was to -visit the Blackthornes this very summer, not -as a stranger pilgrim, but as an invited -guest—with the groom whom I have rejected. -</p> - -<p> -It is like scattering words before the -obvious to say that I wish you a pleasant summer. -Not a forgetful one. To aid memory, as you, -some night on the passage across, lean far -over and look down at the phosphorescent -couch of the sea for its recumbent Venus of -the deep, remember that the Venus of modern -life is the American woman. -</p> - -<p> -Am I to see you when autumn, if nothing -else, brings you home—see you not at all or -seldom or often? -</p> - -<p> -At least this will remind you that I merely -say <i>au revoir</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Adrift for the summer rather than be an -unwilling bride. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>June twenty-first.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 21.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -Since life separated us the other night I -have not heard from you. I have not -expected a letter, nor do you expect one from -me. But I am going away to-morrow for the -summer and my heart has a few words for -you which must be spoken. -</p> - -<p> -It was not disappointment about the summer -in England, not even your refusal to -explain why you disappointed me, that held the -main reason of my drawing back. I am in the -mood to-night to tell you some things very -frankly: -</p> - -<p> -Twice before I knew you, I was engaged to -be married and twice as the wedding drew -near I drew away from it. It is an old, old -feeling of mine, though I am so young, that -if married I should not long be happy. Of -course I should be happy for a while. But -<i>afterwards</i>! The interminable, intolerable -<i>afterwards</i>! The same person year in and -year out—I should be stifled. Each of the -men to whom I was engaged had given me -before marriage all that he had to give: the -rest I did not care for; after marriage with -either I foresaw only staleness, his limitations, -monotony. -</p> - -<p> -Believe this, then: there are things in you -that I cling to, other things in you that do -not draw me at all. And I cling more to life -than to you, more than to any one person. -How can any one person ever be all to me, all -that I am meant for, and <i>I will live</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Why should we women be forced to spend -our lives beside the first spring where one -happened to fill one's cup at life's dawn! -Why be doomed to die in old age at the same -spring! With all my soul I believe that the -world which has slowly thrown off so many -tyrannies is about to throw off other tyrannies. -It has been so harsh toward happiness, -so compassionate toward misery and wrong. -Yet happiness is life's finest victory: for ages -we have been trying to defeat our one best -victory—our natural happiness! -</p> - -<p> -A brief cup of joy filled at life's morning—then -to go thirsty for the rest of the long, -hot, weary day! Why not goblet after goblet -at spring after spring—there are so many -springs! And thirst is so eager for them! -</p> - -<p> -Come to see me in the autumn. For I will -not, cannot, give you up. And when you -come, do not seek to renew the engagement. -Let that go whither it has gone. But come -to see me. -</p> - -<p> -For I love you. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 21.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -POLLY BOLES: -</p> - -<p> -This is good-bye to you for the summer -and, better than that, it is good-bye to you -for life. Why not, in parting, face the truth -that we have long hated each other and have -used our acquaintanceship and our letters to -express our hatred? How could there ever -have been any friendship between you and me? -</p> - -<p> -Let me tell you of the detestable little -signs that I have noticed in you for years. -Are you aware that all the time you have -occupied your apartment, you have never -changed the arrangement of your furniture? -As soon as your guests are gone, you push -every chair where it was before. For years -your one seat has been the same end of the -same frayed sofa. Many a time I have noted -your disquietude if any guest happened to -sit there and forced you to sit elsewhere. -For years you have worn the same breast-pin, -though you have several. The idea of your -being inconstant to a breast-pin! You pride -yourself in such externals of faithfulness. -</p> - -<p> -You soul of perfidy! -</p> - -<p> -I leave you undisturbed to innumerable -appointments with Ben, and with the same -particular something to talk about, falsest -woman I have ever known. -</p> - -<p> -Have you confided to Ben Doolittle the -fact that you are secretly receiving almost -constant attentions from Dr. Mullen? Will -you tell him? <i>Or shall I?</i> -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02b"></a></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 23rd.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I am worried. -</p> - -<p> -I begin to feel doubtful as to what course -I should pursue with Dr. Claude Mullen. -Of late he has been coming too often. He -has been writing to me too often. He appears -to be losing control of himself. Things cannot -go on as they are and they must not get worse. -What I could not foresee is his determination -to hold <i>me</i> responsible for his being in love -with me! He insists that <i>I</i> encouraged him -and am now unfair—<i>me</i> unfair! Of course I -have <i>never</i> encouraged his visits; out of simple -goodness of heart I have <i>tolerated</i> them. Now -the reward of my <i>kindness</i> is that he holds me -responsible and guilty. He is trying, in other -words, to take advantage of my <i>sympathy</i> for -him. I <i>do</i> feel sorry for him! -</p> - -<p> -I have not been cruel enough to dismiss -him. His last letter is enclosed: it will give -you some idea——! -</p> - -<p> -Can you advise me what to do? I have -always relied upon <i>your</i> judgment in everything. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Faithfully yours,<br /> - POLLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Penciled in Court Room] -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 24th.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -Certainly I can advise you. My advice is: -tell him to take a cab and drive straight to -the nearest institution for the weak-minded, -engage a room, lock himself in and pray God -to give him some sense. Tell him to stay -secluded there until that prayer is answered. -The Almighty himself couldn't answer his -prayer until after his death, and by that time -he'd be out of the way anyhow and you -wouldn't mind. -</p> - -<p> -I return his funeral oration unread, since I -did not wish to attract attention to myself -as moved to tears in open court. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Evening of the same day] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -POLLY, DEAREST, MOST FAITHFUL OF WOMEN: -</p> - -<p> -This is a night I have long waited for and -worked for. -</p> - -<p> -You have understood why during these -years I have never asked you to set a day -for our marriage. It has been a long, hard -struggle, for me coming here poor, to make a -living and a practice and a name. You know -I have had as my goal not a living for one -but a living for two—and for more than -two—for our little ones. When I married you, I -meant to rescue you from the Franklin Flats, -all flats. -</p> - -<p> -But with these two hands of mine I have -laid hold of the affairs of this world and -shaken them until they have heeded me and -my strength. I have won, I am independent, -I am my own man and my own master, and -I am ready to be your husband as through it -all I have been your lover. -</p> - -<p> -Name the day when I can be both. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the day must be distant: I am to leave -this firm and establish my own and I want -that done first. Some months must yet pass. -Any day of next Spring, then—so far away -but nearer than any other Spring during these -impatient years. -</p> - -<p> -Polly, constant one, I am your constant -lover, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Roses to you. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 24.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Oh, BEN, BEN, BEN! -</p> - -<p> -My heart answers you. It leaps forward -to the day. I have set the day in my heart -and sealed it on my lips. Come and break -that seal. To-night I shall tear two of the -rosebuds apart and mingle their petals on my -pillow. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> -<i>June 26.</i> -</p> - -<p> -It occurs to me that our engagement might -furnish you the means of getting rid of your -prostrated nerve specialist. Write him to -come to see you: tell him you have some joyful -news that must be imparted at once. When -he arrives announce to him that you have -named the day of your marriage to me. To -<i>me</i>, tell him! Then let him take himself off. -You say he complains that all this is getting -on his nerves. Anything that could sit on -his nerves would be a mighty small animal. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 27.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Our engagement has only made him more -determined. He persists in visiting me. His -loyalty is touching. Suppose the next time -he comes I arrange for you to come. Your -meeting him here might have the desired -effect. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> -<i>June 28.</i> -</p> - -<p> -It would certainly have the desired effect, -but perhaps not exactly the effect he desires. -Madam, would you wish to see the nerve -filaments of your fond specialist scattered -over your carpet as his life's deplorable -arcana? No, Polly, not that! -</p> - -<p> -Make this suggestion to him: that in order -to give him a chance to be near you—but not -too near—you do offer him for the first year -after our marriage—only one year, mind you—you -do offer him, with my consent and at a -good salary, the position of our furnace-man, -since he so loves to warm himself with our -fires. It would enable him to keep up his -habit of getting down on his knees and puffing -for you. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 14.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -It occurs to me just at the moment that -not for some days have I heard you speak of -your racked—or wrecked—nerve specialist. -Has he learned to control his microscopic -attachment? Has he found an antidote for -the bacillus of his anaemic love? -</p> - -<p> -Polly, my woman, if he is still bothering -you, let me know at once. It has been my -joy hitherto to share your troubles; henceforth -it is my privilege to take them on two -uncrushable shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -At the drop of your hat I'll even meet him -in your flat any night you say, and we'll all -compete for the consequences. -</p> - -<p> -I. s. y. s. r. r. (You have long since learned -what that means.) -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Your man,<br /> - BEN D.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 15.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAREST BEN: -</p> - -<p> -You need not give another thought to -Dr. Mullen. He does not annoy me any -more. He can drop finally out of our -correspondence. -</p> - -<p> -Not an hour these days but my thoughts -hover about you. Never so vividly as now -does there rise before me the whole picture -of our past—of all these years together. And -I am ever thinking of the day to which we -both look forward as the one on which our -paths promise to blend and our lives are -pledged to meet. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Your devoted<br /> - POLLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO JUDD & JUDD -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 16.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -Yesterday while walking along the street -I found my attention most favourably drawn -to the appearance of your business establishment: -to the tubs of plants at the entrance, -the vines and flowers in the windows, and -the classic Italian statuary properly -mildewed. Therefore I venture to write. -</p> - -<p> -Do you know anything about ferns, -especially Kentucky ferns? Do you ever collect -them and ship them? I wish to place an order -for some Kentucky ferns to be sent to England. -I had a list of those I desired, but this -has been mislaid, and I should have to rely -upon the shipper to make, out of his knowledge, -a collection that would represent the -best of the Kentucky flora. Could you do -this? -</p> - -<p> -One more question, and you will please -reply clearly and honestly. I notice that -your firm speak of themselves as landscape -architects. This leads me to inquire whether -you have ever had any connection with -Botany. You may not understand the question -and you are not required to understand -it: I simply request you to answer it. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -JUDD & JUDD TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 17.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Your esteemed favour to hand. We gather -and ship ferns and other plants, subject to -order, to any address, native or foreign, with -the least possible delay, and we shall be -pleased to execute any commission which -you may entrust to us. -</p> - -<p> -With reference to your other inquiry, we -ask leave to state that we have never had -the slightest connection with any other -concern doing business in the city under the -firm-name of Botany. We do not even find them -in the telephone directory. -</p> - -<p> -Awaiting your courteous order, we are -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - JUDD & JUDD.<br /> - Per Q.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO "JUDD & JUDD, PER Q." -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 18.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -I am greatly pleased to hear that you have -no connection with any other house doing -business under the firm-name of Botany, and I -accordingly feel willing to risk giving you the -following order: That you will make a -collection of the most highly prized varieties -of Kentucky ferns and ship them, expenses -prepaid, to this address, namely: Mr. Edward -Blackthorne, King Alfred's Wood, Warwickshire, -England. -</p> - -<p> -As a guaranty of good faith and as the -means to simplify matters without further -correspondence, I take pleasure in enclosing -my cheque for $25. -</p> - -<p> -You will please advise me when the ferns -are ready to be shipped, as I wish to come -down and see to it myself that they actually -do get off. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - July 18.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I met with the melancholy misfortune a -few weeks ago of losing my great father. -Since his death I have been slowly going over -his papers. He left a large mass of them in -disorder, for his was too active a mind to -pause long enough to put things in order. -</p> - -<p> -In a bundle of notes I have come across a -letter to him from Burns & Bruce with the -list of ferns in it that they sent him and that -had been misplaced. My dear father was a -very absent-minded scholar, as is natural. -He had penciled a query regarding one of the -ferns on the list, and I suppose, while looking -up the doubtful point, he had laid the list -down to pursue some other idea that suddenly -attracted him and then forgot what he had -been doing. My father worked over many -ideas and moved with perfect ease from one -to another, being equally at home with -everything great—a mental giant. -</p> - -<p> -I send the list back to you that it may -remind you what a trouble and affliction you -have been. Do not acknowledge the receipt -of it, for I do not wish to hear from you. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO JUDD & JUDD -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 21.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -I wish to take up immediately my commission -placed a few days ago. I referred in -my first letter to a mislaid list of ferns. This -has just turned up and is herewith enclosed, -and I now wish you to make a collection of -the ferns called for on this list. -</p> - -<p> -Please advise me at once whether you will -do this. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -JUDD & JUDD TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 22.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Your letter to hand, with the list of ferns -enclosed. We shall be pleased to cancel the -original order, part of which we advise you -had already been filled. It does not comprise -the plants called for on the list. -</p> - -<p> -This will involve some slight additional -expense, and if agreeable, we shall be pleased -to have you enclose your cheque for the -slight extra amount as per enclosed bill. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - JUDD & JUDD.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO JUDD & JUDD -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 23.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -I have your letter and I take the greatest -possible pleasure in enclosing my cheque to -cover the additional expense, as you kindly -suggest. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>October 30.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -They are gone! They're off! They have -weighed anchor! They have sailed; they have -departed! -</p> - -<p> -I went down and watched the steamer out -of sight. Packed around me at the end of -the pier were people, waving hats and -handkerchiefs, some laughing, some with tears on -their cheeks, some with farewells quivering on -their dumb mouths. But everybody forgot -his joy or his trouble to look at me: I -out-waved, out-shouted them all. An old New -York Harbour gull, which is the last creature -in the world to be surprised at anything, -flew up and glanced at me with a jaded eye. -</p> - -<p> -I have felt ever since as if the steamer's -anchor had been taken from around my neck. -I have become as human cork which no -storm, no leaden weight, could ever sink. -Come what will to me now from Nature's -unkinder powers! Let my next pair of shoes -be made of briers, my next waistcoat of rag -weed! Fasten every morning around my -neck a collar of the scaly-bark hickory! See -to it that my undershirts be made of the -honey-locust! For olives serve me green -persimmons; if I must be poulticed, swab -me in poultices of pawpaws! But for the rest -of my days may the Maker of the world in -His occasional benevolence save me from the -things on it that look frail and harmless like -ferns. -</p> - -<p> -Come up to dinner! Come, all there is of -you! We'll open the friendly door of some -friendly place and I'll dine you on everything -commensurate with your simplicity. I'll open -a magnum or a magnissimum. I'll open a -new subway and roll down into it for joy. -</p> - -<p> -They are gone to him, his emblems of -fidelity. I don't care what he does with them. -They will for the rest of his days admonish -him that in his letter to me he sinned against -the highest law of his own gloriously endowed -nature: -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -<i>Le Génie Oblige</i> -</p> - -<p> -Accept this phrase, framed by me for your -pilgrim's script of wayside French sayings. -Accept it and translate it to mean that he -who has genius, no matter what the world -may do to him, no matter what ruin Nature -may work in him, that he who has genius, -is under obligation so long as he lives to do -nothing mean and to do nothing meanly. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -ANNE RAEBURN TO EDWARD BLACKTHORNE IN ITALY -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England,<br /> - November 30.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. BLACKTHORNE: -</p> - -<p> -I continue my chronicles of an English -country-place during the absence of its master, -with the hope that the reading of the chronicles -may cause him to hasten his return. -</p> - -<p> -An amusing, perhaps a rather grave, matter -passed under my observation yesterday. -The afternoon was clear and mild and I had -taken my work out into the garden. From -where I sat I could see Hodge at work with -his spade some distance away. Quite -unconsciously, I suppose, I lifted my eyes at -intervals to look toward him, for by degrees I -became aware that Hodge at intervals was -looking toward me. I noticed that he was -red in the face, which is always a sign of his -anger; apparently he wavered as to whether -he should or should not do a debatable thing. -Finally lifting his spade high and bringing -it down with such force that he sent it deep -into the mould where it stood upright, he -started toward me. -</p> - -<p> -You know how, as he approaches anyone, -he loosens his cap from his forehead and -scrapes the back of his neck with the back -of his thumb. As he stood before me he did -this now. Then he made the following -announcement in the voice of an aggrieved bully: -</p> - -<p> -"The <i>Scolopendium vulgare</i> put up two new -shoots after he went away, mum. Bishop's -crooks he calls 'em, mum." -</p> - -<p> -I replied that I was glad to hear the ferns -were thrifty. He, jerking his thumb toward -the fern bank, added still more resentfully: -</p> - -<p> -"The <i>Adiantum nigrum</i> put up some, mum." -</p> - -<p> -I replied that I should announce to you the -good news. -</p> - -<p> -Plainly this was not what he had come to -tell me, for he stood embarrassed but not -budging, his eyes blazing with a kind of stupid -fury. At last he brought out his trouble. -</p> - -<p> -It seems that one day last week a hamper -of ferns arrived for you from New York, with -only the names of the shippers, charges -prepaid. I was not at home, having that day -gone to the Vicar's with some marmalade; -so Hodge took it upon himself to receive the -hamper. By his confession he unwrapped -the package and discovering the contents to -be a collection of fern-roots, with the list of -the Latin names attached, he re-wrapped them -and re-shipped them to the forwarding -agents—charges to be collected in New York. -</p> - -<p> -This is now Hodge's plight: he is uncertain -whether the plants were some you had ordered, -or were a gift to you from some friend, or -merely a gratuitous advertisement by an -American nurseryman. Whether yours or -another's, of much value to you or none, he -resolved that they should not enter the -garden. There was no place for them in the -garden without there being a place for their -Latin names in his head, and his head would -hold no more. At least his temper is the same -that has incited all English rebellion: human -nature need not stand for it! -</p> - -<p> -The skies are wistful some days with blue -that is always brushed over by clouds: -England's same still blue beyond her changing -vapours. The evenings are cosy with lamps -and November fires and with new books that -no hand opens. A few late flowers still bloom, -loyal to youth in a world that asks of them -now only their old age. The birds sit silent -with ruffled feathers and look sturdy and -established on the bare shrubs: liberals in -spring, conservatives in autumn, wise in -season. The larger trees strip their summer -flippancies from them garment by garment -and stand in their noble nakedness, a challenge -to the cold. -</p> - -<p> -The dogs began to wait for you the day -you left. They wait still, resolved at any cost -to show that they can be patient; that is, -well-bred. The one of them who has the higher -intelligence! The other evening I filled and -lighted your pipe and held it out to him as -I have often seen you do. He struck the -floor softly with the tip of his tail and smiled -with his eyes very tenderly at me, as saying: -"You want to see whether I remember that -<i>he</i> did that; of course I remember." Then, -with a sudden suspicion that he was possibly -being very stupid, with quick, gruff bark he -ran out of the room to make sure. Back he -came, his face in broad silent laughter at -himself and his eyes announcing to me—"Not yet." -</p> - -<p> -Do not all these things touch you with -homesickness amid the desolation of the -Grand Canal—with the shallow Venetian -songs that patter upon the ear but do not -reach down into strong Northern English -hearts? -</p> - -<p> -I have already written this morning to -Mrs. Blackthorne. As each of you hands my -letters to the other, these petty chronicles, -sent out divided here in England, become -united in a foreign land. -</p> - -<p> -I am, dear Mr. Blackthorne, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Respectfully yours,<br /> - ANNE RAEBURN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -JUDD & JUDD TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>December 27.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -We have to report that the ferns recently -shipped to a designated address in England -in accordance with your instructions have -been returned with charges for return shipment -to be collected at our office. We enclose -our bill for these charges and ask your -attention to it at your early convenience. The -ferns are ruined and worthless to us. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - JUDD & JUDD.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO JUDD & JUDD -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>December 30.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -I am very much obliged to you for your -letter and I take the greatest pleasure -imaginable in enclosing my cheque to cover the -charges of the return shipment. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>December 28.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -<i>The ferns have come back to me from England!</i> -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>December 29.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -I am with you, brother, to the last root. -But don't send any more ferns to anybody—don't -try to, for God's sake! I'm with you! -<i>J'y suis, J'y reste</i>. (French forever! <i>Boutez -en avant, mon</i> French!) -</p> - -<p> -By the way, our advice is that you drop -the suit against Phillips & Faulds. They are -engaged in a lawsuit and as we look over the -distant Louisville battlefield, we can see only -the wounded and the dying—and the poor. -Would you squeeze a druggist's sponge for -live tadpoles? Whatever you got, you -wouldn't get tadpoles, not live ones. -</p> - -<p> -Our fee is $50; hadn't you better stop at -$50 and think yourself lucky? <i>Monsieur a -bien tombé</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Any more fern letters? Don't forget them. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>December 30.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I take your advice, of course, about dropping -the suit against Phillips & Faulds, and -I take pleasure in enclosing you my cheque -for $50—damn them. That's $75—damn -them. And if anybody else anywhere around -hasn't received a cheque from me for nothing, -let him or her rise, and him or her will get one. -</p> - -<p> -No more letters yet. But I feel a disturbance -in the marrow of my bones and doubtless -others are on the way, as one more spell -of bad weather—another storm for me. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - December 25.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -SIR: -</p> - -<p> -This is Christmas Day, when every one is -thinking of peace and good will on earth. -It makes me think of you. I cannot forget -you, my feeling is too bitter for oblivion, for -it was you who were instrumental in bringing -about my father's death. One damp night -I heard him get up and then I heard him fall, -and rushing to him to see what was the -matter, I found that he had stumbled down the -three steps which led from his bedroom to his -library, and had rolled over on the floor, with -his candle burning on the carpet beside him. -I lifted him up and asked him what he was -doing out of bed and he said he had some kind -of recollection about a list of ferns; it worried -him and he could not sleep. -</p> - -<p> -The fall was a great shock to his nervous -system and to mine, and a few days after that -he contracted pneumonia from the cold, being -already troubled with lumbago. -</p> - -<p> -My father's life-work, which will never be -finished now, was to be called "Approximations -to Consciousness in Plants." He believed -that bushes knew a great deal of what -is going on around them, and that trees -sometimes have queer notions which cause them -to grow crooked, and that ferns are most -intelligent beings. It was while thus engaged, -in a weakened condition with this work on -"Consciousness in Plants," that he suddenly -lost consciousness himself and did not -afterwards regain it as an earthly creature. -</p> - -<p> -I shall always remember you for having -been instrumental in his death. This is the -kind of Christmas Day you have presented -to me. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - January 7.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Necessity knows no law, and I have become -a sad victim of necessity, hence this -appeal to you. -</p> - -<p> -My wonderful father left me in our proud -social position without means. I was thrown -by his death upon my own resources, and I -have none but my natural faculties and my -wonderful experience as his secretary. -</p> - -<p> -With these I had to make my way to a -livelihood and deep as was the humiliation -of a proud, sensitive daughter of the South -and of such a father, I have been forced to -come down to a position I never expected to -occupy. I have accepted a menial engagement -in a small florist establishment of young -Mr. Andy Peters, of this place. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Andy Peters was one of my father's -students of Botany. He sometimes stayed -to supper, though, of course, my father did -not look upon him as our social equal, and -cautioned me against receiving his attentions, -not that I needed the caution, for I repeatedly -watched them sitting together and they were -most uncongenial. My father's acquaintance -with him made it easier for me to enter his -establishment. I am to be his secretary and -aid him with my knowledge of plants and -especially to bring the influence of my social -position to bear on his business. -</p> - -<p> -Since you were the instrument of my father's -death, you should be willing to aid me in my -efforts to improve my condition in life. I -write to say that it would be as little as you -could do to place your future commissions -for ferns with Mr. Andy Peters. He has just -gone into the florist's business and these would -help him and be a recommendation to me for -bringing in custom. He might raise my -salary, which is so small that it is galling. -</p> - -<p> -While father remained on earth and roved -the campus, he filled my life completely. I -have nothing to fill me now but orders for -Mr. Andy Peters. -</p> - -<p> -Hoping for an early reply, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - A proud daughter of the Southland,<br /> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>January 10.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -The tumult in my bones was a well-advised -monitor. More fern letters <i>were</i> on the way: -I enclose them. -</p> - -<p> -You will discover from the earlier of these -two documents that during a late unconscious -scrimmage in North Carolina I murdered an -aged botanist of international reputation. -At least one wish of my life is gratified: that -if I ever had to kill anybody, it would be some -one who was great. You will gather from -this letter that, all unaware of what I was -doing, I tripped him up, rolled him downstairs, -knocked his candle out of his hand and, -as he lay on his back all learned and amazed, -I attacked him with pneumonia, while -lumbago undid him from below. -</p> - -<p> -You will likewise observe that his daughter -seems to be an American relative of Hamlet—she -has a "harp" in her head: she harps on -the father. -</p> - -<p> -One thing I cannot get out of <i>my</i> head: -have you noticed anything wrong at the Club? -Two or three evenings, as we have gone in to -dinner, have you noticed anything wrong? -Those two charlatans put their heads -together last night: their two heads put together -do not make one complete head—that may -be the trouble; beware of less than one good -full-weight head. Something is wrong and I -believe they are the dark forces: have you -observed anything? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>January 11.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -The letters are filed away with their -predecessors. -</p> - -<p> -If I am any judge of human nature, you -will receive others from this daughter of the -South in the same strain. -</p> - -<p> -If her great father (local meaning, old dad) -is really dead, he probably sawed his head off -against a tight clothes-line in the back-yard -some dark night, while on his way to their -gooseberry bushes to see if they had any -sense. -</p> - -<p> -More likely he hurled himself headlong -into eternity to get rid of her—rolled down -the steps with sheer delight and reached for -pneumonia with a glad hand to escape his -own offspring and her endless society. -</p> - -<p> -The most terrifying thing to me about this -new Clara is her Great Desert dryness; no -drop of humour ever bedewed her mind. I -believe those eminent gentlemen who call -themselves biologists have recently discovered -that the human system, if deprived of water, -will convert part of its dry food into water. -</p> - -<p> -I wish these gentlemen would study the -contrariwise case of Clara: she would convert -a drink of water into a mouthful of sawdust. -</p> - -<p> -Humour has long been codified by me as one -of nature's most solemn gifts. I divide all -witnesses into two classes: those who, while -giving testimony or being examined or -cross-examined, cause laughter in the courtroom at -others. The second class turn all laughter -against themselves. That is why the gift of -humour is so grave—it keeps us from making -ourselves ridiculous. A Frenchman (still my -French) has recently pointed out that the -reason we laugh is to drive things out of the -world, to jolly them out of existence and have -a good time as we do it. Therefore not to -be laughed at is to survive. -</p> - -<p> -Beware of this new Clara! War breeds two -kinds of people: heroes and shams—the heroic -and the mock heroic. You and I know the -Civil War bred two kinds of burlesque -Southerner: the post-bellum Colonel and the -spurious proud daughter of the Southland. -Proud, sensitive Southern people do not go -around proclaiming that they are proud and -sensitive. And that word—Southland! Hang -the word and shoot the man who made it. -There are no proud daughters of the Westland -or of the Northland. Beware of this new -Clara! This breath of the Desert! -</p> - -<p> -Yes, I have noticed something wrong in the -Club. I have hesitated about speaking to you -of it. I do not know what it means, but my -suspicions lie where yours lie—with those two -wallpaper doctors. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -RUFUS KENT TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>The Great Dipper,<br /> - January 12.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I have been President of this Club so long—they -have refused to have any other president -during my lifetime and call me its Nestor—that -whenever I am present my visits are -apt to consist of interruptions. To-night it -is raining and not many members are scattered -through the rooms. I shall be at leisure -to answer your very grave letter. (I see, -however, that I am going to be interrupted.) ... -</p> - -<p> -My dear Mr. Sands, you are a comparatively -new member and much allowance must -be made for your lack of experience with the -traditions of this Club. You ask: "What is -this gossip about? Who started it; what did -he start it with?" -</p> - -<p> -My dear Mr. Sands, there is no gossip in -this Club. It would not be tolerated. We -have here only the criticism of life. This -Club is The Great Dipper. The origin of the -name has now become obscure. It may first -have been adopted to mean that the members -would constitute a star-system—a human -constellation; it may be otherwise interpreted as -the wit of some one of the founders who -wished to declare in advance that the Club -would be a big, long-handled spoon; with -which any member could dip into the ocean -of human affairs and ladle out what he -required for an evening's conversation. -</p> - -<p> -No gossip here, then. The criticism of life -only. What is said in the Club would -embrace many volumes. In fact I myself have -perhaps discoursed to the vast extent of whole -shelves full. Probably had the Club undertaken -to bind its conversation, the clubhouse -would not hold the books. But not a word -of gossip. -</p> - -<p> -I now come to the subject of your letter, -and this is what I have ascertained: -</p> - -<p> -During the past summer one of the members -of the Club (no name, of course, can be -called) was travelling in England. Three or -four American tourists joined him at one -place or another, and these, finding -themselves in one of those enchanted regions of -England to which nearly all tourists go and -which in our time is made more famous by -the novels of Edward Blackthorne—whom I -met in England and many of whose works -are read here in the Club by admirers of his -genius—this group of American tourists -naturally went to call on him at his home. They -were very hospitably received; there was a -great deal of praise of him and praise everywhere -in the world is hospitably received, so -I hear. It was a pleasant afternoon; the -American visitors had tea with Mr. and -Mrs. Blackthorne in their garden. Afterwards -Mr. Blackthorne took them for a stroll. -</p> - -<p> -There had been some discussion, as it -seems, of English and of American fiction, of -the younger men coming on in the two literatures. -One of the visitors innocently inquired -of Mr. Blackthorne whether he knew -of your work. Instantly all noticed a change -in his manner: plainly the subject was -distasteful, and he put it away from him with -some vague rejoinder in a curt undertone. -At once some one of the visitors conceived -the idea of getting at the reason for -Mr. Blackthorne's unaccountable hostility. But -his evident resolve was not to be drawn out. -</p> - -<p> -As they strolled through the garden, they -paused to admire his collection of ferns, and -he impulsively turned to the American who -had been questioning him and pointed to a -little spot. -</p> - -<p> -"That," he said, "was once reserved for -some ferns which your young American -novelist promised to send me." -</p> - -<p> -The whole company gathered curiously -about the spot and all naturally asked, "But -where are the ferns?" -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Blackthorne without a word and with -an air of regret that even so little had escaped -him, led the party further away. -</p> - -<p> -That is all. Perhaps that is what you hear -in the Club: the hum of the hive that a -member should have acted in some disagreeable, -unaccountable way toward a very great man -whose work so many of us revere. You have -merely run into the universal instinct of -human nature to think evil of human nature. -Emerson had about as good an opinion of it as -any man that ever lived, and he called it a -scoundrel. It is one of the greatest of mysteries -that we are born with a poor opinion of one -another and begin to show it as babies. If -you do not think that babies despise one -another, put a lot of them together for a few -hours and see how much good opinion is left. -</p> - -<p> -I feel bound to say that your letter is most -unbridled. There cannot be many things -with which the people of Kentucky are more -familiar than the bridle, yet they always -impress outsiders as the most unbridled of -Americans. I <i>will</i> add, however, that -patrician blood, ancestral blood, is always -unbridled. Otherwise I might not now be styled -the Nestor of this Club. Only some kind of -youthful Hector in this world ever makes one -of its aged Nestors. I am interrupted -again.... -</p> - -<p> -I must conclude my letter rather abruptly. -My advice to you is not to pay the slightest -attention to all this miserable gossip in the -Club. I am too used to that sort of thing -here to notice it myself. And will you not -at an early date give me the pleasure of your -company at dinner? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Faithfully yours,<br /> - RUFUS KENT.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h2> -PART THIRD -</h2> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - May 1, 1912</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -This small greenhouse of Mr. Andy Peters -is a stifling, lonesome place. His acquaintances -are not the class of people who buy -flowers unless there is a death in the family. -He has no social position, and receives very -few orders in that way. I do what I can for -him through my social connections. Time -hangs heavily on my hands and I have little -to do but think of my lot. -</p> - -<p> -When Mr. Peters and I are not busy, I do -not find him companionable. He does not -possess the requisite attainments. We have -a small library in this town, and I thought I -would take up reading. I have always felt so -much at home with all literature. I asked the -librarian to suggest something new in fiction -and she urged me to read a novel by young -Mr. Beverley Sands, the Kentucky novelist. I write -now to inquire whether you are the Mr. Beverley -Sands who wrote the novel. If you are, I -wish to tell you how glad I am that I -have long had the pleasure of your -acquaintance. Your story comes quite close -to me. You understand what it means to be -a proud daughter of the Southland who is -thrown upon her own resources. Your heroine -and I are most alike. There is a wonderful -description in your book of a woodland scene -with ferns in it. -</p> - -<p> -Would you mind my sending you my own -copy of your book, to have you write in it -some little inscription such as the following: -"For Miss Clara Louise Chamberlain with -the compliments of Beverley Sands." -</p> - -<p> -Your story gives me a different feeling from -what I have hitherto entertained toward you. -You may not have understood my first letters -to you. The poor and proud and sensitive -are so often misunderstood. You have so -truly appreciated me in drawing the heroine -of your book that I feel as much attracted to -you now as I was repelled from you formerly. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Respectfully yours,<br /> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 10, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I wish to thank you for putting your name -in my copy of your story. Your kindness -encourages me to believe that you are all -that your readers would naturally think you -to be. And I feel that I can reach out to you -for sympathy. -</p> - -<p> -The longer I remain in this place, the more -out of place I feel. But my main trouble is -that I have never been able to meet the -whole expense of my father's funeral, though -no one knows this but the undertaker, unless -he has told it. He is quite capable of doing -such a thing. The other day he passed me, -sitting on his hearse, and he gave me a look -that was meant to remind me of my debt and -that was most uncomplimentary. -</p> - -<p> -And yet I was not extravagant. Any -ignorant observer of the procession would -never have supposed that my father was a -thinker of any consequence. The faculty of -the college attended, but they did not make -as much of a show as at Commencement. -They never do at funerals. -</p> - -<p> -Far be it from me to place myself under -obligation to anyone, least of all to a stranger, -by receiving aid. I do not ask it. I now -wish that I had never spoken to you of your -having been instrumental in my father's -death. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - A proud daughter of the Southland,<br /> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 17, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I have received your cheque and I think -what you have done is most appropriate. -</p> - -<p> -Since I wrote you last, my position in this -establishment has become still more -embarrassing. Mr. Andy Peters has begun to -offer me his attentions. I have done nothing -to bring about this infatuation for me and I -regard it as most inopportune. -</p> - -<p> -I should like to leave here and take a position -in New York. If I could find a situation -there as secretary to some gentleman, my -experience as my great father's secretary -would of course qualify me to succeed as his. -You may not have cordially responded to my -first letters, but you cannot deny that they -were well written. If the gentleman were a -married man, I could assure the family -beforehand that there would be no occasion for -jealousy on his wife's part, as so often -happens with secretaries, I have heard. If he -should have lost his wife and should have -little children, I do love little children. -While not acting as his secretary, I could be -acting with the children. -</p> - -<p> -If my grey-haired father, who is now beyond -the blue skies, were only back in North -Carolina! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 21, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I have been forced to leave forever the -greenhouse of Mr. Andy Peters and am now -thrown upon my own resources without -a roof over my proud head. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Andy Peters is a confirmed rascal. -I almost feel that I shall have to do -something desperate if I am to succeed. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 24, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -Clara Louise Chamberlain is in New York! -God Almighty! -</p> - -<p> -I have been so taken up lately with other -things that I have forgotten to send you a -little bundle of letters from her. You will -discover from one of these that I gave her a -cheque. I know you will say it was folly, -perhaps criminal folly; but I <i>was</i> in a way -"instrumental" in bringing about the great -botanist's demise. -</p> - -<p> -If I had described no ferns, there would -have been no fern trouble, no fern list. The -old gentleman would not have forgotten the -list, if I had not had it sent to him; hence he -would not have gotten up at midnight to -search for it, would not have fallen -downstairs, might never have had pneumonia. I -can never be acquitted of responsibility! -Besides, she praised my novel (something -you have never done!): that alone was worth -nearly a hundred dollars to me! Now she is -here and she writes, asking me to help her to -find employment, as she is without means. -</p> - -<p> -But I can't have that woman as <i>my</i> secretary! -I dictate my novels. Novels are matters -of the emotions. The secretary of a -novelist must not interfere with the flow of -his emotions. If I were dictating to this -woman, she would be like an organ-grinder, -and I should be nothing but a little -hollow-eyed monkey, wondering what next to do, -and too terrified not to do something; my -poor brain would be unable even to hesitate -about an idea for fear she would think my -ideas had given out. Besides she would be -the living presence of this whole Pharaoh's -plague of Nile Green ferns. -</p> - -<p> -Let her be <i>your</i> secretary, will you? In -your mere lawyer's work, you do not have -any emotions. Give her a job, for God's -sake! And remember you have never refused -me anything in your life. I enclose her -address and please don't send it back to me. -</p> - -<p> -For I am sick, just sick! I am going to -undress and get in bed and send for the -doctor and stretch myself out under my -bolster and die my innocent death. And -God have mercy on all of you! But I already -know, when I open my eyes in Eternity, what -will be the first thing I'll see. O Lord, I -wonder if there is anything but ferns in heaven -and hell! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO CLARA LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 25, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR MADAM: -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Beverley Sands is very much indisposed -just at the present time, and has been -kind enough to write me with the request that -I interest myself in securing for you a position -as private secretary. Nothing permanent is -before me this morning, but I write to say that -I could give you some work to-morrow for the -time at least, if you will kindly call at these -offices at ten o'clock. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 27, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -If you keep on getting into trouble, some -day you'll get in and never get out. You -sent her a cheque! Didn't you know that -in doing this you had sent her a blank cheque, -which she could afterwards fill in at any cost -to your peace? If you are going to distribute -cheques to young ladies merely because their -fathers die, I shall take steps to have you -placed in my legal possession as an adult -infant. -</p> - -<p> -Here's what I've done—I wrote to your -ward, asking her to present herself at this -office at ten o'clock yesterday morning. She -was here punctually. I had left instructions -that she should be shown at once into my -private office. -</p> - -<p> -When she entered, I said good morning, -and pointed to a typewriter and to some -matter which I asked her to copy. Meantime I -finished writing a hypothetical address to a -hypothetical jury in a hypothetical case, at -the same time making it as little like an actual -address to a jury as possible and as little like -law as possible. -</p> - -<p> -Then I asked her to receive the dictation -of the address, which was as follows: -</p> - -<p> -"I beg you now to take a good look at this -young woman—young, but old enough to -know what she, is doing. You will not -discover in her appearance, gentlemen, any -marks of the adventuress. But you are men -of too much experience not to know that -the adventuress does not reveal her marks. -As for my client, he is a perfectly innocent -man. Worse than innocent; he is, on account -of a certain inborn weakness, a rather helpless -human being whenever his sympathies are -appealed to, or if anyone looks at him -pleasantly, or but speaks a kind word. In a -moment of such weakness he yielded to this -woman's appeal to his sympathies. At once -she converted his generosity into a claim, and -now she has begun to press that claim. But -that is an old story: the greater your kindness -to certain people, the more certain they -become that your kindness is simply their due. -The better you are, the worse you must have -been. Your present virtues are your -acknowledgment of former shortcomings. It has -become the design of this adventuress—my -client having once shown her unmerited -kindness—it has now become her apparent design -to force upon him the responsibility of her -support and her welfare. -</p> - -<p> -"You know how often this is done in New -York City, which is not only Babylon for the -adventurer and adventuress, but their Garden -of Eden, since here they are truly at large -with the serpent. You are aware that the -adventuress never operates, except in a large -city, just as the charlatan of every profession -operates in the large city. Little towns have -no adventuresses and no charlatans; they are -not to be found there because there they -would be found out. What I ask is that you -protect my client as you would have my -client, were he a juryman, help to protect -innocent men like you. I ask then that this -woman be sentenced to pay a fine of twenty-five -dollars and be further sentenced to hard -labor in the penitentiary for a term of one -year. -</p> - -<p> -"No, I do not ask that. For this young -woman is not yet a bad woman. But unless -she stops right here in her career, she is likely -to become a bad woman. I do ask that you -sentence her to pay a few tears of penitence -and to go home, and there be strictly confined -to wiser, better thoughts." -</p> - -<p> -When I had dictated this, I asked her to -read it over to me; she did so in faltering -tones. Then I bade her good morning, said -there was no more work for the day, instructed -her that when she was through with copying -the work already assigned, the head-clerk -would receive it and pay for it, and requested -her to return at ten o'clock this morning. -</p> - -<p> -This morning she did not come. I called -up her address; she had left there. Nothing -was known of her. -</p> - -<p> -If you ever write to her again—! And -since you, without visible means of support, -are so fond of sending cheques to everybody, -why not send one to me! Am I to go on -defending you for nothing? -</p> - -<p> -Your obedient counsel and turtle, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 28, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -What have you done, what have you done, -what have you done! That green child -turned loose in New York, not knowing a -soul and not having a cent! Suppose -anything happens to her—how shall I feel then! -Of course, you meant well, but my dear -fellow, wasn't it a terrible, an inhuman thing -to do! Just imagine—but then you <i>can't</i> -imagine, <i>can't</i> imagine, <i>can't</i> imagine! -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 29, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -I am sorry that my bungling efforts in your -behalf should have proved such a miscalculation. -But as you forgive everybody sooner or -later perhaps you will in time pardon even me. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Your respectful erring servant,<br /> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>May 30, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -POLLY BOLES: -</p> - -<p> -The sight of a letter from me will cause a -violent disturbance of your routine existence. -Our "friendship" worked itself to an open -and honourable end about the time I went -away last summer and showed itself to be -honest hatred. Since my return in the -autumn I have been absorbed in many delightful -ways and you, doubtless, have been loyally -imbedded in the end of the same frayed -sofa, with your furniture arranged as for years -past, and with the same breastpin on your -constant heart. Whenever we have met, you -have let me know that the formidable back -of Polly Boles was henceforth to be turned -on me. -</p> - -<p> -I write because I will not come to see you. -My only motive is that you will forward my -letter to Ben Doolittle, whom you have so -prejudiced against me, that I cannot even -write to him. -</p> - -<p> -My letter concerns Beverley. You do not -know that since our engagement was broken -last summer he has regularly visited me: we -have enjoyed one another in ways that are -not fetters. Your friendship for Beverley of -course has lasted with the constancy of a -wooden pulpit curved behind the head and -shoulders of a minister. Ben Doolittle's -affection for him is as splendid a thing as one -ever sees in life. I write for the sake of us all. -</p> - -<p> -Have you been with Beverley of late? If -so, have you noticed anything peculiar? Has -Ben seen him? Has Ben spoken to you of a -change? I shall describe as if to you both -what occurred to-night during Beverley's -visit: he has just gone. -</p> - -<p> -As soon as I entered the parlours I -discovered that he was not wholly himself and -instantly recollected that he had not for some -time seemed perfectly natural. Repeatedly -within the last few months it has become -increasingly plain that something preyed upon -his mind. When I entered the rooms this -evening, although he made a quick, clever -effort to throw it off, he was in this same mood -of peculiar brooding. -</p> - -<p> -Someone—I shall not say who—had sent -me some flowers during the day. I took them -down with me, as I often do. I think that -Beverley, on account of his preoccupation, -did not at first notice that I had brought any -flowers; he remained unaware, I feel sure, -that I placed the vase on the table near which -we sat. But a few minutes later he caught -sight of them—a handful of roses of the colour -of the wild-rose, with some white spray and a -few ferns. -</p> - -<p> -When his eyes fell upon the ferns our -conversation snapped like a thread. Painful -silence followed. The look with which one -recognises some object that persistently -annoys came into his eyes: it was the identical -expression I had already remarked when he -was gazing as on vacancy. He continued -absorbed, disregardful of my presence, until -his silence became discourteous. My inquiry -for the reason of his strange action was -evaded by a slight laugh. -</p> - -<p> -This evasion irritated me still more. You -know I never trust or respect people who -gloss. His rejoinder was gloss. He was -taking it for granted that having exposed to me -something he preferred to conceal, he would -receive my aid to cover this up: I was to join -him in the ceremony of gloss. -</p> - -<p> -As a sign of my displeasure I carried the -flowers across the room to the mantelpiece. -</p> - -<p> -But the gaiety and carelessness of the -evening were gone. When two people have known -each other long and intimately, nothing so -quickly separates them as the discovery by -one that just beneath the surface of their -intercourse the other keeps something hidden. -The carelessness of the evening was gone, a -sense of restraint followed which each of us -recognised by periods of silence. To escape -from this I soon afterward for a moment -went up to my room. -</p> - -<p> -I now come to the incident which explains -why I think my letter should be sent to Ben -Doolittle. -</p> - -<p> -As I re-entered the parlours Beverley was -standing before the vase of flowers on the -mantelpiece. His back was turned toward -me. He did not see me or hear me. I was -about to speak when I discovered that he was -muttering to himself and making gestures at -the ferns. Fragments of expression straggled -from him and the names of strange people. -I shall not undertake to write down his -incoherent mutterings, yet such was the -stimulation of my memory due to shock that I -recall many of these. -</p> - -<p> -You ought to know by this time that I am -by nature fearless; yet something swifter and -stranger than fear took possession of me and -I slipped from the parlours and ran half-way -up the stairs. Then, with a stronger dread -of what otherwise might happen, I returned. -</p> - -<p> -Beverley was sitting where I had left him -when I quitted the parlours first. He had the -air of merely expecting my re-entrance. -I think this is what shocked me most: that -he could play two parts with such ready -concealment, successful cunning. -</p> - -<p> -Now that he is gone and the whole evening -becomes so vivid a memory, I am urged by a -feeling of uneasiness to reach Ben Doolittle -with this letter, since there is no one else to -whom I can turn. -</p> - -<p> -Beverley left abruptly; my manner may -have forced that. Certainly for the first time -in all these years we separated with a sudden -feeling of positive anger. If he calls again, I -shall be excused. -</p> - -<p> -Act as you think best. And remember, -please, under what stress of feeling I must be -to write another letter to you. <i>To you!</i> -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -TILLY SNOWDEN TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[A second letter enclosed in the preceding one] -</p> - -<p> -My letter of last night was written from -impulse. This morning I was so ill that I -asked Dr. Marigold to come to see me. I -had to explain. He looked grave and finally -asked whether he might speak to Dr. Mullen: -he thought it advisable; Dr. Mullen could -better counsel what should be done. Later -he called me up to inquire whether Dr. Mullen -and he could call together. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Mullen asked me to go over what had -occurred the evening before. Dr. Marigold -and he went across the room and consulted. -Dr. Mullen then asked me who Beverley's -physician was. I said I thought Beverley -had never been ill in his life. He asked -whether Ben Doolittle knew or had better -not be told. -</p> - -<p> -Again I leave the matter to Ben and you. -</p> - -<p> -But I have thought it necessary to put -down on a separate paper the questions which -Dr. Mullen asked with my reply to each. -For I do not wish Ben Doolittle to think I -said anything about Beverley that I would -be unwilling for him or for anyone else to -know. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - TILLY SNOWDEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO TILLY SNOWDEN -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 2, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -TILLY SNOWDEN: -</p> - -<p> -A telegram from Louisville has reached me -this morning, announcing the dangerous -illness of my mother, and I go to her by the -earliest train. I have merely to say that I -have sent your letters to Ben. -</p> - -<p> -I shall add, however, that the formidable -back of Polly Boles seems to absorb a good -deal of your attention. At least my -formidable back is a safe back. It is not an -uncontrollable back. It may be spoken of, -but at least it is never publicly talked about. -It does not lead me into temptation; it is not -a scandal. On the whole, I console myself -with the knowledge that very few women -have gotten into trouble on account of their -<i>backs</i>. If history speaks truly, quite a few -notorious ones have come to grief—but <i>you</i> -will understand. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 2, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I find bad news does not come single. I -have a telegram from Louisville with the -news of my mother's illness and start by the -first train. Just after receiving it I had a -letter from Tilly, which I enclose. -</p> - -<p> -I, too, have noticed for some time that -Beverley has been troubled. Have you seen -him of late? Have you noticed anything -wrong? What do you think of Tilly's letter? -Write me at once. I should go to see him -myself but for the news from Louisville. I -have always thought Beverley health itself. -Would it be possible for him to have a -breakdown? I shall be wretched about him until -I hear from you. What do you make out of -the questions Dr. Mullen asked Tilly and -her replies? -</p> - -<p> -Are you going to write to me every day -while I am gone? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - POLLY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO PHILLIPS & FAULDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 4, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIRS: -</p> - -<p> -I desire to recall myself to you as a former -Louisville patron of your flourishing business -and also as more recently the New York -lawyer who brought unsuccessful suit against -you on behalf of one of his clients. -</p> - -<p> -You will find enclosed my cheque, and you -are requested to send the value of it in -long-stemmed red roses to Miss Boles—the same -address as in former years. -</p> - -<p> -If the stems of your roses do not happen to -be long, make them long. (You know the -wires.) -</p> - -<p> -Very truly yours, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 4, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -You will have had my telegram of sympathy -with you in your mother's illness, and of my -unspeakable surprise that you could go away -without letting me see you. -</p> - -<p> -Have I seen Beverley of late? I have seen -him early and late. And I have read Tilly's -much mystified and much-mistaken letters. -If Beverley is crazy, a Kentucky cornfield is -crazy, all roast beef is a lunatic, every Irish -potato has a screw loose and the Atlantic -Ocean is badly balanced. -</p> - -<p> -I happen to hold the key to Beverley's -comic behaviour in Tilly's parlour. -</p> - -<p> -As to the questions put to Tilly by that -dilution of all fools, Claude Mullen—your -favourite nerve specialist and former suitor—I -have just this to say: -</p> - -<p> -All these mutterings of Beverley—during -one of the gambols in Tilly's parlours, which -he naturally reserves for me—all these -fragmentary expressions relate to real people and -to actual things that you and Tilly have never -known anything about. -</p> - -<p> -Men must not bother their women by telling -them everything. That, by the way, has -been an old bone of contention between you -and me, Polly, my chosen rib—a silent bone, -but still sometimes, I fear, a slightly rheumatic -bone. But when will a woman learn that her -heavenly charm to a man lies in the thought -that he can place her and keep her in a world, -into which his troubles cannot come. Thus -he escapes from them himself. Let him once tell -his troubles to her and she becomes the mirror -of them—and possibly the worst kind of -mirror. -</p> - -<p> -Beverley has told Tilly nothing of all this -entanglement with ferns, I have not told you. -All four of us have thereby been the happier. -</p> - -<p> -But through Tilly's misunderstanding those -two mischief-making charlatans, Marigold and -Mullen, have now come into the case; and it -is of the utmost importance that I deal with -these two gentlemen at once; to that end I -cut this letter short and start after them. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, but why did you go away without -good-bye? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEN DOOLITTLE TO POLLY BOLES -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 5, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR POLLY: -</p> - -<p> -I go on where I left off yesterday. -</p> - -<p> -I did what I thought I should never do -during my long and memorable life: I called on -your esteemed ex-acquaintance, Dr. Claude -Mullen. I explained how I came to do so, -and I desired of him an opinion as to Beverley. -He suggested that more evidence would be -required before an opinion could be given. -What evidence, I suggested, and how to be -gotten? He thought the case was one that -could best be further studied if the person -were put under secret observation—since he -revealed himself apparently only when alone. -I urged him to take control of the matter, -took upon myself, as Beverley's friend, -authority to empower him to go on. He -advised that a dictograph be installed in -Beverley's room. It would be a good idea to send -him a good big bunch of ferns also: the ferns, -the dictograph, Beverley alone with them—a -clear field. -</p> - -<p> -I explained to Beverley, and we went out -and bought a dictograph, and he concealed -it where, of course, he could not find it! -</p> - -<p> -In the evening we had a glorious dinner, -returned to his rooms, and while I smoked in -silence, he, in great peace of mind and -profound satisfaction with the world in general, -poured into the dictograph his long pent-up -opinion of our two dear old friends, Marigold -and Mullen. He roared it into the machine, -shouted it, raved it, soliloquised it. I had -in advance requested him to add my opinion -of your former suitor. Each of us had long -been waiting for so good a chance and he took -full advantage of the opportunity. The next -morning I notified Dr. Mullen that Beverley -had raved during the night, and that the -machine was full of his queer things. -</p> - -<p> -At the appointed hour this morning we -assembled in Beverley's rooms. I had cleared -away his big centre table, all the rubbish of -papers amid which he lives, including some -invaluable manuscripts of his worthless novels. -I had taken the cylinders out of the dictograph -and had put them in a dictophone, and there -on the table lay that Pandora's box of -information with a horn attached to it. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Mullen arrived, bringing with him the -truly great New York nerve specialist and -scientist whom he relies upon to pilot him in -difficult cases. Dr. Marigold had brought the -truly great physician and scientist who pilots -him. At Beverley's request, I had invited the -president of his Club, and he had brought -along two Club affinities; three gossips. -</p> - -<p> -I sent Beverley to Brooklyn for the day. -</p> - -<p> -We seated ourselves, and on the still air -of the room that unearthly asthmatic horn -began to deliver Beverley's opinion. Instantly -there was an uproar. There was a scuffle. -It was almost a general fight. Drs. Marigold -and Mullen had jumped to their feet and -shouted their furious protests. One of them -started to leave the room. He couldn't, I had -locked the door. One slammed at the -machine—he was restrained—everybody else -wanted to hear Beverley out. And amid the -riot Beverley kept on his peaceful way, -grinding out his healthy vituperation. -</p> - -<p> -That will do, Polly, my dear. You will -never hear anything more of Beverley's being -in bad health—not from those two -rear-admirals of diagnosis—away in the rear. -Another happy result; it saves him at last -from Tilly. Her act was one that he will -never forgive. His act she will never forgive. -The last tie between them is severed now. -</p> - -<p> -But all this is nothing, nothing, nothing! -I am lost without you. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p> -P.S. Now that I have disposed of two of -Beverley's detractors, in a day or two I am -going to demolish the third one—an Englishman -over on the other side of the Atlantic -Ocean. I have long waited for the chance to -write him just one letter: he's the chief -calumniator. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -POLLY BOLES TO BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Louisville, Kentucky,<br /> - June 9, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I cannot tell you what a relief it brought -me to hear that Beverley is well. Of course -it was all bound to be a mistake. -</p> - -<p> -At the same time your letters have made -me very unhappy. Was it quite fair? Was -it open? Was it quite what anyone would -have expected of Beverley and you? -</p> - -<p> -Nothing leaves me so undone as what I -am not used to in people. I do not like -surprises and I do not like changes. I feel -helpless unless I can foresee what my friends will -do and can know what to expect of them. -Frankly, your letters have been a painful -shock to me. -</p> - -<p> -I foresee one thing: this will bring Tilly -and Dr. Marigold more closely together. -She will feel sorry for him, and a woman's -sense of fair play will carry her over to his -side. You men do not know what fair play -is or, if you do, you don't care. Only a -woman knows and cares. Please don't keep -after Dr. Mullen on my account. Why -should you persecute him because he loved me? -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Marigold will want revenge on Beverley, -and he will have his revenge—in some -way. -</p> - -<p> -Your letters have left me wretched. If -you surprise me in this way, how might you -not surprise me still further? Oh, if we -could only understand everybody perfectly, -and if everything would only settle and stay -settled! -</p> - -<p> -My mother is much improved and she has -urged me—the doctor says her recovery, -though sure, will be gradual—to spend at -least a month with her. To-day I have -decided to do so. It will be of so much interest -to her if I have my wedding clothes made -here. You know how few they will be. My -dresses last so long, and I dislike changes. -I have found my same dear old mantua-maker -and she is delighted and proud. But she -insists that since I went to New York I have -dropped behind and that I will not do even -for Louisville. -</p> - -<p> -On my way to her I so enjoy looking at old -Louisville houses, left among the new ones. -They seem so faithful! My dear old mantua-maker -and the dear old houses—they are the -real Louisville. -</p> - -<p> -My mother joins me in love to you. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Sincerely yours,<br /> - POLLY BOLES.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO EDWARD BLACKTHORNE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>150 Wall Street, New York,<br /> - June 10, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - Edward Blackthorne, Esq.,<br /> - King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I am a stranger to you. I should have been -content to remain a stranger. A grave matter -which I have had no hand in shaping causes -me to write you this one letter—there being -no discoverable likelihood that I shall ever -feel painfully obliged to write you a second. -</p> - -<p> -You are a stranger to me. But you are, I -have heard, a great man. That, of course, -means that you are a famous man, otherwise -I should never have heard that you are a -great one. You hold a very distinguished -place in your country, in the world; people -go on pilgrimages to you. The thing that has -made you famous and that attracts pilgrims -are your novels. -</p> - -<p> -I do not read novels. They contain, I -understand, the lives of imaginary people. -I am satisfied to read the lives of actual -people and I do read much biography. One -of the Lives I like to study is that of Samuel -Johnson, and I recall just here some words -of his to the effect that he did not feel bound -to honour a man who clapped a hump on his -shoulder and another hump on his leg and -shouted he was Richard the Third. I take -the liberty of saying that I share Dr. Johnson's -opinion as to puppets, either on the -stage or in fiction. The life of the actual -Richard interests me, but the life of Shakespeare's -Richard doesn't. I should have liked -to read the actual life of Hamlet, Prince of -Denmark. -</p> - -<p> -I have never been able to get a clear idea -what a novelist is. The novelists that I -superficially encounter seem to have no clear -idea what they are themselves. No two of -them agree. But each of them agrees that -<i>his</i> duty and business in life is to imagine -things and then notify people that those -things are true and that they—people—should -buy those things and be grateful for -them and look up to the superior person who -concocted them and wrote them down. -</p> - -<p> -I have observed that there is danger in -many people causing any one person to think -himself a superior person unless he <i>is</i> a -superior person. If he really is what is -thought of him, no harm is done him. But -if he is widely regarded a superior person -and is not a superior person, harm may -result to him. For whenever any person is -praised beyond his deserts, he is not lifted -up by such praise any more than the stature -of a man is increased by thickening the heels -of his shoes. On the contrary, he is apt to -be lowered by over-praise. For, prodded by -adulation, he may lay aside his ordinary -image and assume, as far as he can, the guise -of some inferior creature which more -glaringly expresses what he is—as the peacock, -the owl, the porcupine, the lamb, the bulldog, -the ass. I have seen all these. I have -seen the strutting peacock novelist, the solemn, -speechless owl novelist, the fretful porcupine -novelist, the spring-lamb novelist, the -ferocious, jealous bulldog novelist, and the sacred -ass novelist. And many others. -</p> - -<p> -You may begin to wonder why I am led -into these reflections in this letter. The -reason is, I have been wondering into what -kind of inferior creature your fame—your -over-praise—has lowered <i>you</i>. Frankly, I -perfectly know; I will not name the animal. -But I feel sure that he is a highly offensive -small beast. -</p> - -<p> -If you feel disposed to read further, I shall -explain. -</p> - -<p> -I have in my legal possession three letters -of yours. They were written to a young -gentleman whom I have known now for a good many -years, whose character I know about as well -as any one man can know another's, and for -whom increasing knowledge has always led -me to feel increasing respect. The young -man is Mr. Beverley Sands. You may now -realise what I am coming to. -</p> - -<p> -The first of these letters of yours reveals -you as a stranger seeking the acquaintance -of Mr. Sands—to a certain limit: you asked -of him a courtesy and you offered courtesies -in exchange. That is common enough and -natural, and fair, and human. But what I -have noticed is your doing this with the air -of the superior person. Mr. Sands, being a -novelist, is of course a superior person. -Therefore, you felt called upon to introduce -yourself to him as a <i>more</i> superior person. -That is, you condescended to be gracious. -You made it a virtue in you to ask a favour -of him. You expected him to be delighted -that you allowed him to serve you. -</p> - -<p> -In the second letter you go further. He -wafted some incense toward you and you -got on your knees to this incense. You get -up and offer him more courtesies—all -courtesies. Because he praised you, you even -wish him to visit you. -</p> - -<p> -Now the third letter. The favour you -asked of Mr. Sands was that he send you -some ferns. By no fault of his except too -much confidence in the agents he employed -(he over-trusts everyone and over-trusted -you), by no other fault of his the ferns were -not sent. You waited, time passed, you -grew impatient, you grew suspicious of -Mr. Sands, you felt slighted, you became piqued -in your vanity, wounded in your self-love, -you became resentful, you became furious, -you became revengeful, you became abusive. -You told him that he had never meant to -keep his word, that you had kicked his books -out of your library, that he might profitably -study the moral sensitiveness of a head of -cabbage. -</p> - -<p> -During the summer American tourists -visited you—pilgrims of your fame. You took -advantage of their visit to promulgate -mysteriously your hostility to Mr. Sands. Not by -one explicit word, you understand. Your -exalted imagination merely lied on him, and -you entrusted to other imaginations the duty -of scattering broadcast your noble lie. They -did this—some of them happening not to be -friends of Mr. Sands—and as a result of the -false light you threw upon his character, he -now in the minds of many persons rests under -a cloud. And that cloud is never going to be -dispelled. -</p> - -<p> -Enclosed you will please find copies of these -three letters of yours; would you mind reading -them over? And you will find also a -packet of letters which will enable you to -understand why the ferns never reached you -and the whole entanglement of the case. -And finally, you will find enclosed a brief with -which, were I to appear in Court against you, -as Mr. Sands's lawyer, I should hold you up -to public view as what you are. -</p> - -<p> -I shall merely add that I have often met -you in the courtroom as the kind of criminal -who believes without evidence and who -distrusts without reason; who is, therefore, ready -to blast a character upon suspicion. If he -dislikes the person, in the absence of evidence -against him, he draws upon the dark traits -of his own nature to furnish the evidence. -</p> - -<p> -I have written because I am a friend of Mr. Sands. -</p> - -<p> -I am, as to you, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Merely,<br /> - BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -EDWARD BLACKTHORNE TO BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE -</p> -<p class="salutation"> - <i>King Alfred's Wood,<br /> - Warwickshire, England,<br /> - June 21, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Benjamin Doolittle,<br /> - 150 Wall Street,<br /> - New York City.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -You state in your letter, which I have just -laid down, that you are a stranger to me. -There is no conceivable reason why I should -wish to offer you the slightest rudeness—even -that of crossing your word—yet may I say, -that I know you perfectly? If you had -unfortunately read some of my very despicable novels, -you might have found, scattered here and -there, everything that you have said in your -letter, and almost in your very words. That -is, I have two or three times drawn your -portrait, or at least drawn at it; and thus while -you are indeed a stranger to me in name, I feel -bound to say that you are an old acquaintance -in nature. -</p> - -<p> -You cannot for a moment imagine—however, -you despise imagination and I withdraw -the offensive word—you cannot for a moment -suppose that I can have any motive in being -discourteous, and I shall, therefore, go on to -say, but only with your permission, that the -first time I attempted to sketch you, was in a -very early piece of work; I was a youthful -novelist, at the outset of my career. I -projected a story entitled: "<i>The Married -Cross-Purposes of Ned and Sal Blivvens.</i>" I feel -bound to say that you in your letter pleasantly -remind me of the <i>Sal Blivvens</i> of my story. -In Sal's eyes poor Ned's failing was this: as -twenty-one human shillings he never made an -exact human guinea—his shillings ran a few -pence over, or they fell a few pence short. -That is, Ned never did just enough of -anything, or said just enough, but either too much -or too little to suit <i>Sal</i>. He never had just one -idea about any one thing, but two or three -ideas; he never felt in just one way about any -one thing, but had mixed feelings, a variety -of feelings. He was not a yard measure or -a pint measure or a pound measure; he overflowed -or he didn't fill, and any one thing in -him always ran into other things in him. -</p> - -<p> -Being a young novelist I was not satisfied -to offer <i>Sal</i> to the world on her own account, -but I must try to make her more credible and -formidable by following her into the next -generation, and giving her a son who inherited -her traits. Thus I had <i>Tommy Blivvens</i>. -When Tommy was old enough to receive his -first allowance of Christmas pudding, he -proceeded to take the pudding to pieces. He -picked out all the raisins and made a little -pile of them. And made a little separate pile -of the currants, and another pile of the -almonds, and another of the citron, or of -whatever else there was to separate. Then in -profound satisfaction he ate them, pile by pile, -as a philosopher of the sure. -</p> - -<p> -Thus—and I insist I mean no disrespect—your -letter does revive for me a little innocent -laughter at my early literary vision of a -human baggage—friend of my youthful days -and artistic enthusiasm—<i>Sal Blivvens</i>. I -arranged that when <i>Ned</i> died, his neighbours all -felt sorry and wished him a green turf for his -grave. <i>Sal</i>, I felt sure, survived him as one -who all her life walks past every human heart -and enters none—being always dead-sure, -always dead-right; for the human heart -rejects perfection in any human being. -</p> - -<p> -I recognise you as belonging to the large -tough family of the human cocksures. <i>Sal -Blivvens</i> belonged to it—dead-sure, -dead-right, every time. We have many of the -cocksures in England, you must have many of -them in the United States. The cocksures are -people who have no dim borderland around -their minds, no twilight between day and -darkness. They see everything as they see a -highly coloured rug on a well-lighted floor. -There is either rug or no rug, either floor or no -floor. No part of the floor could possibly be -rug and no part of the rug could possibly be -floor. A cocksure, as a lawyer, is the natural -prosecuting attorney of human nature's -natural misgivings and wiser doubts and nobler -errors. How the American cocksures of their -day despised the man Washington, who often -prayed for guidance; with what contempt -they blasted the character of your Abraham -Lincoln, whose patient soul inhabited the -border of a divine disquietude and whose -public life was the patient study of hesitation. -</p> - -<p> -I have taken notice of the peculiarly -American character of your cocksureness: it -magnifies and qualifies a man to step by the mile, -to sit down by the acre, to utter things by the -ton. Do you happen to know Michael -Angelo's <i>Moses</i>? I always think of an American -cocksure as looking like Michael Angelo's -<i>Moses</i>—colossal law-giver, a hyper-stupendous -fellow. And I have often thought that a -regiment of American cocksures would be the -most terrific spectacle on a battlefield that the -rest of the human race could ever face. Just -now it has occurred to me that it was your -great Emerson who spoke best on the weakness -of the superlative—the cocksure is the -human superlative. -</p> - -<p> -As to your letter: You declare you know -nothing about novels, but your arraignment -of the novelist is exact. You are dead-sure -that you are perfectly right about me. Your -arraignment of me is exact. You are -conscious of no more moral perturbation as to -justice than exists in a monkey wrench. But -that is the nature of the cocksure—his -conclusions have to him the validity of a -hardware store. -</p> - -<p> -This, however, is nothing. I clear it away -in order to tell you that I am filled with -admiration of your loyalty to your friend, and -of the savage ferocity with which you attack -me as his enemy. That makes you a friend -worth having, and I wish you were to be -numbered among mine; there are none too many -such in this world. Next, I wish to assure -you that I have studied your brief against me -and confess that you have made out the case. -I fell into a grave mistake, I wronged your -friend deeply, I hope not irreparably, and it -was a poor, sorry, shabby business. I am -about to write to Mr. Sands. If he is what -you say he is, then in an instant he will forgive -me—though you never may. I shall ask him, -as I could not have asked him before, whether -he will not come to visit me. My house, my -hospitality, all that I have and all that I am, -shall be his. I shall take every step possible -to undo what I thoughtlessly, impulsively did. -I shall write to the President of his Club. -</p> - -<p> -One exception is filed to a specification in -your brief: no such things took place in my -garden upon the visit of the American -tourists, as you declare. I did not promulgate -any mysterious hostility to Mr. Sands. You -tell me that among those tourists were persons -hostile to Mr. Sands. It was these hostile -persons who misinterpreted and exaggerated -whatever took place. You knew these -persons to be enemies of Mr. Sands's and then -you accepted their testimony as true—being -a cocksure. -</p> - -<p> -A final word to you. Your whole character -and happiness rests upon the belief that -you see life clearly and judge rightly the -fellow-beings whom you know. Those <i>you</i> -doubt ought to be doubted and those <i>you</i> -trust ought to be trusted! Now I have -travelled far enough on life's road to have -passed its many human figures—perhaps all -the human types that straggle along it in -their many ways. No figures on that road -have been more noticeable to me than here -and there a man in whom I have discerned a -broken cocksure. -</p> - -<p> -You say you like biography: do you like -to read the Life of Robert Burns? And I -wonder whether these words of his have ever -guided you in your outlook upon life: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "<i>Then gently scan your brother man</i><br /> - * * * * *<br /> - <i>To step aside is human.</i>"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -I thank you again. I wish you well. And -I hope that no experience, striking at you -out of life's uncertainties, may ever leave -you one of those noticeable men—a broken -cocksure. -</p> - -<p> -Your deeply obliged and very grateful, -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - EDWARD BLACKTHORNE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>June 30, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -About a month ago I took it upon myself -to write the one letter that had long been -raging in my mind to Edward Blackthorne. -And I sent him all the fern letters. And then -I drew up the whole case and prosecuted him -as your lawyer. -</p> - -<p> -Of course I meant my letter to be an -infernal machine that would blow him to pieces. -He merely inspected it, removed the fuse and -inserted a crank, and turned it into a -music-box to grind out his praises. -</p> - -<p> -And then the kind of music he ground out -for me. -</p> - -<p> -All day I have been ashamed to stand up -and I've been ashamed to sit down. He told -me that my letter reminded him of a character -in his first novel—a woman called <i>Sal -Blivvens</i>. ME—<i>Sal Blivvens!</i> -</p> - -<p> -But of what use is it for us poor, -common-clay, rough, ordinary men who have no -imagination—of what use is it for us to -attack you superior fellows who have it, have -imagination? You are the Russians of the -human mind, and when attacked on your -frontiers, you merely retreat into a vast, -unknown, uninvadable country. The further -you retire toward the interior of your -mysterious kingdom, the nearer you seem to -approach the fortresses of your strength. -</p> - -<p> -I am wiser—if no better. If ever again I -feel like attacking any stranger with a letter, -I shall try to ascertain beforehand whether -he is an ordinary man like me or a genius. -If he is a genius, I am going to let him alone. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, damn me if I, too, wouldn't like to -see your man Blackthorne now. Ask him -some time whether a short visit from -Benjamin Doolittle could be arranged on any -terms of international agreement. -</p> - -<p> -Now for something on my level of ordinary -life! A day or two ago I was waiting in front -of the residence of one of my uptown clients, -a few doors from the residence of your friend -Dr. Marigold. While I waited, he came out -on the front steps with Dr. Mullen. As I -drove past, I leaned far out and made them -a magnificent sweeping bow: one can afford -to be forgiving and magnanimous after he -settled things to his satisfaction. They did -not return the bow but exchanged quiet -smiles. I confess the smiles have rankled. -They seemed like saying: he bows best who -bows last. -</p> - -<p> -You are the best thing in New York to me -since Polly went away. Without you both -it would come near to being one vast solitude. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEN (alias <i>Sal Blivvens</i>).<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 1, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I wrote you this morning upon receipt of -your letter telling me of your own terrific -letter to Mr. Blackthorne and of your merciless -arraignment of him. Let me say again -that I wish to pour out my gratitude to you -for your motives and also, well, also my regret -at your action. Somehow I have been -reminded of Voltaire's saying: he had a brother -who was such a fool that he started out to be -perfect; as a consequence the world knows -nothing of Voltaire's brother: it knows very -well Voltaire with his faults. -</p> - -<p> -The mail of yesterday which brought you -Mr. Blackthorne's reply to your arraignment -brought me also a letter: he must have written -to us both instantly. His letter is the only -one that I cannot send you; you would not -desire to read it. You are too big and -generous, too warmly human, too exuberantly -vital, to care to lend ear to a great man's -chagrin and regret for an impulsive mistake. -You are not Cassius to carp at Caesar. -</p> - -<p> -Now this afternoon a second letter comes -from Mr. Blackthorne and that I enclose: it -will do you good to read it—it is not a black -passing cloud, it is steady human sunlight. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03b"></a></p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Enclosed letter from Edward Blackthorne] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -MY DEAR MR. SANDS: -</p> - -<p> -I follow up my letter of yesterday with the -unexpected tidings of to-day. I am willing -to believe that these will interest you as -associated with your coming visit. -</p> - -<p> -Hodge is dead. His last birthday, his final -natal eclipse, has bowled him over and left -him darkened for good. He can trouble us -no more, but will now do his part as mould -for the rose of York and the rose of Lancaster. -He will help to make a mound for some other -Englishman's ferns. When you come—and -I know you will come—we shall drink a cup -of tea in the garden to his peaceful -memory—and to his troubled memory for Latin. -</p> - -<p> -I am now waiting for you. Come, out of -your younger world and with your youth to -an older world and to an older man. And let -each of us find in our meeting some presage -of an alliance which ought to grow always -closer in the literatures of the two nations. -Their literatures hold their ideals; and if their -ideals touch and mingle, then nothing practical -can long keep them far apart. If two oak -trees reach one another with their branches, -they must meet in their roots; for the branches -are aerial roots and the roots are underground -branches. -</p> - -<p> -Come. In the eagerness of my letter of -yesterday to put myself not in the right but -less, if possible, in the wrong, I forgot the -very matter with which the right and the -wrong originated. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Will you, after all, send the ferns?</i> -</p> - -<p> -The whole garden waits for them; a white -light falls on the vacant spot; a white light -falls on your books in my library; a white -light falls on you, -</p> - -<p> -I wait for you, both hands outstretched. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - EDWARD BLACKTHORNE.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -(Note penciled on the margin of the letter -by Beverley Sands to Ben Doolittle: "You -will see that I am back where the whole thing -started; I have to begin all over again with -the ferns. And now the florists will be after -me again. I feel this in the trembling marrow -of my bones, and my bones by this time are a -wireless station on this subject.") -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -JUDD & JUDD TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -We take pleasure in enclosing our new -catalogue for the coming autumn, and should -be pleased to receive any further commissions -for the European trade. -</p> - -<p> -We repeat that we have no connection -whatever with any house doing business in -the city under the name of Botany. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Respectfully yours,<br /> - JUDD & JUDD,<br /> - Per Q.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -PHILLIPS & FAULDS TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Louisville, Kentucky,<br /> - July 4th, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -Venturing to recall ourselves to your memory -for the approaching autumn season, in view of -having been honoured upon a previous -occasion with your flattering patronage, and -reasoning that our past transactions have -been mutually satisfactory, we avail ourselves -of this opportunity of reviving the -conjunction heretofore existing between us as most -gratifying and thank you sincerely for past -favours. We hope to continue our pleasant -relations and desire to say that if you should -contemplate arranging for the shipments of -plants of any description, we could afford you -surprised satisfaction. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Respectfully yours,<br /> - PHILLIPS & FAULDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BURNS & BRUCE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Dunkirk, Tennessee,<br /> - July 6, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -We are prepared to supply you with -anything you need. Could ship ferns to any -country in Europe, having done so for the -late Noah Chamberlin, the well-known florist -just across the State line, who was a customer -of ours. -</p> - -<p> -old debts of Phillips and Faulds not yet -paid, had to drop them entirely. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Very truly yours,<br /> - BURNS & BRUCE.<br /> -</p> - -<p> -If you need any forest trees, we could -supply you with all the forest trees you want, -plenty of oaks, etc. plenty of elms, plenty -of walnuts, etc. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -ANDY PETERS TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>Seminole, North Carolina,<br /> - July 7th, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR SIR: -</p> - -<p> -I have lately enlarged my business and will -be able to handle any orders you may give me. -The orders which Miss Clara Louise Chamberlain -said you were to send have not yet turned -up. I write to you, because I have heard -about you a great deal through Miss Clara -Louise, since her return from her visit to New -York. She succeeded in getting two or three -donations of books for our library, and they -have now given her a place there. I was -sorry to part with Miss Clara Louise, but I -had just married, and after the first few weeks -I expected my wife to become my assistant. -I am not saying anything against Miss Clara -Louise, but she was expensive on my sweet -violets, especially on a Sunday, having the -run of the flowers. She and Alice didn't get -along very well together, and I did have a -bad set-back with my violets while she was -here. -</p> - -<p> -Seedlins is one of my specialities. I make -a speciality of seedlins. If you want any -seedlins, will you call on me? I am young -and just married and anxious to please, and -I wish you would call on me when you want -anything green. Nothing dried. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - Yours respectfully,<br /> - ANDY PETERS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 7th, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEVERLEY: -</p> - -<p> -It makes me a little sad to write. I -suppose you saw in this morning's paper the -announcement of Tilly's marriage next week -to Dr. Marigold. Nevertheless—congratulations! -You have lost years of youth and -happiness with some lovely woman on account -of your dalliance with her. -</p> - -<p> -Now at last, you will let her alone, and -you will soon find—Nature will quickly -drive you to find—the one you deserve to -marry. -</p> - -<p> -It looks selfish at such a moment to set my -happiness over against your unhappiness, -but I've just had news, that at last, after -lingering so long and a little mysteriously in -Louisville, Polly is coming. Polly is coming -with her wedding clothes. We long ago -decided to have no wedding. All that we have -long wished is to marry one another. -Mr. Blackthorne called me a cocksure. Well, -Polly is another cocksure. We shall jog along -as a perfectly satisfied couple of cocksures on -the cocksure road. (I hope to God Polly -will never find out that she married <i>Sal -Blivvens</i>.) -</p> - -<p> -Dear fellow, truest of comrades among -men, it is inevitable that I reluctantly leave -you somewhat behind, desert you a little, as -the friend who marries. -</p> - -<p> -One awful thought freezes me to my chair -this hot July day. You have never said a -word about Miss Clara Louise Chamberlain, -since the day of my hypothetical charge to the -jury. Can it be possible that you followed -her up? Did you feed her any more cheques? -I have often warned you against Tilly, as -inconstant. But, my dear fellow, remember -there is a worse extreme than in -inconstancy—Clara Louise would be sealing wax. -You would merely be marrying 115 pounds of -sealing wax. Every time she sputtered in -conversation, she'd seal you the tighter. -</p> - -<p> -Polly is coming with her wedding clothes. -</p> - -<p> - BEN.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 8.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -I saw the announcement in the morning -paper about Tilly. -</p> - -<p> -It wouldn't be worth while to write how I -feel. -</p> - -<p> -It is true that I traced Miss Chamberlain, -homeless in New York. And I saw her. As -to whether I have been feeding cheques to her, -that is solely a question of my royalties. -Royalties are human gratitude; why should -not the dews of gratitude fall on one so -parched? Besides, I don't owe you anything, -gentleman. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, I feel you're going—you're passing on -to Polly. I append a trifle which explains -itself, and am, making the best of everything, -the same -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY SANDS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>A Meditation in Verse</i><br /> - (<i>Dedicated to Benjamin Doolittle as showing his<br /> - favourite weakness</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>How can I mind the law's delay,<br /> - Or what a jury thinks it knows,<br /> - Or what some fool of a judge may say?<br /> - Polly comes with the wedding clothes.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Time, who cheated me so long,<br /> - Kept me waiting mid life's snows,<br /> - I forgive and forget your wrong:<br /> - Polly comes with the wedding clothes.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Winter's lonely sky is gone,<br /> - July blazes with the rose,<br /> - All the world looks smiling on<br /> - At Polly in her wedding clothes.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[A hurried letter by messenger] -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 10, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Polly reached New York two days ago. I -went up that night. She had gone out—alone. -She did not return that night. I -found this out when I went up yesterday -morning and asked for her. She has not -been there since she left. They know nothing -about her. I have telegraphed Louisville. -They have sent me no word. Come down -at once. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> -BEN. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -[Hurried letter by messenger] -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 10, 1912.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -DEAR BEN: -</p> - -<p> -Is anything wrong about Polly? -</p> - -<p> -I met her on the street yesterday. She -tried to pass without speaking. I called to -her but she walked on. I called again and -she turned, hesitatingly, then came back very -slowly to meet me half-way. You know how -composed her manner always is. But she -could not control her emotion: she was deeply, -visibly troubled. Strange as it may seem, -while I thought of the mystery of her trouble, -I could but notice a trifle, as at such moments -one often does: she was beautifully dressed: a -new charm, a youthful freshness, was all over -her as for some impending ceremony. We -have always thought of Polly as one of the -women who are above dress. Such disregard -was in a way a verification of her character, -the adornment of her sincerity. Now she was -beautifully dressed. -</p> - -<p> -"But what is the meaning of all this?" I -asked, frankly mystified. -</p> - -<p> -Something in her manner checked the -question, forced back my words. -</p> - -<p> -"You will hear," she said, with quivering -lips. She looked me searchingly all over -the face as for the sake of dear old times -now ended. Then she turned off abruptly. -I watched her in sheer amazement till she -disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -I have been waiting to hear from you, but -cannot wait any longer. What does it mean? -Why don't you tell me? -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BEVERLEY SANDS TO BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 11.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -I have with incredible eyes this instant read -this cutting from the morning paper: -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Miss Polly Boles married yesterday at the -City Hall in Jersey City to Dr. Claude Mullen. -</p> - -<p> -She must have been on her way when I saw -her. -</p> - -<p> -I have read the announcement without being -able to believe it—with some kind of death -in life at my heart. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, Ben, Ben, Ben! So betrayed! I am -coming at once. -</p> - -<p class="closing"> - BEVERLEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -DIARY OF BEVERLEY SANDS -</p> - -<p class="salutation"> - <i>July 18.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -The ferns have had their ironic way with -us and have wrought out their bitter comedy -to its end. The little group of us who were -the unsuspecting players are henceforth -scattered, to come together in the human -playhouse not again. The stage is empty, the -curtain waits to descend, and I, who -innocently brought the drama on, am left the -solitary figure to speak the epilogue ere I, too, -depart to go my separate road. -</p> - -<p> -This is Tilly's wedding day. How beautiful -the morning is for her! The whole sky is one -exquisite blue—no sign of any storm-plan far -or near. The July air blows as cool as early -May. I sit at my window writing and it -flows over me in soft waves, the fragrances -of the green park below my window enter -my room and encircle me like living human -tendernesses. At this moment, I suppose, -Tilly is dressing for her wedding, and -I—God knows why—am thinking of old-time -Kentucky gardens in one of which she played -as a child. Tilly, a little girl romping in her -mother's garden—Tilly before she was old -enough to know anything of the world—anything -of love—now, as she dresses for her -wedding—I cannot shut out that vision of -early purity. -</p> - -<p> -Yesterday a note came from her. I had -had no word since the day I openly ridiculed -the man she is to marry. But yesterday she -sent me this message: -</p> - -<p> -"Come to-night and say good-bye." -</p> - -<p> -She was not in her rooms to greet me. I -waited. Moments passed, long moments of -intense expectancy. She did not enter. I -fixed my eyes on her door. Once I saw it -pushed open a little way, then closed. Again -it was opened and again it was held as though -for lack of will or through quickly changing -impulses. Then it was opened and she -entered and came toward me, not looking at -me, but with her face turned aside. She -advanced a few paces and with some -swift, imperious rebellion, she turned and -passed out of the room and then came quickly -back. She had caught up her bridal veil. -She held the wreath in her hand and as she -approached me, I know not with what sudden -emotion she threw a corner of the veil over -her head and face and shoulders. And she -stood before me with I know not what struggle -tearing her heart. Almost in a whisper -she said: -</p> - -<p> -"Lift my veil." -</p> - -<p> -I lifted her veil and laid it back over her -forehead. She closed her eyes as tears welled -out of them. -</p> - -<p> -"Kiss me," she said. -</p> - -<p> -I would have taken her in my arms as mine -at that moment for all time, but she stepped -back and turned away, fading from me -rather than walking, with her veil pressed -like a handkerchief to her eyes. The door -closed on her. -</p> - -<p> -I waited. She did not come again. -</p> - -<p> -Now she is dressing for the marriage -ceremony. A friend gives her a house wedding. -The company of guests will be restricted, -everything will be exquisite, there will be -youth and beauty and distinction. There -will be no love. She marries as one who steps -through a beautiful arch further along one's -path. -</p> - -<p> -Whither that path leads, I do not know; -from what may lie at the end of it I turn away -and shudder. -</p> - -<p> -My thought of Tilly on her wedding morning -is of one exiled from happiness because -nature withheld from her the one thing needed -to make her all but perfect: that needful thing -was just a little more constancy. It is her -doom, forever to stretch out her hand toward a -brimming goblet, but ere she can bring it to -her lips it drops from her hand. Forever her -hand stretched out toward joy and forever -joy shattered at her feet. -</p> - -<p> -American scientists have lately discovered -or seem about to discover, some new fact in -Nature—the butterfly migrates. What we -have thought to be the bright-winged inhabitant -of a single summer in a single zone -follows summer's retreating wave and so dwells -in a summer that is perpetual. If Tilly is the -psyche of life's fields, then she seeks perpetual -summer as the law of her own being. All our -lives move along old, old paths. There is no -new path for any of us. If Tilly's fate is the -butterfly path, who can judge her harshly? -Not I. -</p> - -<p> -They sail away at once on their wedding -journey. He has wealth and social influence -of the fashionable sort which overflows into -the social mirrors of metropolitan journalism: -the papers found space for their plans of -travel: England and Scotland, France and -Switzerland, Austria and Germany, Bohemia -and Poland, Russia, Italy and Sicily—home. -The great world-path of the human butterfly, -seeking summer with insatiate quest. -</p> - -<p> -Home to his practice with that still fluttering -psyche! And then the path—the domestic -path—stretching straight onward across the -fields of life—what of his psyche then? Will she -fold her wings on a bed-post—year after year -slowly opening and unfolding those brilliant -wings amid the cob-webs of the same bed-post?... -</p> - -<p> -I cannot write of human life unless I can -forgive life. How forgive unless I can understand? -I have wrought with all that is within -me to understand Polly—her treachery up to -the last moment, her betrayal of Ben's -devotion. What I have made out dimly, darkly, -doubtfully, is this: Her whole character seems -built upon one trait, one virtue—loyalty. -She was disloyal to Ben because she had come -to believe that he was disloyal to her sovereign -excellence. There were things in his life -which he persistently refused to tell; perhaps -every day there were mere trifles which he did -not share with her—why should he? On a -certain memorable morning she discovered -that for years he had been keeping from her -some affairs of mine: that was his loyalty to -me; she thought it was his disloyalty to her. -</p> - -<p> -I cannot well picture Polly as a lute, but I -think that was the rift in the lute. Still a -man must not surrender himself wholly into -the keeping of the woman he loves; let him, -and he becomes anything in her life but a -man. -</p> - -<p> -Meantime Polly found near by another -suitor who offered her all he was—what -little there was of him—one of those -man-climbers who must run over the sheltering -wall of some woman. Thus there was gratified -in Polly her one passion for marrying—that -she should possess a pet. Now she possesses -one, owns him, can turn him round and -round, can turn him inside out, can see all -there is of him as she sees her pocket-handkerchief, -her breast-pin, her coffee cup, or any -little familiar piece of property which she can -become more and more attached to as the -years go by for the reason that it will never -surprise her, never puzzle her, never change -except by wearing out. -</p> - -<p> -This will be the end of the friendship -between Drs. Marigold and Mullen: their wives -will see to that. So much the better: scattered -impostors do least harm. -</p> - -<p> -I have struggled to understand the mystery -of her choice as to how she should be married. -Surely marriage, in the existence of any one, -is the hour when romance buds on the most -prosaic stalk. It budded for Polly and she -eloped! It was a short troubled flight of her -heavy mind without the wings of imagination. -She got as far as the nearest City Hall. -Instead of a minister she chose to be married -by a Justice of the Peace: Ben had been -unjust, she would be married by the figure of -Justice as a penal ceremony executed over -Ben: she mailed him a paper and left him to -understand that she had fled from him to -Justice and Peace! Polly's poetry! -</p> - -<p> -A line in an evening paper lets me know -that she and the Doctor have gone for their -honeymoon to Ocean Grove. When Polly -first came North to live and the first summer -came round she decided to spend it at Ocean -Grove, with the idea, I think, that she would -get a grove and an ocean with one railway -ticket, without having to change; she could -settle in a grove with an ocean and in an -ocean with a grove. What her disappointment -was I do not know, but every summer she has -gone back to Ocean Grove—the Franklin -Flats by the sea.... -</p> - -<p> -Yesterday I said good-bye to Ben. I had -spent part of every evening with him since -Polly's marriage—silent, empty evenings—a -quiet, stunned man. Confidence in himself -blasted out of him, confidence in human -nature, in the world. With no imagination -in him to deal with the reasons of Polly's -desertion—just a passive acceptance of it as a -wall accepts a hole in it made by a cannon ball. -</p> - -<p> -Her name was never called. A stunned, silent -man. Clear, joyous steady light in his eyes -gone—an uncertain look in them. Strangest -of all, a reserve in his voice, hesitation. And -courtesy for bluff warm confidence—courtesy -as of one who stumblingly reflects that he -must begin to be careful with everybody. -</p> - -<p> -His active nature meantime kept on. Life -swept him forward—nature did—whether he -would or not. I went down late one -evening. Evidently he had been working in his -room all day; the things Polly must have -sent him during all those years were gone. -He had on new slippers, a fresh robe, taking -the place of the slippers and the robe she -had made for him. Often I have seen him -tuck the robe in about his neck as a man -might reach for the arms of a woman to -draw them about his throat as she leans over -him from behind. -</p> - -<p> -During our talk that evening he began -strangely to speak of things that had taken -place years before in Kentucky, in his youth, -on the farm; did I remember this in -Kentucky, could I recall that? His mind had -gone back to old certainties. It was like his -walking away from present ruins toward -things still unharmed—never to be harmed. -</p> - -<p> -Early next morning he surprised me by -coming up, dressed for travel, holding a grip. -</p> - -<p> -"I am going to Kentucky," he said. -</p> - -<p> -I went to the train with him. His reserve -deepened on the way; if he had plans, he did -not share them with me. -</p> - -<p> -What I make out of it is that he will come -back married. No engagement this time, no -waiting. Swift marriage for what marriage -will sadly bring him. I think she will be -young—this time. But she will be, as nearly as -possible, like Polly. Any other kind of woman -now would leave him a desolate, empty-hearted -man for life. He thinks he will be getting -some one to take Polly's place. In reality it -will be his second attempt to marry Polly. -</p> - -<p> -I am bidding farewell the little group of us. -Some one else will have to write of me. How -can I write of myself? This I will say: that -I think that I am a sheep whose fate it is to -leave a little of his wool on every bramble. -</p> - -<p> -I sail next week for England to make my -visit to Mr. Blackthorne—at last. Another -letter has come from him. He has thrown -himself into the generous work of seeing that -my visit to him shall make me known. He -tells me there will be a house party, a -week-end; some of the great critics will be there, -some writers. "You must be found out in -England widely and at once," he writes. -</p> - -<p> -My heart swells as one who feels himself -climbing toward a height. There is kindled -in me that strangest of all the flames that burn -in the human heart, the shining thought that -my life is destined to be more than mine, that -my work will make its way into other minds -and mingle with the better, happier impulses -of other lives. -</p> - -<p> -The ironic ferns have had their way with -us. But after all has it not been for the best? -Have they not even in their irony been the -emblems of fidelity? -</p> - -<p> -They have found us out, they have played -upon our weaknesses, they have exaggerated -our virtues until these became vices, they have -separated us and set us going our diverging -ways. -</p> - -<p> -But while we human beings are moving -in every direction over the earth, the earth -without our being conscious of it is carrying -us in one same direction. So as we follow the -different pathways of our lives which appear -to lead toward unfaithfulness to one another, -may it not be true that to the Power which -sets us all in motion and drives us whither it -will all our lives are the Emblems of Fidelity? -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> - THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS<br /> - GARDEN CITY, N. Y.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Emblems of Fidelity, by James Lane Allen - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMBLEMS OF FIDELITY *** - -***** This file should be named 60435-h.htm or 60435-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/3/60435/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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