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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2cb166 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69038 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69038) diff --git a/old/69038-0.txt b/old/69038-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b91d66b..0000000 --- a/old/69038-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8835 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lot & company, by Will Levington -Comfort - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lot & company - -Author: Will Levington Comfort - -Release Date: September 24, 2022 [eBook #69038] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by University of California - libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOT & COMPANY *** - - - - - -LOT & COMPANY - - - - -BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT - - - LOT & COMPANY - RED FLEECE - MIDSTREAM - DOWN AMONG MEN - FATHERLAND - - - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - NEW YORK - - - - - _Lot & Company_ - - BY - WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT - - AUTHOR OF “RED FLEECE,” “MIDSTREAM,” “DOWN AMONG - MEN,” “ROUTLEDGE RIDES ALONE,” - ETC., ETC. - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - Copyright, 1915, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - - TO - JANE - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PART ONE - - PAGE - THE JADE: I 11 - - - PART TWO - LOT & COMPANY: I 21 - - - PART THREE - THE JADE: II 67 - - - PART FOUR - THE OPEN BOAT 107 - - - PART FIVE - THE STONE HOUSE: I 197 - - - PART SIX - LOT & COMPANY: II 241 - - - PART SEVEN - THE STONE HOUSE: II 321 - - - - -PART ONE - -THE JADE: I - - - 1 - -ALL would have happened differently for Bellair had he been drowsy -as usual on this particular Sunday afternoon. The boarding-house -was preparing for its nap; indeed already half enveloped, but there -came to Bellair’s nostrils a smell of carpets that brought back his -first passage up stairs five years before. The halls were filled with -greys--dull tones that drove him forth at last. It was November, and -the day didn’t know what to do next. Gusts of seasonable wind, wisps -of sunshine, threats of rain, and everywhere Bellair’s old enemy--the -terrifying Sabbath calm, without which the naked granite soul of New -York would remain decently hid. Sundays had tortured him from the -beginning. It was not so bad when the garment was on--the weave of -millions. - -He walked east with an umbrella, thinking more than observing, crossed -to Brooklyn and followed the water-front as closely as the complication -of ferries, pier-systems and general shipping would permit. Finally he -came to a wooden arch, marked Hatmos & Company, the gate of which was -open. Entering, he heard the water slapping the piles beneath, his eyes -held in fascination to an activity ahead. In the wonder of a dream, -he realised that this was a sailing-ship putting forth. On her black -stern, he read - - _Jade of Adelaide_ - -printed in blue of worn pigment. - -A barkentine, her clipper-built hull of steel, her lines satisfying -like the return of a friend after years. Along the water-line shone -the bright edge of her copper sheathing; then a soft black line smooth -as modelled clay where she muscled out for sea-worth, and covered her -displacement in the daring beauty of contour. Still above was the -shining brass of her row of ports on a ground of weathered grey, and -the dull red of her rail. Over all, and that which quickened the ardour -of Bellair’s soul, was the mystery of her wire rigging and folded -cloths against the smoky horizon, exquisite as the frame of a butterfly -to his fancy. - -His emotion is not to be explained; nor another high moment of his life -which had to do with a flashing merchantman seen from the water-front -at San Francisco--square-rigged throughout, a cloud of sail-cloth, -her royals yet to be lifted, as she got underweigh. He knew that -considerable canvas was still spread between California, Australia and -the Islands, but what a well-kept if ancient maiden of the _Jade’s_ -species was doing here in New York harbour, A. D. Nineteen hundred and -odd, was not disclosed to Bellair until afterward, and not clearly then. - -He knew her for a barkentine, and in the intensely personal appeal -of the moment he was a bit sorry for the blend. To his eyes the -schooner-rig of mizzen and main masts was not to be compared for -beauty to the trisected fore. Still he reflected that square-rigged -throughout, she would be crowded with crew to care for her, and that -her concession to trade was at least not outright. Schooner, bark and -brig--he seemed to know them first hand, not only from pictures and -pages of print, though there had been many long evenings of half-dream -with books before him--books that always pushed back impatiently -through the years of upstart Steam into Nature’s own navigation, -where Romance has put on her brave true form in the long perspective. -Ships that really _sailed_ were one of Bellair’s passions, like -orchards and vined stone-work--all far from him apparently and out -of the question--loved the more because of it.... He watched with -rapt eyes now, estimated the _Jade’s_ length at one-seventy-five -and was debating her tonnage when a huge ox of a man appeared from -the cabin (while the _Jade_ slid farther out), waddled aft as if -bare-footed, spoke to an officer there, and then held up two brown -hairy, thick-fingered hands, palms extended to the pier--as if to push -Brooklyn from him forever.... The officer’s voice just reached shore, -but not his words. A Japanese woman appeared on the receding deck. - -“_Jade of Adelaide_,” muttered Bellair, moments afterward. - -A tug was towing her straight toward Staten. He thought of her -lying off the glistening white beach of a coral island two months -hence, surrounded by native craft, all hands helping the big man get -ashore.... At this moment a young man emerged from the harbour-front -door of the Hatmos office, locking it after him. Bellair came up from -his dream. Such realities of the city man are mainly secret. It was the -worn surface that Bellair presented to the stranger, a sophisticated -and imperturbable surface, and one employed so often that its novelty -was gone. - -“Where’s she going?” he asked. - -“Who?” - -Bellair smiled at the facetiousness. - -“The _Jade_,” he said gently. - -“Just as far from here as she can get.” - -“Round the world?” - -“I doubt if she’ll come back.” - -“You don’t see many of them any more----” - -“No,” replied the other agreeably enough, “this old dame and two or -three sisters are about all that call here. Hatmos & Co. get ’em all.” - -“Will you have a little drink?” Bellair inquired. “That is, if you know -a place around here. I’m from across.” - -The other was not unwilling. They walked up the pier together. A place -was found. - -“Does the _Jade_ belong to the Hatmos people?” Bellair asked. - -“No. We’re agents for Stackhouse. By the way, he’s aboard the -_Jade_--just left the office a half hour ago. The Hatmos son and heir -went home in a cab, like his father used to, when Stackhouse blew in -from the South Seas----” - -“The big man who stood aft as the ship cleared?” Bellair suggested. - -“Hairy neck--clothes look like pajamas?” - -“Yes.” - -“That must have been Stackhouse. He’s the biggest man in -Peloponasia----” - -Bellair wondered if he meant Polynesia. “You mean in size?” - -“Possibly that, but I meant--interests. Owns whole islands and -steam-fleets, but hates steam. Does his pleasure riding under canvas. -Comes up to New York every third year with a new Japanese wife. Used to -spend his time drinking with old Hatmos--now he’s trying to kill off -the younger generation. Lives at the _Florimel_ while in New York, and -teaches the dago barboys how to make tropical drinks. If he had stayed -longer, he would have got to me. Young Hatmos is about finished.” - -Bellair breathed deeply, strangely alive. “Where does the _Jade_ call -first after leaving here?” - -“Savannah--then one or two South American ports--then around the Horn -and the long up-beat to the Islands.” - -“Why, that might mean four months.” Bellair spoke with a touch of -wistfulness. - -They emerged to the street at length, and the New Yorker started shyly -back to the pier. The Hatmos man laughed. - -“You fall for the sailing-stuff, don’t you?” - -“Yes, it’s got me. Do they take passengers?” - -“Sure, if you’re in no hurry. Here and there, some one like you--just -for the voyage. Two or three on board from here.... One a preacher. -He’d better look out. Stackhouse hates to drink alone.” - -“Thanks. Good-bye.” - -The _Jade_, far and very little among the liners, had turned south to -the Narrows and was spreading her wings.... The world began to shut -Bellair in, as he crossed the river again. Sunday night supper at the -boarding-house was always a dismal affair; by every manner and means -it was so to-night. The chorus woman of the Hippodrome was bolting -ahead of the bell, to hurry away to rehearsal. Nightly she came up out -of the water.... He tried three sea-books that night--“Lady Letty,” -“Lord Jim” and “The Phantom,” but couldn’t get caught in their old -spell. A new and personal dimension was upon him from the afternoon. -He fell to dreaming again and again of the _Jade_--the last misty -glimpse of her at the Narrows, and the huge brown hands pushing -Brooklyn away.... There is pathos in the city man’s love and need for -fresh air. Bellair pulled his bed to the window at last, surveying the -room without regard. Long afterward he dreamed that he was out on the -heaving floor of the sea, and that a man-monster came down from the -deck in pajamas, and pressing his hands against the walls of the cabin, -made respiration next to impossible for the inmate. There was a key to -this suffocation, for the air in his room was still as a pool. A lull -had fallen upon the city before a gusty storm of wind and rain. - - - - -PART TWO - -LOT & COMPANY: I - - - 1 - -BELLAIR regarded himself as an average man; and after all perhaps this -was the most significant thing about him. He was not average to look -at--the face of a student and profoundly kind--and yet, he had moved in -binding routine for five years that they knew of at Lot & Company’s. -His acquaintances were of the average type. He did not criticise them; -you would not have known that he saw them with something of the same -sorrow that he regarded himself. - -Back of this five years was an Unknowable. Had you possessed exactly -the perception you might have caught a glimpse of some extraordinary -culture that comes from life in the older lands, and personal contacts -with deeper evils--the culture of the great drifters, the inimitable -polish of rolling stones. As a usual thing he would not have shown -you any of this. At Lot & Company’s offices, men had moved and talked -and lunched near and with him for years without uncovering a gleam of -a certain superb equipment for life which really existed in a darkened -room of his being. - -Perhaps he was still in preparation. We have not really completed the -circle of any accomplishment until we have put it in action. Certainly -Bellair had not done that, since the Unknowable ended. He had made no -great friends among men or women; though almost thirty, he had met no -stirring love affair, at least in this period. He had done the most -common duties of trade, for a common reward in cash; lived in a common -house--moved in crowds of common men and affairs. It was as if he were -a spy, trained from a child, but commanded at the very beginning of his -manhood, not only to toil and serve in an insignificant post--but to -be insignificant as well. It was by accident, for instance, that they -discovered at Lot & Company’s that Bellair was schooled in the Sanscrit. - -Before usual he was astir that Monday morning, but late at the office -for all that. A drop of consciousness somewhere between shoe-buttons, -and a similar trance between collar and tie. In these lapses a half -hour was lost, and queerly enough afterward the old purports of his -life did not hold together as before. A new breath from somewhere, a -difference in vitality, and the hum-drum, worn-sore consciousness given -to his work with Lot & Company, had become like an obscene relative, -to be rid of, even at the price of dollars and the established order -of things. It had been very clear as he drank his coffee that he must -give quit-notice at the office, yet when he reached there, this was not -so easy, and he was presently at work as usual in his cage with Mr. -Sproxley, the cashier. - -The Quaker firm of Lot & Company was essentially a printing -establishment. During the first half of the period in which Bellair -had been connected, though he was not stupider than usual, he had not -realised the crooked weave of the entire inner fabric of the house. -Lot & Company had been established for seventy-five years and through -three generations. Its conduct was ordered now like a process of -nature, a systematised tone to each surface manner and expression. All -the departments were strained and deformed to meet and adjust in the -larger current of profit which the cashier had somehow bridged without -scandal for twenty-seven years. Personally, so far as Bellair knew, -Mr. Sproxley was an honest man, though not exactly of the manner, and -underpaid. - -The cashier’s eyes were black, a black that would burn you, and -unquestionably furtive, although Bellair sat for two years at a little -distance from the cashier’s desk before he accepted the furtiveness, -so deeply laid and set and hardened were his first impressions. They -were hard eyes as well, like that anthracite which retains its gleaming -black edge, though the side to the draft is red to the core. - -Mr. Sproxley’s home was in Brooklyn, an hour’s ride from the office--a -little flat in a street of little flats, all with the same porches, -brickwork and rusty numerals. An apartment for two, and yet Mr. and -Mrs. Sproxley had not moved, though five black-eyed children had come -to them. The cashier of Lot & Company was a stationary man--that was -his first asset.... A hundred times Bellair had heard the old formula, -delivered by firm members to some caller at the office: - -“This is our cashier, Mr. Sproxley. He has been with us twenty-seven -years. We have found him the soul of honour”--the last trailing off -into a whisper--a hundred times in almost the same words, for the -Lots and the Wetherbees bred true. The visitor would be drawn off and -confidently informed that Mr. Sproxley would die rather than leave -a penny unaccounted; indeed, that his zeal on the small as well as -large affairs was frequently a disturbance to the office generally, -since everything stopped until the balance swung free. Bellair knew of -this confidential supplement to the main form, because he had taken -it into his own pores on an early day of his employment. The lift of -that first talk (in Bellair’s case it was from the elder Wetherbee, -an occasional Thee and Thou escaping with unworldly felicity) was for -Bellair sometime to attain a similar rock-bound austerity of honour.... -Always the stranger glanced a second time at Mr. Sproxley during the -firm-member’s low-voiced affirmation of his passionate integrity. - -Passing to the second floor, the visitor would meet Mr. Hardburg, head -of the manuscript and periodical department, for Lot & Company had -found a good business in publishing books of story and poetry at the -author’s expense. Here eye and judgment reigned, Mr. Hardburg’s, on all -matters of book-dress and criticism; yet within six or seven minutes, -the formula would break through for the attention of the caller, thus: - -“Lot & Company is a conservative House--that’s why it stands--a House, -sir (one felt the Capital), that has stood for seventy-five years on -a basis of honour and fair dealing, if on a conservative basis. Lot & -Company stands by its agents and employés first and last. Lot & Company -does not plunge, but over any given period of time, its progress is -apparent and its policy significantly successful.” - -Mr. Hardburg’s eyes kindled as he spoke--grey tired eyes, not at all -like Mr. Sproxley’s--but the light waned, and Mr. Hardburg quickly -relapsed into ennui and complaint, for he was a living sick man. -The impression one drew from his earlier years, was that he had -overstrained as an athlete, and been a bit loose and undone ever -since.... Now Mr. Hardburg would be called away for a moment, leaving -the stranger in the office with Miss Rinderley, his assistant. With -fluent and well directed sentences, this lady would outline the -triumphs of Mr. Hardburg from college to the mastery of criticism which -he was now granted professionally. - -“But what we love best about him,” Miss Rinderley would say, glancing -at the enlarged photograph above his desk, “is the tireless way he -helps young men. Always he is at that. I have seen him talk here for -an hour--when the most pressing matters of criticism and editorial -responsibility called--literally giving himself to some one needing -help. Very likely he would miss his train for the country. Poor Mr. -Hardburg, he needs his rest so----” - -The caller would cry in his heart, “What a superb old institution -this is!” and cover his own weaknesses and shortcomings in a further -sheath of mannerism and appreciation--the entire atmosphere strangely -prevailing to help one to stifle rather than to ventilate his real -points of view. - -So the establishment moved. The groups of girls going up and down the -back stairs--to count or tie or paste through all their interesting -days--counted the heads of their respective departments as their -greatest men; spoke of them in awed whispers, in certain cases with -maternal affection, and on occasion even with playful intimacy on the -part of a few--but always as a master-workman, the best man in the -business, who expressed the poorest part of himself in words, and had -to be lived with for years adequately to be appreciated and understood. - -Mr. Nathan Lot, the present head of the firm, was a dreamer. It was Mr. -Sproxley who had first told Bellair this, but he heard it frequently -afterward, came to recognise it as the accepted initial saying as -regarded the Head, just as his impeccable honour was Mr. Sproxley’s -and unerring critical instinct Mr. Hardburg’s titular association. -Mr. Nathan was the least quarrelsome man anywhere, the quietest and -the gentlest--a small bloodless man of fifty, aloof from business; -a man who had worn and tested himself so little that you would -imagine him destined to live as long again, except for the lugubrious -atmospheres around his desk, in the morning especially, the sense of -imperfect ventilation, though the partitions were but half-high to -the lower floor and there was a thousand feet to draw from. The same -was beginning in Jabez, the son, something pent, non-assimilation -somewhere. However Jabez wasn’t a dreamer; at least, dreaming had -not become his identifying proclivity. He was a head taller than -his father with a wide limp mouth and small expressionless brown -eyes--twenty-seven, and almost as many times a millionaire. - -Jabez was richer than his father, who was the direct heir of the House -of Lot, but his father’s dreaming had complicated the flow of another -huge fortune in the familiar domestic fashion--Jabez being the symbol -and centre of the combination; also the future head of the House of Lot -and Company--up and down town. - -Bellair wondered a long time what the pervading dream of the father -was. He had been in the office many months, had never heard the -senior-mind give vent to authoritative saying in finance, literature, -science or prints; and while this did not lower his estimate at all--he -was sincerely eager to get at the sleeping force of this giant. Mr. -Sproxley spoke long on the subject, but did not know. Mr. Hardburg said: - -“I have been associated with Mr. Nathan for eleven years now. The -appeal of his worth is not eager and insinuating, but I have this to -say--that in eleven years I have found myself slipping, slipping into -a mysterious, _a different_ regard, a profounder friendliness--if one -might put it that way--for Mr. Nathan, than any I have known in my -whole career. The fact is I love Mr. Nathan. He is one of the sweetest -spirits I ever knew.” - -Bellair was interested in dreamers; had a theory that dreaming was -important. When he heard that a certain child was inclined to -dreaming, he was apt to promise a significant future off-hand. He -reflected that even Mr. Hardburg had forgotten to tell him of the -tendency in Mr. Nathan’s case, but determined not to give up.... Once -in the lower part of the city, he passed the firm-head--a studious -little man making his way along at the edge of the walk. Bellair spoke -before he thought. Mr. Nathan started up in a dazed way, appeared to -recognise him with difficulty, as if there was something in the face -that the hat made different. He cleared his voice and inquired with -embarrassment: - -“Are you going to the store?” - -After Bellair had ceased to regret speaking, he reflected upon the word -“store.” The president of a great manufacturing plant, content to be -known as a tradesman--an excellent, a Quaker simplicity about that. - -Bellair’s particular friend in the establishment was Broadwell of the -advertising-desk, a young man of his own age who was improving himself -evenings and who aspired to be a publisher. But even closer to his -heart was Davy Acton, one of the office-boys, who had been tested out -and was not a liar. A sincere sad-faced lad of fifteen, who lived with -his mother somewhere away down town. He looked up to Bellair as to a -man among men, one who had achieved. This was hard to bear on the man’s -part, but he was fond of the youngster and often had him over Sundays, -furnishing books of his own and recommending others. Davy believed in -him. This was the sensation. - -The only voices that were ever raised in the establishment were those -of the travelling salesmen. The chief of this department, Mr. Rawter, -was loud-voiced in his joviality. That was _his_ word--“Mr. Rawter is -so jovial.” - -When the roaring joviality of Mr. Rawter boomed through the lower -floor, old Mr. Wetherbee, the vice-president, would look up from his -desk, and remark quietly to any one who happened near, “Mr. Rawter is -forced to meet the trade, you know.” It was doubtless his gentle Quaker -conception that wine-lists, back-slapping and whole-souled abandonment -of to-morrow, were essentials of the road and trade affiliation. -From the rear of the main floor, back among the piles of stock, -reverberating among great square monuments of ledgers and pamphlets -were the jovial voices of the other salesmen, Mr. Rawter’s seconds, the -Middle-west man, and the Coast-and-South man--voices slightly muffled, -as became their station, but regular in joviality, and doubtless as -boom-compelling afield as their chief’s, considering their years. - -Otherwise the elder Mr. Wetherbee--Mr. Seth--presided over a -distinguished silence for the main. His desk was open to the floor -at large. He was seventy, and one of the first to arrive in the -morning--a vice-president who opened the mail, and had in expert -scrutiny such matters as employment, salaries, orders and expenses -of the travelling men on the road. Mr. Seth was not a dreamer; at -least not on week-days--a millionaire, who gave you the impression -that he was constantly on his guard lest his heart-quality should -suddenly ruin all. The love, the very ardour of his soul was to _give_ -away--to dissipate the fortunes of his own and the firm-members, but so -successfully had he fought all his life on the basis of considering the -justice to his family and his firm, that Lot & Company now relied upon -him, undoubting. Thus often a man born with weakness develops it into -his particular strength.... - -The son, Eben Wetherbee, was harder for Bellair to designate. He seemed -a different force, and called forth secret regard. A religious young -man, who always occurred to Bellair’s mind as he had once seen him, -crossing the Square a summer evening, a book under his arm, his short -steps lifted and queerly rounded, as if treading a low-geared sprocket; -toes straight out--the whole gait mincing a little. Eben was smileless -and a great worker. He had no more to do or say with his father during -working hours than any of the others. - -Such was the firm: Mr. Nathan Lot and his son Jabez; Mr. Seth -Wetherbee and his son Eben, and Mr. Rawter who had been given a nominal -quantity of stock after thirty-five years’ service. In due course Mr. -Sproxley would qualify for this illumination.... And yet not all. -Staring down from the arch over the president’s door was a dour, white, -big-chinned face, done in oils long ago--almost yellow-white, the -black shoulder deadening away into the background; small eyes, wide -mouth, but firmly hung--grandfather to Mr. Nathan, but no dreamer; -great grand-sire to Mr. Jabez, but nothing loose-mouthed about the -face of this, the original Jabez Lot,--organising genius of the House, -and its first president, spoken of with awe and reverence; the first -millionaire of the family and builder of its Gramercy mansion.... -Suddenly, it had come to Bellair that this was the spirit of the Store, -this picture was its symbol, that the slow strangulation of the souls -of all concerned had begun in that white head, the planting of this bed -of crooked canes. - - - 2 - -One morning when Bellair was well into his third year with the -printing-firm, the silence was broken on the lower floor. He was -shaken that day into the real secret of the house. A certain Mr. -Prentidd had been in conversation with Mr. Rawter some moments. The -jovial voice of the head-salesman was without significance to those -near his partition--a part of the routine. Mr. Prentidd had invented -a combination ledger and voucher-file that was having some sale in -America, being manufactured and distributed by Lot & Company. Mr. -Rawter on a recent trip abroad had been empowered to dispose of the -English rights. The result, it now appeared, did not prove satisfactory -to the inventor. The voice of the latter was raised. One felt the -entire building subside into a quivering hush. - -“I tell you, sir, I don’t trust you. I have heard in fact that the only -way you could hurt your reputation here in New York or on the road -would be to tell the truth.” - -To Bellair there was something deeply satisfying in that remark of -the inventor’s--something long awaited and very good. He saw Mr. Seth -arise, his chin moving in a sickly fashion, a very old pathetic Mr. -Seth. He realised that Mr. Rawter had laughed--that something had -been burned from that laugh. Mr. Prentidd was hurried forth, and the -nullifying system began. Mr. Jabez emerged from his father’s office -and turning to Broadwell at the advertising-desk, said in a tone -universally penetrative: - -“What a pity that Mr. Prentidd drinks. There are few men finer to deal -with when he is himself.” - -Mr. Seth, in his chair again, sitting frog-like and gasping, remarked -to Mr. Sproxley across the distance: “I really must ask Mr. Prentidd to -come to us earlier in the day. He’s far too worthy a man to disgrace -himself in this way.” - -Bellair wondered that the point of Mr. Prentidd’s remark seemed -entirely lost. As for himself he counted it worthy of regard. The -episode was but begun. The inventor returned immediately, just as -Mr. Rawter was stepping out. The two men met in the main corridor. -It appeared that Mr. Prentidd repeated a certain question, for the -head-salesman replied, the roundness of the joviality gone from his -voice: - -“I tell you, Mr. Prentidd, the situation has changed. I could not -dispose of the English order at a better figure to save my soul. I -extracted every cent for you and for the House.” - -“I don’t believe you. Other matters of the same kind do better. If you -speak the truth, you made a very bad bargain for yourself and what is -more important, for me----” - -The least like an inventor imaginable, a most physical person, Mr. -Prentidd, with a fiery sense of his own rights and a manner as soft as -his voice was penetrating. He turned a leisurely look of scorn at Mr. -Rawter, half-stare and half-smile, then appeared to perceive the elder -Mr. Wetherbee for the first time. The old man arose. Bellair felt the -agony of expectancy far back among the stock-piles. The inventor shot -straight at the vice-president: - -“You’re an old man. I’ll trust your word. You’re an old man and a -Quaker--yes, I’ll take your word. Your man, Rawter, says he could get -only seven and one-half cents’ royalty for me on my Nubian file from -England. I say it’s only half what I should get. Is it true--remember -you’re old. Is it true?” - -Prentidd’s face had power in it, exasperation and the remains of a -laugh. It appeared that he was content to take a gambler’s chance and -close the ugly business on Mr. Seth’s word. - -The old man’s eye roved. He looked sick and shaken. He found the eyes -of his son Eben which were full of terror and pity and hope. - -“Answer me. Could Lot & Company get no more than fifteen cents -altogether on the English patents?” - -Mr. Wetherbee’s lips moved. “That’s all we could get, Mr. Prentidd. I’m -sorry,” he said. - -For an instant Mr. Prentidd stood there. It was evident that he had -expected a different answer. True to his promise to take the old man’s -word, however, he turned on his heel and walked out. - -On the high sloping desk before Bellair’s eyes, a big ledger lay open. -He had turned during the talk to the transaction of Prentidd--Lot & -Company. The English disposal had been arranged for at twenty-five -cents the file, royalty. Apparently Mr. Prentidd had agreed upon an -even split, but Lot & Company had taken seventeen and the fraction. - -Bellair was ill. The nausea crept down through his limbs, and up to -his throat. The thing had worked out before him with such surety and -clarity. The head of Mr. Sproxley moved about as if on a swivel, his -body in writing position still. Presently he stepped down from his high -stool, and came to Bellair’s side. Placing his pen behind his ear, he -lifted the ledger from under Bellair’s eyes, his lips compressed with -the effort. Then he placed it on his own desk to close it tenderly, -after which it was taken to its niche in the vault. - -The office was silent. Just now Bellair’s eyes turned as if subtly -attracted to the place where Eben Wetherbee sat. The young man’s -smileless eyes, almost insane with apprehension and sadness, were -turned with extraordinary intent upon the place where his father sat. -Bellair’s followed. The old man sat plumped in his chair; he gulped, -tried to turn. His face looked as if he heard a ghost whispering. Yet -he seemed unable to trust himself, hardly daring to meet the eyes that -awaited. His hands lifted to the papers before him, but did not feel -properly. He seemed a man of eighty. Mr. Eben came forward at last and -asked Mr. Sproxley if he might look at the Prentidd transaction. - -“It isn’t posted yet, Mr. Eben,” said the cashier. - - * * * * * - -At the side door at closing time, Bellair happened to pass a party of -young women coming down from the bindery. One was saying: - -“... and Mr. Prentidd was quite helpless after the scene--so that they -had to call a taxi-cab for him. Isn’t it dreadful he drinks so?” - - * * * * * - -There was a personal result for Bellair, which he at no time -misunderstood. - -“We have considered creating a position for you next to Mr. Sproxley,” -said the elder Mr. Wetherbee, the second morning following. - -Bellair bowed. - -“Since you have been with us less than three years, this is very good -comment on the character of your services and our hope for your future -with us----” - -“What additional salary goes with the position?” Bellair had asked. - -“If I followed my own inclination, it would be considerable. I have -been able to secure for you, however, but a slight increase----” - -This was one of Mr. Seth’s little ways. He added hopes of fine quality. -There was a further point: - -“You will at times handle considerable money and we must insist upon -your putting in trust for us the sum of two thousand dollars.” - -“I haven’t two thousand dollars, Mr. Wetherbee,” Bellair said. - -“Of course, we trust you. It is a form--a form, nevertheless, upon -which a valuable relation of this kind should be placed on a business -basis.” - -Bellair repeated. - -“But you have friends----” - -“Not with two thousand dollars’ surety for me--no friend like that.” - -“Banks insist upon this--among those employés who handle much money----” - -“I know--but that amount cannot be arranged.” - -“How much can you put in trust available to Lot & Company in event of -your departure----” - -“I have slightly less than one thousand dollars----” - -“Could you raise one thousand dollars?” - -“With some effort.” - -“Of course, it will draw interest for you----” - -“I understand these affairs.” - -The matter was referred to the next day when it was decided to accept -Bellair’s amount of one thousand dollars, which Lot & Company could -not touch without his consent, except in the event of his departure -with company funds; and which Bellair could not draw without written -statement from Lot & Company to the effect that he was leaving with a -balanced account. - -Thereafter he was one with Mr. Sproxley in the financial management, -under the eye of Seth Wetherbee. One by one he learned the points of -the system. Wherever the accounts had run over a series of years, there -were byways of loot. These pilferings were not made at once, on the -same basis that a gardener does not cut asparagus for market from young -roots. The plants were encouraged to establish themselves. After that -the open market was supplied with a certain output, the rest belonging -to Lot & Company’s table. It frequently occurred to Bellair with a -sort of enveloping darkness that he had the institution in his power; -and with a different but equal force that he had a life position in -all naturalness; that his life would be spent with slowly increasing -monetary reward for juggling the different accounts--the field of -crooked canes which was the asparagus-bed of Lot & Company. He did not -like it. He was not happy; and yet he realised that the adjustments his -nature had already made to the facts, suggested an entire adjustment -later, the final easy acceptance. - - - 3 - -Bellair had thought many times of getting out from under the die, but -it never came to him with quite the force as on that Monday morning, -after watching the _Jade_ fare forth from the Brooklyn water-front. -Something had turned within him as a result of that little pilgrimage, -something that spurred to radicalism and self-assertion. At no time had -Bellair credited himself with a fairer honesty than most men. He had -never given it a large part of thinking. Roughly he had believed that -to be honest is the common lot. The corruption in the office which he -could not assimilate had to do with extensive ramifications, its lying -to itself. The instant seizing upon Mr. Prentidd’s alleged weakness -on the part of the younger Lot and the elder Wetherbee; the action of -Mr. Sproxley with the ledger; the subtle will-breaking and spiritual -blinding of all the employés in a process that never slept and was -operative in every thought and pulse of the establishment--the extent -and talent of these, and the untellable blackness of it all, prevailed -upon Bellair with the force of a life-impression. - -Bellair’s present devil was a kind of inertia. Granting that the -Unknowable had been charged with periods of intense action of several -kinds, the recent half-decade might be regarded as its reflex -condition. There is an ebb and flow to all things, and it is easier to -adjust Bellair’s years at Lot & Company as a sort of resting period for -his faculties, than to accept a constitutional inertia in his case, for -subsequent events do not quite bear that out. He doubtless belonged -to that small class of down town men who do their work well enough, -but without passion, who have faced the modern world and its need of -bread and cake, and who have compromised, giving hours in exchange for -essential commodities, but nothing like the full energies of their -lives. It is a way beset with pitfalls, but the unavoidable result of a -system that multiplies products and profits and minimizes the chances -for fine workmanship on every hand. Moreover in Bellair’s case there is -a philosophical detachment to be considered. The aims and purports of -the printing establishment were coldly and absolutely material. These -did not challenge him to any fine or full expenditure of his powers; -and if he had touched that higher zone of philosophy which makes a -consecration of the simplest and the heaviest tasks, he had at least -found it impracticable to make it work among the systems of Lot & -Company’s business. - -The two years or more since he was made assistant cashier had brought -many further items and exhibits. He was now used on the left hand side -of the throne, developed in the darkness-department already overworked, -the eye of which was Mr. Seth and the hand, Mr. Sproxley. For as yet -Bellair believed that even Eben Wetherbee had only suspicions. This was -the bite of the whole drama. There were men in the building who would -have died for their conviction that the House was honest. You might -have told these men that Lot & Company was a morgue of conservatism; -that having existed under a certain policy for seventy-five years, -was the chief reason for its changing; that free, unhampered genius -never found utterance through that House--and any of a dozen clerks -would have laughed, spoken proudly of unerring dividends and uncanny -stability, granting the rest. But that Lot & Company was structurally -crooked was incredible except to the few who performed the trick. -Bellair knew, for instance, that his best friend in the office, -Broadwell, head of the advertising, was innocent.... - -Monday passed without his giving notice. He quailed before the -questions that would be asked. If it were not for the one thousand -dollars, he would have escaped with a mere “Good-night,” though -a panic would have started until the Company was assured of the -innocence of his departure. As for a panic, Lot & Company had that -coming, he thought. Now he knew that he would not be able to get his -surety-deposit until all was made certain in his regard by the firm.... - -Bellair wasn’t greedy, nor caught in any great desire for wealth. He -had fallen into the Down town Stream, but did not belong. Every month -had weakened him. He disliked to lose his beginnings toward competence; -all the subtle pressures of Lot & Company worked upon him not to -change. There was no other way open. He had been touched by the fear -of fear--a sort of poorhouse horror that dogs men up into the millions -and down to the grave. In a way, he had become slave to the Job. He -even had the suspicion that more men maim their souls by sticking to -their jobs than by any dissipation. This is the way to the fear of -fear--the insane undertow of modern materialism. - -He had tried to find peace outside his work in music and different -philanthropies, but the people he met, their seriousness, perhaps more -than anything else, and the vanity of their intellectualism, aroused -his sense of humour. Bellair believed in the many, but was losing -belief in himself. Often he had turned back to evenings in the room, -and realised that the days were draining him too much for his own -real expression of any kind. Always he felt that Lot & Company was -too strong for his temper, that his edge was dulled in every contact. -From his depressions, he saw ahead only two ways--a life of this, or a -moment in which he had Lot & Company in his power unequivocably. The -last was poisonous, and he knew it. He would have to fall considerably -to profit by this sort of thing, but the inevitable conclusion of the -whole matter, was that the life with Lot & Company was slowly but -surely _getting him down_. - -On Tuesday noon, Mr. Seth asked him to take to lunch a certain young -stationer from Philadelphia, named Filbrick. They were made acquainted -in the corridor. Passing out, Bellair and his companion met the smile -of Mr. Sproxley. Bellair began the formula of the cashier’s absolute -and autocratic integrity. He did not really hear himself, until he -reached this part: - -“I happen to be in the financial department. Two or three times each -year, the whole office is thrown into a mess over some little strayed -account----” - -He stopped. It was less that he was saying this, than that he had come -so far without a nudge from within. They had passed the big front -doors, and met the wind of the street before he realised how deep the -mannerism of the establishment had prevailed upon him. The process had -passed almost into fulfilment before the truth within him had stirred -from its sleep.... A very grey day. All through that luncheon he had -found himself at angles from his companion, in strategic hollows, -never in the level open. It wasn’t that he was different from usual, -but that he was watching himself more shrewdly. His inner coherence -was repeatedly broken, though the outer effects were not. He had never -perceived before with such clarity that a man cannot be square and -friendly to another man, when his mind and critical faculties are busy -appraising him, while his eyes and lips approved and assuaged. Bellair -that day realised his moral derangement--that he must be ripped open -and his displaced organs corrected once for all, if anything decent was -to come from him ever again.... He was still thinking in mid-afternoon, -in the very trance of these thoughts, when he happened to look into Mr. -Sproxley’s face. It seemed to him that there was a movement of most -pitiful activities back of the red and black of Mr. Sproxley’s eyes. - -There was much mental roving on Bellair’s part that week; moments in -which the Monday morning abandon returned, and his self-amazement of -the Tuesday luncheon, upon discovering how deeply his thoughts were -imbedded in the prevailing lie. New York and the salary clutched him -hard at intervals; so that he saw something of what was meant to give -it up; also he saw that dreams are dreams.... Thousands of other young -men would be glad to do his work, even his dirty work. - -He had just returned from lunch on Friday when he started, to perceive -the ruddy face and powerful frame of Mr. Prentidd darken the front -door--which he had not done since his voice was last raised. Bellair -was conscious of Seth Wetherbee hitching up his chair and a peculiar -gasping cough from the old man, but his own eyes did not turn from the -caller’s face--which moved slowly about, the pale little exchange-miss -behind the first barrier, attentive to catch the stranger’s eye and -answer his question. The inventor glanced slowly among desks and -doors. His eye sought Sproxley, and the furtive black eyes of the -latter shot down to his ledger as if crippled on the wing. His eyes -held Bellair and the young man felt the scorn of ages burn through -his veins--something new to his later life, yet deep in his heart, -something he had known somewhere before, as if he had betrayed a -good king, and his punishment had been to look that king in the eye -before he died. Bellair had never hated himself as at that moment, -and certainly never before felt himself identified body and soul with -modern corruption, as now with scorn like a fiery astringent in his -veins. The eyes of Mr. Prentidd finally settled upon the figure of Mr. -Seth Wetherbee, their rays striking him abeam as it were. The old man -hunched closer if anything, but did not raise his head. - -The inventor was a physical person; his morals of a physical nature; -his Nubian file of the same dimension and method of mind--a strong -man who had to do with pain and pleasure of the flesh; his ideas of -possessions were of the world. He moved softly, a soft, dangerous -smile upon his lips, to the desk of the vice-president and jerked up -a chair. The old man had to raise his head. It was as if the scene of -three years ago was now to be continued, for Bellair saw the sorrowful, -lengthened face of Mr. Eben turn from his desk in the other room and -bend toward his father, whose face was intensely pathetic now in its -forced smile of greeting. - -“You’re not looking well--in fact, you’re looking old, Mr. Wetherbee, -as if you would die pretty soon.” - -“I’m not so strong as I was, Mr. Prentidd.” - -Bellair couldn’t have done it, as the inventor did. Had the man stolen -and ruined him--he could not have pushed on after the pathos of that. - -“You’re a dirty old man--and you’ll die hard and soon--for you lied to -me when I trusted you. I suppose you have lied to everybody, all your -life----” - -Thus he baited Mr. Seth feature by feature, pointing out the disorder -of liver, kidney-puffs, the general encroachments of death, in fact. -Then he pictured the death itself--all of a low literary strength as -was Mr. Prentidd’s cold habit. The answer of Mr. Seth was an incoherent -helplessness, his lips moving but with nothing rational under the sun, -as if he had been called by some inexorable but superior being to an -altitude where he was too evil to breathe, and begged piteously to be -allowed to sink back and die. It was Mr. Eben who stopped it, coming -forward quietly, his steps rounded, his shoulders bent, his face -seeming brittle as chalk in its fixity. The thing that he said was -quite absurd: - -“You really mustn’t, Mr. Prentidd. It is too much.” - -The inventor turned to him. His look was that of a man who turns a -large morsel in his mouth. - -“Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a slow laugh. “There is this -delicacy to old liars. Come give me my check--and I will go.” - -“Your check----” Mr. Eben repeated. - -“Yes, now--the check for the difference which your father’s lie cost me -three years ago. I have seen the English books----” - -Now young Mr. Jabez Lot came forward: - -“Of course, if there has been error or any breach of contract--of -course, you see a check off hand such as you ask is out of the -question----” - -The elder Mr. Wetherbee sank back to his desk; and now the dreamer, Mr. -Nathan Lot, appeared with a frightened word of amelioration. Mr. Eben -stood by the caller to the last moment. The latter was not at his best -in this period--his threats and anger amounted to the usual result. -Lot & Company refused to deal further, referring him to its attorney. -The strangest part of it all was the gathering of three around Mr. -Seth Wetherbee’s desk--Mr. Jabez and his father with Mr. Eben. Yet the -concern of the Lots, father and son, had nothing to do with dangerous -exhaustion of the vice-president. - -“We have beaten him,” the dreamer said softly. - -“Yes, Mr. Jackson will do the rest,” said Mr. Jabez. Mr. Jackson was -the attorney. - -Bellair, even with his training, had to take it slowly. “Beaten -him”--that meant that the money had not passed to Mr. Prentidd. It was -now with the law and the years--millions against a mere inventor. The -psychic slaughtering of the old vice-president did not count--nothing -of words counted. The firm had won, because the firm had not been -knocked down and its pockets rifled--that would have meant loss. Not -having been forced to pay, they had won.... Even as Bellair thought -this out in full, the system of salving had begun from all the -firm-heads for the benefit of those who heard. It was simply arranged -and stated.... Their worst fears were realised: Mr. Prentidd was -insane.... Mr. Seth went home early. Bellair knew that Mr. Eben had not -been able to turn all responsibility to Mr. Jackson.... That afternoon -Bellair reached his decision--in fact, he found it finished within him -after the scene. - -Yet he could not walk out at once, since he must have the amount of -his surety, the item of interest and salary due. A certain project in -his mind prevented the possibility of waiting several days for this -amount to be detached from Lot & Company. Especially now after the -final scene, they would make themselves very sure of his accounts and -intentions. Late that Friday afternoon, it happened that considerable -cash came in after banking hours. Bellair’s custom was to put this in a -safety-vault until the following day. This time he held out the amount -of his deposit and two years’ interest, together with the amount of his -salary to date, locking up with the balance his order of release to the -account of the Trust company. He determined to write a letter to Nathan -Lot at once.... - - - 4 - -The City had a different look to him that night in his new sense of -detachment. There were moments at dinner in which he felt as if he were -already forgotten and out of place. Bellair had only known the one -landlady in his five years of New York; yet he knew this one no better -now than at the end of the first month. Perhaps there was nothing more -to learn. She was anæmic of body, and yet did prodigious tasks, very -quiet, very grey; and days to her were like endless rooms of the same -house, all grim and uniform. She had her little ways, her continual -suspicions, but all her faith was gone. Without church, without -friends, without any new thought or gossip, her view of the world was -neither magnified nor diminished, but greatly shortened, her eyes were -almost incredibly dim. There was nothing to love about her. She was not -excessively clean, nor excellent in cooking. She was like wax-work, -a little dusty, her mind and all. Bellair paid her for the week, and -added a present: - -“Which I forgot on your birthday,” he said. - -She held it in her hand. It did not seem hers. The apathy extended to -all that was not actually due; all expectancy dead. - -“You mean you are giving this to me?” - -“Yes.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Bellair,--perhaps you will want it some time again.” - -He wrote the letter to Mr. Nathan, but decided not to mail it until -the last thing. He was restless over the irregularity in the money -affair--had to assure himself again and again that he was taking not a -cent that did not belong to him. The boarding-house was in the upper -Forties between Broadway and Sixth avenue, and though he usually turned -eastward for pleasure, this night he went among his own people, where -even a nickle was medium of exchange. A stimulant did not exactly -relieve his tension. His sense was that of loneliness, as he chose a -table in _Brandt’s_ indoor garden. - -A mixed quartette presently broke into song behind him. Bellair’s -thoughts were far from song. He was not expectant of music that would -satisfy. Still something tugged him--again and again--until he really -listened, but without turning. It was the voice of the contralto -that was making an impression deep where his need was. There seemed -an endless purple background to it, like a night of stars and south -wind; the soft, deep volume rolled forth _for him_, and found itself -expressed without amazement or travail. He turned now. The one voice -was from the throat of a girl, just a girl, and though it was a gusty -November, she was still wearing her summer hat. - -The face was merely pretty, but the voice was drama; flame of poppies -in the presence of a fabulous orchid. Bellair’s heart may have been -particularly sensitive to impression that night. The big brilliant -den known as _Brandt’s_ did not seem to have been cast into any -enchantment; and yet it was likely that Bellair knew as much about -music natively and by acquisition as any one present. In fact, he had -reached the state of appreciation which dares to enjoy that which -appeals and to say so, having endured for several winters a zeal which -rushed him from one to another musical event, intolerant of all save -classic symphonies. It wasn’t the music that held him now--a high -flowery operatic matter not particularly interesting nor well-done--but -the contralto was just a little girl, and the round girlish breast -which held nothing miraculous for the many, was sending forth tones -that quivered through Bellair, spine and thigh, and thrilling his mind -with a profound passion to do something for the singer--an intrinsic -and clean emotion, but one which made him ashamed. For an instant, -he felt himself setting out on the great adventure of his life, the -faintest aroma of its romance touching his senses; something akin to -his dreams in the prison of Lot & Company, and which he had not sensed -at all since his departure, until this instant. Quickly it passed; yet -he had the sense that this great romance had to do with the little -singer. - -At once he wanted to take her from the other three; dreamed of working -for her, so that she might have the chance she craved. Of course, -she wanted something terribly; passionate want always went with such -a voice. He saw her future alone. Some vampire of a manager would -hear her. She would tie up--the little summer hat told him that. She -would tie up, and New York would take her bloom before the flower -matured--would take more than her little song. Here she was in -_Brandt’s_ already, and singing as if for the angels. - -Bellair was four-fifths undiscovered country, as are all men but the -very few, who dare to be themselves. Already the world was calling -to him sharply for this first step aside from the worn highways of -the crowd. He had not been normal to-night, even in his room; and his -present adventure had already summoned forth all the hateful reserves -of his training, as Prentidd’s departure had started the lies through -the floors and halls of Lot & Company. His heart was calling out to the -little singer, that here was a friend, one who understood and wanted -nothing but to give; yet all that he had learned from the world was -beating him back into the crowd. - -He saw that the music had hardly penetrated the vast vulgar throng. -New York is so accustomed to be amused, to dine to music and forget -itself in various entertainments, that the quartette barely held its -own against the routine of eating and drink and the voices of rising -stimulation. It was Bellair who started the little applause when the -first number was over. He hated to do it. The clapping of hands drew to -himself eyes that he did not care to cultivate, but it seemed the only -way just then to help her to make good. - -The four of the quartette looked at him curiously, appraising his value -as a critic, perhaps. Was he drunk or really appealed to? Was he worth -considering? Applause at any price is dearly to be had. They took him -in good faith, since he was not without desirable appearance. The young -girl and the tenor arose and sang: - - “_Oh, that we two were Maying----_” - -The old song was a kind of fulfilment for Bellair, and preciously wrung -his heart. He had never been Maying; wasn’t sure what sort of holidays -were pulled off in regular Mayings; but he liked the song, and for all -he knew the familiar sentiment was evoked bewitchingly. Many others -now caught the thrall. These things are infectious. From hatred, he -came to love _Brandt’s_--as if he had come home, and had been long away -hungering--as if this were life, indeed.... They sang the last verse -again, and sat down for hurried refreshment. The four were very near. -The young girl caught Bellair’s eye, regarded him shyly for an instant, -and turned to whisper to the bass, who seemed in charge of the four. - -“... Yes, but hurry back. We’ve got to pull out of here.” - -Bellair wasn’t dangling. Never had he been more intent to be decent and -helpful. No one knew this. Even the girl was far from expectant. ... -She sat down beside him. - -“Hello,” she said. “You don’t live in New York, do you?” - -“Yes, why?” - -“Oh, you looked so homesick--when we sang.” - -Bellair’s heart sank. - -“I think I was homesick. What may I order for you?” - -“A little Rhine wine--it’s very good here--and a sandwich----” - -The waiter was standing by. Bellair had to clear his voice before -ordering. He was distressed--up to his eyes in gloom that was general -and without name. - - - 5 - -“Do you sing in other places to-night?” - -“Oh, yes, we’re just beginning. We’re on Broadway at eleven.” - -“Where?” - -“First at _Pastern’s_, then at the _Castle_.” - -These places were just without the orbit of extravagance. She knew her -answer was not exactly a stock-raiser, and added: - -“But I expect to be on the road in the Spring----” - -“Who with?” - -She mentioned a light opera troupe that was just short of broad and -unqualified approval--like _Brandt’s_ and _Pastern’s_--an institution -as yet without that mysterious toppiness which needs no props and meets -sanction anywhere. These things are exactly ordered. - -“But you are so good--you should be with people who would help you.” - -She looked at him a little scornfully, something of weather and stress -under the summer hat. She decided to be agreeable. “They all say that,” -she said wearily. - -“I’m sorry. I said just what I thought.” - -“Study--a girl without a cent!” She lowered her voice: “Go with better -people--before one is invited? Swing to the top of the opera before one -is sufficiently urged?... Why, singing isn’t all. One must do more than -sing----” - -“I don’t believe that----” - -“You should try. Singing won’t get you across. You’ve got to act, for -one thing.” - -He was relieved that she did not discuss the angel business, which is -forgotten in so few stories of struggle and failure. - -“I tell you, all that one has to do is to sing--when one sings as you -do.” - -“I have heard that many times,” she said bitterly, “from people not in -the fight. They didn’t come to New York on their nerve--as I did. I -made up my mind not to be afraid of wolves or bears or cars--to take -what I could get, and wait until somebody beckoned me higher. Meanwhile -_Pastern’s_ and the _Castle_ and here----” - -“I wish I could do something for you.” - -Her eyes gleamed at him. - -“You need money?” he asked. - -“I need money so terribly--that it’s almost a joke--but what do _you_ -want?” - -Bellair rubbed his eyes, and smiled a little. “I don’t know what’s the -matter with me, but I want to do something for you. At least, I did -want just that.” - -“What happened?” - -“It isn’t a thing to talk or think about, I’m afraid. One starts -thinking, and ends by wanting something--and I didn’t at first. What I -said at first I meant--nothing more nor less.” - -Her lips tightened. “If you mean just that----” - -It raked him within. He did not help her by speaking. Somehow he had -expected her to see that he had meant well. It was always a mystery to -him how anything fine could be expected of men, if women were not so. - -“Of course, I have to understand,” she added. “I can do with a poor -room and poor food, but I can’t get anywhere without clothes.... I must -go now.” - -“I want you to excuse me if I’ve given you the idea of my being rich. -I’m not, but I might help you some. How late do you work?” - -“One o’clock.” - -“Where are you last?” - -“At the _Castle_.” - -“And what time do you get there?” - -“About eleven-thirty.” - -“I’ll be there. Sing ‘_Maying_’ for an encore----” - -She made believe that she trusted him. - -“We’ll sing it at the _Castle_ the last thing,” she said, leaving -hastily. - -No ease had come to him. His thoughts now were not the same as those -which had come during the singing. He tried to put them away. He didn’t -like the idea of giving her money. He knew that she didn’t expect to -see him again; also that if he did come she would accept the service of -a stranger, and give in return as little as she could. How explicit she -was, already touched with the cold stone of the world. He did want to -help her, and it had been pure at first. Talk as usual had broken the -beauty of that. Sophistication and self-consciousness had come; her -face changing more and more as the moments passed after the song. New -York had taught them each their parts. It had been her thought from the -first that he was looking for prey, but it had been very far from his. - -Bellair was not without imagination. He saw himself following this -girl in a future time, playing the part he had despised in other -men--the dumb, slaving, enduring male; she continually expectant of -his services, petulant, unreasonable without them. For the first time -the question came to him: Is there not a queer sort of conquest in the -lives of such men?... She was for herself; had it all planned out, the -waiting, and what she would give on the way up, beside her song. It -would not be much; as little as possible, in fact; but as much as was -absolutely demanded. Bellair in the present state of mind seemed to -object to all this less than what she wanted of the world--praise and -fame. - -“She’s just a little girl after all,” he muttered. “She ought to have -her chance.” - -He added (easing the conception a little for his own peace) that she -was only franker and more outspoken than other women he had known; that -they all wanted money and place, and wanted men who could furnish such -things. Suddenly it occurred that the incident automatically supplied -the final break with Lot & Company and New York. He laughed aloud.... -He might borrow enough in time to make up the amount he gave her for -morning, but that would certainly be a betrayal of the fiery urge that -had whipped him all week to cross over into a new life and burn the -last bridge. - -He took his bags down to the station, arranging with the landlady -to have his goods stored for the present. After that he rambled, a -grateful freshness in the cool wind. His steps led through darker -streets, where he startled the misery from the faces of the forbidden -who took a chance on him. Their voices _would_ whine; they couldn’t -help it, and all they wanted in the world was money.... He was at the -_Castle_ before the quartette came.... They sang and Bellair dreamed. - -He had never made pretence of other than the commonest lot; yet he -conned now an early manhood that made later years utterly common. He -followed the enticements of the sea, of the future, the singing-girl -never far away, the rest shadows and sadness.... He must do something -for her.... Rich natural tones winged forth from the breast of a maid, -from shoulders so delicate and white. He would make and keep her great; -here was something to do, to work for. It was like finding the ultimate -secret. He knew now what had been the matter all the time--nothing -to work for.... He would stand between her and all that he knew was -rotten--the crowds like this at the _Castle_, the blurred face of the -tenor which was both sharp and soft, the tired, tawdry soprano, the -stupid animal of a bass. And Bellair, in the magnanimity of his heart’s -effusion, included himself among the forces of destruction. He would -keep her from the worst of himself, by all means.... She kept her -promise, and arose with the tenor at last: - - “_Oh, that we two were Maying----_” - -... New York and all the rest reversed again in his mind. It wasn’t -rotten, but lavish to furnish everything for money--so much that men -and women were lost in the offerings, and did not know what to choose. -Yet it was man’s business to choose. Bellair listened as one across the -world; as if he had been gone a year and was thirsting and starving to -get back. He was literally longing for New York, with its ramifications -all about him--yet the thing he wanted, he could not touch. It was -like a sick stomach that infested his whole nature with desire, while -everything was at hand but the exact nameless thing desired.... She -was like a saint, as she stood there, her mouth so pure, her features -so pretty, her voice so brave and tireless--starry to Bellair, a -night-voice with depths and heights and dew-fragrance. She was coming -to him. - -“You look just the same. I wouldn’t take you for a New Yorker.... Yes, -I am through for to-night.” - -“I should think you’d love to sing,” he said. - -The remark was fatuous to her. She didn’t know that a year ago Bellair -wouldn’t have dared to say anything so commonplace, but that he had -come back to this simplicity from the complication of classics she had -never heard of. - -“Tell me, what do you want most?” he asked earnestly. “I don’t mean the -need of clothes. We’ve covered that----” - -“I want all that a voice will bring.” - -“Great salaries, noise wherever you go, a continual performance of -newspaper articles?” - -“Yes.” - -“A score of men praying for favours?” - -She sipped warily. - -“Don’t mind my question. It isn’t fair. But tell me, doesn’t it do -something to you--to get even a man like me going, for instance,--to -make him all different and full of pictures that haven’t anything to do -with the case?” - -“I don’t know what you mean.” - -He stared at her. “You ought to. You do it. I’m not talking of art -or soul, or any of that stuff. That isn’t it. I mean just what -your singing amounts to in my case. It means New York, but not the -routine New York--possibly the New York that might be. It means -_Maying_--whatever that is----” - -“You must have been drinking a lot, since I left _Brandt’s_,” she said -merrily. - -He didn’t let it hurt him, and was miserable anyway. “The fact is, I -didn’t take a drink since Sixth avenue, until a moment ago.” - -He saw that she was debating the vital matter of the evening--whether -he was a piker who must be shaken presently, or whether he would really -make good on his offer to help in the essentials of career. - -“What’s your name?” he asked. - -“Bessie Brealt.” - -“And where could I find you, if I wanted to write?” - -He noted her swift disappointment. There was positive pain in the air. -He knew well what she was thinking, though her sweet face covered well: -that he was about to promise to send the money to her, that ancient -beau business. She took a last chance, and mentioned a booking agency -that might answer for a permanent address. - -“I’ll want to write--I feel that. And here, Bessie, if you don’t mind -my saying ‘Bessie,’ I can spare a hundred for that wardrobe. I’d like -to do some really big thing for you.” - -He saw tears start to her eyes, but was not carried out of reason by -them. She had wanted the money fiercely and it had come. - -“How are you going to get home?” he asked, to relieve the embarrassment. - -She glanced up quickly. - -“I don’t mean that I want to take you home,” he said, shocked by the -ugliness of the world that had called this explanation so hastily. -“My train needs me.... Say, Bessie, men haven’t supplied you with -altogether pleasant experiences so far, have they?” - -“I’ll get a car home.” - -He gave her his card. - -“Thank you,” she said. - -“Better let me get you a cab to-night. It’s late.” - -She thanked him again.... At the curb, as the driver backed in, Bessie -put up her lips to him. - -“... Dear singing-girl--I didn’t ask that.” - -“It’s because you didn’t, I think. Really that’s it. Oh, thank you. -Good-night.” - -Bellair beckoned another cab, and sank back into the dark. All the way -to the station, and through to the Savannah-Pullman, he was wrenching -himself clear from something like a passion to turn about to New York. -At the last moment, before the train moved, he recalled the letter to -Mr. Nathan, and hailed a station porter from the step. - -“Please mail this for me,” he said, bringing up silver with the letter. - - - - -PART THREE - -THE JADE: II - - - 1 - -BELLAIR had to wait less than two days in Savannah, for the _Jade_ -had made a pretty passage. Impressions rushed home too swift for -his mind to follow, as he stepped aboard from the cotton dock; the -number of impressions, he did not know, until he began the inventory -in his cabin afterward. Last and first and most compelling, however, -was the spectacle of Stackhouse, that David Hume figure of a man, -reclining in his cane-chair of similar vast proportions just aft of the -main-shrouds. A momentous hammock of canes, that steamer-chair, with -gentle giving slopes for the calves and broad containers, polished with -wear and tightly woven like armour, for the arms; a sliding basket for -the head, suggestive of a guillotine’s grisly complement; the whole -adjusted to Stackhouse and no other. - -Humid heat in the harbour, a day of soft low clouds. The man who pushed -Brooklyn from him, had discarded even more thoroughly the clothing of -temperate climes. The vivid black of his hairy chest was uncovered, and -there was a shining bar of the same, just above the selvage of white -sock. Bellair thought he must be hairy as a collie dog.... But mainly -that which weighted and creaked the chair seemed an enormous puddle of -faded silks. - -The bulky brown head (which arose plumb as a wall from the back of the -neck) had slightly bowed as Bellair passed. There was something ox-like -in the placidity of the brown eyes, but that was only their first beam, -as it were. Much that was within and behind the eyes of Stackhouse, -Bellair thought of afterward. Through a deep, queer process, it came -to him that even the answer for his coming was in that indescribable -background; and restless, too, in the pervading brown, a movement of -sleek animals there. The Japanese woman had _skuffed_ forward with -drink for her lord. - -Over all was the cloud of canvas and rigging, which Bellair had studied -from the land, and which had forced him to a fine respect for the -ruffian sailor-men who could move directly in such an arcanum, and -command its service. Bellair had not found such labour on shore, having -lost his respect for the many who did not learn even the commonest -work.... There was a deep-sea smell about her, a solution of tar and -dried fruit, paint and steaming coppers from the galley. - -The very age of the _Jade_ was a charm to him. Only her spine and ribs -and plates were of steel--the rest a priceless woodwork that had come -into its real beauty under the endlessly wearing hands of man. There -seemed a grain and maturity to the inner parts, as if the strain and -roughing of the seas had brought out the real enduring heart of the -excellent fabric. The rose-wood side-board of his upper berth, for -instance, placed for the full light from the port to fall upon it, -was worth the price of the passage--sixteen inches wide, a full inch -and one-half thick, worn to a soft lustre as if the human hands had -hallowed it, and giving back to the touch the same answer from the -years that a vine brings to stone-work and the bouquet to wine.... The -_Jade_ had known good care and answered. Floors, even of the cabins, -were hollowed from much stoning; the hinges held and ferried their -burdens in silence, and the old locks moved with soft contented clicks, -the wards running in new oil. - -A city man who had long dreamed of a country garden; or indeed, Bellair -was a city man who had long dreamed of a full-rigged ship to fulfil in -part the romance of his soul. The _Jade_ had a dear inner life for him, -satisfied him with her lines, her breathing, settling and repose. A -fine hunger began to animate the length and breadth of the man. - -There was a half hour of straight, clear thinking, of the kind that -plumbs the outlook with the in, and mainly comes unawares. Bessie -Brealt, of course, appeared and passed, in all the hardness of her life -and the pity of it, but the days that had elapsed since the parting had -not changed his unique desire to help her; nor did he lie to himself -that he wanted her, too, as a man wants a woman. He loved her in a way, -against his will. Possibly the kiss had fixed that. In the solution of -the running thoughts, and without subtlety of mingling, was the face on -deck, the dark, extraordinary face of Stackhouse. - -They were a full day at sea, before Bellair was called to sit down -before the great cane chair. There was a warm land wind; November -already forgotten. The _Jade_ had gathered up her skirts and was -swinging along with a low music of her own. Stackhouse waddled back to -his chair from the land-rail, a remarkable mass of crumpled silks, the -canes marked in the general effusion of dampness along his back and -legs, the silks caught up behind by a system of wrinkles and imprints, -and one hitched pantaloon revealing the familiar muff of fur above the -selvage of his fallen sock. Now Stackhouse was preparing to enter. -Bellair was caught in the tension. The process, while prodigious, was -not without its delicate parts. One hand was irrevocably occupied -with a long-stemmed China pipe, a warm creamy vase, already admired by -Bellair. Breath came in puffs and pantings of fragrant tobacco, but -there were gurglings and strange stoppages of air that complained from -deeper passages. - -Creaking began at the corners; and a wallowing as if from the father of -all boars. Now the centre of the chair caught the strain in full and -whipped forth its remonstrance. One after another the legs gripped the -deck, each with a whimper of its own; and the air was filled with sharp -singing tension which infected the nerves of the watcher. Suddenly -the torso seemed to let go of itself; and from the canes of the huge -central hollow came a scream in unison. By miracle the whole found -itself once more and the breathing of Stackhouse subsided to a whine. - -“We are entering the latitude of rum,” said he. “Whoever you are, young -man, drink the drink of nature, and you will brosper.” - -The west was just a shore-line, the dusk rising like a tide. The hand -of the owner pressed the silks variously about his chest, and at last -located a loose match. Nerves were sparsely scattered in these thick, -heavy-fleshed fingers. He had to stop all talk and memory to direct his -feeling. The match at length emerged from his palm, and slithered over -the fine canes of the arm. It was damp. Stackhouse rubbed the sulphur -delicately in the hair at his temple and tried again. Fire leaped to -the tip, and poured out from the great hand which pressed it to the -pipe and mothered it from the wind. From the gurgling passages, smoke -now poured as the sweetness in Sampson’s riddle. - -Rum had come. The Japanese woman served them. The youth of her face -chilled Bellair; the littleness of her, all the tints and delicacy of -a miniature in her whitened face. Bright-hued silk, a placid smile, -the _skuffing_ of her wooden sandals and the clock-work intricacy of -the coils of her black hair--these were but decorations of the tragedy -which came home to the American where he was still tender.... But why -should he burn tissue? She seemed happy. He knew that the Japanese -women require very little to make them happy; but that little was -denied this maiden. An hour a day to giggle with her girl-friends -behind a lattice, and she might have borne twenty-three hours of hell -with calmness and cheer, not counterfeit like this. - -“You have no true drink of the soil in Ameriga,” said Stackhouse. -“You do not make beer nor wine, so you make no music. The only drink -and the only music that come from the States of Ameriga, are from the -nigger-folk who do not belong there. They make music and corn whiskey. -The rest is boison to the soul.” - -The voice was rich and mellow. He must have known Teutonic beginnings, -or enough association for the mannerisms to get into his blood. -Stackhouse was not even without that softness of sentiment, though he -was tender only for men. Except for a spellable word here and there, -his accent was inimitable. He talked of little other than death, and -with indescribable care--as if he had been much with men of another -language or with men of slow understanding.... It may have been the -drink, or the sunset over distant land; the Spanish Main ahead, or -the dryness and pentness of the city-heart and its achievement of -long-dreamed desire in a snug, sweet ship under the easy strain of -sails with wind in them; in any event Bellair was drawn with exquisite -passion--drawn southward as the _Jade_ was drawn in the soft, -irresistible strength of nature. - -He knew that this would pass, that he could not continue to sense this -_rapport_ with the sea-board, but he loved it now, breathed deep, and -saw Stackhouse as he was never to be seen again. There was enchantment -in the eyes of the great wanderer, and a certain culture of its kind in -its stories. Bellair listened and in the gleam of the broad, dark eyes, -there seemed a glimpse of burning ships, shadowy caravans on moonlit -sands and the flash of arms by night; low-lying lights of island ports, -formless rafts, spuming breakers, mourning derelicts--just glimpses, -but of all the gloom and garishness of the sea. He began a monologue -that night, and though it is not this story, it was not interrupted -except by meals and sleeping, for many days; and all the pauses in that -story were the dramatic pauses of death: - -“... I have travelled more than most travellers and have seen more than -is good for one man. In New York I saw Brundage of Frisco, who asked -me if I remembered Perry. I said I remembered very well, for Perry -was a bartner of mine, before young Brundage came out to the Islands. -He told me Perry was six weeks buried. That is the way now. When I -was young, my combanions did not die in beds. They were killed. Eight -months ago, I saw Emslie--waved at him going up the river to Shanghai. -He was outward bound, and came home to us in Adelaide in a sealed -box. Old Foster, who is richer than I, has married a little Marie in -Manila and may die when he pleases now. The South Seas still run in and -yonder among Island shores, but who buys wine for the Japanese girls in -Dunedin, since Norcross was conscripted for the service we all shall -know?... - -“And thus you come to the _Jade_, and some time you will here them dell -of Stackhouse. Who knows but you may dell the story--of a familiar face -turned down like an oft-filled glass? And some one will say, ‘He has -not laughed these many years.’ They used to say in the _Smilax_ at Hong -Kong, when the harbour was raving and the seas were trying to climb -the mountain--they used to say that Stackhouse was laughing somewhere -off the China coasts. But there are only so many laughs in a man, -and they go out with the years. Most of those who said that thing of -Stackhouse--yes, most of them, are dead as glacial drift.” - -Such was the quality of his perorations, hunched ox-like just aft of -the main-shrouds--the Japanese woman coming and going with the ship’s -bells, bringing drinks day and night. - -“It seared my coppers--that drinking in the States of Ameriga. It will -not subdue,” said he. “One has a thirst for weeks after a few days of -drinking in Ameriga. For one must be bolite.” - -He was never stimulated, seldom depressed, but saturated his great -frame twenty hours of the twenty-four, the Japanese woman seeming -to understand with few or no words the whims of taste of which he -was made. Just once in the small hours, Bellair heard her voice. The -cane-chair had not been empty long, and the silence of soft rain -was upon the deck. Bellair had opened a package of New York papers -purchased on the last day in Savannah.... It was just one scream, but -the scream of one not frightened by any human thing.... The roll of -papers dropped down behind the bunk. Anyway, Bellair could not have -read after that. Early in the morning after hours of torture of dreams, -he was awakened as usual by the sluicing of the monster. Two Lascars -who travelled with Stackhouse apparently for no other purpose, poured -pails of salt water upon him in the early hour when the decks were -washed; and often at midday as they neared the Line. It was given to -Bellair more than once, as the voyage lengthened, to witness this -hippodrome. - - - 2 - -Her face was continually turned away. Bellair wondered as days passed -if he should ever see her face to face--the silent, far-looking young -woman with a nursing baby in her arms. On deck she stood at the rail, -eyes lost oversea. Her contemplation appeared to have nothing to do -with Europe or America, but set to the wind wherever it came from, as -the strong are always turned up-stream. Sometimes she wore a little -blue jacket, curiously reminding Bellair of school-days, and though she -was not far from that in years, she seemed to have passed far into the -world. The child cried rarely. - -There was a composure about the mother, but he did not know if it were -stolidity or poise. Certainly she had known poverty, but health was -in her skin, and there was something in that white profile, that the -sun had touched with olive rather than tan, that stopped his look. -The perfection of it dismayed Bellair. He loved beauty, but did not -trust it, did not trust himself with it. The presence of a beautiful -face stimulated him as no wine could do, but it also started him to -idealising that which belonged to it, and this process had heretofore -brought disappointment. Bellair did not want this touch of magnetism -now. Beauty was plentiful. He had seen the profiles of Italian girls in -New York, that the Greeks would have worshipped, and which the early -worship of the Greeks was doubtless responsible for--beauty with little -beside but giggle and sham. He disliked the thing in a man’s breast -that answers so instantly to the line and colour of a woman’s face; -objected to it primarily, because it was one of the first and most -obvious tricks of nature for the replenishment of species in man and -below. Bellair fancied to answer the captivation, if any at all, of a -deeper wonder in woman than the contour of her countenance. - -He was aware that many a woman has a beautiful profile, whose direct -look is a disturbing reconsideration. This kept his eyes down, when she -was opposite in the dining cabin. We are strangely trained at table; -at no time so merciful. The human dining countenance must be lovely, -indeed, not to break the laws of beauty. Only outright lovers dare, and -they are bewildered by each other, and see not. So he did not know the -colour of her eyes. - -She nursed her baby often on deck, sitting bare-headed in the wind and -sun, sometimes singing to it. The singing was all her own; Bellair -wished she wouldn’t. Her melodies were foreign, and sometimes it -seemed to him as if they were just a touch off the key. Her low -dissonances, he described vaguely as Russian, but retained the -suspicion that she was tonally imperfect of hearing. - -The singing and the picture of her was just as far as possible from -Bessie Brealt, but she made Bellair think. In all likelihood this was -the general objection. His eyes smarted in the dusks, as he thought of -the other singer (as solitary in New York as this woman here), who was -determined not to be afraid of the cars or the bears or the wolves. -Every day Bessie’s first words returned to him: - -“A little Rhine wine--it’s very good here.” - -And always the devastation of that sentence was great. It was a -street-woman’s inside familiarity, _Brandt’s_ being one of her -rounds; as she might speak of the beer at _Holbeck’s_ or the chops at -_Sharpe’s_. Yet Bessie was not greedy, and had no taste for wine. It -was the glibness, the town mannerism, and the low, easy level which -her acceptance of the common saying revealed; the life which she was -willing to make her own, at least exteriorly. But after all, in the -better moments, it seemed very silly to deny a great soul to the girl -who could sing as Bessie sang. Some day she would feel her soul.... - -The preacher, third passenger on board the _Jade_, reported that the -Faraway woman was returning to her home in New Zealand. Fleury didn’t -know if her baby was boy or girl, but judged that it was very healthy, -since it cried so little. - -Fleury wasn’t promising to Bellair’s eyes. First of all it was -the cloth; and then during the first three weeks at sea, Bellair -spent innumerable hours in the periphery of the great cane-chair. -He did not resist his prejudice. “A missionary going out with the -usual effrontery,” he decided. The preacher’s face appeared placid -and boyish.... Fleury, however, continued to observe cheerful -good-mornings, to praise the fine weather, and to offer opportunities -for better acquaintance--all without being obtrusive in the least. -Hayti and Santo Domingo--names once remote and romantic to the city -man’s mind--were now vanished shores, and as yet the voyage was but -well begun.... The three passengers were served together in the cabin, -except in cases when the Stackhouse narrative happened to be running -particularly well. Bellair would then be called to dine with the owner. -Captain McArliss would appear at this mess and disappear--the courses -being brought to him one after another in a certain rapid form. The -Captain seemed so conscious, that Bellair never quite dared to observe -what happened to the food, but he was certain that McArliss did not -bolt. His suspicion was that he tasted or sipped as the case might be, -merely spoiling the offering. He was gone before Stackhouse was really -started. - -It was less what the giant ate, than the excessive formality and -importance of his table sessions that prevailed upon the American. -Dinner was the chief doing of the day. Bellair had never complained, -even in thought, of the food served to him in the usual mess, but with -Stackhouse everything was extra fine from the Chinese standpoint--all -delicacies and turns of the art, all choice cuttings and garnishments, -a most careful consideration of wines--so that from the first audible -delectation of the contents of the silver tureen, to the choice of a -cigar (invariably after a few deep inhalations from a cigarette “made -in Acca by the brisoners”), there was formality and deep responsibility -upon the ship; and a freedom afterward through the galleys that was -pleasant to regard. - -“There are many things in Belgium,” said the master. “There are wines -and gookeries there; also in Poland there are gooks. In England there -are gooks, but not in Ameriga--only think-they-are-gooks. However, -there are gooks in China. I have one, as you shall see.” - -Something like this at each mighty dining--and the promise had to do -with the next course which Stackhouse invariably knew and served as -a surprise for his guest, for he ordered his dinner with his coffee -and fish in the morning. Bellair had often seen the Chinese emerge -from the galley, as they came up from the dining saloon, little sparse -patches of hair here and there on his fat face like willow clumps -on the shore, these untouched by the razor, though his forehead was -perfectly shaven to the queue circlet. This was Gookery John taking his -breath after the moil and heat of the day. - -Stackhouse would declare that he dined just once a day, meaning this -exactly. He breakfasted on a plate of fried fish with many pourings of -mellow, golden and august German coffee, eating the hot fishes in his -hands like crackers--a very warm and shiny hand when it was done--crisp -brown fishes stripped somehow in his beard, the bones tossed overside. -He liked full day with this meal. The plates were brought hot and -covered to the great cane chair, until he called for them to cease. For -his supper he desired outer darkness (English ale and apples, black -bread from Rome that comes sewn in painted canvas like hams for the -shipping, butter from Belgium packed with the care of costly cheeses, -of which he was connoisseur; sauces of India, a cold chicken, perhaps, -or terrapin, and an hour or two of nuts). The Japanese woman appeared -at none of these services. - -It was the dinners, however, which bewildered Bellair most. He had -not the heart utterly to condemn them, since the _Jade_ and the noble -sea-air, sometimes winy and sometimes of sterile purity, kept him in -that fine state of appreciation, which if he had ever known as a boy -was utterly forgotten. He had initiation in curries and roasts, piquant -relishes of seed and fish and flower, chowders, broiled fish and -baked--until he felt the seas and continents serving their best, and -learned about each in the characteristic telling of the man who lived -for them. For instance when chicken was brought: - -“These are the birds for the Chinese to play with--yes, you would -think me joking? It is not so. The little chicken-birds are kept for -pets. They are not frightened to death. You do not know, berhaps, -that fear and anger boisons the little birds? They are kept happy and -killed quick--before they know. Many mornings they are fed from the -hand and played with, until they love John of the gookeries--and one -morning--so, like that--heads off--and no boison from the fear of death -in our flavours. Many things you do not know--yes?” - -“Yes,” Bellair said. - -Stackhouse loved his little facts like these, all matters of -preparation of fish and flesh and fowl; the intricate processes of -fattening, curing, softening, corking and all the science of the -stores.... “There was a certain goose which I found in Hakodate--not -from the Japanese, but from a Chino there----”.... “And once upon a -time in Mindanao, they baked a fish for me with heated stones in the -ground. Wrapped in leaves, it was, and covered first in clay. You -should see the scales and skin come off with the clay--and the inner -barts a little ball, when it was finished. And the dining of that -evening. Ah, the sharb eyes of the little nigger girls--you would -believe?”.... Such were the stories in the long feeding--but the -stories on deck were the stories of the death of men. - -In the usual mess the chat was perfunctory on Bellair’s part, since -he granted that the preacher and the Faraway woman (he called her -so in his thoughts from her distant-searching on deck) were so well -adjusted to each other. He granted this, and much beside concerning -the two, from pure fancy. Never once had they disregarded him, or -engaged in conversation that would leave him dangling, though many -times his own thoughts were apart. The _Jade_ had been three weeks out -of Savannah, in the southern Caribbean, a superb mid-afternoon, when -Bellair, turning at the rail, found Fleury at his side. He had just -been wondering if he had better go below and read awhile by the open -port, or start the monologue of Stackhouse for the rest of the day. The -latter was enjoyable enough, but Bellair disliked to drink anything so -early.... “One must be bolite.” - -It happened right for the first conversation with Fleury. He had never -known a preacher whose talk touched the core of things. Preachers -had always shown a softness of training on the actualities, and -left Bellair sceptical of the rest. A minister had once told him: -“What force for good we get to be in mid-life, is in spite of our -ecclesiastical training, not because of it.” Bellair had often thought -of that. - -Yet, he had given much secret thought to religious things, not counting -himself a specialist, however, seldom opening the subject. Certainly -at Lot & Company’s, no one had marked this proclivity. He had the idea -that a man must come up through men, and through the real problems of -men, if he would become a moving force for good in the world; that no -training apart among texts and tracts and tenets would get him power. -Very clearly he saw that a man must go apart to fix his ideals, but -that he should seek his wilderness after learning the world, not after -prolonged second-hand contacts with books. - -“The big job ahead is for some one who can show the human family that -it’s all of a piece, and that we’re all out after the same thing,” he -remarked. - -“A Unifier,” Fleury suggested. - -“Yes. Just so long as we have to hate one cult or sect, because we love -another, we’re lost to the whole beauty of the scheme----” - -“I quite agree with you,” said the preacher. - -“What is your church?” Bellair asked. - -“Well, the fact is, I haven’t one,” Fleury said with a smile. -“Convictions somewhat similar to that which you have expressed have -twice cost me my church. As the church puts it, I am a failure and not -to be trusted with regular work----” - -“You are going out in the mission-service?” - -Bellair was now ashamed, because he had held the other a bit cheaply. -The boyish face looked suddenly different to him, as Fleury said: - -“No--that is, I have ceased to expound theology. I have come out to -make the thought and the act one.” - -Bellair was taking on a new conception. His question was a trifle -automatic: - -“Did you talk out in meeting?” - -“Yes. There were a thousand years in the congregation. You know what I -mean--only a few of our generation in method of mind.” - -“A sort of Seventeenth century average?” Bellair suggested. - -“Don’t misunderstand me. I was wrong, too,” Fleury declared. “Wrong, -in the young man’s way of thinking himself right. You know we’re just -as baneful when we are getting into a new world of thought as when we -are not yet out of the old. It’s only after we have settled down and -got accustomed to the place, that we’re reasonable. A man should be big -enough to talk to all men, and appear everlastingly true to the least -and the greatest. Truth is big enough for that. I had only a different -trail from theirs, and wanted them all to come to mine, forgetting that -the trails are only far apart at the bottom of the mountain--that they -all converge at the top----” - -“You had to be honest with yourself,” Bellair said thoughtfully. - -“That’s just what I thought, but maybe there was a lie in that,” Fleury -answered. “It’s not so easy to be honest with one’s self and keep on -using words for a living. The best way is to act----” - -“You’ve said something, Mr. Fleury.” - -And in his new respect for the other, Bellair wanted to make his view -clearer. “It’s the old soil and seed story again,” he said. “It isn’t -enough to get truth down to superb simplicity. The minds of men must -be open beside. My objection to the Church is that it has separated -religion from work and the week-day--tried to balance one day of -sanctimoniousness against six days of mammon--taught men that heaven -is to be reached in a high spiritual effusion because One has died for -us. The fact is we’ve got to help ourselves to heaven.... Excuse me for -being so communicative,” he added, “but what you said about putting -down talk and taking up action interested me at once. I’ve a suspicion -you won’t be long in finding something to do----” - -“I’m hoping just that.” - -Fleury smiled at him. The face was large and mild, not a fighter’s -face nor a coward’s either.... The young woman appeared with the child. -She seemed to hold it to the sun, and she walked with the beauty of a -woman bringing a pitcher to the fountain. Bellair realised the heat of -the day. Her face had an intense clearness, but was partly turned away. -There was a delicacy about it that he had not known before. He recalled -that she had just bowed to them.... They were passing an island -shore--a line of sun-dazzle that stung the eyes, empty green hills and -a fierce white sky. Bellair thought of the woman and the island as one -... he, the third, coming home, mooring his boat, hastening up the -trail at evening.... Her frail back, bending a little to the right, -made him think of a dancer he had once seen. He saw the child’s bare -limbs in the sun.... His steps were quickened up that Island trail -again.... The _Jade_ seemed fainting in the cushions of hot wind. Just -then a voice said: - -“She’s quite the most remarkable woman. She isn’t a talker.” - -He had forgotten Fleury. - -“Where is she going?” - -“Auckland. She came from there.” - -“Queer, she would go home this way----” - -“Her whole fortune is in her arms,” Fleury whispered. - -The ship’s bell struck twice; the cane-chair creaked; they turned by -habit to note the appearance of the Japanese woman with drink. She did -not fail. Stackhouse came to with a prolonged snore, a sound unlike a -pair of pit-terriers at work. - -“A considerable brute,” muttered the preacher. - -“He has been much of a man in his way,” said Bellair. - -“He talks much--that is weakness.” - -Their eyes met. Bellair began to understand how deeply the other’s -experience had bitten him. - -“He’s afraid of death,” Fleury added. - -“I wonder,” Bellair mused. “He talks always of death. He’s been in at -the deaths of many men. He’ll die hard himself--if he doesn’t tame -down.” - -Fleury added: “When a man is so much an animal, all his consciousness -is in that. They see death as the end--that’s why they are afraid----” - -“I wonder if he is a coward?” Bellair questioned. - -“The stuff animals are made of cannot last,” the preacher concluded. - -Bellair pondered as he sat with Stackhouse that night. Brandy was the -choice of the evening. The Japanese woman brought it from the deeps of -the hold, where it had come in stone from Bruges. Bellair joined him a -second and a third time for the instant stinging zest of the fire.... -Fleury and the woman had long stood together aft by the clicking log. -The moon came late and bulbous. Stackhouse talked of his fortune, and -the chaos in many island affairs his death would cause.... Once he had -loved a chap named Belding, and would have left him great riches, but -Belding was dead.... - - - 3 - -They had crossed the Line. The night was windless hot--almost -suffocating below. Bellair gave it up, a little after midnight, and -went on deck, moving forward out of the smell of paint, for the heat -had bubbled the lead on the cabin planking. A few first magnitude stars -glinted in the fumy sky. The anchor chains and the big hook itself made -a radiator not to be endured--better the smell of paint than that. -Captain McArliss moved past with a cigar and suggested jerkily that a -hammock was swung aft by the binnacle. Bellair thanked him and went -there, but did not lie down. Close to the rail he could smell the deep -and it refreshed him. Left alone in this hard-won ease, his thoughts -turned back to New York. - -... It was like a ghost at the companionway--a faint grey luminosity. -She came toward him without a sound, the child in her arms. Something -of the strangeness prevented him speaking until she was near, and then -he spoke softly in fear lest she be frightened: - -“It is I, Bellair----” - -If she were startled, she did not let him know. He offered the -deckchair he had occupied, or the hammock, as she chose. - -“I would not have disturbed you,” she said. - -“I think it is cooler close to the rail,” he suggested. “The little one -is very brave. Is he awake?” - -“Yes----” - -“I don’t know why I said ‘he,’--the fact is, I didn’t know,” he laughed. - -“You were right,” she answered, sitting down. “He seems to have so much -to study and contemplate. It passes the time for him, and then he is -very well and he likes the sea.” - -“He has been to sea before?” - -“Yes, we came up from Auckland on a steamer when he was _ver-ee_ -little, but he liked it, and did so well. It was harder for him in New -York, although he didn’t complain----” - -Bellair laughed. - -“Now that I have taken your seat--won’t you get another?” she asked. -“Or the hammock?” - -“If you don’t mind I should be very glad to get another chair----” - -Bellair found himself hurrying to the waist, for there was always a -lesser seat by the great cane throne.... He could not see her face in -that utter night, but sometimes when he had forgotten for a moment, -there seemed the faintest grey haze about her face and shoulders, but -never when he looked sharply; and the curve of her back as her body -fitted to the child in her lap, hushed him queerly within, so that he -listened to his own commonplace words, as one would hear the remarks of -another. - -“Do you suppose he would come to me?” the man asked. - -“I think he would be very glad,” she said. - -Bellair took no risk, but placed his hand softly between the little -ones. Something went out of him, leaving nothing but a queer, joyous -vibration that held life together, with ample to spare to laugh with. -The larger part of his identity seemed to be infused with the night, -however. On one side of his hand, there was a warm, light seizure, -rendering powerless his own little finger, and on the other side, his -thumb was taken. He lifted his hand a little and the captor’s came with -it--no waste of energy whatsoever, but with easy confidence of having -enough and to spare. The man couldn’t breathe without laughing, but he -was very quiet about it as the moment demanded, and his delight was -nowise to be measured in recent history. - -He was bending forward close to the woman’s breast. Suddenly he -remembered her--as if finding himself in a sanctuary.... The great -pictures of the world had this _motif_, but the Third of the trinity -was always invisible. Yet he had entered in this darkness, come right -into the fragrance and the love-magnetism of it ... held there in two -ineffable pressures. - -His low laughter ceased. He was full of wonder now, but could not stay. -Out of the bewilderment of emotions he had the one sense--that he was -not the third to this mystery--that the third must be invisible, as in -the great _madonnas_ of paint. He betrayed the tiny grips with a twist, -caught the child in his two hands and lifted him from the mother, -sitting back in his own chair.... But the fragrance lingered about him -and that wonderful homing vibration. He knew something of the nature of -it now. It was peace. - - - 4 - -The little blue jacket had come forth again as they ran down into the -cold.... There was wild weather around the Horn, and Stackhouse was a -sick monster from confinement. Bellair, who could drink a little for -company through the glorious nights on deck, bolted from the cabin -performance, and Captain McArliss was called to listen, and fell, as -Stackhouse knew he would, for he had said to Bellair during one of -their last talks: - -“Lest there appear among men a perfect sailor, they handicapped my -McArliss--packed his inner barts in unslaked lime. Never will you see -a thirst fought as he fights it. First he will drink with me, and -you will hear him laugh; then he will drink alone, and there will be -silence until he begins to scream. Already his eyes are tortured and -his lips white. Bresently he will come and sit with me----” - -Bellair hated this; in fact the big master had begun to wear deeply. “I -should think you would want to keep him on his feet--for the passage -around the Horn.” - -“My McArliss is always a sailor,” said Stackhouse, rocking his head. - -Bellair could credit that. McArliss interested him--an abrupt, nervous -man, who covered the eager warmth of his friendliness in frosted -mannerisms and sentences clipped at each end. He was afraid of himself -except in his work, afraid of his opinions, though a great reader of -the queer out of the way good things. Bellair found Woolman’s Life in -his little library, with narratives of the ocean, tales of Blackbirders -and famous Indiamen, Lytton’s “Strange Story” and “Zanoni,” also -Hartmann’s “Magic, Black and White.” The latter he read, and found it -not at all what he expected, but a book that would go with him as far -as he cared at any angle, and then lose him. He was quite astonished. -It was a long book, too--the kind you vow you will begin again, from -time to time through the last half. He wanted to talk to McArliss about -it, but the Captain was embarrassed. - -“Crazy, eh?” he would say with a queer, dry laugh. - -“I’ve stopped saying that about a book--because I don’t get it all,” -Bellair remarked. “This man is right as far as I can go with him.” - -“You give him the benefit--eh? That’s pretty good.” - -“And you like it?” - -“Ha--it passes the time. Good God--we have to pass the time!” - -He spoke jerkily, always in this fashion, and the days brought no ease -to the tension. McArliss patted his pockets, swore hastily over little -things, looked snappily here and there. Bellair would have guessed, -without the word from Stackhouse. The Captain was fighting hard. There -seemed nothing to be done; the man had grown a spiked hedge around an -innocent shyness; all that was real about him he kept shamefacedly to -himself. Still Bellair believed more and more in his fine quality. -McArliss made a picture for him of one who has come up through steam -and returned to canvas bringing a finer appreciation to the beauty and -possibilities of natural seamanship; as a man returns to the land, -after many wearing years of city life, with a different and deeper -instinct of the nature of the soil. - -“She’s a slashing sailer,” he would say critically, as he crowded the -_Jade_. “She balances to a hair--eh? Good old girl--they don’t breed -her kind any more.” - -It was he who balanced her to every wind, meeting all weathers with -different cuts of cloth. Having only a distant familiarity with his -fellow-officers and not even a speaking acquaintance with the crew, -McArliss made her sing her racing song night and day down into the -lower latitudes, until one played with the suspicion that he managed -the weather, too,--with that same nervous, effective energy. It was -all tremendously satisfying to Bellair. He had reacted on the last -reaction, and was healed throughout. Worldliness was lost from his -mental pictures of Bessie; daily she became more as he wanted her to -be. Lot & Company had lost its upstanding and formidable black--was -far-off now and dimly pitiable. He had not cared what was ahead; it -had been the _Jade_ and the voyage that had called him, but now the -Islands and all that watery universe of the Southern Pacific were -in prospect, to explore and make his own. Perhaps men were younger -there; trade less old and ramified; perhaps they would bring him the -new magic of life--so that he could live with zest and be himself.... -Always at this part of the dream he would think of Bessie again. She -was the cord not yet detached. Sooner or later, he must go back to -her. At times he thought that he could not bear to remain very long; -sometimes even watching this endless passage of days with strange -concern.... But there was a short cut home--straight up the Pacific to -San Francisco--and four days across.... - -Fleury and the Faraway woman had their increasingly fine part in his -life. The preacher was always finding some new star, or bidding adieu -to some northern constellation. - -They had chosen the passage through the Straits because of the settled -weather. At least, they called it fair-going--wild and rugged though -it was, with huge masses of torn cloud, black or grey-black, hurtling -past, often as low as the masthead, and all life managed at sick -angles. The _Jade_ bowed often and met the screaming blasts with her -poles strangely bare, except, perhaps, for a few feet of extra-heavy -canvas straining at the mizzen weather-rig.... Stackhouse nudged him -one night and a laugh gurgled up from his chest as he pointed forward -where McArliss stood in the waist lighting a cigarette. - -“He will not sleep to-night. He will come to me--and you will never -hear such talk as from this silent man. He will look for gompany -to-night. One must be bolite.” - -It was true. McArliss apparently fell into the cigarettes first, -or perhaps he had fallen deeper. Bellair did not join them in the -cabin, but heard their voices. The next day McArliss hunted him up, -an inconceivable action. This was not like timid Spring, but sudden -redolent summer after the austerities. The man was on fire, but -perfectly in hand. All that he had thought and kept to himself for -months appeared to come forth now--books and men, the great oceans of -spirit and matter, and the mysteries of life and release. It seemed as -if his body and brain had suddenly become transparent. The Captain was -happy and kind, without oath or scandal, full of colour and romance; -returning with excellent measure all the good thoughts that Bellair had -given to him, and showing forth for one rare forenoon the memorable -fabric of a man. - -There was no repetition to his stages. In the afternoon he passed -Bellair brusquely, and drank the night away with Stackhouse. The -next day both face and figure had a new burden; the real man was now -imprisoned more effectively than even his sobriety could accomplish.... -Then the descent day by day--the narrow, woman’s waist and the broad, -lean shoulders becoming a hunched unit, face averted, hands thick. -Bellair always felt that Stackhouse was in a way responsible--for the -old Master had known what would come and lured it on. He had foretold -each stage--even to the last of McArliss drinking alone. - -On two nights Fleury was with him while he met his devils. He had -outraged Bellair at every offer and entrance. Even Stackhouse was -surprised that the preacher was permitted to attend. His poor vitality -at length began to crawl back into his body with terrible pain and -shattered sanity--that old familiar battle, the last of many storms. -And now the _Jade_ was sailing up into the summer of the southern -ocean. Midwinter in New York and here a strange, spacious sort of -June, not without loneliness and wonderment to Bellair for the steady -brightness and exceeding length of day. - -The new moon had come down, extraordinary in its earth-shine which -Fleury explained. The _Jade_ was marking time, just making steerage -headway, the breeze too light for good breathing.... To-night (as -had happened a dozen times before on the other side of South America -before the cold weather) Stackhouse had begun his story with, “It was -a night like this----” As of old it was the tale of man and death, of -the Stackhouse escape from death, sinuously impressing the Stackhouse -courage and cleverness. Not that the story was without art; indeed, -as usual, it was such a one as a man seldom leaves until the end; but -Bellair had long since reached the moment of sufficiency. He had come -to the end of his favourite author; had begun to see the mechanism and -inventional methods of the workmanship. Vim was lost for the enactment -of Stackhouse’s fiercer strength. The man was a concentrated fume of -spirit, every tissue falsely braced, his very life identified with the -life and heat of decay.... - -Alone, Bellair glanced about before going below. A breeze had slightly -quickened the ship in the last hour. There may have been a dozen -nights of equal mystery but this he appreciated more soundly and -was grateful for freedom. His mind answered the beauty of it all -... something of this, he might be able to tell Bessie in a letter. -The stars were far and tender; the air heavenly cool and soft, the -night high, and the ship’s full white above, had something to do with -angels--a dreamy spirit-haunt about it all. He would always see the -_Jade_ so, as he would see the Captain in that wonderful forenoon of -his emancipation--poor McArliss who had not been on deck for days. - -Twenty minutes later, with paper before him in his berth, Bellair was -deep in the interpretation of his heart, when the _Jade_ struck the -cupola of a coral castle, and hung there shivering for five seconds. It -was like a suspension of the law of time. - -Bellair thought of Bessie, of every one on the ship, beginning with -Fleury and the New Zealand woman, and ending with Captain McArliss and -the owner’s Japanese wife. These latter two were strangely rolled into -one, as their images came. He thought of the ship’s position somewhere -in the great emptiness between the Strait of Magellan and Polynesia. He -re-read the last line of the letter before him. It had to do with the -real help he hoped to be in Bessie’s cause _within the year_. He heard -the running and the hard-held voices on deck, and one great bellowing -cry from Stackhouse. He knew now that all the tales were the low -furies of fear; that the movement he had seen first in the eyes of the -great animal were the movements of fear.... - -And then the _Jade_ slid off the reef with a rip more tragic than the -strike. - - - 5 - -Hissing and sucking began below, and the drawing of the centre of the -earth. Bellair felt this in his limbs, and the limp paralysis of the -sails. It was like the blind struggle in the soul of a bird, this -strain in the entity of the old _Jade_ to retain her balance between -earth and sky.... Bellair was on his knees dragging forth his unused -case. The roll of New York papers came with it, and he stuffed them -in overcoat pockets with a six-shooter, a bottle of whiskey and a -few smaller things. These arrangements were made altogether without -thought. Unfumblingly, he obeyed a rush of absurdities that seemed -obvious and reasonable as in a dream. - -The touch of water on his knee as he arose was like a burn. It poured -in under the door, its stream the size of a pencil, a swift and quiet -little emissary. It occurred--a queer, rational touch--that the _Jade_ -could not be thus filled so soon, that something must have overturned. -He opened the door to the deck. Night and ocean were all one; the rest -was the stars, and this bit of chaos recoiling from its death--a -little ship, struck from the deep and perceiving her death like a rat -that has been struck by a rattler. He smelled the sea, as one in a -night-walk smells the earth when passing a ravine. - -He moved aft toward the voices, without yet having thought of his own -death. He passed a leaking water-cask, and this reminded him of his -thirst. He took a deep drink--all he could--and his thoughts came -up to the moment. At the same time, that which had been a mass of -inarticulate sounds cleared into a more or less coherent intensity of -action. - -He heard that the _Jade_ was sinking, but knew that already; heard -that she would be under in five minutes, which was news of the first -order of sensation.... Now he heard Stackhouse again; the rich unctuous -voice gone, a sharp, dry _peaking_ instead.... They were aft at the -binnacle--Stackhouse, Fleury, the Faraway Woman, McArliss. The Japanese -woman was hurrying forward with a pitcher of wine. Stackhouse drank -from the pitcher, standing, and with greed that flooded his chest. He -spoke and the Japanese woman vanished. - -Bellair saw the face of McArliss in the white ray from the binnacle. -He had scarcely seen the Captain for a week. Last seen, it was a face -swollen and flaming red. It was yellow now, like the skin of a chicken, -and feathered with patches of white beard. The loose eye-lids were -touched with blue. He fumbled with a cigarette, and called hysterically -to an officer amidships. He was not broken from the tragedy, but from -the debauch. - -Stackhouse was standing by the small boat when two sailors came to -launch it. He rocked from one foot to another and peaked to them -incessantly. Fleury and the woman stepped nearer the boat. They moved -together as one person.... Bellair saw Stackhouse raise his hands as he -had done that first Sunday, pushing Brooklyn from him. His body pressed -against the gunwale of the small boat; he caught it in his hands, as it -raised clear, his ridiculous ankles alternately lifting. - -His Chinese cook rushed forward with cans of crackers, and dumped them -in the boat. The Japanese woman appeared dragging a huge hamper of -wines and liquors. Stackhouse took the hamper between his legs and sent -her back to his cabin. The boat was lowered just below the level of the -_Jade’s_ gunwale. Stackhouse sprawled forward, the hairy masses of his -legs writhing after. Presently he reversed, and began to reach for the -hamper. Fleury kicked it out of reach, and lifted the woman and child -in. - -“Get water,” he said to Bellair. “I’ll save a place for you.” - -Bellair tossed his overcoat into the boat and darted to the galley, -where he found cans. Filling them seemed a process interminable, until -he pulled over the half-filled cask.... Stackhouse was screaming for -his hamper. The Japanese woman sped by with more bottles. She tried -to put them in the boat, but Fleury took them from her, and attempted -to force her into a place, but she had heard a final command from her -lord and broke away.... Bellair was filling his cans a second time.... -Stackhouse, who had risen insanely, was rocked back either by word or -blow from Fleury. The small boat was on the sea, and the _Jade’s_ rail -leaned low to it. The sea was roaring into the mother-boat; she would -flurry in an instant. - -“Yes, water, Bellair,” said Fleury. “But don’t go back.” - -“One more trip,” said Bellair. - -He filled the last can--his mind holding the image of Stackhouse -on his knees praying to Fleury for his hamper. Beseechings back in -the dark accentuated the picture. Fleury was calling for him.... He -passed the Japanese woman, sobbing and _skuffing_ pitifully back to -the cabin; as a child sent repeatedly for something hard to find. He -heard the launching of the other and larger boat forward; saw at the -binnacle McArliss still fumbling for a match. Then Fleury grasped him -and his can.... No, it was the woman’s hand that saved the can from -overturning. Bellair would have waited for the Japanese woman, but the -_Jade_ dipped half-over and slid him into the boat. - -The mother-ship shuddered. The Japanese woman passed the binnacle, -holding something high in her hand. She was on her knees.... There was -a flare and the face of McArliss--who had struck his match at last.... -The _Jade_ seemed to go from them--a sheet of grey obscured the rail. -The two who remained were netted there together, the red point of the -cigarette flickered out.... The two boats were on the sea; the night, a -serenity of starlight.... The sound of slobbering turned their eyes to -Stackhouse, who was drinking from one of the large cans.... Fleury went -to him, pressed the face from it, and placed the cans forward at the -feet of the woman. His hand was sticky afterward, as if with blood, and -he held it overside. - - - - -PART FOUR - -THE OPEN BOAT - - - 1 - -BELLAIR was athirst. The fact that he had taken a deep drink less than -a half-hour before, did not prevail altogether against it. In the very -presence of Stackhouse there was a psychological intensity of thirst. -The master sat hunched and obscene in the stern of the boat, patting -the wet folds of his shirt--a pure desire-body, afraid of death, afraid -of thirst, afraid of the fear of thirst and death. Picturesqueness and -personality were gone from him; romance and the strange culture of the -man, for the eyes of Bellair; the old wonder, too, which the seas and -the islands of the seas had given him. Bellair could not forget the -ankles, the moving of those bare masses up and down, as Stackhouse -had clung at the same time to the small boat and the gunwale of the -_Jade_. What a poison to past tales--this present passion and method of -self-salvation. He was less than a beast, in retaining the effigy of a -man. - -Bellair turned to Fleury. Like swift pleasant rays in the dark, the -last scenes of the main-deck recurred. Again he marvelled at the -falsity of his first judgments, by which he had formerly set so much, -and so complacently. It had seemed a fat face to him at first, a face -out of true with the world, the face of an easy man who placates things -as they are, because he was not trained to see the evil of them and -give them fight. All that was remembered with difficulty, even for this -moment of contrast. It would not come again. Fleury had stood up in -the crisis, a man to tie to. He would never be the same again in look -or action or intonation; as Stackhouse could never be the same. Fleury -had risen and put on a princely dimension; the other had lost even that -uncertain admirableness of gross animalism. - -The preacher was leaning forward toward the knees of the woman, talking -to the babe. Bellair imagined its eyes wide-open and sober; certainly -it was still. The mother’s face was partly turned away. Fleury said: - -“He is having his adventures. He will be a great man. He will have the -world at his finger-tips, when he is as old as we are--and then his -real work will begin. For when we know enough of the world, we turn to -God.” - -The note of the preacher in this did not embarrass Bellair, as it -would have done before the _Jade’s_ sinking. - -“He will be a great power,” Fleury went on, for the heart of the -mother. “These things which for him pass unconsciously, will form him -nevertheless. They will do their work within; and when he is grown he -will know what to do and say.” - -“How do you know?” the mother asked. - -“Chiefly because I believe in you,” he answered. - -“I want him to live,” she said. - -“We want that, too,” said Fleury. - -Bellair felt himself nodding in the dark. - -“If he is to be a great man, he will have to live through his first--at -least, through this adventure.” - -The meaning came very pure to Bellair. It had to do with crackers and -water for the nourishment of the child. So strong and sure was her own -fortitude that she did not need to say she was thinking only of food -and drink for him. It meant to Bellair, “If I cannot nurse him, he will -die.” - -He regarded the length and beam of the small boat. It was not more -than eighteen feet long--and only the Polar seas could be emptier than -this vast southern ocean. The nights would be more easily endured, but -the days, one long burning. Still it would not be torrid heat; they -were too far south for that. The thought of storm, he kept in the -background of his mind. They all did. Roughly estimated, there was -food and water enough for them to live without great agony for a week, -possibly for a day or two over, but Stackhouse was not a part of this -consideration. He could not live a week without an abnormal consumption -of water.... - -Fleury was talking about the stars. They would see Venus before dawn, -he said; the great one in their meridian now was Jupiter. “If we had a -marine-glass, we would be able to see his moons.... That,” he pointed -to the brightest of the fixed stars, a splendid yellow gleam in the -east, “that is Canopus, never seen north of the Gulf States at Home. -It’s so mighty that our little earth would turn molten in ten seconds -if it came as near as our sun.” - -Bellair leaned toward him listening. The preacher pointed out the -Southern Cross, and Alpha Centauri, almost the nearest of the sun’s -neighbours. - -Their thoughts groped naturally to such things. In the full realisation -of their helplessness, they looked up. The background was a deep -fleckless purple. Bellair hadn’t known the great stars of the northern -skies, much less these splendid strangers. The brimming closeness -of the dark sea harrowed the landsman’s heart of him; and there was -something as great or greater than the actual terror of ultimate -submerging. It was the fear of the fear; the same that causes men -to leap from high places through the very horror of the thought of -leaping. The water lapped the clinkered sides of the small boat. He -touched it. His flesh took from the coolness something that numbed the -pervading alarm; a message which the wet hand sensed, but the brain -could not interpret. The presence of the others forward sustained him; -Stackhouse in the stern was the downpull; thus Bellair was in the -balance. - -It was yet far from dawn; certainly no lighter, but Bellair could see -better. The woman was looking away. He knew that he would see her so, -until the last day of her life--that profile of serene control, that -calm, far-seeing gaze.... What gave her this quiet power?... Already -the thoughts of the three were intimate matters to all. It seemed very -natural now to ask Fleury what gave the woman such strength. - -“It’s the sense that all is well, in spite of this physical -estrangement from the world,” the preacher said. “Bellair, it’s the -sense that nothing matters but the soul. It’s not belief; it’s knowing. -She has lost the sense of self. _She is through talking._ It is -finished with her. We talk, because it is not finished in us--but it is -being accomplished. We talk because we want that peace; when it comes -we will not talk, but live it. It is exactly opposite to _desire_; you -can see that----” - -Yes, Bellair could see that. He had but to turn back in his seat to -confront Stackhouse wringing his heavy twitching hands and begging for -water, begging like a leper, now that a face turned to him--the most -frightful picture of the work of desire and the fear of desire, that -the world or the underworld could furnish. Less than two hours before -he had drunk a quart and wasted a pint in his greed; and behind Bellair -was the silent woman and Fleury, thinking of others, full of the good -of the world.... In the worldliness that came to him from Stackhouse, -the intimacy of the matter they had just talked about seemed startling. - -“One can’t help but notice what _you get from somewhere_--and what the -woman has,” Bellair added. - - * * * * * - -They were in the grey mystery of dawn--alone, for they had drifted, and -the sailors in the other boat had begun to row at once. Stackhouse was -lifted a little, brought nearer, possibly by the tension, which they -all came to know so well--the tension of that grey hour, before the day -reveals the sea. - -“It was my ship,” he whimpered. “It was my hamber--McArliss was mine -and the service----” - -“You’d have had them all yet, but you amused yourself watching poor -McArliss fall into the drink. You would have had it all--just the same -this morning--for he would never have hit the reef on duty----” - -It was Bellair who spoke, and the thing had suddenly appeared very -clear to him. Stackhouse did not falter from the present, his huge head -darting east and west to stare through the whitening film. - -“It was my hamber. There is room here at my feet. It was little, yet -meant so much. I should not have troubled you----” - -The lack of it seemed suddenly to hurt him even more poignantly. - -“You will all go to hell with your talk of beace,” he declared, looking -between them but at no pair of eyes. “I will go first, what with the -drink dying out, but you will not be long. There is hell for me, but -for all alike. You may live days--but the longer, the more hell. And -you will all come at last--to the long deep drink of the brine----” - -“Oh, come now, Stackhouse,” said Bellair. “It may not turn out so -badly. You’ve had luck before. You’ve talked much to me of luck--and -deaths of others. If it’s your turn--face it as your innumerable -friends faced it.” - -The man was undone before them. The flesh of his jaws stood out, as if -pulled by invisible fingers. His heavy lips rubbed together, so that -they turned from the sight of them. - -“There was room in the boat for that basket of rum,” he called out -insanely. “It was all to me. There is no talk of God for me--rum was -all I had!... I would have been so quiet. It would have been here at my -feet, but for that fool who talks of God, and can never know the thirst -of men.” - -Fleury turned to him, his face deeply troubled. It occurred to Bellair -that there was something to what Stackhouse said. Fleury, in kicking -back the hamper, had kept the devil of Stackhouse from entering the -boat, and Stackhouse served no other.... More and more it was twisting -his brain, as young alligators twist at a carcass. - -“I would have had it here between my knees. And I would have had the -little bottle from the cabin--the last that boots you to sleep----” - -“And so that is what you sent her back for--sent her to her death----” - -“You lie. She was held here--trying to get the hamber to me. There -would have been time. She would have gone and come. She would have been -here now----” - -Bellair and Fleury glanced at each other. - -“I am rotted with drink--and will drink the brine first, but you -will follow me. You will bring it up with your hands and drink--and -drink----” - -He was looking at Fleury now. The intensity of thirst in the spectacle -of him--the presence of that vast galvanism of thirst--was like a -burning sun in their throats. The baby cried, and the mother drew him -shudderingly to her breast. Fleury swallowed hard, his face haggard -and drawn in the daybreak. He went over and took his seat before the -monster. Bellair was tempted to ask him to be easy, but there was no -need. Fleury turned and drew a cup of water and handed it to the other. -Bellair’s jaws ached cruelly from the drain of empty glands. - -“We should pity you, Stackhouse,” he said, “but we are not facing -death now. You fill the boat with thirst--you fill the sea--with your -thinking drink and talking drink--until you bring a cry of thirst -to the little child. It’s as if we had gone sixty hours--instead of -six----” - -He talked on for the sake of the woman. Stackhouse drank and grew -silent. Bellair felt better and braver--even though the full light -revealed nothing but empty sea and heavenly sky. - - - 2 - -Bellair surveyed his world as the dawn came up.... Thirst and -fasting; possibly, the end.... The peculiar part of his open boat -contemplations, no two were alike. Physical denial hurried him from one -plane to another from which he regarded his world--his two worlds, for -Stackhouse behind was one, and his friends forward, another; the one -drawing his love, courage and finest ideals; the other, repression -of self, lest he wear himself out in hatred. They were not talkers in -front. He had not seen quite the entire fulfilment of Fleury’s meaning -about talking until late moments. The Faraway Woman invariably said -little; the child was the silentest of all; Fleury had met this demon -and put it away. Stackhouse had talked and talked, and to the pictures -he made with words, he belonged not at all, but to unspeakable things. -Bellair remembered his own talk to Filbrick. It made him writhe. He had -become crossed and complicated and ineffective that day. He had not -talked in the straight line of heart and brain. He saw that a man who -talks that which he is not, is less than nothing, as Stackhouse was -less than nothing. - -“How far are we from anywhere, Bellair?” Fleury asked. - -“We weren’t supposed to strike land before Chatham or Bounty -Island--two days’ sail this side of New Zealand, as I understand it. -We lost land six--a week ago to-day--_Madre de Dios_, McArliss called -it--off the west Coast of South America. With good wind McArliss -planned to sight the Islands off New Zealand in three weeks. We had -a week’s good sailing until yesterday--so we are a fortnight, as the -_Jade_ reckoned, from--_your home_.” - -Bellair turned to the woman. She did not speak. - -“Do you suppose we struck coral?” Fleury asked. - -The subject seemed very hopeless. “I saw the charts in McArliss’ cabin. -No reefs were charted according to our passage. We may have been -off our course. But I do not understand. The mate took our bearings -yesterday noon. I do not know what he reported to the Captain----” - -“It may have been a sunken wreck that we struck,” said Fleury. - -Bellair had thought of that. He turned to Stackhouse, who might have -had something to say, but the other stared at them balefully--at their -faces, not meeting their eyes. Either he had not followed their words, -or chose to take no part. - -“If we are in the course of any ships at all, it would be of one -passing our route, from the Horn to the Islands,” Fleury added. “I -doubt if it would do us any good to row. We must not tax our strength. -If we are off our course, we cannot tell whether it is to the north or -south, so nothing is positively to be gained. It’s a question of hands -up. The other boat set out for somewhere at once. If they find ship -they will tell the story----” - -It appeared a useless recounting of obvious things. Bellair had thought -this out bit by bit several times without finding the least substance -to tie to. Fleury’s addition merely accentuated the bleakness of their -position. - -“Still,” the preacher added, “if there is nothing for us to do in the -way of struggle--the rest is simplified. We may be thoroughly tested, -but I feel a strange confidence of our ultimate delivery. I thought of -it before we had parted from the _Jade_. It came to me again in the -night. I believe it now. We do not belong to the deep--not all of us.” - -Bellair wondered at the strength which came from this. He placed his -trust upon this man, as one having familiarity with a source which he -personally did not draw from. The preacher’s words were designed to -cheer the woman, but he could not let them pass as merely for that. -Fleury had a conviction, or he would not have spoken so. - -The air grew cooler during the long closing of that first day. -Bellair thought of his overcoat which lay in a roll under the narrow -planking forward where the woman sat. The bundle of New York papers -dropped out, as he drew the garment forth. He opened one of the papers -laughingly.... The headlines were like voices from another world. The -abyss between the real and the unreal yawned before his eyes now in -the open boat. New York seemed to be fighting in prints for things so -little and unavailing. So little ago, he, Bellair, had moved among -them, as among things that counted. Now what was real was the woman’s -courage and the substance of Fleury’s faith, and the hope that came -from the immensity. The deep contrasts of life held Bellair. - -As the message of the press came up to his eyes, he sunk into queer -apathy, believed himself dreaming when he read his own name. He was not -startled; even that was not his, but an invention like the clicking -of a watch, which marks off an illusion of the illusion time.... An -afternoon paper, dated the second day after his departure from New -York; a brief statement of his departure with certain funds of Lot -& Company; one item of a thousand dollars, several others suspected -missing.... There was a follow story in the next day’s issue: Bellair -as yet unfound, was believed to have gone to the Cobalt; Bessie Brealt, -a professional singer, had passed an hour or two with the missing man -on the eve of his flight. He had spent money recklessly.... This was -all. - -He dumped the papers overside, and was sorry afterward; still, there -was not physical energy in him to explain, nor comprehension in the -other two for such details. Lot & Company had sacrificed him to ward -off disclosures he might make. Possibly Attorney Jackson had suggested -the step. It was very clear. Even if the station-porter had not mailed -his letter, they would have found his order of release in the safe. It -was a part of the other world--proper business from Lot & Company’s -point of view. He was marked a thief in his small circle. He seemed -to see the face of the boarding-house woman as she heard the news. -She would search her house.... And Bessie Brealt.... The tempter, -notoriety, was responsible for her small, mean part. It wasn’t an -accident. She must have looked at his card and told, for the reporters -would not have come to her.... It began to hurt him, mainly because of -the thoughts and dreams of helping her, which had come to him since, -especially here in the open boat. She had fallen into one of the little -tricks of New York--to break into print at any cost. There wasn’t much -reality in the rest, nor much chance of his needing New York again. - - * * * * * - -... Three and a child in a small boat. The pale moon-crescent, her -bow to the sinking sun, appeared higher in the west. What a cosmic -intervention--since last night when he had seen her first arc and the -earth-shine from the deck of the _Jade_! And what a supper he had gone -down to afterward! There was wrench in that--an age since then.... No -one had spoken for a long time. Bellair wondered if the man and woman -thought of food as he did. - -Three and a child in the empty sea, and the great suns of night were -coming forth in the deepening dusk. They were strangers, but more -real than the sea. This was not like the earth at all; and yet the -_Jade_ had been of the earth. Her fabric had contained the bond that -held from port to port. Stars and sea--one more real than the other, -and different, too, for there was horror in looking down, but hope in -looking up. Something in his breast answered the universality--but -quailed before the deep. - -... Just now Bellair, lifting his overcoat to draw it closer around -him, sensed its unaccustomed weight on the left. His hand sped thither, -touched the full bottle of Bourbon whiskey purchased in Savannah. His -hand remained with it a moment. A shudder passed through the small boat -from Stackhouse, who had come to from another hideous sleep. - - - 3 - -Bellair stared into the sea. No one had spoken for many minutes. It was -close to noon. Though all that had to do with memory since the sinking -of the _Jade_ was treacherous, according to his recounting, it was but -the second day; that is, the mother-ship had gone down in the heart of -night before last.... Bellair had given away to temptation, when he let -his eyes sink into the depths. He had fought it for hours, and knew -that nothing good would come of it, but there was so much to fight, he -had not the further strength for this. - -The sea was calm on the surface, but there appeared a movement below, -so vast and unhurried, that it was like some planetary function. -There seemed a draw of the depths southward, an under-movement toward -the Pole. At times a cloud of purple would rise from far beneath and -shut off his peering, like the movement of blueing in a laundry-tub -before it is well-diffused. It came to him that this was but a denser -cloud-land--an ocean of condensed clouds, moved not by winds alone, -but the stirring of the earth’s mysterious inner attractions, which -in their turn were determined by the sun and moon and stars. It was -all orderly, but he, Bellair, was out of order. And such a little -thing--a quart of cool water, and any one of the thousands of meals he -had thoughtlessly, gratelessly bought and paid for--thousands consumed -with a book at hand, or a paper to keep his mind off the perfunctory -routine of feeding himself. Hundreds of meals he had taken, because -it was the hour, and a cigar was more pleasurable afterward; meals in -his room--paper packages of food, pails of ice, chilled bottles with -a mist forming on them; saloon lunches, plates of colored sausages, -creamy-rose slices of ham, tailored radishes and herring pickled in -onions.... There was not a fish in the sea, not a movement but the -blueing, and that slide of the under-ocean river to the Pole. - -Yet there _was_ something in there--an end to this disorder. It would -take all he had left--the good air. It was like a knife or a gun or a -poison-pill.... The movement below was so strong that it would grip -him, shut him from the air, and leave him slithering along toward the -Pole, sometimes sinking sideways, and then rising, forever seeking his -balance ... not forever. He pictured himself in a school of herring, -thousands of bright lidless eyes, thousands of bubbles, like eyes, from -their mouths opening and shutting--he slithering sideways--his hands -moving in the tugs and pressures. They would cease to dart from his -movements, understanding them as the ground-birds know the wind in the -grass. Lips and eye-lids and nostrils--they would have food. Food was -the great event of the day to all things--except men. Men ate by the -clock, ate to smoke, ate to soften the hearts of women ... yet after -all food was food.... Or one big fish.... Or two fighting for him.... -Or one finding him lying still, a slow fanning of fins against the -purple pressures, watching to be sure--then the strike.... Once he had -examined a minnow after the strike of a bass.... Where would _he_ be -in that strike--or in that herring school-room--not that slithering -sideways thing--but _he_? Would he be watching humorously, or back -in the cage with Mr. Sproxley, or in Bessie’s bedroom? Was it all a -myth about that other _he_? It seemed a myth with his stomach sinking, -tightening like a dripping rag between a pair of mighty elbows. In the -centre of the rag was a compressed cork, and in the cork, a screw was -twisting. - -Cork--that made him think of the whiskey. He turned from the water -to the coat under the seat, his eyes blinking. His bare foot moved -painfully to the coat and along the breast to the pocket, to the hard -hump of the bottle. - -His eyes suddenly filled with the figure of Stackhouse, whose attitudes -were an endless series of death tableaus, as his stories had also -pictured. His face had broken out into more beard, his eyes glazed, -body shapeless, like clothing stuffed with hair. His hands held the -primal significance of birth and death. They lay upon his limbs, the -thumbs drawn into the palms, the first and little fingers of each -pointing straight down. Bellair thought of how death contracts the -thumb, and how infants come with their thumbs in-drawn. - -Also his mind was played upon by two distinct series of -emotions--Stackhouse representing one set; Fleury and the Faraway Woman -signifying the other. He swung from power to power. Then his concern -and fascination for Stackhouse changed from loathing and the visible -tragedy, to a queer passage of conjecture regarding the worldwide -processes which had nourished that huge body to its fall. In fact, -Bellair’s favourite restaurants returned to mind like a pageant; -the little inns on the Sound that he used to go summer Saturday -afternoons; the one place in Staten where there were corn-cakes and -a view of the shipping; the myriad eating and drinking places of New -York; and from them all, one shop of chop and chicken-broils where the -miracles were done on wood-embers, so that even the smoke that filled -the place was seasoned nutriment. - -“They certainly knew how to buy,” he muttered aloud. - -It was a kind of moan, and he added quickly: “I beg your pardon.” - -Fleury and the woman regarded him with silent kindness. - -“I was just thinking of a man I knew--a buyer of canned goods,” he -explained hastily. “The bargains in canned-goods he had a way of -pulling off! There wasn’t a man in New York who could bring in lines of -stuff at the figure he copped--a little runt of a man named Blath, who -knew his business----” - -Fleury leaned back as if reaching for support, his quiet smile not a -little tender. His two browned hands came forward to Bellair’s knees, -and he said with a devoted smile: - -“I’ll not forget that in a hurry.... Blath, you say his name was?” - -Bellair knew well that he had not kept his mental pictures from -Fleury’s mind. His entire consciousness had been in steam and woodsmoke -having to do with broiling meat. The three were worn thin, worn to -fine receptivity, and caught one-another’s thought without effort of -many words.... Though he did not turn, a shock of pity came to him now -for the master. He had meant to save the opening of the whiskey for the -next dawn, vaguely thinking that if they should find the sea empty once -more, there would be that false strength to fall back upon. Stackhouse -could not live more than a day or two longer. He was torn by devils, -his only surcease being the snap of consciousness from time to time. -The whiskey had been upon Bellair’s mind like a curse. He wanted its -force for himself, but never really meant to use it, had not even given -the temptation leeway. His lot was cast with the forward forces; they -would not have touched the contents of his bottle. This did not change -the desire, however. - - - 4 - -The third day. Bellair was light-headed from the scarcity of crackers. -Yesterday had been a mingled thirst and hunger day, but this was -characterised by hunger incessant. To-morrow he anticipated with dread -another thirst horror, and after that, no hunger at all, but mighty -agony that knew but the one word, _Water_. The keen airs of night and -morning, and the sterilised burning of the noons, constantly fanned -and stimulated the natural demands of the body.... He had forgotten -the newspapers. Bessie’s face came before him--something of her deep -heart-touching tones which changed him. - -“There must be a great woman there--a great fine woman--like this one.” - -He did not turn. It may have been the first concession from his -every-day faculties of this woman’s actual beauty. He had already -granted this deeper within, where the understandings of men are wiser, -but harder to get at. Certain hours had shown him the clear quality -of saints and martyrs; and he had seen in pure life-equation that the -child was worth his life or Fleury’s. He would have given his, as most -white men would, but it was different to see the value and rightness of -it.... - -There was now an unspeakable need in the stern. He drew the bottle from -the overcoat-pocket at his feet, without turning. Fleury and the woman -watched him. He cut the small wires with his knife, tore off the wafer, -half-expectant of some sound from behind.... The day was ending. The -young moon newly visible in the dusk began its curve into the west from -a higher point in the sky.... - -There was a screw in Bellair’s knife. It sank noiselessly into the -cork, but the first creak of the stopper against the glass brought the -jolt. They all felt it--as if the great body had fallen from a dream. - -Stackhouse was staring at the thing in Bellair’s hands, his tongue -visible, his face filling with light. He rubbed his eyes, the -beginnings of articulation deep in his throat. He was trying to make -himself believe it was not a vision. That harrowed them. A pirate would -have pitied him--reptile desire imaged not in the face alone, but in -the hands and all. Bellair poured a big drink in a tin-cup. Fleury -passed him a gill of water. Stackhouse drained the cup with a cry. - -Something earth-bound slowly left his face. In contrast it grew mild -and reckonable; but within an hour he was wild with pain, and dangerous -for night was falling. In the light of the moon there was treachery. -Bellair and Fleury sat together in the centre. The other’s bulk was -great and the boat small. In becoming custodian of a bottle of whiskey, -Bellair now required help. He wished it in the sea, but there was a -pang of cruelty about that. The new force that animated Stackhouse -had to be reckoned with. It was both cunning and destructive. There -was no murder in their hearts.... Stackhouse drew his feet under him, -helping them with his hands; his eyeballs turned upward from the agony -of cramps in his limbs; then he sank forward on his knees. The craft of -desire had turned from fighting to speech. The moon was grey upon his -breast and gleamed from his eyes. - -“You will listen to a man who is dying. Yes, Bellair, you will -listen--who listened to me so much.... Give me drink, so I can talk----” - -“It may save you--but not if you take it all at once.” - -The creature winced, but his passion moved to its appointed ends. He -drew forth the large brown wallet they had often seen; rubbed it in his -hands, until his fingers could feel; then opened the leather band. From -one receptacle he lifted a thick package of bank-notes. - -“I liked you, Bellair--almost as I liked one Belding. I could have done -much for you. I hate _that_ man, for he has made my death hard----” - -His face turned toward Fleury, but did not meet the preacher’s eyes. - -“The _Jade_ brought a sweet cargo to Ameriga, and Stackhouse does -not bank in New York.... Bellair, I want to drink--so the talk will -come----” - -So absurd was the sound of cargo and banking that Bellair thought his -mind had wandered again, yet he said: - -“You are better. You cannot drink each hour. If this is to help you, -you must be sane.” - -“I have something to say of imbortance--you will help me, Bellair. It -is for you.” - -The faces of Fleury and the mother gave him no help. They were kind, -but the thing seemed beneath them, as if they were waiting for him to -come back from it. - -“You have stood by that man, and not by me,” Stackhouse said hoarsely. -“So that I meant to toss this in the sea at the last--this and all the -papers----” - -He lifted the bank-notes and showed him the collection of -separately-banded documents. - -“I am a rich man, and I have no heir. I had thought of you, but you -turned away from me and did not continue to listen. You went to him -of the breachings--but you have now what is needful for me and I will -bay. I have no heir. I said that before. I dell you now. A dying man -does not lie. There are papers to make you rich, for I have other -fortunes. Look, I will toss it into the sea--if you do not give me that -bottle----” - -Bellair laughed at him. - -“These are thousand dollar notes--there are fifty of them----” - -Bellair turned aside for an instant. Money and papers of more -money--these were very far from fanning excitement in his breast. A -loaf and a jug of fresh water were real; the moon’s higher appearance -each night, and the majestic plan of the night-suns, these were real. -Fleury, the woman and the babe, lost in the brimming darkness of -earth’s ocean--they were real. Like the stars they had to do with the -mighty Conceiver of it all. They were a part of the Conception--and so -they were real--but the dollars of men.... - -“And do you know what I will do--after I have tossed this into the sea?” - -The question brought him back quickly. - -“No, Stackhouse,” he answered. - -“I will come for you and dake that bottle. I am big. I have strength. I -will dake it--or you will kill me--and that will be the end----” - -Bellair thought of that. There was a pistol in his coat. He did not -want to use it. He believed Stackhouse would do as he said. - -“For God’s sake, Bellair----” - -“If I give it to you--oh, not for that rubbish!” he pointed to the -wallet. “If I give it to you--you will die more quickly----” - -“That is what I want.” - -“But it is not our way----” - -Stackhouse tore loose from his shirtpocket the heavy gold watch and its -heavier chain, dropped the whole into one of the folds of the wallet to -weight it down. “It will sink,” he said. - -“To hell with it----” - -“For God’s sake, Bellair!” Stackhouse moaned, his arm rising with the -wallet and falling again. - -At that instant Bellair thought of Bessie Brealt and her career.... He -turned to Fleury and the Mother. They were regarding him with kindest -concern--as if he were a loved one who could not fail to do well in any -event. Then he thought of the work that Fleury might do--the preacher -who had finished with talk, and was so eager to act.... And just then, -the little child turned to him from the mother’s breast--a puzzled -look, but calm, and a flicker of the damp upper lip, as if it would -like to smile, but was not sure. - -Bellair held out the whiskey. The wallet was thrust in his hands for -reception of the bottle--a frenzied transaction. - -They begged him to spare it for his own peace. They gave him water, but -poor Stackhouse could not live with the stuff in his hands. In fifteen -minutes the bottle was drained, and then the monster wept. - - - 5 - -The night roved on like a night in still mountains. The young moon had -sunk behind the sea. Jupiter in meridian glory seemed trying to bring -his white fire to the dying red of Antares.... A dark night of stars -now, since the upstart moon had left the deeper purple. Most of all, -Bellair was fascinated by the great yellow gleam of Canopus. It was -a dry, pure dark--no drip in that night--but a thirsty horror in the -saline lapping of the ocean against the planks. - -Stackhouse was headless in the shadow, his piglike breathing a part -of all. Fleury, the mother and the child slept; the preacher’s head -close to the knees of the woman. Bellair marked that, and that Fleury -loved her. At times the preacher’s whole life seemed an effort to make -her eat and drink; and as for Fleury himself it often appeared that he -required no better nutriment than that of conferring food and water -upon the others. As custodian, he claimed authority for his action.... -Bellair thought long of Bessie. He was watching the east at last for -Venus to arise ahead of the sun.... - -... But Bessie became blurred. He did not understand. Either his -brain had another picture, or the original of the singing girl was -fading.... A New York voice, no passion, but ambition, an excellent -voice--and such a beautiful, girlish breast.... Bellair tried to -shake this coldness from him. This was not being true. He had a faint -suspicion that a man’s woman is more apt to depart from him while he -is at her side than when he is away. It is because another has come, -if passion for the old dies, when one is away. Alone and apart, man is -more ardent, in fact, unless a new picture composes.... He thought of -Davy Acton, the office boy at Lot & Company’s, that wistful, sincere -face--and then Bellair gave way to the night. - -This was a new sensation. It came from the hunger and thirst. He could -_let go_. The purple immensity would then take him. A half-hour, even -an hour, would pass. It was not sleep, very different from that. He was -not altogether lost. A little drum-beat would come back to him from the -mighty revery-space, and his heart would answer the beat. He seemed to -be on the borderland of the Ultimate Secret; and invariably afterward -he was amazed at what he had been--so sordid and sunken and depraved -was the recent life he had known. - -“But I was what the days and years seemed to want of me,” he muttered. - -That was the gall of it. Days and years are betrayers; all the -activities of the world are betrayers. He glimpsed the great patience -of the scheme. Only man makes haste. Myriad pressures, subtle and -still-voiced, tighten upon a man, bringing just the suggestion that all -is not well with him. Then there are the more obvious pressures--fever, -desire, the death of a man’s loves--to make him stop and look and -listen. But so seldom does he relate these to the restlessness of his -soul. Rather he attributes them to the general misery of life. He has -been taught to do so--the false teaching.... For general misery is not -the plan of life. If _children_ could only be taught that it is all -superbly balanced, the plan perfect; that not a momentary stress of -suffering comes undeserved; that the burden of all suffering is to make -a man change!... A sentence came so clearly to him that even his lips -formed it. - -“The plan of life is for joy!” - -He saw the need of every hundredth man at least, arising to repeat -this sentence around the world--arising from his pain and husks like -the Younger Son, and returning to the joy of the Father’s House.... -Something was singing in him from his thought of _children_. - -“We’re too old,” he thought, meaning the millions of men caught in -the world as he had been, “but the children could learn. They could -change----” - -He had turned to the bow. Fleury was a nearer shadow, sitting, head -bowed forward. The Mother’s head lay back against Bellair’s coat, the -child across her knees.... That faint grey light was about her. He had -not noted this at first; it seemed to have come from the moment of -contemplation--something like starlight, something like the earth-shine -that Fleury explained. Her lips were parted, and her eyes seemed held -shut, not as if she slept but as if she were thinking of something dear -to her--her face wasted a little. - -He saw it more clearly than the faintness of the light would -suggest--and to Bellair’s breast came a sudden sense of her expectancy. -It seemed she were awake, but lying back with eyes shut awaiting a -lover, her face wasted a little from the burning of expectation. For -a moment it was very beautiful to him. Then all was spoiled--for the -personal entered. Almost before he had any volition in the matter, his -mind had flashed across the interval of space between them--as if he -were the one to bring that token to the parted lips. - -He shook his head with impatience, and the miseries of the hour rushed -home to his mind. - -... Fleury was awake and they were whispering, the woman still asleep. - -“The plan of the world is for joy,” Bellair said wearily. “We are all -taught that it is a vale of tears--that’s the trouble--taught that we -must grab what we can.” - -“If we won’t learn from joy--we’ve got to take the pain,” said the -preacher. “We’ve got to get out of the conception of time and space as -the world sees it to catch a glimpse of the joy of the plan. We are -in the midst of a superb puzzle. To those who see only the matter and -not the meaning, life is an evil country, a country of dragons and -monsters. But there’s a soul to it all, and man has a soul. If a man -begins to use his soul to see and think with, the puzzle begins to -unfold. A man’s soul isn’t of matter. It’s a pilgrim come far, far to -go--very eager to get this particular journey through matter ended----” - -“But why make the journey?” - -“To learn evil.” - -“The Younger Son wasted himself afield----” - -“Was he not placed afterward above the elder in the Father’s heart?” -Fleury asked. “Could he not appreciate the Father’s House better than -him who had not left it? Man is greater than angels--that’s hinted at -everywhere in the Scriptures. Angels are unalloyed good. The man who -has mastered matter becomes a creative force. All the great stories -of the world tell the same story--the wanderings of Ulysses, the -tasks of Hercules. The soul’s mastery of each task and escape from -each peril and illusion is an added lesson--finally the puzzle breaks -open. The adventurer sees the long journey of the soul, not this -little earth-crossing. He sees that his misery now is but a dip of the -valley--that the long way is a steadily rising road--that the plan _is_ -for joy.” - -It came home to him closer than ever before that night. His soul had -tried to express itself and ordain his higher ways these many years, -but he had lost his way in the world. He perceived that all men lose -their way; that he had suddenly been shaken apart so he could see. -It was luck in his case--the misery at Lot & Company’s, the singing -of Bessie Brealt, the unparalleled contrasts here in the open boat. -But why should he be shown, and not the millions of other imprisoned -men? Was this a part of the great patience of the scheme again? Would -something happen to each man in due season, some force in good time to -help him to rise and be free? - -“The man who ties himself to the pilgrim--and not the sick little -chattering world creature--suddenly finds that he has but one job,” -Fleury said presently. “He’s got to tell about it----” - -The world suddenly smote Bellair. - -“Why, men would say a man was crazy if he told the things we have -thought this night,” he said, leaning forward. “Maybe we are a bit -unsound. Perhaps these are illusions we are harbouring--vagaries -from drying up and wasting away, similar to the vagaries of -alcohol--doubtless----” - - * * * * * - -It was like waking from a dream--the horrible sounds now from the -stern. Bellair heard Fleury’s voice. Turning, he saw Venus before -anything else. It was the thought that he had fallen into the revery -with, and had to be finished on the way out. - -Under that superb vision of morning, Stackhouse was kneeling, his -breast against the rail,--bringing up to his mouth great palm-fuls of -brine. - - - 6 - -The things that happened in the open boat on this fourth day are not -altogether to be explained. A metaphysician from the East explained -a similar visitation--but like many explanations of the East, the -foundations of his discussion were off the ground. He did not begin -with stuff that weighs-up avoirdupois. The West can weigh the moon -and estimate the bulk of Antares’ occulted companion, but in cases -where _things_ cease to be weighable, our side of the world sits back -with the remark, “It is well enough to hypothecate the immaterial, -but what’s the good of it when you can’t see it?” Also when the East -gently suggests an opinion, the West rises to declare, “Why, you people -haven’t got gas or running water in your houses.” - -Now occasionally there comes a time when the Western eye sees something -that it can’t touch or smell exactly, and it is easier to disbelieve -its own senses than to change its point of view for an Eastern one. -Accordingly it says, “I was crazy with the heat,” or as Bellair was -prone to explain away the visitation of this day, “The thirst and the -hunger had got to me.” - -There follows, without further peroration, an unheated narrative of -what _appeared_ to take place on that fourth day: - -As was expected from drinking the brine, Stackhouse went mad. The -look of the great creature, his very identity, changed, went out from -him, and something else came in. This happens when a dog goes mad. We -have had to reckon with it in our own families. If that which we knew -passes, without something foreign taking its place, the result would -be a mere inert mass waiting for death. The alienists have given us -the word _obsession_ to explain that which comes instead, making an -obscenity and violence of that which we knew. In the olden days these -Enterers were known as demons. A man named Legion was beset with them, -and Another with a strong will came and, according to the story, freed -Legion. That which had defiled him entered a herd of swine, the bars of -which were somehow down at the time.... - -They had ceased to hate Stackhouse. The old Master was gone into who -knows what long feeding dream? This was merely his body that they -watched for an hour or two in the forenoon. In fact, Bellair had -studied the departure with some detachment. He was sitting as usual in -the centre of the boat, glad that the Stackhouse agony was done. There -was a moment in which it appeared that death was stealing in rapidly, -and another in which a new kind of life entered the body--as vandals -enter to despoil a house after the tenant has moved away. - -The hunched body had suddenly reached for him like a great ape. Bellair -had felt the crippling force of the touch, and an almost equal force -from the thought that flashed in his mind--to use the pistol.... The -boat had rocked beneath them. The blackness of much blood was in -Bellair’s brain. The struggle was brief. Through it all, Bellair heard -the cries of the child. Just as he was ready to fail, the monster sat -back, his teeth snapping in his beard--the huge hands feeling for him, -as one blinded. - -“Change places with me, Bellair.” - -This was from Fleury--midforenoon that fourth day. Bellair obeyed -because he was afraid of the pistol at hand. - -“I don’t want to kill him,” he panted. - -“It will not come to that,” Fleury answered. - -It was then that the transfer of seats was made. Bellair relied -vaguely upon the preacher’s greater strength which was not of limb and -shoulder. The monster dropped to his knees to renew the fight. - -“Be still,” Fleury commanded. “Be still and rest----” - -Stackhouse himself would not have faltered before that voice of -Fleury’s, but there was a force in it that prevailed for a moment upon -the obsession. The air was full of strain.... They heard the heart in -the poor body. The blue-tipped hands were upraised from the bottom of -the boat--the face was toward them. Bellair and the Faraway Woman could -see only the back of Fleury’s head. The strain was like a vice in the -open boat. - -Bellair contemplated the mystery: that this force, lower and more -destructive than Stackhouse, could be managed and subdued in part by -the energy of another’s will-power, when Stackhouse himself would have -required brute strength.... He thought he understood what was going -on, though he would likely have scouted the same had some one told him. -In any event, Fleury was quieting the complicated thing before him.... -They heard the heart-beats rise and sink, the hands often lifting from -the bottom. The entire passage of the battle was magnified before their -eyes. Hours passed. Fleury scarcely turned. - -So far there is nothing to call in the Eastern metaphysicians, but -the day was not done, nor the dying galvanism of the monster. The -afternoon was still bright, when the great hairy head cocked itself -up differently--the eyes stretching open and suddenly filled with -yellow-green light, the colour of squash-pulp close to the rind, but a -transparent light, that gathered the rays of the day in its expiring -lucency, and held their own eyes--a lidless horror lifted from its -belly. The woman must have seen the change at the same instant, for her -cry blended with the voice of Bellair. As one, they understood that -this was a different force for Fleury to meet--a wiser, more ancient -and terrific force, from the bowels of the world of evil possibly, -without relation to Stackhouse, but with a very thrilling relation to -them. - -The whole face had a different look. It was rising higher. The hands -were braced upon the grating, pushing the body up. They were accustomed -to the loosed havoc of bestiality which Stackhouse had left upon his -features--but this that looked out from his eyes was knit and intent. - -Fleury’s hand groped back. - -“It will not answer me,” he was saying. “This is different. It will not -obey me. Take my hand, Bellair.... Yes, and take hers with the other. -We must drive it out.” - -Weariness more than death was in the speech. He had struggled for -hours. It was the voice of a man who had fought to his soul’s end. -Bellair held his hand and the woman’s, but felt himself the betrayer. -This had come _for him_! He was the prophet lying still while the -sailors deliberated. They must cast him into the sea, before this thing -could be willed into quiescence. Concentration on his part was broken -by this conviction. - -The body of Stackhouse was lifted to its knees--the different face -looking out of the eyes. They sat before it like terrified children; -the eyes found them one after another, steadily, with unearthly frigid -humour, like some creative force of evil, integrated of the ages, -charged with intrepid will, a ruling visitant that would tarry but an -instant for the climax. - -It was not human, save in the shape and feature for their recognition; -its difference from the human was its frank knowing destructiveness. -Humanity is mainly unconscious of the processes of evil; _this had -chosen_. This was of the pull of the earth, and knew its power. It -seemed known to Bellair as if from some ancient meeting. He could never -have remembered, however, without this return. It was devoid of sex, -which seemed to bring to him some old deep problem that took its place -with his ineffable fear of the presence. - -So Bellair sat between them, holding their hands, but powerless to -help.... It was higher, looking out of the eyes of the body, in strange -solution with the fallen humanity of the face they knew. And Bellair -knew _he_ was responsible. - -“You must depart. You do not belong here,” a voice said. Bellair could -not tell if it were Fleury’s or the woman’s or his own. It may have -been merely a thought. - -The thing had uprisen now. It lurched in the sway of the boat. Fleury -and he were standing to meet the body that hurled itself forward.... -Water dashed over them. They were beneath the monster. Bellair felt -more than the crush of the weight of flesh, a force kindred to -electricity, but not electric, a smothering defiling dynamics, that -despoiled him by the low, cold depth of its vibration, rather than by -the fierce fury of it. Then he thought of the woman’s child. It came to -him like a pure gleam. The child must live. The thought was very real, -out of the self, but not _for_ self.... It seemed that he heard the -heart of Stackhouse break, and the demon hiss away. - -Bellair looked up from the bottom of the boat. The woman’s face was -very close, his face between her hands. - -“... Yes, come back to us!” she was saying. “Oh, we could not live -without you----” - -It did not seem real to him for a moment. He turned from her merciful -eyes. Fleury was sitting there in the centre, holding the child with -hands that trembled. The boat rode lightly, though water lay in the -bottom. He turned farther. Yes, the seat in the stern was empty. - -“He is dead?” Bellair whispered. - -“Yes,” she answered. - -“And we did not kill him,” Fleury added. - -“But how did he get overside?” - -“You helped,” they told him. - -He did not remember. “And the child?” - -“The little Gleam is all right. All is well with us, Bellair.” - -Something of the encounter returned now. “I do not belong here with -you,” he said. “The thing--at the last--came for me----” - -Then he realised how absurd this would sound--as if some ogre had come. -Yet they understood. - -“I thought it had come for me,” the woman answered quietly. “I said -that, and _he_----”she turned with a smile to the preacher,“--and he -said the same--that it had come for him. We will forget that. Something -freed us----” - -Bellair turned to the child. - -“It was the little Gleam who freed us,” Fleury said. - -“How did you get that name?” Bellair asked. - -“You said it.” - -“How long have I been lying here?” - -“Ten minutes.” - -He rested a moment longer.... The woman was sane, the child unhurt. -Stackhouse was dead, and they had not murdered him. It was the fourth -sunset.... Bellair sat up and turned his eyes to the sea. - -The great body was near. It would not sink. They tried to row, but -were too weak to pull far. The calm sea would not cover it from their -eyes.... Even the birds did not come to it, and there was no tugging -from the deep. - -The terrible battle of the day had left them whimpering--drained men, -in the pervading calm of the sea, under the dry cloudless heat and -light of the sky. Fleury and Bellair looked at each other and their -eyes said: “We did not murder him.” They looked again and found the -woman saner than they. They turned over her shoulder to the blotch -upon the sea. It floated high, drifted with them. They could not speak -connectedly, but longed for the night.... At last, they heard her voice: - -“It is very great to me to know that there are such men in the world. -As a little girl in New Zealand I used to picture such heroes--such -brothers and heroes. I came to doubt it afterward, and that was evil in -me. I see now that the dream was true----” - -They listened like two little boys. - -“See, the cool is coming!” she added. “The child is glad, too. -To-night, we will talk!” - -“You will tell us a story?” Fleury said. - -“Yes, when it is darker. It is all so safe and quiet now. We are all -one.” - -That meant something to Bellair. Later when it was dark, and they had -supped, he said: - -“It’s good--the way you count me in, but you shouldn’t. I don’t belong, -much as I’d like to. I misjudged you at first. I misjudged Fleury--and -him----” he pointed over her shoulder to the sea. - -“It will be gone in the morning,” she whispered, patting his hand. “We -are three--and the child.” - -“Three, and God bless you,” said Fleury. “Three and the little -Gleam----” - -“The Gleam,” the woman repeated, holding the child closer. “I love -that.” - -“We are three and we follow the Gleam.” - - - 7 - -Fleury took the child. The Faraway Woman sat straight in her seat, so -that Bellair wondered at her strength. Her strength came to him. The -deeps of his listening were opened to her low voice. The story came -to them with all the colour and contour of her thought-pictures--a -richness from the unspoken words which cannot be given again: - -“It’s about a little girl whom I will call Olga,” she said. “That is -really her name, and the story is the little girl’s truly. I shall only -tell part of it to-night, for it is long and I would only tell you the -happy part--to-night. - -“Olga’s father and mother and the other children lived in a low house -by the open road that led to Hamilton. He raised sheep for a living on -the rolling pasture-lands near the Waikata river, a hundred miles south -of Auckland.... Yes, Olga was born in New Zealand--the youngest of a -houseful of sisters. They belong more to the latter part of the story -which I shall not tell to-night--just the happy part to-night.... The -first thing that Olga remembered as belonging to the Great Subject was -spoken by her father one evening when they were all together at their -supper of bread and milk: - -“‘... One never knows. It is best not to turn away any stranger, not -even if he is shabby and ill-looking. I heard of a house where a -stranger was turned away. They were not bad people, but supper was -over, the things put aside, and the woman was very tired. The stranger -was taken in at the next house, and in the morning he seemed different -to them--not shabby or ill-looking at all, but rested and laughing, -with bright lights about his hair. Always afterward, that house was -blest, but the other house went on in its misery and labour. One never -knows. It is best not to turn any stranger away.’ - -“Now Olga understood that from beginning to end. Many times before she -had tried to follow the talk at the table, but the words would come -too fast, and she would fall away to her own manner of seeing things. -This talk simplified many matters for her, and seemed greatly to be -approved. So in the evenings she began to watch for _her_ guest up the -long level road that led to Hamilton. All that summer Olga thought of -it and watched, though she was very little and only five. Sometimes -when it was not yet dark she would venture forth a few steps and -stare up the long road, until the house of their distant but nearest -neighbour was all blurred in the night. Just behind her cottage in the -other direction, the road dipped into a ravine, and the trees grew up -from it, shutting off the distance. No place could be more wonderful -than the ravine at midday, for the shades were quickened with birds, -bees, flowers and much beside that only Olga saw, but its enchantment -was too keen for the evening, and the night came there very quickly. - -“Her Guest would never come from the ravineway, but from the long, open -road--Olga was sure of this. Yet when stopping to think, she became -afraid he would not be allowed to pass the neighbour’s house. Their -little Paul was her frequent playmate, and Paul’s father and mother -were most good and hospitable people, the last on the Hamilton road -to let a stranger go by, without food and shelter. And Paul would -be looking, for he was almost always interested in her things.... -But perhaps they would be in at supper and not see the stranger; or -perhaps he would not want to stop there, but would know that _she_ was -watching. She made very certain that he would not get by her house -unobserved. - -“Spring had come again. The pale blue hepaticas were peeping into -bloom. There was one day that ended in Olga’s most wonderful night. The -sun had gone down, but not the light. The sky was crowded with rich -gold like the breast of the purple martin--flickerings of beautiful -light in the air, as if little balls of happiness were bursting of -themselves. The shadows were soft on the long road; the tiles of the -neighbour’s low house were like beaten gold, and the perfume of the -hyacinths flooded everywhere into the silence. All that heaven could -ever be was in that broad splendour and sweetness--the ravine a soft -purple stillness behind, and a faint mist of red falling in the distant -gold. - -“He was coming. She knew him for The Guest from afar. The neighbours’ -house was already dimmed, but the stranger was clear, so that she knew -he had passed their door. She ran forth to meet him, and no one called -to her from behind. It seemed all made for her--the evening so sweet -and vast and perfect. One of her little loose shoes came off as she -hurried, but she did not stop. The single one made her running clumsy, -so she kicked that free too. He must not think she was a little lame -girl.... He was farther than she thought; she had never come so far -alone in the evening. And yet how clearly she could see him.... - -“He must be very tired, for sometimes he was on one side of the road, -and sometimes on the other. He was quite old, and his step unsteady, -yet he carried his cane and did not use it.... His head was uncovered. -Now she knew why his steps were so unsteady. He was looking upward as -he walked--upward and around quite joyously, the glow of the sky upon -his white beard and hair--so that he did not see her coming, and her -bare feet were silent on the road. - -“She felt very little as she touched his cane. - -“‘Won’t you come to our house to rest? Oh, please----’ - -“‘Yes, yes,’ he answered, but did not look down. - -“‘Our house is near--won’t you come?’ she asked again, and turning, she -was surprised how far it was, but not afraid, and no one called to her. - -“‘Oh, yes,’ he answered. - -“‘But I am down here----’ - -“‘Bless me--are you?’ - -“He did not seem to see her very well, but tried to follow her voice, -his eyes looking past her, and to the side, his great hands groping -for her gently. Olga spoke again and touched his hands. Then he really -saw her, and she sighed with relief, because his eyes filled with the -gentlest love she had ever seen--seemed to rest upon her and enclose -her at the same time. The gladdest smile of welcome had come to his -face. Both her hands were in his groping ones, but now she turned and -led him. There was silence as they walked, and Olga asked: - -“‘But what were you looking for--you were looking up, you know?’ - -“‘Was I, dear?’ - -“‘Yes, and what were you looking for?’ - -“‘I was looking for my mother,’ he said. - -“Olga thought how old she must be, and she wanted to cry.... _Her_ -mother made the stranger very welcome, and her father stood back -against the wall smiling in a way that she always remembered, and -without lighting his pipe until after the stranger had finished his -meal. There was golden butter and the dark bread that is the life of -the peasants, a pitcher of fresh milk and a bite of that cheese which -is brought forth only on Sundays or holidays. They pressed him to eat -more, saying that he must be in need of food after his journey, but it -was very little that he really took. He smiled and looked with peace -from face to face, but Olga had pulled her stool back into the shadows, -for she did not wish to intrude. He had not seen so much of the others. - -“A chair was brought to the hearth, for it was now dark and there was a -little fire burning against the damp coolness of evening. They waited -in vain for him to speak. It was as if he had come home. To Olga he was -intensely memorable sitting there in the firelight. The others would -draw near, and he leaned forward and looked into their faces smilingly, -but it was not the same.... Now he was looking and looking around the -room. He found her, and held out his hands. She heard her mother say, -‘This is Olga’s guest.’ - -“She had not believed his old arms could be so strong. With one hand he -held her, while the other patted her shoulder softly, slowly,--as if -he had everything he desired. All about her was the firelight and the -strange joyous whiteness of him--his throat and collar and beard all -lustrous white. In his arms there was something she had never known, -even from her mother--a deep and limitless joy, as if the world were -all good, and nothing could possibly happen that would not be the right -good thing. - -“Then she became afraid her breast would burst, for the happiness was -more and more. It had to do with the future, such a far distance of -seeing, all rising and increasingly good--until Olga had to slip down -from his knees, because the happiness in and through her was more than -she could bear. - -“‘I will come back,’ she said hoarsely. - -“Outdoors she waited until the stars had steadied and were like the -stars she knew, for they had been huge and blazing at first; then she -returned and he stretched out his hands to her, and she heard her -mother say, ‘Surely, this is Olga’s guest.’ - -“She did not remember how she got into her little bed. She heard the -birds in the vines, and it was golden day when she awoke. Suddenly she -knew that she had slept too long, that she would find him gone.... She -thought of her little brown shoes on the road, but some one must have -brought them in, for there they were by the bed.... He was no longer in -the house, but she did not weep. There had been so much of wonder and -beauty. She looked into her mother’s face, but did not ask. The mother -smiled, as if waiting for her to speak. The other children must have -been told, for they did not speak. - -“A thousand times Olga wished that she had awakened in time; often it -came to her that she had not done all she could for her guest, but -there was never real misery about it, and she was never quite the same -after that perfect night. She thought it out bit by bit every day, but -it was long, long afterward before she spoke, and this was to an elder -sister, who--it was most strange and pitiful to Olga--seemed to have -forgotten it all----” - -The Faraway Woman reached for the child, and held it close and -strangely. Fleury offered her water, but she took just a sup and bade -them finish the cup. “That was the happy part,” she added in a whisper, -her back moving slowly to and fro, as she held the child high. “It -might all have been happier, but Olga was not quite like the others. -They did not tell her what they knew, and Olga never could tell them -what she felt. Another time--some happy time--I will tell you, who are -so good--you will understand the rest of the story----” - -“Would you tell us if Olga’s guest came again?” the preacher asked. - -“Yes, he came again,” she said softly. - -Bellair sat still for several moments. Then he leaned forward and -touched the child’s dress. - - - 8 - -They made an appearance of drinking (with a cracker in hand) at -midnight, but it was for the sake of the woman--a sup of tepid water. -The long night sailed by. Slowly the moon sank--that dry moon, -brick-red and bulbous, as it entered the western sea. All was still in -the little boat. Bellair was ready to meet his suffering. He could not -sleep--because the woman was near. That was the night that her quality -fixed itself for all time exemplary in his heart. - -The little story had revealed to him a new sanctuary. He loved it and -the little Gleam; as for that, he loved Fleury, too. It was a strange -resolving of all separateness that had come to him from these friends. -More than ever thrilling it had come, with Stackhouse out of the boat -and since the story had been made his. - -She had been frightened by his loss of consciousness at the end of the -battle. He had awakened looking into her eyes. He scarcely dared to -recall what she had said in her anxiety, but it was an extraordinary -matter of value. What a mother she was; and what a little girl lived -in that story, and now!... That little girl was still in her heart. -The recent days in the open boat had not spoiled her; nor the recent -years of loneliness and tragedy. Out of it all had come certain perfect -works--the babe in her arms, her own fortitude and fearlessness of -death; the little girl still in her eyes and heart. Bellair saw that a -man loves the child in a woman, quite as much as a woman loves the boy -in a man.... She had said that Fleury and he were brothers and heroes. -He knew better in his own case. Still she had said it, adding that the -discovery of such men to her was a part of the very bloom of life.... - -Bellair was not thinking the personal relation now. Fleury and she -were mated in his own thoughts. From the beginning, this was so; and -yet he did not ask more. He had come to believe from their glorious -humanity (so strange to him and unpromising in the beginning)--that the -world was crowded with latent values which, once touched and quickened -into life, would make it a paradise. - -That was the substance of the whole matter. He must never forget it. -The human values which he had met in these were secret in thousands, -perhaps in millions, of hearts, and needed only breaking open by stress -and revelation--to bring the millennium to old Mother Earth, and open -her skies for the plan of joy. Bellair impressed this upon his mind -again, so he would not forget--then fell asleep. - -She was first awake in the distance-clearing light. She arose -carefully, so as not to awaken the men and the child, and stared long -in every quarter. There was no ship, no land, no cloud; and yet a trace -of happiness on her thin face, as she sat down. Fleury was rousing. She -had expected that; for through their strange sympathy several times -before he had awakened with her, or soon after. She bent forward and -whispered a good-morning, and added: - -“It is gone----” - -“Surely?” - -“Yes.” - -“Thank God.” - -The preacher breathed deeply, contemplated their faces one after -another. From Bellair lying in the stern, his eyes turned significantly -to the woman’s, and his own lit with zeal.... Bellair was on the -borderland then, coming up through the fathoms of dream. Already he -felt the heat; the sun had imparted its ache to his eyes. The three -were half-blinded by the long brilliance of the cloudless days on the -sea.... Bellair was trying to speak, but could not because of the parch -in his throat. Moreover, no thoughts could hold him--not even Bessie. -She came to mind, pink and ineffectual, lost in her childish things. -She had failed this way before.... - -There was a cup to his lips. He smelled the water, and wanted it as he -wanted decency and truth--as he wanted to be brave and fit to be one of -the three. It almost crazed him, the way he wanted it--but it would be -taking it from her. All the violence of one-pointed will was against -the cup. He pushed it away. - -“Don’t, Bellair,” said Fleury. “You’ll spill it. Drink----” - -“I won’t. Take it away.” - -“You must drink. It is yours.” - -“Yes, he must drink,” said the woman. - -Bellair sat up. Fleury was holding the cup to his lips. - -“It is gone from behind,” said the preacher. “Drink your water. I -have. I will speak to you after you drink.” - -He stared at them, and at the open sea behind her. Then it came to him, -as if from Fleury’s mind, to obey.... Fleury then served the woman. -They ate a cracker together; at least it seemed so. Then Fleury spoke: - -“We have the child to serve--that is our first thought; therefore we -must think of the child’s mother first. As for her other part, as our -companion, she will be one with us, of course. We have been here five -full days, and we have not been allowed, by the presence of him who -is gone--and may God rest and keep that--we have not been allowed to -do the best we could in this great privilege of being together and -drawing close to reality. Many have gone without food and drink for ten -days--to come close to God. There is food here and water--to keep us in -life. This is what I would say: We must change our point of view.” - -He paused, and their eyes turned from one to another. The child’s face -seemed washed in the magic of morning. The preacher added: - -“We must cease to regard ourselves as suffering, as creatures in want, -as starving or dying of thirst. Rather, as three souls knit, each to -the other, who have entered upon a pilgrimage together--a period of -simple austerity to cleanse and purify our bodies the better to meet -and sense reality, and to approach with a finer sensitiveness, than -we have ever known--the mystery and ministry of God.... So we are not -suffering, Bellair. We are not suffering--” - -He turned to the woman. - -“We are chosen ones. This is our wilderness. When we are ready--God -will speak to us. We are very far from the poor needs of the body--for -this is the time and period of our consecration. God bless you -both--and the Gleam.” - - - 9 - -It was the seventh evening, the cool coming in. Bellair could not feel -his body below his lungs, unless he stopped to think. The child was -on his knee, his hands holding it. The little face was browned, but -very clear and bright. Bellair’s hands against the child’s dress were -clawlike to his own eyes, like the hands of a black man very aged. He -could move his fingers when he thought of it, but he did not know if -they moved unless he watched. The effort of steadying the child he did -not feel in his arms, but in his shoulders. It was like the ache in his -eyes. No tears would come, but all the smart of tears’ beginnings; and -the least little thing would bring it about. He had to stop between -words and wait for his throat to subside--in the simplest saying. - -He saw everything clearly. The open boat was like a seat lifted a -trifle above the runways of the world. He could see them, as one in the -swarming paths beneath could never hope to see. It was all good, but -the pain and the pressure of them all!... Bessie Brealt in pain and -pressure; Davy Acton in the hard heavy air; Broadwell who was trying -to be a man at Lot & Company’s; the old boarding-house woman who had -forgotten everything but her rooms--her rooms moving with shadows whom -she never saw clearly and never hoped to understand--shadows that -flitted, her accounts never in order, her rooms never in order.... -There had been people in there whom he never saw--one girlish voice -that awakened in the afternoon and sang softly, a most subdued and -impossible singing. She worked nights at a telephone switch-board--the -night-desires of the great city passing through her--and she sang -to the light of noon when it came to the cage.... Sunday afternoons -when it was fine, a bearded man emerged from a back-room, emerged -with a cane and cigarette case. Always on the front steps he lit the -cigarette.... - -Bellair now couldn’t smoke.... Once there had been moaning in a lower -back room, moaning night and morning from a woman. He was not sure if -it were the millinery woman, or the one who worked in Kratz’s. The -moaning stopped and as he passed through the hall, he heard a doctor -say to the landlady: - -“King Alcohol.” - -Just that.... He saw the millinery woman afterward, so it wasn’t -she.... The air in the old halls was of a character all its own. It -was stronger than the emanations from any of the rooms. The separate -currents lost their identity like streams in the ocean, like souls -in Brahma.... How strangely apart he had kept all that five years! A -face not seen before in the halls, and he did not know if it were a -newcomer or old. So few came to the board to dine--the chorus-woman -from the Hippodrome, who came up nightly from the water.... He saw -the view from his window--over the roofs and areas. It was a wall of -windows--dwellers in the canyon sides; boxes of food hanging out, -clothing out to freshen itself in the dingy and sluggish airs--the -coloured stockings and the faces that looked out. Everything was -monotonous but the faces--faces grim and sharp--faces of kittens and -bulls and rabbits and foxes, faces of ferrets, sleek faces, torn faces, -red and brutal, white and wasted faces; faces of food and drink, faces -of hunger and fear; the drugged look; few tears but much dry yearning, -and not a face of joy. - -There was no joyousness and peace in the lower runways, but pain and -heavy pressures.... Bellair saw himself moving among those halls again, -not a stranger, but with a hand, a smile, a dollar. No one would moan -for days without his knowing. He would find day-work for the little -telephone miss, and send orders for hats to the milliner. He would -awaken that shadow of all the shadows, the landlady, with kindness and -healing. He would call across the windowed cavern.... They would say, -“Come over and help us,” and he would rush down stairs, and around -into other streets, and faces there would be ready to show him. He -saw it all clearly, such as it was, but no facts. They would not call -to him. They would not be healed. They would take a dollar, but say -he was cracked. He could move about passing forth a dollar here and -there--that was all. They would welcome him at Lot & Company’s if he -passed it out quietly enough. The dollar would go into the Sproxley -system and emerge unbroken to the firm itself, there to be had and held -and marked down in the house of Lot--Jabez, Nathan, Eben, Seth, each -a part, the jovial Mr. Rawter a small but visible part--one hundred -Sproxley-measured cents.... Davy Acton wouldn’t get one, nor Broadwell, -nor the girls upstairs. The firm would not encourage him passing beyond -the cage of Mr. Sproxley.... There were many who wanted food and drink -and hats--hats----” - -He was with Bessie Brealt now ... that night and the kiss. It was -another life.... He went back to those who needed food--New York so -full of food. Then he felt the heavy wallet against his breast--one -paper in there would fill the open boat with food.... - -“My God,” he said. - - * * * * * - -He didn’t try to explain.... Sometimes he fell into a little dream as -he sat. Once he was drinking at the narrow throat of a green bottle,--a -magic bottle whose base was in the sea, and the trickle that passed -through was freshened drop by drop. But it was a trick like all else -in the world and the drops passed with agonising slowness. He came to, -sucking hard upon his brass key, his mouth ulcered from it.... There -were times in the long days that he hungered for the stars almost -as for drink; times in the night when the stars bored him like some -man-pageantry that he had seen too much of; times when the thought -of God was less than the thought of water; and times when the faith -and the glory of the spirit of the world made thirst a thing to laugh -at, and death whimsical and insignificant.... Sometimes in the night, -he fancied the woman was Bessie Brealt. It would come like a little -suspicion first hardly stirring his faculties; finally it would be -real--that the singing girl was there, all but her song. He would sit -up rubbing his eyes in rebellion. Once he had spoken to be sure. - -“Yes, it is I,” she said huskily, and the voice was not Bessie -Brealt’s. - - - 10 - -They did not speak of ships. Through the wakeful night hours they -watched for the lights of ships, but they did not speak of vigils. -Their eyes were straining for uncharted shores during the days, -but they did not speak of land; nor of rain, though they watched -passionately the change and movement of wind and cloud. - -It is true that they suffered less in the days that followed the -passing of Stackhouse. The underworld was gone from the seat in the -stern; sunlight and sea air had cleansed it from the boat. They were -weaker, but pangs of thirst were weaker, too. Small pieces of metal -in their mouths kept the saliva trickling. The real difference was an -exaltation which even Bellair shared at times, and which had come to -them the fifth morning with Fleury’s talk, and with refining intensity -since. - -The child was well; his imperative founts still flowing. She was pure -mother; it was the child that was nourished first, not her own body. -She was first in the passion for his preservation. Indeed, she would -have told them at once had any change threatened him. But she was the -soul of the fasting too; the austerity of it found deep sanction within -her; and there were moments in which she bewildered Bellair, for she -became bright with the vitality which is above the need of bread. - -Fleury talked of God, as Stackhouse had talked of death. Indeed, there -was a contrasting intoxication in the days and nights of the preacher, -but one without hideous reaction. - -“There comes a moment,” he said, “when I am alone--when you two are -asleep--that I feel the weakness. I drink and eat--perhaps more than my -share. But when we are all together--sitting here as now, talking and -sustaining one another--oh, it seems I was never so happy.” - -Bellair suspected that this talk of lapses into abandonment while -others slept was an effort to make their minds easy on the subject of -his share. Both the Mother and Bellair doubted this; it preyed upon -them. In the main they were one solution, each separate quality of -their individualism cast into a common pool for the sustaining of a -trinity. - -“It changes the whole order,” Fleury declared. “Why, whole crowds have -died of hunger--in half the number of days that holy men and women have -fasted as a mere incident of their practice toward self-mastery. This -is our consecration.” - -Bellair found it true. He had ceased to marvel at himself. Deep -reconstruction was advanced within him; and a strange loyalty -and endurance prospered from the new foundations. If this were -self-hypnosis--very well; if madness--very well, too; at least, it -was good to possess, seven, eight, nine days in an open boat, on a -one-fifth ration of water and food. To Bellair, who felt himself -inferior to the others, it appeared that they already lived what he was -thrillingly thinking out. He remembered his first thoughts of them--in -the cold worldly manner of a fellow-traveller. It was almost as far as -a man’s emotion can swing, from what he thought of them now. Before -God, he believed he was right now, and wrong then. Certainly he would -test it out, if he lived to move among men again. - -He thought often about the child’s voice--at the moment that the heart -of Stackhouse broke--as the point of his turning and salvation. This -furnished a clue to many things, though he did not miss the fact that -the world would smile at his credulity in accepting such a dispensation -as real. The world would say that he had been driven to far distances -of illusion by thirst and hunger; in fact, that anything which he had -seen, other than the original entity in the eyes of Stackhouse, was a -part of the illusion. Bellair considered this, and also that in every -instance of late in which he had held the world’s point of view he -had been proven wrong. He granted the world its rights to think as it -chose, but accepted the dispensation. - -There had been good and evil within him. The balance had turned in -favour of the good, with that cry. It had turned from the self. The -purpose of the Enterer had been to keep him _in_ the self. It had come -from the unfathomed depths of evil--that purpose and the devil which -he saw. Bellair had heard repeatedly that some such _dweller_ appeared -to each man who makes an abrupt turn from the life of flesh to the -life of the spirit. Each of the three had seen something foreign in -the eyes of Stackhouse. It is true they had not talked of it; possibly -to each it was different in its deadliness; perhaps theirs was not the -demon _he_ saw, since Fleury and the woman were much farther on the way -than he, but they had been good enough to share responsibility for the -visitation. Indeed, the Faraway Woman could not have been acting, since -a cry came from her the instant _it_ appeared. - -This he loved to study: that his thought of the child had balanced the -whole issue against the intruder; that something within him had brought -that saving grace of selflessness out of chaos. It was a squeak, he -invariably added, but it had shown him enough, opening the way. There -must be such a beginning in every man; in fact, there must come an -instant of choice; an instant in which a man consciously chooses his -path, weighing all that is past against the hope and intellectual -conception of a better life. - -Bellair brooded upon this a great deal, especially on the ninth day, -and that was the day, Fleury talked--the holiest of their days in the -open boat. Bellair found many things clearer afterwards. As soon as he -understood fully, he meant to close it all, so far as his own relation -was concerned. In its very nature it must be given to others, must be -turned to helpfulness. It was a sort of star-dust which did not adhere -to self, but sought places of innocence to shine from, and used every -pure instrument for its dissemination. The key to the whole matter was -the loss of the sense of self. Having accepted this, Bellair knew that -he must go up into Nineveh, so to speak. He trembled. - -“We learn by austerities apart,” Fleury said, “and then we return -to men with the story. We are called up the mountain to witness the -transfiguration, and then are sent with the picture down among men. Oh, -no, we are not permitted to remain, nor build a temple up there. First -we receive; then we must give. We must lose the sense of self in order -to receive; and having received, we do not want the sense of self. -This is the right and left hand of prayer--pure selfless receptivity, -then tireless giving to others. It is the key to the whole scheme of -life--mountain and valley, ebb and flow, night and day, winter and -summer, the movement of the lungs and the heart and the soul. We cannot -receive while our senses are hot with desire; therefore we must become -delicate and sensitive. Having received, we must make the gift alive -through action. Dreaming is splendid; the dreamer receives. The dreamer -starts all things; but the dreamer becomes a hopeless ineffectual if -he does not make his dreams come true in matter. That is it. We are -here to make matter follow the dream. That’s why the spirit puts on -flesh--that’s why we are workmen. Action is the right hand of thought.” - -The preacher was ahead of him in these thoughts. So often he said just -what Bellair needed, the exact, clearing, helpful thing. For instance, -Bellair had followed his own fascinating conviction that the world -is full of secret values; that the world is ready to pull together, -only it requires a certain stimulus from without--some certain message -that would reach and unify all. Fleury tightened the matter by his -expression of it: - -“The socialists are doing great good. The church is still doing good; -the societies that have turned to the East have heard the great -message; even in commerce there is a new life; everywhere in the world, -the sense of having found _some new spirit_ which works to destroy -the sense of self. If one great figure should come now--come saying, -‘You are all good. You are all after the same thing. One way is as -good as another--only come.’... What we need is for some one to touch -the chord for us--to give us the key, as to an orchestra of different -instruments. We are all making different notes; and yet are ready for -the harmony--some of us intensely eager for the harmony. The great need -is for a Unifier.... It seems that we, here in the small boat, can see -America so much clearer, than when we were there----” - -Bellair had felt this a thousand times. - -“The greatest story in the world is the story of the coming of a -Messiah--the one who may chord for us. I think He will come. He will -come out of the East, his face like the morning sun turned to the West. -Don’t you see--we are all like atoms of steel in a chaos? You know what -happens when a voltage of electricity is turned upon a bar of steel? -Order comes to the chaos; the atoms sing, all turned the same way. That -Voice must come--that tremendous voltage of spiritual electricity--that -will set us all in harmony--all with our tails down stream.” - -And Fleury finished it all by pointing out what had happened to them -in the small boat. They had lost separateness; they were each for the -others. - -“That’s what must happen in America, in the world,--the pull of -each for the whole--the harmony. You have seen an audience in the -midst of great message or great music--they weep together. They cry -out together. They are all one. That’s the story. That is what must -happen. It will happen when the Unifier comes. It is the base of -all gospel--that we are all one in spirit. Don’t you see it--every -message from the beginning of time has told it? All one--all one--our -separateness is our suffering, our evil. To return to the House of Our -Father--that is the end of estrangement.” - -... And Fleury was the one who had ceased to talk. But he had acted, -too.... They saw that he was held by some power of his giving to them. -He was like light. He had given the whole material force of his body to -hold off that destruction which had come with the dying of Stackhouse. -He had not eaten, even as they had eaten. They feared for him, because -he was the centre and mainspring of their pilgrimage. Especially this -haunt became more grippable in the heart of the ninth night.... There -was a small tin of water left, less than three pints, very far from -clean; and somewhat less than a pound of crackers. Bellair awoke to -find Fleury gone from his place between him and the woman. He was in -the stern, in the old seat of Stackhouse, praying. ... Fleury met the -tenth day with an exaltation that awed Bellair and the woman; and there -came from it a fear to Bellair’s heart that had nothing to do with -self, nor with the Mother, nor the Gleam. - -They were all weak, and two men utterly weak. Through their will and -denial, and the extraordinary force and health of her own nature, the -child had not yet been dangerously denied. It had become a sort of -natural religion with the three--a readiness to die for the Gleam. - -“This is our last day,” said Fleury, before the western horizon was -marked clear.... The Faraway Woman told them another story of what the -wise old shepherd dog told the puppies--that it was better to begin on -crackers and water--and end on cookies and cream.... - - - 11 - -Bellair believed about this being the last day. The authority was quite -enough, but there was still something akin to eternity in the possible -space of another daylight and distance. The announcement did not bring -him an unmixed gladness, for the mysterious fear of the night haunted -him--the thing that had come to him under the full and amazing moon -while Fleury prayed.... Day revealed no sign. They sat speechless and -bowed under the smiting noon--the little boat in the wide, green deep -under a fleckless, windless sky, proud of its pure part in infinite -space. - -That was the day the child moaned, as significantly for the ears of -men, as for the mother. He was a waif to look at--the little heart at -times like one of them in stoicism--then nestling to the mother-breast -and the turning away in astonishment and pain. The Mother’s eyes were -harrowing. - -“This is our last day,” Fleury repeated. - -“I believe you,” she said. - -“Then drink and eat----” - -“I did--it is--it is--oh, I did!” - -“Land or rain or a ship, I do not know--but this is the last day----” - -Bellair regarded him, between his own wordless vapourings of -consciousness. The preacher was like a guest, not of earth -altogether--like one who would come in the evening.... Yes, that was -it. He was like the old man who came to Olga, only young and beautiful. -It did not occur to Bellair now that he was regarding his friend with -a quality of vision that a well-fed man never knows.... That which he -had fancied placid and boyish was knit and masterful. The cheeks and -temples were hollowed, but the eyes were bright. There is a brightness -of hunger, of fever, of certain drugs, but these were as different as -separate colours--and had not to do with this man’s eyes. Nothing that -Bellair knew but starlight could be likened--and not all starlight. -There was one star that rose late and climbed high above and a little -toward the north--solitary, remote, not yellow nor red nor green nor -white, as we know it--yet of that whiteness which is the source of all. -Bellair had forgotten the name, but Fleury’s eyes made him think of it. - -... The woman’s head was lying back. Something that Bellair had noted -a hundred times, without bringing it actually into his mind’s front, -now appeared with all the energy of a realisation. Her throat was -almost too beautiful. The diverging lines under the ear, one stretching -down to the shoulder, the other curving forward around the chin, were -shadowed a little deeper from her body’s wasting, but the beauty was -deeper than flesh, the structure itself classic. It was the same as -when he had noted her finger-nails. Beauty had brought him a kind of -excitement, and something of hostility--as if he had been hurt terribly -by it long ago. But this was different; these details had come one -by one, as he was ready. Her integrity had entered his heart before -each outer symbol. He had not seen her at all at first; recalled the -queer sense of hesitation in raising his eyes across the table in the -cabin of the _Jade_. He had studied her face in the open boat, but -something seemed to blur his eyes when she turned to him to speak. Two -are required for a real understanding. As yet they had not really met, -not yet turned to each other in that searching silence which fathoms. -But the details were dawning upon him. Perhaps that was the way of the -Faraway Woman--to dawn upon one. - - * * * * * - -The day was ending--their shadows long upon the water. Fleury raised -his hand as he said: - -“It is surer to me than anything in the world----” - -“What, Fleury?” Bellair asked, though there was but one theme of the -day. - -“That this is our last day in the open boat.” - -Bellair did not answer. His own voice had a hideous sound to him and -betrayed his misery. - -“It was the _too-great light_--that I saw,” the preacher added huskily. -“It began last night as I prayed. I saw that this was the last day for -us--but more----” - -“I saw something about you as you prayed,” the woman said. - -Fleury surprised them now, taking a sup of water. They saw that he had -something to say about God and the soul of man--that was the romance he -worshipped. They listened with awe. In Bellair’s heart, at least, there -was a conviction that tightened continually--that they were not long to -hear the words of the preacher. - -“... For two years I have been in the dark and could not pray. Before -that I prayed with the thought of self, which is not prayer. I could -not stay as a church leader without praying. I said I would pray when -I could pray purely for them. I told them, too, that I could not look -back in service and adoration to the Saviour of another people who -lived two thousand years ago. They called me a devil and a blasphemer. -For two years, I have tried to serve instead of to pray, but no one -would listen, no one would have me. They said I was insane, and at -times I believed it. At last, it came to me that I must go away--to -the farthest part of the world----” - -He turned yearningly to the woman. - -“And then you came with your strength and faith.” - -Now to Bellair: - -“And you came with the world in your thoughts, and I made the third. -We went down into the wilderness together--with that other of the -underworld. _It was a cosmos._ It has shown me all I can bear. Last -night, it came to me that I _could_ pray for you. It came simply, -because I loved you enough----” - -His face moved from one to the other, his hand fumbling the dress of -the child beside him. - -“It was very clear. As soon as I loved you enough, I could pray for -you, without thought of self. It was the loss of the self that made it -all so wonderful. And as I prayed, the light came, and the Saviour I -had lost, was in the light. And the light was Ahead; and this message -from Him, came to my soul: - -“_I am here for those who look ahead; and for those who turn back -two thousand years, I am there. Those who love one another find me -swiftly._” - -Bellair scarcely heard him. Fleury’s eyes were light itself. The man’s -inner flame had broken through. Something incandescent was within him; -something within touched by the “glittering plane.” But it did not -mean future years together. Bellair had wanted that.... Fleury smiled -now, his eyes lost in the East. He lifted his hand. - -“It always comes from the East,” he said strangely. - -Bellair had searched that horizon a few moments ago. He knew exactly -how the East had looked--a thin luminous grey line on the green, -brightening to Prussian blue, then to vivid azure. He dared not look -now, but watched the woman. - -Straining and terror were in her eyes--then sudden light, a miracle of -light and hope, then her cry. - -Bellair seemed to see it in her mind--the smudge upon the -horizon--before he turned. It was there--a blur on the thin grey line. - -To lift the oars was like raising logs of oak, but he shipped the pair -at last, listening for the words of the others and watching their -faces. It seemed simpler than straining his eyes to the East. Fleury -tried to raise the overcoat from the bottom of the boat, but it fell -from his hands, and he sank back smiling: - -“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “They’re coming. They’ll see us soon.” - -To Bellair it was like seeing a ghost, that smile of Fleury’s. It meant -something that in the future would be quite as important to him as the -ship’s bearing down to lift them up. He pulled toward the east--felt -the old fainting come, pulled against that,--to the east, until a -low, thundering vibration was all about him, like the tramp of death. -Perhaps it was that--the thought flickered up into form out of the deep -blur.... He was drinking water again. This time he did not fight. - -“You may as well have yours, Bellair, man,” Fleury was saying, “and you -need not row. They’re coming. It’s a ship coming fast. There is light -for them to see us well--if they do not already----” - -“But you haven’t drunk!” - -“Bless you, I’ll drink now.” - -The woman handed him the water. The cup was in his hand. He covered -merely the bottom of the cup, and made much of it as if it were a full -quart. - -“The fact is--I’m not thirsty,” he said pitifully, when he saw their -faces. - -“You’re all in,” Bellair said in an awed tone. - - * * * * * - -Through the prolonged ending of that day Bellair watched the steamer -near, but his thoughts were not held to the beauty of her form, nor -the pricking out at last of her lights. He stood against the bare pole -in the dusk, and waved and called--his voice little and whimsical. It -seemed to falter and cling within their little radius, then run back -to his ears--a fledgeling effort. But the deep baying of the steamer -answered at last. Even that could not hold Bellair’s thoughts.... She -was coming straight toward them now. If it were death and illusion, so -be it; at least that is what he saw. - -“It would be all right--except for him,” Bellair said to the woman. - -“I tell you all is well,” said Fleury. “Only I ask----” - -“Yes,” they said, when he paused. - -“Don’t let them separate us--when we are on board the ship to-night. -I want to be with you both to-night--we three who have seen so much -together--and the little man.” - -... They heard her bells and the slackening of the engines. She was -coming in softly like an angel, bringing the different life, a return -to earth it was. The woman was weeping. Bellair could not have spoken -without tears.... - -Just now through the evening purple, he saw _that_ star in the east, -off the point of the steamer’s prow. - -“Fleury,” he said, “tell me--what is that one--that pure one--I have -forgotten?” - -The preacher’s eyes followed his finger. - -“That is Spika--Spika of the Virgin,” he said. - - - 12 - -The engine had stopped. She neared in the deep dusk, a harp of lights, -and with the steady sound of a waterfall.... She was just moving. -There was a hail from the heights. - -“Hai!” answered Bellair. It was a poor, broken sound. - -Now they felt the strange, different heat of the -steamer--earth-heat--and a thousand odours registered on their clean -senses--milk and meat, coal-smoke, and the steam of hot ashes, -perfumes, metal and paint.... A hoarse voice called down: - -“Are any of you sick--infectious?” - -“No--just hunger and thirst--clean as a new berth.” - -It was Bellair again. - -“Stay off well. We’re putting down a ladder. Watch the green light.” - -They saw it come down to them--to the very water. Then they were -uplifted. This was the world coming back--but a changed world. A great -kindness had come over all men. Bellair saw the tears in the eyes of -the people gathered on the deck. He almost expected to see Bessie -Brealt there.... Perhaps the change had come from her singing.... There -was a choke in the voices of the people gathered around them. - -“Please,” he managed to say, “don’t keep us apart to-night--we three. -Please let us be together.” - -And down the deck-passage he heard the voices of women, and among -them, the Faraway Woman’s voice, in answer: - -“Yes, I will go with you thankfully--but not for long. My companions -and I must be together very soon. We three--to-night--it is promised -between us.” - -There was no voice from Fleury. - -The kindness of every one, that was like a poignant distress to -Bellair. He dared not speak; in fact, there was danger of him breaking -down even without words. The eyes about him were searching, in their -eagerness to help. An Englishman came forward at intervals and gripped -his hand; a German spoke to others of the remarkable condition of -the boat and its three, after ten days; another German moved in and -out helping, without any words, though his eyes lifted Bellair over -several pinches of emotion. The American ship-doctor was the best -of all; young, gruff, humorous, quick-handed, doing and saying the -right thing.... They brought him stimulants and sups of water by the -teaspoon. The merest aroma of thin broth in the bottom of a tea-cup -was lifted to his lips. He was helped to a hot bath; a splendid quiet -friendliness about it all. Now it occurred to Bellair that they were -tremendously eager to hear his story. He wanted to satisfy them.... - -“It was the fifth day--that Stackhouse died,” he was saying, though he -was mistaken. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him ... owns a lot of ships and -islands down here.... That was the climax for us. He died hard and he -was a big man--but we did not murder him.... His body did not sink....” - -There was a boom of running water in the bathroom; the steam rising. -Bellair’s voice was ineffectual. The face of the ship-surgeon bent to -him in the steam, saying: - -“Cut it--there’s plenty of time.... Leave it all to us.... I say, lean -back. You’ve got a bath coming. Guess you’ve never been on a sick-list -before. We can wait for the story.” - -Bellair did try to lean back. One by one, the sheathes of will power -that he had integrated in the past ten days relaxed. It was strange to -feel them go. They had come hard, and they were correspondingly slow -to ease in their grip. He had to be told again and again--to be helped -to rest. It was good to think that a man does not lose such hard-won -strength more easily than it comes--that one, in fact, has to use the -same force to relax with. It was all delightful, this friendliness, the -ease of his body, and the giving--the giving into human arms of great -kindliness, and the sense of the others being cared for similarly. They -had fixed a berth for him, when he said: - -“You know we are to be together to-night. It was a compact between -us----” - -The surgeon was out and in. It occurred to Bellair that he was -attending the other two.... He repeated his wish to the surgeon about -joining the others as soon as possible. - -“They’re all alike,” the latter said. “They’re all thinking about -getting together again.... Good God, man, you’ve had ten days of steady -company. You ought to sleep----” - -“It is a compact between us.... Is he--is he?” - -It came to Bellair that this man might be able to tell him the truth, -but the surgeon was now at the door speaking to one of the Germans. He -vanished without turning.... - - * * * * * - -They were together later in one of the empty cabins of the German -liner, _Fomalhaut_, bound for Auckland; and only the American doctor -came and went. The child was asleep in the berth beside Fleury. The two -others sat near. - -The extraordinary moonlight of the night before, when Bellair had -awakened to find the preacher at prayer, had left the spirit of its -radiance upon Fleury’s face. It was there now--and such a different -face from which his eyes, falsified by New York, had seen at first. -This was the real Fleury--this lean, dark, white-toothed gamester, -features touched by some immortal glow from that orient moon; whose -smile and the quality of every word and gesture, had for him a gleam -of inspiration and the nobility of tenderness. The man had risen in -Fleury--that was the secret. And this that had risen in Fleury could -not die. - -But the flesh was dying. Bellair had known it in the dusk while the -steamer neared. He knew that the woman understood--from her face which -leaned toward the berth continually, from the suffering in her eyes -and the dilation of sensitive nostrils.... For ten days, as much as he -could, Fleury had betrayed himself. Custodian of the food and water, -he had served them well. And that day of the Stackhouse passing--if it -were not all a hideous dream, as Bellair fancied at times--he had not -given a balance of strength that had not returned, to fight off the -will of the Intruder. - -The flesh was dying, but this that had risen in Fleury could not die. -Their other companion had gone down, clothed in hair and filth and the -desire of a beast, taking the remnant of the man with it. - -Thus it had come to Bellair--the vivid contrast of cavern and high -noon. It was all in the two deaths, the enactment of the second, as yet -unfinished.... New York and all life moved with countless tricks and -lures to make a man lose his way, lose his chance to rise and die with -grace like this. New York was like one vast Lot & Company. - -Fleury’s head was upon the knees of the woman. Bellair had not seen -her take him. For this last hour, the three were as one. There was a -cry from Bellair that the woman heard all her days: - -“Oh, Fleury, do you have to go?” - -So far as time measures, the silence was long before Fleury answered, -and then only to say: - -“Take my hand, Bellair.” - -He came up from a deep dream to obey. It had been as if he were out -under the stars again,--Fleury talking from the shadows near the -woman--the rest, vastness and starlight. - -“It’s the _too-great_ light, Bellair. It came when I could stand it. -As soon as I could love you enough I could pray. It is the loss of the -sense of self that made it wonderful. The Light and His voice came from -ahead. - -“‘_I am here for those who look ahead, and for those who turn back -two thousand years, I am there. Those who love one another find me -swiftly._’... This is dying of happiness.” - -In the silence, the low lights of the cabin came back for their eyes. -They heard him say at the last: - -“... I love you both and respect and thank you both. We found our -happiness in the open boat.... And Bellair, when you go back to New -York, do not stay too long. It is right for you to go, but do not stay -too long.... And dear Bellair--always follow the Gleam.” - -The Doctor came. It was his step in the passage that roused them. He -bent to the face, then searched the eyes of the woman. She could not -find his.... Bellair was puzzled. The head was in her lap, yet the -preacher seemed behind them, and still with something to say. They were -not sure at first that it was the Doctor who asked: - -“Why did you not call me?” - -He repeated the question. - -“He told us--you would come afterward,” Bellair said in a dazed way. - -“Yes, he wanted it so,” said the woman. - -The Doctor stared at them. “Are you two going to pull off anything -further to-night, or are you going to get the rest you need, and attend -to the nourishment you need?” - -“We’re under orders now, Doctor,” said Bellair.... - -“If I should want him in the night--if I should be frightened, you -would let him come?” - -It was the Faraway Woman who asked this of the Doctor, her hand -touching Bellair’s sleeve. - -“Why, of course,” the Doctor answered quickly. - -“We’ve been together in strange things,” Bellair explained. “And now -you see, our friend is gone.” - - * * * * * - -The door was open between their cabins, but Bellair was not called. -Once he heard the child cry, but it was quickly hushed.... He -thought it must be near morning at last, and went on deck. He was not -suffering, except from lassitude, deep languor and numbing strangeness -that Fleury was not near him--that the woman was not sitting in her -place forward.... It was just after midnight, the moon still high, -the weather the same. ... He was not seen. Three men were seated -smoking in the lee of one of the engine-room funnels, the light from -the dining-saloon on their knees. The Doctor joined them, and said -presently: - -“... It’s a bit deep for me. They’ve been in an open boat ten days. Old -Stackhouse, well-known down here, died of thirst the fourth or fifth -day, but these two and the infant have lived through it. The preacher -looked all right, but seems to have suffered a fatal case of happiness -since we lifted him aboard. The two knew it was coming apparently, and -arranged for me to be absent.... It appears that they made a sort of -pilgrimage to Mecca out of thirst and starvation, and got away with -it----” - -Bellair withdrew softly. - -In the long next forenoon when he could not rise, he wished he had gone -into that open door, when he was on his feet last night. Sometimes -half-dreamily he wished he were back in the open boat, because she -was always there. Something had taken establishment in his character -from that ten days. She had never failed--in light or dark, in the -twilights of dawn and evening, in moon and star and sunlight--always -there; disclosing leisurely some new aspect of beauty for him. He -understood now that one does not begin to see clearly any object until -one is attracted to it--that all the cursory _looking at things_ around -the world will not bring them home to the full comprehension. - -... He could call to her, but it was like telephoning. He had never -liked that, and beside he was not the master of his voice. It would -not go straight, but lingered in corners, broke pitifully--so that he -knew it frightened her--and the meanings in his mind which he could not -speak, pressed the tears out of his eyes.... Then there was pain. His -body astonished him. He had merely been weak and undone last night, but -to-day.... And he knew that she was suffering, not from any sound from -her cabin, but because she did not come. Then _they_ had to feed the -child. This filled him with a rebellion so sharp that it recalled him -to full faculties for a second. He had to smile at his absurdity. - -The second day it was the same, but the third Bellair arose; and when -she heard his step, her call came. It was still early morning. He found -the child before he looked into her face. - -“I am ashamed to be so weak,” she said. “But to-day--a little later--he -said I could rise. We are to be on deck for a half-hour after dinner, -he told me.” - -“The little Gleam----” said Bellair.... - -She was whiter, more emaciated than when they sighted the -_Fomalhaut_. There had been a crisis that they had not expected in -the relinquishment of their will-powers.... Yet he saw how perfectly -her face was fashioned.... Her hand came up to him, warm from the -child, the sleeve falling back to her shoulder--held toward him, palm -upward. As he took it, all strangeness and embarrassment left him, and -he was something that he had not been for five years, something from -the Unknowable. But that was not all. He looked into her eyes and met -something untellably familiar there. - -A most memorable moment to Bellair. - - * * * * * - -They were on deck together in the afternoon, the American doctor -helping them. They heard sacred music--as he walked between them aft. -They reached the rail of the promenade overlooking the main-deck.... A -service was being intoned in German. Passengers and crew were below, -and in the midst--leaded and sewn in canvas, in the cover of a flag---- - -The sound that came from the woman was not to be interpreted. She -turned and left them. Bellair would have followed but he felt a -courtesy due the Doctor, who had arranged for them not to miss the -ceremony. Perhaps he had held the ceremony until they could leave the -cabin. Yet Bellair had already turned away. - -“Good God----” said the American. “You people have got me stopped. I -thought this was a trinity outfit--that we picked up.” - -Bellair took his hand. “It was--but our friend left us.” - -The Doctor glanced at him curiously, and pointed down to the body -already upon the rail. “I suppose _that_ has nothing to do with him?” -he remarked. - -“Not now--not to watch,” said Bellair. - -“I’ll understand you sometime,” the other added. “Go to her. You’ll -probably find her waiting for you forward.” - - * * * * * - -Bellair lay in his berth that night, the open door between, and he -thought of that first real look that had passed between them. “I’m not -just right yet from the open boat,” he reflected. “I’m all let down -from starvation, a bit wild with dreams and visions, but I saw old joys -there and old tragedies, and mountains and deserts and--most of all, -partings. I wonder what I’ve got to do with them all? It seemed to me -that I belonged to some of those partings--as if I had hungered with -her before and belonged to her now--and yet----” - -Fleury came into his thoughts. “They were certainly great together. It -seemed to me that I did not belong when they were together; and yet, -this morning as I looked down at her--well, something of expectancy was -there----” - -Bellair found himself lying almost rigid in the intensity of his hope. -Then his thoughts whirled back to New York--all unfinished. There was -something in his heart for Bessie--and something in the wallet for -Bessie. That was in the original conception, and he must not fail in -that; and then he must clean that name, Bellair, from the black mark -Lot & Company had traced across it. For a moment he fell to wondering -just how he would go about that. Lot & Company was tight and hard to -move.... A moment later he was somewhere in an evil and crowded part of -New York, in the dark, Davy Acton holding him fast by the hand. - -“... something of expectancy.”... Was it in her eyes, or in her lips? -Her whole face came to him now, a picture as clear as life. He had -dwelt upon her eyes before--and that billowy softness of her breast, as -she lay--he had not thought of that. It was like something one says to -another of such moment, that only the meaning goes home--the words not -remembered until afterward. And her mouth--it was like a girl’s, like a -mother’s too, so tender and _expectant_. ... That word thrilled him. It -was the key to it all. - -He was farther and farther from sleep--listening at last with such -intensity that it seemed she must call. - - - - -PART FIVE - -THE STONE HOUSE: I - - - 1 - -THE woman awed him quite as much as in the open boat. The turning -of her profile to the sea had for Bellair a significance not to be -interpreted exactly, but it had to do with firmness and aspiration -and the future. Fleury was in their minds more than in speech. She -could speak of him steadily, and this during the sensitiveness of -convalescence which is so close to tears. Perhaps they found their -deepest joy in the child’s fresh blooming. The ship’s people were an -excellent company. - -Bellair’s mind adjusted slowly, and by a rather intense process, to -the fact of the Stackhouse wallet. It was all that the great wanderer -had said. The woman accepted the lifted condition, but it seemed hard -for her faculties to establish a relation with temporal plenty. Fleury -had given them each a greater thing. They were one in that--keen and -comprehensive; indeed their minds attacked with vigour and ardour this -one thought: somehow to help in drawing off the brimming sorrows of the -world. - -It came all at once to Bellair that this was no new conception. He had -heard and read of _helping_ all his life. A touch, queerly electric, -had come over him as a boy, when a certain old man passed, and some -one whispered in the most commonplace way, “His whole thought is for -others.”... He had read it in many books; especially of late, the note -had been sounded. It was getting into the press--some days on every -page. All the cultic and social ports, into which he had sailed (like a -dingy whaler, he thought) had spoken of brotherhood, first and last. - -Did a thing like this have to be talked by the few for several thousand -years before it broke its way into the conception of the many, and -finally began to draw the materials of action together? It had not been -new in certain parts of the world two thousand years ago when Jesus -brought the perfect story of it, and administered it through life and -death. Had there been too much speech and too little action since; or -did all this speech help; the result being slow but cumulative, toward -the end of the clearly-chiselled thought on the part of the majority -that would compel the atoms of matter into action, making good all -thoughts and dreams?... He knew men who sat every Sunday listening -courteously to more or less inspired voices that called upon them to -_Love One Another_; yet these men, during the next six days, moved as -usual about their work of rivalry and burning personal desire. Why was -this? - -The answer was in his own breast. He had made a mental conception of -the good of turning the force of one’s life out to others, but he had -not lived it; had never thought seriously of living it, until now that -the results had been shown him, as mortal eyes were never given before -to see. That was it; men required more than words. Would something -happen to bring to all men at last the transfiguring facts as they had -been brought to him in the open boat--squarely, leisurely, one by one? -He was not different from many men. Given the spectacle of the fruits -of desire and the fruits of compassion side by side, as he had been -forced to regard them--any one would understand. - -The woman was one of those who had got it all long ago. She had ceased -to speak of it much, but had put it into action. The child was a part -of her action, and his own love for her--that new emotion, deeper than -life to him. She had mainly ceased to speak.... Action and not speech -had been the way of Fleury, his main life-theme, his first and last -words. Formerly Fleury had spoken, and then emerged into the world of -action. It had been tremendous action--for them. These things never -die. - -“That’s the beauty of them,” he said aloud. “These things never die.” - -“You were thinking of _him_?” the Faraway Woman said. - - * * * * * - -The _Fomalhaut_ left them at Auckland--insular, high and breezy -between its harbours and warm to the heart, from the southern summer. -They took the train to Hamilton, near where she had lived.... - -“It seems so long since I was a part of the life here,” she told him, -as they climbed a hill by the long road--the same upon which Olga’s -Guest had come, “and yet it really isn’t. You can see--how little the -Gleam is. He was born here.... There was so much to learn. It has been -like a quick review of all life. When I think of it--and feel the child -alive, unhurt--oh, do you know what it makes me want to do?” - -Bellair was thinking of Fleury. He sensed her emotion, as he shook his -head. - -“It makes me want to work for you.” - -Bellair placed her saying to the account of her fine zeal for the -good of the nearest. He was very far from seeing anything heroic in -his part of the ten days.... They had paused on the little hill back -of the settlement where she had lived. With all her coming home, she -met no acquaintance while he was with her. It was as if she had come -to look, not to enter.... But there were two days in which she went -forward alone, and Bellair got a foretaste of what it would mean to be -separated. It called to him all the strength that he had earned.... The -Faraway Woman came back to Hamilton where he waited--as one who had -hastened. The child was asleep, and they walked out into the streets -together.... - -They were alone again as in that first night on board the _Fomalhaut_ -when Fleury left them. - -“Do you want to stay to make your house near the Hamilton road?” he -asked. - -She regarded him quietly, her eyes fixed upon his face with an -incommunicable yearning. - -“No.” - -“Do you mean to stay in New Zealand?” - -Again she held him with her eyes, before answering: - -“It may be well for me here, as anywhere. I could not stay in America.” - -The sun was setting. It was she who broke the silence: - -“_You_ must go away?” - -“Yes. You knew that from _him_?” - -“From what he said--yes.” - -“He told me not to stay too long.” - -“Perhaps he saw it all. Perhaps he saw something that would keep you.” - -“He saw a very great deal.” - -They had been gone two hours. Her steps quickened, when she thought -of the child.... “Yes, I may as well stay in Auckland,” she said. -“Do you know, I should like to stay by the sea--to be near it, for -remembering----” - -That seemed to come very close to Bellair’s conviction--that her whole -life was turned to the saint who had passed. - -“A little house by the sea,” he said, his mind picturing it eagerly to -relieve the greater matter. - -“Just what I was thinking--a little place out of Auckland on the -bluffs--overlooking Waitemata--where one could see the ships coming -in----” - -“Will you let me help you find it, and arrange your affairs?” - -“Nothing could be happier for me--if you would.” - -“We’ll go back to Auckland to-night, and start out looking from there.” - -Mainly they followed the shore during their days of search; but -sometimes they found woods and little towns. There was no coming to -the end of her; she put on fresh perfections every day, and there were -moments in which he was meshed in his own stupidity for not seeing -the splendour of her at the first moment. He became possessed of a -healthful wonder about women--how men like himself wait for years for -some companion-soul, finally believing her to be in the sky, only to -find that _the nearest_ was waiting all the time. The world is so full -of illusions, and a man’s mind is darkest when it seems most clear. - -The days were like entering one walled garden after another, always -her spirit vanishing at the far gate. Beside him was a strong frail -comrade, loving the water and air and sky and wood, as only a natural -woman can love them--her eyes shining softly, her lips parted and red -as the sleeping child’s. He was struck with the miracle of her mouth’s -freshness. It was like the mouth of a city-bred woman, a woman who had -forced her way for years through the difficult passages of a man’s -world, who had met the fighting of the open, and the heavier-line -fighting of solitude.... Here Bellair’s diffidence intervened. -Moreover, it was a mouth that could say unerring things. - -“She is a fine weave,” he would say, after the partings at night. - -She held through every test. The enthralling advance guard never -failed--that winged immortal something ahead. Often in some little inn -or in the hotel at Auckland during the nights, he found himself in -rebellion because he could not go to her. Always in the open boat he -had awakened to find her there, and on the night that Fleury passed, -she had asked to have him within call--but those times were gone. The -world had intervened that little bit.... There was one summer day -and a bit of forest to enter, a moment surpassing all. Her arms and -fingers, her eyes and breast were all fused with emotions. She gave him -back his boyhood that afternoon in a solemn wordless ceremony, but all -his diffidence of boyhood came with it. - -The woods were full of fairies to her; there were meanings for her eyes -in the drift of the wind over the brown pools. She caught the woodland -whispers, was a part of sweet, low vibrations of the air.... Her eyes -had come up to his, fearless and tender; yet for the life of him, he -could not have been sure that they wanted anything he could give. -For the first time he marvelled now at the genius of self-protection -which women have put on, instinct by instinct, throughout all this age -of man, this age of muscle and brain, in which the driving spirit of -it all has no voice.... There was one branch above her that was like -hawthorn, and full of buds. The little Inverness cape that she wore was -tossed back, and her arms were held up to the branches.... Strangely -that instant he thought of her story--the coming of The Guest--the -thought she had held all the years, the strange restless beauty of its -ideal--the mothering beauty of it that seemed to him now endless in -power. Such a mystery came to him from her arms--as if she were holding -them up to receive perfection, some great spiritual gift.... It was -startlingly native to her, this expectancy--the pure receptivity of it, -and the thought of beauty in her mind. A woman could command heaven -with that gesture, he thought, and call to earth an archangel--if her -ideal were pure enough. - -A sudden gust of love came over him for her child. He thought he had -loved it before, but it was startling now, filling him, turning his -steps back toward the place where it lay.... - - - 2 - -And all the time that they were searching widely from Auckland for -their house, a little Englishwoman, growing old, sat waiting for -them within an hour’s ride from the city. They found her at last -and her stone cottage, rarely attractive in its neglect; and from -the door-yard, an Odessian vista of sky and harbour and lifted -shore-line.... They had even passed it before, their eyes turned -farther afield. Bellair couldn’t ignore the analogy of the nearest -woman, nor the stories of all the great spiritual quests--how the -fleeces on a man’s doorstep turn golden, if he can only see. - -“I knew some one would come,” the little woman said. She had a mole on -her nose and eyes that twinkled brightly. “In fact, I prayed.” - -Bellair smiled and thought of Fleury’s saying--that those who turn back -two thousand years would find Him.... She had kept a boarding-house, -and now the work was too much. Besides, the children of a younger -sister back in the home in Essex were calling to her. - -“They need me in England,” she repeated. “And here, I have been unable -to keep up the little house. I am too old now. My young men were so -dear about it, but I was not making them comfortable. One’s heart -turns home at the close----” She thought they did not understand; and -explained all the meanings carefully--how in age, the temporal needs -are not so keen, and the mind wanders back to the elder places.... -Bellair stood apart, knowing that the two women could manage better -alone.... The cottage faced the east a little to northward, and had -been built of the broken rocks of the bluff and shore, its walls twenty -inches thick and plastered on the stone within. The interior surprised -them with its size, two bedrooms facing the sea and two behind, beside -the living room (for dining, too, according to the early design) and -the kitchen. They took it as it was, furniture and all, and loved the -purchase. - -For several days she remained with them, helped and explained and -amplified--suggesting much paint. Each day for an hour or so, there -were tears. She had found her going not so easy, and the process was -slow to accustom herself to the long voyage; the sense of detachment -could not be hurried. She wanted them to see her whole plan of the -place. Her dream had been to have evergreens cut in patterns and -flower-beds in stars and crescents. Meanwhile with her years had grown -up about her the wildest and most natural garniture of the stone -cottage; vines and shrubs, the pines putting on a sumptuousness of low -foliage altogether unapproved. - -Gradually it was all forgotten but the long voyage, and Bellair could -help in making the details of that as simple and desirable as possible. -In fact, he went with her to the ship.... - -“She was dear to us, and we shall miss her always,” the Faraway Woman -said that night.... She would never come back. It was a parting, but -the very lightness of it moved them. They wondered if they had done all -they could. - -“I’m so glad the means were not at hand for her to paint the -stone-work,” Bellair said firmly. - -“I’m afraid she would think we lack interest,” the woman added, as she -glanced at the smoky beams of the ceiling. The years had softened them -perfectly. - -“She wanted them washed the very first thing,” said Bellair, “and -varnished. If she had stayed much longer we would have been forced to -paint something.” - -In the days that followed, a softness and summery bloom came -continually to the Faraway Woman’s eyes. His heart quickened when -she turned to him. They moved in and out from the cottage to grounds, -again and again. - -“It’s unreal to me,” she would say. “I wonder if it will ever seem -ours? I know it won’t, while you are away. I could live here fifty -years until I seemed a part of the cottage and grass and trees, and I -would feel a pilgrim resting----” - -“It is part of you now, and always has been,” he said. “You are at home -on high ground and you must have the sea-distance. They belong to you. -I think that is what made you so hard for me to understand.” - -“Was I hard for you?” - -“I was so fresh from the little distances and the short-sight of -things--from looking down----” - -“I wonder if any one ever was so willing to be seen on his worst side?” -she asked. “I really believe you know very little about yourself.... He -saw--the real side.” - -“He saw good everywhere,” said Bellair. - -“... I wonder why I was strange to you at first?” she repeated, after a -moment. “You were not strange to me.” - -“Not when I spent so much time at the great cane chair?” - -“No. You seemed to be studying. I could see that you didn’t belong -there. You appeared to be interested in it all--as if he were a part of -the ship----” - -“And you didn’t seem to belong at all to my eyes,” he told her. “You -belonged out in the distances of ocean. You came closer and closer -during the days in the open boat--but here you belong. It seems to me -that you have come home--and how I wish I could stay, too.” - -“I wish you could stay--but I know that there is unfinished work in New -York.” - -“I wonder how _he_ knew?” Bellair questioned. - -“He saw very clearly. He was not flesh at all--that last day----” - -“After the night--when he prayed.... You saw him that night?” - -“Yes.” - -Her innate sense of beauty startled him afresh every day. All that he -idealised was an open book to her. Bellair had planned his house in the -New York room. The greatest houses are planned so, by those who suffer -and are confined. It had not come to him in the form of this stone -cottage by the sea. This was not his dream that had come true here, -although in many ways it was fairer than his dream. Very plainly, this -little rock-bound eyrie was of her fashioning--the very atoms of it, -drawing together to conform with the picture in her mind. He loved the -place better so. Perhaps her thought of a home had been the stronger. - -“It is almost perfect now,” she would say. “The neglect has made -it right. A few roses, some bee-hives, vines and perennials--the -rest is just clearing and cleansing. I could go over all the leaves -and branches with a soapy sponge. The rest is to prune and thin and -cleanse--so the sunlight is not shut from anywhere altogether--so it -all can breathe----” - -He caught the picture in her mind--foliage cut away for the play of sun -and wind everywhere--the chaste and enduring beauty of leaf and stone -and moving water. And now appeared a bit of her nature quite as real: - -“And then those extra two rooms, I could rent them and give board----” - -“Oh, but you don’t have to.” - -“I have always had much to do. I must have work now.” - -She had no realisation of property; material poverty was a part of her -temperament. She was superbly well, and could only remain so by the -expenditure of ample energy. Bellair saw the Martha soul, the mother of -men, a breadgiver. He thought of the passion of men for the vine-women, -and of the clinging sons they bear.... He lingered over a ship, and -another. They toiled together like two peasants in the open, the baby -sitting in the sun, the house ashine within. She would have only the -simple things. She loved fine textures, but only of the lasting fabrics -in woods and wares. She was content to carry water and trim lamps. -She loved the stones and the low open fires. Often she turned away -seaward, as he had seen her from the _Jade’s_ rail, and from the bow -seat of the open boat. Once in the garden, he made the child laugh, to -bring back her eyes, and she said: - -“I love it so here, but I don’t want to love it, so that it would hurt -terribly, if it were taken away.” - -This was but one side. There were other moments, in which Bessie and -New York and all that he and the Faraway Woman had been, seemed fused -into a ball of mist whirling away, and they stood together, man and -woman, touching sanity at last in a world of power and glory. It was -not then a time for words.... Once their hands went out together, and -holding for a moment, Bellair had the strange sense of the self sinking -from him. He could not feel his hand or any part of his being--as if it -were a part of her, two creatures blent into one, and an indescribable -rush of something different than physical vitality. - -And once sitting with her under the lamp in the evening, he drew again -that sense of peace that had come in the queer darkness on the deck of -the _Jade_. It had to do with the mountains--as if they had finished -with the valleys, and were ascending together in the strong light of -the mountains. - -And then there was passion--that plain, straight earth drive. Bellair -was strange about this with the Faraway Woman. This passion was like -the return of an old hunting companion, so natural in the wilds, but -strange and out of place in his newly-ordered life. It had come from -the Unknowable, and he had supposed it lost in that wilderness. It -dismayed him that _she_ should call it forth, but she called from him -everything day by day, and no day the same. He had lost much of the -old, but not that passion. And the nature of it which she called had -a bewildering beauty.... But there was much to keep the old native of -the wilds from really entering. The world would have called Bellair’s -idealism _naïve_; and there was something of Fleury in the very -solution of their lives--not a finger-print of passion in all that -relation. There was the Unfinished Story of Ogla’s Guest. Finally there -was the Gleam. - -Life was very full and rare to Bellair, but there seemed always a new -ship in the harbour flying Blue Peter for California.... In the main, -they forgot themselves, as unwatched man and woman, slept under the -same roof and had their food together; at least, Bellair forgot it for -hours at a time. It seemed the very nature of life; the purity of it -all so obvious.... One afternoon he came up from the city in a cool -south wind; a grey afternoon, the sunset watery and lemon-hued. He was -thinking of the ship that would float Blue Peter to-morrow. The homely -scent of damp bark burning quickened his senses, as he crossed the -yard, and he heard her singing to the child. Somehow the woodsmoke had -brought back to him a Spring day in the northern woods--grey light and -dark pools, all foliage baby-new, a song-sparrow pair trilling back and -forth from edge to open.... - -He saw her in one of the rare flashes of life. She was sitting by the -fireplace, the nearest window across the room. Her figure was softened -in the deep grey light to the pure sensousness of motherhood--except -her face, hands and boots, and that which she held. These were mellowed -in the faintest orange glow from the firelight. Her back was curved -forward, her face bent to the baby’s head, held high in the hollow of -her arms. The dress was caught tightly about her ankles--a covering -pliant almost as a night-robe, but that was a mystery of the shadows. -She was like the figure of some woman he had seen somewhere--some woman -of the river-banks, but this a Madonna of the firelight. He passed on, -and waited before speaking. - - - 3 - -They went a last time to the city.... There was a place for a chair, -and they had seen an old urn in a by-street which belonged near the -Spring. They felt that these products of men had to be just so, and -that they had earned a great boon in being given a part at stone -cottage. The things that were brought there must endure; must reason -together in long leisure concord, putting on the same inner hue at the -last and mellowing together as old friends, or old mates. This time, -Bellair’s eyes did not meet the city quite as before; it was not as -a stranger exactly, who rambles through a port while his ship lies -in the offing. His real berth was an hour’s ride back from the city -and made of stone. Perhaps later he would find work to do here.... A -child passed them in the store, and brought the change after their -purchase--a boy of twelve or fourteen, his face old with care. It made -Bellair think of Davy Acton at Lot & Company’s. They bought a bit of -glass, a bit of silver, some linen and a rug, and rode home with their -arms full. - -Another letter had come from one of the Island headquarters of -Stackhouse, in answer to Bellair’s inquiry concerning affairs. The -papers in the wallet had given him clues to the various insular -interests; and the replies, without exception, represented the -attitudes of agents ready and open to authority from without. -Stackhouse had left no centre of force that appeared to have vitality -enough to rise in its own responsibility. Bellair saw that sooner or -later he must make a visit to these different interests, and that -the place of the wallet for the time being, at least, amounted -to headquarters. He wrote as explicitly as possible in reply to -the letters, promised to call in due course, established a freedom -where his judgment permitted, but felt the whole vast business very -loosely in hand. New York was first, and it became very clear to him, -especially on this night, that New York must be entered upon without -further delay. There was a thrill of dismay in the thought of the weeks -that had passed, and the dreaming. Dreams were good. He had needed -these days; great adjustments and healings had taken place. It had -been the pleasant lull between the old and new, the only rest his life -had known, in fact. All its beauty was massed into the period--but the -dreams must be turned into action now. - -A man may stay just so long in joy. There are moments in every life -when the hour strikes for parting. The lover does well to leave his -lady then quickly. There is an understanding in the world that the -woman invariably whispers, _Stay_, but very often an organisation of -force that makes austerity possible, does not come from the man alone. -If the moment of parting passes, the two still lingering together, a -shadow enters between them, blurring their faces for each other’s eyes, -dimming the dream. - -It does not come from without. The train missed, the passage paid for -and not connected, the column that marches away, one set broken, -the sentry post to which a strange figure is called--these are but -matters to laugh at afterward. The shadow comes between them from their -own failure. It is slow to lift. In the final elevation of romance, -there shows one sunken length.... There is the moment of meeting and -the moment of parting; that which lies between, whether an hour or -generation, forms but the equal third, for the great love intervals of -human kind are not measured by time, but by the opening of the doors -of the heart. By the very laws of our being, the doors draw together -against rapture prolonged. The man who crosses the world to live -one day with his sweetheart, sees her at last in the doorway or the -trysting-place as he cannot see her again; and in the tear of parting, -something different of her, something that has been occulted, clears -magically for his eyes. It must not blind him to remain, for it is her -gift to abide with him over the divide. It passes, not to come again -if he remains; rapture falls into indulgence; the fibre of integrity -weakens and lets them down into mere mortals. Man is not ready for -the real revelation of romance in whom a master does not arise at the -stroke. - - * * * * * - -That night there was a _mew_ at the door. They had finished tea and -were sitting by the fire. The woman opened the door and a young -tabby-puss walked leisurely in, moved in a circle about the room, tail -held high. Chair and table and lounge, she brushed against, standing -upon her toes, eyes blinking at the fire. The woman brought a saucer of -milk. The visitor drank, as if that were all very well, but that she -could have done well enough until breakfast. Apparently it was not her -way to land upon friends in a starving condition. Before the fire, she -now sat, adding a point to her toilet from time to time, inspecting it -carefully and long. Finally she turned to the woman, hopped upon her -knee and settled to doze. She had accepted them, and they called her -_Elsie_. - -“Little-Else-to-do,” said the woman. - -They stood beside the child’s bed later that night. - -It rained, and the home closed in upon them with its cheer and humble -beauty. He saw her hand now in everything--even the rungs of the chairs -shone in the firelight. The hearth was swept. Her face--it was a place -of power, and such a fusion of tenderness was there, the eyes pure -and merciful. All that he had known before her coming was unfinished, -explanatory. She had shown him what a human adult woman should be in -this year of our Lord. His soul yearned to her; his whole life nestling -to this place of hers--as her stone cot nestled to the cliff.... She -was always very quiet about her love for the child when he was near. -That was because he loved the Gleam so well.... Yet he had seen the -Firelight Madonna. - -“You have made it all I can do--to go away,” he said. - -“I have thought of that--I might have made it easier. I have thought of -that,” she repeated. “And yet--we were so tired. We seemed to need to -be ourselves. It has been beautiful--to be ourselves----” - -It seemed to him that she came nearer, but that was impossible for the -child was between.... Just then his mind finished the other picture--of -her arms held up to the hawthorn buds--a babe of his own in those -arms! He would have fought to prevent its coming, but it visualised -of itself. Had it been that which enchanted the woodland?... He was -silent. She had become even more to him for this instant. He would not -call it other than beautiful, now that it had come. She was more than -ever the heart of mystery--the Quest. She knew all these things--love -and maternity she knew; even the passionate fluting of Pan had -quickened her eyes; and where she abode, there was the genius of Home. - -So slowly had it come--perhaps this was not all. For weeks he had -stood by--day after day, the heart of her becoming more spacious and -eloquent; one miracle of the woman after another--finally, to-night -the mystery of all life about her, for his eyes. Yet to her it was no -mystery; she was _of it_, rhythmically so. She knew the dream--and the -life that comes at last to quicken it. She could love; she could live; -she could wait. She loved God--but loved Nature, too. She was spirit, -but flesh, too. She was powerful in two worlds.... - -So Bellair stood with bowed head, and though Bessie was forgotten, -Fleury was not. It was still with him that Fleury and the Faraway Woman -were fashioned for each other.... “She may be so wonderful to me, -because she trusts me to understand----” such was the essence of his -fear. It kept his heart dumb.... That night she brought a pitcher of -water and placed it upon the hearth, looked up and found him watching. - -“For the fairies,” she said. - - * * * * * - -That changed him a little, brought her nearer to words of his; though -the effort to speak was like lifting a bridge. She was leaving for her -room when he managed: - -“Day after to-morrow--the steamer. May we not talk to-night?” - -He saw her stop. Then she was coming toward him so gladly. - -“Yes--you want the rest of the story?” - -“Yes.... I have been sorry that _he_ couldn’t hear it----” - -She stood before him, tall and white. - -“I think you are like me,” she said in a moment. “I think you have -something behind you that you do not tell--something that made you -what you are--yet greater than you seem to yourself.... I would have -told you while _he_ was with us, but you know how the days passed and -we could not hold our thoughts together. Then there were times when -we could not even use our voices.... Do you know that the world is -wonderful--that the thousands about us do not even dream how wonderful -it is--how tremendous even miseries are? Sometimes I think that the -tragedies we meet are our greatest hours.” - -“You have met them,” he said, a part of her spirit almost. “I have -seen them in your eyes. It gave me the sense of shelter with you and -limitless understanding---” - -“I am thankful for that,” she whispered. “When we have understanding, -we have everything. Those who in their childhood are made to suffer -horribly are often the ones who reach understanding. Sometimes they -suffer too much and become dulled and dumb. Sometimes in the very ache -of their story, which can be so rarely told, they risk the telling to -some one not ready. It aches so, as its stays and stays untold. Oh, the -whole world craves understanding, and yet if we tell our story to one -who is not ready--we hurt them and ourselves, and add unto our misery. -There are moments set apart in life in which one finds understanding, -but the world presses in the next day, and the story does not look so -well. The spirit of it fades and the actions do not seem pure when the -spirit is out--so one loses a loved friend. Oh, I am talking vaguely. -It is not my way to talk vaguely--but to-night--it is like a division -of roads, and a story is to be told---” - -“Do you think the story will diminish in my mind to-morrow?” he asked. - -“No--not you. I have seen you through the sunlight and the dark looking -into my eyes for it. If I thought it would diminish in your mind--yes, -I would tell it just the same. It must be told--but life would not be -the same. Even this, our little stone cot, would not be the same. I -should have to become harder and harder to hold--to follow the Gleam---- - -“... I shall be Olga in the rest of the story,” she was saying. “For -I am Olga.... The truth is, I have no other name. There is one that -I used, and another that I formerly used--but they are not mine. You -shall see.... My father prospered with the sheep-raising, and slowly on -the long road that you have seen, houses came one by one, until at last -there was a village about us. My father was like the village father, -and my mother the source of its wisdom in doctoring and maternal -affairs--she had learned by bringing forth. But I was not of them--they -all saw that. The coming of plenty, the coming of the people, the -coming of men to woo my sisters, and the maidens my brothers brought -for us to see, before they took them quite away--none of these things -were so real to me as the coming of my Guest when I was such a little -girl. And none remembered that--not even my mother. Until I ceased to -speak of it, they tried to make me think it was a dream. But I knew -that rapture. It had changed me. I was always to search for it again. I -was always looking for another such night--for that afterglow again. I -was the last child and the silent one. - -“But all that had to do with children was intimate and wonderful to -me.... I remember once when we were all girls at home together, and -they were talking--each of what she should have for her treasure from -the household--one walnut, one silver, one an inlaid desk--and they -turned to me laughingly, for I was not consulted as a rule, I said I -wanted the little hickory cradle in an upper closet. It was one of -those household days which girls remember.... All was happier then. -The little cradle seemed like a casket in which jewels had come to my -mother--seven times. We had all smiled at her first from that hickory -cradle.... I went up stairs to look at it--a dim place full of life and -messages to me. I was weak; my arms ached; and it was so dear that I -dare not say that it was mine.... My father said the cradle must belong -to the eldest girl. - -“... I began to sense the terrible actuality of life through the -mating of Lois, ten years older, with a countryman who came for her. -For sisters, Lois and I had always been far apart, and this stranger -who wished to marry her, had nothing to do with life as I dreamed -it--a child of twelve. To many, Lois was the loveliest of us--large, -calm, dark and quiet, very well, slow of speech, but quick to smile. -Had you visited our house then, you would have remembered my father’s -patriarchal air, the smile of Lois, and the maternity that brooded -over us all. The rest you would get afterward--a variety of young -people with different faults and attractions--I the grey one, last to -be noted. Lois was given credit for more than she was. I do not love -brain or power, but I seem to love courage. Lois had something to take -the place of these--not courage--and no, not power nor brain. She had -sensuousness and appetite. - -“One night I seemed to see what the whole house was straining for--a -kind of process of marriage continually afoot. Just now it was Lois. -I remember my father being called into the front room where Lois and -Collinge had been for an evening--his face beaming when he came forth, -and my mother’s quiet sanction. There were conferences after that, -dressmaking, the arrangement of money affairs. And I was suddenly ill -with it. To me, there could be no trade or public business. To me, it -had to do with a child and that was consecrated ground. Oh, you must -see it had to be different. I wanted it like a stroke of lightning. -I did not understand but I wanted it like that--like a flight of -swans--and not talk and property transactions. To me it had to do with -rain and frost and the tides and the pulses of plants--the silent -things. I did not understand--but knew that children came to those who -took each other. - -“I remember one supper; the countryman talked--talked of the marriage -day--the breakfast, the ceremony--the end and the dusk, and turned to -Lois with sleepy half-folded eyes. She was smiling and flushed--and I -looked from face to face at the table, at my sisters--and I rushed away -because I could find nothing pure.... Some one said my mother never -looked prettier.... I remember the flood of honeysuckle perfume that -came to me in the torture of hatred, as I passed through the distant -hall.... And then later from the top of the stairs, Lois and my mother -were talking, and Lois said: - -“‘You know, Mother, we will not have children for the first three -years, at least----’” - -“I was somehow below by her in the lower hall. She seemed a rosy pig -upstanding, marked red and flaming.... And that night long afterward, -my mother found me and said, ‘You are getting beyond me, Olga.’ ... -But I could only think of men and women copying the squirrels, -filling their bins, dressing their door-yards, reaching for outer -things--and it was back of my very being--back of the mother and the -patriarch--back of the shepherding and the folding--back of _me_. -I hated life with destroying hatred--Lois wanting the seasons, but -unwilling to bring forth fruit, accepting the countryman’s idea of -life.... Can you see that it had the look of death to me?” - -Bellair could only bow his head. To him the woman was revealing the -grim days through which she had won her poise and power.... She was -telling another incident with the same inclination--for the thought -of being a mother had been the one master of her days. He seemed to -see the child, the girl, the younger woman about her--a grey-eyed, -red-lipped girl, with a waist that was smaller and smaller as she -gained in inches from fifteen to eighteen--madness for mothering, -passionate in that, but not passionate for sensation--her face -sometimes so white, that they would ask her mother, “Is Olga quite -well?”... Yet teeming with that intensive health that goes with small -bones and perfect assimilation--that finds all to sustain life in fruit -and leaves ... books, light sleeping, impassioned with the lives of -great women and the saints--one of those who come to the world for -devotion and austerity and instant sacrifice; yet for none of these -apart; rather a fruitful vine, her prevailing and perennial passion -for motherhood. - -“And yet I almost ceased to breathe,” she was saying, “when I came to -understand man’s part in these things. I felt _myself_ differently -after that--even children--but from this early crisis which so many men -and women have met with untellable suffering, emerged a calm that could -not have come without it. The travail brought me deep into the truth. -For all great things the price must be paid--how wonderfully we learned -that in the open boat. There are sordid processes in the production of -all fine things--even in the bringing forth of a Messiah.” - -She paused, as if she saw something enter the eyes that had listened -so fervently. Bellair cleared his voice. “I remember something _he_ -said,” he told her. “That matter is the slate--spirit the message that -is written. The slate is broken, the message erased, but _eyes_ have -seen it, and the transaction is complete. For the spirit has integrated -itself in expression----” - -“I think he said it, for you to tell me now,” the Faraway Woman -whispered. - -“Only _he_ could have halted your story,” Bellair added. - -“... I told you when my Guest came in the afterglow, of the house -of our nearest but distant neighbour; now I am telling you of years -afterward, when there were many houses between on the long road, and -my playmate Paul had gone away to Sidney. Lois had long been married. I -was seventeen--and so strangely and subtly hungering--for expression, -for something that I did not know, which meant reality to me, but which -was foreign and of no import to all about me. Often at evening I stared -up the long road.... I remember late one night in the nearest house, -the soft wind brought me the cry of a child. It was so newly come and -it was not well. I went to it just as I was, though the people had just -moved in and were strange to us. It was thirst--as we know. I went to -it, as we would have gone to a waterfall. The door of their house was -locked, but I knocked. The father came down at last. The lower rooms -were filled with unpacked boxes. I told him why I had come. He talked -to me strangely. He went upstairs and sent the mother down to me. It -did not seem as if I could live through that night--and not have my -way. She put her arms about me, led me upstairs to a room that was -not occupied--save a chair by the window. I stood there waiting until -she returned with the child.... I saw lights back in our house when -they missed me--voices, but I could not go. In the early light I heard -the woman saying to my mother: ‘... We really needed her so. Baby was -restless, but he is much better and quiet with her. They are very happy -together.... Yes, she is safe and well.’” - -The Faraway Woman left him now to go to the child. - - - 4 - -Returning, she put the kettle on, and made tea in the earthen pot. To -Bellair her coming into the room again was a replenishment--as if she -had been gone for hours; and this started a pang deep in his heart, -which presently suffused everything when he realised that his ship had -come for him. It was past midnight.... In reality it was to-morrow that -his ship would sail. - -“You listen wonderfully,” she said. - -“It seems all about the little Gleam,” he answered. “It makes -everything significant about the open boat.... I forget to swallow----” - -They laughed together. - -“Do you know, I can hardly realise when we are here--that this is New -Zealand?” she said presently, “that only a little way back is the long -road and the river and the ravine--the neighbour’s house and ours and -the other houses between.... I will tell you the rest very quickly--and -oh, let me tell you first, I am not afraid. In spite of all I know, I -am not----” - -She was bending forward across the table. - -“... I was a woman when Paul came back from the distant city--and came -first of all to me. He was changed--something excellent about his -face and carriage, and something I did not understand at all, his -face deeper lined, his voice lower, his words ready. I did not think -about him when he was away. In the first evenings we passed together, -I had only an old-time laugh for him. I kissed him with something -like affection. We were permitted to be alone together, and I saw the -old look upon my father’s face--that I had hated so. That look--even -before the playmate thing had departed from me. Then I began to _see_ -Paul--something I could not like nor understand, a readiness of words, -and he was not wise enough to make them ring deeply. I seemed to be -studying in him the novelty of a man--through the eyes of a girl. - -“One night we were together in my father’s house. It was our Spring and -raining softly on the steps. The grass seemed full of odours, and the -vines trembling with life. He kissed me there. It seemed that I hardly -knew. I was looking over his shoulder into the dark, and I saw a little -white face. It was like a rain-washed flower ... and to me it was quite -everything. - -“... Everything that I had known and loved--compensation for all that I -had missed and hungered for. Only the little face--but I knew the arms -were held out to me. - -“Paul knew nothing of this. He was not to blame. It was not he, who -carried me away. He was merely being the man he fancied--playing the -thing as the world had taught him--showing himself fervent and a man. -I could have laughed at his kisses.... I have nothing against him. -It was his way.... But once he kissed me--and it came to me that he -was the way--that he must join his call to mine.... I could do all -but that--I need not love him. Can you understand--it seemed as if -everything was done but that--that the little face had already chosen -me.... I sent him away, and I remember long afterward I was standing on -the porch alone. It rained.” - -Bellair realised now that she was watching him with something like -anguish. A different picture of her came to him from that moment--filed -for the long days apart--the rapt look of her mouth, and the pearl -in her hair that brought out the lustre of whiteness from her -skin--full-bosomed, but slender--slender hands that trembled and moved -toward him as she spoke.... It was something for him--as if he had -always been partly asleep before--as if she had brought some final -arousing component to his being. - -“... My mother did not ask but once. When I told her--the horror came -to me that she would die. I had not thought of it before. I had thought -that it was mine--had seen very little of Paul. In fact, he had come -several times, when I would not see him.... She called my father--and -it was all to be enacted again. For a moment, I thought he would strike -me. The most dreadful thing to them all was that I was not ashamed. -They felt that I was unnatural.... - -“There was one high day in that little upper room. It was all like a -prayer, when they would suffer me to be alone and not wring me with -their misery--but this one high day, I must tell you. I stood by -the window in the watery light of the sun from the far north. That -moment the Strange Courage came. I felt that I could lead a nation, -not to war, but to enduring peace; as if I had a message for all my -people, and a courage not of woman’s, to tell it, to tell it again and -again--until all the people answered. It was then that I understood -that a man’s soul had come to my baby, and that it was not to be a -girl, as I had sometimes thought. - -“And then the rest of the waiting--days of misery that I can hardly -remember the changes of--yet something singing within me--I holding -it high toward heaven as I could--singing with the song within. After -weeks, it suddenly came to me what they wanted to do to hide their -shame--to take the little child half-finished from me--to murder it--to -hide their shame. - -“Then I told them that it had not occurred to me to marry Paul--that -I did not love him--that I had loved the little child. I told them -that I did not believe in the world--that I did not believe I had done -wrong--that I did not believe our old preacher who stayed so long at -the table could make me more ready for the child. I told my father that -I did not believe in marrying a man and saying that I would have no -children for three years. I told him that I was mad for the child--that -I was young and strong and ready to die for it ... that my baby wanted -me, and no other. I would have gone away, but they would not let me do -that. They kept me in an upper room. Paul had gone away ... and after -months my father went to find him. It was sad to me--sadness that -I cannot forget in that--my father taking his cane and his bag and -setting out to find the father--heart-broken and full of the awfulness -of being away from his home. He had not been away for years.... And -my mother coming timidly to my room.... And then I went down like -Pharaoh’s daughter to the very edge of the water--for, for the Gleam!” - -Her eyes were shining and she laughed a little, looking upward -as if she saw a vision of it, and had forgotten the room and the -listening--her eyes as close to tears as laughter. - -“... And when I came back--it was all so different. I could pity -them--my heart breaking for my father and mother, who had not the -wonder, and only the fears. They were passing out--after doing their -best as they saw it, for many, many years together--and I had brought -them the tragedy, the crumbling of their house--a shame upon the -patriarch of the long road, a blackness upon her maternities.... It was -my father’s thought to bring Paul to me. As if I would have taken him, -but he came--my father having given him much money.... Oh, do not be -hard upon him. There is wildness in him and looseness, but the world -had showed him the way and he was young. I said to him (it was within -ten days after the coming and my father and mother were gone from the -room), ‘I would not think of marrying you, Paul, but do not tell them. -As soon as I am ready, I shall go away with you, and they will not be -so unhappy--and as soon as we are well away, you shall be free. And you -may keep the money, Paul.’ - -“... And now it is like bringing you a reward for listening so well. I -tell you now of a moment of beauty and wonder--such as I had known but -once before, and was more real to me than all the rest. It made that -which was sorrowful and sordid of the rest seem of little account.... -It was early evening in the upper room and still light. An old -servant who loved me was in the room, and the Gleam was sleeping--the -fourteenth day after his coming. The woman helped me to a chair and -drew it to the window, and all was hushed. Even before I looked out, an -unspeakable happiness began to gush into my heart. - -“The ravine was crowding with darkness, but the long road was full -of light. The houses between seemed to dwindle but the distance was -full of radiance--that perfect afterglow again. Not for twenty years -had there been such a sunset, and now the sky was massed with gold of -the purple martin’s breast, and the roof of Paul’s house was like two -open leaves of beaten gold--everywhere the air filled with strange -brightenings. The fragrance from the fields arose to meet the heaven -falling from the sky. - -“I tried to make believe, but the road was empty. The Guest would never -come again, and yet on such a night as this, he had come to me--like -a saint that has finished his work, like a Master coming down a last -time. All the room and the house was hushed behind me.... But the long -road was empty. - -“The old servant at last could bear it no longer. Perhaps she thought -I did not breathe. Softly she crossed the room to the cradle, lifted -the Gleam and placed him in my lap--as if to call me back. Breath came -quickly at the touch of him, and she must have heard a low, joyous -sound as I felt the child. With one hand I held him, patting his -shoulder softly, slowly, with the other, until the ecstasy of long ago -flowed into my being. - -“There was a moment that I should have asked her to take the Gleam -from me--had I been able to speak. It was such a moment that I had run -out under the stars. But as I patted the tiny shoulder, the burden of -the ecstasy passed, and a durable blessedness came--the calm of great -understanding. - -“The road--of course it was empty--for he had come.... I thought I had -told the old servant, but a second time I seemed to see her anxious -face bending so near in the dusk. - -“‘Why, don’t you see?’ I whispered. ‘He was looking for his mother when -I found him.’” - - * * * * * - -That was the end of the story--the rest just details that an outsider -might ask: How she went away with Paul for the sake of her father; how -he remained with her during the long voyage to America, but as nothing -to her, more and more a stranger of different ways from hers--how he -gave her but a little of the money her father had put in trust for her -keeping--and rushed away to dig his grave in the city.... Then just a -glimpse of her need and her labour and longing for the Island life--a -dream, the _Jade_.... - - - 5 - -The final morning, Bellair took the babe in his arms and let himself -down the rocky way to the shore. The trail was empty behind him, and -the cottage shut off by the group of little pines, pure to pass through -as the room of a child. And here were rain-washed boulders warming -in the morning sun, and before his eyes the blue and deep-eyed sea. -It rolled up to his feet, forever changing with its stories and its -secrets, very cool about them all to-day, full of mastery and leisure. - -Bellair sat upon a stone and looked at the child: “I wish you could -tell me, little man ... but you are not telling. You know it all, like -the sea--but you do not tell.... And I’ll see you so many times, when -I’m away,--see you like this and wish many times I could hold you. For -we were always friends, good friends. You didn’t ask much.... And you -were fine in the pinch, my son.... That little cry I heard, that little -cry.... He loved you, and promised great things for you. I’ve come to -believe it, little man, for I know your mother. That’s good gambling, -from where I stand.... He knew it first. He knew it all first. And you -didn’t tell him.... Oh, be all to her, little Gleam--be all to her, and -tell her I love her--when she looks away to the sea. Tell her, I’ll be -coming, perhaps.... I didn’t know I’d ever be called to kiss a little -boy--but it’s all the same to you ... and take care of her for me.” - -They were standing together a last time before his journey. The -carriage had been waiting many minutes. The child was propped upon the -lawn, and Elsie was picking her steps and shaking her paws that met -the dew under the grass. His eye was held over her shoulder to the -weathered door of the stone cottage. It was ajar and coppery brown, -like the walls above the young vines. And over her other shoulder, too, -was the brilliant etheric divide of the sea. He had to go back and -stand a moment in the large room. The wind and the light came in; the -vine tendrils came trailing in. He saw her books, her pictures, her -chair, her door.... - -He stood beside her again, and tried to tell her how moving these weeks -had been. - -“Yes, we have seen both sides, and this was the perfect side. We saw -the other, well----” - -“And you are not caught in either--that’s what thrills me most,” said -he. “I am always caught--in hunger and thirst and fear and pain--in -beauty and possessions. But you have stood the same through it -all--ready to come or go, ready for sun or storm----” - -“After years of changes and uncertainty, one comes to rely only upon -the true things.” - -“I shall want to come back--before the first turn of the road,” he -said. “I think I am hungry for the little house now----” - -She put her arms about him. His heart was torn, but there was something -immortal in the moment. - -“This shall always be your home,” she said. “You may come back -to-night--to-morrow--in twenty years--this is your house. I shall -be here. I shall teach _him_ to know and welcome you.... We are -different. We are not strangers. We have gone down into the deep ways -together. We shall always know each other, as no one else can, or as we -can know no others. So we must be much to each other--and this is our -home. You will never forget.... Oh, yes, you must come back--just as -you must go away----” - -Sentence by sentence, softly, easily spoken; not with a great beauty -of saying, but with a bestowal of the heart that compelled his finest -receptivity. And she had held him as a mother might, or as a sister, or -as a woman who loved him. There was something in her tenure, of all the -loves of earth. He looked deeply into her eyes, but hers was the love -that did not betray itself then in the senses. He could not know, for -he would not trust his own heart.... But this he knew, and was much to -ponder afterward: This which she gave, could not have been given, nor -have been received, before the days of the open boat. So strange was -the ministry of that fasting. - -They kissed, and hers so gladly given, failed of the secret; yet -revealed to him a love that sustained, and sent him forth a man--such -as Bellair had not been. - - - - -PART SIX - -LOT & COMPANY: II - - - 1 - -BELLAIR reached New York on a mid-May morning from the west, and walked -up Seventh avenue to his old room. It was a time of day that he had -seldom known the street and step. There was a different expression -of daylight upon them. Of course, he had met these matters on many -Sundays, but Sunday light and atmosphere was invariably different -to his eyes--something foreign and false about it. He saw the old -hall-mark, however, in the vestibule--the partial sweeping.... It -had always been her way; all things a form. The vestibule and stone -steps had to be swept--that was the law; to be swept with strength and -thoroughness was secondary. He rang, and asked the servant for the -woman of the house. - -Waiting, he found himself in a singular depression of mind. The City -had cramped and bewildered him. A small oval of grey-white cloud -appeared in the dark hall. It came nearer, and Bellair saw the face of -dusty wax--smaller, a little lower from his eyes. It came very near, -and was upturned. The vision was dim, and the memory; all the passages -slow and cluttered. - -“It is Mr. Bellair,” she said, without offering her hand. - -“Yes. I’ve come back.” - -“I haven’t a room--for you.” - -“Oh, I’m sorry.” - -“And about your things in storage--I would be glad for the space now. -Could you take care of this to-day?’ - -“Yes,” he answered. - -“I have the bill ready.”... She called the servant who came with the -broom. “On my table among the papers you will find Mr. Bellair’s bill -for storage. Please get it.” - -Bellair heard the servant on the stairs, one, two, three flights; then -a long silence. He had never been quite sure where the landlady slept, -believing that she hovered from basement to sky-light according to the -ebb and flow of the tenant tides. The double-doors from the hall to the -lower front room were slightly ajar. This, the most expensive in the -house, appeared to be vacant. The servant was gone a long time. The -landlady did not leave him alone in the hall. They did not speak. The -darkness crept upon Bellair as if he were in a tank that was slowly -but surely being filled, and presently would cover him. The paper was -brought, the charge for six months’ storage, meagre. Bellair paid it, -and offered more. He thought of her hard life, but the extra money was -passed back to him. - -“I have that present in keeping,” she said. - -“What present?” - -“That you gave me the night you went away----” - -“But I gave it to you. Would you not take a little gift from one who -had been in your house five years?” - -“Money easily got, goes the same,” she answered. - -Then Bellair realised how stupid he had been. She had seen the -newspapers. She had been afraid to trust him alone in that bare hall. -The smell of carpets stifled him. - -“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “But hold the present a little -longer. Perhaps you will not always feel that it came so easily. I’ll -send for my goods at once.... Good-bye.” - -“Good-bye, Mr. Bellair.” - -He was ill. The side-door of a famous hotel yawned to him directly -across the street from his step. He was not sure they would take him. -Registering, he stopped to think where he was from, adding Auckland, N. -Z.... Yes, his bags would be brought from the station. They gave him a -room, and Bellair stood in the centre of it. - -For a few moments he actually weakened--limbs and mind. It wasn’t New -York alone, nor the sordid incident across the street, reminding him -so ruthlessly of Lot & Company and all that had been and was still to -do; rather it was a giving way to a loneliness that had been rising -for almost a month, wearing him to a shadow of himself, and giving -him battle night and morning. Like many another solitary young man, -he had brooded much upon what a certain woman might be. He had found -that in those women he met, certain spaces must be filled in by his -own compassion--and these spaces did not endure. Always in a test -they separated from the reality. But the Faraway Woman day by day had -fulfilled; even where his idealism failed, she completed the picture of -the woman above him and of irresistible attraction. - -She had come nearer and nearer. She was magic in this way. He had -regarded her at first distantly and askance at the rail of the _Jade_. -A gasp now came from him. That was so impossible and long ago.... She -had not called him any more than a peasant woman. And yet one after -another her rarities had unfolded; it would always be so. She was -the very fountain of romance to him; the essence of whose attraction -is variableness of days. Of all the days together, there had been -no two alike--no two hours alike. He had watched her face under the -light--never twice the same. The child, the maiden, the mother, the -love-woman, the saint--lips passional, devotional ... then those -wonder-moments when the old tragedies came back to her eyes. - -They stirred him as if he had known her long ago; and yet nothing of -this had come to him at first. How crude and coarse he had been not -to see. Lot & Company and New York had covered her from his eyes. He -had to fast and pray and concentrate upon her being, as a devotee upon -the ball of crystal to begin upon her mysteries. Every man has his -Lot & Company, his New York--the forces that bind him to the world. -A man bound to the world can see but the body of a thing--the paint -of a picture, just the outline and pigment of a picture or a bit of -nature--just the body of a woman. - -Something came to him that instant--of the perfect law of all -things. Those caught in the body of events see but that, hear but -that, anticipate but that--the very secret of all the misery and -shortsightedness in the world. A man must rise, lift the centre of -consciousness above the body of things, even to see physical matters -in their true relation. It was all so thrillingly true to him in this -glimpse--that a man can never see properly the sequence of his actions -unless he can rise above them--that those in the ruck never know what -they are about.... - -He tried to remember her face, as he stood in the hotel room. Failing, -his mind returned to their days together. He was apart now and could -view them, one by one, in their wonder and beauty. He was torn with -them. At different times on the long voyage he had dwelt separately -upon the episodes. Some had worn him to exhaustion. People on the ship -had believed him a man with a great grief. At first, he looked about -from face to face searching for some one whom he might tell, but there -was no reception for his story. He had to stop and think that he was -different and apart.... She had always been apart. - -He had carried it alone, moving hushed and alone with his story; lying -open-eyed in his berth through the hours of night, and often through -the afternoons, an open book face downward upon his chest, his pipe -cold ... living again the different moments in the rooms of the stone -cottage, in the garden, on the shore; their journeys together, their -breakfasts and luncheons and evenings together. - -The boy was gone from him, from face and body. He did not know what -had come instead, but he knew that he carried a creative image in his -heart; something of the fragrance of her lingering about him. It had -come to him at night alone on deck--the sweetness of her--on the wind. -All that he wanted, all that he dreamed best of life and labour and -love ... and yet after all, what had he to do with her in relation -to these intimate things? Friend, companion, confidante--she was -everything that a woman could be, except---- Had not the substance of -that kind of giving died for her in the passing of the preacher?... -Something of her story frightened him. She had learned the ultimate -realness of loving. The man who entered her heart now would have to -come with an immortal seal upon him. There was but one who could take -up the fatherhood of the Gleam.... Bellair did not feel the man; did -not know what she had given him; did not know what had come to him--to -his face and carriage and voice. He had not yet lifted himself above -so that he could see. Those whom he met, however, were struck with -a different Bellair, and those who could not understand thought him -touched a little queerly--as a man after sunstroke or any great light. - -... It was now noon. He thought of his old friend, Broadwell, of the -advertising-desk at Lot & Company. Perhaps Broadwell would dine with -him. He called. The voice came back to him.... Yes, he would come at -once. Bellair asked him to the hotel. In the interval he called the -Trust company in whose keeping the thousand dollar surety had been, -inquiring if Lot & Company had collected the amount. The answer was -returned presently to the effect that Lot & Company had presented his -release and collected the amount with interest four days after his -departure. - -Bellair hearkened to a faint singing somewhere within and found it had -to do with Bessie. He called Brandt’s and ascertained that the same -quartette was to sing there at nine in the evening. This was also one -of the things he had come to do. - -Broadwell was a trifle late, but all urbanity. There was something of -the salesman’s manner and enunciation about him. Bellair fell away -after the greeting, caught in a sort of mental flurry in which the -picture of another luncheon engagement recurred to his mind--the day he -had passed the desk and cage of Mr. Sproxley with the stranger named -Filbrick, and his own telling of the cashier’s passionate honour.... -When he came back to see clearly the face of Broadwell, he found that -he personally was being scrutinised with odd intensity. Could it be -that Broadwell had something more than a personal friendly interest? -His questions did not seem adroit, and yet he wanted to know so -much--of the ship, of Auckland, but especially of this long drive back -to New York. - -“Are you stopping here?” he asked. - -“Yes. My old room was just opposite, but I was told that the house was -full.” - -“So you came here?” - -“Yes.” - -“And are you going to stay in New York?” - -“I don’t know, Ben. There are a few things to see to.” - -“Are you looking for a job?” - -“Well, no. Not exactly, at least.” - -Try as he might, Bellair could not feel free, as of old time. He felt -the other wanted something, and this checked his every offering. -He knew that Broadwell, at least six months before, could not have -believed ill of Lot & Company, and there was no apparent change. The -disclosure of the press must have righted itself in the office so far -as he, Bellair, was concerned; surely Broadwell did not share the dread -of him the landlady had shown; and yet, it was hard to broach these -things. The advertising-man apparently had no intention of doing so. - -“We’ve all missed you on the lower floor,” he said. - -“Are there any changes?” - -“Very few.” - -“Who took my place?” - -“Man from outside. Mr. Rawter brought in the man--middle-aged. Mr. -Sproxley knew him, too.” - -“Poor devil,” said Bellair, but not audibly. They had not dared to -open the ledger revelations to any one in the office, but had found a -man outside who was doubtless familiar with such books, doubtless one -who had been deformed in the long, slow twistings of trade. Perhaps -this one had children. Children were good for Lot & Company’s most -trusted servants. It was well to have a number of children, like Mr. -Sproxley--for their wants are many, and a man’s soul cannot breathe in -the midst of many wants and small salary. - -“Are you coming over to the office?” - -“Yes, I find I have to. Some folks are taking the end Lot and Company -gave the newspapers about my leaving. They were very much in a hurry -about giving out that newspaper story--with the money in the vaults.” - -Broadwell regarded him seriously. “I suppose they took the point of -view that there could be but one motive for your leaving, without -giving notice. Most firms would----” - -“I wonder if most firms would?” Bellair asked. “Men have lapses other -than falling into thievery. At least a firm should look up the facts -in the case first. It’s a rather serious thing to charge a man with -departure with funds. For instance, the public will glance through the -details of such a charge, and miss entirely a denial afterward. Are you -under bond?” - -“No, I don’t handle company funds----” - -“Suppose you were--and one night you came to the end of your -rope--found you couldn’t go back--found it was a life or death -matter of your soul, whether you went back or not. Still you had -some salary coming and say a thousand dollars’ surety. You took this -amount exactly--salary and bond and interest to the dollar, and left -a note saying so, in place of the amount; also a note releasing to -your firm the amount of the bond and interest, and stating clearly the -item of salary--I say, would you expect to find yourself charged with -embezzlement in next day’s paper?” - -Broadwell’s shoulders straightened. - -“Not in next day’s paper,” he said, with a smile. - -Bellair did not miss the cut of this. - -“You think that my case was not like that exactly?” he asked. - -“I can’t see why a firm would give such a story to the press--unless -they uncovered a loss,” Broadwell said slowly. - -“Lot & Company couldn’t have uncovered a loss without looking in the -very place where my note was, which proved there was no loss. Lot & -Company couldn’t have collected my bond without proceedings--unless -they found my release of it. And the bond was collected.” - -“Then I can’t see any reason for incriminating--any one,” said -Broadwell. - -“Well, there was a reason--though the facts of my case are exactly as -stated. Lot & Company had a reason. I haven’t decided whether it will -be necessary to make that known.... But I didn’t bring you here to -discuss this affair. I wanted to see _you_----” - -Just then Mr. Broadwell was paged. A messenger was said to be waiting -for him in the lobby. - -“Send him in,” Broadwell said thoughtlessly. - -Davy Acton came, and Broadwell saw his error. Bellair perceived that -his luncheon-companion had made known his engagement at the office -before leaving.... - -“Sit down, Davy. I’m glad to see you----” - -The boy had grown. Bellair noted that simple thing, as he noted the -fact also that Davy was tortured with embarrassment, and had not meant -to come in. He wriggled his hand forward to take Bellair’s, which was -held toward his, and then looked down shamefacedly, as if _he_ had been -charged with theft. Bellair knew well that the boy’s trouble was how to -meet him--formerly a friend, but now an outcast from the firm. A kind -of darkness stole over him. He saw now that Broadwell believed him a -thief, even as the landlady had believed; but in the case of neither -of these did the dread finality come to him, as from the face of this -stricken boy. - -This was the thought that shot through Bellair’s mind, “No one liked -Davy so well as I did; no one tried to help him as I did; and now he -thinks my liking and my helping, a part of the looseness of character -which made me a thief.” - -The thought was strange, yet natural, too. It came into the darkness -which had covered the abode of Bellair’s consciousness. - - * * * * * - -“A bit of copy--that I missed getting off,” Broadwell was saying. “I -was excited when you called.... All right, Davy. I’ve told ’em where -to find it on the back of the note.... And now Bellair--you were -saying----” - - - 2 - -Bellair watched for the turn on the part of Broadwell that would reveal -the character of his message, for he did not believe the matter of the -copy for the printer. The chill was thick between them, yet Bellair -managed to say: - -“I’m not here for reprisal or trouble-making. It’s rather a novelty to -be innocent, yet charged with a thing; certainly one sees a look from -the world that could come no other way. I want to see you again--soon. -I’ve got a story to tell you. It was a big thing to me. We used to have -things in common. I’d like to tell you the story and see how it strikes -you----” - -“Good. I’m to spare----” - -“Suppose you come here to lunch to-morrow----” - -“No, you come with me.” - -“I’d prefer it the other way,” Bellair declared. “It’s my story you are -to listen to.” - -As they parted, there was just a trace of the old Broadwell, that left -Bellair with a feeling of kindness. - -“I’m interested to hear that story,” the advertising-man said. “It did -something to you apparently. Pulled you down a lot--but that’s not all. -I can’t make it out exactly--but you’ve got something, Bellair.” - -That was a long afternoon.... He had been gone less than six months; -and yet was as much a stranger, as a young man coming in from the West -for the first time. The hours dragged. The City did not awe him, but -so much of it struck him in places tender. He could give and give; -there seemed no other way, no other thing to do. He sat on a bench in -Union Square, and talked with an old man who needed money so badly -that Bellair reflected for some time the best way to bestow it without -shock. The old fellow looked so near gone, that one feared his heart -would break under any undue pressure of excitement. - -Bellair concluded he had better buy a stimulant first of all, so he -led the way across the Square to Kiltie’s. They lined up against the -bar, and warmed themselves, the idea in Bellair’s mind being to give -something beside money. Now the old man (not in the least understanding -more than it was the whim of the stranger to do something for him), -was so intent on what was to be done that he could not listen. Bellair -had to come to the point. They went to a table for a bite of lunch, and -the spectacle of a beggar’s mind opened--a story lacking imagination -and told with the pitiful endeavour to fit into what was imagined to be -the particular weakness of this listener. - -For months, Bellair had not touched the little orbit of the trodden -lives. The story was not true, for no single group of ten words hinged -upon what had been said, or folded into the next statement. The old -man was not simple, but his guile was simple, and the simplicity of -that was obscene. Begging might be a fine art, but men chose or fell -into their work without thought of making an art of it. The old man did -not know his own tremendous drama. Had he dared plainly to be true, he -would have captivated the world with his own poor faculties. Behind the -affectations were glimpses of great realities--if only the fallen mind -could accept his days and tell them as they came--just the imperishable -fruits of his days. As it was, the whiskey swept them farther away, -and the creature attempted to act; his pitiful conception of effects -were called into being. The throb of it all was the way the world was -brought back to Bellair. His whole past city life thronged into mind. -This was but a shocking example of myriads of lives--trying to be what -their undeveloped senses prompted for the moment, rather than to be -themselves. This was the salesman’s voice and manner, he had seen in -Broadwell.... He stopped his revery by handing over the present. - -The old man’s eyes were wild now with hope and anguish to get away; -a mingling of fear, too, lest the great sum of money in one piece be -counterfeit; lest the stranger ask it back, or some one knock him down -and take it away. - -“I sat in a small boat,” Bellair was saying, “for ten days, with very -little food and water. I saw one man die like a beast of thirst--or -fear of thirst; and I saw another man master it--so that he died -smiling--as only a man can die----” - -Bellair did not finish. He had tried to catch the old man’s attention -with this--to hold it an instant, thinking that some word would get -home, something of the immortal facts in his heart, something greater -than cash ... but the old man believed him insane, a liar, a fool or -all three. - -“Yes, yes,” he said, looking to the side, and to the door. - -So he could listen, neither before nor afterward. Bellair eased his -agony by letting him go--the money gripped in his hands, his limbs -hastening, eyes darting to the right and left, as he sped through the -swinging door.... For several moments, Bellair sat in the sorrow of -it--lost in the grimmest of all tragedies--that here we are, a human -family, all designed for lofty and majestic ends, yet having lost -the power to articulate to each other. Suddenly Bellair remembered -that the old face had looked into his for a swift second, when he was -released--shaken, ashen, a murmur of something like “God thank you,” -on the trembling lips. There was a bit of a ray in that.... Then -he settled back into the tragedy again. It was this--that the old -man had thought him insane for trying to help him; that he had seen -something foreign and altogether amiss in the landlady’s eyes, in Ben -Broadwell’s, and what was more touching to him, in Davy Acton’s. - -Bellair straightened his shoulders. The misery of the thing oppressed -him until he brought it to the laugh. Formerly he would have tried to -escape. It was not his business if the old man would not be helped; he -had tried. If a man can succeed in radiating good feelings and a spirit -of helpfulness, he has done his part; the consequences are out of his -hand. He saw that he had wanted to help; that what he had taken from -the open boat and from the woman had brought this impulse to the fore -in all his thinking. After that he must be an artist in the work; must -become consummate; but having done his best--he must not spend energy -in moods and personal depressions.... As for Lot & Company, he must -meet them on their own footings--forgetting everything but their points -of view. It was his business now to make a black spot clean, and it -was an ugly material matter to be coped with as such, calling forth -will-power and acumen of a world kind. He would see if he was to fail. - -Bellair’s laugh was hard at first, from the tensity of the temptation -to give up and let New York have its way in his case. Having whipped -that (and it was a fair afternoon’s work) the smile softened a little, -and he entered upon the task of the evening. - -... Brandt’s was just as he had left it. The crowd increased; the -quartette came. Bessie was lovely as ever; slightly different, since -he had thought of her so much in the old hat. She did not see him, -but her smile was like a flower of warmth and culture. A touch of the -old excitement mounted in his breast, as they sang.... This was New -York--among men--food and drink and warmth. This, too, was life; these -were men who toil every day, who cannot take months to dream in, who -cannot cross the sea and observe heroes and saints, but men who crowd -and toil and fight, even expire, for their pleasures--such were the -surgings of Bellair’s brain in the midst of the music. Bessie was the -arch of it all--the arch of the old home, New York,--not this Bessie, -but the Bessie that might be, the significant woman it was his work to -make and mould. He was living his own thoughts, as much as listening. -They vanished when the music stopped.... He sent a waiter to her with -this written on a blank card: - -“Will you sing _Maying_ for an old friend?” - -... The song choked the wanderer, and this was the new mystery of -_Maying_--that it left him at the stone gate of a door-yard beyond -windy Auckland.... - - * * * * * - -He sent forward a gift of flowers, and was in a daze when she came to -him and sat down. - -“I have only a few minutes. We sing once more and then go. How dark and -thin you look!” - -He wanted to see her after her work was done, but dared not ask until -other things were said.... There were words that left no impress, until -he heard himself saying: - -“I read the New York papers at sea----” - -“... The reporters came to me. I had told some one of seeing you. It -was just after I had read the news. It was new to me to have reporters -come--and somehow they got what they wanted----” - -“Oh, that didn’t matter. Only it was all unnecessary. My accounts there -were never other than straight.” - -She said she was glad. He saw she was more glad to drop the subject, -and didn’t exactly believe him. - -“And you’ve had luck away?” - -“Yes, in several ways--beside money.” - -It seemed necessary to add the last. He was struck with the shame and -pity of it; yet it had to do with seeing her again. - -“Are you going to be in New York long?” - -“I don’t know. I’d like to talk with you to-night, after you are -through. I might know better then--how long I am to stay.... Is it -possible?” - -“Yes--yes, I think so.” - -“When?” - -“After the _Castle_” - -“Thank you.” - -“I’m going to be given a chance--in two weeks--a real chance,” she -declared. “I’ll tell you later.” - -He tried to make himself believe that it was just as it had been; that -Bessie was the same, the meaning of New York and the fortune that had -come to him. How could she sing so, if it were not true? - -“The formal try-out is two weeks from to-day,” she added. “The rest -is done. It’s the chance for life--one of the leads with the _King -Follies_ for next season. They’ve already heard me. I need to do no -more, than has been done?” - -“Just singing?” - -“There are many lines and some dancing--oh, it’s a chance to storm the -piece--if I can.” - -She enlarged and detailed the promise; Bellair forgot many things he -had to say. - -“Is that all you want, Bessie?” - -“What?” - -“This chance.” - -Her brows knit with irritation. It was her high tide, and he did not -seem able to rise with it. Still she dared not be angry with him. - -“Don’t you see--it’s everything?” - -“A good salary, I suppose?” - -“Oh, yes----” - -“And you are all fixed for it?” - -“All but clothes--the old struggle. You helped me wonderfully before.” - -“Perhaps I could help you again?” - -“Oh, could you?” She was joyousness aflame--her whole nature winging -about him. - -Deep within, he was empty and bleak and cold. He wanted to give her -money, but somehow could not make it easy for her. It cheapened him in -his own eyes.... He was silent--his thoughts having crossed the world. -There is no one to explain the sentence that ran through his mind, “... -_who buys wine for the Japanese girls in Dunedin, since Norcross was -conscripted in the service we all shall know?_” - -“... But what am I to do for you,” he heard the girl inquire, “since -you are--not going away to-night?” - -He quaked at the old recall. Perhaps he had forgotten a little how to -be sharp and city-wise; at least, he did not make himself clear at -once. - -“You have your mornings, don’t you, Bessie?” - -“Not if I’m to have new clothes. That’s morning work----” - -“There’s so much to say. I’ve thought about you in a lot of strange -places----” - -She leaned forward and said with a pitiful quiet, “Once, you only -wanted me to be good.” - -Then it dawned on him. “Good God, Bessie,” he cried, “I don’t want you -to be bad!” - -She regarded him, playing with the stem of her glass, as of old time. A -curious being he was to her, and quite inexplicable. - -“You love me?” she asked. - -The bass now beckoned, and she fled. - - - 3 - -Bellair saw that one may have a gift from heaven, a superb -singing-voice, for instance, but that one must also furnish the thought -behind it. It was not that Bessie Brealt lacked ambition; in fact, -she had plenty of that, but it was the sort that cannot wait for real -results. She did not see the great singer; she had not a thought to -give with her song. She had not the emotions upon which a great organ -of inspiration might be built with the years. Already she was touched -with the world; the world stirred her desires; matters of first -importance in her mind were the things she wanted. - -She was not different from the thousands, from the millions, in this. -He had not altogether lost the conviction that she might be made -different. Already she was singing too much; her voice would never -reach its full measure under these conditions. She would suffer the -fate of the countless high-bred colts that are ruined by being raced -too young, being denied the right to sound maturity. She should have -been out of the life-struggle for years yet; in the country, in the -perfect convent of natural life. She had not answered the true call, -but meanwhile a call had come; its poison had entered. Bellair saw that -the process before him, if any, was to break before building.... If -consummate art were used, might not Bessie be helped to conceive the -great career? Of course that thought must come first. However, he was -far from believing that any art of his could be consummate.... Speaking -that night of her new opportunity, he said: - -“They will rehearse you a great deal--then performances twice a -day--and you’re not more than twenty----” - -“Just twenty----” - -“You should be forty--before giving your voice so much work----” - -She laughed. “Forty, I will doubtless be finished. Forty, and before, -the fat comes----” - -“People can forget fat--when a great voice is singing----” - -“The great voices have sung from children,” she answered. - -He believed this untrue; at least, he believed that with conservation, -a more sumptuous power was attainable. “They have sung naturally -perhaps, but not professionally. If they were called into the stress -of life very young, any greatness afterward was in spite of the early -struggle, not because of it. The voice is an organ that wears out. It -is not the same as the character which improves through every test. If -you were to spend ten years in study--ten years, not alone in vocal -culture, but in life preparation and the culture of happiness----” - -“I suppose you would have me give up this chance with the _Follies_?” -she asked with the control that suggests imminent fracture. - -“Yes. There is nothing that passes so quickly--as the voice of a -season. It is the plaything of a people without memory. If you had -ever listened to the best of the light opera singers, in contrast to a -really developed talent----” - -But this was not the way. Bellair finished the sentence vaguely, not -with the sharpness of the idea that had come to him. She was nervous -and irritable and tired. She was enduring him, much as one endures a -brother from the country, for whom allowances must be made; also there -was a deeper reason. - -“Perhaps what I think of you,” he said, stirring to thrill her some way -if possible, “is really a fiery thing, Bessie. I think of you singing -great hordes of creatures into unity of idea that would lift them from -beasts into men. The world is so full of sorrow and dulness of seeing; -the world is in a cloud--I want you to sing the clouds away. If you -could wait--just wait, as one holding a sure and perfect gift--until -the real call comes to you, and then sing, knowing your part, not -in pleasure and amusement, but in life, in the stirring centres of -struggle and strife. If you would go forth singing that great song -of yours--from your soul! It would be like a voice from the East--to -bring the tatters of humanity together. I felt all this vaguely when I -first heard you--six months ago. I have thought of it nights and days -on the ocean--in times when we had to live on our thoughts, hold fast -to them or go mad, for we had two days’ water for ten, and two days’ -food for ten. Then I remembered how I came into Brandt’s, torn that -night, not knowing what to do--dull-eyed and covered with wrongs. You -sang me free. For the minute you sang me out of all that. I could not -have freed myself perhaps--without that song. I know that there are -thousands of men like me to be freed----” - -Bellair felt on sure ground now. This was his particular manner and -message--the finest and strangest thing about him--the fact that -had always appeared, making him different even from Fleury and the -woman,--the thought that he was average--and not more impressionable -than the multitudes. If they could be reached, they would make the big -turn that he had been shoved into. - -“... Thousands just as I was that night, preyed upon by trade, -dull-witted with the ways of trade, the smug, the bleak, the poisonous -tricks of trade, born and bred--their real life softened and watered -and wasted away ... thousands who could turn into men at the right -song, the right word. I always thought of you, Bessie--as one of the -great helpers. If you can wait, the way will come. I will help you to -wait. I came back to New York to help you----” - -She picked up his glass and smelled it, her eyes twinkling. “Splendid,” -she said, “but are you quite sure you haven’t a stick in this -ginger-ale?” - -Bellair leaned back. He hadn’t touched _it_ yet. Perhaps something -would come, better than words. It was not straight-going--this work -that he had dreamed; always a shock in bringing down dreams from Sinai; -always something deadly in meeting the empirical. He smiled. “Just -ginger-ale, Bessie, but you are a stimulant. You are more beautiful -than before. Not quite so girlish, but there is something new that is -very intense to me----” - -She leaned toward him now, very eager. - -“I wondered what you would see. The difference was plain at once in -you.... Tell me what you see----” - -“Just between the fold of the eye and the point of the chin----” he -answered.... (Queerly now he imagined himself talking on the shore to -the little Gleam; it gave him just the touch that helped.) “--a little -straightening of the oval, and the little puff at the mouth-corners -drawn out. Why, Bessie, it’s just the vanishing child. And you are -taller. I’m almost afraid to speak--to try to put it into words, how -pretty you are----” - -She was elate and puzzled, too. “Where did you get anything like that?” -she asked. “It’s what made me remember before. Always when you get -through preaching--you pay for it----” - -It was out before she thought--yet for once the exact unerring thing -that was in her mind. - -He treasured it; saw that his appeal was certain this way; that he must -be of the world, and right glib to master her. The way of reality was -slow; he must never fail to pay for preaching.... They laughed, and -the weariness went from her eyes. The bloom of her health was at its -height. Now as Bellair watched her, thinking of the world-ways, she -suddenly swept home to him--the old forbidden adventure of her, the -meaning of money and nights, her homelessness, the city, the song, the -price she would pay if he demanded it. - -The thing was upon him before he realised. It had all been the new -Bellair until now. His body had lain as if in a vault of wax, its -essential forces in suspension. Suddenly without warning, the wax -had melted away. He did not instantly give battle to the gust of -desire--met it eye-to-eye. Bellair felt his own will, and knew he -would use it presently. He was rather amazed at the power of the thing -as it struck him, and the nature of it, so utterly detached from the -redolence and effulgence he had known in the Stone House. This was -not the old Hunting Companion who had come with garlands; a minkish -aborigine, this, who had come empty-handed, whose hands were out to be -filled. - -The meaning of all that Stackhouse had left in wallets and sea-girt -archipelagoes was in this sullen-eyed entity--in the _O_ formed of -thirsting lips. Bellair tried to check it before it came--the thought -that this was peculiarly a New York manifestation, one destined to be -Bessie Brealt’s familiar in future years.... He did not have to use his -will. He lost himself in thinking of her plight. - -“... Please bring the coffee,” she was saying to the waiter, her hand -lifted, as if she would touch his sleeve, the familiarity of one who -had sung here many nights. “Yes, he will have coffee. He is merely away -somewhere.... Yes, we will have it smoked with cognac--but here--do it -here. I like to see it burn....” - -“Very well, Miss Brealt----” - -The lights had all come back to Bellair. He was miserable--the -adventure palled. There had been no lift, nor tumultuous carrying away. -The quick change chilled him. Her words one by one had chilled him.... -At least, he had demanded a madness to-night. Bessie did not have the -wine of madness in her veins. This much had been accomplished. He could -not break training coldly.... And now he felt as if the day had drained -him to the heart, as if the day had come to an end, and he must rest. - -He turned to her. “I found a little check-book for you to-day, but -you must go to the bank and give them your signature. It is made of -leather, small enough for your purse almost. The bank-book is with it. -You will find a little account started.... And now I will call a cab -for you----” - -“But your coffee----” she said. - -“Yes, we will have that----” - -He had to get away for a moment. His heart was desolate with hunger.... -The smell of the kitchen made him think of the galley of a ship.... - - * * * * * - -“Oh, what can I do for you?” Bessie asked, when he returned. - -“It’s what you can do for yourself that interests me----” - -“But I must go with the _Follies_--if I win. It’s the career--the -beginning!” - -“If you must.” - -“And when shall I see you?” - -“Here to-morrow night--if you will.” - -“Yes,” she said eagerly. - - - 4 - -On the way to Lot & Company’s the next morning Bellair smiled at the -sense of personal injustice which had returned to him. He held fast to -a sort of philosophical calm, but permitted his energy to be excited by -a peculiar blending of contempt and desire to wring the truth from Lot -& Company at any price. - -Suddenly he stopped. Lot & Company was merely something to master. Lot -& Company was but an organised bit of the world which he had met; all -men had their own organisations to face, to comprehend the vileness -and illusion of, and then to get underfoot, neck and other vitals.... -Bessie had helped him. There was something in that.... He felt the -fighting readiness within him, and an added warning not to raise his -voice. He must deal with Lot & Company on the straight low plane of -what-was-wanted. That was the single level of the firm’s understanding. - -Davy Acton smiled at him shyly--the first face after the pale -telephone-miss at the door. Davy was more at home in these halls and -floors than in the hotel dining-room. Bellair heard the jovial voice -of Mr. Rawter behind his partition. From the distance, Broadwell -glanced up and waved at him. Mr. Sproxley’s black eyes were fixed in -his direction from behind the grating of his cage. Mr. Sproxley came -forward, greeted him and returned. Bellair had asked to see the elder -Mr. Wetherbee, but it appeared that Mr. Seth was not in. - -“I’ll speak with Mr. Nathan Lot,” said Bellair. - -“Mr. Lot is occupied.” - -“Mr. Jabez then.” - -Mr. Jabez came forth presently.... He had been married in the interval, -according to Broadwell; the fact had touched the wide, limp mouth. A -very rich girl had joined pastures with Jabez; so that this coming -forward was one of the richest young men in New York, representing -the fortune of his mother which the dreaming Nathan had put into -works; representing the fortune he had recently wedded with or without -dreaming, and also the Lot & Company millions. Mr. Jabez also stood -for the modern note of the firm; he was designed to bring the old and -prosperous conservatism an additional new and up-to-the-hour force of -suction.... Mr. Jabez smiled. - -“Hello, Bellair,” he said with a careless regard,--doubtless part of -the modern method, the laxity of new America which knows no caste. The -thought had formed about him something to this effect: “What’s the use -of me carrying it--you will not be able to forget you are talking to -forty millions?” - -“Come in,” he added and Bellair followed. - -Mr. Nathan was beyond the partition. The atmosphere of the dreamer had -looped over into the son’s sanctum.... Bellair began at the point of -his handing the letter, addressed to Mr. Nathan, to the station-porter -at the last moment from the platform of the Savannah Pullman. - -“But mails don’t miscarry,” said Mr. Jabez, impatiently. - -“That’s a fact. Perhaps mine wasn’t mailed. Of course,” he added -quietly, “you didn’t require that letter. You had my note of release in -the safe. They say at the Trust company that you collected the thousand -dollars and interest within four days after I left.” - -“Suppose every employé who has a deposit of faith--should tie us up -that way?” - -“It would be well to find out what he has done--before calling in the -police.” - -“What do you want, Bellair?” - -Mr. Jabez could hold his temper, when its display was an inconvenience. - -“I want a paper signed by you for Lot & Company, stating that you were -in error when you charged me with absconding with company funds; that -my accounts were afterward found to be entirely correct.” - -Jabez Lot surveyed him. There was some change which he did not -understand. The paper asked for, was a mere matter of dictation, a -thing that might be forced from the firm. He believed, however, that -Bellair wanted something else. - -“I think the wisest plan for us will be to turn your case over to our -attorney,” he said. - -“Why?” Bellair asked. The full episode of the Nubian File and Mr. -Prentidd passed through his mind. - -“You see these affairs are adjusted better out of the office----” - -“Why?” - -“As a matter of fact, Bellair,” Mr. Jabez said patiently, “Lot & -Company is eager to make amends for its mistake----” - -There was a slow, quiet cough, the most natural and thoughtless sort of -cough from the inner office. Bellair wondered if the modern method of -Mr. Jabez was wearing a bit upon the dreamer, or if he were really lost -in some inscrutable departure of mind. - -“That would seem natural,” said he. “It would seem the direct, clear -way. I am not boisterous; I threaten nothing.” - -Bellair knew that this reminder of the Prentidd episode did not -help his cause, but he wished nothing to be lost from the force he -possessed. At the same time, he knew that it was the policy of Lot & -Company to give nothing unforced. He was interested. - -“We hadn’t thought of it, of course,” the future head now said, “but I -have no doubt that Lot & Company has something as good for you as your -old place, if you----” - -“But I do not want a position,” said Bellair. - -“What is it you want--again?” - -“I want a paper, saying that I stole nothing, that Lot & Company was in -error in charging me with taking funds----” - -“A sort of explanation of our course?” - -“Not exactly--a statement of your course, and that you incriminated me -unjustly----” Bellair spoke with slow clearness. - -“I really believe you had better see Mr. Jackson.” - -“Why?” - -“Because this is most unusual----” - -Another cough was heard. - -“Unusual--to straighten out a wrong that has hurt a man?” - -“The way you ask it. Lot & Company is willing to take you back----” - -“But I do not want to come back. You say that Lot & Company is eager to -make amends----” - -Davy Acton came in, saying that Mr. Jabez was called to the advertising -department for a moment.... To Bellair this was like an interruption -of an interesting story, but he did not wait long. The scene was merely -shifted. He was in Mr. Nathan’s room. Mr. Rawter joined them and Mr. -Jabez returned directly. The latter reopened the conversation by -relating justly and patiently what Bellair asked. - -“I don’t see why he shouldn’t have such a paper,” said Mr. Nathan, -brushing his fingers through his hair, as if to force his thoughts -down. He was not a whit older. The same identical dandruff was upon his -shoulders. - -Mr. Rawter laughed jovially: “Don’t you see? That’s just it. -Individually, that is exactly the situation--but a big house--all its -ramifications affected--and who’s to be responsible for Lot & Company -as a whole?” - -“It was Lot & Company that incriminated me,” said Bellair. - -“I told Mr. Bellair----” Mr. Jabez began. - -“Mr. Bellair had better come back to the House--that in itself is our -acknowledgement,” interrupted his father. Evidently the son was not yet -finished in training. - -Bellair turned to Mr. Jabez, who explained the point of Bellair’s -unwillingness to return. There was silence at this, as if it were -entirely incomprehensible. - -“Have you taken a position elsewhere in New York?” Mr. Nathan asked. - -“No.” - -“Are you going to?” - -“On that--I cannot be sure.” - -Mr. Rawter now arose and came forward, placing his arm across Bellair’s -shoulder. The latter winced, but not physically. For an instant it had -fired and fogged him. “Bellair, my boy, on the face of it--this that -you ask would seem very simple,” he began. “I would ask it in your -case, but think of us. By misunderstanding, we let out the fact that -you had gone with funds not your own.... You were away. We looked for -you everywhere before this happened----” - -“You let it out,” said Bellair. “It is very simple. Call it in -again----” - -“It isn’t so simple.” - -“I might come back to work for you,” Bellair added, “and those who -knew would say, ‘He hadn’t anything. Instead of locking him up, Lot & -Company took him back to work out what he had taken----’” - -“I might give you a personal letter, saying I was very sorry, that in -the bewilderment of the moment, we jumped at the conclusion that you -were identified with the missing funds----” - -“But the funds were not missing. You could not look into the vault-box -without finding my letter.” - -“Our funds were not all in that box, Bellair.” - -“They would know by next morning, if I had broken into your bank----” - -Mr. Nathan appeared to be gone from them, his eyes softened with -visions. - -“Write him the letter, Mr. Rawter----” suggested Mr. Jabez. - -It struck Bellair like a hated odour--this tool for unclean work, -Rawter’s part in the establishment. He did not hasten now, though he -knew they were waiting for his answer. The head of the sales resumed: - -“Yes, I will do this gladly--in fact, it would relieve my mind to do -this in the most cordial terms, but I would be interested first in -learning just what disposition of it was intended----” - -“It would be mine,” said Bellair. “Of course, I should use it as I -thought fit.” - -“I was thinking--in adjusting the tone of the letter, the wording, you -know----” - -“Adjust the tone--the wording--to the facts--that would seem best. But -I would not accept such a letter from you personally. It would have to -be written for Lot & Company----” - -Mr. Nathan now showed signs of coming back. - -“Let us have a day to think it over, Bellair,” he said. - -“In that case--my part is finished. I have asked to be lifted out of -a shameful position. You acknowledge that I have this lift coming.” -It was at this point that an inspiration arrived. “All that there is -left, naturally and equitably, is for you to do your part. A man’s name -is of more importance than a firm’s name, and in any event, no man nor -firm was ever hurt by squaring a crooked action.” - -Mr. Nathan appeared to welcome the slight heat of this remark. It -brought the moment nearer in which hands might be washed and the -attorney summoned. But Bellair was not heated, Mr. Rawter fumed a -little. - -“What do you mean by a man’s name being more important than a firm’s -name?” he demanded. - -“A firm shares its responsibility. A man shoulders it alone.” - -“And what do you mean by your part being finished?” - -“I have worked in this office five years,” Bellair answered. “I never -saw nor heard of a man in my position, or in a similar position of -asking something, who profited by allowing delay. I will put the matter -out of mind if the letter is not furnished to-day. Of course, I expect -to get it. In fact, I have the pressure to force the issue--although it -seems trivial for me to mention it.” - -Bellair had thought of Mr. Prentidd again. There was doubtless a case -of some kind pending on the matter of the Nubian File. Mr. Prentidd was -no man to stop. It would not have been settled within six months. Lot -& Company knew of his knowledge of this affair. Bellair plunged: - -“In fact, there is a case against Lot & Company, to which I might add -a singular weight of testimony. As for my own, it would go to the same -counsel----” - -Mr. Nathan ruffled his hair and the silent fall of grey white dust -followed. Bellair felt pent. After so long a time at sea, it was hard -for him to breathe in this place. He wearied now of the game, although -Mr. Nathan was palpably down, present in the material plane. - -“Bellair,” said he, turning about in his chair, “the added pressure -of a discredited employé doesn’t count for much as testimony in any -case----” - -“I realised at once the reason why you discredited me--to cripple for -the time being any knowledge I might care to use against you. However, -you have all granted that I am not discredited. The only item mentioned -in the charge was the item covered by the Trust company. You would have -to work with Mr. Sproxley to show a deficit in the books having to do -with my departure----” - -“Bellair,” said Mr. Nathan, “a poor man can never win a suit against a -strongly backed firm----” - -“That is unfortunately true,” said Bellair, “but I am not poor. I came -into an inheritance during the past six months. The fact is, I think -I could spend as much money to buy justice as Lot & Company would be -willing to spend to prevent it.” - -“Bellair,” said Mr. Nathan, “you will find it impossible to move the -press in your behalf against the firm of Lot & Company, with our -advertising contracts among the valuable ones in the city lists----” - -Knowledge now counted. “You do not advertise in the _Record_,” he -declared. “I have often heard from the advertising department that -there is a rupture between this office and that paper, dating over a -quarter of a century----” - -Mr. Nathan touched a button for his stenographer. She lit upon the -little chair beside him like a winged seed. - - * * * * * - -“To all Parties interested: Mr. Bellair left our employ suddenly and -without furnishing customary warning,” the president dictated. “Finding -a certain explanation in the vault, instead of a sum slightly over one -thousand dollars belonging to this firm, we hastily assumed that his -sudden departure was energised by the usual conditions. In fact, such -a suspicion was stated to the press by this firm. We have since found -Mr. Bellair’s accounts to be correct in every detail, and we furnish -this letter to express in part our concern for Mr. Bellair’s character -which our hasty conclusion impinged upon. Mr. Bellair left a letter -of explanation in the vault, but his action in leaving abruptly and -without explanation forced us on the spur of the moment to discredit -it. However, the statement of his letter proved true, and the money -taken by Mr. Bellair was the exact amount of his surety bond, with -stipulated interest, and his salary to the hour of departure.” - - * * * * * - -“You have heard it?” Mr. Nathan inquired. - -“Yes, it will do,” said Bellair. - -The president nodded to his stenographer, who whisked out. “It will -be ready in a moment,” he said. “I will sign it for Lot & Company.... -Bellair, are you sure you don’t want your old desk back?” - -“Quite sure,” said Bellair. - -Mr. Jabez and Mr. Rawter had departed. Bellair glanced at his watch. -It was a moment past the hour of Mr. Broadwell’s leaving for luncheon. -The advertising-man, of course, was aware of his presence in the lower -office. Bellair stepped out, however, to make sure of his appointment. -Broadwell, hat in hand, was engaged in talk with Mr. Jabez. Bellair -returned to the office of the president to wait for the stenographer. -Not more than two minutes later, Davy Acton came in with this message: - - “Mighty sorry to call luncheon off. Am hurrying to catch a train for - Philadelphia for the rest of the day. Will see you later.--Broadwell.” - -... Bellair folded this thoughtfully. The stenographer brought the -letter with copy. The front draft was approved for signature, and -Bellair’s morning work accomplished. - -In the hall he met Davy Acton, and followed a quick impulse. - -“Davy, lad, how soon will you be ready to go out to lunch?” - -“In about three minutes----” - -“I’ll wait for you. I’m going your way.” - -Davy’s customary exit was the side-door. Bellair waited there -accordingly. The girls were coming down the iron stairway from the -bindery. He stepped back in the shadow to let them pass. There were -figures and faces that clutched at his throat.... And then a story -began, half way up the first flight, and came nearer and nearer, the -voice carrying easily to one who listened with emotion: - -“Did you know that Mr. Bellair was back?... Bellair, the absconding -clerk--Mr. Sproxley’s assistant. Lot & Company has refused to -prosecute. He will not be arrested.... And think of his nerve--asking -his old position back----” - -... They saw merely the back of a man, if they saw him at all. The talk -was not interrupted on the way to the street and beyond.... Bellair -came up with a start to find the boy at his side. - - - 5 - -For a square or two, Davy Acton walking beside him, Bellair did not -speak. He had needed that last bit. The morning would have blurred his -hard-earned knowledge of Lot & Company and the world, without that -moment under the iron stairs. It was hard to take, but a man mustn’t -forget such realities as this. He loses his grip on the world when he -forgets. Happy to lose, of course, but the point of his effectiveness -is gone when these rock-bottom actualities are forgotten.... He looked -down, Davy was hopping every third step to keep up. Bellair had -quickened his pace to put the stench of the swamp farther behind him, -but it was still in his nostrils.... He laughed. - -“I was thinking, Davy, and the thoughts were like spurs. We’re in no -hurry, really.” - -He would not take the boy to a stately and formal dining-room for him -to be embarrassed. Bellair felt that he had something very precious -along; a far graver solution than luncheon with Broadwell. They sat -down at a little table in the corner of one of the less crowded -restaurants. As they waited, Bellair said, drawing out the paper he had -received from the dreaming Mr. Nathan: - -“I want you to see this first. In fact, I was particularly concerned -about getting it, just to show you. Davy, it hit me like a rock--the -way you looked at me in the hotel yesterday. I couldn’t have that. -We’ve been too good friends----” - -Davy read the letter carefully, deep responsibility upon his -understanding. - -“Did you have trouble getting it?” he asked finally. - -“It took the forenoon, Davy. I found that they had not taken the -trouble to tell my old friends on the different floors that I was not a -thief. What was worse for me, they let you think so----” - -“I wouldn’t believe it at first,” said Davy. - -“I’m glad of that.” - -“I said to Mr. Broadwell, that they’d find out differently and be -sorry. They didn’t let us know when they found out----” - -“That’s why it was important for me to come back----” - -“But why did you go away like that?” - -The boy’s mind dwelt in the fine sense of being treated as an equal. -Bellair felt called upon to be very explicit and fair: - -“I came to the time when I couldn’t live with myself any longer--and -stay in the cage with Mr. Sproxley. I saw a ship in the harbour the -Sunday before--a sailing-ship,” he began, and then made a picture of -it; also of his own hopelessness and what the years would mean, not -touching specific dishonesties, but suggesting the atmosphere which -had suddenly become poisonous to him. He did not forget that Davy had -no other place, that he must keep a certain sense of loyalty, or be -destroyed in such conditions. - -“It would have taken two weeks to get clear in the ordinary way,” he -added. “My decision came the day of the squabble with Mr. Prentidd in -the office. I had to leave right then--was off for Savannah that very -night----” - -“And you found the ship there?” Davy asked eagerly. - -“I beat her there a day and a half. Then we sailed for South America. I -want to tell you the whole story. This is not the place. Could you come -up in my room after supper to-night?” - -“I think my mother will let me come----” - -“Tell me about your mother, Davy. Is she well? I remember I meant to -meet her some time.” - -“Yes--just the same. You know she works a little, too----” - -“Where?” Bellair asked absently. - -Davy swallowed, and before he spoke, the man saw with a queer thrill -that the boy hadn’t yet learned to lie. - -“Well, she goes out three days a week--to do the laundry work--for -people who have had her a long time.” - -“Oh, I see.” - -“I’m hoping to get where she won’t have to.” - -“Of course.” - -The dinner was brought. Bellair tried to make up for the place--in -quantity. Neither spoke for the present. The man was hungry, too. - -“I’m glad you told me that,” he said after a time, “glad you told me -just that way.” - -Davy applied himself further. Manifestly here was a point that he need -not follow. - -“Davy, you’ll come through. You’re starting in the right hard way--the -old-fashioned way. It won’t be so slow as you think----” He was -reminded now of what Fleury had said about the little Gleam that first -night in the open boat. - -“Slow but sure at Lot & Company’s--if a fellow does his part and works -hard----” - -Davy was being brought up in the usual way. - -Bellair said: “I’m coming over to see you at your house some evening -soon--if I may.” - -“Sure.... It isn’t much of a house.” - -“I’m not so certain about that. Anyway, I want to come. We’ll talk -about it again this evening. You ask your mother when she’ll let me----” - -“You might come to-night---instead of me coming to the hotel----” - -“No, I want to talk with you alone.” - -Davy looked relieved.... He was on his way presently, and the town -appeared better to Bellair that afternoon. At five he was in the -hotel-lobby when a hand plucked his sleeve and he looked down into the -whitest, most terrified face, he had ever seen. - -“I’m fired!” was the intelligence that came up from it, and there was -reproach, too. - -“Come on upstairs, but first take it from me that you’ll be glad of it, -in ten minutes----” - -Bellair had to furnish a swift, heroic antidote for that agony. - -“You haven’t been home, of course?” the man asked in the elevator. - -“No.” - -“Could we send a messenger to your mother--so she wouldn’t worry, and -you wouldn’t have to go home until after we talk?” - -“Yes.” - -“All right, I’ll see to that at once.” - -Davy wrote with trembling hands. The messenger was asked to bring an -answer from Mrs. Acton. - -“Now tell me,” said Bellair. - -“Old Mr. Seth was down when I got back. You know he only comes down for -an hour or two now in the middle of the day. He called me to him, and -asked where I had been to lunch. I said with you. That was all, until -four o’clock, when Mr. Eben came to me and asked if you had shown me -anything--a letter from Lot & Company, for instance. I said yes. He -went away, and at half-past four, he called me again, handed me my -weekly envelope, saying that they would not need me any longer. I came -right here. It seemed, I couldn’t go home----” - -“Davy, lad, I’m glad I’m not broke, but if I were and couldn’t do a -thing to make up--it would be a lucky day for you.” - -Bellair ordered supper served in the room. They were free and alone. -Faith returned to the boy, enough for the hour. Davy was consulted -carefully upon the details of the order, a subtle suggestion from -Bellair from time to time. Something of the long dinners on the _Jade_ -had come to his mind in this rôle. He had learned much about food that -voyage, the profundity and emptiness of the subject. Bellair told his -story, making it very clear to Davy--this at first: - -“The office was doing to me just what it would do to you, Davy. It -was breaking me down. The floors of Lot & Company are filled with -heart-broken men. They do not know it well; some of them could -never know, but there are secrets in the breasts of men there, that -you wouldn’t dream of. It is so all over New York. Trade makes it -so--offices, the entire city, crowded with heart-broken men.... They -say first, ‘Why, every one is out for himself and the dollar--why -not I?’ You and I were taught so in our little schooling. Then Lot -& Company taught us. They are old masters--generations of teachers. -Cramped and bleak, but loyal to the one verb--_get_. In all the Lot -family, Davy, there is not a true life principle such as you brought -to the office in the beginning. But if Lot & Company were unique--they -would be an interesting study. The city is crowded with such -firms--heart-breakers of men, the slow, daily, terrible grind; every -movement, every expression, a lie--until to those inside, the lie is -reality--and the truth a forbidden and terrible stranger. Every man has -his Lot & Company. - -“Davy, I breathed a bit of open that Sunday--so that I could see, but -the next morning it closed about me again. It was Mr. Prentidd who -helped me out. They stole from him and lied to him. Face to face, eye -to eye, old Seth Wetherbee, the Quaker, lied to him, taking hundreds -of dollars in the lie--millionaires taking hundreds of dollars from -a poor inventor. I had the book of the London transaction before me, -which showed the truth as they talked, and Mr. Sproxley came and took -the book from me, and shut it in the safe.... And then when I left, -they knew I had their secrets. You wondered why they called me a -thief, when I was not. It was plain, Davy, to spoil anything I might -say about their methods. Instantly they discredited me, because I was -one of six or seven in the office who knew that they were thieves and -liars. And why did they fire you to-day for lunching with me? Because -they were afraid of what I might have told you. And why did they -send Broadwell to Philadelphia when they knew he was to have lunch -with me? For fear of what I might tell Broadwell. Even now they will -not tell the different floors that I am exonerated.... But they are -afraid, Davy--that’s their hell. That is their life--fear and the lie. -Imagine men standing straight up to heaven--spines lifted from the -ground, but going back to the ground--who knows but their souls already -belly-down?--because they break the hearts of men, and live with fear -and the lie.” - -He told of Fleury and Stackhouse and the Faraway Woman--of McArliss, -of striking the reef, and day by day in the open boat.... Davy’s eyes -bulged. The boy saw Stackhouse at one end and quiet manhood in the -other. He sat with Bellair, whom he could understand, in the point -of balance between these forces. Bellair told of the stars and the -child, and the distance from which they viewed the little things of -the world and the grand simplicity of God. He pictured the man Fleury -had become--the straight-seeing, the fearless, the ignited man, who -mastered the lie in his heart and the animal in his abdomen--the man -he, Bellair, wanted to be, and wanted Davy to be.... The _Formahaut_ -came, with Spika agleam to the northward, and Fleury died--the picture -in his mind of a man, rising rather than falling.... Bellair told him -of the first moment he heard the real voice of Fleury, as he stood -on the tilted deck of the _Jade_ in the dark, while he went back for -water.... “I’ll hold a place for you!” - -“A real man always says that, Davy. A real man will hold a place for -you. And I thought, as I saw Stackhouse die and remembered his life, -that he was the saddest and most terrible animal in human form. He -was a glutton and a coward, but mainly he broke his own heart and not -others. He was a slave to his stomach, but there was life, not creeping -death, in his mind. I saw the pictures that moved there, low, vivid -pictures, animal dreams, but he was not a destroyer of children or a -breaker of the hearts of men. Low Nature was loose in him, but it was -not a predatory instinct alone. Having enough, he could give. He could -give fifty thousand dollars and a wallet full of valuable papers for -a bottle of whiskey--but the Lots and the Wetherbees would have died -clutching their money. I learned Stackhouse, Davy--only to understand -that there is a depth below his. I think I should have taken you out -somehow--if they hadn’t let you go----” - -Davy asked questions, and the story came better and better. The thing -that held him especially was the last days in the open boat. - -“And did you really suffer less when you decided to make it a fast?” - -“Yes, that was true in my case. Many have set out to fast ten days, and -done with as little as we did. Of course it was harrowing, because we -didn’t know when it would end; then the little baby was there, and the -mother.” - -“And you think _he_ was really as happy as he said?” - -“Davy, lad, Fleury was a prince. He would have given you his shirt. He -had himself going so strong _for us_--that the fire of happiness ran -through him. I’ll give you some books about that. It’s really a fact. -You can’t suffer pain, when you’ve got something really fine up your -sleeve for another. Perhaps you’ve felt it at Christmas----” - -“You’re all out of yourself-like----” - -“That’s it,” said the man. - -More words would have stuck in his throat. Davy got it--got something -of it. Bellair had come to ask so little, that this seemed a great -deal.... He followed Davy down and into the street. It was still two -hours before he was due at the _Castle_. - -“How long does it take to get to your house, Davy?” - -“About twenty-five minutes. It’s ’way down town.” - -“Suppose I should go home and meet your mother. I have the time----” - -“Yes, come with me. She will be watching.” - -They passed a delicatessen-store, ripe cherries in the window, and a -counter full of provisions that would have been far more thrilling had -they not dined so well. - -“Do you suppose we might take home an armful of these things?” Bellair -asked. - -Davy dissuaded weakly.... That clerk must have thought him mad, for -Bellair merely pointed to bottles and jars and baskets--until they were -both loaded. There was a kind of passion about it for the man. He hated -to stop; in fact did not, until it occurred to him that this was not -the last night of the world, and that Davy doubtless required many more -substantial matters, which would furnish a rapturous forenoon among the -stores--to-morrow forenoon.... - -They sat in an almost empty downtown subway train, their bundles about -them, the stops called by the guard. They both hunched a little, when -the stop nearest Lot & Company’s was called, but did not speak. Farther -and farther downtown--the last passengers leaving. It was the hour the -crowds move upward. Strange deep moments for Bellair--moments in which -this was more than Davy sitting beside him. This was Boy--Davy Acton -but the symbol of a great need. - - - 6 - -A hurried walk to the east with their bundles to a quarter that Bellair -had not known before, past the great stretches of massive buildings -which the day had abandoned, to a low and older sort that carried on a -night-life of their own, where children cried, halls were narrow, and -the warmth became heaviness.... A plump little woman who had not lost -hope (she did not see the stranger at first because the boy filled her -eyes); a dark, second-floor hall, a little room with a lamp and a red -table-cloth; a door at either end, and opposite the door they entered, -one window.... How bewildered she was with the bundles, desiring to -prepare something for them right away. Indeed, it would have helped her -to be active in their behalf.... Bellair was smiling. - -Davy told part and Bellair part. Presently all was forgotten in the -presence of the calamity that had befallen. It was slow to change her -mind about Lot & Company. Davy had impressed upon her for two years -the lessons administered there. Not to be changed in a moment, this -estimate--that before all poverty, before all need, and above all hope, -a place at Lot & Company’s was a permanent place, “if a fellow did his -part”--that Lot & Company was an honest house. Davy told of the paper -Mr. Bellair had forced from them, and Bellair touched upon the life -he had led in those halls, just a little and with haste. To help him -to speak authoritatively, he added that he would help Davy to another -position.... Then he looked around, and glanced at his watch. There was -a small anteroom which they occupied.... Bellair had asked about the -other door. “An empty room,” Mrs. Acton told him. - -Of course it was for rent. On the spur of the moment, he declared -he would take it, asked her to rent it for him, insisting on paying -in advance. He would come in the morning--have his things brought -later.... No, Davy was not to look for a position to-morrow. Davy must -devote himself to him to-morrow. He left them happily. The mother -called after him in hopeless excitement that he had left enough to rent -the room all summer. - -He did not show the Lot & Company paper to Bessie; in fact, he never -showed it but once, and that was to Davy Acton immediately after it -was obtained. He had thought of taking it across the street to show -the landlady, but perhaps that would merely have added to her living -confusion. It had been most important for Davy, but to reopen the -subject with Bessie, his manner might have touched an “I-told-you-so” -indelicacy.... She was happy when he found her that night. Clothes -in quantity were already begun--the next ten forenoons at the -dressmakers’. She thanked him charmingly, studied him with a quizzical -expression that invariably haunted him afterward. - -Bellair could never tell just what would do it, but occasionally -through an hour’s chat, he would say something, just enough above her -comprehension to challenge her. Once opened, her faculties were not -slow, but the life she had chosen, held her mind so consistently to its -common level that the habit was formed. Mainly when he spoke above her, -she ceased to listen, ignored him; but when something he said just hit -home, she praised him with animation, as one would a sudden gleam of -unexpected intelligence on the part of a child. It became one of his -most remarkable realisations that a man who has anything worth while to -say must come down to say it, just as certainly as he must go up to get -it. - -The sense of adventure with her did not return this night, though she -had seemed to accept him differently from before; as if he belonged, -part of her impediment mainly, but at moments of surpassing value, like -a machine that one packs a day for a half-hour’s work it may do. His -money had purchased something. - -Bellair sat in the dark of his room, feet on the window-sill, hat -still on, at two o’clock, his last night in the hotel where he never -had belonged. He was very tired and longed for sleep; and yet there -was a different longing for sleep than that which belonged to physical -weariness. It had to do with his hunger for the Faraway Woman. This -startled him. What was that refreshing mystery afterward? Did he go -to her in sleep--did she come? Why was it that the burden of parting -invariably increased through the long days? It had been so on the ship. -In the morning he could live; then the hours settled down, until it -seemed he must leap back to her; the ship’s ever increasing distance at -times literally twisting his faculties until he was dazed with pain. - -He had not thought of this before. Why was it always when the pressure -increased and the ardour mounted--that he longed for sleep?... Nothing -came to his work-a-day brain from the nights. His dreams were of lesser -matters--and yet, something within pulled him to unconsciousness like -the rush of a tide. It gave him a sense of the vastness, a glimpse of -the inner beauty of life. - -Far below in the side-street a heavy, slow-trotting horse clattered -by. The motors were more and more hushed, even the hell of Broadway -subdued. A different set of sounds came home to him, but he did not -interpret for the present; their activity playing upon deeps of their -own--a bridge swung open between them and his exterior thoughts.... - -Slowly all exterior matters slipped away--the mother and Davy and -Bessie. The bridge between the surface and the deeps swung to, and he -heard the sounds that had been thrilling his real being all the time as -he sat by the window--the liner whistles that crossed Manhattan from -the harbour, the deep-sea bayings which seemed to be calling him home. - - - 7 - -Bellair must have rested well in a few hours, for he arose early, -feeling very fit in and out. For years the man he had seen in the -glass when he was alone, had aroused little or no curiosity; a sort -of customary forbearance rather. The fact is, he had not looked close -for years. This morning as he shaved, something new regarded him from -the face, still deeply dark from the open boat. He called it a glint, -but would have designated it as something that had to do with power in -another. It was fixed--something earned and delivered. - -Perhaps it was something she had seen. - -This animated him. It had come from Fleury and the fasting, but most of -all from contemplating her face and her nature. Was it the arousing of -his own latent will? Was it because he was lifted above Lot & Company? -What part of it had come from the anguish of separation? Truly a man -must build something if he manages to live against the quickened beat -of a hungry heart. - -The face was very thin, too. He had felt that so often as he used the -morning knife, but he saw it now. Thin and dark, and the boy gone -altogether.... Bellair smiled. Lot & Company had tried to take the -boy. Had they not failed, the man would never have come, but something -craven in the place of the boy, something tied to its own death, its -soul shielded from the light--a shield of coin-metals. - -He shuddered, less at the narrowness of his own escape, than at New -York whose business came up to him now through the open windows.... The -shaving had dragged. He was not accustomed to study his own face. The -very novelty of it had held him this time--and especially the thought -of what she might have seen there. Suddenly he wanted something big to -take back to her--a manhood of mind and an integrity of soul--something -to match that superb freedom she had wrung from the world. A thousand -times the different parts of her story had returned to his mind, always -filling him with awe and wonder. She had come like one with a task, and -set about it from a child, against all odds, putting all laws of men -beneath--as if the task had been arranged before she came. He knew that -the essence of this freedom was in the hearts of women everywhere, but -she had made it manifest, dared all suffering for it. And yet with all -the struggle behind her, the gentleness which he had come to know in -her nature was one of the great revelations. It gave him a vision of -the potential beauty of humanity; it made him understand that one must -be powerful before one can be gentle; that one must master one’s self -before one dare be free. All that he had was far too little to bring -home to her. This morning he felt that nothing short of the impossible -was worth going after. - -A little later as he was leaving the room, the telephone rang. The -operator said that a gentleman wanted to see him. On the lower floor, -Bellair glanced into the eyes of a young man who wanted something; -“glanced _into_” is somewhat inaccurate; rather his eyes glanced -from the other’s, and took away a peculiar, indescribable interest. -It was the look of a colt he had seen, a glitter of wildness and -irresponsibility in a face that was handsome but not at its best. - -Bellair had seen something of the expression in the faces of young men -who had been fathered too much; those who had not met the masterful -influence of denial, and had been allowed to lean too long. The face -had everything to charm and to express beauty and reality with, but the -inner lines of it were not formed; the judgments lacking, the personal -needs too imperious. He had made the most of well-worn clothing, but -appeared to feel keenly the poorness of it. - -“I came in here yesterday,” he said hastily. “It all happened because -the ledger was turned back. I glanced at it, as one will, and standing -out from the page was ‘Auckland, N. Z.’ It was as if written in -different colour to me. I followed the line back to the name--and tried -to see you yesterday afternoon and last night. You didn’t come in----” - -“You come from Auckland?” Bellair asked. - -“Yes----” - -“How long?” - -“It’s more than a year.... Small thing to meet a stranger on, but it -was all I had. Auckland is so far and so different--that when I saw -it--it seemed there must be a chance----” - -“Of course. I know how it is,” said Bellair. “Do you want to get back?” - -“That isn’t it, exactly, though I haven’t anything here----” - -“Have you had breakfast?” - -“N-no.” - -“Come in with me and we’ll talk. I have a half-hour to spare.” - -Bellair heard his voice and wondered at the coldness of it. He -remembered afterward the covered billiard-tables at the far end of -the hall and the dimness of the hall’s length, as he led the way. His -own custom was a pot of coffee and a bit of toast, but the other’s -possible need of food had a singular authority over him, so he made out -that this was one of the main feeding features of his day.... But the -other was intent upon certain things beside food. He had been unlucky. -Everything that he had tried in the year of New York had failed him -somehow--little ventures, positions lost--and always some one was to -blame, not this one who spoke and had suffered so. Bellair hearkened -for one note that would confine itself to the unfinished mouth and -the unstable character; one note that would suggest the possibility -of a clue that the series of failures lay in his own shortcomings of -strength and quality, but the boy had not this suggestion in his heart. - -“Are you married?” Bellair asked. - -“No.” - -There was an instant’s lull, and then was turned off another story of -misfortune: - -“... I didn’t want to marry her. I got her in trouble down in New -Zealand. Her father wanted me to marry her--was willing to pay for -it--but a fellow can’t take a chance like that. We came up together -with the kid to New York, but everything broke bad for me----” - -The voice went on, but Bellair lost his face. There was a -greenish-yellow light between their faces, at least, for Bellair’s -eyes, and the floor seemed shaken with heavy machinery. Bellair -knew the burn of hate, and the thirst to kill--and then he was all -uncentred, like a man badly wounded. He arose. - -“... The fact is, I don’t think she was quite _right_. None of them -are----” - -“I won’t be able to hear any more of that just now,” Bellair said -slowly. “I’m leaving this hotel to-day for other quarters. But -to-morrow morning at ten, I shall be here and listen to what you want. -Perhaps I can set you straight a bit--for the present, anyway. And -this--is so you won’t miss any meals in the meantime----” - -Bellair handed him money. - -“Please excuse me,” he added. “And finish your breakfast----” - -He called the waiter and signed the card. Then he turned as if to look -around the room. He located the door by which they had entered, drew -his hands strangely across his eyes. Effusive gratefulness was seeking -his ears from the young man in the chair. Bellair lifted his hand as if -to cut off the voice, and then started for the door, his step hastening. - - - 8 - -It was truly a tenement quarter in which Davy and his mother lived. The -fact awed Bellair somewhat. Had he been a cripple in a wheeled-chair, -confined to one side of one block, he could have found a life’s -work.... Little faces that choked him everywhere. One might toss coins -at their feet, but the futility of that was like a cry to God. - -Davy’s mother was making his room ready. By some chance it faced the -east; between ten and noon, there was sunlight. Forty years ago it had -been the kitchen of a second-floor apartment, doubtless respectable. -Only the scars of the kitchen fixtures remained, like organs gone back -to a rudiment in swift involution. Water now was to be had in but one -place on each floor--in the hall, and the natives came there with their -pitchers and cans as tropical villagers, morning and evening to the -well. - -Mrs. Acton had spared a bit of carpet, which looked as if it had been -scrubbed; and just below the window the tip of a heaven-tree waved. It -was thin as his single bed, but even that growth seemed miraculously -attained, as if the seed must have held all the nourishment. Bellair -stared down through shadows and litter, and could discern no more than -a crack in the stone pavement, from which this leafy creature had come -to him. Quite as miraculously it was, with the myriad children in the -streets and halls. Certainly this was a place to keep tender. Davy had -gone forth on an errand. - -“What was he interested in especially when he was little?” Bellair -asked. - -“Boats--boats,” said the mother. - -It struck the man queerly that he had not noted this. Davy had devoured -his little list of sea stories, and had listened as no one else to the -open boat narrative, but the man fancied it just the love of adventure. -Bellair’s mother might have said the same thing. - -“Did he draw them, you mean?” he asked. - -“Yes, and played with them. His father was a seaman, Mr. Bellair.” - -Bellair’s father had not been a seaman, but there was little to that. -They were one in the initial proclivity. Perhaps if the truth were -shaken down, there was something in this fact that had to do with their -relation. - -“Could I have breakfast and supper here with you?” he asked suddenly. - -The woman looked startled. “You see, I am away three days a week.” - -It was Bellair’s idea to make this impossible, so he insisted: - -“My wants are simple. I might not be here always to supper--but, of -course, I should want to pay for it. It would be pleasant--we three -together--and no matter to me if supper were a bit late. You see, Mrs. -Acton, now that I’ve begun, I insist on having a home. I lived in one -room for five years, and that sort of thing is ended. A hotel is no -better.” - -Davy returned and Bellair took him forth at once, impatient to continue -the adventure of the purchases, begun the night before. Hours passed. -Once Davy looked up to him in a mixture of awe and joy: - -“Why are you buying so many things for us, Mr. Bellair?” - -“Sit down,” the man answered. - -They were in a retail clothier’s. The salesman drew back. - -“Davy,” said Bellair, “it’s the most natural thing. First I have the -money and you have the needs. Second, we are friends----” - -Bellair had felt many things hammering for utterance, but when he had -come thus far, he found that the whole ground was covered.... The boy -hurried home, but Bellair was not ready. With all his affection for -the lad, he wanted to be alone. He had held himself to Davy’s needs -for hours; but through it all, the sentences--so brief and thoughtless -across the breakfast table--recurred smitingly. They hurt everything in -him and in an incredible fashion. He marvelled that he had been able -to reply quietly. His face burned now, and he thought of the Faraway -Woman--how gentle she had been, blaming nothing, holding no sense of -being wronged. It was that which helped him now, though his heart was -hot and aching.... One must have compassion for the world--one whose -home is the house of such a woman. - -“It must not hurt the Gleam,” he said half-aloud. This was the burden -of all his effort. “The Gleam is hers. I must not let the thought of -this touch the Gleam--not even in my mind.” - -The young man was stranded in New York. They met as arranged the -next morning. Many difficulties were related, and the perversities -of outside influences and the actions of others. The great regret -was that at a certain time when he _had_ the money more than a year -ago, the young man had delayed for a day to purchase a certain little -tobacconist’s shop on Seventh avenue. A friend of his had advised him -against it, and plucked the fruit himself. This gave Bellair an idea. - -In the next ten days, everything seemed waiting for the manager of -the _Follies_ to decide the case of Bessie Brealt. Davy was permitted -to look for a new job, but Bellair made light of his unsuccess.... -He did not look up Broadwell again, understanding clearly that the -advertising-man would endanger his position in calling on him. Bellair -was not ready to be responsible for such a loss to Broadwell. Employés -of Lot & Company did not change easily.... He was frequently, but never -long with Bessie during these days. There were moments of disturbing -sweetness, and moments that he struggled quickly to forget, as Nature -sets about hastily to cover unseemly matters upon the ground. - -Now that the great event of her life had come, Bessie required much -sleep, and cared for her beauty as never before. She already lived, for -the most part, in the actual substance of victory, as only the young -dare to do; yet she lost none of her zeal in preparation.... Bellair -held to the original idea, though the means was not yet articulate. He -was sensitive enough to realise that a man may be impertinent, even -when trying to help another. - -The tremendous discovery in this interval was that the open boat events -which had proved so salutary and constructive in his own case, did not -appear to have a comparable effect upon others when he related them. He -began to believe that he had not authority, and that he must somehow -try to gain authority by making good with men. He had his story to -tell. He had seen the spirit and the flesh--beast and saint--watched -them die. All life and hope and meaning were caught and held, as he saw -it, between the manner of the deaths of two men. This experience had -changed him--if not for the better--then he was insane. - -It was hard for him to grasp, that the thing which had changed him -could not change others--even Bessie. Yet those who listened, except -Davy and his mother, appeared to think that he was making much of an -adventure for personal reasons. He tried to write his story, but felt -the bones of his skull as never before. He began, “I am a simple man,” -but deep guile might be construed to that.... “I want nothing,” he -wrote, “but to make you see the half that I saw in the open boat,” and -he heard the world replying in his consciousness, “The open boat is on -this man Bellair’s nerves. It’s his mania. The sun or the thirst _did_ -touch him a bit.”... - -He became afraid to talk much even with Bessie, and New York boomed -by, leaving him out--out.... He tried to lift the signs of misery on -the way to the home of Davy’s mother, and in the surrounding halls, -but the extent and terror of it dismayed him; and remarkably enough, -always this same answer came: that he must get himself and the South -Sea business in hand before a true beginning could be made here.... - -It wasn’t on Seventh avenue that he found a cigar store to suit his -purpose in this interval, but the promise was certainly as good as -the old one. He put the New Zealand young man in charge, on a basis -designed to challenge any one’s quality; and having done this in a -businesslike fashion, Bellair made haste to escape. The sense was cool -and abiding in his mind that in this case, as in Lot & Company’s, the -circle was complete. Still he retained the suspicion that the young man -did not believe him sane. - -He followed the singer when she permitted, to dressmakers, rehearsals, -quartette performances and meals; found other men following singers -similarly, in all their byways of routine; he disliked them, disliked -himself. - -He had not told her of his fortune, because he knew in his heart it -would change everything. He helped in many small ways, and allowed her -to believe what she chose. She had never identified him with large -things, did not think the present arrangement could last, and made as -much as possible of the convenience. They were together on the night -before her try-out, though as usual it was but a matter of moments. -Bellair used most of them in silence. The tension of hurry always -stopped his throat. He longed for one full day with her, a ramble -without the clock; yet what would he do with it--he, who dared not go -to the water-front alone--to whom the night whistling of steamers in -the harbour was like the call of the child of his heart? - -“You are at your best,” he said. “Your voice was never sweeter than -to-night. You must go now and sleep. To-morrow, of course, you will -win, and when may I come?” - -Her face clouded. Perhaps because he said the opposite, the thought of -possible defeat came now with a clearness which had not before appealed -to her unpracticed imagination. - -“You may come to my room at twelve--no, at one. I shall go there at -once after the trial--and you shall be first.” - -It pleased him, and since she did not seem inclined to leave just -then, Bellair found himself talking of the future. Perhaps he did not -entirely cover his zeal to change a little her full-hearted giving of -self to the foam. Bessie bore it. He had not spoken of the open boat, -but something he said was related to it in her mind. - -“To-morrow will settle everything,” she declared.... “And I don’t like -that other woman on the ship. She isn’t human. You think it amazing -because she didn’t cry and scream. That isn’t everything.... She’d be -lost and unheard of here in New York.” - -“Yes, that is probably true.” - -“It’s all right for people who don’t write or paint or sing--to talk -about real life and what’s right work in the world, but artists see it -differently. Anyway, it’s the only job we’ve got.” - -Bellair never forgot that, or rather what she had meant to say. - -“Singing is what drew me to you, Bessie. What I object to is what the -world tries to do with its singers, and that so many singers fall for -it.” - -“The world lets you more or less alone--until you make good. Plenty of -time after that to answer back.” - -She yawned. It was as near reality as they had gotten, and Bellair, who -asked so little, had a glimpse again of the loveliness he had first -taken to sea--even to the kiss at the last. She also granted him this: - -“You’ve been good to me. I couldn’t have done without you----” - -He lay awake long. The house in which he lived was very silent, and it -pressed so close to the sea. - - - 9 - -She was only partly dressed when he came early the next afternoon, but -was not long in letting him in. Before any words, he knew that she had -won. A man often has to readjust hastily after the night before. It was -so with Bellair now. Her eyes were bright with emotions, but a certain -hardness was shining there. It was an effort for her to think of him -and be kind. He would have seen it all in another’s story. - -His glance kept turning to her bare arm, upon which a hideous -vaccination-scar was revealed. _They_ had not thought of her singing -in those days.... She had never spoken of her house or her people. It -was enough that those days were finished. Bellair could understand -that. Her victory was all through her now, satisfying, completing her. -She did not love money for its own sake or she would have treated him -differently. All her surplus energy, even her passion, was turned to -this open passage of her career. Having that, previous props could be -kicked away; at least, Bellair felt this. - -“Yes, it’s all done. A month of solid rehearsal--then the road. I take -the second part, but I hope to come back in the first----” - -“You were at your best at the trial?” - -“After the first moment or two.... And no more Brandt’s or _Castle_--no -more with the other three--God, how sick I am of them--and of this -room!” - -“Will you lunch with me?” - -“Yes--I have until three.” - -It was shortly after one. She talked with animation about her work, -her eyes held to a glistening future. She finished her dressing -leisurely, with loving touches, abandoning herself completely to -the mirror as an old actress might, having conceded the essential -importance of attractions. She studied her face and figure as if she -were the maid to them. Bessie dressed for the world, not for herself, -certainly not for Bellair. Without, in the world--streets, restaurants, -theatres--there existed an abstraction which must be satisfied. She had -not yet entered upon that perilous adventure of dressing for the eyes -of one man. She did not think of Bellair as she lifted her arms to her -hair. On no other morning could she have been so far from the sense of -him in her room. Empires have fallen because a woman has lifted her -naked arms to her hair with a man in the room. - -An older woman would have rewarded him for being there; an older woman -never would have put on her hat for the street without remembering her -humanity. There was something in Bessie that reserved the kiss for the -last. Possibly after the last song of the day, a kiss remained. She put -on the flowers he brought; even that did not remind her, nor the dress -he had bought for her--asking him if he approved, not that she cared, -but because she was turning before the glass with the thing upon her -body and mind. She would have asked a child the same. - -They went to Beathe’s for luncheon, which was also Bessie’s breakfast. -There, it may have been that she was ready to forget herself, knowing -it would keep for a little. In any event, she seemed to see Bellair -as he ordered for her, as if recalling that he had made many things -move easily of late, and that it was pleasant to have these matters, -even luncheons, conducted by another. Thinking of him, the voyage was -instantly associated: - -“I said last night that I didn’t like that woman,” she began. “I didn’t -mean just that, of course. But a woman can see another woman better -than a man. There are women who keep their mouths shut and get great -reputations for being wise and all that. They never associate with -women. You’ll always find them with men, playing sister and helping and -saying little. Men get to think they’re the whole thing----” - -“I suppose there are,” said Bellair. - -He wished she had not picked up this particular point again; and yet a -certain novelty about this impressed him now, and recurred many times -afterward--that it was she who had broached the subject. - -“Do you think a man knows men better than a woman does?” he asked. - -Bessie had not thought of it; she was not sure. - -Nor was Bellair. “The fact is, it doesn’t greatly matter what women -think of women, and what men think of men--compared to what men and -women think of each other,” he observed. - -“You say you didn’t know that other man at first--that preacher,” she -remarked. - -“That’s true. There had to be danger--I had to hear his voice in -danger.” - -Bellair was lifted to his life-theme. He had never really told it in -one piece. He did not mean to now, but Fleury came clearly to mind. The -food was served and it was quiet behind the palms. If he could only say -something for her heart. She seemed ready. Points of human interest -were crowding to mind--perhaps he could hold her with them. - -“... His every thought was for others,” he was saying. “I disliked him -at first, but he was so kind and good-natured throughout that he could -not fail to impress me a bit, but I didn’t really see him before the -night of the wreck, when he arose to take things in hand. It was not -noise, nor voice, but a different force. He seemed to rise--so that the -huge Stackhouse was just a squealing pig before him. He had no fear. -You looked into his face and wanted to be near him, and to do what -he said. I caught his secret. A fool would. It was because he wasn’t -thinking of himself. It seems, Bessie, as sure as you live--that the -more a man gives out in that pure way Fleury did for us all--the more -power floods into him. It came to him in volumes. We all knew it--even -Stackhouse---- - -“And this is what I’m getting at. _You’ve_ got the chance to use it. -I can’t yet. I seem to be all clotted with what I want, but you can! -You did. You pulled me out of the crowd, not knowing me at all--made -me come to you--changed me. You can _give_ with your singing--to -hundreds--so that they will answer in their thoughts, and do things -strange to themselves at first. They’ll want to die for you--but -that isn’t the thing for you. You must want to sing for them--want -to give them your soul all the time. Greater things will come to you -than this--this which makes you happy. All that the world could give -you--you will come to see--doesn’t matter--but what you can give the -world----” - -He saw her falling away from his story. It crippled him. He did not -think he could fail so utterly. - -“But you _were_ a thief,” she said. - -“I--was what?” - -“You preach all the time, but you were a thief----” - -He had heard aright. His hand reached for the wallet, that contained -the letter from Lot & Company, but fell from it again. - -“If you like,” he answered, “but I saw a beast die in the open -boat--and saw a saint die----” - -“You preach--preach--preach!” she cried, and her own points of view -returned with greater intensity. “You’ve been kind--but, oh, you bore -me so! You have been kind--but oh, don’t think you fail to make -one pay the price! You were sunstruck, or crazed--and you come back -preaching. I’m sick of you--just in my highest day, after the months of -struggle--I hate you----” - -Bellair heard a ship’s bell. It was dark about him--a cool, serene -dark. The air fanned him softly and sweet; the place rocked--just for -an instant, as if he were at sea. - -“I hate you when you preach,” she finished. Her voice was softer. He -knew she was smiling, but did not look at her face. She had delivered -him. He was calm, and ineffably free, the circle finished. - -“_Oh, that we two were Maying_----” he muttered, his thoughts far down -the seas--remote and insular, serene and homing thoughts. - -“It takes two to sing that,” she said. - -“Yes.” - -“But, I’m so sick of that----” - -“You must have sung it many times,” he said. - -He did not want to linger. A certain hush had come to her from him. It -was not yet three.... He seemed surprised to find it broad day in the -street. She touched his sleeve, drawing him to the curb, away from the -crowds which astonished him. Clearly something was wrong with his head. - -“Bessie--before your salary begins--have you everything? Isn’t there -something----?” - -She smiled and hesitated. He rubbed his eyes. - -“I’m so glad I thought of it,” he said, drawing forth the brown wallet. - -His gift bewildered her, but she did not ask him this time what he -wanted. Instead she asked: - -“But where are you going?” - -“Why, Bessie, I’m going home.” - - - - -PART SEVEN - -THE STONE HOUSE: II - - - 1 - -THE hard thing was to get Honolulu behind. The first seven days at -sea was like a voyage to another planet. Bellair could lose himself -in the universe, between the banging of the Chinese gongs that called -passengers willingly, for the most part, to meals on the British ship -_Suwarrow_.... They had crawled out of the harbour in the dusk, a -southwest wind waiting at the gate, like an eager lover for a maiden to -steal forth. She was in his arms shamelessly, before the dusk closed, -the voices from the land hardly yet having died away. Bellair watched -their meeting in the offing. The blusterer came head on; the _Suwarrow_ -veered coquettishly and started to run, knowing him the swifter and -the stronger, as all woman-things love to know. Presently he had her, -and they made a night of it--the moon breaking out aghast from time -to time, above black and flying garments of cloud. Bellair enjoyed the -game, the funnels smoking the upper decks straight forward. They were -making a passage that night, in the southward lift of that lover. - -He had found a little leaf of cigars in a German shop in Honolulu; -the same reminding him of Stackhouse. They were _Brills_, with a -Trichinopoli flavour, a wrapping from the States, the main filler -doubtless from the Island plantations. The German had talked of them -long, playing with the clotty little fellows in his hands, for they -were moist enough, not easily to be broken. “You sink your teeth in -one of these after a good dinner,” he said, “and if you do not enjoy -tobacco, it is because you have been smoking other plants. These are -made by a workman----” - -Bellair smoked to the workman; also he smoked to Stackhouse. Something -kindly had come over him for the Animal. Lot & Company had helped him -to it.... Yes, he thought, the animal part is right enough. It is only -when the human adult consciousness turns predatory that the earth is -laid waste and the stars are fogged.... These were but back-flips -of Bellair’s mind. In the main he was held so furiously ahead, that -body and brain ached with the strain. As nearly as he could describe -from the sensation, there was a carbon-stick upstanding between his -diaphragm and his throat. Every time he thought of Auckland, it turned -hot. - -... He knew better where to begin now. The beginning was not in New -York. The wallet was heavy upon him; he must not waste it; nor allow -it to waste itself through bad management. Auckland was a desirable -centre for the Stackhouse operations. He could travel forth from one -agency to another. The fundamental ideas of trade, together with large -knowledge of how trade should not be conducted, was his heritage from -Lot & Company. He would begin slowly and sincerely to work out his big -problems--holding the fruits loosely in his hands; ready to give them -up to another, if that other should appear; contenting himself only -with the simplest things; preparing always to be poorer, instead of -richer.... He would earn the right to be poor. The thought warmed him, -something of the natural strength of youth about it. - -Standing out of the wind with an expensive cigar, a superb -course-dinner finished less than an hour back, Bellair smiled at the -ease of poverty, welcoming all the details of clean, austere denial. -Yet he was not so far from it as would appear. He had always taken -these matters of luxury and satiety with tentative grasp; even the -dinners of Stackhouse were but studies of life. His ideal was closely -adjusted to the Faraway Woman’s in these things. One of the dearest of -her sayings had to do with renting the two front rooms of the stone -cottage. Yet now he hoped furiously that she had not yet done so. - -His thoughts turned again out among the Islands. He would meet the -agents of Stackhouse. They would be bewildered at first; they would -think he had come to peer and bite. He would lift and help and pass -on--making the circles again and again, gaining confidence, not saying -much. No, the thing he had in mind had little to do with words.... What -a masonry among men--here and there one giving his best secretly. - -_No words about it._ Bellair halted and filled his lungs from the good -breeze. This thought had repeated itself like a certain bright pattern -through all the weave of his conception. It had a familiar look, and -a prod that startled him now. The whole meaning of it rushed home, so -that he laughed. - -He had reached in his own way, the exact point that Fleury had set out -with. He was determined to act. He had ceased to talk.... Just then -looking up from his laughing reverie, he saw a star. It was ahead, not -high, very brilliant and golden. It had only escaped a moment between -the flying black figures of the night, but more brilliant for that. It -was vast and familiar--the meaning tried the throat and struck at his -heart with strange suffering.... Yes, the _Suwarrow_ was lifting the -southern stars. There could be no doubt. He had looked at that mighty -sun too often from the open boat to mistake. Fleury had said if it were -as near to earth as our sun, this little planet would be dried to a -cinder in ten seconds. It was the great golden ball, _Canopus_.... A -hand was placed softly in his. Bellair was startled. He had been far -away, yet the gladness was instant, as he turned down to the face of -Davy Acton. - -“She’s better,” the boy said. “I’ve been trying to get her to come up -on deck. She told me to ask you, if you thought it best.” - -“Sure, Davy--I’ll go with you to get her.” - - - 2 - -He had seen very little of Mrs. Acton during the voyage. Sailing was -not her feat, but the lady was winsome after her fast. Bellair had -found her very brave, and there had not been such an opportunity to -tell her so, as this night. He wanted enough light to see her face, and -enough air to keep her above any qualm. They found a cane-table, on the -lee-side, toward America, the light of a cabin passage upon it. Bellair -ordered an innocuous drink for Davy and himself, and whispered along a -pint of champagne, having heard it spoken well of as an antidote for -those emerging from the sickness of the sea. - -“... It’s a little charged, cidery sort of a drink--just made for -people convalescent from the first days out of ’Frisco,” he said. - -She drank with serene confidence, and leaned back to regard the glass -and the two. - -“It’s not unlike a wine I drank long ago,” she observed, and her eyes -warmed with the memory. - -“A wine?” he said. - -“Just so, but it’s no crutch for the poor, I should say, by the way it -comes----” - -She pointed to the service-tub, which, unfortunately, was of silver. - -“They like to keep it cold,” Bellair suggested. - -“It would need ice to keep that cold,” she replied. - -There was a lyrical lilt to her words that he had not known before; in -fact he hadn’t quite known Mrs. Acton before. She was lifted from the -stratum of the submerged. She had her hands, her health, and the days -now and ahead were novel in aspect. A little seasickness was nothing -to one who had met the City, and for years prevented it from taking -her boy. The heart for adventure was not dead within her.... In fact, -Bellair, surveying the little plump white creature in new black, with -a sparkle in her eye, her hand upon the thin stem of a glass, entered -upon a pleasant passage. - -“You see, Mrs. Acton--I’ve been struck ever since we sailed by the -courage you showed in crossing the world like this, at the word from a -stranger----” - -“Stranger,” she repeated. - -“I wanted you to take me up on that, but the fact is, you came at my -word.” - -“’Twas not much I had to leave----” - -“I liked it better than the hotel.” - -“Do you know, Mr. Bellair, I never gave up the hope of travel--a bit of -travel before I passed? But I thought it would be alone from Davy----” -Her eyes glistened. - -Bellair was wondering if there were others in that tenement-house who -had kept a hope. - -“You know,” he said, “when I decided to ask you to come--because I was -far from finished with our lad--I anticipated that it would be somewhat -of a struggle. I saw how hard it was for you at first--the night we -told you about his loss of a place----” - -“We were on the edge so long--the least bump ready to push us over,” -she murmured. - -“I made a little arrangement with the express company to furnish you -with a return ticket--you and Davy, or cheques to secure them, and -enough beside to get you back to New York at any time----” - -Her eyes widened. She turned to her boy to see if he were in this great -business. Wonders had not ceased for him, since the first evening at -the hotel. Davy was intent upon her now, even more than upon his friend. - -“So I had it all fixed in your name. There’s an agency in Auckland--one -in every city--so you can’t go broke. And no one can cash these things -but you--after you call and register your signature. You’ll find enough -and to spare for your passage (though I hope you won’t use it for many -a year), and expenses for you and the boy----” - -There were tears in her eyes. Bellair poured her wineglass full in the -excitement. - -“You didn’t need to do anything like that----” - -“That’s a point I am particularly proud of,” he answered. - -“I’ll put this away for you,” she said, taking the proffered envelope. - -The face of dusty wax-work sped past his inner eyes. - -“It’s all one,” she added. “It’s easy for me to say this, having -nothing but what you give me. Did you hear of the house where every one -put what they had in a basket hanging from the ceiling?” - -“No,” he said. - -“’Twas mainly empty. The poor are great-hearted, and those who have -nothing.... This, I’ll put in no basket, but the bank, and you’ll have -it when you get through giving away the rest. I’ll trust in the Lord, -sure, to take me home----” - -“I haven’t been very successful in giving away much,” he said. “That’s -our problem down here among the Islands. Davy is to grow up and help -me. You are to help us. There is another to help us.” - -Mrs. Acton finished her glass. “Is it as much as that, then?” - -Davy was regarding her with fine pride in his eyes. - -Bellair sent him to the cabin for a book that would be hard to find, -and turned to the boy’s mother: - -“I’ve got something to say to you about Davy. I brought back a story -and a fortune from my other trip down here. The story was more -important by a whole lot. It changed everything for me. I thought I’d -only have to tell it, to change others. That didn’t work. But Davy -listened, and he wasn’t the same afterward. - -“I didn’t understand him at first. I used to think when he didn’t -speak, he was bored. I used to think I had to entertain him, buy him -with gifts. But I was wrong. He was thinking things out for himself all -the time. He was puzzled at first why any one cared to be good to him -and be a friend to him--God, what a price the world must pay for making -boys as strange to kindness as that.... But this is what I want to say. -He believed in me long ago in Lot & Company’s. I succeeded in making -him believe in me again. And because he believed in me, he believed in -my story, and when he heard that--he wasn’t the same afterward. - -“I tell you, boys are full of wonderful things, but the world has shut -the door on them. All we’ve got to do is to be patient and kind and -keep the door open, and we’ll have human heroes about us presently, -instead of wolves and foxes and parrots and apes.... I learned that -from Davy Acton. After he accepted me, he got my story--and that showed -me that my work is with boys, and that first I’ve got to make them -believe in me. I’ve got to be the kind of a man to win that. We’ll all -pull together--you and Davy and that other and I. - -“I’m going to help Davy, and I’m going to help boys. They’re not set. -They change. They are open to dreams and ready for action. They can -forget themselves long enough to listen. The world has treated them -badly; the world has been a stupid fool in bringing up its children. -Why, it’s half luck if we manage to amount to anything! I think I know -now how to do better. I’m going to try. Why, I’d spend five years and -all I have to give one boy his big, deep chance of being as human as -God intended. I’ll help boys to find their work, show them how to be -clean and fit and strong. I’ll show them that _getting_ is but an -incident, and when carried too far becomes the crime and the hell of -the world.... He’s coming back--and he’s found the book, too. I must -use it----” - -He had told his story in a kind of gust, and the little woman had -listened like a sensitive-plate, her eyes brimming, her son moving -higher and higher in a future that was safe and green and pure.... It -had come out at last for Bellair. He was happy, for he knew that this -which had been born to-night, with the help of the mother’s listening, -was the right good thing--the thing that had come home from hard -experience to the heart of a simple man. - -“Davy,” he said, “I’ve got a suspicion that your mother could eat -something. Call a steward, lad.” - -She started and fumbled for her handkerchief. - -“Do you know--that is--I might try a bite, Mr. Bellair----” - -The man was smiling. Davy returned and sat down wonderingly between -them. His mother kept her mouth covered, but her eyes were wells of joy. - -“I don’t know whether it’s that cider that needs keeping so cold,” she -began steadily, “or this which Mr. Bellair has been saying, but the -truth is, Davy, I haven’t been so happy since a girl----” - -“A little lunch will fix that,” Bellair suggested absently. - -“If it will,” she returned, “tell the man that it’s nothing I wish for, -this night.” - - - 3 - -Auckland passengers were not to be landed until the morning, but the -_Suwarrow_ sent one boat ashore that night. By some law unknown to the -outsider, a few top bags of mail were discriminately favoured, and they -were in the boat. The second officer, with a handful of telegrams to -be filed; a travelling salesman called home from the States on account -of family illness, also Bellair were in the boat. He had told Davy -and his mother that he was going to prepare a place for them; that he -would be back on the deck of the _Suwarrow_ before nine in the morning. -Because the little landing party was out of routine, an hour or more -was required for Bellair to obtain release to the streets. It was now -midnight. - -Three months away, and there had been no word from the woman who had -remained. In fact, no arrangement for writing had been agreed upon, -except in case New York should hold him. He had never seen the writing -of the Faraway Woman.... He believed with profound conviction that -within an hour’s ride by trolley from the place in the street where -he moved so hastily now, there was a bluff, a stone cottage, a woman -waiting for him, and a child near her; that all was well with the two -and the place. Yet he lived and moved now in a wearing, driving terror. -All his large and little moments of the past three months passed before -him like dancers on a flash-lit stage, some beautiful, some false and -ugly, but each calling his eyes, something of his own upon them. - -The world had shown him well that man is not ready for joy when he -fears, yet Bellair was afraid. Man deserves that which he complains of. -Still, he was afraid. He was exultant, too. Cities might change and -nations and laws, but not that woman’s heart. He did not believe she -could love him, but he knew of her fondness hoped for that again. She -was in a safe place--as any place in the world is safe. She was well, -with a health he had never known in another, and the child was flesh -of her. Yet he feared, his heart too full to speak. He did not deserve -her, but he hoped for the miracle, hoped that the driving laws of the -human heart might be merciful, hoped for her fondness again. - -He would stand before her at his worst--all weakness and commonness -of the man, Bellair, open before her. Perhaps she would see his love -because of that, but he would not be able to tell her. Never could he -ask for her. If it were made known, it would not be through words. It -could only come from him in a kind of delirium. _He_ must be carried -away, a passion must take him out of self. Very far he seemed from -passion; rather this was like a child in his heart, with gifts, deep -and changeless, but inarticulate, as a child is. It had been long in -coming, quietly fulfilling itself, and this was the rising. - -... The last car was gone, but he found a carriage--an open carriage, a -slow horse, a cool and starry night. The city was growing silent, the -edges darkened. There were high trees, a homing touch about them after -the sea, and a glimpse of the harbour to the left. Bellair had not even -a bag with him. He would take off his hat for a way, and then put it -on again. Sometimes he would let his ungloved hand hang overside, as -one would do in a small boat. There was a leathery smell from the seat -of the carriage, with a bit of stable flavour, that would get into a -man’s clothes if he stayed long enough. It was dusty, too, something -like a tight room full of old leather-bound books. - -The horse plumped along, a little lurch forward at every fourth beat. -Hunched and wrapped, the driver sat, and extraordinarily still--a man -used to sitting, who gave himself utterly to it, a most spineless and -sunken manner. Every little while he coughed, and every little while -he spat.... Once they passed a motor-car--two men and a girl laughing -between them; then the interurban trolley going back--the car he had -missed. His heart thumped. It was the same car that he had known, the -same tracks, no upheaval of the earth here so far. - -Meanwhile, Bellair was rounding the Horn in the _Jade_; they struck -rock or derelict, were lost for ages in an open boat; they came to -Auckland and found a little stone house on the bluff, paused there.... - -He was away at sea again, from Auckland to ’Frisco, across the States, -to _Brandt’s_, to _Pastern’s_, to Lot & Company’s and the tenements, -to the _Castle_ and the Landlady’s House; then trains and the long -southern sweep of the _Suwarrow_, down the great sea again to this -... plumping along on the high, rocky shore. The brine came up to him, -almost as from the open boat. His eyes smarted, his throat was dry, and -the driver coughed. - -Bellair had paper money in his hand. He meant to look at it under the -carriage-light, when he stepped forth near the Gate. He leaned forward -and touched the great coat. - -“_Whoa_,” said the man, loud enough to rouse the seven sleepers, and -the horse came up with a teeter. - -“Don’t stop,” said Bellair. “It’s a little ahead yet. I’ll tell you -when to stop.... Yes, let him walk----” - -Now, Bellair surveyed what he had said. He was like that, just about as -coherent as that. The _whoa_ had shaken him empty for the most part.... -He would not know what to say to her. He would sit or stand like a fool -and grin.... But she was great-hearted. She would help him.... Awe and -silence crept into him again. - -“Now, pull up----” - -“_Whoa_,” was the answer, shaking the trees. - -“There, that will do,” Bellair said tensely. He stepped out and passed -over the money, forgetting to look at it. He was afraid the man would -roar again. - -It was nearer than he thought, but a step to the Gate; its latch lifted -softly and he crossed the gravel, held by the voice of the rig turning -behind. It turned slowly as a ship in a small berth, and the voice -carried like the cackle of geese.... There was no light. He was on the -step. Something sweet was growing at the door.... Something brushed -him at his feet. He leaned down in the darkness, and touched the -tabby-puss, knocked softly. - -“Yes----” came from within. - -“It is I, Bellair----” - -The door was opened to absolute blackness. She was not in his arms. -Rather he was in her arms. She seemed to tower above him. Around was -the softness and fragrance of her arms and her breast.... Not the -cottage--her arms made the home of man. She held him from her, left him -standing bewildered in the centre of the room. He heard her match, and -her voice like a sigh, trailing to him almost like a spirit-thing: - -“Oh,--I--am--so--happy!” - -The lamp was lit, but she left it in the alcove, came to him again, a -shawl about her. Lights were playing upon his shut eye-lids, fulfilment -in his arms that a man can only know when he has crossed the world to a -woman, not a maiden; a plenitude that a maiden cannot give. - -And now she brought the light, and looked into his face--her own -gleaming behind it, full of rapture, the face of a love-woman, some -inspired training of the centuries upon it, all the mystery and -delicacy for a man’s eyes that he can endure and live.... - -“What is it?” - -He could only look at her. - -“What is it?” more softly. - -As if the thing had been left over in his mind, and required clearing -away, he answered: - -“Are--are the rooms rented?” - -She laughed, came closer than the light. - -“We are alone--only the child. I could not let any one come--the rooms -seemed yours.... I thought you would come. It was time enough to change -when I heard from you----” - -“The little Gleam----” - -“Yes, he is here.... Oh, did you know what it meant to us--when you -went away?” - -“I knew what it meant to me----” - -“After the open boat and the days together here--you knew all?” - -“Yes.” - -“I thought it would be easier.... And you are changed! You are like a -man who has found his Quest.” - -She was about him like magic. They were moving toward the little room. -She stopped and put the lamp back in the alcove. - -“We will not take it in there. It would wake him.” - -... It was dark upon the threshold. She took his hand. He heard her -heart beating, or was it his own?... They heard the little breathing. -She guided his hand to the warm little hand. - -“Yes, he is well,” she whispered. “Everything is perfect with your -coming.... There.... You hurried home to me, didn’t you?... Yes, I -hoped. I felt the ship. I could not sleep. I wondered if I could be -wrong.... Oh, to think of the dawn coming in--finding us here together -... and the little Gleam....” - - * * * * * - -Gray light was coming in. Her face was shadowed, but the gray was -faint about her hair. His heart had taken something perfect from her; -something of the nature of that peace which had come to him at the -_Jade’s_ rail crossing the Line, but greater than that, the fulfilment -of that. Because it was perfect, it could not last in its fulness. -That was the coolness of the Hills, but his love was glowing now like -noon sunlight in a valley, the redolence of high sunlight in the river -lowlands. Mother Earth had taken them again. - -It was the tide of life; it was as she had told him it must be with -her, akin to the loveliest processes of nature, like the gilding of a -tea-rose, like the flight of swans. He watched her as the dawn rose, as -a woman is only to be seen in her own room; watched her without words, -until from the concentration, that which had been bound floated free -within him.... A sentence she had spoken (it may have been an hour, or -a moment ago) returned to his consciousness. “Oh, how I wanted you to -come home to-night!” - -His mind was full of pictures and power. It may have been the -strangeness of the light, but his eyes could not hold her face, nor -his mind remember the face that had welcomed him in the lamplight. -Different faces moved before his eyes, a deep likeness in the plan of -them, as pearls would be sorted and matched for one string, a wonderful -sisterhood of faces, tenderness, fortitude, ardour, joy, renunciation. -It was like a stroke. He had loved them all--facets of one jewel. And -was the jewel her soul? - -He arose, without turning from her, and moved to the far corner of the -room, where there was neither chair nor table. As he moved, he watched -her with tireless thirsting eyes. - -She arose and came to him, moving low.... This figure that came, -thrilled him again with the old magic of the river-banks. He could not -pass the wonder of her crossing the room to follow him.... And now he -saw her lips in the light--a girl’s shyness about her lips. She was a -girl that instant--as if a veil had dropped behind her. It had never -been so before--a woman always, wise and finished with years, compared -to whom that other was a child. And yet she was little older than -that other--in years. He loved the shyness of her lips. It was like -one familiar bloom in the midst of exotic wonders. It seemed he would -fall--before she touched him. - -She was low in his arms, as if her knees were bent, as if she would -make herself less for her lord.... And something in that, even as he -held her, opened the long low roads of the past--glimpses from that -surging mystery behind us all--as if they had sinned and expiated and -aspired together. - -“... That you would come to me----” he whispered. - -“I have wanted to come to you so long.” - -“I thought--I could not tell you--I thought I would stand helpless -without words before you. Why, everything I thought was wrong. I can -tell you--but there is no need----” - -“There is little need of words between us.” - -... That which she wore upon her feet was heel-less, and all the cries -and calls and warnings and distances of the world were gone from -between them, as they stood together.... And once her arms left him and -were upheld, as if to receive a perfect gift. A woman could command -heaven with that gesture. - - * * * * * - -They had reached the end of the forest, and found the dawn. The sounds -of the world came back to them like an enchanter’s drone. - -“Come,” she said, taking his hand, “it is day. We must return to the -village. And oh, to our little Gleam! He is awakening. He will speak -your name.” - - -THE END - - - - -BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT - - -_A Brief Expression of the Critical Reception of_ - -DOWN AMONG MEN - - -_Outlook_: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive genius, equipped with -a remarkably flexible use of English and impelled by the passion of a -mystic--the author of _Down Among Men_ has written a striking novel. - -_The Dial_: Seems to us the most exalted and appealing story Mr. -Comfort has thus far written. - -_The Argonaut_: A novel of extraordinary power. It is good as -_Routledge Rides Alone_. It could hardly be better. - -_London Post_: Alive with incident, bounding with physical energy, -dramatic in coloring, and modern in every phrase. He has a message -delivered with vigor, inspired with tense passion. - -_Atlantic Monthly_: There is so much real fire in it--the fire of youth -that has seen and suffered--so much vitality and passion that one grows -chary of petty comments. The writer offers us the cup of life, and -there is blood in the cup. - -_Chicago Record-Herald_: An almost perfect tale of courage and -adventure. - -_Chicago Tribune_: Contains some of the most remarkable scenes that -have appeared in recent American fiction. - -_New York Times_: Few richer novels than this of Mr. Comfort’s have -been published in many a long day. - -_New York Globe_: We can say in all sincerity that we know of no -recent bit of descriptive writing that can match this for sustained, -breathless, dramatic interest. - -_Springfield Republican_: _Down Among Men_ is perhaps the most -ambitious American novel that has come out during the past year. - - _12mo., Net $1.25._ - - - - -MIDSTREAM - -... A hint from the first-year’s recognition of a book that was made to -remain in American literature: - -_Boston Transcript_: If it be extravagance, let it be so, to say -that Comfort’s account of his childhood has seldom been rivaled in -literature. It amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels that -will suggest themselves in our letters are the great ones that occur -in _Huckleberry Finn_.... This man Comfort’s gamut is long and he has -raced its full length. One wonders whether the interest, the skill, the -general worth of it, the things it has to report of all life, as well -as the one life, do not entitle _Midstream_ to the very long life that -is enjoyed only by the very best of books. - -_San Francisco Argonaut_: Read the book. It is autobiography in its -perfection. It shows more of the realities of the human being, more of -god and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind. - -_Springfield Republican_: It is difficult to think of any other young -American who has so courageously reversed the process of writing for -the “market” and so flatly insisted upon being taken, if at all, on -his own terms of life and art. And now comes his frank and amazing -revelation, _Midstream_, in which he captures and carries the reader on -to a story of regeneration. He has come far; the question is, how much -farther will he go? - -Mary Fanton Roberts in _The Craftsman_: Beside the stature of this -book, the ordinary novel and biography are curiously dwarfed. You -read it with a poignant interest and close it with wonder, reverence -and gratitude. There is something strangely touching about words so -candid, and a draught of philosophy that has been pressed from such -wild and bitter-sweet fruit. The message it contains is one to sink -deep, penetrating and enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. -This man’s words are incandescent. Many of us feel that he is breathing -into a language, grown trite from hackneyed usage, the inspiration of a -quickened life. - -Ida Gilbert Myers in _Washington Star_: Courage backs this revelation. -The gift of self-searching animates it. Honesty sustains it. And Mr. -Comfort’s rare power to seize and deliver his vision inspires it. It -is a tremendous thing--the greatest thing that this writer has yet done. - -George Soule in _The Little Review_: Here is a man’s life laid -absolutely bare. A direct, big thing, so simple that almost no one -has done it before--this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who are made -uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything, to whom reserve is more -important than truth--these will not read _Midstream_ through, but -others will emerge from the book with a sense of the absolute nobility -of Mr. Comfort’s frankness. - -Edwin Markham in _Hearst’s Magazine_: Will Levington Comfort, a -novelist of distinction, has given us a book alive with human interest, -with passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his despotism over -words. He has been a wandering foot--familiar with many strands; he -has known shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to serene heights. -He tells it all without vaunt, relating his experience to the large -meanings of life for all men, to the mystic currents behind life, out -of which we come, to whose great deep we return. - - _12mo., Net, $1.25_ - - - - -RED FLEECE - -_Springfield Republican_: The first genuine war novel. - -_Outlook_: The first novel of any real consequence dealing with the -great war. - -_San Francisco Argonaut_: An extraordinary book. The reader of -Comfort’s book is carried away on a storm of emotion. - -_New York Tribune_: Decidedly the first notable novel of the great war -is Will Levington Comfort’s _Red Fleece_. Comfort sees in the moujik’s -dreamy soul the seed of a spiritual regeneration of the world. - -_The Dial_: As a stylist, Mr. Comfort has never done better work. “His -clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the smoke fell, he -watched the sun shining upon the smoke-clad hills. That moment the -thought held him that the pine-trees were immortal, and men just the -dung of the earth.” It is not given to many men to write such English -as that. - -_Boston Transcript_: This is a story written in wireless. It leaves a -lightning impression. - -_New York Times_: This novel has one most unusual fault. It is not long -enough. - -_Churchman_, New York: By far the most interesting and thoughtful book -of fiction springing from the great war. - - _12mo., Net, $1.25_ - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -On page 123, side-ways has been changed to sideways. - -On page 130, banknotes has been changed to bank-notes. - -On page 310, waterfront has been changed to water-front. - -On page 336, eyelids has been changed to eye-lids. - -The name "Fomalhaut" was spelled multiple ways in this book; all have -been regularized to "Fomalhaut" (a star in the Southern Hemisphere.) - -All other spelling, hyphenation and dialect has been retained as -typeset. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOT & COMPANY *** - -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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- padding-top: 1.25em; - padding-bottom: 1.25em; - page-break-before: always;} - -.adblock2 {margin-left: 30%; - margin-right: 30%; - /* padding-left: 1em; */ - /* padding-right: 1em; */ - padding-top: 1.25em; - padding-bottom: 1.25em; - border: solid black 1px; - page-break-before: always;} - -.x-ebookmaker-drop .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .figcenter {width:100%} - -.x-ebookmaker .adblock {margin-left: 2%; margin-right: 2%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .adblock2 {margin-left: 2%; margin-right: 2%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .transnote {margin-left: 2%; margin-right: 2%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .pagenum {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.x-ebookmaker .pagenum2 {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lot & company, by Will Levington Comfort</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lot & company</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Will Levington Comfort</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 24, 2022 [eBook #69038]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by University of California libraries)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOT & COMPANY ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 35%"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph1">LOT & COMPANY</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock2"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph3">BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT</p></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">Lot & Company</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Red Fleece</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Midstream</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Down Among Men</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Fatherland</span></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center no-indent">GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br /> -NEW YORK</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1><i>Lot & Company</i></h1></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">BY</p> - -<p class="ph2">WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT</p> - -<p class="center no-indent p4b"> -AUTHOR OF “RED FLEECE,” “MIDSTREAM,” “DOWN AMONG<br /> -MEN,” “ROUTLEDGE RIDES ALONE,”<br /> -ETC., ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="150" alt="Publishers Logo" -title="" /></div> - -<p class="center no-indent p4">NEW YORK</p> - -<p class="ph2">GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center no-indent">Copyright, 1915,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By George H. Doran Company</span></p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center no-indent">TO<br /> -JANE</p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">CONTENTS</p></div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS"> - -<tr><td colspan="2"> </td> -<td class="tdc"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART ONE</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Jade</span>: I</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART TWO</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lot & Company</span>: I</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_19">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART THREE</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Jade</span>: II</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART FOUR</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Open Boat</span></td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART FIVE</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Stone House</span>: I</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195">197</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART SIX</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Lot & Company</span>: II</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_239">241</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdc" colspan="3">PART SEVEN</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Stone House</span>: II</td> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PART_SEVEN_THE_STONE_HOUSE_II">321</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_ONE">PART ONE<br /> -THE JADE: I</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">A</span>ll</span> would have happened differently for -Bellair had he been drowsy as usual -on this particular Sunday afternoon. -The boarding-house was preparing for -its nap; indeed already half enveloped, but there -came to Bellair’s nostrils a smell of carpets that -brought back his first passage up stairs five years -before. The halls were filled with greys—dull -tones that drove him forth at last. It was November, -and the day didn’t know what to do -next. Gusts of seasonable wind, wisps of sunshine, -threats of rain, and everywhere Bellair’s -old enemy—the terrifying Sabbath calm, without -which the naked granite soul of New York -would remain decently hid. Sundays had tortured -him from the beginning. It was not so -bad when the garment was on—the weave of -millions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> - -<p>He walked east with an umbrella, thinking -more than observing, crossed to Brooklyn and -followed the water-front as closely as the complication -of ferries, pier-systems and general shipping -would permit. Finally he came to a wooden -arch, marked Hatmos & Company, the gate of -which was open. Entering, he heard the water -slapping the piles beneath, his eyes held in fascination -to an activity ahead. In the wonder of -a dream, he realised that this was a sailing-ship -putting forth. On her black stern, he read</p> - -<p class="center no-indent"><i>Jade of Adelaide</i></p> - -<p class="no-indent">printed in blue of worn pigment.</p> - -<p>A barkentine, her clipper-built hull of steel, -her lines satisfying like the return of a friend -after years. Along the water-line shone the bright -edge of her copper sheathing; then a soft black -line smooth as modelled clay where she muscled -out for sea-worth, and covered her displacement -in the daring beauty of contour. Still above was -the shining brass of her row of ports on a ground -of weathered grey, and the dull red of her rail. -Over all, and that which quickened the ardour of -Bellair’s soul, was the mystery of her wire rigging -and folded cloths against the smoky horizon, -exquisite as the frame of a butterfly to his fancy.</p> - -<p>His emotion is not to be explained; nor another -high moment of his life which had to do with a -flashing merchantman seen from the water-front -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>at San Francisco—square-rigged throughout, a -cloud of sail-cloth, her royals yet to be lifted, as -she got underweigh. He knew that considerable -canvas was still spread between California, -Australia and the Islands, but what a well-kept -if ancient maiden of the <i>Jade’s</i> species was doing -here in New York harbour, A. D. Nineteen hundred -and odd, was not disclosed to Bellair until -afterward, and not clearly then.</p> - -<p>He knew her for a barkentine, and in the intensely -personal appeal of the moment he was a -bit sorry for the blend. To his eyes the schooner-rig -of mizzen and main masts was not to be -compared for beauty to the trisected fore. Still -he reflected that square-rigged throughout, she -would be crowded with crew to care for her, and -that her concession to trade was at least not outright. -Schooner, bark and brig—he seemed to -know them first hand, not only from pictures and -pages of print, though there had been many long -evenings of half-dream with books before him—books -that always pushed back impatiently -through the years of upstart Steam into Nature’s -own navigation, where Romance has put on her -brave true form in the long perspective. Ships -that really <i>sailed</i> were one of Bellair’s passions, -like orchards and vined stone-work—all far from -him apparently and out of the question—loved -the more because of it.... He watched with -rapt eyes now, estimated the <i>Jade’s</i> length at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>one-seventy-five and was debating her tonnage -when a huge ox of a man appeared from the -cabin (while the <i>Jade</i> slid farther out), waddled -aft as if bare-footed, spoke to an officer -there, and then held up two brown hairy, thick-fingered -hands, palms extended to the pier—as if -to push Brooklyn from him forever.... The -officer’s voice just reached shore, but not his -words. A Japanese woman appeared on the -receding deck.</p> - -<p>“<i>Jade of Adelaide</i>,” muttered Bellair, moments -afterward.</p> - -<p>A tug was towing her straight toward Staten. -He thought of her lying off the glistening white -beach of a coral island two months hence, surrounded -by native craft, all hands helping the -big man get ashore.... At this moment a young -man emerged from the harbour-front door of the -Hatmos office, locking it after him. Bellair came -up from his dream. Such realities of the city man -are mainly secret. It was the worn surface that -Bellair presented to the stranger, a sophisticated -and imperturbable surface, and one employed so -often that its novelty was gone.</p> - -<p>“Where’s she going?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>Bellair smiled at the facetiousness.</p> - -<p>“The <i>Jade</i>,” he said gently.</p> - -<p>“Just as far from here as she can get.”</p> - -<p>“Round the world?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> - -<p>“I doubt if she’ll come back.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t see many of them any more——”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the other agreeably enough, “this -old dame and two or three sisters are about all -that call here. Hatmos & Co. get ’em all.”</p> - -<p>“Will you have a little drink?” Bellair inquired. -“That is, if you know a place around -here. I’m from across.”</p> - -<p>The other was not unwilling. They walked -up the pier together. A place was found.</p> - -<p>“Does the <i>Jade</i> belong to the Hatmos people?” -Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“No. We’re agents for Stackhouse. By the -way, he’s aboard the <i>Jade</i>—just left the office a -half hour ago. The Hatmos son and heir went -home in a cab, like his father used to, when -Stackhouse blew in from the South Seas——”</p> - -<p>“The big man who stood aft as the ship -cleared?” Bellair suggested.</p> - -<p>“Hairy neck—clothes look like pajamas?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That must have been Stackhouse. He’s the -biggest man in Peloponasia——”</p> - -<p>Bellair wondered if he meant Polynesia. “You -mean in size?”</p> - -<p>“Possibly that, but I meant—interests. Owns -whole islands and steam-fleets, but hates steam. -Does his pleasure riding under canvas. Comes -up to New York every third year with a new -Japanese wife. Used to spend his time drinking -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>with old Hatmos—now he’s trying to kill off -the younger generation. Lives at the <i>Florimel</i> -while in New York, and teaches the dago barboys -how to make tropical drinks. If he had -stayed longer, he would have got to me. Young -Hatmos is about finished.”</p> - -<p>Bellair breathed deeply, strangely alive. -“Where does the <i>Jade</i> call first after leaving -here?”</p> - -<p>“Savannah—then one or two South American -ports—then around the Horn and the long up-beat -to the Islands.”</p> - -<p>“Why, that might mean four months.” Bellair -spoke with a touch of wistfulness.</p> - -<p>They emerged to the street at length, and the -New Yorker started shyly back to the pier. The -Hatmos man laughed.</p> - -<p>“You fall for the sailing-stuff, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s got me. Do they take passengers?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, if you’re in no hurry. Here and there, -some one like you—just for the voyage. Two -or three on board from here.... One a preacher. -He’d better look out. Stackhouse hates to drink -alone.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>The <i>Jade</i>, far and very little among the liners, -had turned south to the Narrows and was spreading -her wings.... The world began to shut -Bellair in, as he crossed the river again. Sunday -night supper at the boarding-house was always a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>dismal affair; by every manner and means it was -so to-night. The chorus woman of the Hippodrome -was bolting ahead of the bell, to hurry -away to rehearsal. Nightly she came up out -of the water.... He tried three sea-books that -night—“Lady Letty,” “Lord Jim” and “The -Phantom,” but couldn’t get caught in their old -spell. A new and personal dimension was upon -him from the afternoon. He fell to dreaming -again and again of the <i>Jade</i>—the last misty -glimpse of her at the Narrows, and the huge -brown hands pushing Brooklyn away.... -There is pathos in the city man’s love and need -for fresh air. Bellair pulled his bed to the window -at last, surveying the room without regard. -Long afterward he dreamed that he was out on -the heaving floor of the sea, and that a man-monster -came down from the deck in pajamas, and -pressing his hands against the walls of the cabin, -made respiration next to impossible for the inmate. -There was a key to this suffocation, for -the air in his room was still as a pool. A lull -had fallen upon the city before a gusty storm of -wind and rain.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 18-21]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_TWO_LOT_COMPANY_I">PART TWO<br /> -LOT & COMPANY: I</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>ellair</span> regarded himself as an average -man; and after all perhaps this was the -most significant thing about him. He -was not average to look at—the face -of a student and profoundly kind—and yet, he -had moved in binding routine for five years -that they knew of at Lot & Company’s. His -acquaintances were of the average type. He did -not criticise them; you would not have known that -he saw them with something of the same sorrow -that he regarded himself.</p> - -<p>Back of this five years was an Unknowable. -Had you possessed exactly the perception you -might have caught a glimpse of some extraordinary -culture that comes from life in the older lands, and -personal contacts with deeper evils—the culture -of the great drifters, the inimitable polish of rolling -stones. As a usual thing he would not have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>shown you any of this. At Lot & Company’s -offices, men had moved and talked and lunched -near and with him for years without uncovering -a gleam of a certain superb equipment for life -which really existed in a darkened room of his -being.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was still in preparation. We have -not really completed the circle of any accomplishment -until we have put it in action. Certainly -Bellair had not done that, since the Unknowable -ended. He had made no great friends among men -or women; though almost thirty, he had met no -stirring love affair, at least in this period. He -had done the most common duties of trade, for -a common reward in cash; lived in a common -house—moved in crowds of common men and -affairs. It was as if he were a spy, trained from -a child, but commanded at the very beginning -of his manhood, not only to toil and serve in -an insignificant post—but to be insignificant as -well. It was by accident, for instance, that they -discovered at Lot & Company’s that Bellair was -schooled in the Sanscrit.</p> - -<p>Before usual he was astir that Monday morning, -but late at the office for all that. A drop -of consciousness somewhere between shoe-buttons, -and a similar trance between collar and tie. In -these lapses a half hour was lost, and queerly -enough afterward the old purports of his life -did not hold together as before. A new breath -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>from somewhere, a difference in vitality, and the -hum-drum, worn-sore consciousness given to his -work with Lot & Company, had become like an -obscene relative, to be rid of, even at the price -of dollars and the established order of things. -It had been very clear as he drank his coffee that -he must give quit-notice at the office, yet when -he reached there, this was not so easy, and he -was presently at work as usual in his cage with -Mr. Sproxley, the cashier.</p> - -<p>The Quaker firm of Lot & Company was essentially -a printing establishment. During the first -half of the period in which Bellair had been connected, -though he was not stupider than usual, he -had not realised the crooked weave of the entire -inner fabric of the house. Lot & Company had -been established for seventy-five years and through -three generations. Its conduct was ordered now -like a process of nature, a systematised tone to -each surface manner and expression. All the departments -were strained and deformed to meet -and adjust in the larger current of profit which the -cashier had somehow bridged without scandal for -twenty-seven years. Personally, so far as Bellair -knew, Mr. Sproxley was an honest man, though -not exactly of the manner, and underpaid.</p> - -<p>The cashier’s eyes were black, a black that -would burn you, and unquestionably furtive, although -Bellair sat for two years at a little distance -from the cashier’s desk before he accepted -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>the furtiveness, so deeply laid and set and hardened -were his first impressions. They were -hard eyes as well, like that anthracite which -retains its gleaming black edge, though the side to -the draft is red to the core.</p> - -<p>Mr. Sproxley’s home was in Brooklyn, an -hour’s ride from the office—a little flat in a street -of little flats, all with the same porches, brickwork -and rusty numerals. An apartment for two, -and yet Mr. and Mrs. Sproxley had not moved, -though five black-eyed children had come to them. -The cashier of Lot & Company was a stationary -man—that was his first asset.... A hundred -times Bellair had heard the old formula, delivered -by firm members to some caller at the office:</p> - -<p>“This is our cashier, Mr. Sproxley. He has -been with us twenty-seven years. We have found -him the soul of honour”—the last trailing off into -a whisper—a hundred times in almost the same -words, for the Lots and the Wetherbees bred true. -The visitor would be drawn off and confidently -informed that Mr. Sproxley would die rather than -leave a penny unaccounted; indeed, that his zeal -on the small as well as large affairs was frequently -a disturbance to the office generally, since everything -stopped until the balance swung free. Bellair -knew of this confidential supplement to the -main form, because he had taken it into his own -pores on an early day of his employment. The -lift of that first talk (in Bellair’s case it was from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>the elder Wetherbee, an occasional Thee and -Thou escaping with unworldly felicity) was for -Bellair sometime to attain a similar rock-bound -austerity of honour.... Always the stranger -glanced a second time at Mr. Sproxley during the -firm-member’s low-voiced affirmation of his passionate -integrity.</p> - -<p>Passing to the second floor, the visitor would -meet Mr. Hardburg, head of the manuscript and -periodical department, for Lot & Company had -found a good business in publishing books of story -and poetry at the author’s expense. Here eye -and judgment reigned, Mr. Hardburg’s, on all -matters of book-dress and criticism; yet within -six or seven minutes, the formula would break -through for the attention of the caller, thus:</p> - -<p>“Lot & Company is a conservative House—that’s -why it stands—a House, sir (one felt the -Capital), that has stood for seventy-five years -on a basis of honour and fair dealing, if on a conservative -basis. Lot & Company stands by its -agents and employés first and last. Lot & Company -does not plunge, but over any given period -of time, its progress is apparent and its policy -significantly successful.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Hardburg’s eyes kindled as he spoke—grey -tired eyes, not at all like Mr. Sproxley’s—but the -light waned, and Mr. Hardburg quickly relapsed -into ennui and complaint, for he was a living -sick man. The impression one drew from his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>earlier years, was that he had overstrained as an -athlete, and been a bit loose and undone ever -since.... Now Mr. Hardburg would be called -away for a moment, leaving the stranger in the -office with Miss Rinderley, his assistant. With -fluent and well directed sentences, this lady would -outline the triumphs of Mr. Hardburg from college -to the mastery of criticism which he was now -granted professionally.</p> - -<p>“But what we love best about him,” Miss -Rinderley would say, glancing at the enlarged -photograph above his desk, “is the tireless way -he helps young men. Always he is at that. I -have seen him talk here for an hour—when the -most pressing matters of criticism and editorial -responsibility called—literally giving himself to -some one needing help. Very likely he would -miss his train for the country. Poor Mr. Hardburg, -he needs his rest so——”</p> - -<p>The caller would cry in his heart, “What a -superb old institution this is!” and cover his own -weaknesses and shortcomings in a further sheath -of mannerism and appreciation—the entire atmosphere -strangely prevailing to help one to stifle -rather than to ventilate his real points of view.</p> - -<p>So the establishment moved. The groups of -girls going up and down the back stairs—to count -or tie or paste through all their interesting days—counted -the heads of their respective departments -as their greatest men; spoke of them in awed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>whispers, in certain cases with maternal affection, -and on occasion even with playful intimacy on -the part of a few—but always as a master-workman, -the best man in the business, who expressed -the poorest part of himself in words, and -had to be lived with for years adequately to be -appreciated and understood.</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan Lot, the present head of the firm, -was a dreamer. It was Mr. Sproxley who had -first told Bellair this, but he heard it frequently -afterward, came to recognise it as the accepted -initial saying as regarded the Head, just as his -impeccable honour was Mr. Sproxley’s and unerring -critical instinct Mr. Hardburg’s titular -association. Mr. Nathan was the least quarrelsome -man anywhere, the quietest and the gentlest—a -small bloodless man of fifty, aloof from business; -a man who had worn and tested himself so -little that you would imagine him destined to live -as long again, except for the lugubrious atmospheres -around his desk, in the morning especially, -the sense of imperfect ventilation, though the partitions -were but half-high to the lower floor and -there was a thousand feet to draw from. The -same was beginning in Jabez, the son, something -pent, non-assimilation somewhere. However -Jabez wasn’t a dreamer; at least, dreaming had -not become his identifying proclivity. He was -a head taller than his father with a wide limp -mouth and small expressionless brown eyes—twenty-seven,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -and almost as many times a millionaire.</p> - -<p>Jabez was richer than his father, who was the -direct heir of the House of Lot, but his father’s -dreaming had complicated the flow of another -huge fortune in the familiar domestic fashion—Jabez -being the symbol and centre of the combination; -also the future head of the House of -Lot and Company—up and down town.</p> - -<p>Bellair wondered a long time what the pervading -dream of the father was. He had been -in the office many months, had never heard the -senior-mind give vent to authoritative saying in -finance, literature, science or prints; and while this -did not lower his estimate at all—he was sincerely -eager to get at the sleeping force of this -giant. Mr. Sproxley spoke long on the subject, -but did not know. Mr. Hardburg said:</p> - -<p>“I have been associated with Mr. Nathan for -eleven years now. The appeal of his worth is -not eager and insinuating, but I have this to say—that -in eleven years I have found myself slipping, -slipping into a mysterious, <i>a different</i> regard, -a profounder friendliness—if one might put -it that way—for Mr. Nathan, than any I have -known in my whole career. The fact is I love -Mr. Nathan. He is one of the sweetest spirits -I ever knew.”</p> - -<p>Bellair was interested in dreamers; had a theory -that dreaming was important. When he heard -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>that a certain child was inclined to dreaming, he -was apt to promise a significant future off-hand. -He reflected that even Mr. Hardburg had forgotten -to tell him of the tendency in Mr. Nathan’s -case, but determined not to give up.... Once -in the lower part of the city, he passed the firm-head—a -studious little man making his way along -at the edge of the walk. Bellair spoke before he -thought. Mr. Nathan started up in a dazed way, -appeared to recognise him with difficulty, as if -there was something in the face that the hat made -different. He cleared his voice and inquired with -embarrassment:</p> - -<p>“Are you going to the store?”</p> - -<p>After Bellair had ceased to regret speaking, he -reflected upon the word “store.” The president -of a great manufacturing plant, content to be -known as a tradesman—an excellent, a Quaker -simplicity about that.</p> - -<p>Bellair’s particular friend in the establishment -was Broadwell of the advertising-desk, a young -man of his own age who was improving himself -evenings and who aspired to be a publisher. But -even closer to his heart was Davy Acton, one of -the office-boys, who had been tested out and was -not a liar. A sincere sad-faced lad of fifteen, who -lived with his mother somewhere away down -town. He looked up to Bellair as to a man among -men, one who had achieved. This was hard to -bear on the man’s part, but he was fond of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>youngster and often had him over Sundays, furnishing -books of his own and recommending -others. Davy believed in him. This was the -sensation.</p> - -<p>The only voices that were ever raised in the -establishment were those of the travelling salesmen. -The chief of this department, Mr. Rawter, -was loud-voiced in his joviality. That was <i>his</i> -word—“Mr. Rawter is so jovial.”</p> - -<p>When the roaring joviality of Mr. Rawter -boomed through the lower floor, old Mr. Wetherbee, -the vice-president, would look up from his -desk, and remark quietly to any one who happened -near, “Mr. Rawter is forced to meet the trade, -you know.” It was doubtless his gentle Quaker -conception that wine-lists, back-slapping and -whole-souled abandonment of to-morrow, were -essentials of the road and trade affiliation. From -the rear of the main floor, back among the piles -of stock, reverberating among great square monuments -of ledgers and pamphlets were the jovial -voices of the other salesmen, Mr. Rawter’s seconds, -the Middle-west man, and the Coast-and-South -man—voices slightly muffled, as became -their station, but regular in joviality, and doubtless -as boom-compelling afield as their chief’s, -considering their years.</p> - -<p>Otherwise the elder Mr. Wetherbee—Mr. Seth—presided -over a distinguished silence for the -main. His desk was open to the floor at large. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>He was seventy, and one of the first to arrive in -the morning—a vice-president who opened the -mail, and had in expert scrutiny such matters as -employment, salaries, orders and expenses of the -travelling men on the road. Mr. Seth was not a -dreamer; at least not on week-days—a millionaire, -who gave you the impression that he was -constantly on his guard lest his heart-quality -should suddenly ruin all. The love, the very -ardour of his soul was to <i>give</i> away—to dissipate -the fortunes of his own and the firm-members, but -so successfully had he fought all his life on the -basis of considering the justice to his family and -his firm, that Lot & Company now relied upon -him, undoubting. Thus often a man born -with weakness develops it into his particular -strength....</p> - -<p>The son, Eben Wetherbee, was harder for Bellair -to designate. He seemed a different force, -and called forth secret regard. A religious young -man, who always occurred to Bellair’s mind as he -had once seen him, crossing the Square a summer -evening, a book under his arm, his short steps -lifted and queerly rounded, as if treading a low-geared -sprocket; toes straight out—the whole gait -mincing a little. Eben was smileless and a great -worker. He had no more to do or say with his -father during working hours than any of the -others.</p> - -<p>Such was the firm: Mr. Nathan Lot and his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>son Jabez; Mr. Seth Wetherbee and his son Eben, -and Mr. Rawter who had been given a nominal -quantity of stock after thirty-five years’ service. -In due course Mr. Sproxley would qualify for -this illumination.... And yet not all. Staring -down from the arch over the president’s door -was a dour, white, big-chinned face, done in oils -long ago—almost yellow-white, the black shoulder -deadening away into the background; small -eyes, wide mouth, but firmly hung—grandfather -to Mr. Nathan, but no dreamer; great grand-sire -to Mr. Jabez, but nothing loose-mouthed about -the face of this, the original Jabez Lot,—organising -genius of the House, and its first president, -spoken of with awe and reverence; the first millionaire -of the family and builder of its Gramercy -mansion.... Suddenly, it had come to Bellair -that this was the spirit of the Store, this picture -was its symbol, that the slow strangulation -of the souls of all concerned had begun in that -white head, the planting of this bed of crooked -canes.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">One morning when Bellair was well into his third -year with the printing-firm, the silence was broken -on the lower floor. He was shaken that day into -the real secret of the house. A certain Mr. -Prentidd had been in conversation with Mr. -Rawter some moments. The jovial voice of -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>the head-salesman was without significance to -those near his partition—a part of the routine. -Mr. Prentidd had invented a combination -ledger and voucher-file that was having some -sale in America, being manufactured and distributed -by Lot & Company. Mr. Rawter on a -recent trip abroad had been empowered to dispose -of the English rights. The result, it now -appeared, did not prove satisfactory to the inventor. -The voice of the latter was raised. One -felt the entire building subside into a quivering -hush.</p> - -<p>“I tell you, sir, I don’t trust you. I have heard -in fact that the only way you could hurt your -reputation here in New York or on the road would -be to tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>To Bellair there was something deeply satisfying -in that remark of the inventor’s—something -long awaited and very good. He saw Mr. Seth -arise, his chin moving in a sickly fashion, a very -old pathetic Mr. Seth. He realised that Mr. -Rawter had laughed—that something had been -burned from that laugh. Mr. Prentidd was hurried -forth, and the nullifying system began. Mr. -Jabez emerged from his father’s office and turning -to Broadwell at the advertising-desk, said in -a tone universally penetrative:</p> - -<p>“What a pity that Mr. Prentidd drinks. There -are few men finer to deal with when he is -himself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Seth, in his chair again, sitting frog-like -and gasping, remarked to Mr. Sproxley across the -distance: “I really must ask Mr. Prentidd to -come to us earlier in the day. He’s far too worthy -a man to disgrace himself in this way.”</p> - -<p>Bellair wondered that the point of Mr. Prentidd’s -remark seemed entirely lost. As for himself -he counted it worthy of regard. The episode -was but begun. The inventor returned immediately, -just as Mr. Rawter was stepping out. -The two men met in the main corridor. It appeared -that Mr. Prentidd repeated a certain question, -for the head-salesman replied, the roundness -of the joviality gone from his voice:</p> - -<p>“I tell you, Mr. Prentidd, the situation has -changed. I could not dispose of the English order -at a better figure to save my soul. I extracted -every cent for you and for the House.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you. Other matters of the -same kind do better. If you speak the truth, you -made a very bad bargain for yourself and what is -more important, for me——”</p> - -<p>The least like an inventor imaginable, a most -physical person, Mr. Prentidd, with a fiery sense -of his own rights and a manner as soft as his voice -was penetrating. He turned a leisurely look of -scorn at Mr. Rawter, half-stare and half-smile, -then appeared to perceive the elder Mr. Wetherbee -for the first time. The old man arose. Bellair -felt the agony of expectancy far back among -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>the stock-piles. The inventor shot straight at -the vice-president:</p> - -<p>“You’re an old man. I’ll trust your word. -You’re an old man and a Quaker—yes, I’ll take -your word. Your man, Rawter, says he could -get only seven and one-half cents’ royalty for me -on my Nubian file from England. I say it’s only -half what I should get. Is it true—remember -you’re old. Is it true?”</p> - -<p>Prentidd’s face had power in it, exasperation -and the remains of a laugh. It appeared that he -was content to take a gambler’s chance and close -the ugly business on Mr. Seth’s word.</p> - -<p>The old man’s eye roved. He looked sick and -shaken. He found the eyes of his son Eben which -were full of terror and pity and hope.</p> - -<p>“Answer me. Could Lot & Company get no -more than fifteen cents altogether on the English -patents?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wetherbee’s lips moved. “That’s all -we could get, Mr. Prentidd. I’m sorry,” he -said.</p> - -<p>For an instant Mr. Prentidd stood there. It -was evident that he had expected a different -answer. True to his promise to take the old man’s -word, however, he turned on his heel and walked -out.</p> - -<p>On the high sloping desk before Bellair’s eyes, -a big ledger lay open. He had turned during the -talk to the transaction of Prentidd—Lot & Company.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -The English disposal had been arranged for -at twenty-five cents the file, royalty. Apparently -Mr. Prentidd had agreed upon an even split, but -Lot & Company had taken seventeen and the -fraction.</p> - -<p>Bellair was ill. The nausea crept down through -his limbs, and up to his throat. The thing had -worked out before him with such surety and -clarity. The head of Mr. Sproxley moved about -as if on a swivel, his body in writing position -still. Presently he stepped down from his high -stool, and came to Bellair’s side. Placing his pen -behind his ear, he lifted the ledger from under -Bellair’s eyes, his lips compressed with the effort. -Then he placed it on his own desk to close it -tenderly, after which it was taken to its niche -in the vault.</p> - -<p>The office was silent. Just now Bellair’s eyes -turned as if subtly attracted to the place where -Eben Wetherbee sat. The young man’s smileless -eyes, almost insane with apprehension and -sadness, were turned with extraordinary intent -upon the place where his father sat. Bellair’s -followed. The old man sat plumped in his chair; -he gulped, tried to turn. His face looked as if -he heard a ghost whispering. Yet he seemed unable -to trust himself, hardly daring to meet the -eyes that awaited. His hands lifted to the papers -before him, but did not feel properly. He seemed -a man of eighty. Mr. Eben came forward at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>last and asked Mr. Sproxley if he might look at -the Prentidd transaction.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t posted yet, Mr. Eben,” said the -cashier.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At the side door at closing time, Bellair happened -to pass a party of young women coming -down from the bindery. One was saying:</p> - -<p>“... and Mr. Prentidd was quite helpless -after the scene—so that they had to call a taxi-cab -for him. Isn’t it dreadful he drinks so?”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was a personal result for Bellair, which -he at no time misunderstood.</p> - -<p>“We have considered creating a position for -you next to Mr. Sproxley,” said the elder Mr. -Wetherbee, the second morning following.</p> - -<p>Bellair bowed.</p> - -<p>“Since you have been with us less than three -years, this is very good comment on the character -of your services and our hope for your future -with us——”</p> - -<p>“What additional salary goes with the position?” -Bellair had asked.</p> - -<p>“If I followed my own inclination, it would -be considerable. I have been able to secure for -you, however, but a slight increase——”</p> - -<p>This was one of Mr. Seth’s little ways. He -added hopes of fine quality. There was a further -point:</p> - -<p>“You will at times handle considerable money -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>and we must insist upon your putting in trust for -us the sum of two thousand dollars.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t two thousand dollars, Mr. Wetherbee,” -Bellair said.</p> - -<p>“Of course, we trust you. It is a form—a -form, nevertheless, upon which a valuable relation -of this kind should be placed on a business -basis.”</p> - -<p>Bellair repeated.</p> - -<p>“But you have friends——”</p> - -<p>“Not with two thousand dollars’ surety for me—no -friend like that.”</p> - -<p>“Banks insist upon this—among those employés -who handle much money——”</p> - -<p>“I know—but that amount cannot be arranged.”</p> - -<p>“How much can you put in trust available -to Lot & Company in event of your departure——”</p> - -<p>“I have slightly less than one thousand -dollars——”</p> - -<p>“Could you raise one thousand dollars?”</p> - -<p>“With some effort.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, it will draw interest for you——”</p> - -<p>“I understand these affairs.”</p> - -<p>The matter was referred to the next day when -it was decided to accept Bellair’s amount of one -thousand dollars, which Lot & Company could -not touch without his consent, except in the event -of his departure with company funds; and which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>Bellair could not draw without written statement -from Lot & Company to the effect that he -was leaving with a balanced account.</p> - -<p>Thereafter he was one with Mr. Sproxley in -the financial management, under the eye of Seth -Wetherbee. One by one he learned the points of -the system. Wherever the accounts had run over -a series of years, there were byways of loot. These -pilferings were not made at once, on the same -basis that a gardener does not cut asparagus for -market from young roots. The plants were encouraged -to establish themselves. After that -the open market was supplied with a certain output, -the rest belonging to Lot & Company’s table. -It frequently occurred to Bellair with a sort of -enveloping darkness that he had the institution -in his power; and with a different but equal force -that he had a life position in all naturalness; that -his life would be spent with slowly increasing -monetary reward for juggling the different accounts—the -field of crooked canes which was the -asparagus-bed of Lot & Company. He did not -like it. He was not happy; and yet he realised -that the adjustments his nature had already made -to the facts, suggested an entire adjustment later, -the final easy acceptance.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair had thought many times of getting -out from under the die, but it never came to -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>him with quite the force as on that Monday -morning, after watching the <i>Jade</i> fare forth from -the Brooklyn water-front. Something had turned -within him as a result of that little pilgrimage, -something that spurred to radicalism and self-assertion. -At no time had Bellair credited himself -with a fairer honesty than most men. He -had never given it a large part of thinking. -Roughly he had believed that to be honest is the -common lot. The corruption in the office which -he could not assimilate had to do with extensive -ramifications, its lying to itself. The instant seizing -upon Mr. Prentidd’s alleged weakness on the -part of the younger Lot and the elder Wetherbee; -the action of Mr. Sproxley with the ledger; the -subtle will-breaking and spiritual blinding of all -the employés in a process that never slept and -was operative in every thought and pulse of the -establishment—the extent and talent of these, -and the untellable blackness of it all, prevailed -upon Bellair with the force of a life-impression.</p> - -<p>Bellair’s present devil was a kind of inertia. -Granting that the Unknowable had been charged -with periods of intense action of several kinds, -the recent half-decade might be regarded as its -reflex condition. There is an ebb and flow to all -things, and it is easier to adjust Bellair’s years -at Lot & Company as a sort of resting period -for his faculties, than to accept a constitutional -inertia in his case, for subsequent events do not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>quite bear that out. He doubtless belonged to -that small class of down town men who do their -work well enough, but without passion, who have -faced the modern world and its need of bread and -cake, and who have compromised, giving hours in -exchange for essential commodities, but nothing -like the full energies of their lives. It is a way -beset with pitfalls, but the unavoidable result of -a system that multiplies products and profits and -minimizes the chances for fine workmanship on -every hand. Moreover in Bellair’s case there is a -philosophical detachment to be considered. The -aims and purports of the printing establishment -were coldly and absolutely material. These did -not challenge him to any fine or full expenditure -of his powers; and if he had touched that higher -zone of philosophy which makes a consecration of -the simplest and the heaviest tasks, he had at least -found it impracticable to make it work among the -systems of Lot & Company’s business.</p> - -<p>The two years or more since he was made assistant -cashier had brought many further items and -exhibits. He was now used on the left hand side -of the throne, developed in the darkness-department -already overworked, the eye of which was -Mr. Seth and the hand, Mr. Sproxley. For as -yet Bellair believed that even Eben Wetherbee -had only suspicions. This was the bite of the -whole drama. There were men in the building -who would have died for their conviction that the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>House was honest. You might have told these -men that Lot & Company was a morgue of conservatism; -that having existed under a certain -policy for seventy-five years, was the chief reason -for its changing; that free, unhampered genius -never found utterance through that House—and -any of a dozen clerks would have laughed, spoken -proudly of unerring dividends and uncanny stability, -granting the rest. But that Lot & Company -was structurally crooked was incredible except to -the few who performed the trick. Bellair knew, -for instance, that his best friend in the office, -Broadwell, head of the advertising, was innocent....</p> - -<p>Monday passed without his giving notice. He -quailed before the questions that would be asked. -If it were not for the one thousand dollars, he -would have escaped with a mere “Good-night,” -though a panic would have started until the Company -was assured of the innocence of his departure. -As for a panic, Lot & Company had that -coming, he thought. Now he knew that he would -not be able to get his surety-deposit until all was -made certain in his regard by the firm....</p> - -<p>Bellair wasn’t greedy, nor caught in any great -desire for wealth. He had fallen into the Down town -Stream, but did not belong. Every month -had weakened him. He disliked to lose his beginnings -toward competence; all the subtle pressures -of Lot & Company worked upon him not to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>change. There was no other way open. He had -been touched by the fear of fear—a sort of poorhouse -horror that dogs men up into the millions -and down to the grave. In a way, he had become -slave to the Job. He even had the suspicion that -more men maim their souls by sticking to their -jobs than by any dissipation. This is the way to -the fear of fear—the insane undertow of modern -materialism.</p> - -<p>He had tried to find peace outside his work in -music and different philanthropies, but the people -he met, their seriousness, perhaps more than anything -else, and the vanity of their intellectualism, -aroused his sense of humour. Bellair believed in -the many, but was losing belief in himself. Often -he had turned back to evenings in the room, and -realised that the days were draining him too much -for his own real expression of any kind. Always -he felt that Lot & Company was too strong for -his temper, that his edge was dulled in every contact. -From his depressions, he saw ahead only -two ways—a life of this, or a moment in which -he had Lot & Company in his power unequivocably. -The last was poisonous, and he knew it. -He would have to fall considerably to profit by -this sort of thing, but the inevitable conclusion -of the whole matter, was that the life with Lot & -Company was slowly but surely <i>getting him down</i>.</p> - -<p>On Tuesday noon, Mr. Seth asked him to take -to lunch a certain young stationer from Philadelphia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -named Filbrick. They were made acquainted -in the corridor. Passing out, Bellair -and his companion met the smile of Mr. Sproxley. -Bellair began the formula of the cashier’s absolute -and autocratic integrity. He did not really -hear himself, until he reached this part:</p> - -<p>“I happen to be in the financial department. -Two or three times each year, the whole office is -thrown into a mess over some little strayed account——”</p> - -<p>He stopped. It was less that he was saying -this, than that he had come so far without a nudge -from within. They had passed the big front -doors, and met the wind of the street before he -realised how deep the mannerism of the establishment -had prevailed upon him. The process had -passed almost into fulfilment before the truth -within him had stirred from its sleep.... A very -grey day. All through that luncheon he had found -himself at angles from his companion, in strategic -hollows, never in the level open. It wasn’t that -he was different from usual, but that he was -watching himself more shrewdly. His inner coherence -was repeatedly broken, though the outer -effects were not. He had never perceived before -with such clarity that a man cannot be square -and friendly to another man, when his mind and -critical faculties are busy appraising him, while -his eyes and lips approved and assuaged. Bellair -that day realised his moral derangement—that he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>must be ripped open and his displaced organs corrected -once for all, if anything decent was to come -from him ever again.... He was still thinking -in mid-afternoon, in the very trance of these -thoughts, when he happened to look into Mr. -Sproxley’s face. It seemed to him that there was -a movement of most pitiful activities back of the -red and black of Mr. Sproxley’s eyes.</p> - -<p>There was much mental roving on Bellair’s part -that week; moments in which the Monday morning -abandon returned, and his self-amazement of -the Tuesday luncheon, upon discovering how -deeply his thoughts were imbedded in the prevailing -lie. New York and the salary clutched him -hard at intervals; so that he saw something of -what was meant to give it up; also he saw that -dreams are dreams.... Thousands of other -young men would be glad to do his work, even -his dirty work.</p> - -<p>He had just returned from lunch on Friday -when he started, to perceive the ruddy face and -powerful frame of Mr. Prentidd darken the front -door—which he had not done since his voice was -last raised. Bellair was conscious of Seth Wetherbee -hitching up his chair and a peculiar gasping -cough from the old man, but his own eyes did not -turn from the caller’s face—which moved slowly -about, the pale little exchange-miss behind the -first barrier, attentive to catch the stranger’s eye -and answer his question. The inventor glanced -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>slowly among desks and doors. His eye sought -Sproxley, and the furtive black eyes of the latter -shot down to his ledger as if crippled on the wing. -His eyes held Bellair and the young man felt the -scorn of ages burn through his veins—something -new to his later life, yet deep in his heart, something -he had known somewhere before, as if he -had betrayed a good king, and his punishment -had been to look that king in the eye before he -died. Bellair had never hated himself as at that -moment, and certainly never before felt himself -identified body and soul with modern corruption, -as now with scorn like a fiery astringent in his -veins. The eyes of Mr. Prentidd finally settled -upon the figure of Mr. Seth Wetherbee, their rays -striking him abeam as it were. The old man -hunched closer if anything, but did not raise his -head.</p> - -<p>The inventor was a physical person; his morals -of a physical nature; his Nubian file of the same -dimension and method of mind—a strong man -who had to do with pain and pleasure of the flesh; -his ideas of possessions were of the world. He -moved softly, a soft, dangerous smile upon his -lips, to the desk of the vice-president and jerked -up a chair. The old man had to raise his head. -It was as if the scene of three years ago was now -to be continued, for Bellair saw the sorrowful, -lengthened face of Mr. Eben turn from his desk in -the other room and bend toward his father, whose -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>face was intensely pathetic now in its forced smile -of greeting.</p> - -<p>“You’re not looking well—in fact, you’re looking -old, Mr. Wetherbee, as if you would die pretty -soon.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so strong as I was, Mr. Prentidd.”</p> - -<p>Bellair couldn’t have done it, as the inventor -did. Had the man stolen and ruined him—he -could not have pushed on after the pathos of that.</p> - -<p>“You’re a dirty old man—and you’ll die hard -and soon—for you lied to me when I trusted you. -I suppose you have lied to everybody, all your -life——”</p> - -<p>Thus he baited Mr. Seth feature by feature, -pointing out the disorder of liver, kidney-puffs, the -general encroachments of death, in fact. Then he -pictured the death itself—all of a low literary -strength as was Mr. Prentidd’s cold habit. The -answer of Mr. Seth was an incoherent helplessness, -his lips moving but with nothing rational -under the sun, as if he had been called by some inexorable -but superior being to an altitude where he -was too evil to breathe, and begged piteously to -be allowed to sink back and die. It was Mr. -Eben who stopped it, coming forward quietly, his -steps rounded, his shoulders bent, his face seeming -brittle as chalk in its fixity. The thing that he -said was quite absurd:</p> - -<p>“You really mustn’t, Mr. Prentidd. It is too -much.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<p>The inventor turned to him. His look was that -of a man who turns a large morsel in his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a slow -laugh. “There is this delicacy to old liars. Come -give me my check—and I will go.”</p> - -<p>“Your check——” Mr. Eben repeated.</p> - -<p>“Yes, now—the check for the difference which -your father’s lie cost me three years ago. I have -seen the English books——”</p> - -<p>Now young Mr. Jabez Lot came forward:</p> - -<p>“Of course, if there has been error or any -breach of contract—of course, you see a check off -hand such as you ask is out of the question——”</p> - -<p>The elder Mr. Wetherbee sank back to his desk; -and now the dreamer, Mr. Nathan Lot, appeared -with a frightened word of amelioration. Mr. Eben -stood by the caller to the last moment. The latter -was not at his best in this period—his threats and -anger amounted to the usual result. Lot & Company -refused to deal further, referring him to its -attorney. The strangest part of it all was the -gathering of three around Mr. Seth Wetherbee’s -desk—Mr. Jabez and his father with Mr. Eben. -Yet the concern of the Lots, father and son, had -nothing to do with dangerous exhaustion of the -vice-president.</p> - -<p>“We have beaten him,” the dreamer said softly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mr. Jackson will do the rest,” said Mr. -Jabez. Mr. Jackson was the attorney.</p> - -<p>Bellair, even with his training, had to take it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>slowly. “Beaten him”—that meant that the -money had not passed to Mr. Prentidd. It was -now with the law and the years—millions against -a mere inventor. The psychic slaughtering of the -old vice-president did not count—nothing of -words counted. The firm had won, because the -firm had not been knocked down and its pockets -rifled—that would have meant loss. Not having -been forced to pay, they had won.... Even as -Bellair thought this out in full, the system of -salving had begun from all the firm-heads for the -benefit of those who heard. It was simply arranged -and stated.... Their worst fears were -realised: Mr. Prentidd was insane.... Mr. -Seth went home early. Bellair knew that Mr. -Eben had not been able to turn all responsibility -to Mr. Jackson.... That afternoon Bellair -reached his decision—in fact, he found it finished -within him after the scene.</p> - -<p>Yet he could not walk out at once, since he -must have the amount of his surety, the item of -interest and salary due. A certain project in his -mind prevented the possibility of waiting several -days for this amount to be detached from Lot & -Company. Especially now after the final scene, -they would make themselves very sure of his accounts -and intentions. Late that Friday afternoon, -it happened that considerable cash came in -after banking hours. Bellair’s custom was to put -this in a safety-vault until the following day. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>This time he held out the amount of his deposit -and two years’ interest, together with the amount -of his salary to date, locking up with the balance -his order of release to the account of the Trust -company. He determined to write a letter to -Nathan Lot at once....</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">4</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The City had a different look to him that night -in his new sense of detachment. There were -moments at dinner in which he felt as if he were -already forgotten and out of place. Bellair had -only known the one landlady in his five years -of New York; yet he knew this one no better -now than at the end of the first month. Perhaps -there was nothing more to learn. She was -anæmic of body, and yet did prodigious tasks, -very quiet, very grey; and days to her were -like endless rooms of the same house, all grim -and uniform. She had her little ways, her continual -suspicions, but all her faith was gone. -Without church, without friends, without any -new thought or gossip, her view of the world was -neither magnified nor diminished, but greatly -shortened, her eyes were almost incredibly dim. -There was nothing to love about her. She was -not excessively clean, nor excellent in cooking. -She was like wax-work, a little dusty, her mind -and all. Bellair paid her for the week, and added -a present:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> - -<p>“Which I forgot on your birthday,” he said.</p> - -<p>She held it in her hand. It did not seem hers. -The apathy extended to all that was not actually -due; all expectancy dead.</p> - -<p>“You mean you are giving this to me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Bellair,—perhaps you will -want it some time again.”</p> - -<p>He wrote the letter to Mr. Nathan, but decided -not to mail it until the last thing. He was restless -over the irregularity in the money affair—had -to assure himself again and again that he -was taking not a cent that did not belong to him. -The boarding-house was in the upper Forties between -Broadway and Sixth avenue, and though -he usually turned eastward for pleasure, this night -he went among his own people, where even a -nickle was medium of exchange. A stimulant did -not exactly relieve his tension. His sense was -that of loneliness, as he chose a table in <i>Brandt’s</i> -indoor garden.</p> - -<p>A mixed quartette presently broke into song behind -him. Bellair’s thoughts were far from song. -He was not expectant of music that would satisfy. -Still something tugged him—again and again—until -he really listened, but without turning. It -was the voice of the contralto that was making -an impression deep where his need was. There -seemed an endless purple background to it, like a -night of stars and south wind; the soft, deep -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>volume rolled forth <i>for him</i>, and found itself expressed -without amazement or travail. He turned -now. The one voice was from the throat of a -girl, just a girl, and though it was a gusty November, -she was still wearing her summer hat.</p> - -<p>The face was merely pretty, but the voice was -drama; flame of poppies in the presence of a -fabulous orchid. Bellair’s heart may have been -particularly sensitive to impression that night. -The big brilliant den known as <i>Brandt’s</i> did not -seem to have been cast into any enchantment; and -yet it was likely that Bellair knew as much about -music natively and by acquisition as any one present. -In fact, he had reached the state of appreciation -which dares to enjoy that which appeals and -to say so, having endured for several winters a -zeal which rushed him from one to another -musical event, intolerant of all save classic symphonies. -It wasn’t the music that held him now—a -high flowery operatic matter not particularly -interesting nor well-done—but the contralto was -just a little girl, and the round girlish breast which -held nothing miraculous for the many, was sending -forth tones that quivered through Bellair, -spine and thigh, and thrilling his mind with a -profound passion to do something for the singer—an -intrinsic and clean emotion, but one which -made him ashamed. For an instant, he felt himself -setting out on the great adventure of his life, -the faintest aroma of its romance touching his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>senses; something akin to his dreams in the prison -of Lot & Company, and which he had not sensed -at all since his departure, until this instant. -Quickly it passed; yet he had the sense that -this great romance had to do with the little -singer.</p> - -<p>At once he wanted to take her from the other -three; dreamed of working for her, so that she -might have the chance she craved. Of course, she -wanted something terribly; passionate want always -went with such a voice. He saw her future -alone. Some vampire of a manager would hear -her. She would tie up—the little summer hat -told him that. She would tie up, and New York -would take her bloom before the flower matured—would -take more than her little song. Here -she was in <i>Brandt’s</i> already, and singing as if for -the angels.</p> - -<p>Bellair was four-fifths undiscovered country, -as are all men but the very few, who dare to be -themselves. Already the world was calling to him -sharply for this first step aside from the worn -highways of the crowd. He had not been normal -to-night, even in his room; and his present adventure -had already summoned forth all the hateful -reserves of his training, as Prentidd’s departure -had started the lies through the floors and halls -of Lot & Company. His heart was calling out to -the little singer, that here was a friend, one who -understood and wanted nothing but to give; yet -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>all that he had learned from the world was beating -him back into the crowd.</p> - -<p>He saw that the music had hardly penetrated -the vast vulgar throng. New York is so accustomed -to be amused, to dine to music and forget -itself in various entertainments, that the quartette -barely held its own against the routine of eating -and drink and the voices of rising stimulation. -It was Bellair who started the little applause when -the first number was over. He hated to do it. -The clapping of hands drew to himself eyes that -he did not care to cultivate, but it seemed the only -way just then to help her to make good.</p> - -<p>The four of the quartette looked at him curiously, -appraising his value as a critic, perhaps. -Was he drunk or really appealed to? Was he -worth considering? Applause at any price is -dearly to be had. They took him in good faith, -since he was not without desirable appearance. -The young girl and the tenor arose and sang:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“<i>Oh, that we two were Maying——</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The old song was a kind of fulfilment for -Bellair, and preciously wrung his heart. He had -never been Maying; wasn’t sure what sort of holidays -were pulled off in regular Mayings; but he -liked the song, and for all he knew the familiar -sentiment was evoked bewitchingly. Many others -now caught the thrall. These things are infectious. -From hatred, he came to love <i>Brandt’s</i>—as -if he had come home, and had been long away -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>hungering—as if this were life, indeed.... -They sang the last verse again, and sat down for -hurried refreshment. The four were very near. -The young girl caught Bellair’s eye, regarded him -shyly for an instant, and turned to whisper to -the bass, who seemed in charge of the four.</p> - -<p>“... Yes, but hurry back. We’ve got to pull -out of here.”</p> - -<p>Bellair wasn’t dangling. Never had he been -more intent to be decent and helpful. No one -knew this. Even the girl was far from expectant. -... She sat down beside him.</p> - -<p>“Hello,” she said. “You don’t live in New -York, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, why?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you looked so homesick—when we sang.”</p> - -<p>Bellair’s heart sank.</p> - -<p>“I think I was homesick. What may I order -for you?”</p> - -<p>“A little Rhine wine—it’s very good here—and -a sandwich——”</p> - -<p>The waiter was standing by. Bellair had to -clear his voice before ordering. He was distressed—up -to his eyes in gloom that was general and -without name.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">5</p> - -<p class="no-indent">“Do you sing in other places to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, we’re just beginning. We’re on -Broadway at eleven.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“First at <i>Pastern’s</i>, then at the <i>Castle</i>.”</p> - -<p>These places were just without the orbit of -extravagance. She knew her answer was not -exactly a stock-raiser, and added:</p> - -<p>“But I expect to be on the road in the -Spring——”</p> - -<p>“Who with?”</p> - -<p>She mentioned a light opera troupe that was -just short of broad and unqualified approval—like -<i>Brandt’s</i> and <i>Pastern’s</i>—an institution as yet -without that mysterious toppiness which needs no -props and meets sanction anywhere. These things -are exactly ordered.</p> - -<p>“But you are so good—you should be with people -who would help you.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him a little scornfully, something -of weather and stress under the summer hat. She -decided to be agreeable. “They all say that,” -she said wearily.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry. I said just what I thought.”</p> - -<p>“Study—a girl without a cent!” She lowered -her voice: “Go with better people—before one is -invited? Swing to the top of the opera before -one is sufficiently urged?... Why, singing isn’t -all. One must do more than sing——”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe that——”</p> - -<p>“You should try. Singing won’t get you -across. You’ve got to act, for one thing.”</p> - -<p>He was relieved that she did not discuss the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>angel business, which is forgotten in so few stories -of struggle and failure.</p> - -<p>“I tell you, all that one has to do is to sing—when -one sings as you do.”</p> - -<p>“I have heard that many times,” she said bitterly, -“from people not in the fight. They didn’t -come to New York on their nerve—as I did. I -made up my mind not to be afraid of wolves or -bears or cars—to take what I could get, and wait -until somebody beckoned me higher. Meanwhile -<i>Pastern’s</i> and the <i>Castle</i> and here——”</p> - -<p>“I wish I could do something for you.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes gleamed at him.</p> - -<p>“You need money?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I need money so terribly—that it’s almost a -joke—but what do <i>you</i> want?”</p> - -<p>Bellair rubbed his eyes, and smiled a little. “I -don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I want -to do something for you. At least, I did want -just that.”</p> - -<p>“What happened?”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a thing to talk or think about, I’m -afraid. One starts thinking, and ends by wanting -something—and I didn’t at first. What I said at -first I meant—nothing more nor less.”</p> - -<p>Her lips tightened. “If you mean just -that——”</p> - -<p>It raked him within. He did not help her by -speaking. Somehow he had expected her to see -that he had meant well. It was always a mystery -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>to him how anything fine could be expected of -men, if women were not so.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I have to understand,” she added. -“I can do with a poor room and poor food, but -I can’t get anywhere without clothes.... I must -go now.”</p> - -<p>“I want you to excuse me if I’ve given you the -idea of my being rich. I’m not, but I might help -you some. How late do you work?”</p> - -<p>“One o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you last?”</p> - -<p>“At the <i>Castle</i>.”</p> - -<p>“And what time do you get there?”</p> - -<p>“About eleven-thirty.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there. Sing ‘<i>Maying</i>’ for an encore——”</p> - -<p>She made believe that she trusted him.</p> - -<p>“We’ll sing it at the <i>Castle</i> the last thing,” she -said, leaving hastily.</p> - -<p>No ease had come to him. His thoughts now -were not the same as those which had come during -the singing. He tried to put them away. He -didn’t like the idea of giving her money. He -knew that she didn’t expect to see him again; -also that if he did come she would accept the service -of a stranger, and give in return as little as she -could. How explicit she was, already touched -with the cold stone of the world. He did want -to help her, and it had been pure at first. Talk -as usual had broken the beauty of that. Sophistication<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -and self-consciousness had come; her face -changing more and more as the moments passed -after the song. New York had taught them each -their parts. It had been her thought from the first -that he was looking for prey, but it had been very -far from his.</p> - -<p>Bellair was not without imagination. He saw -himself following this girl in a future time, playing -the part he had despised in other men—the -dumb, slaving, enduring male; she continually -expectant of his services, petulant, unreasonable -without them. For the first time the question -came to him: Is there not a queer sort of conquest -in the lives of such men?... She was for herself; -had it all planned out, the waiting, and what -she would give on the way up, beside her song. -It would not be much; as little as possible, in fact; -but as much as was absolutely demanded. Bellair -in the present state of mind seemed to object to -all this less than what she wanted of the world—praise -and fame.</p> - -<p>“She’s just a little girl after all,” he muttered. -“She ought to have her chance.”</p> - -<p>He added (easing the conception a little for -his own peace) that she was only franker and -more outspoken than other women he had known; -that they all wanted money and place, and wanted -men who could furnish such things. Suddenly it -occurred that the incident automatically supplied -the final break with Lot & Company and New -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>York. He laughed aloud.... He might borrow -enough in time to make up the amount he -gave her for morning, but that would certainly -be a betrayal of the fiery urge that had whipped -him all week to cross over into a new life and -burn the last bridge.</p> - -<p>He took his bags down to the station, arranging -with the landlady to have his goods stored for the -present. After that he rambled, a grateful freshness -in the cool wind. His steps led through -darker streets, where he startled the misery from -the faces of the forbidden who took a chance on -him. Their voices <i>would</i> whine; they couldn’t -help it, and all they wanted in the world was -money.... He was at the <i>Castle</i> before the -quartette came.... They sang and Bellair -dreamed.</p> - -<p>He had never made pretence of other than the -commonest lot; yet he conned now an early manhood -that made later years utterly common. He -followed the enticements of the sea, of the future, -the singing-girl never far away, the rest shadows -and sadness.... He must do something for her.... -Rich natural tones winged forth from the -breast of a maid, from shoulders so delicate and -white. He would make and keep her great; here -was something to do, to work for. It was like -finding the ultimate secret. He knew now what -had been the matter all the time—nothing to -work for.... He would stand between her and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>all that he knew was rotten—the crowds like this -at the <i>Castle</i>, the blurred face of the tenor which -was both sharp and soft, the tired, tawdry soprano, -the stupid animal of a bass. And Bellair, in the -magnanimity of his heart’s effusion, included himself -among the forces of destruction. He would -keep her from the worst of himself, by all means.... -She kept her promise, and arose with the -tenor at last:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“<i>Oh, that we two were Maying——</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>... New York and all the rest reversed again -in his mind. It wasn’t rotten, but lavish to furnish -everything for money—so much that men -and women were lost in the offerings, and did -not know what to choose. Yet it was man’s business -to choose. Bellair listened as one across -the world; as if he had been gone a year and was -thirsting and starving to get back. He was literally -longing for New York, with its ramifications -all about him—yet the thing he wanted, he could -not touch. It was like a sick stomach that infested -his whole nature with desire, while everything -was at hand but the exact nameless thing -desired.... She was like a saint, as she stood -there, her mouth so pure, her features so pretty, -her voice so brave and tireless—starry to Bellair, -a night-voice with depths and heights -and dew-fragrance. She was coming to -him.</p> - -<p>“You look just the same. I wouldn’t take you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>for a New Yorker.... Yes, I am through for -to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I should think you’d love to sing,” he said.</p> - -<p>The remark was fatuous to her. She didn’t -know that a year ago Bellair wouldn’t have dared -to say anything so commonplace, but that he had -come back to this simplicity from the complication -of classics she had never heard of.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, what do you want most?” he asked -earnestly. “I don’t mean the need of clothes. -We’ve covered that——”</p> - -<p>“I want all that a voice will bring.”</p> - -<p>“Great salaries, noise wherever you go, a continual -performance of newspaper articles?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“A score of men praying for favours?”</p> - -<p>She sipped warily.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind my question. It isn’t fair. But -tell me, doesn’t it do something to you—to get -even a man like me going, for instance,—to make -him all different and full of pictures that haven’t -anything to do with the case?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean.”</p> - -<p>He stared at her. “You ought to. You do it. -I’m not talking of art or soul, or any of that stuff. -That isn’t it. I mean just what your singing -amounts to in my case. It means New York, but -not the routine New York—possibly the New -York that might be. It means <i>Maying</i>—whatever -that is——”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> -<p>“You must have been drinking a lot, since I -left <i>Brandt’s</i>,” she said merrily.</p> - -<p>He didn’t let it hurt him, and was miserable -anyway. “The fact is, I didn’t take a drink since -Sixth avenue, until a moment ago.”</p> - -<p>He saw that she was debating the vital matter -of the evening—whether he was a piker who must -be shaken presently, or whether he would really -make good on his offer to help in the essentials of -career.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Bessie Brealt.”</p> - -<p>“And where could I find you, if I wanted to -write?”</p> - -<p>He noted her swift disappointment. There -was positive pain in the air. He knew well what -she was thinking, though her sweet face covered -well: that he was about to promise to send the -money to her, that ancient beau business. She -took a last chance, and mentioned a booking -agency that might answer for a permanent address.</p> - -<p>“I’ll want to write—I feel that. And -here, Bessie, if you don’t mind my saying -‘Bessie,’ I can spare a hundred for that -wardrobe. I’d like to do some really big thing -for you.”</p> - -<p>He saw tears start to her eyes, but was not carried -out of reason by them. She had wanted the -money fiercely and it had come.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - -<p>“How are you going to get home?” he asked, -to relieve the embarrassment.</p> - -<p>She glanced up quickly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean that I want to take you home,” -he said, shocked by the ugliness of the world that -had called this explanation so hastily. “My train -needs me.... Say, Bessie, men haven’t supplied -you with altogether pleasant experiences so far, -have they?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get a car home.”</p> - -<p>He gave her his card.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Better let me get you a cab to-night. It’s -late.”</p> - -<p>She thanked him again.... At the curb, as -the driver backed in, Bessie put up her lips to him.</p> - -<p>“... Dear singing-girl—I didn’t ask that.”</p> - -<p>“It’s because you didn’t, I think. Really that’s -it. Oh, thank you. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>Bellair beckoned another cab, and sank back -into the dark. All the way to the station, and -through to the Savannah-Pullman, he was wrenching -himself clear from something like a passion -to turn about to New York. At the last moment, -before the train moved, he recalled the letter to -Mr. Nathan, and hailed a station porter from -the step.</p> - -<p>“Please mail this for me,” he said, bringing up -silver with the letter.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65-67]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_THREE_THE_JADE_II">PART THREE<br /> -THE JADE: II</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>ellair</span> had to wait less than two days -in Savannah, for the <i>Jade</i> had made a -pretty passage. Impressions rushed -home too swift for his mind to follow, -as he stepped aboard from the cotton dock; the -number of impressions, he did not know, until he -began the inventory in his cabin afterward. Last -and first and most compelling, however, was the -spectacle of Stackhouse, that David Hume figure -of a man, reclining in his cane-chair of similar -vast proportions just aft of the main-shrouds. A -momentous hammock of canes, that steamer-chair, -with gentle giving slopes for the calves and broad -containers, polished with wear and tightly woven -like armour, for the arms; a sliding basket for -the head, suggestive of a guillotine’s grisly complement; -the whole adjusted to Stackhouse and -no other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> - -<p>Humid heat in the harbour, a day of soft low -clouds. The man who pushed Brooklyn from -him, had discarded even more thoroughly the -clothing of temperate climes. The vivid black -of his hairy chest was uncovered, and there was a -shining bar of the same, just above the selvage of -white sock. Bellair thought he must be hairy as -a collie dog.... But mainly that which -weighted and creaked the chair seemed an enormous -puddle of faded silks.</p> - -<p>The bulky brown head (which arose plumb as -a wall from the back of the neck) had slightly -bowed as Bellair passed. There was something -ox-like in the placidity of the brown eyes, but that -was only their first beam, as it were. Much that -was within and behind the eyes of Stackhouse, -Bellair thought of afterward. Through a deep, -queer process, it came to him that even the answer -for his coming was in that indescribable background; -and restless, too, in the pervading brown, -a movement of sleek animals there. The Japanese -woman had <i>skuffed</i> forward with drink for her -lord.</p> - -<p>Over all was the cloud of canvas and rigging, -which Bellair had studied from the land, and -which had forced him to a fine respect for the -ruffian sailor-men who could move directly in such -an arcanum, and command its service. Bellair -had not found such labour on shore, having lost -his respect for the many who did not learn even -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>the commonest work.... There was a deep-sea -smell about her, a solution of tar and dried fruit, -paint and steaming coppers from the galley.</p> - -<p>The very age of the <i>Jade</i> was a charm to him. -Only her spine and ribs and plates were of steel—the -rest a priceless woodwork that had come into -its real beauty under the endlessly wearing hands -of man. There seemed a grain and maturity to -the inner parts, as if the strain and roughing of -the seas had brought out the real enduring heart -of the excellent fabric. The rose-wood side-board -of his upper berth, for instance, placed for the full -light from the port to fall upon it, was worth the -price of the passage—sixteen inches wide, a full -inch and one-half thick, worn to a soft lustre as -if the human hands had hallowed it, and giving -back to the touch the same answer from the years -that a vine brings to stone-work and the bouquet -to wine.... The <i>Jade</i> had known good care and -answered. Floors, even of the cabins, were hollowed -from much stoning; the hinges held and -ferried their burdens in silence, and the old locks -moved with soft contented clicks, the wards running -in new oil.</p> - -<p>A city man who had long dreamed of a country -garden; or indeed, Bellair was a city man who had -long dreamed of a full-rigged ship to fulfil in -part the romance of his soul. The <i>Jade</i> had a -dear inner life for him, satisfied him with her -lines, her breathing, settling and repose. A fine -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>hunger began to animate the length and breadth -of the man.</p> - -<p>There was a half hour of straight, clear thinking, -of the kind that plumbs the outlook with the -in, and mainly comes unawares. Bessie Brealt, -of course, appeared and passed, in all the hardness -of her life and the pity of it, but the days that -had elapsed since the parting had not changed his -unique desire to help her; nor did he lie to himself -that he wanted her, too, as a man wants a woman. -He loved her in a way, against his will. Possibly -the kiss had fixed that. In the solution of the -running thoughts, and without subtlety of mingling, -was the face on deck, the dark, extraordinary -face of Stackhouse.</p> - -<p>They were a full day at sea, before Bellair was -called to sit down before the great cane chair. -There was a warm land wind; November already -forgotten. The <i>Jade</i> had gathered up her skirts -and was swinging along with a low music of her -own. Stackhouse waddled back to his chair from -the land-rail, a remarkable mass of crumpled silks, -the canes marked in the general effusion of dampness -along his back and legs, the silks caught up -behind by a system of wrinkles and imprints, and -one hitched pantaloon revealing the familiar muff -of fur above the selvage of his fallen sock. Now -Stackhouse was preparing to enter. Bellair was -caught in the tension. The process, while prodigious, -was not without its delicate parts. One -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>hand was irrevocably occupied with a long-stemmed -China pipe, a warm creamy vase, already -admired by Bellair. Breath came in puffs and -pantings of fragrant tobacco, but there were gurglings -and strange stoppages of air that complained -from deeper passages.</p> - -<p>Creaking began at the corners; and a wallowing -as if from the father of all boars. Now the centre -of the chair caught the strain in full and whipped -forth its remonstrance. One after another the -legs gripped the deck, each with a whimper of its -own; and the air was filled with sharp singing tension -which infected the nerves of the watcher. -Suddenly the torso seemed to let go of itself; and -from the canes of the huge central hollow came a -scream in unison. By miracle the whole found -itself once more and the breathing of Stackhouse -subsided to a whine.</p> - -<p>“We are entering the latitude of rum,” said -he. “Whoever you are, young man, drink the -drink of nature, and you will brosper.”</p> - -<p>The west was just a shore-line, the dusk rising -like a tide. The hand of the owner pressed the -silks variously about his chest, and at last located -a loose match. Nerves were sparsely scattered in -these thick, heavy-fleshed fingers. He had to stop -all talk and memory to direct his feeling. The -match at length emerged from his palm, and slithered -over the fine canes of the arm. It was damp. -Stackhouse rubbed the sulphur delicately in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>hair at his temple and tried again. Fire leaped to -the tip, and poured out from the great hand which -pressed it to the pipe and mothered it from the -wind. From the gurgling passages, smoke now -poured as the sweetness in Sampson’s riddle.</p> - -<p>Rum had come. The Japanese woman served -them. The youth of her face chilled Bellair; the -littleness of her, all the tints and delicacy of a -miniature in her whitened face. Bright-hued silk, -a placid smile, the <i>skuffing</i> of her wooden sandals -and the clock-work intricacy of the coils of her -black hair—these were but decorations of the -tragedy which came home to the American where -he was still tender.... But why should he burn -tissue? She seemed happy. He knew that the -Japanese women require very little to make them -happy; but that little was denied this maiden. An -hour a day to giggle with her girl-friends behind -a lattice, and she might have borne twenty-three -hours of hell with calmness and cheer, not counterfeit -like this.</p> - -<p>“You have no true drink of the soil in Ameriga,” -said Stackhouse. “You do not make beer -nor wine, so you make no music. The only drink -and the only music that come from the States of -Ameriga, are from the nigger-folk who do not belong -there. They make music and corn whiskey. -The rest is boison to the soul.”</p> - -<p>The voice was rich and mellow. He must have -known Teutonic beginnings, or enough association -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>for the mannerisms to get into his blood. Stackhouse -was not even without that softness of sentiment, -though he was tender only for men. Except -for a spellable word here and there, his accent -was inimitable. He talked of little other than -death, and with indescribable care—as if he had -been much with men of another language or with -men of slow understanding.... It may have -been the drink, or the sunset over distant land; -the Spanish Main ahead, or the dryness and pentness -of the city-heart and its achievement of long-dreamed -desire in a snug, sweet ship under the -easy strain of sails with wind in them; in any -event Bellair was drawn with exquisite passion—drawn -southward as the <i>Jade</i> was drawn in the -soft, irresistible strength of nature.</p> - -<p>He knew that this would pass, that he could -not continue to sense this <i>rapport</i> with the sea-board, -but he loved it now, breathed deep, and -saw Stackhouse as he was never to be seen again. -There was enchantment in the eyes of the great -wanderer, and a certain culture of its kind in its -stories. Bellair listened and in the gleam of the -broad, dark eyes, there seemed a glimpse of burning -ships, shadowy caravans on moonlit sands -and the flash of arms by night; low-lying lights of -island ports, formless rafts, spuming breakers, -mourning derelicts—just glimpses, but of all the -gloom and garishness of the sea. He began a -monologue that night, and though it is not this -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>story, it was not interrupted except by meals and -sleeping, for many days; and all the pauses in -that story were the dramatic pauses of death:</p> - -<p>“... I have travelled more than most travellers -and have seen more than is good for one man. -In New York I saw Brundage of Frisco, who -asked me if I remembered Perry. I said I remembered -very well, for Perry was a bartner of mine, -before young Brundage came out to the Islands. -He told me Perry was six weeks buried. That is -the way now. When I was young, my combanions -did not die in beds. They were killed. -Eight months ago, I saw Emslie—waved at him -going up the river to Shanghai. He was outward -bound, and came home to us in Adelaide in a -sealed box. Old Foster, who is richer than I, has -married a little Marie in Manila and may die -when he pleases now. The South Seas still run -in and yonder among Island shores, but who buys -wine for the Japanese girls in Dunedin, since -Norcross was conscripted for the service we all -shall know?...</p> - -<p>“And thus you come to the <i>Jade</i>, and some -time you will here them dell of Stackhouse. Who -knows but you may dell the story—of a familiar -face turned down like an oft-filled glass? And -some one will say, ‘He has not laughed these many -years.’ They used to say in the <i>Smilax</i> at Hong -Kong, when the harbour was raving and the seas -were trying to climb the mountain—they used -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>to say that Stackhouse was laughing somewhere -off the China coasts. But there are only so many -laughs in a man, and they go out with the years. -Most of those who said that thing of Stackhouse—yes, -most of them, are dead as glacial drift.”</p> - -<p>Such was the quality of his perorations, -hunched ox-like just aft of the main-shrouds—the -Japanese woman coming and going with the -ship’s bells, bringing drinks day and night.</p> - -<p>“It seared my coppers—that drinking in the -States of Ameriga. It will not subdue,” said he. -“One has a thirst for weeks after a few days of -drinking in Ameriga. For one must be bolite.”</p> - -<p>He was never stimulated, seldom depressed, but -saturated his great frame twenty hours of the -twenty-four, the Japanese woman seeming to understand -with few or no words the whims of taste -of which he was made. Just once in the small -hours, Bellair heard her voice. The cane-chair -had not been empty long, and the silence of soft -rain was upon the deck. Bellair had opened a -package of New York papers purchased on the -last day in Savannah.... It was just one -scream, but the scream of one not frightened by -any human thing.... The roll of papers -dropped down behind the bunk. Anyway, Bellair -could not have read after that. Early in the -morning after hours of torture of dreams, he was -awakened as usual by the sluicing of the monster. -Two Lascars who travelled with Stackhouse apparently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> -for no other purpose, poured pails of -salt water upon him in the early hour when the -decks were washed; and often at midday as they -neared the Line. It was given to Bellair more -than once, as the voyage lengthened, to witness -this hippodrome.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Her face was continually turned away. Bellair -wondered as days passed if he should -ever see her face to face—the silent, far-looking -young woman with a nursing baby in her arms. -On deck she stood at the rail, eyes lost oversea. -Her contemplation appeared to have nothing to -do with Europe or America, but set to the wind -wherever it came from, as the strong are always -turned up-stream. Sometimes she wore a little -blue jacket, curiously reminding Bellair of school-days, -and though she was not far from that in -years, she seemed to have passed far into the -world. The child cried rarely.</p> - -<p>There was a composure about the mother, but -he did not know if it were stolidity or poise. Certainly -she had known poverty, but health was -in her skin, and there was something in that white -profile, that the sun had touched with olive rather -than tan, that stopped his look. The perfection -of it dismayed Bellair. He loved beauty, but did -not trust it, did not trust himself with it. The -presence of a beautiful face stimulated him as no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>wine could do, but it also started him to idealising -that which belonged to it, and this process had -heretofore brought disappointment. Bellair did -not want this touch of magnetism now. Beauty -was plentiful. He had seen the profiles of Italian -girls in New York, that the Greeks would have -worshipped, and which the early worship of the -Greeks was doubtless responsible for—beauty -with little beside but giggle and sham. He disliked -the thing in a man’s breast that answers so -instantly to the line and colour of a woman’s face; -objected to it primarily, because it was one of the -first and most obvious tricks of nature for the replenishment -of species in man and below. Bellair -fancied to answer the captivation, if any at all, of -a deeper wonder in woman than the contour of her -countenance.</p> - -<p>He was aware that many a woman has a beautiful -profile, whose direct look is a disturbing reconsideration. -This kept his eyes down, when -she was opposite in the dining cabin. We are -strangely trained at table; at no time so merciful. -The human dining countenance must be lovely, -indeed, not to break the laws of beauty. Only -outright lovers dare, and they are bewildered by -each other, and see not. So he did not know the -colour of her eyes.</p> - -<p>She nursed her baby often on deck, sitting bare-headed -in the wind and sun, sometimes singing to -it. The singing was all her own; Bellair wished -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>she wouldn’t. Her melodies were foreign, and -sometimes it seemed to him as if they were just a -touch off the key. Her low dissonances, he described -vaguely as Russian, but retained the suspicion -that she was tonally imperfect of hearing.</p> - -<p>The singing and the picture of her was just as -far as possible from Bessie Brealt, but she made -Bellair think. In all likelihood this was the general -objection. His eyes smarted in the dusks, -as he thought of the other singer (as solitary in -New York as this woman here), who was determined -not to be afraid of the cars or the bears or -the wolves. Every day Bessie’s first words returned -to him:</p> - -<p>“A little Rhine wine—it’s very good here.”</p> - -<p>And always the devastation of that sentence -was great. It was a street-woman’s inside -familiarity, <i>Brandt’s</i> being one of her rounds; as -she might speak of the beer at <i>Holbeck’s</i> or the -chops at <i>Sharpe’s</i>. Yet Bessie was not greedy, -and had no taste for wine. It was the glibness, -the town mannerism, and the low, easy level which -her acceptance of the common saying revealed; -the life which she was willing to make her own, -at least exteriorly. But after all, in the better -moments, it seemed very silly to deny a great soul -to the girl who could sing as Bessie sang. Some -day she would feel her soul....</p> - -<p>The preacher, third passenger on board the -<i>Jade</i>, reported that the Faraway woman was returning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -to her home in New Zealand. Fleury -didn’t know if her baby was boy or girl, but -judged that it was very healthy, since it cried so -little.</p> - -<p>Fleury wasn’t promising to Bellair’s eyes. -First of all it was the cloth; and then during the -first three weeks at sea, Bellair spent innumerable -hours in the periphery of the great cane-chair. -He did not resist his prejudice. “A missionary -going out with the usual effrontery,” he decided. -The preacher’s face appeared placid and boyish.... -Fleury, however, continued to observe cheerful -good-mornings, to praise the fine weather, and -to offer opportunities for better acquaintance—all -without being obtrusive in the least. Hayti and -Santo Domingo—names once remote and romantic -to the city man’s mind—were now vanished -shores, and as yet the voyage was but well begun.... -The three passengers were served together in -the cabin, except in cases when the Stackhouse -narrative happened to be running particularly -well. Bellair would then be called to dine with -the owner. Captain McArliss would appear at -this mess and disappear—the courses being -brought to him one after another in a certain rapid -form. The Captain seemed so conscious, that Bellair -never quite dared to observe what happened -to the food, but he was certain that McArliss did -not bolt. His suspicion was that he tasted or -sipped as the case might be, merely spoiling the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>offering. He was gone before Stackhouse was -really started.</p> - -<p>It was less what the giant ate, than the excessive -formality and importance of his table sessions -that prevailed upon the American. Dinner was -the chief doing of the day. Bellair had never -complained, even in thought, of the food served -to him in the usual mess, but with Stackhouse -everything was extra fine from the Chinese standpoint—all -delicacies and turns of the art, all -choice cuttings and garnishments, a most careful -consideration of wines—so that from the first -audible delectation of the contents of the silver -tureen, to the choice of a cigar (invariably after -a few deep inhalations from a cigarette “made in -Acca by the brisoners”), there was formality and -deep responsibility upon the ship; and a freedom -afterward through the galleys that was pleasant -to regard.</p> - -<p>“There are many things in Belgium,” said the -master. “There are wines and gookeries there; -also in Poland there are gooks. In England there -are gooks, but not in Ameriga—only think-they-are-gooks. -However, there are gooks in China. I -have one, as you shall see.”</p> - -<p>Something like this at each mighty dining—and -the promise had to do with the next course -which Stackhouse invariably knew and served as -a surprise for his guest, for he ordered his dinner -with his coffee and fish in the morning. Bellair -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>had often seen the Chinese emerge from the galley, -as they came up from the dining saloon, little -sparse patches of hair here and there on his fat -face like willow clumps on the shore, these untouched -by the razor, though his forehead was -perfectly shaven to the queue circlet. This was -Gookery John taking his breath after the moil and -heat of the day.</p> - -<p>Stackhouse would declare that he dined just -once a day, meaning this exactly. He breakfasted -on a plate of fried fish with many pourings of -mellow, golden and august German coffee, eating -the hot fishes in his hands like crackers—a very -warm and shiny hand when it was done—crisp -brown fishes stripped somehow in his beard, the -bones tossed overside. He liked full day with -this meal. The plates were brought hot and covered -to the great cane chair, until he called for -them to cease. For his supper he desired outer -darkness (English ale and apples, black bread -from Rome that comes sewn in painted canvas -like hams for the shipping, butter from Belgium -packed with the care of costly cheeses, of which -he was connoisseur; sauces of India, a cold chicken, -perhaps, or terrapin, and an hour or two of nuts). -The Japanese woman appeared at none of these -services.</p> - -<p>It was the dinners, however, which bewildered -Bellair most. He had not the heart utterly to -condemn them, since the <i>Jade</i> and the noble sea-air,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -sometimes winy and sometimes of sterile -purity, kept him in that fine state of appreciation, -which if he had ever known as a boy was -utterly forgotten. He had initiation in curries -and roasts, piquant relishes of seed and fish and -flower, chowders, broiled fish and baked—until -he felt the seas and continents serving their best, -and learned about each in the characteristic telling -of the man who lived for them. For instance -when chicken was brought:</p> - -<p>“These are the birds for the Chinese to play -with—yes, you would think me joking? It is not -so. The little chicken-birds are kept for pets. -They are not frightened to death. You do not -know, berhaps, that fear and anger boisons the -little birds? They are kept happy and killed -quick—before they know. Many mornings they -are fed from the hand and played with, until they -love John of the gookeries—and one morning—so, -like that—heads off—and no boison from the -fear of death in our flavours. Many things you do -not know—yes?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Bellair said.</p> - -<p>Stackhouse loved his little facts like these, all -matters of preparation of fish and flesh and fowl; -the intricate processes of fattening, curing, softening, -corking and all the science of the stores.... -“There was a certain goose which I found in -Hakodate—not from the Japanese, but from a -Chino there——”.... “And once upon a time -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>in Mindanao, they baked a fish for me with heated -stones in the ground. Wrapped in leaves, it was, -and covered first in clay. You should see the -scales and skin come off with the clay—and the -inner barts a little ball, when it was finished. And -the dining of that evening. Ah, the sharb eyes of -the little nigger girls—you would believe?”.... -Such were the stories in the long feeding—but -the stories on deck were the stories of the death -of men.</p> - -<p>In the usual mess the chat was perfunctory on -Bellair’s part, since he granted that the preacher -and the Faraway woman (he called her so in his -thoughts from her distant-searching on deck) -were so well adjusted to each other. He granted -this, and much beside concerning the two, from -pure fancy. Never once had they disregarded -him, or engaged in conversation that would leave -him dangling, though many times his own -thoughts were apart. The <i>Jade</i> had been three -weeks out of Savannah, in the southern Caribbean, -a superb mid-afternoon, when Bellair, turning at -the rail, found Fleury at his side. He had just -been wondering if he had better go below and -read awhile by the open port, or start the monologue -of Stackhouse for the rest of the day. The -latter was enjoyable enough, but Bellair disliked -to drink anything so early.... “One must be -bolite.”</p> - -<p>It happened right for the first conversation with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>Fleury. He had never known a preacher whose -talk touched the core of things. Preachers had -always shown a softness of training on the actualities, -and left Bellair sceptical of the rest. A -minister had once told him: “What force for -good we get to be in mid-life, is in spite of our -ecclesiastical training, not because of it.” Bellair -had often thought of that.</p> - -<p>Yet, he had given much secret thought to religious -things, not counting himself a specialist, -however, seldom opening the subject. Certainly -at Lot & Company’s, no one had marked this proclivity. -He had the idea that a man must come -up through men, and through the real problems -of men, if he would become a moving force for -good in the world; that no training apart among -texts and tracts and tenets would get him power. -Very clearly he saw that a man must go apart to -fix his ideals, but that he should seek his wilderness -after learning the world, not after prolonged -second-hand contacts with books.</p> - -<p>“The big job ahead is for some one who can -show the human family that it’s all of a piece, -and that we’re all out after the same thing,” he -remarked.</p> - -<p>“A Unifier,” Fleury suggested.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Just so long as we have to hate one cult -or sect, because we love another, we’re lost to the -whole beauty of the scheme——”</p> - -<p>“I quite agree with you,” said the preacher.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> -<p>“What is your church?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, the fact is, I haven’t one,” Fleury said -with a smile. “Convictions somewhat similar to -that which you have expressed have twice cost me -my church. As the church puts it, I am a failure -and not to be trusted with regular work——”</p> - -<p>“You are going out in the mission-service?”</p> - -<p>Bellair was now ashamed, because he had held -the other a bit cheaply. The boyish face looked -suddenly different to him, as Fleury said:</p> - -<p>“No—that is, I have ceased to expound theology. -I have come out to make the thought and -the act one.”</p> - -<p>Bellair was taking on a new conception. His -question was a trifle automatic:</p> - -<p>“Did you talk out in meeting?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. There were a thousand years in the congregation. -You know what I mean—only a few -of our generation in method of mind.”</p> - -<p>“A sort of Seventeenth century average?” Bellair -suggested.</p> - -<p>“Don’t misunderstand me. I was wrong, too,” -Fleury declared. “Wrong, in the young man’s -way of thinking himself right. You know we’re -just as baneful when we are getting into a new -world of thought as when we are not yet out of -the old. It’s only after we have settled down and -got accustomed to the place, that we’re reasonable. -A man should be big enough to talk to all men, -and appear everlastingly true to the least and the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>greatest. Truth is big enough for that. I had -only a different trail from theirs, and wanted them -all to come to mine, forgetting that the trails are -only far apart at the bottom of the mountain—that -they all converge at the top——”</p> - -<p>“You had to be honest with yourself,” Bellair -said thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I thought, but maybe there -was a lie in that,” Fleury answered. “It’s not so -easy to be honest with one’s self and keep on using -words for a living. The best way is to act——”</p> - -<p>“You’ve said something, Mr. Fleury.”</p> - -<p>And in his new respect for the other, Bellair -wanted to make his view clearer. “It’s the old -soil and seed story again,” he said. “It isn’t -enough to get truth down to superb simplicity. -The minds of men must be open beside. My -objection to the Church is that it has separated -religion from work and the week-day—tried to -balance one day of sanctimoniousness against six -days of mammon—taught men that heaven is to -be reached in a high spiritual effusion because One -has died for us. The fact is we’ve got to help -ourselves to heaven.... Excuse me for being so -communicative,” he added, “but what you said -about putting down talk and taking up action -interested me at once. I’ve a suspicion you won’t -be long in finding something to do——”</p> - -<p>“I’m hoping just that.”</p> - -<p>Fleury smiled at him. The face was large -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>and mild, not a fighter’s face nor a coward’s -either.... The young woman appeared with -the child. She seemed to hold it to the sun, and -she walked with the beauty of a woman bringing -a pitcher to the fountain. Bellair realised the -heat of the day. Her face had an intense clearness, -but was partly turned away. There was a -delicacy about it that he had not known before. -He recalled that she had just bowed to them.... -They were passing an island shore—a line of -sun-dazzle that stung the eyes, empty green hills -and a fierce white sky. Bellair thought of the -woman and the island as one ... he, the third, -coming home, mooring his boat, hastening up the -trail at evening.... Her frail back, bending a -little to the right, made him think of a dancer -he had once seen. He saw the child’s bare limbs -in the sun.... His steps were quickened up that -Island trail again.... The <i>Jade</i> seemed fainting -in the cushions of hot wind. Just then a voice -said:</p> - -<p>“She’s quite the most remarkable woman. She -isn’t a talker.”</p> - -<p>He had forgotten Fleury.</p> - -<p>“Where is she going?”</p> - -<p>“Auckland. She came from there.”</p> - -<p>“Queer, she would go home this way——”</p> - -<p>“Her whole fortune is in her arms,” Fleury -whispered.</p> - -<p>The ship’s bell struck twice; the cane-chair -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>creaked; they turned by habit to note the appearance -of the Japanese woman with drink. She did -not fail. Stackhouse came to with a prolonged -snore, a sound unlike a pair of pit-terriers at work.</p> - -<p>“A considerable brute,” muttered the preacher.</p> - -<p>“He has been much of a man in his way,” said -Bellair.</p> - -<p>“He talks much—that is weakness.”</p> - -<p>Their eyes met. Bellair began to understand -how deeply the other’s experience had bitten him.</p> - -<p>“He’s afraid of death,” Fleury added.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” Bellair mused. “He talks always -of death. He’s been in at the deaths of many -men. He’ll die hard himself—if he doesn’t tame -down.”</p> - -<p>Fleury added: “When a man is so much an -animal, all his consciousness is in that. They -see death as the end—that’s why they are -afraid——”</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he is a coward?” Bellair questioned.</p> - -<p>“The stuff animals are made of cannot last,” -the preacher concluded.</p> - -<p>Bellair pondered as he sat with Stackhouse -that night. Brandy was the choice of the evening. -The Japanese woman brought it from the deeps -of the hold, where it had come in stone from -Bruges. Bellair joined him a second and a third -time for the instant stinging zest of the fire.... -Fleury and the woman had long stood together aft -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>by the clicking log. The moon came late and -bulbous. Stackhouse talked of his fortune, and -the chaos in many island affairs his death would -cause.... Once he had loved a chap named -Belding, and would have left him great riches, -but Belding was dead....</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">They had crossed the Line. The night was -windless hot—almost suffocating below. Bellair -gave it up, a little after midnight, and -went on deck, moving forward out of the smell of -paint, for the heat had bubbled the lead on the -cabin planking. A few first magnitude stars -glinted in the fumy sky. The anchor chains and -the big hook itself made a radiator not to be -endured—better the smell of paint than that. -Captain McArliss moved past with a cigar and -suggested jerkily that a hammock was swung aft -by the binnacle. Bellair thanked him and went -there, but did not lie down. Close to the rail he -could smell the deep and it refreshed him. Left -alone in this hard-won ease, his thoughts turned -back to New York.</p> - -<p>... It was like a ghost at the companionway—a -faint grey luminosity. She came toward -him without a sound, the child in her arms. Something -of the strangeness prevented him speaking -until she was near, and then he spoke softly in -fear lest she be frightened:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> - -<p>“It is I, Bellair——”</p> - -<p>If she were startled, she did not let him know. -He offered the deckchair he had occupied, or the -hammock, as she chose.</p> - -<p>“I would not have disturbed you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I think it is cooler close to the rail,” he suggested. -“The little one is very brave. Is he -awake?”</p> - -<p>“Yes——”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why I said ‘he,’—the fact is, I -didn’t know,” he laughed.</p> - -<p>“You were right,” she answered, sitting down. -“He seems to have so much to study and contemplate. -It passes the time for him, and then he -is very well and he likes the sea.”</p> - -<p>“He has been to sea before?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we came up from Auckland on a steamer -when he was <i>ver-ee</i> little, but he liked it, and did -so well. It was harder for him in New York, -although he didn’t complain——”</p> - -<p>Bellair laughed.</p> - -<p>“Now that I have taken your seat—won’t you -get another?” she asked. “Or the hammock?”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t mind I should be very glad to -get another chair——”</p> - -<p>Bellair found himself hurrying to the waist, for -there was always a lesser seat by the great cane -throne.... He could not see her face in that -utter night, but sometimes when he had forgotten -for a moment, there seemed the faintest grey haze -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>about her face and shoulders, but never when he -looked sharply; and the curve of her back as her -body fitted to the child in her lap, hushed him -queerly within, so that he listened to his own -commonplace words, as one would hear the remarks -of another.</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose he would come to me?” the -man asked.</p> - -<p>“I think he would be very glad,” she said.</p> - -<p>Bellair took no risk, but placed his hand softly -between the little ones. Something went out of -him, leaving nothing but a queer, joyous vibration -that held life together, with ample to spare to -laugh with. The larger part of his identity -seemed to be infused with the night, however. On -one side of his hand, there was a warm, light -seizure, rendering powerless his own little finger, -and on the other side, his thumb was taken. He -lifted his hand a little and the captor’s came with -it—no waste of energy whatsoever, but with easy -confidence of having enough and to spare. The -man couldn’t breathe without laughing, but he -was very quiet about it as the moment demanded, -and his delight was nowise to be measured in -recent history.</p> - -<p>He was bending forward close to the woman’s -breast. Suddenly he remembered her—as if finding -himself in a sanctuary.... The great pictures -of the world had this <i>motif</i>, but the Third -of the trinity was always invisible. Yet he had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>entered in this darkness, come right into the fragrance -and the love-magnetism of it ... held -there in two ineffable pressures.</p> - -<p>His low laughter ceased. He was full of wonder -now, but could not stay. Out of the bewilderment -of emotions he had the one sense—that he -was not the third to this mystery—that the third -must be invisible, as in the great <i>madonnas</i> of -paint. He betrayed the tiny grips with a twist, -caught the child in his two hands and lifted him -from the mother, sitting back in his own chair.... -But the fragrance lingered about him and -that wonderful homing vibration. He knew something -of the nature of it now. It was peace.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">4</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The little blue jacket had come forth again -as they ran down into the cold.... There -was wild weather around the Horn, and Stackhouse -was a sick monster from confinement. Bellair, -who could drink a little for company through -the glorious nights on deck, bolted from the cabin -performance, and Captain McArliss was called -to listen, and fell, as Stackhouse knew he would, -for he had said to Bellair during one of their last -talks:</p> - -<p>“Lest there appear among men a perfect sailor, -they handicapped my McArliss—packed his inner -barts in unslaked lime. Never will you see a -thirst fought as he fights it. First he will drink -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>with me, and you will hear him laugh; then he -will drink alone, and there will be silence until he -begins to scream. Already his eyes are tortured -and his lips white. Bresently he will come and -sit with me——”</p> - -<p>Bellair hated this; in fact the big master had -begun to wear deeply. “I should think you would -want to keep him on his feet—for the passage -around the Horn.”</p> - -<p>“My McArliss is always a sailor,” said Stackhouse, -rocking his head.</p> - -<p>Bellair could credit that. McArliss interested -him—an abrupt, nervous man, who covered the -eager warmth of his friendliness in frosted mannerisms -and sentences clipped at each end. He -was afraid of himself except in his work, afraid -of his opinions, though a great reader of the queer -out of the way good things. Bellair found Woolman’s -Life in his little library, with narratives of -the ocean, tales of Blackbirders and famous Indiamen, -Lytton’s “Strange Story” and “Zanoni,” also -Hartmann’s “Magic, Black and White.” The -latter he read, and found it not at all what he -expected, but a book that would go with him as -far as he cared at any angle, and then lose him. -He was quite astonished. It was a long book, too—the -kind you vow you will begin again, from -time to time through the last half. He wanted to -talk to McArliss about it, but the Captain was -embarrassed.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> -<p>“Crazy, eh?” he would say with a queer, dry -laugh.</p> - -<p>“I’ve stopped saying that about a book—because -I don’t get it all,” Bellair remarked. “This -man is right as far as I can go with him.”</p> - -<p>“You give him the benefit—eh? That’s pretty -good.”</p> - -<p>“And you like it?”</p> - -<p>“Ha—it passes the time. Good God—we have -to pass the time!”</p> - -<p>He spoke jerkily, always in this fashion, and -the days brought no ease to the tension. McArliss -patted his pockets, swore hastily over little -things, looked snappily here and there. Bellair -would have guessed, without the word from Stackhouse. -The Captain was fighting hard. There -seemed nothing to be done; the man had grown a -spiked hedge around an innocent shyness; all that -was real about him he kept shamefacedly to himself. -Still Bellair believed more and more in his -fine quality. McArliss made a picture for him -of one who has come up through steam and returned -to canvas bringing a finer appreciation to -the beauty and possibilities of natural seamanship; -as a man returns to the land, after many -wearing years of city life, with a different and -deeper instinct of the nature of the soil.</p> - -<p>“She’s a slashing sailer,” he would say critically, -as he crowded the <i>Jade</i>. “She balances to -a hair—eh? Good old girl—they don’t breed her -kind any more.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> - -<p>It was he who balanced her to every wind, -meeting all weathers with different cuts of cloth. -Having only a distant familiarity with his fellow-officers -and not even a speaking acquaintance with -the crew, McArliss made her sing her racing song -night and day down into the lower latitudes, until -one played with the suspicion that he managed -the weather, too,—with that same nervous, effective -energy. It was all tremendously satisfying -to Bellair. He had reacted on the last reaction, -and was healed throughout. Worldliness was lost -from his mental pictures of Bessie; daily she became -more as he wanted her to be. Lot & Company -had lost its upstanding and formidable black—was -far-off now and dimly pitiable. He had -not cared what was ahead; it had been the <i>Jade</i> -and the voyage that had called him, but now the -Islands and all that watery universe of the Southern -Pacific were in prospect, to explore and make -his own. Perhaps men were younger there; trade -less old and ramified; perhaps they would bring -him the new magic of life—so that he could live -with zest and be himself.... Always at this -part of the dream he would think of Bessie again. -She was the cord not yet detached. Sooner or -later, he must go back to her. At times he thought -that he could not bear to remain very long; sometimes -even watching this endless passage of days -with strange concern.... But there was a short -cut home—straight up the Pacific to San Francisco—and -four days across....</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> -<p>Fleury and the Faraway woman had their increasingly -fine part in his life. The preacher was -always finding some new star, or bidding adieu -to some northern constellation.</p> - -<p>They had chosen the passage through the Straits -because of the settled weather. At least, they -called it fair-going—wild and rugged though it -was, with huge masses of torn cloud, black or -grey-black, hurtling past, often as low as the -masthead, and all life managed at sick angles. -The <i>Jade</i> bowed often and met the screaming -blasts with her poles strangely bare, except, perhaps, -for a few feet of extra-heavy canvas straining -at the mizzen weather-rig.... Stackhouse -nudged him one night and a laugh gurgled up -from his chest as he pointed forward where McArliss -stood in the waist lighting a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“He will not sleep to-night. He will come to -me—and you will never hear such talk as from -this silent man. He will look for gompany to-night. -One must be bolite.”</p> - -<p>It was true. McArliss apparently fell into the -cigarettes first, or perhaps he had fallen deeper. -Bellair did not join them in the cabin, but heard -their voices. The next day McArliss hunted him -up, an inconceivable action. This was not like -timid Spring, but sudden redolent summer after -the austerities. The man was on fire, but perfectly -in hand. All that he had thought and kept -to himself for months appeared to come forth now—books<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -and men, the great oceans of spirit and -matter, and the mysteries of life and release. It -seemed as if his body and brain had suddenly become -transparent. The Captain was happy and -kind, without oath or scandal, full of colour and -romance; returning with excellent measure all the -good thoughts that Bellair had given to him, and -showing forth for one rare forenoon the memorable -fabric of a man.</p> - -<p>There was no repetition to his stages. In the -afternoon he passed Bellair brusquely, and drank -the night away with Stackhouse. The next day -both face and figure had a new burden; the real -man was now imprisoned more effectively than -even his sobriety could accomplish.... Then -the descent day by day—the narrow, woman’s -waist and the broad, lean shoulders becoming a -hunched unit, face averted, hands thick. Bellair -always felt that Stackhouse was in a way responsible—for -the old Master had known what would -come and lured it on. He had foretold each -stage—even to the last of McArliss drinking -alone.</p> - -<p>On two nights Fleury was with him while he -met his devils. He had outraged Bellair at every -offer and entrance. Even Stackhouse was surprised -that the preacher was permitted to attend. -His poor vitality at length began to crawl back -into his body with terrible pain and shattered sanity—that -old familiar battle, the last of many -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>storms. And now the <i>Jade</i> was sailing up into the -summer of the southern ocean. Midwinter in -New York and here a strange, spacious sort of -June, not without loneliness and wonderment to -Bellair for the steady brightness and exceeding -length of day.</p> - -<p>The new moon had come down, extraordinary -in its earth-shine which Fleury explained. The -<i>Jade</i> was marking time, just making steerage -headway, the breeze too light for good breathing.... -To-night (as had happened a dozen times -before on the other side of South America before -the cold weather) Stackhouse had begun his story -with, “It was a night like this——” As of old -it was the tale of man and death, of the Stackhouse -escape from death, sinuously impressing the -Stackhouse courage and cleverness. Not that the -story was without art; indeed, as usual, it was -such a one as a man seldom leaves until the end; -but Bellair had long since reached the moment of -sufficiency. He had come to the end of his favourite -author; had begun to see the mechanism -and inventional methods of the workmanship. -Vim was lost for the enactment of Stackhouse’s -fiercer strength. The man was a concentrated -fume of spirit, every tissue falsely braced, his very -life identified with the life and heat of decay....</p> - -<p>Alone, Bellair glanced about before going below. -A breeze had slightly quickened the ship -in the last hour. There may have been a dozen -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>nights of equal mystery but this he appreciated -more soundly and was grateful for freedom. His -mind answered the beauty of it all ... something -of this, he might be able to tell Bessie in a -letter. The stars were far and tender; the air -heavenly cool and soft, the night high, and the -ship’s full white above, had something to do with -angels—a dreamy spirit-haunt about it all. He -would always see the <i>Jade</i> so, as he would see the -Captain in that wonderful forenoon of his emancipation—poor -McArliss who had not been on -deck for days.</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later, with paper before him -in his berth, Bellair was deep in the interpretation -of his heart, when the <i>Jade</i> struck the cupola of -a coral castle, and hung there shivering for five -seconds. It was like a suspension of the law of -time.</p> - -<p>Bellair thought of Bessie, of every one on the -ship, beginning with Fleury and the New Zealand -woman, and ending with Captain McArliss and -the owner’s Japanese wife. These latter two were -strangely rolled into one, as their images came. -He thought of the ship’s position somewhere in -the great emptiness between the Strait of Magellan -and Polynesia. He re-read the last line of -the letter before him. It had to do with the real -help he hoped to be in Bessie’s cause <i>within the -year</i>. He heard the running and the hard-held -voices on deck, and one great bellowing cry from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>Stackhouse. He knew now that all the tales were -the low furies of fear; that the movement he had -seen first in the eyes of the great animal were the -movements of fear....</p> - -<p>And then the <i>Jade</i> slid off the reef with a rip -more tragic than the strike.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">5</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Hissing and sucking began below, and the -drawing of the centre of the earth. Bellair -felt this in his limbs, and the limp paralysis -of the sails. It was like the blind struggle in the -soul of a bird, this strain in the entity of the old -<i>Jade</i> to retain her balance between earth and -sky.... Bellair was on his knees dragging forth -his unused case. The roll of New York papers -came with it, and he stuffed them in overcoat -pockets with a six-shooter, a bottle of whiskey and -a few smaller things. These arrangements were -made altogether without thought. Unfumblingly, -he obeyed a rush of absurdities that seemed obvious -and reasonable as in a dream.</p> - -<p>The touch of water on his knee as he arose was -like a burn. It poured in under the door, its -stream the size of a pencil, a swift and quiet little -emissary. It occurred—a queer, rational touch—that -the <i>Jade</i> could not be thus filled so soon, that -something must have overturned. He opened the -door to the deck. Night and ocean were all one; -the rest was the stars, and this bit of chaos recoiling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -from its death—a little ship, struck from the -deep and perceiving her death like a rat that has -been struck by a rattler. He smelled the sea, -as one in a night-walk smells the earth when passing -a ravine.</p> - -<p>He moved aft toward the voices, without yet -having thought of his own death. He passed a -leaking water-cask, and this reminded him of his -thirst. He took a deep drink—all he could—and -his thoughts came up to the moment. At the -same time, that which had been a mass of inarticulate -sounds cleared into a more or less coherent -intensity of action.</p> - -<p>He heard that the <i>Jade</i> was sinking, but knew -that already; heard that she would be under in -five minutes, which was news of the first order -of sensation.... Now he heard Stackhouse -again; the rich unctuous voice gone, a sharp, dry -<i>peaking</i> instead.... They were aft at the binnacle—Stackhouse, -Fleury, the Faraway Woman, -McArliss. The Japanese woman was hurrying -forward with a pitcher of wine. Stackhouse drank -from the pitcher, standing, and with greed that -flooded his chest. He spoke and the Japanese -woman vanished.</p> - -<p>Bellair saw the face of McArliss in the white -ray from the binnacle. He had scarcely seen the -Captain for a week. Last seen, it was a face -swollen and flaming red. It was yellow now, like -the skin of a chicken, and feathered with patches -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>of white beard. The loose eye-lids were touched -with blue. He fumbled with a cigarette, and -called hysterically to an officer amidships. He -was not broken from the tragedy, but from the -debauch.</p> - -<p>Stackhouse was standing by the small boat -when two sailors came to launch it. He rocked -from one foot to another and peaked to them incessantly. -Fleury and the woman stepped nearer -the boat. They moved together as one person.... -Bellair saw Stackhouse raise his hands as he -had done that first Sunday, pushing Brooklyn -from him. His body pressed against the gunwale -of the small boat; he caught it in his hands, as -it raised clear, his ridiculous ankles alternately -lifting.</p> - -<p>His Chinese cook rushed forward with cans of -crackers, and dumped them in the boat. The -Japanese woman appeared dragging a huge hamper -of wines and liquors. Stackhouse took the -hamper between his legs and sent her back to his -cabin. The boat was lowered just below the level -of the <i>Jade’s</i> gunwale. Stackhouse sprawled forward, -the hairy masses of his legs writhing after. -Presently he reversed, and began to reach for the -hamper. Fleury kicked it out of reach, and lifted -the woman and child in.</p> - -<p>“Get water,” he said to Bellair. “I’ll save a -place for you.”</p> - -<p>Bellair tossed his overcoat into the boat and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>darted to the galley, where he found cans. Filling -them seemed a process interminable, until he -pulled over the half-filled cask.... Stackhouse -was screaming for his hamper. The Japanese -woman sped by with more bottles. She tried to -put them in the boat, but Fleury took them from -her, and attempted to force her into a place, but -she had heard a final command from her lord and -broke away.... Bellair was filling his cans a -second time.... Stackhouse, who had risen insanely, -was rocked back either by word or blow -from Fleury. The small boat was on the sea, and -the <i>Jade’s</i> rail leaned low to it. The sea was -roaring into the mother-boat; she would flurry in -an instant.</p> - -<p>“Yes, water, Bellair,” said Fleury. “But don’t -go back.”</p> - -<p>“One more trip,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>He filled the last can—his mind holding the -image of Stackhouse on his knees praying to -Fleury for his hamper. Beseechings back in the -dark accentuated the picture. Fleury was calling -for him.... He passed the Japanese woman, -sobbing and <i>skuffing</i> pitifully back to the cabin; -as a child sent repeatedly for something hard to -find. He heard the launching of the other and -larger boat forward; saw at the binnacle McArliss -still fumbling for a match. Then Fleury grasped -him and his can.... No, it was the woman’s -hand that saved the can from overturning. Bellair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -would have waited for the Japanese woman, -but the <i>Jade</i> dipped half-over and slid him into -the boat.</p> - -<p>The mother-ship shuddered. The Japanese -woman passed the binnacle, holding something -high in her hand. She was on her knees.... -There was a flare and the face of McArliss—who -had struck his match at last.... The <i>Jade</i> -seemed to go from them—a sheet of grey obscured -the rail. The two who remained were -netted there together, the red point of the cigarette -flickered out.... The two boats were on the -sea; the night, a serenity of starlight.... The -sound of slobbering turned their eyes to Stackhouse, -who was drinking from one of the large -cans.... Fleury went to him, pressed the face -from it, and placed the cans forward at the feet -of the woman. His hand was sticky afterward, as -if with blood, and he held it overside.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105-107]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_FOUR_THE_OPEN_BOAT">PART FOUR<br /> -THE OPEN BOAT</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>ellair</span> was athirst. The fact that he had -taken a deep drink less than a half-hour -before, did not prevail altogether against -it. In the very presence of Stackhouse -there was a psychological intensity of thirst. The -master sat hunched and obscene in the stern of -the boat, patting the wet folds of his shirt—a -pure desire-body, afraid of death, afraid of -thirst, afraid of the fear of thirst and death. -Picturesqueness and personality were gone from -him; romance and the strange culture of the man, -for the eyes of Bellair; the old wonder, too, which -the seas and the islands of the seas had given him. -Bellair could not forget the ankles, the moving -of those bare masses up and down, as Stackhouse -had clung at the same time to the small boat and -the gunwale of the <i>Jade</i>. What a poison to past -tales—this present passion and method of self-salvation.<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -He was less than a beast, in retaining -the effigy of a man.</p> - -<p>Bellair turned to Fleury. Like swift pleasant -rays in the dark, the last scenes of the main-deck -recurred. Again he marvelled at the falsity of -his first judgments, by which he had formerly -set so much, and so complacently. It had seemed -a fat face to him at first, a face out of true with -the world, the face of an easy man who placates -things as they are, because he was not trained to -see the evil of them and give them fight. All -that was remembered with difficulty, even for -this moment of contrast. It would not come -again. Fleury had stood up in the crisis, a man -to tie to. He would never be the same again in -look or action or intonation; as Stackhouse could -never be the same. Fleury had risen and put -on a princely dimension; the other had lost even -that uncertain admirableness of gross animalism.</p> - -<p>The preacher was leaning forward toward the -knees of the woman, talking to the babe. Bellair -imagined its eyes wide-open and sober; certainly -it was still. The mother’s face was partly turned -away. Fleury said:</p> - -<p>“He is having his adventures. He will be a -great man. He will have the world at his finger-tips, -when he is as old as we are—and then his -real work will begin. For when we know enough -of the world, we turn to God.”</p> - -<p>The note of the preacher in this did not embarrass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -Bellair, as it would have done before the -<i>Jade’s</i> sinking.</p> - -<p>“He will be a great power,” Fleury went on, -for the heart of the mother. “These things which -for him pass unconsciously, will form him nevertheless. -They will do their work within; and -when he is grown he will know what to do and -say.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know?” the mother asked.</p> - -<p>“Chiefly because I believe in you,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“I want him to live,” she said.</p> - -<p>“We want that, too,” said Fleury.</p> - -<p>Bellair felt himself nodding in the dark.</p> - -<p>“If he is to be a great man, he will have to live -through his first—at least, through this adventure.”</p> - -<p>The meaning came very pure to Bellair. It -had to do with crackers and water for the nourishment -of the child. So strong and sure was her -own fortitude that she did not need to say she was -thinking only of food and drink for him. It -meant to Bellair, “If I cannot nurse him, he will -die.”</p> - -<p>He regarded the length and beam of the small -boat. It was not more than eighteen feet long—and -only the Polar seas could be emptier than -this vast southern ocean. The nights would be -more easily endured, but the days, one long burning. -Still it would not be torrid heat; they were -too far south for that. The thought of storm, he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>kept in the background of his mind. They all did. -Roughly estimated, there was food and water -enough for them to live without great agony for -a week, possibly for a day or two over, but Stackhouse -was not a part of this consideration. He -could not live a week without an abnormal consumption -of water....</p> - -<p>Fleury was talking about the stars. They -would see Venus before dawn, he said; the great -one in their meridian now was Jupiter. “If we -had a marine-glass, we would be able to see his -moons.... That,” he pointed to the brightest -of the fixed stars, a splendid yellow gleam in the -east, “that is Canopus, never seen north of the -Gulf States at Home. It’s so mighty that our -little earth would turn molten in ten seconds if -it came as near as our sun.”</p> - -<p>Bellair leaned toward him listening. The -preacher pointed out the Southern Cross, and -Alpha Centauri, almost the nearest of the sun’s -neighbours.</p> - -<p>Their thoughts groped naturally to such things. -In the full realisation of their helplessness, they -looked up. The background was a deep fleckless -purple. Bellair hadn’t known the great stars of -the northern skies, much less these splendid -strangers. The brimming closeness of the dark sea -harrowed the landsman’s heart of him; and there -was something as great or greater than the actual -terror of ultimate submerging. It was the fear -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>of the fear; the same that causes men to leap from -high places through the very horror of the thought -of leaping. The water lapped the clinkered sides -of the small boat. He touched it. His flesh took -from the coolness something that numbed the -pervading alarm; a message which the wet hand -sensed, but the brain could not interpret. The -presence of the others forward sustained him; -Stackhouse in the stern was the downpull; thus -Bellair was in the balance.</p> - -<p>It was yet far from dawn; certainly no lighter, -but Bellair could see better. The woman was -looking away. He knew that he would see her -so, until the last day of her life—that profile of -serene control, that calm, far-seeing gaze.... -What gave her this quiet power?... Already -the thoughts of the three were intimate matters -to all. It seemed very natural now to ask Fleury -what gave the woman such strength.</p> - -<p>“It’s the sense that all is well, in spite of this -physical estrangement from the world,” the -preacher said. “Bellair, it’s the sense that nothing -matters but the soul. It’s not belief; it’s knowing. -She has lost the sense of self. <i>She is through -talking.</i> It is finished with her. We talk, because -it is not finished in us—but it is being accomplished. -We talk because we want that peace; -when it comes we will not talk, but live it. It is -exactly opposite to <i>desire</i>; you can see that——”</p> - -<p>Yes, Bellair could see that. He had but to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>turn back in his seat to confront Stackhouse -wringing his heavy twitching hands and begging -for water, begging like a leper, now that a face -turned to him—the most frightful picture of the -work of desire and the fear of desire, that the -world or the underworld could furnish. Less than -two hours before he had drunk a quart and wasted -a pint in his greed; and behind Bellair was the -silent woman and Fleury, thinking of others, full -of the good of the world.... In the worldliness -that came to him from Stackhouse, the intimacy -of the matter they had just talked about seemed -startling.</p> - -<p>“One can’t help but notice what <i>you get from -somewhere</i>—and what the woman has,” Bellair -added.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were in the grey mystery of dawn—alone, -for they had drifted, and the sailors in -the other boat had begun to row at once. Stackhouse -was lifted a little, brought nearer, possibly -by the tension, which they all came to know so -well—the tension of that grey hour, before the -day reveals the sea.</p> - -<p>“It was my ship,” he whimpered. “It was my -hamber—McArliss was mine and the service——”</p> - -<p>“You’d have had them all yet, but you amused -yourself watching poor McArliss fall into the -drink. You would have had it all—just the same -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>this morning—for he would never have hit the -reef on duty——”</p> - -<p>It was Bellair who spoke, and the thing had -suddenly appeared very clear to him. Stackhouse -did not falter from the present, his huge -head darting east and west to stare through the -whitening film.</p> - -<p>“It was my hamber. There is room here at -my feet. It was little, yet meant so much. I -should not have troubled you——”</p> - -<p>The lack of it seemed suddenly to hurt him -even more poignantly.</p> - -<p>“You will all go to hell with your talk of -beace,” he declared, looking between them but -at no pair of eyes. “I will go first, what with -the drink dying out, but you will not be long. -There is hell for me, but for all alike. You may -live days—but the longer, the more hell. And -you will all come at last—to the long deep drink -of the brine——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come now, Stackhouse,” said Bellair. “It -may not turn out so badly. You’ve had luck before. -You’ve talked much to me of luck—and -deaths of others. If it’s your turn—face it as -your innumerable friends faced it.”</p> - -<p>The man was undone before them. The flesh -of his jaws stood out, as if pulled by invisible -fingers. His heavy lips rubbed together, so that -they turned from the sight of them.</p> - -<p>“There was room in the boat for that basket -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>of rum,” he called out insanely. “It was all to -me. There is no talk of God for me—rum was -all I had!... I would have been so quiet. It -would have been here at my feet, but for that -fool who talks of God, and can never know the -thirst of men.”</p> - -<p>Fleury turned to him, his face deeply troubled. -It occurred to Bellair that there was something -to what Stackhouse said. Fleury, in kicking back -the hamper, had kept the devil of Stackhouse -from entering the boat, and Stackhouse served -no other.... More and more it was twisting -his brain, as young alligators twist at a carcass.</p> - -<p>“I would have had it here between my knees. -And I would have had the little bottle from the -cabin—the last that boots you to sleep——”</p> - -<p>“And so that is what you sent her back for—sent -her to her death——”</p> - -<p>“You lie. She was held here—trying to get -the hamber to me. There would have been time. -She would have gone and come. She would have -been here now——”</p> - -<p>Bellair and Fleury glanced at each other.</p> - -<p>“I am rotted with drink—and will drink the -brine first, but you will follow me. You will -bring it up with your hands and drink—and -drink——”</p> - -<p>He was looking at Fleury now. The intensity -of thirst in the spectacle of him—the presence of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>that vast galvanism of thirst—was like a burning -sun in their throats. The baby cried, and the -mother drew him shudderingly to her breast. -Fleury swallowed hard, his face haggard and -drawn in the daybreak. He went over and took -his seat before the monster. Bellair was tempted -to ask him to be easy, but there was no need. -Fleury turned and drew a cup of water and handed -it to the other. Bellair’s jaws ached cruelly from -the drain of empty glands.</p> - -<p>“We should pity you, Stackhouse,” he said, -“but we are not facing death now. You fill the -boat with thirst—you fill the sea—with your -thinking drink and talking drink—until you bring -a cry of thirst to the little child. It’s as if we -had gone sixty hours—instead of six——”</p> - -<p>He talked on for the sake of the woman. Stackhouse -drank and grew silent. Bellair felt better -and braver—even though the full light revealed -nothing but empty sea and heavenly sky.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair surveyed his world as the dawn came up.... -Thirst and fasting; possibly, the end.... -The peculiar part of his open boat contemplations, -no two were alike. Physical denial -hurried him from one plane to another from -which he regarded his world—his two worlds, for -Stackhouse behind was one, and his friends forward, -another; the one drawing his love, courage -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>and finest ideals; the other, repression of self, lest -he wear himself out in hatred. They were not -talkers in front. He had not seen quite the entire -fulfilment of Fleury’s meaning about talking until -late moments. The Faraway Woman invariably -said little; the child was the silentest of all; -Fleury had met this demon and put it away. -Stackhouse had talked and talked, and to the -pictures he made with words, he belonged not -at all, but to unspeakable things. Bellair remembered -his own talk to Filbrick. It made him -writhe. He had become crossed and complicated -and ineffective that day. He had not talked in -the straight line of heart and brain. He saw that -a man who talks that which he is not, is less than -nothing, as Stackhouse was less than nothing.</p> - -<p>“How far are we from anywhere, Bellair?” -Fleury asked.</p> - -<p>“We weren’t supposed to strike land before -Chatham or Bounty Island—two days’ sail this -side of New Zealand, as I understand it. We lost -land six—a week ago to-day—<i>Madre de Dios</i>, -McArliss called it—off the west Coast of South -America. With good wind McArliss planned to -sight the Islands off New Zealand in three weeks. -We had a week’s good sailing until yesterday—so -we are a fortnight, as the <i>Jade</i> reckoned, from—<i>your -home</i>.”</p> - -<p>Bellair turned to the woman. She did not -speak.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you suppose we struck coral?” Fleury -asked.</p> - -<p>The subject seemed very hopeless. “I saw -the charts in McArliss’ cabin. No reefs were -charted according to our passage. We may have -been off our course. But I do not understand. -The mate took our bearings yesterday noon. I -do not know what he reported to the Captain——”</p> - -<p>“It may have been a sunken wreck that we -struck,” said Fleury.</p> - -<p>Bellair had thought of that. He turned to -Stackhouse, who might have had something to -say, but the other stared at them balefully—at -their faces, not meeting their eyes. Either he had -not followed their words, or chose to take no -part.</p> - -<p>“If we are in the course of any ships at all, -it would be of one passing our route, from the -Horn to the Islands,” Fleury added. “I doubt if -it would do us any good to row. We must not -tax our strength. If we are off our course, we -cannot tell whether it is to the north or south, -so nothing is positively to be gained. It’s a question -of hands up. The other boat set out for -somewhere at once. If they find ship they will -tell the story——”</p> - -<p>It appeared a useless recounting of obvious -things. Bellair had thought this out bit by bit -several times without finding the least substance -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>to tie to. Fleury’s addition merely accentuated -the bleakness of their position.</p> - -<p>“Still,” the preacher added, “if there is nothing -for us to do in the way of struggle—the rest is -simplified. We may be thoroughly tested, but I -feel a strange confidence of our ultimate delivery. -I thought of it before we had parted from the -<i>Jade</i>. It came to me again in the night. I believe -it now. We do not belong to the deep—not -all of us.”</p> - -<p>Bellair wondered at the strength which came -from this. He placed his trust upon this man, -as one having familiarity with a source which he -personally did not draw from. The preacher’s -words were designed to cheer the woman, but he -could not let them pass as merely for that. Fleury -had a conviction, or he would not have spoken so.</p> - -<p>The air grew cooler during the long closing of -that first day. Bellair thought of his overcoat -which lay in a roll under the narrow planking -forward where the woman sat. The bundle of -New York papers dropped out, as he drew the -garment forth. He opened one of the papers -laughingly.... The headlines were like voices -from another world. The abyss between the real -and the unreal yawned before his eyes now in -the open boat. New York seemed to be fighting -in prints for things so little and unavailing. So -little ago, he, Bellair, had moved among them, -as among things that counted. Now what was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>real was the woman’s courage and the substance -of Fleury’s faith, and the hope that came from -the immensity. The deep contrasts of life held -Bellair.</p> - -<p>As the message of the press came up to his -eyes, he sunk into queer apathy, believed himself -dreaming when he read his own name. He was -not startled; even that was not his, but an invention -like the clicking of a watch, which marks off -an illusion of the illusion time.... An afternoon -paper, dated the second day after his departure -from New York; a brief statement of his -departure with certain funds of Lot & Company; -one item of a thousand dollars, several others -suspected missing.... There was a follow story -in the next day’s issue: Bellair as yet unfound, -was believed to have gone to the Cobalt; Bessie -Brealt, a professional singer, had passed an hour -or two with the missing man on the eve of his -flight. He had spent money recklessly.... This -was all.</p> - -<p>He dumped the papers overside, and was sorry -afterward; still, there was not physical energy -in him to explain, nor comprehension in the other -two for such details. Lot & Company had sacrificed -him to ward off disclosures he might make. -Possibly Attorney Jackson had suggested the step. -It was very clear. Even if the station-porter had -not mailed his letter, they would have found his -order of release in the safe. It was a part of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>other world—proper business from Lot & Company’s -point of view. He was marked a thief in -his small circle. He seemed to see the face of -the boarding-house woman as she heard the news. -She would search her house.... And Bessie -Brealt.... The tempter, notoriety, was responsible -for her small, mean part. It wasn’t an accident. -She must have looked at his card and told, -for the reporters would not have come to her.... -It began to hurt him, mainly because of the -thoughts and dreams of helping her, which had -come to him since, especially here in the open -boat. She had fallen into one of the little tricks -of New York—to break into print at any cost. -There wasn’t much reality in the rest, nor much -chance of his needing New York again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>... Three and a child in a small boat. The -pale moon-crescent, her bow to the sinking sun, -appeared higher in the west. What a cosmic -intervention—since last night when he had seen -her first arc and the earth-shine from the deck of -the <i>Jade</i>! And what a supper he had gone down -to afterward! There was wrench in that—an -age since then.... No one had spoken for a -long time. Bellair wondered if the man and -woman thought of food as he did.</p> - -<p>Three and a child in the empty sea, and the -great suns of night were coming forth in the -deepening dusk. They were strangers, but more -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>real than the sea. This was not like the earth -at all; and yet the <i>Jade</i> had been of the earth. -Her fabric had contained the bond that held from -port to port. Stars and sea—one more real than -the other, and different, too, for there was horror -in looking down, but hope in looking up. Something -in his breast answered the universality—but -quailed before the deep.</p> - -<p>... Just now Bellair, lifting his overcoat to -draw it closer around him, sensed its unaccustomed -weight on the left. His hand sped thither, -touched the full bottle of Bourbon whiskey purchased -in Savannah. His hand remained with -it a moment. A shudder passed through the small -boat from Stackhouse, who had come to from -another hideous sleep.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair stared into the sea. No one had spoken -for many minutes. It was close to noon. Though -all that had to do with memory since the -sinking of the <i>Jade</i> was treacherous, according -to his recounting, it was but the second -day; that is, the mother-ship had gone down in -the heart of night before last.... Bellair had -given away to temptation, when he let his eyes -sink into the depths. He had fought it for hours, -and knew that nothing good would come of it, -but there was so much to fight, he had not the -further strength for this.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> - -<p>The sea was calm on the surface, but there -appeared a movement below, so vast and unhurried, -that it was like some planetary function. -There seemed a draw of the depths southward, -an under-movement toward the Pole. At times -a cloud of purple would rise from far beneath and -shut off his peering, like the movement of blueing -in a laundry-tub before it is well-diffused. It -came to him that this was but a denser cloud-land—an -ocean of condensed clouds, moved not -by winds alone, but the stirring of the earth’s -mysterious inner attractions, which in their turn -were determined by the sun and moon and stars. -It was all orderly, but he, Bellair, was out of -order. And such a little thing—a quart of cool -water, and any one of the thousands of meals -he had thoughtlessly, gratelessly bought and paid -for—thousands consumed with a book at hand, or -a paper to keep his mind off the perfunctory routine -of feeding himself. Hundreds of meals he -had taken, because it was the hour, and a cigar -was more pleasurable afterward; meals in his -room—paper packages of food, pails of ice, chilled -bottles with a mist forming on them; saloon -lunches, plates of colored sausages, creamy-rose -slices of ham, tailored radishes and herring pickled -in onions.... There was not a fish in the sea, -not a movement but the blueing, and that slide -of the under-ocean river to the Pole.</p> - -<p>Yet there <i>was</i> something in there—an end to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>this disorder. It would take all he had left—the -good air. It was like a knife or a gun or a poison-pill.... -The movement below was so strong -that it would grip him, shut him from the air, -and leave him slithering along toward the Pole, -sometimes sinking sideways, and then rising, forever -seeking his balance ... not forever. He -pictured himself in a school of herring, thousands -of bright lidless eyes, thousands of bubbles, like -eyes, from their mouths opening and shutting—he -slithering sideways—his hands moving in the -tugs and pressures. They would cease to dart -from his movements, understanding them as the -ground-birds know the wind in the grass. Lips -and eye-lids and nostrils—they would have food. -Food was the great event of the day to all things—except -men. Men ate by the clock, ate to -smoke, ate to soften the hearts of women ... -yet after all food was food.... Or one big fish.... -Or two fighting for him.... Or one finding -him lying still, a slow fanning of fins against -the purple pressures, watching to be sure—then -the strike.... Once he had examined a minnow -after the strike of a bass.... Where would <i>he</i> -be in that strike—or in that herring school-room—not -that slithering sideways thing—but <i>he</i>? -Would he be watching humorously, or back in -the cage with Mr. Sproxley, or in Bessie’s bedroom? -Was it all a myth about that other <i>he</i>? -It seemed a myth with his stomach sinking, tightening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -like a dripping rag between a pair of mighty -elbows. In the centre of the rag was a compressed -cork, and in the cork, a screw was twisting.</p> - -<p>Cork—that made him think of the whiskey. He -turned from the water to the coat under the seat, -his eyes blinking. His bare foot moved painfully -to the coat and along the breast to the -pocket, to the hard hump of the bottle.</p> - -<p>His eyes suddenly filled with the figure of -Stackhouse, whose attitudes were an endless series -of death tableaus, as his stories had also pictured. -His face had broken out into more beard, his eyes -glazed, body shapeless, like clothing stuffed with -hair. His hands held the primal significance of -birth and death. They lay upon his limbs, the -thumbs drawn into the palms, the first and little -fingers of each pointing straight down. Bellair -thought of how death contracts the thumb, and -how infants come with their thumbs in-drawn.</p> - -<p>Also his mind was played upon by two distinct -series of emotions—Stackhouse representing -one set; Fleury and the Faraway Woman signifying -the other. He swung from power to power. -Then his concern and fascination for Stackhouse -changed from loathing and the visible tragedy, to -a queer passage of conjecture regarding the worldwide -processes which had nourished that huge body -to its fall. In fact, Bellair’s favourite restaurants -returned to mind like a pageant; the little inns -on the Sound that he used to go summer Saturday -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>afternoons; the one place in Staten where there -were corn-cakes and a view of the shipping; the -myriad eating and drinking places of New York; -and from them all, one shop of chop and chicken-broils -where the miracles were done on wood-embers, -so that even the smoke that filled the -place was seasoned nutriment.</p> - -<p>“They certainly knew how to buy,” he muttered -aloud.</p> - -<p>It was a kind of moan, and he added quickly: -“I beg your pardon.”</p> - -<p>Fleury and the woman regarded him with silent -kindness.</p> - -<p>“I was just thinking of a man I knew—a buyer -of canned goods,” he explained hastily. “The -bargains in canned-goods he had a way of pulling -off! There wasn’t a man in New York who could -bring in lines of stuff at the figure he copped—a -little runt of a man named Blath, who knew his -business——”</p> - -<p>Fleury leaned back as if reaching for support, -his quiet smile not a little tender. His two -browned hands came forward to Bellair’s knees, -and he said with a devoted smile:</p> - -<p>“I’ll not forget that in a hurry.... Blath, -you say his name was?”</p> - -<p>Bellair knew well that he had not kept his -mental pictures from Fleury’s mind. His entire -consciousness had been in steam and woodsmoke -having to do with broiling meat. The three were -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>worn thin, worn to fine receptivity, and caught -one-another’s thought without effort of many -words.... Though he did not turn, a shock of -pity came to him now for the master. He had -meant to save the opening of the whiskey for -the next dawn, vaguely thinking that if they -should find the sea empty once more, there would -be that false strength to fall back upon. Stackhouse -could not live more than a day or two -longer. He was torn by devils, his only surcease -being the snap of consciousness from time to time. -The whiskey had been upon Bellair’s mind like -a curse. He wanted its force for himself, but -never really meant to use it, had not even given -the temptation leeway. His lot was cast with -the forward forces; they would not have touched -the contents of his bottle. This did not change -the desire, however.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">4</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The third day. Bellair was light-headed from -the scarcity of crackers. Yesterday had been -a mingled thirst and hunger day, but this was -characterised by hunger incessant. To-morrow he -anticipated with dread another thirst horror, and -after that, no hunger at all, but mighty agony -that knew but the one word, <i>Water</i>. The keen -airs of night and morning, and the sterilised burning -of the noons, constantly fanned and stimulated -the natural demands of the body.... He had -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>forgotten the newspapers. Bessie’s face came before -him—something of her deep heart-touching -tones which changed him.</p> - -<p>“There must be a great woman there—a great -fine woman—like this one.”</p> - -<p>He did not turn. It may have been the first -concession from his every-day faculties of this -woman’s actual beauty. He had already granted -this deeper within, where the understandings of -men are wiser, but harder to get at. Certain hours -had shown him the clear quality of saints and -martyrs; and he had seen in pure life-equation -that the child was worth his life or Fleury’s. -He would have given his, as most white men -would, but it was different to see the value and -rightness of it....</p> - -<p>There was now an unspeakable need in the -stern. He drew the bottle from the overcoat-pocket -at his feet, without turning. Fleury and -the woman watched him. He cut the small wires -with his knife, tore off the wafer, half-expectant -of some sound from behind.... The day was -ending. The young moon newly visible in the -dusk began its curve into the west from a higher -point in the sky....</p> - -<p>There was a screw in Bellair’s knife. It sank -noiselessly into the cork, but the first creak of the -stopper against the glass brought the jolt. They -all felt it—as if the great body had fallen from a -dream.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> - -<p>Stackhouse was staring at the thing in Bellair’s -hands, his tongue visible, his face filling -with light. He rubbed his eyes, the beginnings -of articulation deep in his throat. He was trying -to make himself believe it was not a vision. That -harrowed them. A pirate would have pitied him—reptile -desire imaged not in the face alone, but -in the hands and all. Bellair poured a big drink -in a tin-cup. Fleury passed him a gill of water. -Stackhouse drained the cup with a cry.</p> - -<p>Something earth-bound slowly left his face. -In contrast it grew mild and reckonable; but within -an hour he was wild with pain, and dangerous -for night was falling. In the light of the moon -there was treachery. Bellair and Fleury sat together -in the centre. The other’s bulk was great -and the boat small. In becoming custodian of -a bottle of whiskey, Bellair now required help. -He wished it in the sea, but there was a pang of -cruelty about that. The new force that animated -Stackhouse had to be reckoned with. It was both -cunning and destructive. There was no murder -in their hearts.... Stackhouse drew his feet -under him, helping them with his hands; his eyeballs -turned upward from the agony of cramps -in his limbs; then he sank forward on his knees. -The craft of desire had turned from fighting to -speech. The moon was grey upon his breast -and gleamed from his eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> - -<p>“You will listen to a man who is dying. Yes, -Bellair, you will listen—who listened to me so -much.... Give me drink, so I can talk——”</p> - -<p>“It may save you—but not if you take it all -at once.”</p> - -<p>The creature winced, but his passion moved to -its appointed ends. He drew forth the large -brown wallet they had often seen; rubbed it in -his hands, until his fingers could feel; then opened -the leather band. From one receptacle he lifted -a thick package of bank-notes.</p> - -<p>“I liked you, Bellair—almost as I liked one -Belding. I could have done much for you. I -hate <i>that</i> man, for he has made my death -hard——”</p> - -<p>His face turned toward Fleury, but did not -meet the preacher’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“The <i>Jade</i> brought a sweet cargo to Ameriga, -and Stackhouse does not bank in New York.... -Bellair, I want to drink—so the talk will -come——”</p> - -<p>So absurd was the sound of cargo and banking -that Bellair thought his mind had wandered again, -yet he said:</p> - -<p>“You are better. You cannot drink each hour. -If this is to help you, you must be sane.”</p> - -<p>“I have something to say of imbortance—you -will help me, Bellair. It is for you.”</p> - -<p>The faces of Fleury and the mother gave him -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>no help. They were kind, but the thing seemed -beneath them, as if they were waiting for him -to come back from it.</p> - -<p>“You have stood by that man, and not by me,” -Stackhouse said hoarsely. “So that I meant to -toss this in the sea at the last—this and all the -papers——”</p> - -<p>He lifted the bank-notes and showed him the -collection of separately-banded documents.</p> - -<p>“I am a rich man, and I have no heir. I had -thought of you, but you turned away from me -and did not continue to listen. You went to him -of the breachings—but you have now what is -needful for me and I will bay. I have no heir. -I said that before. I dell you now. A dying -man does not lie. There are papers to make you -rich, for I have other fortunes. Look, I will toss -it into the sea—if you do not give me that -bottle——”</p> - -<p>Bellair laughed at him.</p> - -<p>“These are thousand dollar notes—there are -fifty of them——”</p> - -<p>Bellair turned aside for an instant. Money and -papers of more money—these were very far from -fanning excitement in his breast. A loaf and a -jug of fresh water were real; the moon’s higher -appearance each night, and the majestic plan of -the night-suns, these were real. Fleury, the -woman and the babe, lost in the brimming darkness -of earth’s ocean—they were real. Like the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>stars they had to do with the mighty Conceiver -of it all. They were a part of the Conception—and -so they were real—but the dollars of -men....</p> - -<p>“And do you know what I will do—after I -have tossed this into the sea?”</p> - -<p>The question brought him back quickly.</p> - -<p>“No, Stackhouse,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“I will come for you and dake that bottle. I -am big. I have strength. I will dake it—or you -will kill me—and that will be the end——”</p> - -<p>Bellair thought of that. There was a pistol -in his coat. He did not want to use it. He believed -Stackhouse would do as he said.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, Bellair——”</p> - -<p>“If I give it to you—oh, not for that rubbish!” -he pointed to the wallet. “If I give it to you—you -will die more quickly——”</p> - -<p>“That is what I want.”</p> - -<p>“But it is not our way——”</p> - -<p>Stackhouse tore loose from his shirtpocket the -heavy gold watch and its heavier chain, dropped -the whole into one of the folds of the wallet to -weight it down. “It will sink,” he said.</p> - -<p>“To hell with it——”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, Bellair!” Stackhouse moaned, -his arm rising with the wallet and falling again.</p> - -<p>At that instant Bellair thought of Bessie Brealt -and her career.... He turned to Fleury and -the Mother. They were regarding him with kindest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -concern—as if he were a loved one who could -not fail to do well in any event. Then he thought -of the work that Fleury might do—the preacher -who had finished with talk, and was so eager to -act.... And just then, the little child turned -to him from the mother’s breast—a puzzled look, -but calm, and a flicker of the damp upper lip, as -if it would like to smile, but was not sure.</p> - -<p>Bellair held out the whiskey. The wallet was -thrust in his hands for reception of the bottle—a -frenzied transaction.</p> - -<p>They begged him to spare it for his own peace. -They gave him water, but poor Stackhouse could -not live with the stuff in his hands. In fifteen -minutes the bottle was drained, and then the -monster wept.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">5</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The night roved on like a night in still mountains. -The young moon had sunk behind the -sea. Jupiter in meridian glory seemed trying -to bring his white fire to the dying red of Antares.... -A dark night of stars now, since the upstart -moon had left the deeper purple. Most of -all, Bellair was fascinated by the great yellow -gleam of Canopus. It was a dry, pure dark—no -drip in that night—but a thirsty horror in the -saline lapping of the ocean against the planks.</p> - -<p>Stackhouse was headless in the shadow, his piglike -breathing a part of all. Fleury, the mother -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>and the child slept; the preacher’s head close to -the knees of the woman. Bellair marked that, and -that Fleury loved her. At times the preacher’s -whole life seemed an effort to make her eat and -drink; and as for Fleury himself it often appeared -that he required no better nutriment than -that of conferring food and water upon the others. -As custodian, he claimed authority for his action.... -Bellair thought long of Bessie. He was -watching the east at last for Venus to arise ahead -of the sun....</p> - -<p>... But Bessie became blurred. He did not -understand. Either his brain had another picture, -or the original of the singing girl was fading.... -A New York voice, no passion, but ambition, -an excellent voice—and such a beautiful, -girlish breast.... Bellair tried to shake this -coldness from him. This was not being true. He -had a faint suspicion that a man’s woman is more -apt to depart from him while he is at her side -than when he is away. It is because another has -come, if passion for the old dies, when one is -away. Alone and apart, man is more ardent, in -fact, unless a new picture composes.... He -thought of Davy Acton, the office boy at Lot & -Company’s, that wistful, sincere face—and then -Bellair gave way to the night.</p> - -<p>This was a new sensation. It came from the -hunger and thirst. He could <i>let go</i>. The purple -immensity would then take him. A half-hour, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>even an hour, would pass. It was not sleep, very -different from that. He was not altogether lost. -A little drum-beat would come back to him from -the mighty revery-space, and his heart would answer -the beat. He seemed to be on the borderland -of the Ultimate Secret; and invariably afterward -he was amazed at what he had been—so sordid -and sunken and depraved was the recent life he -had known.</p> - -<p>“But I was what the days and years seemed to -want of me,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>That was the gall of it. Days and years are -betrayers; all the activities of the world are betrayers. -He glimpsed the great patience of the -scheme. Only man makes haste. Myriad pressures, -subtle and still-voiced, tighten upon a man, -bringing just the suggestion that all is not well -with him. Then there are the more obvious pressures—fever, -desire, the death of a man’s loves—to -make him stop and look and listen. But so -seldom does he relate these to the restlessness of -his soul. Rather he attributes them to the general -misery of life. He has been taught to do so—the -false teaching.... For general misery is not -the plan of life. If <i>children</i> could only be taught -that it is all superbly balanced, the plan perfect; -that not a momentary stress of suffering comes -undeserved; that the burden of all suffering is -to make a man change!... A sentence came so -clearly to him that even his lips formed it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> - -<p>“The plan of life is for joy!”</p> - -<p>He saw the need of every hundredth man at -least, arising to repeat this sentence around the -world—arising from his pain and husks like the -Younger Son, and returning to the joy of the -Father’s House.... Something was singing in -him from his thought of <i>children</i>.</p> - -<p>“We’re too old,” he thought, meaning the millions -of men caught in the world as he had been, -“but the children could learn. They could -change——”</p> - -<p>He had turned to the bow. Fleury was a -nearer shadow, sitting, head bowed forward. The -Mother’s head lay back against Bellair’s coat, the -child across her knees.... That faint grey light -was about her. He had not noted this at first; -it seemed to have come from the moment of contemplation—something -like starlight, something -like the earth-shine that Fleury explained. Her -lips were parted, and her eyes seemed held shut, -not as if she slept but as if she were thinking of -something dear to her—her face wasted a little.</p> - -<p>He saw it more clearly than the faintness of -the light would suggest—and to Bellair’s breast -came a sudden sense of her expectancy. It seemed -she were awake, but lying back with eyes shut -awaiting a lover, her face wasted a little from -the burning of expectation. For a moment it was -very beautiful to him. Then all was spoiled—for -the personal entered. Almost before he had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>any volition in the matter, his mind had flashed -across the interval of space between them—as if -he were the one to bring that token to the parted -lips.</p> - -<p>He shook his head with impatience, and the -miseries of the hour rushed home to his mind.</p> - -<p>... Fleury was awake and they were whispering, -the woman still asleep.</p> - -<p>“The plan of the world is for joy,” Bellair -said wearily. “We are all taught that it is a -vale of tears—that’s the trouble—taught that we -must grab what we can.”</p> - -<p>“If we won’t learn from joy—we’ve got to -take the pain,” said the preacher. “We’ve got -to get out of the conception of time and space as -the world sees it to catch a glimpse of the joy -of the plan. We are in the midst of a superb -puzzle. To those who see only the matter and -not the meaning, life is an evil country, a country -of dragons and monsters. But there’s a soul to -it all, and man has a soul. If a man begins to -use his soul to see and think with, the puzzle begins -to unfold. A man’s soul isn’t of matter. It’s -a pilgrim come far, far to go—very eager -to get this particular journey through matter -ended——”</p> - -<p>“But why make the journey?”</p> - -<p>“To learn evil.”</p> - -<p>“The Younger Son wasted himself afield——”</p> - -<p>“Was he not placed afterward above the elder -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>in the Father’s heart?” Fleury asked. “Could he -not appreciate the Father’s House better than him -who had not left it? Man is greater than angels—that’s -hinted at everywhere in the Scriptures. -Angels are unalloyed good. The man who has -mastered matter becomes a creative force. All the -great stories of the world tell the same story—the -wanderings of Ulysses, the tasks of Hercules. The -soul’s mastery of each task and escape from each -peril and illusion is an added lesson—finally the -puzzle breaks open. The adventurer sees the long -journey of the soul, not this little earth-crossing. -He sees that his misery now is but a dip of the -valley—that the long way is a steadily rising -road—that the plan <i>is</i> for joy.”</p> - -<p>It came home to him closer than ever before -that night. His soul had tried to express itself -and ordain his higher ways these many years, but -he had lost his way in the world. He perceived -that all men lose their way; that he had suddenly -been shaken apart so he could see. It was luck -in his case—the misery at Lot & Company’s, the -singing of Bessie Brealt, the unparalleled contrasts -here in the open boat. But why should he be -shown, and not the millions of other imprisoned -men? Was this a part of the great patience of -the scheme again? Would something happen to -each man in due season, some force in good time -to help him to rise and be free?</p> - -<p>“The man who ties himself to the pilgrim—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -not the sick little chattering world creature—suddenly -finds that he has but one job,” Fleury -said presently. “He’s got to tell about it——”</p> - -<p>The world suddenly smote Bellair.</p> - -<p>“Why, men would say a man was crazy if he -told the things we have thought this night,” he -said, leaning forward. “Maybe we are a bit unsound. -Perhaps these are illusions we are harbouring—vagaries -from drying up and wasting -away, similar to the vagaries of alcohol—doubtless——”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was like waking from a dream—the horrible -sounds now from the stern. Bellair heard Fleury’s -voice. Turning, he saw Venus before anything -else. It was the thought that he had fallen into -the revery with, and had to be finished on the -way out.</p> - -<p>Under that superb vision of morning, Stackhouse -was kneeling, his breast against the rail,—bringing -up to his mouth great palm-fuls of -brine.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">6</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The things that happened in the open boat -on this fourth day are not altogether to be explained. -A metaphysician from the East explained -a similar visitation—but like many -explanations of the East, the foundations of his -discussion were off the ground. He did not begin -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>with stuff that weighs-up avoirdupois. The West -can weigh the moon and estimate the bulk of -Antares’ occulted companion, but in cases where -<i>things</i> cease to be weighable, our side of the world -sits back with the remark, “It is well enough to -hypothecate the immaterial, but what’s the good -of it when you can’t see it?” Also when the East -gently suggests an opinion, the West rises to declare, -“Why, you people haven’t got gas or running -water in your houses.”</p> - -<p>Now occasionally there comes a time when the -Western eye sees something that it can’t touch -or smell exactly, and it is easier to disbelieve its -own senses than to change its point of view for -an Eastern one. Accordingly it says, “I was -crazy with the heat,” or as Bellair was prone to -explain away the visitation of this day, “The -thirst and the hunger had got to me.”</p> - -<p>There follows, without further peroration, an -unheated narrative of what <i>appeared</i> to take place -on that fourth day:</p> - -<p>As was expected from drinking the brine, Stackhouse -went mad. The look of the great creature, -his very identity, changed, went out from him, -and something else came in. This happens when a -dog goes mad. We have had to reckon with it -in our own families. If that which we knew -passes, without something foreign taking its place, -the result would be a mere inert mass waiting -for death. The alienists have given us the word -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span><i>obsession</i> to explain that which comes instead, -making an obscenity and violence of that which -we knew. In the olden days these Enterers were -known as demons. A man named Legion was -beset with them, and Another with a strong will -came and, according to the story, freed Legion. -That which had defiled him entered a herd of -swine, the bars of which were somehow down at -the time....</p> - -<p>They had ceased to hate Stackhouse. The old -Master was gone into who knows what long feeding -dream? This was merely his body that they -watched for an hour or two in the forenoon. In -fact, Bellair had studied the departure with some -detachment. He was sitting as usual in the centre -of the boat, glad that the Stackhouse agony was -done. There was a moment in which it appeared -that death was stealing in rapidly, and another -in which a new kind of life entered the body—as -vandals enter to despoil a house after the tenant -has moved away.</p> - -<p>The hunched body had suddenly reached for -him like a great ape. Bellair had felt the crippling -force of the touch, and an almost equal -force from the thought that flashed in his mind—to -use the pistol.... The boat had rocked beneath -them. The blackness of much blood was -in Bellair’s brain. The struggle was brief. -Through it all, Bellair heard the cries of the child. -Just as he was ready to fail, the monster sat back, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>his teeth snapping in his beard—the huge hands -feeling for him, as one blinded.</p> - -<p>“Change places with me, Bellair.”</p> - -<p>This was from Fleury—midforenoon that -fourth day. Bellair obeyed because he was afraid -of the pistol at hand.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to kill him,” he panted.</p> - -<p>“It will not come to that,” Fleury answered.</p> - -<p>It was then that the transfer of seats was made. -Bellair relied vaguely upon the preacher’s greater -strength which was not of limb and shoulder. -The monster dropped to his knees to renew the -fight.</p> - -<p>“Be still,” Fleury commanded. “Be still and -rest——”</p> - -<p>Stackhouse himself would not have faltered before -that voice of Fleury’s, but there was a force -in it that prevailed for a moment upon the obsession. -The air was full of strain.... They -heard the heart in the poor body. The blue-tipped -hands were upraised from the bottom of the boat—the -face was toward them. Bellair and the -Faraway Woman could see only the back of -Fleury’s head. The strain was like a vice in the -open boat.</p> - -<p>Bellair contemplated the mystery: that this -force, lower and more destructive than Stackhouse, -could be managed and subdued in part by the -energy of another’s will-power, when Stackhouse -himself would have required brute strength....<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -He thought he understood what was going -on, though he would likely have scouted the same -had some one told him. In any event, Fleury -was quieting the complicated thing before him.... -They heard the heart-beats rise and sink, -the hands often lifting from the bottom. The -entire passage of the battle was magnified before -their eyes. Hours passed. Fleury scarcely -turned.</p> - -<p>So far there is nothing to call in the Eastern -metaphysicians, but the day was not done, nor -the dying galvanism of the monster. The afternoon -was still bright, when the great hairy head -cocked itself up differently—the eyes stretching -open and suddenly filled with yellow-green light, -the colour of squash-pulp close to the rind, but a -transparent light, that gathered the rays of the -day in its expiring lucency, and held their own -eyes—a lidless horror lifted from its belly. The -woman must have seen the change at the same -instant, for her cry blended with the voice of -Bellair. As one, they understood that this was -a different force for Fleury to meet—a wiser, more -ancient and terrific force, from the bowels of the -world of evil possibly, without relation to Stackhouse, -but with a very thrilling relation to them.</p> - -<p>The whole face had a different look. It was -rising higher. The hands were braced upon the -grating, pushing the body up. They were accustomed -to the loosed havoc of bestiality which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>Stackhouse had left upon his features—but this -that looked out from his eyes was knit and intent.</p> - -<p>Fleury’s hand groped back.</p> - -<p>“It will not answer me,” he was saying. “This -is different. It will not obey me. Take my hand, -Bellair.... Yes, and take hers with the other. -We must drive it out.”</p> - -<p>Weariness more than death was in the speech. -He had struggled for hours. It was the voice of -a man who had fought to his soul’s end. Bellair -held his hand and the woman’s, but felt himself -the betrayer. This had come <i>for him</i>! He was -the prophet lying still while the sailors deliberated. -They must cast him into the sea, before -this thing could be willed into quiescence. Concentration -on his part was broken by this conviction.</p> - -<p>The body of Stackhouse was lifted to its knees—the -different face looking out of the eyes. They -sat before it like terrified children; the eyes found -them one after another, steadily, with unearthly -frigid humour, like some creative force of evil, -integrated of the ages, charged with intrepid will, -a ruling visitant that would tarry but an instant -for the climax.</p> - -<p>It was not human, save in the shape and feature -for their recognition; its difference from the -human was its frank knowing destructiveness. -Humanity is mainly unconscious of the processes -of evil; <i>this had chosen</i>. This was of the pull -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>of the earth, and knew its power. It seemed -known to Bellair as if from some ancient meeting. -He could never have remembered, however, -without this return. It was devoid of sex, -which seemed to bring to him some old deep -problem that took its place with his ineffable -fear of the presence.</p> - -<p>So Bellair sat between them, holding their -hands, but powerless to help.... It was higher, -looking out of the eyes of the body, in strange solution -with the fallen humanity of the face they -knew. And Bellair knew <i>he</i> was responsible.</p> - -<p>“You must depart. You do not belong here,” -a voice said. Bellair could not tell if it were -Fleury’s or the woman’s or his own. It may have -been merely a thought.</p> - -<p>The thing had uprisen now. It lurched in the -sway of the boat. Fleury and he were standing -to meet the body that hurled itself forward.... -Water dashed over them. They were beneath the -monster. Bellair felt more than the crush of the -weight of flesh, a force kindred to electricity, but -not electric, a smothering defiling dynamics, that -despoiled him by the low, cold depth of its vibration, -rather than by the fierce fury of it. Then -he thought of the woman’s child. It came to him -like a pure gleam. The child must live. The -thought was very real, out of the self, but not <i>for</i> -self.... It seemed that he heard the heart of -Stackhouse break, and the demon hiss away.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> -<p>Bellair looked up from the bottom of the boat. -The woman’s face was very close, his face between -her hands.</p> - -<p>“... Yes, come back to us!” she was saying. -“Oh, we could not live without you——”</p> - -<p>It did not seem real to him for a moment. He -turned from her merciful eyes. Fleury was sitting -there in the centre, holding the child with -hands that trembled. The boat rode lightly, -though water lay in the bottom. He turned farther. -Yes, the seat in the stern was empty.</p> - -<p>“He is dead?” Bellair whispered.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she answered.</p> - -<p>“And we did not kill him,” Fleury added.</p> - -<p>“But how did he get overside?”</p> - -<p>“You helped,” they told him.</p> - -<p>He did not remember. “And the child?”</p> - -<p>“The little Gleam is all right. All is well with -us, Bellair.”</p> - -<p>Something of the encounter returned now. “I -do not belong here with you,” he said. “The -thing—at the last—came for me——”</p> - -<p>Then he realised how absurd this would sound—as -if some ogre had come. Yet they understood.</p> - -<p>“I thought it had come for me,” the woman answered -quietly. “I said that, and <i>he</i>——”she -turned with a smile to the preacher,“—and he -said the same—that it had come for him. We -will forget that. Something freed us——”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> -<p>Bellair turned to the child.</p> - -<p>“It was the little Gleam who freed us,” Fleury -said.</p> - -<p>“How did you get that name?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“You said it.”</p> - -<p>“How long have I been lying here?”</p> - -<p>“Ten minutes.”</p> - -<p>He rested a moment longer.... The woman -was sane, the child unhurt. Stackhouse was dead, -and they had not murdered him. It was the -fourth sunset.... Bellair sat up and turned his -eyes to the sea.</p> - -<p>The great body was near. It would not sink. -They tried to row, but were too weak to pull -far. The calm sea would not cover it from their -eyes.... Even the birds did not come to it, -and there was no tugging from the deep.</p> - -<p>The terrible battle of the day had left them -whimpering—drained men, in the pervading calm -of the sea, under the dry cloudless heat and light -of the sky. Fleury and Bellair looked at each -other and their eyes said: “We did not murder -him.” They looked again and found the woman -saner than they. They turned over her shoulder -to the blotch upon the sea. It floated high, drifted -with them. They could not speak connectedly, -but longed for the night.... At last, they heard -her voice:</p> - -<p>“It is very great to me to know that there are -such men in the world. As a little girl in New -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>Zealand I used to picture such heroes—such brothers -and heroes. I came to doubt it afterward, and -that was evil in me. I see now that the dream -was true——”</p> - -<p>They listened like two little boys.</p> - -<p>“See, the cool is coming!” she added. “The -child is glad, too. To-night, we will talk!”</p> - -<p>“You will tell us a story?” Fleury said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, when it is darker. It is all so safe and -quiet now. We are all one.”</p> - -<p>That meant something to Bellair. Later when -it was dark, and they had supped, he said:</p> - -<p>“It’s good—the way you count me in, but you -shouldn’t. I don’t belong, much as I’d like to. I -misjudged you at first. I misjudged Fleury—and -him——” he pointed over her shoulder to -the sea.</p> - -<p>“It will be gone in the morning,” she whispered, -patting his hand. “We are three—and the -child.”</p> - -<p>“Three, and God bless you,” said Fleury. -“Three and the little Gleam——”</p> - -<p>“The Gleam,” the woman repeated, holding the -child closer. “I love that.”</p> - -<p>“We are three and we follow the Gleam.”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">7</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Fleury took the child. The Faraway Woman sat -straight in her seat, so that Bellair wondered at her -strength. Her strength came to him. The deeps -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_1482">[Pg 148]</span>of his listening were opened to her low voice. The -story came to them with all the colour and contour -of her thought-pictures—a richness from the unspoken -words which cannot be given again:</p> - -<p>“It’s about a little girl whom I will call Olga,” -she said. “That is really her name, and the story -is the little girl’s truly. I shall only tell part of -it to-night, for it is long and I would only tell you -the happy part—to-night.</p> - -<p>“Olga’s father and mother and the other children -lived in a low house by the open road that -led to Hamilton. He raised sheep for a living -on the rolling pasture-lands near the Waikata -river, a hundred miles south of Auckland.... -Yes, Olga was born in New Zealand—the youngest -of a houseful of sisters. They belong more -to the latter part of the story which I shall not -tell to-night—just the happy part to-night.... -The first thing that Olga remembered as belonging -to the Great Subject was spoken by her father -one evening when they were all together at their -supper of bread and milk:</p> - -<p>“‘... One never knows. It is best not to -turn away any stranger, not even if he is shabby -and ill-looking. I heard of a house where a -stranger was turned away. They were not bad -people, but supper was over, the things put aside, -and the woman was very tired. The stranger was -taken in at the next house, and in the morning -he seemed different to them—not shabby or ill-looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -at all, but rested and laughing, with -bright lights about his hair. Always afterward, -that house was blest, but the other house went on -in its misery and labour. One never knows. It -is best not to turn any stranger away.’</p> - -<p>“Now Olga understood that from beginning to -end. Many times before she had tried to follow -the talk at the table, but the words would come -too fast, and she would fall away to her own manner -of seeing things. This talk simplified many -matters for her, and seemed greatly to be approved. -So in the evenings she began to watch -for <i>her</i> guest up the long level road that led to -Hamilton. All that summer Olga thought of it -and watched, though she was very little and only -five. Sometimes when it was not yet dark she -would venture forth a few steps and stare up the -long road, until the house of their distant but -nearest neighbour was all blurred in the night. -Just behind her cottage in the other direction, the -road dipped into a ravine, and the trees grew up -from it, shutting off the distance. No place could -be more wonderful than the ravine at midday, for -the shades were quickened with birds, bees, flowers -and much beside that only Olga saw, but its -enchantment was too keen for the evening, and -the night came there very quickly.</p> - -<p>“Her Guest would never come from the ravineway, -but from the long, open road—Olga was -sure of this. Yet when stopping to think, she became<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> -afraid he would not be allowed to pass the -neighbour’s house. Their little Paul was her frequent -playmate, and Paul’s father and mother -were most good and hospitable people, the last on -the Hamilton road to let a stranger go by, without -food and shelter. And Paul would be looking, -for he was almost always interested in her -things.... But perhaps they would be in at -supper and not see the stranger; or perhaps he -would not want to stop there, but would know -that <i>she</i> was watching. She made very certain -that he would not get by her house unobserved.</p> - -<p>“Spring had come again. The pale blue hepaticas -were peeping into bloom. There was one -day that ended in Olga’s most wonderful night. -The sun had gone down, but not the light. The -sky was crowded with rich gold like the breast of -the purple martin—flickerings of beautiful light -in the air, as if little balls of happiness were bursting -of themselves. The shadows were soft on the -long road; the tiles of the neighbour’s low house -were like beaten gold, and the perfume of the -hyacinths flooded everywhere into the silence. All -that heaven could ever be was in that broad splendour -and sweetness—the ravine a soft purple stillness -behind, and a faint mist of red falling in the -distant gold.</p> - -<p>“He was coming. She knew him for The Guest -from afar. The neighbours’ house was already -dimmed, but the stranger was clear, so that she -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>knew he had passed their door. She ran forth -to meet him, and no one called to her from behind. -It seemed all made for her—the evening -so sweet and vast and perfect. One of her little -loose shoes came off as she hurried, but she did -not stop. The single one made her running -clumsy, so she kicked that free too. He must not -think she was a little lame girl.... He was farther -than she thought; she had never come so far -alone in the evening. And yet how clearly she -could see him....</p> - -<p>“He must be very tired, for sometimes he was -on one side of the road, and sometimes on the -other. He was quite old, and his step unsteady, -yet he carried his cane and did not use it.... -His head was uncovered. Now she knew why his -steps were so unsteady. He was looking upward -as he walked—upward and around quite joyously, -the glow of the sky upon his white beard and hair—so -that he did not see her coming, and her bare -feet were silent on the road.</p> - -<p>“She felt very little as she touched his cane.</p> - -<p>“‘Won’t you come to our house to rest? Oh, -please——’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, yes,’ he answered, but did not look -down.</p> - -<p>“‘Our house is near—won’t you come?’ she -asked again, and turning, she was surprised how -far it was, but not afraid, and no one called to -her.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> -<p>“‘Oh, yes,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>“‘But I am down here——’</p> - -<p>“‘Bless me—are you?’</p> - -<p>“He did not seem to see her very well, but tried -to follow her voice, his eyes looking past her, and -to the side, his great hands groping for her gently. -Olga spoke again and touched his hands. Then -he really saw her, and she sighed with relief, because -his eyes filled with the gentlest love she had -ever seen—seemed to rest upon her and enclose her -at the same time. The gladdest smile of welcome -had come to his face. Both her hands were in -his groping ones, but now she turned and led him. -There was silence as they walked, and Olga asked:</p> - -<p>“‘But what were you looking for—you were -looking up, you know?’</p> - -<p>“‘Was I, dear?’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, and what were you looking for?’</p> - -<p>“‘I was looking for my mother,’ he said.</p> - -<p>“Olga thought how old she must be, and she -wanted to cry.... <i>Her</i> mother made the -stranger very welcome, and her father stood back -against the wall smiling in a way that she always -remembered, and without lighting his pipe until -after the stranger had finished his meal. There -was golden butter and the dark bread that is the -life of the peasants, a pitcher of fresh milk and -a bite of that cheese which is brought forth only -on Sundays or holidays. They pressed him to eat -more, saying that he must be in need of food after -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>his journey, but it was very little that he really -took. He smiled and looked with peace from -face to face, but Olga had pulled her stool back -into the shadows, for she did not wish to intrude. -He had not seen so much of the others.</p> - -<p>“A chair was brought to the hearth, for it was -now dark and there was a little fire burning against -the damp coolness of evening. They waited in -vain for him to speak. It was as if he had come -home. To Olga he was intensely memorable sitting -there in the firelight. The others would draw -near, and he leaned forward and looked into their -faces smilingly, but it was not the same.... -Now he was looking and looking around the room. -He found her, and held out his hands. She heard -her mother say, ‘This is Olga’s guest.’</p> - -<p>“She had not believed his old arms could be -so strong. With one hand he held her, while -the other patted her shoulder softly, slowly,—as -if he had everything he desired. All about her -was the firelight and the strange joyous whiteness -of him—his throat and collar and beard all lustrous -white. In his arms there was something she -had never known, even from her mother—a deep -and limitless joy, as if the world were all good, -and nothing could possibly happen that would -not be the right good thing.</p> - -<p>“Then she became afraid her breast would -burst, for the happiness was more and more. It -had to do with the future, such a far distance of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>seeing, all rising and increasingly good—until -Olga had to slip down from his knees, because the -happiness in and through her was more than she -could bear.</p> - -<p>“‘I will come back,’ she said hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“Outdoors she waited until the stars had -steadied and were like the stars she knew, for they -had been huge and blazing at first; then she returned -and he stretched out his hands to her, and -she heard her mother say, ‘Surely, this is Olga’s -guest.’</p> - -<p>“She did not remember how she got into her -little bed. She heard the birds in the vines, and -it was golden day when she awoke. Suddenly -she knew that she had slept too long, that she -would find him gone.... She thought of her -little brown shoes on the road, but some one must -have brought them in, for there they were by the -bed.... He was no longer in the house, but she -did not weep. There had been so much of wonder -and beauty. She looked into her mother’s -face, but did not ask. The mother smiled, as if -waiting for her to speak. The other children must -have been told, for they did not speak.</p> - -<p>“A thousand times Olga wished that she had -awakened in time; often it came to her that she -had not done all she could for her guest, but -there was never real misery about it, and she was -never quite the same after that perfect night. She -thought it out bit by bit every day, but it was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>long, long afterward before she spoke, and this -was to an elder sister, who—it was most strange -and pitiful to Olga—seemed to have forgotten -it all——”</p> - -<p>The Faraway Woman reached for the child, -and held it close and strangely. Fleury offered -her water, but she took just a sup and bade them -finish the cup. “That was the happy part,” she -added in a whisper, her back moving slowly to -and fro, as she held the child high. “It might all -have been happier, but Olga was not quite like -the others. They did not tell her what they knew, -and Olga never could tell them what she felt. -Another time—some happy time—I will tell you, -who are so good—you will understand the rest of -the story——”</p> - -<p>“Would you tell us if Olga’s guest came -again?” the preacher asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he came again,” she said softly.</p> - -<p>Bellair sat still for several moments. Then he -leaned forward and touched the child’s dress.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">8</p> - -<p class="no-indent">They made an appearance of drinking (with -a cracker in hand) at midnight, but it was -for the sake of the woman—a sup of tepid water. -The long night sailed by. Slowly the moon sank—that -dry moon, brick-red and bulbous, as it -entered the western sea. All was still in the little -boat. Bellair was ready to meet his suffering. -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>He could not sleep—because the woman was -near. That was the night that her quality fixed -itself for all time exemplary in his heart.</p> - -<p>The little story had revealed to him a new -sanctuary. He loved it and the little Gleam; as -for that, he loved Fleury, too. It was a strange -resolving of all separateness that had come to him -from these friends. More than ever thrilling it -had come, with Stackhouse out of the boat and -since the story had been made his.</p> - -<p>She had been frightened by his loss of consciousness -at the end of the battle. He had awakened -looking into her eyes. He scarcely dared to -recall what she had said in her anxiety, but it -was an extraordinary matter of value. What -a mother she was; and what a little girl lived in -that story, and now!... That little girl was -still in her heart. The recent days in the open -boat had not spoiled her; nor the recent years of -loneliness and tragedy. Out of it all had come certain -perfect works—the babe in her arms, her own -fortitude and fearlessness of death; the little girl -still in her eyes and heart. Bellair saw that a man -loves the child in a woman, quite as much as a -woman loves the boy in a man.... She had said -that Fleury and he were brothers and heroes. He -knew better in his own case. Still she had said -it, adding that the discovery of such men to her -was a part of the very bloom of life....</p> - -<p>Bellair was not thinking the personal relation -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>now. Fleury and she were mated in his own -thoughts. From the beginning, this was so; and -yet he did not ask more. He had come to believe -from their glorious humanity (so strange to him -and unpromising in the beginning)—that the -world was crowded with latent values which, once -touched and quickened into life, would make it -a paradise.</p> - -<p>That was the substance of the whole matter. -He must never forget it. The human values -which he had met in these were secret in thousands, -perhaps in millions, of hearts, and needed -only breaking open by stress and revelation—to -bring the millennium to old Mother Earth, and -open her skies for the plan of joy. Bellair impressed -this upon his mind again, so he would -not forget—then fell asleep.</p> - -<p>She was first awake in the distance-clearing -light. She arose carefully, so as not to awaken -the men and the child, and stared long in every -quarter. There was no ship, no land, no cloud; -and yet a trace of happiness on her thin face, as -she sat down. Fleury was rousing. She had expected -that; for through their strange sympathy -several times before he had awakened with her, -or soon after. She bent forward and whispered -a good-morning, and added:</p> - -<p>“It is gone——”</p> - -<p>“Surely?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> - -<p>“Thank God.”</p> - -<p>The preacher breathed deeply, contemplated -their faces one after another. From Bellair lying -in the stern, his eyes turned significantly to the -woman’s, and his own lit with zeal.... Bellair -was on the borderland then, coming up through -the fathoms of dream. Already he felt the heat; -the sun had imparted its ache to his eyes. The -three were half-blinded by the long brilliance of -the cloudless days on the sea.... Bellair was -trying to speak, but could not because of the parch -in his throat. Moreover, no thoughts could hold -him—not even Bessie. She came to mind, pink -and ineffectual, lost in her childish things. She -had failed this way before....</p> - -<p>There was a cup to his lips. He smelled the -water, and wanted it as he wanted decency and -truth—as he wanted to be brave and fit to be one -of the three. It almost crazed him, the way he -wanted it—but it would be taking it from her. -All the violence of one-pointed will was against -the cup. He pushed it away.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, Bellair,” said Fleury. “You’ll spill it. -Drink——”</p> - -<p>“I won’t. Take it away.”</p> - -<p>“You must drink. It is yours.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he must drink,” said the woman.</p> - -<p>Bellair sat up. Fleury was holding the cup to -his lips.</p> - -<p>“It is gone from behind,” said the preacher. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>“Drink your water. I have. I will speak to you -after you drink.”</p> - -<p>He stared at them, and at the open sea behind -her. Then it came to him, as if from Fleury’s -mind, to obey.... Fleury then served the -woman. They ate a cracker together; at least it -seemed so. Then Fleury spoke:</p> - -<p>“We have the child to serve—that is our first -thought; therefore we must think of the child’s -mother first. As for her other part, as our companion, -she will be one with us, of course. We -have been here five full days, and we have not -been allowed, by the presence of him who is gone—and -may God rest and keep that—we have not -been allowed to do the best we could in this great -privilege of being together and drawing close to -reality. Many have gone without food and drink -for ten days—to come close to God. There is -food here and water—to keep us in life. This is -what I would say: We must change our point -of view.”</p> - -<p>He paused, and their eyes turned from one to -another. The child’s face seemed washed in the -magic of morning. The preacher added:</p> - -<p>“We must cease to regard ourselves as suffering, -as creatures in want, as starving or dying of -thirst. Rather, as three souls knit, each to the -other, who have entered upon a pilgrimage together—a -period of simple austerity to cleanse and -purify our bodies the better to meet and sense -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>reality, and to approach with a finer sensitiveness, -than we have ever known—the mystery and ministry -of God.... So we are not suffering, Bellair. -We are not suffering—”</p> - -<p>He turned to the woman.</p> - -<p>“We are chosen ones. This is our wilderness. -When we are ready—God will speak to us. We -are very far from the poor needs of the body—for -this is the time and period of our consecration. -God bless you both—and the Gleam.”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">9</p> - -<p class="no-indent">It was the seventh evening, the cool coming in. -Bellair could not feel his body below his -lungs, unless he stopped to think. The child -was on his knee, his hands holding it. The little -face was browned, but very clear and bright. Bellair’s -hands against the child’s dress were clawlike -to his own eyes, like the hands of a black -man very aged. He could move his fingers when -he thought of it, but he did not know if they -moved unless he watched. The effort of steadying -the child he did not feel in his arms, but in his -shoulders. It was like the ache in his eyes. No -tears would come, but all the smart of tears’ beginnings; -and the least little thing would bring -it about. He had to stop between words and -wait for his throat to subside—in the simplest -saying.</p> - -<p>He saw everything clearly. The open boat was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>like a seat lifted a trifle above the runways of -the world. He could see them, as one in the -swarming paths beneath could never hope to see. -It was all good, but the pain and the pressure -of them all!... Bessie Brealt in pain and pressure; -Davy Acton in the hard heavy air; Broadwell -who was trying to be a man at Lot & Company’s; -the old boarding-house woman who had -forgotten everything but her rooms—her rooms -moving with shadows whom she never saw clearly -and never hoped to understand—shadows that -flitted, her accounts never in order, her rooms -never in order.... There had been people in -there whom he never saw—one girlish voice that -awakened in the afternoon and sang softly, a -most subdued and impossible singing. She worked -nights at a telephone switch-board—the night-desires -of the great city passing through her—and -she sang to the light of noon when it came to the -cage.... Sunday afternoons when it was fine, -a bearded man emerged from a back-room, -emerged with a cane and cigarette case. Always -on the front steps he lit the cigarette....</p> - -<p>Bellair now couldn’t smoke.... Once there -had been moaning in a lower back room, moaning -night and morning from a woman. He was -not sure if it were the millinery woman, or the -one who worked in Kratz’s. The moaning stopped -and as he passed through the hall, he heard a -doctor say to the landlady:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> - -<p>“King Alcohol.”</p> - -<p>Just that.... He saw the millinery woman -afterward, so it wasn’t she.... The air in the -old halls was of a character all its own. It was -stronger than the emanations from any of the -rooms. The separate currents lost their identity -like streams in the ocean, like souls in Brahma.... -How strangely apart he had kept all that -five years! A face not seen before in the halls, -and he did not know if it were a newcomer or -old. So few came to the board to dine—the -chorus-woman from the Hippodrome, who came -up nightly from the water.... He saw the view -from his window—over the roofs and areas. It -was a wall of windows—dwellers in the canyon -sides; boxes of food hanging out, clothing out to -freshen itself in the dingy and sluggish airs—the -coloured stockings and the faces that looked out. -Everything was monotonous but the faces—faces -grim and sharp—faces of kittens and bulls and -rabbits and foxes, faces of ferrets, sleek faces, torn -faces, red and brutal, white and wasted faces; -faces of food and drink, faces of hunger and fear; -the drugged look; few tears but much dry yearning, -and not a face of joy.</p> - -<p>There was no joyousness and peace in the lower -runways, but pain and heavy pressures.... Bellair -saw himself moving among those halls again, -not a stranger, but with a hand, a smile, a dollar. -No one would moan for days without his knowing. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>He would find day-work for the little telephone -miss, and send orders for hats to the milliner. He -would awaken that shadow of all the shadows, the -landlady, with kindness and healing. He would -call across the windowed cavern.... They -would say, “Come over and help us,” and he would -rush down stairs, and around into other streets, and -faces there would be ready to show him. He saw -it all clearly, such as it was, but no facts. They -would not call to him. They would not be -healed. They would take a dollar, but say he -was cracked. He could move about passing forth -a dollar here and there—that was all. They -would welcome him at Lot & Company’s if he -passed it out quietly enough. The dollar would -go into the Sproxley system and emerge unbroken -to the firm itself, there to be had and held and -marked down in the house of Lot—Jabez, -Nathan, Eben, Seth, each a part, the jovial Mr. -Rawter a small but visible part—one hundred -Sproxley-measured cents.... Davy Acton -wouldn’t get one, nor Broadwell, nor the girls upstairs. -The firm would not encourage him passing -beyond the cage of Mr. Sproxley.... There -were many who wanted food and drink and hats—hats——”</p> - -<p>He was with Bessie Brealt now ... that -night and the kiss. It was another life.... He -went back to those who needed food—New York -so full of food. Then he felt the heavy wallet -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>against his breast—one paper in there would fill -the open boat with food....</p> - -<p>“My God,” he said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He didn’t try to explain.... Sometimes he -fell into a little dream as he sat. Once he was -drinking at the narrow throat of a green bottle,—a -magic bottle whose base was in the sea, and -the trickle that passed through was freshened -drop by drop. But it was a trick like all else in -the world and the drops passed with agonising -slowness. He came to, sucking hard upon his -brass key, his mouth ulcered from it.... There -were times in the long days that he hungered for -the stars almost as for drink; times in the night -when the stars bored him like some man-pageantry -that he had seen too much of; times when the -thought of God was less than the thought of -water; and times when the faith and the glory of -the spirit of the world made thirst a thing to -laugh at, and death whimsical and insignificant.... -Sometimes in the night, he fancied the -woman was Bessie Brealt. It would come like a -little suspicion first hardly stirring his faculties; -finally it would be real—that the singing girl -was there, all but her song. He would sit up rubbing -his eyes in rebellion. Once he had spoken -to be sure.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is I,” she said huskily, and the voice -was not Bessie Brealt’s.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> - -<p class="center no-indent">10</p> - -<p class="no-indent">They did not speak of ships. Through the -wakeful night hours they watched for the -lights of ships, but they did not speak of vigils. -Their eyes were straining for uncharted shores -during the days, but they did not speak of -land; nor of rain, though they watched passionately -the change and movement of wind and -cloud.</p> - -<p>It is true that they suffered less in the days that -followed the passing of Stackhouse. The underworld -was gone from the seat in the stern; sunlight -and sea air had cleansed it from the boat. -They were weaker, but pangs of thirst were -weaker, too. Small pieces of metal in their -mouths kept the saliva trickling. The real difference -was an exaltation which even Bellair shared -at times, and which had come to them the fifth -morning with Fleury’s talk, and with refining -intensity since.</p> - -<p>The child was well; his imperative founts still -flowing. She was pure mother; it was the child -that was nourished first, not her own body. She -was first in the passion for his preservation. Indeed, -she would have told them at once had any -change threatened him. But she was the soul of -the fasting too; the austerity of it found deep -sanction within her; and there were moments in -which she bewildered Bellair, for she became -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>bright with the vitality which is above the need -of bread.</p> - -<p>Fleury talked of God, as Stackhouse had talked -of death. Indeed, there was a contrasting intoxication -in the days and nights of the preacher, but -one without hideous reaction.</p> - -<p>“There comes a moment,” he said, “when I am -alone—when you two are asleep—that I feel the -weakness. I drink and eat—perhaps more than -my share. But when we are all together—sitting -here as now, talking and sustaining one another—oh, -it seems I was never so happy.”</p> - -<p>Bellair suspected that this talk of lapses into -abandonment while others slept was an effort to -make their minds easy on the subject of his share. -Both the Mother and Bellair doubted this; it -preyed upon them. In the main they were one -solution, each separate quality of their individualism -cast into a common pool for the sustaining -of a trinity.</p> - -<p>“It changes the whole order,” Fleury declared. -“Why, whole crowds have died of hunger—in -half the number of days that holy men and women -have fasted as a mere incident of their practice -toward self-mastery. This is our consecration.”</p> - -<p>Bellair found it true. He had ceased to marvel -at himself. Deep reconstruction was advanced -within him; and a strange loyalty and endurance -prospered from the new foundations. If this were -self-hypnosis—very well; if madness—very well, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>too; at least, it was good to possess, seven, eight, -nine days in an open boat, on a one-fifth ration -of water and food. To Bellair, who felt himself -inferior to the others, it appeared that they already -lived what he was thrillingly thinking out. -He remembered his first thoughts of them—in the -cold worldly manner of a fellow-traveller. It was -almost as far as a man’s emotion can swing, from -what he thought of them now. Before God, he -believed he was right now, and wrong then. Certainly -he would test it out, if he lived to move -among men again.</p> - -<p>He thought often about the child’s voice—at -the moment that the heart of Stackhouse broke—as -the point of his turning and salvation. This -furnished a clue to many things, though he did -not miss the fact that the world would smile at -his credulity in accepting such a dispensation as -real. The world would say that he had been -driven to far distances of illusion by thirst and -hunger; in fact, that anything which he had seen, -other than the original entity in the eyes of Stackhouse, -was a part of the illusion. Bellair considered -this, and also that in every instance of -late in which he had held the world’s point of -view he had been proven wrong. He granted -the world its rights to think as it chose, but accepted -the dispensation.</p> - -<p>There had been good and evil within him. The -balance had turned in favour of the good, with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>that cry. It had turned from the self. The purpose -of the Enterer had been to keep him <i>in</i> the -self. It had come from the unfathomed depths -of evil—that purpose and the devil which he -saw. Bellair had heard repeatedly that some -such <i>dweller</i> appeared to each man who makes -an abrupt turn from the life of flesh to the life -of the spirit. Each of the three had seen something -foreign in the eyes of Stackhouse. It is -true they had not talked of it; possibly to each -it was different in its deadliness; perhaps theirs -was not the demon <i>he</i> saw, since Fleury and the -woman were much farther on the way than he, -but they had been good enough to share responsibility -for the visitation. Indeed, the Faraway -Woman could not have been acting, since a cry -came from her the instant <i>it</i> appeared.</p> - -<p>This he loved to study: that his thought of the -child had balanced the whole issue against the -intruder; that something within him had brought -that saving grace of selflessness out of chaos. It -was a squeak, he invariably added, but it had -shown him enough, opening the way. There must -be such a beginning in every man; in fact, there -must come an instant of choice; an instant in -which a man consciously chooses his path, weighing -all that is past against the hope and intellectual -conception of a better life.</p> - -<p>Bellair brooded upon this a great deal, especially -on the ninth day, and that was the day, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>Fleury talked—the holiest of their days in the -open boat. Bellair found many things clearer -afterwards. As soon as he understood fully, he -meant to close it all, so far as his own relation was -concerned. In its very nature it must be given to -others, must be turned to helpfulness. It was a -sort of star-dust which did not adhere to self, but -sought places of innocence to shine from, and used -every pure instrument for its dissemination. The -key to the whole matter was the loss of the sense of -self. Having accepted this, Bellair knew that -he must go up into Nineveh, so to speak. He -trembled.</p> - -<p>“We learn by austerities apart,” Fleury said, -“and then we return to men with the story. We -are called up the mountain to witness the transfiguration, -and then are sent with the picture down -among men. Oh, no, we are not permitted to -remain, nor build a temple up there. First we -receive; then we must give. We must lose the -sense of self in order to receive; and having received, -we do not want the sense of self. This -is the right and left hand of prayer—pure selfless -receptivity, then tireless giving to others. It is -the key to the whole scheme of life—mountain -and valley, ebb and flow, night and day, winter -and summer, the movement of the lungs and the -heart and the soul. We cannot receive while our -senses are hot with desire; therefore we must become -delicate and sensitive. Having received, we -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>must make the gift alive through action. Dreaming -is splendid; the dreamer receives. The -dreamer starts all things; but the dreamer becomes -a hopeless ineffectual if he does not make -his dreams come true in matter. That is it. We -are here to make matter follow the dream. That’s -why the spirit puts on flesh—that’s why we are -workmen. Action is the right hand of thought.”</p> - -<p>The preacher was ahead of him in these -thoughts. So often he said just what Bellair -needed, the exact, clearing, helpful thing. For -instance, Bellair had followed his own fascinating -conviction that the world is full of secret -values; that the world is ready to pull together, -only it requires a certain stimulus from without—some -certain message that would reach and unify -all. Fleury tightened the matter by his expression -of it:</p> - -<p>“The socialists are doing great good. The -church is still doing good; the societies that have -turned to the East have heard the great message; -even in commerce there is a new life; everywhere -in the world, the sense of having found <i>some new -spirit</i> which works to destroy the sense of self. -If one great figure should come now—come saying, -‘You are all good. You are all after the same -thing. One way is as good as another—only -come.’... What we need is for some one to -touch the chord for us—to give us the key, as -to an orchestra of different instruments. We are -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>all making different notes; and yet are ready for -the harmony—some of us intensely eager for the -harmony. The great need is for a Unifier.... -It seems that we, here in the small boat, can see -America so much clearer, than when we were -there——”</p> - -<p>Bellair had felt this a thousand times.</p> - -<p>“The greatest story in the world is the story -of the coming of a Messiah—the one who may -chord for us. I think He will come. He will -come out of the East, his face like the morning -sun turned to the West. Don’t you see—we are -all like atoms of steel in a chaos? You know -what happens when a voltage of electricity is -turned upon a bar of steel? Order comes to the -chaos; the atoms sing, all turned the same way. -That Voice must come—that tremendous voltage -of spiritual electricity—that will set us all in -harmony—all with our tails down stream.”</p> - -<p>And Fleury finished it all by pointing out what -had happened to them in the small boat. They -had lost separateness; they were each for the -others.</p> - -<p>“That’s what must happen in America, in the -world,—the pull of each for the whole—the harmony. -You have seen an audience in the midst -of great message or great music—they weep together. -They cry out together. They are all -one. That’s the story. That is what must happen. -It will happen when the Unifier comes. It -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>is the base of all gospel—that we are all one in -spirit. Don’t you see it—every message from the -beginning of time has told it? All one—all one—our -separateness is our suffering, our evil. To return -to the House of Our Father—that is the -end of estrangement.”</p> - -<p>... And Fleury was the one who had ceased -to talk. But he had acted, too.... They saw -that he was held by some power of his giving to -them. He was like light. He had given the whole -material force of his body to hold off that destruction -which had come with the dying of Stackhouse. -He had not eaten, even as they had eaten. -They feared for him, because he was the centre -and mainspring of their pilgrimage. Especially -this haunt became more grippable in the heart of -the ninth night.... There was a small tin of -water left, less than three pints, very far from -clean; and somewhat less than a pound of crackers. -Bellair awoke to find Fleury gone from his -place between him and the woman. He was in -the stern, in the old seat of Stackhouse, praying. -... Fleury met the tenth day with an exaltation -that awed Bellair and the woman; and there came -from it a fear to Bellair’s heart that had nothing to -do with self, nor with the Mother, nor the Gleam.</p> - -<p>They were all weak, and two men utterly weak. -Through their will and denial, and the extraordinary -force and health of her own nature, the child -had not yet been dangerously denied. It had become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -a sort of natural religion with the three—a -readiness to die for the Gleam.</p> - -<p>“This is our last day,” said Fleury, before the -western horizon was marked clear.... The -Faraway Woman told them another story of what -the wise old shepherd dog told the puppies—that -it was better to begin on crackers and water—and -end on cookies and cream....</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">11</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair believed about this being the last day. -The authority was quite enough, but there was -still something akin to eternity in the possible -space of another daylight and distance. The -announcement did not bring him an unmixed -gladness, for the mysterious fear of the night -haunted him—the thing that had come to him -under the full and amazing moon while Fleury -prayed.... Day revealed no sign. They sat -speechless and bowed under the smiting noon—the -little boat in the wide, green deep under a -fleckless, windless sky, proud of its pure part in -infinite space.</p> - -<p>That was the day the child moaned, as significantly -for the ears of men, as for the mother. -He was a waif to look at—the little heart at -times like one of them in stoicism—then nestling -to the mother-breast and the turning away in -astonishment and pain. The Mother’s eyes were -harrowing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>“This is our last day,” Fleury repeated.</p> - -<p>“I believe you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then drink and eat——”</p> - -<p>“I did—it is—it is—oh, I did!”</p> - -<p>“Land or rain or a ship, I do not know—but -this is the last day——”</p> - -<p>Bellair regarded him, between his own wordless -vapourings of consciousness. The preacher -was like a guest, not of earth altogether—like one -who would come in the evening.... Yes, that -was it. He was like the old man who came to -Olga, only young and beautiful. It did not occur -to Bellair now that he was regarding his friend -with a quality of vision that a well-fed man never -knows.... That which he had fancied placid -and boyish was knit and masterful. The cheeks -and temples were hollowed, but the eyes were -bright. There is a brightness of hunger, of fever, -of certain drugs, but these were as different as -separate colours—and had not to do with this -man’s eyes. Nothing that Bellair knew but starlight -could be likened—and not all starlight. -There was one star that rose late and climbed -high above and a little toward the north—solitary, -remote, not yellow nor red nor green nor -white, as we know it—yet of that whiteness which -is the source of all. Bellair had forgotten the -name, but Fleury’s eyes made him think of it.</p> - -<p>... The woman’s head was lying back. Something -that Bellair had noted a hundred times, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>without bringing it actually into his mind’s front, -now appeared with all the energy of a realisation. -Her throat was almost too beautiful. The diverging -lines under the ear, one stretching down to -the shoulder, the other curving forward around -the chin, were shadowed a little deeper from her -body’s wasting, but the beauty was deeper than -flesh, the structure itself classic. It was the same -as when he had noted her finger-nails. Beauty had -brought him a kind of excitement, and something -of hostility—as if he had been hurt terribly by -it long ago. But this was different; these details -had come one by one, as he was ready. Her integrity -had entered his heart before each outer -symbol. He had not seen her at all at first; recalled -the queer sense of hesitation in raising his -eyes across the table in the cabin of the <i>Jade</i>. He -had studied her face in the open boat, but something -seemed to blur his eyes when she turned to -him to speak. Two are required for a real understanding. -As yet they had not really met, not -yet turned to each other in that searching silence -which fathoms. But the details were dawning -upon him. Perhaps that was the way of the Faraway -Woman—to dawn upon one.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The day was ending—their shadows long upon -the water. Fleury raised his hand as he said:</p> - -<p>“It is surer to me than anything in the -world——”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> -<p>“What, Fleury?” Bellair asked, though there -was but one theme of the day.</p> - -<p>“That this is our last day in the open boat.”</p> - -<p>Bellair did not answer. His own voice had -a hideous sound to him and betrayed his misery.</p> - -<p>“It was the <i>too-great light</i>—that I saw,” the -preacher added huskily. “It began last night as -I prayed. I saw that this was the last day for -us—but more——”</p> - -<p>“I saw something about you as you prayed,” -the woman said.</p> - -<p>Fleury surprised them now, taking a sup of -water. They saw that he had something to say -about God and the soul of man—that was the -romance he worshipped. They listened with awe. -In Bellair’s heart, at least, there was a conviction -that tightened continually—that they were not -long to hear the words of the preacher.</p> - -<p>“... For two years I have been in the dark -and could not pray. Before that I prayed with -the thought of self, which is not prayer. I could -not stay as a church leader without praying. I -said I would pray when I could pray purely for -them. I told them, too, that I could not look -back in service and adoration to the Saviour of -another people who lived two thousand years ago. -They called me a devil and a blasphemer. For -two years, I have tried to serve instead of to pray, -but no one would listen, no one would have me. -They said I was insane, and at times I believed -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>it. At last, it came to me that I must go away—to -the farthest part of the world——”</p> - -<p>He turned yearningly to the woman.</p> - -<p>“And then you came with your strength and -faith.”</p> - -<p>Now to Bellair:</p> - -<p>“And you came with the world in your thoughts, -and I made the third. We went down into the -wilderness together—with that other of the underworld. -<i>It was a cosmos.</i> It has shown me all -I can bear. Last night, it came to me that I <i>could</i> -pray for you. It came simply, because I loved you -enough——”</p> - -<p>His face moved from one to the other, his hand -fumbling the dress of the child beside him.</p> - -<p>“It was very clear. As soon as I loved you -enough, I could pray for you, without thought -of self. It was the loss of the self that made it -all so wonderful. And as I prayed, the light -came, and the Saviour I had lost, was in the light. -And the light was Ahead; and this message from -Him, came to my soul:</p> - -<p>“<i>I am here for those who look ahead; and for -those who turn back two thousand years, I am -there. Those who love one another find me -swiftly.</i>”</p> - -<p>Bellair scarcely heard him. Fleury’s eyes were -light itself. The man’s inner flame had broken -through. Something incandescent was within -him; something within touched by the “glittering -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>plane.” But it did not mean future years together. -Bellair had wanted that.... Fleury -smiled now, his eyes lost in the East. He lifted -his hand.</p> - -<p>“It always comes from the East,” he said -strangely.</p> - -<p>Bellair had searched that horizon a few moments -ago. He knew exactly how the East had -looked—a thin luminous grey line on the green, -brightening to Prussian blue, then to vivid azure. -He dared not look now, but watched the woman.</p> - -<p>Straining and terror were in her eyes—then -sudden light, a miracle of light and hope, then her -cry.</p> - -<p>Bellair seemed to see it in her mind—the -smudge upon the horizon—before he turned. It -was there—a blur on the thin grey line.</p> - -<p>To lift the oars was like raising logs of oak, -but he shipped the pair at last, listening for the -words of the others and watching their faces. It -seemed simpler than straining his eyes to the East. -Fleury tried to raise the overcoat from the bottom -of the boat, but it fell from his hands, and he -sank back smiling:</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “They’re coming. -They’ll see us soon.”</p> - -<p>To Bellair it was like seeing a ghost, that smile -of Fleury’s. It meant something that in the future -would be quite as important to him as the ship’s -bearing down to lift them up. He pulled toward -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>the east—felt the old fainting come, pulled -against that,—to the east, until a low, thundering -vibration was all about him, like the tramp -of death. Perhaps it was that—the thought -flickered up into form out of the deep blur.... -He was drinking water again. This time he did -not fight.</p> - -<p>“You may as well have yours, Bellair, man,” -Fleury was saying, “and you need not row. -They’re coming. It’s a ship coming fast. There -is light for them to see us well—if they do not -already——”</p> - -<p>“But you haven’t drunk!”</p> - -<p>“Bless you, I’ll drink now.”</p> - -<p>The woman handed him the water. The cup -was in his hand. He covered merely the bottom -of the cup, and made much of it as if it were a -full quart.</p> - -<p>“The fact is—I’m not thirsty,” he said pitifully, -when he saw their faces.</p> - -<p>“You’re all in,” Bellair said in an awed tone.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Through the prolonged ending of that day Bellair -watched the steamer near, but his thoughts -were not held to the beauty of her form, nor the -pricking out at last of her lights. He stood against -the bare pole in the dusk, and waved and called—his -voice little and whimsical. It seemed to falter -and cling within their little radius, then run back -to his ears—a fledgeling effort. But the deep baying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -of the steamer answered at last. Even that -could not hold Bellair’s thoughts.... She was -coming straight toward them now. If it were -death and illusion, so be it; at least that is what he -saw.</p> - -<p>“It would be all right—except for him,” Bellair -said to the woman.</p> - -<p>“I tell you all is well,” said Fleury. “Only I -ask——”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” they said, when he paused.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let them separate us—when we are on -board the ship to-night. I want to be with you -both to-night—we three who have seen so much -together—and the little man.”</p> - -<p>... They heard her bells and the slackening -of the engines. She was coming in softly like -an angel, bringing the different life, a return to -earth it was. The woman was weeping. Bellair -could not have spoken without tears....</p> - -<p>Just now through the evening purple, he saw -<i>that</i> star in the east, off the point of the steamer’s -prow.</p> - -<p>“Fleury,” he said, “tell me—what is that one—that -pure one—I have forgotten?”</p> - -<p>The preacher’s eyes followed his finger.</p> - -<p>“That is Spika—Spika of the Virgin,” he said.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">12</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The engine had stopped. She neared in the deep -dusk, a harp of lights, and with the steady sound -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>of a waterfall.... She was just moving. There -was a hail from the heights.</p> - -<p>“Hai!” answered Bellair. It was a poor, -broken sound.</p> - -<p>Now they felt the strange, different heat of the -steamer—earth-heat—and a thousand odours registered -on their clean senses—milk and meat, coal-smoke, -and the steam of hot ashes, perfumes, -metal and paint.... A hoarse voice called -down:</p> - -<p>“Are any of you sick—infectious?”</p> - -<p>“No—just hunger and thirst—clean as a new -berth.”</p> - -<p>It was Bellair again.</p> - -<p>“Stay off well. We’re putting down a ladder. -Watch the green light.”</p> - -<p>They saw it come down to them—to the very -water. Then they were uplifted. This was the -world coming back—but a changed world. A -great kindness had come over all men. Bellair -saw the tears in the eyes of the people gathered -on the deck. He almost expected to see Bessie -Brealt there.... Perhaps the change had -come from her singing.... There was a choke -in the voices of the people gathered around -them.</p> - -<p>“Please,” he managed to say, “don’t keep us -apart to-night—we three. Please let us be together.”</p> - -<p>And down the deck-passage he heard the voices -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>of women, and among them, the Faraway -Woman’s voice, in answer:</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will go with you thankfully—but not -for long. My companions and I must be together -very soon. We three—to-night—it is promised -between us.”</p> - -<p>There was no voice from Fleury.</p> - -<p>The kindness of every one, that was like a -poignant distress to Bellair. He dared not speak; -in fact, there was danger of him breaking down -even without words. The eyes about him were -searching, in their eagerness to help. An Englishman -came forward at intervals and gripped his -hand; a German spoke to others of the remarkable -condition of the boat and its three, after ten -days; another German moved in and out helping, -without any words, though his eyes lifted Bellair -over several pinches of emotion. The American -ship-doctor was the best of all; young, gruff, -humorous, quick-handed, doing and saying the -right thing.... They brought him stimulants -and sups of water by the teaspoon. The merest -aroma of thin broth in the bottom of a tea-cup was -lifted to his lips. He was helped to a hot bath; a -splendid quiet friendliness about it all. Now it -occurred to Bellair that they were tremendously -eager to hear his story. He wanted to satisfy -them....</p> - -<p>“It was the fifth day—that Stackhouse died,” -he was saying, though he was mistaken. “Perhaps<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -you’ve heard of him ... owns a lot of ships -and islands down here.... That was the climax -for us. He died hard and he was a big man—but -we did not murder him.... His body did not -sink....”</p> - -<p>There was a boom of running water in the bathroom; -the steam rising. Bellair’s voice was ineffectual. -The face of the ship-surgeon bent to -him in the steam, saying:</p> - -<p>“Cut it—there’s plenty of time.... Leave it -all to us.... I say, lean back. You’ve got a -bath coming. Guess you’ve never been on a sick-list -before. We can wait for the story.”</p> - -<p>Bellair did try to lean back. One by one, the -sheathes of will power that he had integrated in -the past ten days relaxed. It was strange to feel -them go. They had come hard, and they were -correspondingly slow to ease in their grip. He -had to be told again and again—to be helped to -rest. It was good to think that a man does not -lose such hard-won strength more easily than it -comes—that one, in fact, has to use the same force -to relax with. It was all delightful, this friendliness, -the ease of his body, and the giving—the -giving into human arms of great kindliness, and -the sense of the others being cared for similarly. -They had fixed a berth for him, when he said:</p> - -<p>“You know we are to be together to-night. It -was a compact between us——”</p> - -<p>The surgeon was out and in. It occurred to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>Bellair that he was attending the other two.... -He repeated his wish to the surgeon about joining -the others as soon as possible.</p> - -<p>“They’re all alike,” the latter said. “They’re -all thinking about getting together again.... -Good God, man, you’ve had ten days of steady -company. You ought to sleep——”</p> - -<p>“It is a compact between us.... Is he—is -he?”</p> - -<p>It came to Bellair that this man might be able -to tell him the truth, but the surgeon was now -at the door speaking to one of the Germans. He -vanished without turning....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were together later in one of the empty -cabins of the German liner, <i>Fomalhaut</i>, bound -for Auckland; and only the American doctor came -and went. The child was asleep in the berth beside -Fleury. The two others sat near.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary moonlight of the night before, -when Bellair had awakened to find the -preacher at prayer, had left the spirit of its radiance -upon Fleury’s face. It was there now—and -such a different face from which his eyes, falsified -by New York, had seen at first. This was the -real Fleury—this lean, dark, white-toothed -gamester, features touched by some immortal glow -from that orient moon; whose smile and the quality -of every word and gesture, had for him a -gleam of inspiration and the nobility of tenderness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -The man had risen in Fleury—that was -the secret. And this that had risen in Fleury could -not die.</p> - -<p>But the flesh was dying. Bellair had known it -in the dusk while the steamer neared. He knew -that the woman understood—from her face which -leaned toward the berth continually, from the -suffering in her eyes and the dilation of sensitive -nostrils.... For ten days, as much as he could, -Fleury had betrayed himself. Custodian of the -food and water, he had served them well. And -that day of the Stackhouse passing—if it were not -all a hideous dream, as Bellair fancied at times—he -had not given a balance of strength that had -not returned, to fight off the will of the Intruder.</p> - -<p>The flesh was dying, but this that had risen in -Fleury could not die. Their other companion -had gone down, clothed in hair and filth and the -desire of a beast, taking the remnant of the man -with it.</p> - -<p>Thus it had come to Bellair—the vivid contrast -of cavern and high noon. It was all in the -two deaths, the enactment of the second, as yet -unfinished.... New York and all life moved -with countless tricks and lures to make a man -lose his way, lose his chance to rise and die with -grace like this. New York was like one vast Lot -& Company.</p> - -<p>Fleury’s head was upon the knees of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>woman. Bellair had not seen her take him. For -this last hour, the three were as one. There was a -cry from Bellair that the woman heard all her -days:</p> - -<p>“Oh, Fleury, do you have to go?”</p> - -<p>So far as time measures, the silence was long -before Fleury answered, and then only to say:</p> - -<p>“Take my hand, Bellair.”</p> - -<p>He came up from a deep dream to obey. It had -been as if he were out under the stars again,—Fleury -talking from the shadows near the woman—the -rest, vastness and starlight.</p> - -<p>“It’s the <i>too-great</i> light, Bellair. It came when -I could stand it. As soon as I could love you -enough I could pray. It is the loss of the sense -of self that made it wonderful. The Light and -His voice came from ahead.</p> - -<p>“‘<i>I am here for those who look ahead, and -for those who turn back two thousand years, I -am there. Those who love one another find me -swiftly.</i>’... This is dying of happiness.”</p> - -<p>In the silence, the low lights of the cabin came -back for their eyes. They heard him say at the -last:</p> - -<p>“... I love you both and respect and thank -you both. We found our happiness in the open -boat.... And Bellair, when you go back to -New York, do not stay too long. It is right for -you to go, but do not stay too long.... And -dear Bellair—always follow the Gleam.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span></p> -<p>The Doctor came. It was his step in the passage -that roused them. He bent to the face, then -searched the eyes of the woman. She could not -find his.... Bellair was puzzled. The head -was in her lap, yet the preacher seemed behind -them, and still with something to say. They were -not sure at first that it was the Doctor who asked:</p> - -<p>“Why did you not call me?”</p> - -<p>He repeated the question.</p> - -<p>“He told us—you would come afterward,” Bellair -said in a dazed way.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he wanted it so,” said the woman.</p> - -<p>The Doctor stared at them. “Are you two going -to pull off anything further to-night, or are -you going to get the rest you need, and attend to -the nourishment you need?”</p> - -<p>“We’re under orders now, Doctor,” said Bellair....</p> - -<p>“If I should want him in the night—if I should -be frightened, you would let him come?”</p> - -<p>It was the Faraway Woman who asked this of -the Doctor, her hand touching Bellair’s sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Why, of course,” the Doctor answered -quickly.</p> - -<p>“We’ve been together in strange things,” Bellair -explained. “And now you see, our friend is -gone.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The door was open between their cabins, but -Bellair was not called. Once he heard the child -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>cry, but it was quickly hushed.... He thought -it must be near morning at last, and went on deck. -He was not suffering, except from lassitude, deep -languor and numbing strangeness that Fleury was -not near him—that the woman was not sitting in -her place forward.... It was just after midnight, -the moon still high, the weather the same. -... He was not seen. Three men were seated -smoking in the lee of one of the engine-room funnels, -the light from the dining-saloon on their -knees. The Doctor joined them, and said presently:</p> - -<p>“... It’s a bit deep for me. They’ve been in -an open boat ten days. Old Stackhouse, well-known -down here, died of thirst the fourth or -fifth day, but these two and the infant have lived -through it. The preacher looked all right, but -seems to have suffered a fatal case of happiness -since we lifted him aboard. The two knew it -was coming apparently, and arranged for me to -be absent.... It appears that they made a sort -of pilgrimage to Mecca out of thirst and starvation, -and got away with it——”</p> - -<p>Bellair withdrew softly.</p> - -<p>In the long next forenoon when he could not -rise, he wished he had gone into that open door, -when he was on his feet last night. Sometimes -half-dreamily he wished he were back in the open -boat, because she was always there. Something -had taken establishment in his character from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>that ten days. She had never failed—in light or -dark, in the twilights of dawn and evening, in -moon and star and sunlight—always there; disclosing -leisurely some new aspect of beauty for -him. He understood now that one does not begin -to see clearly any object until one is attracted -to it—that all the cursory <i>looking at things</i> around -the world will not bring them home to the full -comprehension.</p> - -<p>... He could call to her, but it was like telephoning. -He had never liked that, and beside he -was not the master of his voice. It would not go -straight, but lingered in corners, broke pitifully—so -that he knew it frightened her—and the -meanings in his mind which he could not speak, -pressed the tears out of his eyes.... Then there -was pain. His body astonished him. He had -merely been weak and undone last night, but to-day.... -And he knew that she was suffering, -not from any sound from her cabin, but because -she did not come. Then <i>they</i> had to feed the -child. This filled him with a rebellion so sharp -that it recalled him to full faculties for a second. -He had to smile at his absurdity.</p> - -<p>The second day it was the same, but the third -Bellair arose; and when she heard his step, her -call came. It was still early morning. He found -the child before he looked into her face.</p> - -<p>“I am ashamed to be so weak,” she said. “But -to-day—a little later—he said I could rise. We -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>are to be on deck for a half-hour after dinner, -he told me.”</p> - -<p>“The little Gleam——” said Bellair....</p> - -<p>She was whiter, more emaciated than when they -sighted the <i>Fomalhaut</i>. There had been a crisis -that they had not expected in the relinquishment -of their will-powers.... Yet he saw how perfectly -her face was fashioned.... Her hand -came up to him, warm from the child, the sleeve -falling back to her shoulder—held toward him, -palm upward. As he took it, all strangeness and -embarrassment left him, and he was something -that he had not been for five years, something -from the Unknowable. But that was not all. He -looked into her eyes and met something untellably -familiar there.</p> - -<p>A most memorable moment to Bellair.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were on deck together in the afternoon, -the American doctor helping them. They heard -sacred music—as he walked between them aft. -They reached the rail of the promenade overlooking -the main-deck.... A service was being intoned -in German. Passengers and crew were below, -and in the midst—leaded and sewn in canvas, -in the cover of a flag——</p> - -<p>The sound that came from the woman was not -to be interpreted. She turned and left them. Bellair -would have followed but he felt a courtesy -due the Doctor, who had arranged for them not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>to miss the ceremony. Perhaps he had held the -ceremony until they could leave the cabin. Yet -Bellair had already turned away.</p> - -<p>“Good God——” said the American. “You -people have got me stopped. I thought this was -a trinity outfit—that we picked up.”</p> - -<p>Bellair took his hand. “It was—but our friend -left us.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor glanced at him curiously, and -pointed down to the body already upon the rail. -“I suppose <i>that</i> has nothing to do with him?” he -remarked.</p> - -<p>“Not now—not to watch,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“I’ll understand you sometime,” the other -added. “Go to her. You’ll probably find her -waiting for you forward.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bellair lay in his berth that night, the open -door between, and he thought of that first real -look that had passed between them. “I’m not just -right yet from the open boat,” he reflected. “I’m -all let down from starvation, a bit wild with -dreams and visions, but I saw old joys there and -old tragedies, and mountains and deserts and—most -of all, partings. I wonder what I’ve got to -do with them all? It seemed to me that I belonged -to some of those partings—as if I had -hungered with her before and belonged to her -now—and yet——”</p> - -<p>Fleury came into his thoughts. “They were -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>certainly great together. It seemed to me that -I did not belong when they were together; and -yet, this morning as I looked down at her—well, -something of expectancy was there——”</p> - -<p>Bellair found himself lying almost rigid in the -intensity of his hope. Then his thoughts whirled -back to New York—all unfinished. There was -something in his heart for Bessie—and something -in the wallet for Bessie. That was in the original -conception, and he must not fail in that; and then -he must clean that name, Bellair, from the black -mark Lot & Company had traced across it. For -a moment he fell to wondering just how he would -go about that. Lot & Company was tight and -hard to move.... A moment later he was somewhere -in an evil and crowded part of New York, -in the dark, Davy Acton holding him fast by -the hand.</p> - -<p>“... something of expectancy.”... Was -it in her eyes, or in her lips? Her whole face -came to him now, a picture as clear as life. He -had dwelt upon her eyes before—and that billowy -softness of her breast, as she lay—he had -not thought of that. It was like something one -says to another of such moment, that only the -meaning goes home—the words not remembered -until afterward. And her mouth—it was like a -girl’s, like a mother’s too, so tender and <i>expectant</i>. -... That word thrilled him. It was the key to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>it all.</p> - -<p>He was farther and farther from sleep—listening -at last with such intensity that it seemed -she must call.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 194-197]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_FIVE_THE_STONE_HOUSE_I">PART FIVE<br /> -THE STONE HOUSE: I</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> woman awed him quite as much as -in the open boat. The turning of her -profile to the sea had for Bellair a significance -not to be interpreted exactly, -but it had to do with firmness and aspiration and -the future. Fleury was in their minds more than -in speech. She could speak of him steadily, and -this during the sensitiveness of convalescence -which is so close to tears. Perhaps they found -their deepest joy in the child’s fresh blooming. -The ship’s people were an excellent company.</p> - -<p>Bellair’s mind adjusted slowly, and by a rather -intense process, to the fact of the Stackhouse wallet. -It was all that the great wanderer had said. -The woman accepted the lifted condition, but it -seemed hard for her faculties to establish a relation -with temporal plenty. Fleury had given -them each a greater thing. They were one in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>that—keen and comprehensive; indeed their -minds attacked with vigour and ardour this one -thought: somehow to help in drawing off the -brimming sorrows of the world.</p> - -<p>It came all at once to Bellair that this was no -new conception. He had heard and read of -<i>helping</i> all his life. A touch, queerly electric, -had come over him as a boy, when a certain old -man passed, and some one whispered in the most -commonplace way, “His whole thought is for -others.”... He had read it in many books; -especially of late, the note had been sounded. It -was getting into the press—some days on every -page. All the cultic and social ports, into which -he had sailed (like a dingy whaler, he thought) -had spoken of brotherhood, first and last.</p> - -<p>Did a thing like this have to be talked by the -few for several thousand years before it broke -its way into the conception of the many, and -finally began to draw the materials of action together? -It had not been new in certain parts -of the world two thousand years ago when Jesus -brought the perfect story of it, and administered -it through life and death. Had there been too -much speech and too little action since; or did -all this speech help; the result being slow but -cumulative, toward the end of the clearly-chiselled -thought on the part of the majority that would -compel the atoms of matter into action, making -good all thoughts and dreams?... He knew -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>men who sat every Sunday listening courteously -to more or less inspired voices that called upon -them to <i>Love One Another</i>; yet these men, during -the next six days, moved as usual about their -work of rivalry and burning personal desire. Why -was this?</p> - -<p>The answer was in his own breast. He had -made a mental conception of the good of turning -the force of one’s life out to others, but he had -not lived it; had never thought seriously of living -it, until now that the results had been shown him, -as mortal eyes were never given before to see. -That was it; men required more than words. -Would something happen to bring to all men at -last the transfiguring facts as they had been -brought to him in the open boat—squarely, leisurely, -one by one? He was not different from -many men. Given the spectacle of the fruits of -desire and the fruits of compassion side by side, -as he had been forced to regard them—any one -would understand.</p> - -<p>The woman was one of those who had got it -all long ago. She had ceased to speak of it much, -but had put it into action. The child was a part -of her action, and his own love for her—that new -emotion, deeper than life to him. She had mainly -ceased to speak.... Action and not speech had -been the way of Fleury, his main life-theme, his -first and last words. Formerly Fleury had spoken, -and then emerged into the world of action. It -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>had been tremendous action—for them. These -things never die.</p> - -<p>“That’s the beauty of them,” he said aloud. -“These things never die.”</p> - -<p>“You were thinking of <i>him</i>?” the Faraway -Woman said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The <i>Fomalhaut</i> left them at Auckland—insular, -high and breezy between its harbours and -warm to the heart, from the southern summer. -They took the train to Hamilton, near where she -had lived....</p> - -<p>“It seems so long since I was a part of the life -here,” she told him, as they climbed a hill by the -long road—the same upon which Olga’s Guest -had come, “and yet it really isn’t. You can see—how -little the Gleam is. He was born here.... -There was so much to learn. It has been like -a quick review of all life. When I think of it—and -feel the child alive, unhurt—oh, do you know -what it makes me want to do?”</p> - -<p>Bellair was thinking of Fleury. He sensed her -emotion, as he shook his head.</p> - -<p>“It makes me want to work for you.”</p> - -<p>Bellair placed her saying to the account of her -fine zeal for the good of the nearest. He was -very far from seeing anything heroic in his part -of the ten days.... They had paused on the -little hill back of the settlement where she had -lived. With all her coming home, she met no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>acquaintance while he was with her. It was as -if she had come to look, not to enter.... But -there were two days in which she went forward -alone, and Bellair got a foretaste of what it would -mean to be separated. It called to him all the -strength that he had earned.... The Faraway -Woman came back to Hamilton where he waited—as -one who had hastened. The child was -asleep, and they walked out into the streets together....</p> - -<p>They were alone again as in that first night on -board the <i>Fomalhaut</i> when Fleury left them.</p> - -<p>“Do you want to stay to make your house near -the Hamilton road?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She regarded him quietly, her eyes fixed upon -his face with an incommunicable yearning.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to stay in New Zealand?”</p> - -<p>Again she held him with her eyes, before answering:</p> - -<p>“It may be well for me here, as anywhere. I -could not stay in America.”</p> - -<p>The sun was setting. It was she who broke the -silence:</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> must go away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. You knew that from <i>him</i>?”</p> - -<p>“From what he said—yes.”</p> - -<p>“He told me not to stay too long.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he saw it all. Perhaps he saw something -that would keep you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> - -<p>“He saw a very great deal.”</p> - -<p>They had been gone two hours. Her steps -quickened, when she thought of the child.... -“Yes, I may as well stay in Auckland,” she said. -“Do you know, I should like to stay by the sea—to -be near it, for remembering——”</p> - -<p>That seemed to come very close to Bellair’s -conviction—that her whole life was turned to the -saint who had passed.</p> - -<p>“A little house by the sea,” he said, his mind -picturing it eagerly to relieve the greater matter.</p> - -<p>“Just what I was thinking—a little place out -of Auckland on the bluffs—overlooking Waitemata—where -one could see the ships coming -in——”</p> - -<p>“Will you let me help you find it, and arrange -your affairs?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing could be happier for me—if you -would.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll go back to Auckland to-night, and start -out looking from there.”</p> - -<p>Mainly they followed the shore during their -days of search; but sometimes they found woods -and little towns. There was no coming to the -end of her; she put on fresh perfections every -day, and there were moments in which he was -meshed in his own stupidity for not seeing the -splendour of her at the first moment. He became -possessed of a healthful wonder about women—how -men like himself wait for years for some companion-soul,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -finally believing her to be in the sky, -only to find that <i>the nearest</i> was waiting all the -time. The world is so full of illusions, and a -man’s mind is darkest when it seems most clear.</p> - -<p>The days were like entering one walled garden -after another, always her spirit vanishing at the -far gate. Beside him was a strong frail comrade, -loving the water and air and sky and wood, as -only a natural woman can love them—her eyes -shining softly, her lips parted and red as the -sleeping child’s. He was struck with the miracle -of her mouth’s freshness. It was like the mouth -of a city-bred woman, a woman who had forced -her way for years through the difficult passages -of a man’s world, who had met the fighting of -the open, and the heavier-line fighting of solitude.... -Here Bellair’s diffidence intervened. Moreover, -it was a mouth that could say unerring -things.</p> - -<p>“She is a fine weave,” he would say, after the -partings at night.</p> - -<p>She held through every test. The enthralling -advance guard never failed—that winged immortal -something ahead. Often in some little inn -or in the hotel at Auckland during the nights, he -found himself in rebellion because he could not -go to her. Always in the open boat he had awakened -to find her there, and on the night that -Fleury passed, she had asked to have him within -call—but those times were gone. The world had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>intervened that little bit.... There was one -summer day and a bit of forest to enter, a moment -surpassing all. Her arms and fingers, her eyes -and breast were all fused with emotions. She gave -him back his boyhood that afternoon in a solemn -wordless ceremony, but all his diffidence of boyhood -came with it.</p> - -<p>The woods were full of fairies to her; there -were meanings for her eyes in the drift of the wind -over the brown pools. She caught the woodland -whispers, was a part of sweet, low vibrations of -the air.... Her eyes had come up to his, fearless -and tender; yet for the life of him, he could -not have been sure that they wanted anything -he could give. For the first time he marvelled -now at the genius of self-protection which women -have put on, instinct by instinct, throughout all -this age of man, this age of muscle and brain, in -which the driving spirit of it all has no voice.... -There was one branch above her that was -like hawthorn, and full of buds. The little Inverness -cape that she wore was tossed back, and -her arms were held up to the branches.... -Strangely that instant he thought of her story—the -coming of The Guest—the thought she had -held all the years, the strange restless beauty of its -ideal—the mothering beauty of it that seemed to -him now endless in power. Such a mystery came -to him from her arms—as if she were holding -them up to receive perfection, some great spiritual -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>gift.... It was startlingly native to her, this -expectancy—the pure receptivity of it, and the -thought of beauty in her mind. A woman could -command heaven with that gesture, he thought, -and call to earth an archangel—if her ideal were -pure enough.</p> - -<p>A sudden gust of love came over him for her -child. He thought he had loved it before, but it -was startling now, filling him, turning his steps -back toward the place where it lay....</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">And all the time that they were searching widely -from Auckland for their house, a little Englishwoman, -growing old, sat waiting for them within -an hour’s ride from the city. They found her at -last and her stone cottage, rarely attractive in its -neglect; and from the door-yard, an Odessian vista -of sky and harbour and lifted shore-line.... -They had even passed it before, their eyes -turned farther afield. Bellair couldn’t ignore the -analogy of the nearest woman, nor the stories of -all the great spiritual quests—how the fleeces on -a man’s doorstep turn golden, if he can only -see.</p> - -<p>“I knew some one would come,” the little -woman said. She had a mole on her nose and -eyes that twinkled brightly. “In fact, I prayed.”</p> - -<p>Bellair smiled and thought of Fleury’s saying—that -those who turn back two thousand years -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>would find Him.... She had kept a boarding-house, -and now the work was too much. Besides, -the children of a younger sister back in the home -in Essex were calling to her.</p> - -<p>“They need me in England,” she repeated. -“And here, I have been unable to keep up the little -house. I am too old now. My young men were -so dear about it, but I was not making them comfortable. -One’s heart turns home at the -close——” She thought they did not understand; -and explained all the meanings carefully—how in -age, the temporal needs are not so keen, and the -mind wanders back to the elder places.... Bellair -stood apart, knowing that the two women -could manage better alone.... The cottage -faced the east a little to northward, and had been -built of the broken rocks of the bluff and shore, -its walls twenty inches thick and plastered on -the stone within. The interior surprised them -with its size, two bedrooms facing the sea and -two behind, beside the living room (for dining, -too, according to the early design) and the kitchen. -They took it as it was, furniture and all, and -loved the purchase.</p> - -<p>For several days she remained with them, -helped and explained and amplified—suggesting -much paint. Each day for an hour or so, there -were tears. She had found her going not so easy, -and the process was slow to accustom herself to -the long voyage; the sense of detachment could -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>not be hurried. She wanted them to see her whole -plan of the place. Her dream had been to have -evergreens cut in patterns and flower-beds in stars -and crescents. Meanwhile with her years had -grown up about her the wildest and most natural -garniture of the stone cottage; vines and shrubs, -the pines putting on a sumptuousness of low -foliage altogether unapproved.</p> - -<p>Gradually it was all forgotten but the long -voyage, and Bellair could help in making the details -of that as simple and desirable as possible. -In fact, he went with her to the ship....</p> - -<p>“She was dear to us, and we shall miss her -always,” the Faraway Woman said that night.... -She would never come back. It was a parting, -but the very lightness of it moved them. -They wondered if they had done all they could.</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad the means were not at hand for -her to paint the stone-work,” Bellair said firmly.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid she would think we lack interest,” -the woman added, as she glanced at the smoky -beams of the ceiling. The years had softened -them perfectly.</p> - -<p>“She wanted them washed the very first thing,” -said Bellair, “and varnished. If she had stayed -much longer we would have been forced to paint -something.”</p> - -<p>In the days that followed, a softness and summery -bloom came continually to the Faraway -Woman’s eyes. His heart quickened when she -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>turned to him. They moved in and out from the -cottage to grounds, again and again.</p> - -<p>“It’s unreal to me,” she would say. “I wonder -if it will ever seem ours? I know it won’t, while -you are away. I could live here fifty years until -I seemed a part of the cottage and grass and -trees, and I would feel a pilgrim resting——”</p> - -<p>“It is part of you now, and always has been,” -he said. “You are at home on high ground and -you must have the sea-distance. They belong to -you. I think that is what made you so hard for -me to understand.”</p> - -<p>“Was I hard for you?”</p> - -<p>“I was so fresh from the little distances and -the short-sight of things—from looking -down——”</p> - -<p>“I wonder if any one ever was so willing to be -seen on his worst side?” she asked. “I really believe -you know very little about yourself.... -He saw—the real side.”</p> - -<p>“He saw good everywhere,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“... I wonder why I was strange to you at -first?” she repeated, after a moment. “You were -not strange to me.”</p> - -<p>“Not when I spent so much time at the great -cane chair?”</p> - -<p>“No. You seemed to be studying. I could -see that you didn’t belong there. You appeared -to be interested in it all—as if he were a part -of the ship——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> - -<p>“And you didn’t seem to belong at all to my -eyes,” he told her. “You belonged out in the -distances of ocean. You came closer and closer -during the days in the open boat—but here you -belong. It seems to me that you have come home—and -how I wish I could stay, too.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you could stay—but I know that there -is unfinished work in New York.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder how <i>he</i> knew?” Bellair questioned.</p> - -<p>“He saw very clearly. He was not flesh at all—that -last day——”</p> - -<p>“After the night—when he prayed.... You -saw him that night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Her innate sense of beauty startled him afresh -every day. All that he idealised was an open book -to her. Bellair had planned his house in the New -York room. The greatest houses are planned so, -by those who suffer and are confined. It had not -come to him in the form of this stone cottage by -the sea. This was not his dream that had come -true here, although in many ways it was fairer -than his dream. Very plainly, this little rock-bound -eyrie was of her fashioning—the very -atoms of it, drawing together to conform with the -picture in her mind. He loved the place better -so. Perhaps her thought of a home had been the -stronger.</p> - -<p>“It is almost perfect now,” she would say. -“The neglect has made it right. A few roses, some -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>bee-hives, vines and perennials—the rest is just -clearing and cleansing. I could go over all the -leaves and branches with a soapy sponge. The -rest is to prune and thin and cleanse—so the sunlight -is not shut from anywhere altogether—so it -all can breathe——”</p> - -<p>He caught the picture in her mind—foliage cut -away for the play of sun and wind everywhere—the -chaste and enduring beauty of leaf and -stone and moving water. And now appeared a -bit of her nature quite as real:</p> - -<p>“And then those extra two rooms, I could rent -them and give board——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you don’t have to.”</p> - -<p>“I have always had much to do. I must have -work now.”</p> - -<p>She had no realisation of property; material -poverty was a part of her temperament. She was -superbly well, and could only remain so by the -expenditure of ample energy. Bellair saw the -Martha soul, the mother of men, a breadgiver. -He thought of the passion of men for the vine-women, -and of the clinging sons they bear.... -He lingered over a ship, and another. They -toiled together like two peasants in the open, the -baby sitting in the sun, the house ashine within. -She would have only the simple things. She -loved fine textures, but only of the lasting fabrics -in woods and wares. She was content to -carry water and trim lamps. She loved the stones -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>and the low open fires. Often she turned away -seaward, as he had seen her from the <i>Jade’s</i> rail, -and from the bow seat of the open boat. Once -in the garden, he made the child laugh, to bring -back her eyes, and she said:</p> - -<p>“I love it so here, but I don’t want to love it, -so that it would hurt terribly, if it were taken -away.”</p> - -<p>This was but one side. There were other moments, -in which Bessie and New York and all -that he and the Faraway Woman had been, -seemed fused into a ball of mist whirling away, -and they stood together, man and woman, touching -sanity at last in a world of power and glory. -It was not then a time for words.... Once their -hands went out together, and holding for a -moment, Bellair had the strange sense of the self -sinking from him. He could not feel his hand -or any part of his being—as if it were a part of -her, two creatures blent into one, and an indescribable -rush of something different than physical -vitality.</p> - -<p>And once sitting with her under the lamp in -the evening, he drew again that sense of peace -that had come in the queer darkness on the deck -of the <i>Jade</i>. It had to do with the mountains—as -if they had finished with the valleys, and were -ascending together in the strong light of the mountains.</p> - -<p>And then there was passion—that plain, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>straight earth drive. Bellair was strange about -this with the Faraway Woman. This passion -was like the return of an old hunting companion, -so natural in the wilds, but strange and out of -place in his newly-ordered life. It had come from -the Unknowable, and he had supposed it lost in -that wilderness. It dismayed him that <i>she</i> should -call it forth, but she called from him everything -day by day, and no day the same. He had lost -much of the old, but not that passion. And the -nature of it which she called had a bewildering -beauty.... But there was much to keep the old -native of the wilds from really entering. The -world would have called Bellair’s idealism <i>naïve</i>; -and there was something of Fleury in the very -solution of their lives—not a finger-print of passion -in all that relation. There was the Unfinished -Story of Ogla’s Guest. Finally there was -the Gleam.</p> - -<p>Life was very full and rare to Bellair, but -there seemed always a new ship in the harbour -flying Blue Peter for California.... In the -main, they forgot themselves, as unwatched man -and woman, slept under the same roof and had -their food together; at least, Bellair forgot it for -hours at a time. It seemed the very nature of -life; the purity of it all so obvious.... One -afternoon he came up from the city in a cool -south wind; a grey afternoon, the sunset watery -and lemon-hued. He was thinking of the ship -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>that would float Blue Peter to-morrow. The -homely scent of damp bark burning quickened his -senses, as he crossed the yard, and he heard her -singing to the child. Somehow the woodsmoke -had brought back to him a Spring day in the -northern woods—grey light and dark pools, all -foliage baby-new, a song-sparrow pair trilling -back and forth from edge to open....</p> - -<p>He saw her in one of the rare flashes of life. -She was sitting by the fireplace, the nearest window -across the room. Her figure was softened in -the deep grey light to the pure sensousness of -motherhood—except her face, hands and boots, -and that which she held. These were mellowed -in the faintest orange glow from the firelight. -Her back was curved forward, her face bent to -the baby’s head, held high in the hollow of her -arms. The dress was caught tightly about her -ankles—a covering pliant almost as a night-robe, -but that was a mystery of the shadows. She was -like the figure of some woman he had seen somewhere—some -woman of the river-banks, but this -a Madonna of the firelight. He passed on, and -waited before speaking.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">They went a last time to the city.... There -was a place for a chair, and they had seen -an old urn in a by-street which belonged near -the Spring. They felt that these products of -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>men had to be just so, and that they had -earned a great boon in being given a part at -stone cottage. The things that were brought there -must endure; must reason together in long leisure -concord, putting on the same inner hue at the -last and mellowing together as old friends, or old -mates. This time, Bellair’s eyes did not meet the -city quite as before; it was not as a stranger exactly, -who rambles through a port while his ship -lies in the offing. His real berth was an hour’s -ride back from the city and made of stone. Perhaps -later he would find work to do here.... -A child passed them in the store, and brought the -change after their purchase—a boy of twelve or -fourteen, his face old with care. It made Bellair -think of Davy Acton at Lot & Company’s. They -bought a bit of glass, a bit of silver, some -linen and a rug, and rode home with their arms -full.</p> - -<p>Another letter had come from one of the Island -headquarters of Stackhouse, in answer to Bellair’s -inquiry concerning affairs. The papers in -the wallet had given him clues to the various -insular interests; and the replies, without exception, -represented the attitudes of agents ready and -open to authority from without. Stackhouse had -left no centre of force that appeared to have vitality -enough to rise in its own responsibility. Bellair -saw that sooner or later he must make a visit -to these different interests, and that the place of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>the wallet for the time being, at least, amounted to -headquarters. He wrote as explicitly as possible -in reply to the letters, promised to call in due -course, established a freedom where his judgment -permitted, but felt the whole vast business very -loosely in hand. New York was first, and it became -very clear to him, especially on this night, -that New York must be entered upon without -further delay. There was a thrill of dismay in -the thought of the weeks that had passed, and -the dreaming. Dreams were good. He had -needed these days; great adjustments and healings -had taken place. It had been the pleasant -lull between the old and new, the only rest his life -had known, in fact. All its beauty was massed -into the period—but the dreams must be turned -into action now.</p> - -<p>A man may stay just so long in joy. There -are moments in every life when the hour strikes -for parting. The lover does well to leave his -lady then quickly. There is an understanding in -the world that the woman invariably whispers, -<i>Stay</i>, but very often an organisation of force that -makes austerity possible, does not come from the -man alone. If the moment of parting passes, the -two still lingering together, a shadow enters between -them, blurring their faces for each other’s -eyes, dimming the dream.</p> - -<p>It does not come from without. The train -missed, the passage paid for and not connected, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>the column that marches away, one set broken, -the sentry post to which a strange figure is called—these -are but matters to laugh at afterward. -The shadow comes between them from their own -failure. It is slow to lift. In the final elevation -of romance, there shows one sunken length.... -There is the moment of meeting and the moment -of parting; that which lies between, whether -an hour or generation, forms but the equal third, -for the great love intervals of human kind are -not measured by time, but by the opening of -the doors of the heart. By the very laws of our -being, the doors draw together against rapture -prolonged. The man who crosses the world to -live one day with his sweetheart, sees her at last -in the doorway or the trysting-place as he cannot -see her again; and in the tear of parting, something -different of her, something that has been -occulted, clears magically for his eyes. It must -not blind him to remain, for it is her gift to abide -with him over the divide. It passes, not to come -again if he remains; rapture falls into indulgence; -the fibre of integrity weakens and lets them down -into mere mortals. Man is not ready for the real -revelation of romance in whom a master does not -arise at the stroke.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night there was a <i>mew</i> at the door. They -had finished tea and were sitting by the fire. The -woman opened the door and a young tabby-puss -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>walked leisurely in, moved in a circle about the -room, tail held high. Chair and table and lounge, -she brushed against, standing upon her toes, eyes -blinking at the fire. The woman brought a saucer -of milk. The visitor drank, as if that were all -very well, but that she could have done well -enough until breakfast. Apparently it was not -her way to land upon friends in a starving condition. -Before the fire, she now sat, adding a point -to her toilet from time to time, inspecting it carefully -and long. Finally she turned to the woman, -hopped upon her knee and settled to doze. She -had accepted them, and they called her <i>Elsie</i>.</p> - -<p>“Little-Else-to-do,” said the woman.</p> - -<p>They stood beside the child’s bed later that -night.</p> - -<p>It rained, and the home closed in upon them -with its cheer and humble beauty. He saw her -hand now in everything—even the rungs of the -chairs shone in the firelight. The hearth was -swept. Her face—it was a place of power, and -such a fusion of tenderness was there, the eyes -pure and merciful. All that he had known before -her coming was unfinished, explanatory. She had -shown him what a human adult woman should -be in this year of our Lord. His soul yearned -to her; his whole life nestling to this place of -hers—as her stone cot nestled to the cliff.... -She was always very quiet about her love for the -child when he was near. That was because he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>loved the Gleam so well.... Yet he had seen -the Firelight Madonna.</p> - -<p>“You have made it all I can do—to go away,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“I have thought of that—I might have made -it easier. I have thought of that,” she repeated. -“And yet—we were so tired. We seemed to need -to be ourselves. It has been beautiful—to be -ourselves——”</p> - -<p>It seemed to him that she came nearer, but -that was impossible for the child was between.... -Just then his mind finished the other picture—of -her arms held up to the hawthorn buds—a -babe of his own in those arms! He would -have fought to prevent its coming, but it visualised -of itself. Had it been that which enchanted the -woodland?... He was silent. She had become -even more to him for this instant. He would not -call it other than beautiful, now that it had come. -She was more than ever the heart of mystery—the -Quest. She knew all these things—love and -maternity she knew; even the passionate fluting -of Pan had quickened her eyes; and where she -abode, there was the genius of Home.</p> - -<p>So slowly had it come—perhaps this was not -all. For weeks he had stood by—day after day, -the heart of her becoming more spacious and -eloquent; one miracle of the woman after another—finally, -to-night the mystery of all life -about her, for his eyes. Yet to her it was no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>mystery; she was <i>of it</i>, rhythmically so. She -knew the dream—and the life that comes at last -to quicken it. She could love; she could live; she -could wait. She loved God—but loved Nature, -too. She was spirit, but flesh, too. She was -powerful in two worlds....</p> - -<p>So Bellair stood with bowed head, and though -Bessie was forgotten, Fleury was not. It was -still with him that Fleury and the Faraway -Woman were fashioned for each other.... “She -may be so wonderful to me, because she trusts me -to understand——” such was the essence of his -fear. It kept his heart dumb.... That night -she brought a pitcher of water and placed it -upon the hearth, looked up and found him watching.</p> - -<p>“For the fairies,” she said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That changed him a little, brought her nearer -to words of his; though the effort to speak was -like lifting a bridge. She was leaving for her -room when he managed:</p> - -<p>“Day after to-morrow—the steamer. May we -not talk to-night?”</p> - -<p>He saw her stop. Then she was coming toward -him so gladly.</p> - -<p>“Yes—you want the rest of the story?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.... I have been sorry that <i>he</i> couldn’t -hear it——”</p> - -<p>She stood before him, tall and white.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> - -<p>“I think you are like me,” she said in a moment. -“I think you have something behind you that you -do not tell—something that made you what you -are—yet greater than you seem to yourself.... -I would have told you while <i>he</i> was with us, but -you know how the days passed and we could not -hold our thoughts together. Then there were -times when we could not even use our voices.... -Do you know that the world is wonderful—that -the thousands about us do not even dream how -wonderful it is—how tremendous even miseries -are? Sometimes I think that the tragedies we -meet are our greatest hours.”</p> - -<p>“You have met them,” he said, a part of her -spirit almost. “I have seen them in your eyes. -It gave me the sense of shelter with you and -limitless understanding—-”</p> - -<p>“I am thankful for that,” she whispered. -“When we have understanding, we have everything. -Those who in their childhood are made -to suffer horribly are often the ones who reach -understanding. Sometimes they suffer too much -and become dulled and dumb. Sometimes in the -very ache of their story, which can be so rarely -told, they risk the telling to some one not ready. It -aches so, as its stays and stays untold. Oh, the -whole world craves understanding, and yet if we -tell our story to one who is not ready—we hurt -them and ourselves, and add unto our misery. -There are moments set apart in life in which one -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>finds understanding, but the world presses in -the next day, and the story does not look so well. -The spirit of it fades and the actions do not seem -pure when the spirit is out—so one loses a loved -friend. Oh, I am talking vaguely. It is not my -way to talk vaguely—but to-night—it is like a -division of roads, and a story is to be told—-”</p> - -<p>“Do you think the story will diminish in my -mind to-morrow?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No—not you. I have seen you through the -sunlight and the dark looking into my eyes for -it. If I thought it would diminish in your mind—yes, -I would tell it just the same. It must be -told—but life would not be the same. Even this, -our little stone cot, would not be the same. I -should have to become harder and harder to hold—to -follow the Gleam——</p> - -<p>“... I shall be Olga in the rest of the story,” -she was saying. “For I am Olga.... The -truth is, I have no other name. There is one that -I used, and another that I formerly used—but -they are not mine. You shall see.... My -father prospered with the sheep-raising, and -slowly on the long road that you have seen, houses -came one by one, until at last there was a village -about us. My father was like the village father, -and my mother the source of its wisdom in doctoring -and maternal affairs—she had learned by -bringing forth. But I was not of them—they all -saw that. The coming of plenty, the coming of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>the people, the coming of men to woo my sisters, -and the maidens my brothers brought for us to -see, before they took them quite away—none of -these things were so real to me as the coming of -my Guest when I was such a little girl. And -none remembered that—not even my mother. -Until I ceased to speak of it, they tried to make -me think it was a dream. But I knew that rapture. -It had changed me. I was always to search -for it again. I was always looking for another -such night—for that afterglow again. I was the -last child and the silent one.</p> - -<p>“But all that had to do with children was intimate -and wonderful to me.... I remember once -when we were all girls at home together, and they -were talking—each of what she should have for -her treasure from the household—one walnut, one -silver, one an inlaid desk—and they turned to me -laughingly, for I was not consulted as a rule, I -said I wanted the little hickory cradle in an upper -closet. It was one of those household days which -girls remember.... All was happier then. The -little cradle seemed like a casket in which jewels -had come to my mother—seven times. We had -all smiled at her first from that hickory cradle.... -I went up stairs to look at it—a dim place -full of life and messages to me. I was weak; my -arms ached; and it was so dear that I dare not say -that it was mine.... My father said the cradle -must belong to the eldest girl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> - -<p>“... I began to sense the terrible actuality of -life through the mating of Lois, ten years older, -with a countryman who came for her. For sisters, -Lois and I had always been far apart, and -this stranger who wished to marry her, had nothing -to do with life as I dreamed it—a child of -twelve. To many, Lois was the loveliest of us—large, -calm, dark and quiet, very well, slow of -speech, but quick to smile. Had you visited our -house then, you would have remembered my -father’s patriarchal air, the smile of Lois, and the -maternity that brooded over us all. The rest you -would get afterward—a variety of young people -with different faults and attractions—I the grey -one, last to be noted. Lois was given credit for -more than she was. I do not love brain or power, -but I seem to love courage. Lois had something to -take the place of these—not courage—and no, -not power nor brain. She had sensuousness and -appetite.</p> - -<p>“One night I seemed to see what the whole -house was straining for—a kind of process of -marriage continually afoot. Just now it was -Lois. I remember my father being called into the -front room where Lois and Collinge had been for -an evening—his face beaming when he came -forth, and my mother’s quiet sanction. There -were conferences after that, dressmaking, the arrangement -of money affairs. And I was suddenly -ill with it. To me, there could be no trade or -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>public business. To me, it had to do with a child -and that was consecrated ground. Oh, you must -see it had to be different. I wanted it like a -stroke of lightning. I did not understand but I -wanted it like that—like a flight of swans—and -not talk and property transactions. To me it had -to do with rain and frost and the tides and the -pulses of plants—the silent things. I did not -understand—but knew that children came to those -who took each other.</p> - -<p>“I remember one supper; the countryman talked—talked -of the marriage day—the breakfast, the -ceremony—the end and the dusk, and turned to -Lois with sleepy half-folded eyes. She was smiling -and flushed—and I looked from face to face -at the table, at my sisters—and I rushed away -because I could find nothing pure.... Some one -said my mother never looked prettier.... I remember -the flood of honeysuckle perfume that -came to me in the torture of hatred, as I passed -through the distant hall.... And then later -from the top of the stairs, Lois and my mother -were talking, and Lois said:</p> - -<p>“‘You know, Mother, we will not have children -for the first three years, at least——’”</p> - -<p>“I was somehow below by her in the lower -hall. She seemed a rosy pig upstanding, marked -red and flaming.... And that night long afterward, -my mother found me and said, ‘You are -getting beyond me, Olga.’ ... But I could only -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>think of men and women copying the squirrels, -filling their bins, dressing their door-yards, reaching -for outer things—and it was back of my very -being—back of the mother and the patriarch—back -of the shepherding and the folding—back -of <i>me</i>. I hated life with destroying hatred—Lois -wanting the seasons, but unwilling to bring forth -fruit, accepting the countryman’s idea of life.... -Can you see that it had the look of death -to me?”</p> - -<p>Bellair could only bow his head. To him the -woman was revealing the grim days through which -she had won her poise and power.... She was -telling another incident with the same inclination—for -the thought of being a mother had been -the one master of her days. He seemed to see the -child, the girl, the younger woman about her—a -grey-eyed, red-lipped girl, with a waist that was -smaller and smaller as she gained in inches from -fifteen to eighteen—madness for mothering, passionate -in that, but not passionate for sensation—her -face sometimes so white, that they would ask -her mother, “Is Olga quite well?”... Yet teeming -with that intensive health that goes with small -bones and perfect assimilation—that finds all to -sustain life in fruit and leaves ... books, light -sleeping, impassioned with the lives of great -women and the saints—one of those who come to -the world for devotion and austerity and instant -sacrifice; yet for none of these apart; rather a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>fruitful vine, her prevailing and perennial passion -for motherhood.</p> - -<p>“And yet I almost ceased to breathe,” she was -saying, “when I came to understand man’s part in -these things. I felt <i>myself</i> differently after that—even -children—but from this early crisis which -so many men and women have met with untellable -suffering, emerged a calm that could not have -come without it. The travail brought me deep -into the truth. For all great things the price must -be paid—how wonderfully we learned that in -the open boat. There are sordid processes in the -production of all fine things—even in the bringing -forth of a Messiah.”</p> - -<p>She paused, as if she saw something enter the -eyes that had listened so fervently. Bellair -cleared his voice. “I remember something <i>he</i> -said,” he told her. “That matter is the slate—spirit -the message that is written. The slate is -broken, the message erased, but <i>eyes</i> have seen it, -and the transaction is complete. For the spirit has -integrated itself in expression——”</p> - -<p>“I think he said it, for you to tell me now,” -the Faraway Woman whispered.</p> - -<p>“Only <i>he</i> could have halted your story,” Bellair -added.</p> - -<p>“... I told you when my Guest came in the -afterglow, of the house of our nearest but distant -neighbour; now I am telling you of years -afterward, when there were many houses between -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>on the long road, and my playmate Paul had gone -away to Sidney. Lois had long been married. I -was seventeen—and so strangely and subtly hungering—for -expression, for something that I did -not know, which meant reality to me, but which -was foreign and of no import to all about me. -Often at evening I stared up the long road.... -I remember late one night in the nearest house, the -soft wind brought me the cry of a child. It was -so newly come and it was not well. I went to it -just as I was, though the people had just moved -in and were strange to us. It was thirst—as we -know. I went to it, as we would have gone to a -waterfall. The door of their house was locked, -but I knocked. The father came down at last. -The lower rooms were filled with unpacked boxes. -I told him why I had come. He talked to me -strangely. He went upstairs and sent the mother -down to me. It did not seem as if I could live -through that night—and not have my way. She -put her arms about me, led me upstairs to a room -that was not occupied—save a chair by the window. -I stood there waiting until she returned -with the child.... I saw lights back in our -house when they missed me—voices, but I could -not go. In the early light I heard the woman saying -to my mother: ‘... We really needed her -so. Baby was restless, but he is much better and -quiet with her. They are very happy together.... -Yes, she is safe and well.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> - -<p>The Faraway Woman left him now to go to -the child.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">4</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Returning, she put the kettle on, and made tea -in the earthen pot. To Bellair her coming into -the room again was a replenishment—as if she had -been gone for hours; and this started a pang deep -in his heart, which presently suffused everything -when he realised that his ship had come for him. -It was past midnight.... In reality it was to-morrow -that his ship would sail.</p> - -<p>“You listen wonderfully,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It seems all about the little Gleam,” he answered. -“It makes everything significant about -the open boat.... I forget to swallow——”</p> - -<p>They laughed together.</p> - -<p>“Do you know, I can hardly realise when we -are here—that this is New Zealand?” she said -presently, “that only a little way back is the long -road and the river and the ravine—the neighbour’s -house and ours and the other houses between.... -I will tell you the rest very quickly—and oh, let -me tell you first, I am not afraid. In spite of all -I know, I am not——”</p> - -<p>She was bending forward across the table.</p> - -<p>“... I was a woman when Paul came back -from the distant city—and came first of all to -me. He was changed—something excellent about -his face and carriage, and something I did not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>understand at all, his face deeper lined, his voice -lower, his words ready. I did not think about -him when he was away. In the first evenings -we passed together, I had only an old-time laugh -for him. I kissed him with something like affection. -We were permitted to be alone together, -and I saw the old look upon my father’s face—that -I had hated so. That look—even before the -playmate thing had departed from me. Then I -began to <i>see</i> Paul—something I could not like -nor understand, a readiness of words, and he was -not wise enough to make them ring deeply. I -seemed to be studying in him the novelty of a -man—through the eyes of a girl.</p> - -<p>“One night we were together in my father’s -house. It was our Spring and raining softly on -the steps. The grass seemed full of odours, and -the vines trembling with life. He kissed me there. -It seemed that I hardly knew. I was looking over -his shoulder into the dark, and I saw a little white -face. It was like a rain-washed flower ... and -to me it was quite everything.</p> - -<p>“... Everything that I had known and loved—compensation -for all that I had missed and -hungered for. Only the little face—but I knew -the arms were held out to me.</p> - -<p>“Paul knew nothing of this. He was not to -blame. It was not he, who carried me away. He -was merely being the man he fancied—playing -the thing as the world had taught him—showing -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>himself fervent and a man. I could have laughed -at his kisses.... I have nothing against him. It -was his way.... But once he kissed me—and it -came to me that he was the way—that he must -join his call to mine.... I could do all but that—I -need not love him. Can you understand—it -seemed as if everything was done but that—that -the little face had already chosen me.... I sent -him away, and I remember long afterward I was -standing on the porch alone. It rained.”</p> - -<p>Bellair realised now that she was watching him -with something like anguish. A different picture -of her came to him from that moment—filed for -the long days apart—the rapt look of her mouth, -and the pearl in her hair that brought out the -lustre of whiteness from her skin—full-bosomed, -but slender—slender hands that trembled and -moved toward him as she spoke.... It was -something for him—as if he had always been -partly asleep before—as if she had brought some -final arousing component to his being.</p> - -<p>“... My mother did not ask but once. When -I told her—the horror came to me that she would -die. I had not thought of it before. I had thought -that it was mine—had seen very little of Paul. -In fact, he had come several times, when I would -not see him.... She called my father—and it -was all to be enacted again. For a moment, I -thought he would strike me. The most dreadful -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>thing to them all was that I was not ashamed. -They felt that I was unnatural....</p> - -<p>“There was one high day in that little upper -room. It was all like a prayer, when they would -suffer me to be alone and not wring me with their -misery—but this one high day, I must tell you. I -stood by the window in the watery light of the -sun from the far north. That moment the Strange -Courage came. I felt that I could lead a nation, -not to war, but to enduring peace; as if I had a -message for all my people, and a courage not of -woman’s, to tell it, to tell it again and again—until -all the people answered. It was then that -I understood that a man’s soul had come to my -baby, and that it was not to be a girl, as I had -sometimes thought.</p> - -<p>“And then the rest of the waiting—days of -misery that I can hardly remember the changes -of—yet something singing within me—I holding -it high toward heaven as I could—singing with -the song within. After weeks, it suddenly came -to me what they wanted to do to hide their shame—to -take the little child half-finished from me—to -murder it—to hide their shame.</p> - -<p>“Then I told them that it had not occurred to -me to marry Paul—that I did not love him—that -I had loved the little child. I told them that I -did not believe in the world—that I did not believe -I had done wrong—that I did not believe -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>our old preacher who stayed so long at the table -could make me more ready for the child. I told -my father that I did not believe in marrying a -man and saying that I would have no children for -three years. I told him that I was mad for the -child—that I was young and strong and ready to -die for it ... that my baby wanted me, and no -other. I would have gone away, but they would -not let me do that. They kept me in an upper -room. Paul had gone away ... and after -months my father went to find him. It was sad -to me—sadness that I cannot forget in that—my -father taking his cane and his bag and setting -out to find the father—heart-broken and full of -the awfulness of being away from his home. He -had not been away for years.... And my -mother coming timidly to my room.... And -then I went down like Pharaoh’s daughter to the -very edge of the water—for, for the Gleam!”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were shining and she laughed a little, -looking upward as if she saw a vision of it, and -had forgotten the room and the listening—her -eyes as close to tears as laughter.</p> - -<p>“... And when I came back—it was all so -different. I could pity them—my heart breaking -for my father and mother, who had not the -wonder, and only the fears. They were passing -out—after doing their best as they saw it, for -many, many years together—and I had brought -them the tragedy, the crumbling of their house—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> -shame upon the patriarch of the long road, a -blackness upon her maternities.... It was my -father’s thought to bring Paul to me. As if I -would have taken him, but he came—my father -having given him much money.... Oh, do not -be hard upon him. There is wildness in him and -looseness, but the world had showed him the way -and he was young. I said to him (it was within -ten days after the coming and my father and -mother were gone from the room), ‘I would not -think of marrying you, Paul, but do not tell them. -As soon as I am ready, I shall go away with you, -and they will not be so unhappy—and as soon as -we are well away, you shall be free. And you -may keep the money, Paul.’</p> - -<p>“... And now it is like bringing you a reward -for listening so well. I tell you now of a moment -of beauty and wonder—such as I had known but -once before, and was more real to me than all -the rest. It made that which was sorrowful and -sordid of the rest seem of little account.... It -was early evening in the upper room and still -light. An old servant who loved me was in the -room, and the Gleam was sleeping—the fourteenth -day after his coming. The woman helped -me to a chair and drew it to the window, and -all was hushed. Even before I looked out, an -unspeakable happiness began to gush into my -heart.</p> - -<p>“The ravine was crowding with darkness, but -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>the long road was full of light. The houses between -seemed to dwindle but the distance was -full of radiance—that perfect afterglow again. -Not for twenty years had there been such a sunset, -and now the sky was massed with gold of the -purple martin’s breast, and the roof of Paul’s -house was like two open leaves of beaten gold—everywhere -the air filled with strange brightenings. -The fragrance from the fields arose to meet -the heaven falling from the sky.</p> - -<p>“I tried to make believe, but the road was -empty. The Guest would never come again, and -yet on such a night as this, he had come to me—like -a saint that has finished his work, like a -Master coming down a last time. All the room -and the house was hushed behind me.... But -the long road was empty.</p> - -<p>“The old servant at last could bear it no longer. -Perhaps she thought I did not breathe. Softly -she crossed the room to the cradle, lifted the -Gleam and placed him in my lap—as if to call -me back. Breath came quickly at the touch of -him, and she must have heard a low, joyous sound -as I felt the child. With one hand I held him, -patting his shoulder softly, slowly, with the other, -until the ecstasy of long ago flowed into my being.</p> - -<p>“There was a moment that I should have asked -her to take the Gleam from me—had I been able -to speak. It was such a moment that I had run -out under the stars. But as I patted the tiny -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>shoulder, the burden of the ecstasy passed, and -a durable blessedness came—the calm of great -understanding.</p> - -<p>“The road—of course it was empty—for he -had come.... I thought I had told the old -servant, but a second time I seemed to see her -anxious face bending so near in the dusk.</p> - -<p>“‘Why, don’t you see?’ I whispered. ‘He was -looking for his mother when I found him.’”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That was the end of the story—the rest just -details that an outsider might ask: How she went -away with Paul for the sake of her father; how -he remained with her during the long voyage to -America, but as nothing to her, more and more -a stranger of different ways from hers—how he -gave her but a little of the money her father had -put in trust for her keeping—and rushed away to -dig his grave in the city.... Then just a -glimpse of her need and her labour and longing -for the Island life—a dream, the <i>Jade</i>....</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">5</p> - -<p class="no-indent">The final morning, Bellair took the babe in his -arms and let himself down the rocky way to the -shore. The trail was empty behind him, and -the cottage shut off by the group of little -pines, pure to pass through as the room of a child. -And here were rain-washed boulders warming in -the morning sun, and before his eyes the blue -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>and deep-eyed sea. It rolled up to his feet, forever -changing with its stories and its secrets, very -cool about them all to-day, full of mastery and -leisure.</p> - -<p>Bellair sat upon a stone and looked at the child: -“I wish you could tell me, little man ... but -you are not telling. You know it all, like the -sea—but you do not tell.... And I’ll see you -so many times, when I’m away,—see you like this -and wish many times I could hold you. For we -were always friends, good friends. You didn’t -ask much.... And you were fine in the pinch, -my son.... That little cry I heard, that little -cry.... He loved you, and promised great -things for you. I’ve come to believe it, little man, -for I know your mother. That’s good gambling, -from where I stand.... He knew it first. He -knew it all first. And you didn’t tell him.... -Oh, be all to her, little Gleam—be all to her, and -tell her I love her—when she looks away to the -sea. Tell her, I’ll be coming, perhaps.... I -didn’t know I’d ever be called to kiss a little boy—but -it’s all the same to you ... and take care -of her for me.”</p> - -<p>They were standing together a last time before -his journey. The carriage had been waiting many -minutes. The child was propped upon the lawn, -and Elsie was picking her steps and shaking her -paws that met the dew under the grass. His eye -was held over her shoulder to the weathered door -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>of the stone cottage. It was ajar and coppery -brown, like the walls above the young vines. And -over her other shoulder, too, was the brilliant -etheric divide of the sea. He had to go back and -stand a moment in the large room. The wind and -the light came in; the vine tendrils came trailing -in. He saw her books, her pictures, her chair, -her door....</p> - -<p>He stood beside her again, and tried to tell her -how moving these weeks had been.</p> - -<p>“Yes, we have seen both sides, and this was -the perfect side. We saw the other, well——”</p> - -<p>“And you are not caught in either—that’s what -thrills me most,” said he. “I am always caught—in -hunger and thirst and fear and pain—in -beauty and possessions. But you have stood the -same through it all—ready to come or go, ready -for sun or storm——”</p> - -<p>“After years of changes and uncertainty, one -comes to rely only upon the true things.”</p> - -<p>“I shall want to come back—before the first -turn of the road,” he said. “I think I am hungry -for the little house now——”</p> - -<p>She put her arms about him. His heart was -torn, but there was something immortal in the -moment.</p> - -<p>“This shall always be your home,” she said. -“You may come back to-night—to-morrow—in -twenty years—this is your house. I shall be here. -I shall teach <i>him</i> to know and welcome you.... -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>We are different. We are not strangers. We -have gone down into the deep ways together. We -shall always know each other, as no one else can, -or as we can know no others. So we must be -much to each other—and this is our home. You -will never forget.... Oh, yes, you must come -back—just as you must go away——”</p> - -<p>Sentence by sentence, softly, easily spoken; not -with a great beauty of saying, but with a bestowal -of the heart that compelled his finest receptivity. -And she had held him as a mother might, or as -a sister, or as a woman who loved him. There -was something in her tenure, of all the loves of -earth. He looked deeply into her eyes, but hers -was the love that did not betray itself then in -the senses. He could not know, for he would not -trust his own heart.... But this he knew, and -was much to ponder afterward: This which she -gave, could not have been given, nor have been -received, before the days of the open boat. So -strange was the ministry of that fasting.</p> - -<p>They kissed, and hers so gladly given, failed -of the secret; yet revealed to him a love that sustained, -and sent him forth a man—such as Bellair -had not been.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239-241]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_SIX_LOT_COMPANY_II">PART SIX<br /> -LOT & COMPANY: II</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">B</span>ellair</span> reached New York on a mid-May -morning from the west, and -walked up Seventh avenue to his old -room. It was a time of day that he -had seldom known the street and step. There -was a different expression of daylight upon them. -Of course, he had met these matters on many Sundays, -but Sunday light and atmosphere was invariably -different to his eyes—something foreign -and false about it. He saw the old hall-mark, -however, in the vestibule—the partial sweeping.... -It had always been her way; all things a -form. The vestibule and stone steps had to be -swept—that was the law; to be swept with -strength and thoroughness was secondary. He -rang, and asked the servant for the woman of -the house.</p> - -<p>Waiting, he found himself in a singular depression<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> -of mind. The City had cramped and bewildered -him. A small oval of grey-white cloud -appeared in the dark hall. It came nearer, and -Bellair saw the face of dusty wax—smaller, a -little lower from his eyes. It came very near, -and was upturned. The vision was dim, and the -memory; all the passages slow and cluttered.</p> - -<p>“It is Mr. Bellair,” she said, without offering -her hand.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ve come back.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t a room—for you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“And about your things in storage—I would be -glad for the space now. Could you take care of -this to-day?’</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“I have the bill ready.”... She called the -servant who came with the broom. “On my table -among the papers you will find Mr. Bellair’s bill -for storage. Please get it.”</p> - -<p>Bellair heard the servant on the stairs, one, two, -three flights; then a long silence. He had never -been quite sure where the landlady slept, believing -that she hovered from basement to sky-light according -to the ebb and flow of the tenant tides. -The double-doors from the hall to the lower front -room were slightly ajar. This, the most expensive -in the house, appeared to be vacant. The servant -was gone a long time. The landlady did not leave -him alone in the hall. They did not speak. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>darkness crept upon Bellair as if he were in a -tank that was slowly but surely being filled, and -presently would cover him. The paper was -brought, the charge for six months’ storage, -meagre. Bellair paid it, and offered more. He -thought of her hard life, but the extra money was -passed back to him.</p> - -<p>“I have that present in keeping,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What present?”</p> - -<p>“That you gave me the night you went -away——”</p> - -<p>“But I gave it to you. Would you not take -a little gift from one who had been in your house -five years?”</p> - -<p>“Money easily got, goes the same,” she answered.</p> - -<p>Then Bellair realised how stupid he had been. -She had seen the newspapers. She had been -afraid to trust him alone in that bare hall. The -smell of carpets stifled him.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “But -hold the present a little longer. Perhaps you will -not always feel that it came so easily. I’ll send -for my goods at once.... Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Bellair.”</p> - -<p>He was ill. The side-door of a famous hotel -yawned to him directly across the street from his -step. He was not sure they would take him. -Registering, he stopped to think where he was -from, adding Auckland, N. Z.... Yes, his bags -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>would be brought from the station. They -gave him a room, and Bellair stood in the centre -of it.</p> - -<p>For a few moments he actually weakened—limbs -and mind. It wasn’t New York alone, nor -the sordid incident across the street, reminding -him so ruthlessly of Lot & Company and all that -had been and was still to do; rather it was a giving -way to a loneliness that had been rising for -almost a month, wearing him to a shadow of himself, -and giving him battle night and morning. -Like many another solitary young man, he had -brooded much upon what a certain woman might -be. He had found that in those women he met, -certain spaces must be filled in by his own compassion—and -these spaces did not endure. Always -in a test they separated from the reality. -But the Faraway Woman day by day had fulfilled; -even where his idealism failed, she completed -the picture of the woman above him and -of irresistible attraction.</p> - -<p>She had come nearer and nearer. She was -magic in this way. He had regarded her at first -distantly and askance at the rail of the <i>Jade</i>. A -gasp now came from him. That was so impossible -and long ago.... She had not called him any -more than a peasant woman. And yet one after -another her rarities had unfolded; it would always -be so. She was the very fountain of romance to -him; the essence of whose attraction is variableness -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>of days. Of all the days together, there had been -no two alike—no two hours alike. He had -watched her face under the light—never twice the -same. The child, the maiden, the mother, the -love-woman, the saint—lips passional, devotional -... then those wonder-moments when the old -tragedies came back to her eyes.</p> - -<p>They stirred him as if he had known her long -ago; and yet nothing of this had come to him at -first. How crude and coarse he had been not to -see. Lot & Company and New York had covered -her from his eyes. He had to fast and pray -and concentrate upon her being, as a devotee upon -the ball of crystal to begin upon her mysteries. -Every man has his Lot & Company, his New York—the -forces that bind him to the world. A man -bound to the world can see but the body of a thing—the -paint of a picture, just the outline and pigment -of a picture or a bit of nature—just the body -of a woman.</p> - -<p>Something came to him that instant—of the -perfect law of all things. Those caught in the -body of events see but that, hear but that, anticipate -but that—the very secret of all the misery -and shortsightedness in the world. A man must -rise, lift the centre of consciousness above the body -of things, even to see physical matters in their true -relation. It was all so thrillingly true to him in -this glimpse—that a man can never see properly -the sequence of his actions unless he can rise above -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>them—that those in the ruck never know what -they are about....</p> - -<p>He tried to remember her face, as he stood in -the hotel room. Failing, his mind returned to -their days together. He was apart now and could -view them, one by one, in their wonder and beauty. -He was torn with them. At different times on -the long voyage he had dwelt separately upon the -episodes. Some had worn him to exhaustion. -People on the ship had believed him a man with -a great grief. At first, he looked about from face -to face searching for some one whom he might -tell, but there was no reception for his story. He -had to stop and think that he was different and -apart.... She had always been apart.</p> - -<p>He had carried it alone, moving hushed and -alone with his story; lying open-eyed in his berth -through the hours of night, and often through the -afternoons, an open book face downward upon his -chest, his pipe cold ... living again the different -moments in the rooms of the stone cottage, in the -garden, on the shore; their journeys together, their -breakfasts and luncheons and evenings together.</p> - -<p>The boy was gone from him, from face and -body. He did not know what had come instead, -but he knew that he carried a creative image in his -heart; something of the fragrance of her lingering -about him. It had come to him at night alone -on deck—the sweetness of her—on the wind. All -that he wanted, all that he dreamed best of life -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>and labour and love ... and yet after all, what -had he to do with her in relation to these intimate -things? Friend, companion, confidante—she was -everything that a woman could be, except—— Had -not the substance of that kind of giving died -for her in the passing of the preacher?... -Something of her story frightened him. She had -learned the ultimate realness of loving. The man -who entered her heart now would have to come -with an immortal seal upon him. There was but -one who could take up the fatherhood of the -Gleam.... Bellair did not feel the man; did -not know what she had given him; did not know -what had come to him—to his face and carriage -and voice. He had not yet lifted himself above -so that he could see. Those whom he met, however, -were struck with a different Bellair, and -those who could not understand thought him -touched a little queerly—as a man after sunstroke -or any great light.</p> - -<p>... It was now noon. He thought of his old -friend, Broadwell, of the advertising-desk at Lot -& Company. Perhaps Broadwell would dine -with him. He called. The voice came back to -him.... Yes, he would come at once. Bellair -asked him to the hotel. In the interval he called -the Trust company in whose keeping the thousand -dollar surety had been, inquiring if Lot & Company -had collected the amount. The answer was -returned presently to the effect that Lot & Company<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> -had presented his release and collected the -amount with interest four days after his departure.</p> - -<p>Bellair hearkened to a faint singing somewhere -within and found it had to do with Bessie. He -called Brandt’s and ascertained that the same -quartette was to sing there at nine in the evening. -This was also one of the things he had come to -do.</p> - -<p>Broadwell was a trifle late, but all urbanity. -There was something of the salesman’s manner -and enunciation about him. Bellair fell away -after the greeting, caught in a sort of mental -flurry in which the picture of another luncheon -engagement recurred to his mind—the day he -had passed the desk and cage of Mr. Sproxley -with the stranger named Filbrick, and his own -telling of the cashier’s passionate honour.... -When he came back to see clearly the face of -Broadwell, he found that he personally was being -scrutinised with odd intensity. Could it be that -Broadwell had something more than a personal -friendly interest? His questions did not seem -adroit, and yet he wanted to know so much—of -the ship, of Auckland, but especially of this long -drive back to New York.</p> - -<p>“Are you stopping here?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes. My old room was just opposite, but I -was told that the house was full.”</p> - -<p>“So you came here?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And are you going to stay in New York?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, Ben. There are a few things -to see to.”</p> - -<p>“Are you looking for a job?”</p> - -<p>“Well, no. Not exactly, at least.”</p> - -<p>Try as he might, Bellair could not feel free, as -of old time. He felt the other wanted something, -and this checked his every offering. He knew -that Broadwell, at least six months before, could -not have believed ill of Lot & Company, and -there was no apparent change. The disclosure -of the press must have righted itself in the office -so far as he, Bellair, was concerned; surely Broadwell -did not share the dread of him the landlady -had shown; and yet, it was hard to broach these -things. The advertising-man apparently had no -intention of doing so.</p> - -<p>“We’ve all missed you on the lower floor,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“Are there any changes?”</p> - -<p>“Very few.”</p> - -<p>“Who took my place?”</p> - -<p>“Man from outside. Mr. Rawter brought in -the man—middle-aged. Mr. Sproxley knew him, -too.”</p> - -<p>“Poor devil,” said Bellair, but not audibly. -They had not dared to open the ledger revelations -to any one in the office, but had found a -man outside who was doubtless familiar with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>such books, doubtless one who had been deformed -in the long, slow twistings of trade. Perhaps this -one had children. Children were good for Lot -& Company’s most trusted servants. It was well -to have a number of children, like Mr. Sproxley—for -their wants are many, and a man’s soul cannot -breathe in the midst of many wants and small -salary.</p> - -<p>“Are you coming over to the office?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I find I have to. Some folks are taking -the end Lot and Company gave the newspapers -about my leaving. They were very much in a -hurry about giving out that newspaper story—with -the money in the vaults.”</p> - -<p>Broadwell regarded him seriously. “I suppose -they took the point of view that there could be -but one motive for your leaving, without giving -notice. Most firms would——”</p> - -<p>“I wonder if most firms would?” Bellair asked. -“Men have lapses other than falling into thievery. -At least a firm should look up the facts in the case -first. It’s a rather serious thing to charge a man -with departure with funds. For instance, the -public will glance through the details of such a -charge, and miss entirely a denial afterward. Are -you under bond?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t handle company funds——”</p> - -<p>“Suppose you were—and one night you came to -the end of your rope—found you couldn’t go -back—found it was a life or death matter of your -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>soul, whether you went back or not. Still you -had some salary coming and say a thousand dollars’ -surety. You took this amount exactly—salary -and bond and interest to the dollar, and -left a note saying so, in place of the amount; also -a note releasing to your firm the amount of the -bond and interest, and stating clearly the item of -salary—I say, would you expect to find yourself -charged with embezzlement in next day’s -paper?”</p> - -<p>Broadwell’s shoulders straightened.</p> - -<p>“Not in next day’s paper,” he said, with a -smile.</p> - -<p>Bellair did not miss the cut of this.</p> - -<p>“You think that my case was not like that -exactly?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see why a firm would give such a story -to the press—unless they uncovered a loss,” -Broadwell said slowly.</p> - -<p>“Lot & Company couldn’t have uncovered a -loss without looking in the very place where my -note was, which proved there was no loss. Lot -& Company couldn’t have collected my bond -without proceedings—unless they found my release -of it. And the bond was collected.”</p> - -<p>“Then I can’t see any reason for incriminating—any -one,” said Broadwell.</p> - -<p>“Well, there was a reason—though the facts -of my case are exactly as stated. Lot & Company -had a reason. I haven’t decided whether it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>will be necessary to make that known.... But -I didn’t bring you here to discuss this affair. I -wanted to see <i>you</i>——”</p> - -<p>Just then Mr. Broadwell was paged. A messenger -was said to be waiting for him in the -lobby.</p> - -<p>“Send him in,” Broadwell said thoughtlessly.</p> - -<p>Davy Acton came, and Broadwell saw his error. -Bellair perceived that his luncheon-companion had -made known his engagement at the office before -leaving....</p> - -<p>“Sit down, Davy. I’m glad to see you——”</p> - -<p>The boy had grown. Bellair noted that simple -thing, as he noted the fact also that Davy was -tortured with embarrassment, and had not meant -to come in. He wriggled his hand forward to -take Bellair’s, which was held toward his, and -then looked down shamefacedly, as if <i>he</i> had been -charged with theft. Bellair knew well that the -boy’s trouble was how to meet him—formerly a -friend, but now an outcast from the firm. A kind -of darkness stole over him. He saw now that -Broadwell believed him a thief, even as the landlady -had believed; but in the case of neither of -these did the dread finality come to him, as from -the face of this stricken boy.</p> - -<p>This was the thought that shot through Bellair’s -mind, “No one liked Davy so well as I -did; no one tried to help him as I did; and now -he thinks my liking and my helping, a part of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>the looseness of character which made me a -thief.”</p> - -<p>The thought was strange, yet natural, too. It -came into the darkness which had covered the -abode of Bellair’s consciousness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“A bit of copy—that I missed getting off,” -Broadwell was saying. “I was excited when you -called.... All right, Davy. I’ve told ’em -where to find it on the back of the note.... And -now Bellair—you were saying——”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair watched for the turn on the part of Broadwell -that would reveal the character of his message, -for he did not believe the matter of the copy -for the printer. The chill was thick between -them, yet Bellair managed to say:</p> - -<p>“I’m not here for reprisal or trouble-making. -It’s rather a novelty to be innocent, yet charged -with a thing; certainly one sees a look from the -world that could come no other way. I want to -see you again—soon. I’ve got a story to tell you. -It was a big thing to me. We used to have things -in common. I’d like to tell you the story and see -how it strikes you——”</p> - -<p>“Good. I’m to spare——”</p> - -<p>“Suppose you come here to lunch to-morrow——”</p> - -<p>“No, you come with me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> - -<p>“I’d prefer it the other way,” Bellair declared. -“It’s my story you are to listen to.”</p> - -<p>As they parted, there was just a trace of the -old Broadwell, that left Bellair with a feeling -of kindness.</p> - -<p>“I’m interested to hear that story,” the advertising-man -said. “It did something to you apparently. -Pulled you down a lot—but that’s not -all. I can’t make it out exactly—but you’ve got -something, Bellair.”</p> - -<p>That was a long afternoon.... He had been -gone less than six months; and yet was as much -a stranger, as a young man coming in from the -West for the first time. The hours dragged. The -City did not awe him, but so much of it struck him -in places tender. He could give and give; there -seemed no other way, no other thing to do. He -sat on a bench in Union Square, and talked with -an old man who needed money so badly that Bellair -reflected for some time the best way to bestow -it without shock. The old fellow looked so near -gone, that one feared his heart would break under -any undue pressure of excitement.</p> - -<p>Bellair concluded he had better buy a stimulant -first of all, so he led the way across the Square to -Kiltie’s. They lined up against the bar, and -warmed themselves, the idea in Bellair’s mind -being to give something beside money. Now the -old man (not in the least understanding more -than it was the whim of the stranger to do something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> -for him), was so intent on what was to be -done that he could not listen. Bellair had to come -to the point. They went to a table for a bite of -lunch, and the spectacle of a beggar’s mind opened—a -story lacking imagination and told with the -pitiful endeavour to fit into what was imagined to -be the particular weakness of this listener.</p> - -<p>For months, Bellair had not touched the little -orbit of the trodden lives. The story was not -true, for no single group of ten words hinged upon -what had been said, or folded into the next statement. -The old man was not simple, but his guile -was simple, and the simplicity of that was obscene. -Begging might be a fine art, but men chose or -fell into their work without thought of making -an art of it. The old man did not know his own -tremendous drama. Had he dared plainly to be -true, he would have captivated the world with his -own poor faculties. Behind the affectations were -glimpses of great realities—if only the fallen -mind could accept his days and tell them as they -came—just the imperishable fruits of his days. -As it was, the whiskey swept them farther away, -and the creature attempted to act; his pitiful conception -of effects were called into being. The -throb of it all was the way the world was brought -back to Bellair. His whole past city life thronged -into mind. This was but a shocking example of -myriads of lives—trying to be what their undeveloped -senses prompted for the moment, rather -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>than to be themselves. This was the salesman’s -voice and manner, he had seen in Broadwell.... -He stopped his revery by handing over the -present.</p> - -<p>The old man’s eyes were wild now with hope -and anguish to get away; a mingling of fear, too, -lest the great sum of money in one piece be counterfeit; -lest the stranger ask it back, or some one -knock him down and take it away.</p> - -<p>“I sat in a small boat,” Bellair was saying, “for -ten days, with very little food and water. I saw -one man die like a beast of thirst—or fear of -thirst; and I saw another man master it—so that -he died smiling—as only a man can die——”</p> - -<p>Bellair did not finish. He had tried to catch -the old man’s attention with this—to hold it an -instant, thinking that some word would get home, -something of the immortal facts in his heart, -something greater than cash ... but the old -man believed him insane, a liar, a fool or all -three.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” he said, looking to the side, and -to the door.</p> - -<p>So he could listen, neither before nor afterward. -Bellair eased his agony by letting him go—the -money gripped in his hands, his limbs hastening, -eyes darting to the right and left, as he sped -through the swinging door.... For several -moments, Bellair sat in the sorrow of it—lost in -the grimmest of all tragedies—that here we are, a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>human family, all designed for lofty and majestic -ends, yet having lost the power to articulate to -each other. Suddenly Bellair remembered that -the old face had looked into his for a swift second, -when he was released—shaken, ashen, a murmur -of something like “God thank you,” on the trembling -lips. There was a bit of a ray in that.... -Then he settled back into the tragedy again. It -was this—that the old man had thought him insane -for trying to help him; that he had seen -something foreign and altogether amiss in the -landlady’s eyes, in Ben Broadwell’s, and what -was more touching to him, in Davy Acton’s.</p> - -<p>Bellair straightened his shoulders. The misery -of the thing oppressed him until he brought it to -the laugh. Formerly he would have tried to -escape. It was not his business if the old man -would not be helped; he had tried. If a man -can succeed in radiating good feelings and a spirit -of helpfulness, he has done his part; the consequences -are out of his hand. He saw that he had -wanted to help; that what he had taken from the -open boat and from the woman had brought this -impulse to the fore in all his thinking. After that -he must be an artist in the work; must become -consummate; but having done his best—he must -not spend energy in moods and personal depressions.... -As for Lot & Company, he must meet -them on their own footings—forgetting everything -but their points of view. It was his business<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> -now to make a black spot clean, and it was -an ugly material matter to be coped with as such, -calling forth will-power and acumen of a world -kind. He would see if he was to fail.</p> - -<p>Bellair’s laugh was hard at first, from the -tensity of the temptation to give up and let New -York have its way in his case. Having whipped -that (and it was a fair afternoon’s work) the -smile softened a little, and he entered upon the -task of the evening.</p> - -<p>... Brandt’s was just as he had left it. The -crowd increased; the quartette came. Bessie was -lovely as ever; slightly different, since he had -thought of her so much in the old hat. She did -not see him, but her smile was like a flower of -warmth and culture. A touch of the old excitement -mounted in his breast, as they sang.... -This was New York—among men—food and -drink and warmth. This, too, was life; these -were men who toil every day, who cannot take -months to dream in, who cannot cross the sea and -observe heroes and saints, but men who crowd -and toil and fight, even expire, for their pleasures—such -were the surgings of Bellair’s brain in -the midst of the music. Bessie was the arch of -it all—the arch of the old home, New York,—not -this Bessie, but the Bessie that might be, the -significant woman it was his work to make and -mould. He was living his own thoughts, as much -as listening. They vanished when the music -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>stopped.... He sent a waiter to her with this -written on a blank card:</p> - -<p>“Will you sing <i>Maying</i> for an old friend?”</p> - -<p>... The song choked the wanderer, and this -was the new mystery of <i>Maying</i>—that it left him -at the stone gate of a door-yard beyond windy -Auckland....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He sent forward a gift of flowers, and was in -a daze when she came to him and sat down.</p> - -<p>“I have only a few minutes. We sing once -more and then go. How dark and thin you look!”</p> - -<p>He wanted to see her after her work was done, -but dared not ask until other things were said.... -There were words that left no impress, until -he heard himself saying:</p> - -<p>“I read the New York papers at sea——”</p> - -<p>“... The reporters came to me. I had told -some one of seeing you. It was just after I had -read the news. It was new to me to have reporters -come—and somehow they got what they -wanted——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that didn’t matter. Only it was all unnecessary. -My accounts there were never other -than straight.”</p> - -<p>She said she was glad. He saw she was more -glad to drop the subject, and didn’t exactly believe -him.</p> - -<p>“And you’ve had luck away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, in several ways—beside money.”</p><p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> - -<p>It seemed necessary to add the last. He was -struck with the shame and pity of it; yet it had -to do with seeing her again.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to be in New York long?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I’d like to talk with you to-night, -after you are through. I might know better -then—how long I am to stay.... Is it -possible?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, I think so.”</p> - -<p>“When?”</p> - -<p>“After the <i>Castle</i>”</p> - -<p>“Thank you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to be given a chance—in two weeks—a -real chance,” she declared. “I’ll tell you -later.”</p> - -<p>He tried to make himself believe that it was -just as it had been; that Bessie was the same, the -meaning of New York and the fortune that had -come to him. How could she sing so, if it were -not true?</p> - -<p>“The formal try-out is two weeks from to-day,” -she added. “The rest is done. It’s the chance -for life—one of the leads with the <i>King Follies</i> -for next season. They’ve already heard me. I -need to do no more, than has been done?”</p> - -<p>“Just singing?”</p> - -<p>“There are many lines and some dancing—oh, -it’s a chance to storm the piece—if I can.”</p> - -<p>She enlarged and detailed the promise; Bellair -forgot many things he had to say.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p> - -<p>“Is that all you want, Bessie?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“This chance.”</p> - -<p>Her brows knit with irritation. It was her high -tide, and he did not seem able to rise with it. -Still she dared not be angry with him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see—it’s everything?”</p> - -<p>“A good salary, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes——”</p> - -<p>“And you are all fixed for it?”</p> - -<p>“All but clothes—the old struggle. You helped -me wonderfully before.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I could help you again?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, could you?” She was joyousness aflame—her -whole nature winging about him.</p> - -<p>Deep within, he was empty and bleak and cold. -He wanted to give her money, but somehow could -not make it easy for her. It cheapened him in -his own eyes.... He was silent—his thoughts -having crossed the world. There is no one to explain -the sentence that ran through his mind, -“... <i>who buys wine for the Japanese girls in -Dunedin, since Norcross was conscripted in the -service we all shall know?</i>”</p> - -<p>“... But what am I to do for you,” he heard -the girl inquire, “since you are—not going away -to-night?”</p> - -<p>He quaked at the old recall. Perhaps he had -forgotten a little how to be sharp and city-wise; -at least, he did not make himself clear at once.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> - -<p>“You have your mornings, don’t you, Bessie?”</p> - -<p>“Not if I’m to have new clothes. That’s morning -work——”</p> - -<p>“There’s so much to say. I’ve thought about -you in a lot of strange places——”</p> - -<p>She leaned forward and said with a pitiful -quiet, “Once, you only wanted me to be good.”</p> - -<p>Then it dawned on him. “Good God, Bessie,” -he cried, “I don’t want you to be bad!”</p> - -<p>She regarded him, playing with the stem of her -glass, as of old time. A curious being he was to -her, and quite inexplicable.</p> - -<p>“You love me?” she asked.</p> - -<p>The bass now beckoned, and she fled.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair saw that one may have a gift from heaven, -a superb singing-voice, for instance, but that one -must also furnish the thought behind it. It was -not that Bessie Brealt lacked ambition; in fact, she -had plenty of that, but it was the sort that cannot -wait for real results. She did not see the great -singer; she had not a thought to give with her song. -She had not the emotions upon which a great organ -of inspiration might be built with the years. -Already she was touched with the world; the -world stirred her desires; matters of first importance -in her mind were the things she wanted.</p> - -<p>She was not different from the thousands, from -the millions, in this. He had not altogether lost -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>the conviction that she might be made different. -Already she was singing too much; her voice -would never reach its full measure under these -conditions. She would suffer the fate of the -countless high-bred colts that are ruined by being -raced too young, being denied the right to sound -maturity. She should have been out of the life-struggle -for years yet; in the country, in the perfect -convent of natural life. She had not answered -the true call, but meanwhile a call had -come; its poison had entered. Bellair saw that -the process before him, if any, was to break before -building.... If consummate art were used, might -not Bessie be helped to conceive the great career? -Of course that thought must come first. However, -he was far from believing that any art of -his could be consummate.... Speaking that -night of her new opportunity, he said:</p> - -<p>“They will rehearse you a great deal—then performances -twice a day—and you’re not more than -twenty——”</p> - -<p>“Just twenty——”</p> - -<p>“You should be forty—before giving your -voice so much work——”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “Forty, I will doubtless be finished. -Forty, and before, the fat comes——”</p> - -<p>“People can forget fat—when a great voice is -singing——”</p> - -<p>“The great voices have sung from children,” -she answered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p> - -<p>He believed this untrue; at least, he believed -that with conservation, a more sumptuous power -was attainable. “They have sung naturally perhaps, -but not professionally. If they were called -into the stress of life very young, any greatness -afterward was in spite of the early struggle, not -because of it. The voice is an organ that wears -out. It is not the same as the character which -improves through every test. If you were to -spend ten years in study—ten years, not alone in -vocal culture, but in life preparation and the culture -of happiness——”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you would have me give up this -chance with the <i>Follies</i>?” she asked with the control -that suggests imminent fracture.</p> - -<p>“Yes. There is nothing that passes so quickly—as -the voice of a season. It is the plaything of -a people without memory. If you had ever listened -to the best of the light opera singers, in -contrast to a really developed talent——”</p> - -<p>But this was not the way. Bellair finished the -sentence vaguely, not with the sharpness of the -idea that had come to him. She was nervous and -irritable and tired. She was enduring him, much -as one endures a brother from the country, for -whom allowances must be made; also there was -a deeper reason.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps what I think of you,” he said, stirring -to thrill her some way if possible, “is really -a fiery thing, Bessie. I think of you singing great -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>hordes of creatures into unity of idea that would -lift them from beasts into men. The world is so -full of sorrow and dulness of seeing; the world is in -a cloud—I want you to sing the clouds away. If -you could wait—just wait, as one holding a sure -and perfect gift—until the real call comes to you, -and then sing, knowing your part, not in pleasure -and amusement, but in life, in the stirring centres -of struggle and strife. If you would go forth -singing that great song of yours—from your soul! -It would be like a voice from the East—to bring -the tatters of humanity together. I felt all this -vaguely when I first heard you—six months ago. -I have thought of it nights and days on the ocean—in -times when we had to live on our thoughts, -hold fast to them or go mad, for we had two days’ -water for ten, and two days’ food for ten. Then -I remembered how I came into Brandt’s, torn that -night, not knowing what to do—dull-eyed and -covered with wrongs. You sang me free. For -the minute you sang me out of all that. I could -not have freed myself perhaps—without that -song. I know that there are thousands of men -like me to be freed——”</p> - -<p>Bellair felt on sure ground now. This was -his particular manner and message—the finest -and strangest thing about him—the fact that had -always appeared, making him different even from -Fleury and the woman,—the thought that he was -average—and not more impressionable than the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>multitudes. If they could be reached, they would -make the big turn that he had been shoved into.</p> - -<p>“... Thousands just as I was that night, -preyed upon by trade, dull-witted with the ways -of trade, the smug, the bleak, the poisonous -tricks of trade, born and bred—their real life -softened and watered and wasted away ... -thousands who could turn into men at the right -song, the right word. I always thought of you, -Bessie—as one of the great helpers. If you can -wait, the way will come. I will help you to wait. -I came back to New York to help you——”</p> - -<p>She picked up his glass and smelled it, her eyes -twinkling. “Splendid,” she said, “but are you -quite sure you haven’t a stick in this ginger-ale?”</p> - -<p>Bellair leaned back. He hadn’t touched <i>it</i> yet. -Perhaps something would come, better than -words. It was not straight-going—this work that -he had dreamed; always a shock in bringing down -dreams from Sinai; always something deadly in -meeting the empirical. He smiled. “Just ginger-ale, -Bessie, but you are a stimulant. You are -more beautiful than before. Not quite so girlish, -but there is something new that is very intense -to me——”</p> - -<p>She leaned toward him now, very eager.</p> - -<p>“I wondered what you would see. The difference -was plain at once in you.... Tell me what -you see——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span></p> - -<p>“Just between the fold of the eye and the -point of the chin——” he answered.... -(Queerly now he imagined himself talking on the -shore to the little Gleam; it gave him just the -touch that helped.) “—a little straightening of -the oval, and the little puff at the mouth-corners -drawn out. Why, Bessie, it’s just the vanishing -child. And you are taller. I’m almost afraid to -speak—to try to put it into words, how pretty -you are——”</p> - -<p>She was elate and puzzled, too. “Where did -you get anything like that?” she asked. “It’s -what made me remember before. Always when -you get through preaching—you pay for it——”</p> - -<p>It was out before she thought—yet for -once the exact unerring thing that was in her -mind.</p> - -<p>He treasured it; saw that his appeal was certain -this way; that he must be of the world, and -right glib to master her. The way of reality was -slow; he must never fail to pay for preaching.... -They laughed, and the weariness went from -her eyes. The bloom of her health was at its -height. Now as Bellair watched her, thinking -of the world-ways, she suddenly swept home to -him—the old forbidden adventure of her, the -meaning of money and nights, her homelessness, -the city, the song, the price she would pay if he -demanded it.</p> - -<p>The thing was upon him before he realised. It -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>had all been the new Bellair until now. His body -had lain as if in a vault of wax, its essential forces -in suspension. Suddenly without warning, the -wax had melted away. He did not instantly give -battle to the gust of desire—met it eye-to-eye. -Bellair felt his own will, and knew he would use -it presently. He was rather amazed at the power -of the thing as it struck him, and the nature of -it, so utterly detached from the redolence and -effulgence he had known in the Stone House. This -was not the old Hunting Companion who had -come with garlands; a minkish aborigine, this, -who had come empty-handed, whose hands were -out to be filled.</p> - -<p>The meaning of all that Stackhouse had left -in wallets and sea-girt archipelagoes was in this -sullen-eyed entity—in the <i>O</i> formed of thirsting -lips. Bellair tried to check it before it came—the -thought that this was peculiarly a New York -manifestation, one destined to be Bessie Brealt’s -familiar in future years.... He did not have -to use his will. He lost himself in thinking of -her plight.</p> - -<p>“... Please bring the coffee,” she was saying -to the waiter, her hand lifted, as if she would -touch his sleeve, the familiarity of one who had -sung here many nights. “Yes, he will have coffee. -He is merely away somewhere.... Yes, -we will have it smoked with cognac—but here—do -it here. I like to see it burn....”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span></p> - -<p>“Very well, Miss Brealt——”</p> - -<p>The lights had all come back to Bellair. He -was miserable—the adventure palled. There had -been no lift, nor tumultuous carrying away. The -quick change chilled him. Her words one by one -had chilled him.... At least, he had demanded -a madness to-night. Bessie did not have the wine -of madness in her veins. This much had been -accomplished. He could not break training -coldly.... And now he felt as if the day had -drained him to the heart, as if the day had come -to an end, and he must rest.</p> - -<p>He turned to her. “I found a little check-book -for you to-day, but you must go to the bank and -give them your signature. It is made of leather, -small enough for your purse almost. The bank-book -is with it. You will find a little account -started.... And now I will call a cab for -you——”</p> - -<p>“But your coffee——” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, we will have that——”</p> - -<p>He had to get away for a moment. His heart -was desolate with hunger.... The smell of the -kitchen made him think of the galley of a -ship....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Oh, what can I do for you?” Bessie asked, -when he returned.</p> - -<p>“It’s what you can do for yourself that interests -me——”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> -<p>“But I must go with the <i>Follies</i>—if I win. It’s -the career—the beginning!”</p> - -<p>“If you must.”</p> - -<p>“And when shall I see you?”</p> - -<p>“Here to-morrow night—if you will.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said eagerly.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">4</p> - -<p class="no-indent">On the way to Lot & Company’s the next morning -Bellair smiled at the sense of personal injustice -which had returned to him. He held fast -to a sort of philosophical calm, but permitted his -energy to be excited by a peculiar blending of -contempt and desire to wring the truth from Lot -& Company at any price.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he stopped. Lot & Company was -merely something to master. Lot & Company was -but an organised bit of the world which he had -met; all men had their own organisations to face, -to comprehend the vileness and illusion of, and -then to get underfoot, neck and other vitals.... -Bessie had helped him. There was something -in that.... He felt the fighting readiness -within him, and an added warning not to raise -his voice. He must deal with Lot & Company -on the straight low plane of what-was-wanted. -That was the single level of the firm’s understanding.</p> - -<p>Davy Acton smiled at him shyly—the first -face after the pale telephone-miss at the door. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>Davy was more at home in these halls and -floors than in the hotel dining-room. Bellair -heard the jovial voice of Mr. Rawter behind his -partition. From the distance, Broadwell glanced -up and waved at him. Mr. Sproxley’s black eyes -were fixed in his direction from behind the grating -of his cage. Mr. Sproxley came forward, greeted -him and returned. Bellair had asked to see the -elder Mr. Wetherbee, but it appeared that Mr. -Seth was not in.</p> - -<p>“I’ll speak with Mr. Nathan Lot,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Lot is occupied.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Jabez then.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Jabez came forth presently.... He had -been married in the interval, according to Broadwell; -the fact had touched the wide, limp mouth. -A very rich girl had joined pastures with Jabez; -so that this coming forward was one of the richest -young men in New York, representing the fortune -of his mother which the dreaming Nathan had -put into works; representing the fortune he had -recently wedded with or without dreaming, and -also the Lot & Company millions. Mr. Jabez -also stood for the modern note of the firm; he was -designed to bring the old and prosperous conservatism -an additional new and up-to-the-hour -force of suction.... Mr. Jabez smiled.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Bellair,” he said with a careless regard,—doubtless -part of the modern method, the laxity -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>of new America which knows no caste. The -thought had formed about him something to this -effect: “What’s the use of me carrying it—you -will not be able to forget you are talking to forty -millions?”</p> - -<p>“Come in,” he added and Bellair followed.</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan was beyond the partition. The -atmosphere of the dreamer had looped over into -the son’s sanctum.... Bellair began at the -point of his handing the letter, addressed to Mr. -Nathan, to the station-porter at the last moment -from the platform of the Savannah Pullman.</p> - -<p>“But mails don’t miscarry,” said Mr. Jabez, -impatiently.</p> - -<p>“That’s a fact. Perhaps mine wasn’t mailed. -Of course,” he added quietly, “you didn’t require -that letter. You had my note of release in the -safe. They say at the Trust company that you -collected the thousand dollars and interest within -four days after I left.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose every employé who has a deposit of -faith—should tie us up that way?”</p> - -<p>“It would be well to find out what he has done—before -calling in the police.”</p> - -<p>“What do you want, Bellair?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Jabez could hold his temper, when its display -was an inconvenience.</p> - -<p>“I want a paper signed by you for Lot & Company, -stating that you were in error when you -charged me with absconding with company funds; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>that my accounts were afterward found to be entirely -correct.”</p> - -<p>Jabez Lot surveyed him. There was some -change which he did not understand. The paper -asked for, was a mere matter of dictation, a thing -that might be forced from the firm. He believed, -however, that Bellair wanted something else.</p> - -<p>“I think the wisest plan for us will be to turn -your case over to our attorney,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Why?” Bellair asked. The full episode of -the Nubian File and Mr. Prentidd passed through -his mind.</p> - -<p>“You see these affairs are adjusted better out -of the office——”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact, Bellair,” Mr. Jabez said -patiently, “Lot & Company is eager to make -amends for its mistake——”</p> - -<p>There was a slow, quiet cough, the most natural -and thoughtless sort of cough from the inner office. -Bellair wondered if the modern method of Mr. -Jabez was wearing a bit upon the dreamer, or if -he were really lost in some inscrutable departure -of mind.</p> - -<p>“That would seem natural,” said he. “It -would seem the direct, clear way. I am not -boisterous; I threaten nothing.”</p> - -<p>Bellair knew that this reminder of the Prentidd -episode did not help his cause, but he wished -nothing to be lost from the force he possessed. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>At the same time, he knew that it was the policy -of Lot & Company to give nothing unforced. He -was interested.</p> - -<p>“We hadn’t thought of it, of course,” the future -head now said, “but I have no doubt that -Lot & Company has something as good for you -as your old place, if you——”</p> - -<p>“But I do not want a position,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“What is it you want—again?”</p> - -<p>“I want a paper, saying that I stole nothing, -that Lot & Company was in error in charging me -with taking funds——”</p> - -<p>“A sort of explanation of our course?”</p> - -<p>“Not exactly—a statement of your course, and -that you incriminated me unjustly——” Bellair -spoke with slow clearness.</p> - -<p>“I really believe you had better see Mr. Jackson.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because this is most unusual——”</p> - -<p>Another cough was heard.</p> - -<p>“Unusual—to straighten out a wrong that has -hurt a man?”</p> - -<p>“The way you ask it. Lot & Company is willing -to take you back——”</p> - -<p>“But I do not want to come back. You say -that Lot & Company is eager to make -amends——”</p> - -<p>Davy Acton came in, saying that Mr. Jabez -was called to the advertising department for a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>moment.... To Bellair this was like an interruption -of an interesting story, but he did not -wait long. The scene was merely shifted. He -was in Mr. Nathan’s room. Mr. Rawter joined -them and Mr. Jabez returned directly. The latter -reopened the conversation by relating justly and -patiently what Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why he shouldn’t have such a -paper,” said Mr. Nathan, brushing his fingers -through his hair, as if to force his thoughts down. -He was not a whit older. The same identical -dandruff was upon his shoulders.</p> - -<p>Mr. Rawter laughed jovially: “Don’t you see? -That’s just it. Individually, that is exactly the -situation—but a big house—all its ramifications -affected—and who’s to be responsible for Lot & -Company as a whole?”</p> - -<p>“It was Lot & Company that incriminated me,” -said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“I told Mr. Bellair——” Mr. Jabez began.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bellair had better come back to the House—that -in itself is our acknowledgement,” interrupted -his father. Evidently the son was not -yet finished in training.</p> - -<p>Bellair turned to Mr. Jabez, who explained the -point of Bellair’s unwillingness to return. There -was silence at this, as if it were entirely incomprehensible.</p> - -<p>“Have you taken a position elsewhere in New -York?” Mr. Nathan asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to?”</p> - -<p>“On that—I cannot be sure.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Rawter now arose and came forward, placing -his arm across Bellair’s shoulder. The latter -winced, but not physically. For an instant -it had fired and fogged him. “Bellair, my boy, -on the face of it—this that you ask would seem -very simple,” he began. “I would ask it in your -case, but think of us. By misunderstanding, we -let out the fact that you had gone with funds not -your own.... You were away. We looked for -you everywhere before this happened——”</p> - -<p>“You let it out,” said Bellair. “It is very -simple. Call it in again——”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t so simple.”</p> - -<p>“I might come back to work for you,” Bellair -added, “and those who knew would say, ‘He -hadn’t anything. Instead of locking him up, Lot -& Company took him back to work out what he -had taken——’”</p> - -<p>“I might give you a personal letter, saying I -was very sorry, that in the bewilderment of the -moment, we jumped at the conclusion that you -were identified with the missing funds——”</p> - -<p>“But the funds were not missing. You could -not look into the vault-box without finding my -letter.”</p> - -<p>“Our funds were not all in that box, Bellair.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> - -<p>“They would know by next morning, if I had -broken into your bank——”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan appeared to be gone from them, his -eyes softened with visions.</p> - -<p>“Write him the letter, Mr. Rawter——” suggested -Mr. Jabez.</p> - -<p>It struck Bellair like a hated odour—this tool -for unclean work, Rawter’s part in the establishment. -He did not hasten now, though he knew -they were waiting for his answer. The head of -the sales resumed:</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will do this gladly—in fact, it would -relieve my mind to do this in the most cordial -terms, but I would be interested first in learning -just what disposition of it was intended——”</p> - -<p>“It would be mine,” said Bellair. “Of course, -I should use it as I thought fit.”</p> - -<p>“I was thinking—in adjusting the tone of the -letter, the wording, you know——”</p> - -<p>“Adjust the tone—the wording—to the facts—that -would seem best. But I would not accept -such a letter from you personally. It would have -to be written for Lot & Company——”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan now showed signs of coming back.</p> - -<p>“Let us have a day to think it over, Bellair,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“In that case—my part is finished. I have -asked to be lifted out of a shameful position. You -acknowledge that I have this lift coming.” It -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>was at this point that an inspiration arrived. “All -that there is left, naturally and equitably, is for -you to do your part. A man’s name is of more -importance than a firm’s name, and in any event, -no man nor firm was ever hurt by squaring a -crooked action.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan appeared to welcome the slight heat -of this remark. It brought the moment nearer -in which hands might be washed and the attorney -summoned. But Bellair was not heated, Mr. -Rawter fumed a little.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by a man’s name being -more important than a firm’s name?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“A firm shares its responsibility. A man shoulders -it alone.”</p> - -<p>“And what do you mean by your part being -finished?”</p> - -<p>“I have worked in this office five years,” Bellair -answered. “I never saw nor heard of a man in -my position, or in a similar position of asking -something, who profited by allowing delay. I -will put the matter out of mind if the letter is -not furnished to-day. Of course, I expect to get -it. In fact, I have the pressure to force the issue—although -it seems trivial for me to mention it.”</p> - -<p>Bellair had thought of Mr. Prentidd again. -There was doubtless a case of some kind pending -on the matter of the Nubian File. Mr. Prentidd -was no man to stop. It would not have been settled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> -within six months. Lot & Company knew of -his knowledge of this affair. Bellair plunged:</p> - -<p>“In fact, there is a case against Lot & Company, -to which I might add a singular weight of -testimony. As for my own, it would go to the -same counsel——”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan ruffled his hair and the silent fall -of grey white dust followed. Bellair felt pent. -After so long a time at sea, it was hard for him -to breathe in this place. He wearied now of the -game, although Mr. Nathan was palpably down, -present in the material plane.</p> - -<p>“Bellair,” said he, turning about in his chair, -“the added pressure of a discredited employé -doesn’t count for much as testimony in any -case——”</p> - -<p>“I realised at once the reason why you discredited -me—to cripple for the time being any -knowledge I might care to use against you. However, -you have all granted that I am not discredited. -The only item mentioned in the charge -was the item covered by the Trust company. You -would have to work with Mr. Sproxley to show -a deficit in the books having to do with my departure——”</p> - -<p>“Bellair,” said Mr. Nathan, “a poor man can -never win a suit against a strongly backed -firm——”</p> - -<p>“That is unfortunately true,” said Bellair, “but -I am not poor. I came into an inheritance during -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>the past six months. The fact is, I think I could -spend as much money to buy justice as Lot & Company -would be willing to spend to prevent it.”</p> - -<p>“Bellair,” said Mr. Nathan, “you will find it -impossible to move the press in your behalf against -the firm of Lot & Company, with our advertising -contracts among the valuable ones in the city -lists——”</p> - -<p>Knowledge now counted. “You do not advertise -in the <i>Record</i>,” he declared. “I have -often heard from the advertising department that -there is a rupture between this office and that -paper, dating over a quarter of a century——”</p> - -<p>Mr. Nathan touched a button for his stenographer. -She lit upon the little chair beside -him like a winged seed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“To all Parties interested: Mr. Bellair left -our employ suddenly and without furnishing customary -warning,” the president dictated. “Finding -a certain explanation in the vault, instead of -a sum slightly over one thousand dollars belonging -to this firm, we hastily assumed that his sudden -departure was energised by the usual conditions. -In fact, such a suspicion was stated to the press -by this firm. We have since found Mr. Bellair’s -accounts to be correct in every detail, and we furnish -this letter to express in part our concern for -Mr. Bellair’s character which our hasty conclusion -impinged upon. Mr. Bellair left a letter of explanation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> -in the vault, but his action in leaving -abruptly and without explanation forced us on -the spur of the moment to discredit it. However, -the statement of his letter proved true, and the -money taken by Mr. Bellair was the exact amount -of his surety bond, with stipulated interest, and -his salary to the hour of departure.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“You have heard it?” Mr. Nathan inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it will do,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>The president nodded to his stenographer, who -whisked out. “It will be ready in a moment,” he -said. “I will sign it for Lot & Company.... -Bellair, are you sure you don’t want your old desk -back?”</p> - -<p>“Quite sure,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>Mr. Jabez and Mr. Rawter had departed. Bellair -glanced at his watch. It was a moment past -the hour of Mr. Broadwell’s leaving for luncheon. -The advertising-man, of course, was aware of his -presence in the lower office. Bellair stepped out, -however, to make sure of his appointment. Broadwell, -hat in hand, was engaged in talk with Mr. -Jabez. Bellair returned to the office of the president -to wait for the stenographer. Not more than -two minutes later, Davy Acton came in with this -message:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Mighty sorry to call luncheon off. Am hurrying -to catch a train for Philadelphia for the rest -of the day. Will see you later.—Broadwell.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p> - -<p>... Bellair folded this thoughtfully. The -stenographer brought the letter with copy. The -front draft was approved for signature, and Bellair’s -morning work accomplished.</p> - -<p>In the hall he met Davy Acton, and followed -a quick impulse.</p> - -<p>“Davy, lad, how soon will you be ready to go -out to lunch?”</p> - -<p>“In about three minutes——”</p> - -<p>“I’ll wait for you. I’m going your way.”</p> - -<p>Davy’s customary exit was the side-door. Bellair -waited there accordingly. The girls were -coming down the iron stairway from the bindery. -He stepped back in the shadow to let them pass. -There were figures and faces that clutched at his -throat.... And then a story began, half way -up the first flight, and came nearer and nearer, the -voice carrying easily to one who listened with -emotion:</p> - -<p>“Did you know that Mr. Bellair was back?... -Bellair, the absconding clerk—Mr. Sproxley’s -assistant. Lot & Company has refused to -prosecute. He will not be arrested.... And -think of his nerve—asking his old position -back——”</p> - -<p>... They saw merely the back of a man, if -they saw him at all. The talk was not interrupted -on the way to the street and beyond.... Bellair -came up with a start to find the boy at his side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span></p> - -<p class="center no-indent">5</p> - -<p class="no-indent">For a square or two, Davy Acton walking -beside him, Bellair did not speak. He had -needed that last bit. The morning would have -blurred his hard-earned knowledge of Lot & Company -and the world, without that moment under -the iron stairs. It was hard to take, but a man -mustn’t forget such realities as this. He loses his -grip on the world when he forgets. Happy to -lose, of course, but the point of his effectiveness -is gone when these rock-bottom actualities are forgotten.... -He looked down, Davy was hopping -every third step to keep up. Bellair had quickened -his pace to put the stench of the swamp -farther behind him, but it was still in his nostrils.... -He laughed.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking, Davy, and the thoughts were -like spurs. We’re in no hurry, really.”</p> - -<p>He would not take the boy to a stately and -formal dining-room for him to be embarrassed. -Bellair felt that he had something very precious -along; a far graver solution than luncheon with -Broadwell. They sat down at a little table in -the corner of one of the less crowded restaurants. -As they waited, Bellair said, drawing out the -paper he had received from the dreaming Mr. -Nathan:</p> - -<p>“I want you to see this first. In fact, I was -particularly concerned about getting it, just to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>show you. Davy, it hit me like a rock—the way -you looked at me in the hotel yesterday. I -couldn’t have that. We’ve been too good -friends——”</p> - -<p>Davy read the letter carefully, deep responsibility -upon his understanding.</p> - -<p>“Did you have trouble getting it?” he asked -finally.</p> - -<p>“It took the forenoon, Davy. I found that they -had not taken the trouble to tell my old friends -on the different floors that I was not a thief. What -was worse for me, they let you think so——”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t believe it at first,” said Davy.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad of that.”</p> - -<p>“I said to Mr. Broadwell, that they’d find out -differently and be sorry. They didn’t let us know -when they found out——”</p> - -<p>“That’s why it was important for me to come -back——”</p> - -<p>“But why did you go away like that?”</p> - -<p>The boy’s mind dwelt in the fine sense of being -treated as an equal. Bellair felt called upon to be -very explicit and fair:</p> - -<p>“I came to the time when I couldn’t live with -myself any longer—and stay in the cage with Mr. -Sproxley. I saw a ship in the harbour the Sunday -before—a sailing-ship,” he began, and then made -a picture of it; also of his own hopelessness and -what the years would mean, not touching specific -dishonesties, but suggesting the atmosphere which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span>had suddenly become poisonous to him. He did -not forget that Davy had no other place, that he -must keep a certain sense of loyalty, or be destroyed -in such conditions.</p> - -<p>“It would have taken two weeks to get clear -in the ordinary way,” he added. “My decision -came the day of the squabble with Mr. Prentidd -in the office. I had to leave right then—was off -for Savannah that very night——”</p> - -<p>“And you found the ship there?” Davy asked -eagerly.</p> - -<p>“I beat her there a day and a half. Then we -sailed for South America. I want to tell you the -whole story. This is not the place. Could you -come up in my room after supper to-night?”</p> - -<p>“I think my mother will let me come——”</p> - -<p>“Tell me about your mother, Davy. Is she -well? I remember I meant to meet her some -time.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—just the same. You know she works a -little, too——”</p> - -<p>“Where?” Bellair asked absently.</p> - -<p>Davy swallowed, and before he spoke, the man -saw with a queer thrill that the boy hadn’t yet -learned to lie.</p> - -<p>“Well, she goes out three days a week—to do -the laundry work—for people who have had her a -long time.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see.”</p> - -<p>“I’m hoping to get where she won’t have to.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span></p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>The dinner was brought. Bellair tried to make -up for the place—in quantity. Neither spoke for -the present. The man was hungry, too.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you told me that,” he said after a -time, “glad you told me just that way.”</p> - -<p>Davy applied himself further. Manifestly here -was a point that he need not follow.</p> - -<p>“Davy, you’ll come through. You’re starting -in the right hard way—the old-fashioned way. It -won’t be so slow as you think——” He was reminded -now of what Fleury had said about the -little Gleam that first night in the open boat.</p> - -<p>“Slow but sure at Lot & Company’s—if a fellow -does his part and works hard——”</p> - -<p>Davy was being brought up in the usual way.</p> - -<p>Bellair said: “I’m coming over to see you at -your house some evening soon—if I may.”</p> - -<p>“Sure.... It isn’t much of a house.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so certain about that. Anyway, I -want to come. We’ll talk about it again this -evening. You ask your mother when she’ll let -me——”</p> - -<p>“You might come to-night—-instead of me coming -to the hotel——”</p> - -<p>“No, I want to talk with you alone.”</p> - -<p>Davy looked relieved.... He was on his way -presently, and the town appeared better to Bellair -that afternoon. At five he was in the hotel-lobby -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>when a hand plucked his sleeve and he looked -down into the whitest, most terrified face, he had -ever seen.</p> - -<p>“I’m fired!” was the intelligence that came up -from it, and there was reproach, too.</p> - -<p>“Come on upstairs, but first take it from me -that you’ll be glad of it, in ten minutes——”</p> - -<p>Bellair had to furnish a swift, heroic antidote -for that agony.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t been home, of course?” the man -asked in the elevator.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Could we send a messenger to your mother—so -she wouldn’t worry, and you wouldn’t have to -go home until after we talk?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll see to that at once.”</p> - -<p>Davy wrote with trembling hands. The messenger -was asked to bring an answer from Mrs. -Acton.</p> - -<p>“Now tell me,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>“Old Mr. Seth was down when I got back. You -know he only comes down for an hour or two now -in the middle of the day. He called me to him, -and asked where I had been to lunch. I said with -you. That was all, until four o’clock, when Mr. -Eben came to me and asked if you had shown me -anything—a letter from Lot & Company, for instance. -I said yes. He went away, and at half-past<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> -four, he called me again, handed me my -weekly envelope, saying that they would not need -me any longer. I came right here. It seemed, -I couldn’t go home——”</p> - -<p>“Davy, lad, I’m glad I’m not broke, but if I -were and couldn’t do a thing to make up—it -would be a lucky day for you.”</p> - -<p>Bellair ordered supper served in the room. -They were free and alone. Faith returned to the -boy, enough for the hour. Davy was consulted -carefully upon the details of the order, a subtle -suggestion from Bellair from time to time. Something -of the long dinners on the <i>Jade</i> had come to -his mind in this rôle. He had learned much about -food that voyage, the profundity and emptiness of -the subject. Bellair told his story, making it very -clear to Davy—this at first:</p> - -<p>“The office was doing to me just what it would -do to you, Davy. It was breaking me down. -The floors of Lot & Company are filled with heart-broken -men. They do not know it well; some of -them could never know, but there are secrets in -the breasts of men there, that you wouldn’t dream -of. It is so all over New York. Trade makes it -so—offices, the entire city, crowded with heart-broken -men.... They say first, ‘Why, every -one is out for himself and the dollar—why not -I?’ You and I were taught so in our little schooling. -Then Lot & Company taught us. They are -old masters—generations of teachers. Cramped -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>and bleak, but loyal to the one verb—<i>get</i>. In all -the Lot family, Davy, there is not a true life principle -such as you brought to the office in the beginning. -But if Lot & Company were unique—they -would be an interesting study. The city is -crowded with such firms—heart-breakers of men, -the slow, daily, terrible grind; every movement, -every expression, a lie—until to those inside, the -lie is reality—and the truth a forbidden and terrible -stranger. Every man has his Lot & -Company.</p> - -<p>“Davy, I breathed a bit of open that Sunday—so -that I could see, but the next morning it closed -about me again. It was Mr. Prentidd who helped -me out. They stole from him and lied to him. -Face to face, eye to eye, old Seth Wetherbee, the -Quaker, lied to him, taking hundreds of dollars in -the lie—millionaires taking hundreds of dollars -from a poor inventor. I had the book of the London -transaction before me, which showed the truth -as they talked, and Mr. Sproxley came and took -the book from me, and shut it in the safe.... -And then when I left, they knew I had their -secrets. You wondered why they called me a -thief, when I was not. It was plain, Davy, to -spoil anything I might say about their methods. -Instantly they discredited me, because I was one -of six or seven in the office who knew that they -were thieves and liars. And why did they fire you -to-day for lunching with me? Because they were -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span>afraid of what I might have told you. And why -did they send Broadwell to Philadelphia when -they knew he was to have lunch with me? For -fear of what I might tell Broadwell. Even now -they will not tell the different floors that I am -exonerated.... But they are afraid, Davy—that’s -their hell. That is their life—fear and the -lie. Imagine men standing straight up to heaven—spines -lifted from the ground, but going back -to the ground—who knows but their souls already -belly-down?—because they break the hearts of -men, and live with fear and the lie.”</p> - -<p>He told of Fleury and Stackhouse and the Faraway -Woman—of McArliss, of striking the reef, -and day by day in the open boat.... Davy’s -eyes bulged. The boy saw Stackhouse at one end -and quiet manhood in the other. He sat with Bellair, -whom he could understand, in the point of -balance between these forces. Bellair told of the -stars and the child, and the distance from which -they viewed the little things of the world and the -grand simplicity of God. He pictured the man -Fleury had become—the straight-seeing, the fearless, -the ignited man, who mastered the lie in his -heart and the animal in his abdomen—the man he, -Bellair, wanted to be, and wanted Davy to be.... -The <i>Formahaut</i> came, with Spika agleam to -the northward, and Fleury died—the picture in -his mind of a man, rising rather than falling.... -Bellair told him of the first moment he heard the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>real voice of Fleury, as he stood on the tilted deck -of the <i>Jade</i> in the dark, while he went back for -water.... “I’ll hold a place for you!”</p> - -<p>“A real man always says that, Davy. A real -man will hold a place for you. And I thought, as -I saw Stackhouse die and remembered his life, -that he was the saddest and most terrible animal -in human form. He was a glutton and a coward, -but mainly he broke his own heart and not others. -He was a slave to his stomach, but there was life, -not creeping death, in his mind. I saw the pictures -that moved there, low, vivid pictures, animal -dreams, but he was not a destroyer of children or -a breaker of the hearts of men. Low Nature was -loose in him, but it was not a predatory instinct -alone. Having enough, he could give. He could -give fifty thousand dollars and a wallet full of -valuable papers for a bottle of whiskey—but the -Lots and the Wetherbees would have died clutching -their money. I learned Stackhouse, Davy—only -to understand that there is a depth below his. -I think I should have taken you out somehow—if -they hadn’t let you go——”</p> - -<p>Davy asked questions, and the story came better -and better. The thing that held him especially -was the last days in the open boat.</p> - -<p>“And did you really suffer less when you decided -to make it a fast?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that was true in my case. Many have set -out to fast ten days, and done with as little as we -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>did. Of course it was harrowing, because we -didn’t know when it would end; then the little -baby was there, and the mother.”</p> - -<p>“And you think <i>he</i> was really as happy as he -said?”</p> - -<p>“Davy, lad, Fleury was a prince. He would -have given you his shirt. He had himself going -so strong <i>for us</i>—that the fire of happiness ran -through him. I’ll give you some books about that. -It’s really a fact. You can’t suffer pain, when -you’ve got something really fine up your sleeve -for another. Perhaps you’ve felt it at Christmas——”</p> - -<p>“You’re all out of yourself-like——”</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” said the man.</p> - -<p>More words would have stuck in his throat. -Davy got it—got something of it. Bellair had -come to ask so little, that this seemed a great deal.... -He followed Davy down and into the street. -It was still two hours before he was due at the -<i>Castle</i>.</p> - -<p>“How long does it take to get to your house, -Davy?”</p> - -<p>“About twenty-five minutes. It’s ’way down -town.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I should go home and meet your -mother. I have the time——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, come with me. She will be watching.”</p> - -<p>They passed a delicatessen-store, ripe cherries in -the window, and a counter full of provisions that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>would have been far more thrilling had they not -dined so well.</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose we might take home an armful -of these things?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>Davy dissuaded weakly.... That clerk must -have thought him mad, for Bellair merely pointed -to bottles and jars and baskets—until they were -both loaded. There was a kind of passion about -it for the man. He hated to stop; in fact did not, -until it occurred to him that this was not the last -night of the world, and that Davy doubtless required -many more substantial matters, which -would furnish a rapturous forenoon among the -stores—to-morrow forenoon....</p> - -<p>They sat in an almost empty downtown subway -train, their bundles about them, the stops called -by the guard. They both hunched a little, when -the stop nearest Lot & Company’s was called, but -did not speak. Farther and farther downtown—the -last passengers leaving. It was the hour the -crowds move upward. Strange deep moments for -Bellair—moments in which this was more than -Davy sitting beside him. This was Boy—Davy -Acton but the symbol of a great need.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">6</p> - -<p class="no-indent">A hurried walk to the east with their bundles -to a quarter that Bellair had not known -before, past the great stretches of massive -buildings which the day had abandoned, to a low -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span>and older sort that carried on a night-life of their -own, where children cried, halls were narrow, and -the warmth became heaviness.... A plump -little woman who had not lost hope (she did not -see the stranger at first because the boy filled -her eyes); a dark, second-floor hall, a little room -with a lamp and a red table-cloth; a door at either -end, and opposite the door they entered, one window.... -How bewildered she was with the -bundles, desiring to prepare something for them -right away. Indeed, it would have helped her to -be active in their behalf.... Bellair was -smiling.</p> - -<p>Davy told part and Bellair part. Presently all -was forgotten in the presence of the calamity that -had befallen. It was slow to change her mind -about Lot & Company. Davy had impressed upon -her for two years the lessons administered there. -Not to be changed in a moment, this estimate—that -before all poverty, before all need, and above -all hope, a place at Lot & Company’s was a permanent -place, “if a fellow did his part”—that -Lot & Company was an honest house. Davy told -of the paper Mr. Bellair had forced from them, -and Bellair touched upon the life he had led in -those halls, just a little and with haste. To help -him to speak authoritatively, he added that he -would help Davy to another position.... Then -he looked around, and glanced at his watch. There -was a small anteroom which they occupied.... -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span>Bellair had asked about the other door. “An -empty room,” Mrs. Acton told him.</p> - -<p>Of course it was for rent. On the spur of the -moment, he declared he would take it, asked her -to rent it for him, insisting on paying in advance. -He would come in the morning—have his things -brought later.... No, Davy was not to look -for a position to-morrow. Davy must devote himself -to him to-morrow. He left them happily. -The mother called after him in hopeless excitement -that he had left enough to rent the room all -summer.</p> - -<p>He did not show the Lot & Company paper to -Bessie; in fact, he never showed it but once, and -that was to Davy Acton immediately after it was -obtained. He had thought of taking it across the -street to show the landlady, but perhaps that -would merely have added to her living confusion. -It had been most important for Davy, but to -reopen the subject with Bessie, his manner might -have touched an “I-told-you-so” indelicacy.... -She was happy when he found her that night. -Clothes in quantity were already begun—the next -ten forenoons at the dressmakers’. She thanked -him charmingly, studied him with a quizzical expression -that invariably haunted him afterward.</p> - -<p>Bellair could never tell just what would do it, -but occasionally through an hour’s chat, he would -say something, just enough above her comprehension -to challenge her. Once opened, her faculties -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>were not slow, but the life she had chosen, held her -mind so consistently to its common level that the -habit was formed. Mainly when he spoke above -her, she ceased to listen, ignored him; but when -something he said just hit home, she praised him -with animation, as one would a sudden gleam of -unexpected intelligence on the part of a child. -It became one of his most remarkable realisations -that a man who has anything worth while -to say must come down to say it, just as certainly -as he must go up to get it.</p> - -<p>The sense of adventure with her did not return -this night, though she had seemed to accept him -differently from before; as if he belonged, part of -her impediment mainly, but at moments of surpassing -value, like a machine that one packs a -day for a half-hour’s work it may do. His money -had purchased something.</p> - -<p>Bellair sat in the dark of his room, feet on the -window-sill, hat still on, at two o’clock, his last -night in the hotel where he never had belonged. -He was very tired and longed for sleep; and yet -there was a different longing for sleep than that -which belonged to physical weariness. It had to -do with his hunger for the Faraway Woman. This -startled him. What was that refreshing mystery -afterward? Did he go to her in sleep—did she -come? Why was it that the burden of parting -invariably increased through the long days? It -had been so on the ship. In the morning he could -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>live; then the hours settled down, until it seemed -he must leap back to her; the ship’s ever increasing -distance at times literally twisting his faculties -until he was dazed with pain.</p> - -<p>He had not thought of this before. Why was -it always when the pressure increased and the ardour -mounted—that he longed for sleep?... -Nothing came to his work-a-day brain from the -nights. His dreams were of lesser matters—and -yet, something within pulled him to unconsciousness -like the rush of a tide. It gave him a sense -of the vastness, a glimpse of the inner beauty of -life.</p> - -<p>Far below in the side-street a heavy, slow-trotting -horse clattered by. The motors were more -and more hushed, even the hell of Broadway subdued. -A different set of sounds came home to him, -but he did not interpret for the present; their -activity playing upon deeps of their own—a -bridge swung open between them and his exterior -thoughts....</p> - -<p>Slowly all exterior matters slipped away—the -mother and Davy and Bessie. The bridge between -the surface and the deeps swung to, and he -heard the sounds that had been thrilling his real -being all the time as he sat by the window—the -liner whistles that crossed Manhattan from the -harbour, the deep-sea bayings which seemed to be -calling him home.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span></p> - -<p class="center no-indent">7</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Bellair must have rested well in a few hours, -for he arose early, feeling very fit in and -out. For years the man he had seen in the -glass when he was alone, had aroused little or no -curiosity; a sort of customary forbearance rather. -The fact is, he had not looked close for years. -This morning as he shaved, something new regarded -him from the face, still deeply dark from -the open boat. He called it a glint, but would -have designated it as something that had to do -with power in another. It was fixed—something -earned and delivered.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was something she had seen.</p> - -<p>This animated him. It had come from Fleury -and the fasting, but most of all from contemplating -her face and her nature. Was it the arousing -of his own latent will? Was it because he was -lifted above Lot & Company? What part of it -had come from the anguish of separation? Truly -a man must build something if he manages to -live against the quickened beat of a hungry -heart.</p> - -<p>The face was very thin, too. He had felt that -so often as he used the morning knife, but he saw -it now. Thin and dark, and the boy gone altogether.... -Bellair smiled. Lot & Company had -tried to take the boy. Had they not failed, the -man would never have come, but something craven -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>in the place of the boy, something tied to its own -death, its soul shielded from the light—a shield -of coin-metals.</p> - -<p>He shuddered, less at the narrowness of his own -escape, than at New York whose business came up -to him now through the open windows.... The -shaving had dragged. He was not accustomed to -study his own face. The very novelty of it had -held him this time—and especially the thought of -what she might have seen there. Suddenly he -wanted something big to take back to her—a manhood -of mind and an integrity of soul—something -to match that superb freedom she had wrung from -the world. A thousand times the different parts -of her story had returned to his mind, always filling -him with awe and wonder. She had come like -one with a task, and set about it from a child, -against all odds, putting all laws of men beneath—as -if the task had been arranged before she -came. He knew that the essence of this freedom -was in the hearts of women everywhere, but she -had made it manifest, dared all suffering for it. -And yet with all the struggle behind her, the gentleness -which he had come to know in her nature -was one of the great revelations. It gave him a -vision of the potential beauty of humanity; it -made him understand that one must be powerful -before one can be gentle; that one must master -one’s self before one dare be free. All that he -had was far too little to bring home to her. This -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>morning he felt that nothing short of the impossible -was worth going after.</p> - -<p>A little later as he was leaving the room, the -telephone rang. The operator said that a gentleman -wanted to see him. On the lower floor, Bellair -glanced into the eyes of a young man who -wanted something; “glanced <i>into</i>” is somewhat -inaccurate; rather his eyes glanced from the -other’s, and took away a peculiar, indescribable -interest. It was the look of a colt he had seen, -a glitter of wildness and irresponsibility in a face -that was handsome but not at its best.</p> - -<p>Bellair had seen something of the expression in -the faces of young men who had been fathered too -much; those who had not met the masterful influence -of denial, and had been allowed to lean too -long. The face had everything to charm and to -express beauty and reality with, but the inner -lines of it were not formed; the judgments lacking, -the personal needs too imperious. He had -made the most of well-worn clothing, but appeared -to feel keenly the poorness of it.</p> - -<p>“I came in here yesterday,” he said hastily. “It -all happened because the ledger was turned back. -I glanced at it, as one will, and standing out from -the page was ‘Auckland, N. Z.’ It was as if written -in different colour to me. I followed the line -back to the name—and tried to see you yesterday -afternoon and last night. You didn’t come -in——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> - -<p>“You come from Auckland?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes——”</p> - -<p>“How long?”</p> - -<p>“It’s more than a year.... Small thing to -meet a stranger on, but it was all I had. Auckland -is so far and so different—that when I saw it—it -seemed there must be a chance——”</p> - -<p>“Of course. I know how it is,” said Bellair. -“Do you want to get back?”</p> - -<p>“That isn’t it, exactly, though I haven’t anything -here——”</p> - -<p>“Have you had breakfast?”</p> - -<p>“N-no.”</p> - -<p>“Come in with me and we’ll talk. I have a -half-hour to spare.”</p> - -<p>Bellair heard his voice and wondered at the -coldness of it. He remembered afterward the -covered billiard-tables at the far end of the hall -and the dimness of the hall’s length, as he led -the way. His own custom was a pot of coffee -and a bit of toast, but the other’s possible need -of food had a singular authority over him, so -he made out that this was one of the main feeding -features of his day.... But the other was intent -upon certain things beside food. He had been unlucky. -Everything that he had tried in the year -of New York had failed him somehow—little ventures, -positions lost—and always some one was to -blame, not this one who spoke and had suffered so. -Bellair hearkened for one note that would confine -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>itself to the unfinished mouth and the unstable -character; one note that would suggest the possibility -of a clue that the series of failures lay in -his own shortcomings of strength and quality, but -the boy had not this suggestion in his heart.</p> - -<p>“Are you married?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>There was an instant’s lull, and then was turned -off another story of misfortune:</p> - -<p>“... I didn’t want to marry her. I got her in -trouble down in New Zealand. Her father wanted -me to marry her—was willing to pay for it—but -a fellow can’t take a chance like that. We came -up together with the kid to New York, but everything -broke bad for me——”</p> - -<p>The voice went on, but Bellair lost his face. -There was a greenish-yellow light between their -faces, at least, for Bellair’s eyes, and the floor -seemed shaken with heavy machinery. Bellair -knew the burn of hate, and the thirst to kill—and -then he was all uncentred, like a man badly -wounded. He arose.</p> - -<p>“... The fact is, I don’t think she was quite -<i>right</i>. None of them are——”</p> - -<p>“I won’t be able to hear any more of that just -now,” Bellair said slowly. “I’m leaving this hotel -to-day for other quarters. But to-morrow morning -at ten, I shall be here and listen to what you want. -Perhaps I can set you straight a bit—for the present,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> -anyway. And this—is so you won’t miss any -meals in the meantime——”</p> - -<p>Bellair handed him money.</p> - -<p>“Please excuse me,” he added. “And finish -your breakfast——”</p> - -<p>He called the waiter and signed the card. Then -he turned as if to look around the room. He -located the door by which they had entered, drew -his hands strangely across his eyes. Effusive gratefulness -was seeking his ears from the young man -in the chair. Bellair lifted his hand as if to cut -off the voice, and then started for the door, his -step hastening.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">8</p> - -<p class="no-indent">It was truly a tenement quarter in which Davy -and his mother lived. The fact awed Bellair -somewhat. Had he been a cripple in a wheeled-chair, -confined to one side of one block, he could -have found a life’s work.... Little faces that -choked him everywhere. One might toss coins at -their feet, but the futility of that was like a cry -to God.</p> - -<p>Davy’s mother was making his room ready. By -some chance it faced the east; between ten and -noon, there was sunlight. Forty years ago it had -been the kitchen of a second-floor apartment, -doubtless respectable. Only the scars of the -kitchen fixtures remained, like organs gone back -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>to a rudiment in swift involution. Water now -was to be had in but one place on each floor—in -the hall, and the natives came there with their -pitchers and cans as tropical villagers, morning -and evening to the well.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Acton had spared a bit of carpet, which -looked as if it had been scrubbed; and just below -the window the tip of a heaven-tree waved. It -was thin as his single bed, but even that growth -seemed miraculously attained, as if the seed must -have held all the nourishment. Bellair stared -down through shadows and litter, and could discern -no more than a crack in the stone pavement, -from which this leafy creature had come to him. -Quite as miraculously it was, with the myriad children -in the streets and halls. Certainly this was -a place to keep tender. Davy had gone forth on -an errand.</p> - -<p>“What was he interested in especially when he -was little?” Bellair asked.</p> - -<p>“Boats—boats,” said the mother.</p> - -<p>It struck the man queerly that he had not noted -this. Davy had devoured his little list of sea -stories, and had listened as no one else to the open -boat narrative, but the man fancied it just the -love of adventure. Bellair’s mother might have -said the same thing.</p> - -<p>“Did he draw them, you mean?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and played with them. His father was -a seaman, Mr. Bellair.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> - -<p>Bellair’s father had not been a seaman, but there -was little to that. They were one in the initial -proclivity. Perhaps if the truth were shaken -down, there was something in this fact that had -to do with their relation.</p> - -<p>“Could I have breakfast and supper here with -you?” he asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>The woman looked startled. “You see, I am -away three days a week.”</p> - -<p>It was Bellair’s idea to make this impossible, -so he insisted:</p> - -<p>“My wants are simple. I might not be here -always to supper—but, of course, I should want to -pay for it. It would be pleasant—we three together—and -no matter to me if supper were a bit -late. You see, Mrs. Acton, now that I’ve begun, -I insist on having a home. I lived in one room -for five years, and that sort of thing is ended. A -hotel is no better.”</p> - -<p>Davy returned and Bellair took him forth at -once, impatient to continue the adventure of the -purchases, begun the night before. Hours passed. -Once Davy looked up to him in a mixture of awe -and joy:</p> - -<p>“Why are you buying so many things for us, -Mr. Bellair?”</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” the man answered.</p> - -<p>They were in a retail clothier’s. The salesman -drew back.</p> - -<p>“Davy,” said Bellair, “it’s the most natural -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>thing. First I have the money and you have the -needs. Second, we are friends——”</p> - -<p>Bellair had felt many things hammering for -utterance, but when he had come thus far, he -found that the whole ground was covered.... -The boy hurried home, but Bellair was not ready. -With all his affection for the lad, he wanted to be -alone. He had held himself to Davy’s needs for -hours; but through it all, the sentences—so brief -and thoughtless across the breakfast table—recurred -smitingly. They hurt everything in him -and in an incredible fashion. He marvelled that -he had been able to reply quietly. His face burned -now, and he thought of the Faraway Woman—how -gentle she had been, blaming nothing, holding -no sense of being wronged. It was that which -helped him now, though his heart was hot and -aching.... One must have compassion for the -world—one whose home is the house of such a -woman.</p> - -<p>“It must not hurt the Gleam,” he said half-aloud. -This was the burden of all his effort. -“The Gleam is hers. I must not let the thought -of this touch the Gleam—not even in my -mind.”</p> - -<p>The young man was stranded in New York. -They met as arranged the next morning. -Many difficulties were related, and the perversities -of outside influences and the actions of others. -The great regret was that at a certain time when -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>he <i>had</i> the money more than a year ago, the young -man had delayed for a day to purchase a certain -little tobacconist’s shop on Seventh avenue. A -friend of his had advised him against it, and -plucked the fruit himself. This gave Bellair an -idea.</p> - -<p>In the next ten days, everything seemed waiting -for the manager of the <i>Follies</i> to decide the case -of Bessie Brealt. Davy was permitted to look -for a new job, but Bellair made light of his unsuccess.... -He did not look up Broadwell -again, understanding clearly that the advertising-man -would endanger his position in calling on -him. Bellair was not ready to be responsible for -such a loss to Broadwell. Employés of Lot & -Company did not change easily.... He was -frequently, but never long with Bessie during -these days. There were moments of disturbing -sweetness, and moments that he struggled quickly -to forget, as Nature sets about hastily to cover -unseemly matters upon the ground.</p> - -<p>Now that the great event of her life had come, -Bessie required much sleep, and cared for her -beauty as never before. She already lived, for the -most part, in the actual substance of victory, as -only the young dare to do; yet she lost none of her -zeal in preparation.... Bellair held to the original -idea, though the means was not yet articulate. -He was sensitive enough to realise that a man may -be impertinent, even when trying to help another.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> - -<p>The tremendous discovery in this interval was -that the open boat events which had proved so salutary -and constructive in his own case, did not appear -to have a comparable effect upon others when -he related them. He began to believe that he had -not authority, and that he must somehow try to -gain authority by making good with men. He had -his story to tell. He had seen the spirit and the -flesh—beast and saint—watched them die. All -life and hope and meaning were caught and held, -as he saw it, between the manner of the deaths of -two men. This experience had changed him—if -not for the better—then he was insane.</p> - -<p>It was hard for him to grasp, that the thing -which had changed him could not change others—even -Bessie. Yet those who listened, except Davy -and his mother, appeared to think that he was -making much of an adventure for personal reasons. -He tried to write his story, but felt the bones -of his skull as never before. He began, “I am a -simple man,” but deep guile might be construed to -that.... “I want nothing,” he wrote, “but to -make you see the half that I saw in the open -boat,” and he heard the world replying in his consciousness, -“The open boat is on this man Bellair’s -nerves. It’s his mania. The sun or the -thirst <i>did</i> touch him a bit.”...</p> - -<p>He became afraid to talk much even with Bessie, -and New York boomed by, leaving him out—out.... -He tried to lift the signs of misery -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>on the way to the home of Davy’s mother, and in -the surrounding halls, but the extent and terror of -it dismayed him; and remarkably enough, always -this same answer came: that he must get himself -and the South Sea business in hand before a true -beginning could be made here....</p> - -<p>It wasn’t on Seventh avenue that he found a -cigar store to suit his purpose in this interval, but -the promise was certainly as good as the old one. -He put the New Zealand young man in charge, on -a basis designed to challenge any one’s quality; -and having done this in a businesslike fashion, -Bellair made haste to escape. The sense was cool -and abiding in his mind that in this case, as in -Lot & Company’s, the circle was complete. Still -he retained the suspicion that the young man did -not believe him sane.</p> - -<p>He followed the singer when she permitted, to -dressmakers, rehearsals, quartette performances -and meals; found other men following singers -similarly, in all their byways of routine; he disliked -them, disliked himself.</p> - -<p>He had not told her of his fortune, because he -knew in his heart it would change everything. He -helped in many small ways, and allowed her to -believe what she chose. She had never identified -him with large things, did not think the present -arrangement could last, and made as much as possible -of the convenience. They were together on -the night before her try-out, though as usual it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>was but a matter of moments. Bellair used most -of them in silence. The tension of hurry always -stopped his throat. He longed for one full day -with her, a ramble without the clock; yet what -would he do with it—he, who dared not go to the -water-front alone—to whom the night whistling -of steamers in the harbour was like the call of the -child of his heart?</p> - -<p>“You are at your best,” he said. “Your voice -was never sweeter than to-night. You must go -now and sleep. To-morrow, of course, you will -win, and when may I come?”</p> - -<p>Her face clouded. Perhaps because he said the -opposite, the thought of possible defeat came now -with a clearness which had not before appealed to -her unpracticed imagination.</p> - -<p>“You may come to my room at twelve—no, at -one. I shall go there at once after the trial—and -you shall be first.”</p> - -<p>It pleased him, and since she did not seem inclined -to leave just then, Bellair found himself -talking of the future. Perhaps he did not entirely -cover his zeal to change a little her full-hearted -giving of self to the foam. Bessie bore it. He -had not spoken of the open boat, but something he -said was related to it in her mind.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow will settle everything,” she declared.... -“And I don’t like that other woman -on the ship. She isn’t human. You think it -amazing because she didn’t cry and scream. That -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>isn’t everything.... She’d be lost and unheard -of here in New York.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is probably true.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right for people who don’t write or -paint or sing—to talk about real life and what’s -right work in the world, but artists see it differently. -Anyway, it’s the only job we’ve got.”</p> - -<p>Bellair never forgot that, or rather what she -had meant to say.</p> - -<p>“Singing is what drew me to you, Bessie. What -I object to is what the world tries to do with its -singers, and that so many singers fall for it.”</p> - -<p>“The world lets you more or less alone—until -you make good. Plenty of time after that to -answer back.”</p> - -<p>She yawned. It was as near reality as they had -gotten, and Bellair, who asked so little, had a -glimpse again of the loveliness he had first taken -to sea—even to the kiss at the last. She also -granted him this:</p> - -<p>“You’ve been good to me. I couldn’t have -done without you——”</p> - -<p>He lay awake long. The house in which he -lived was very silent, and it pressed so close to the -sea.</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">9</p> - -<p class="no-indent">She was only partly dressed when he came -early the next afternoon, but was not long in letting -him in. Before any words, he knew that she -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>had won. A man often has to readjust hastily -after the night before. It was so with Bellair -now. Her eyes were bright with emotions, but a -certain hardness was shining there. It was an -effort for her to think of him and be kind. He -would have seen it all in another’s story.</p> - -<p>His glance kept turning to her bare arm, upon -which a hideous vaccination-scar was revealed. -<i>They</i> had not thought of her singing in those days.... -She had never spoken of her house or her -people. It was enough that those days were finished. -Bellair could understand that. Her victory -was all through her now, satisfying, completing -her. She did not love money for its own -sake or she would have treated him differently. -All her surplus energy, even her passion, was -turned to this open passage of her career. Having -that, previous props could be kicked away; at -least, Bellair felt this.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s all done. A month of solid rehearsal—then -the road. I take the second part, but I -hope to come back in the first——”</p> - -<p>“You were at your best at the trial?”</p> - -<p>“After the first moment or two.... And no -more Brandt’s or <i>Castle</i>—no more with the other -three—God, how sick I am of them—and of this -room!”</p> - -<p>“Will you lunch with me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—I have until three.”</p> - -<p>It was shortly after one. She talked with animation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> -about her work, her eyes held to a glistening -future. She finished her dressing leisurely, -with loving touches, abandoning herself completely -to the mirror as an old actress might, having -conceded the essential importance of attractions. -She studied her face and figure as if she -were the maid to them. Bessie dressed for the -world, not for herself, certainly not for Bellair. -Without, in the world—streets, restaurants, theatres—there -existed an abstraction which must be -satisfied. She had not yet entered upon that perilous -adventure of dressing for the eyes of one man. -She did not think of Bellair as she lifted her arms -to her hair. On no other morning could she have -been so far from the sense of him in her room. -Empires have fallen because a woman has lifted -her naked arms to her hair with a man in the room.</p> - -<p>An older woman would have rewarded him for -being there; an older woman never would have -put on her hat for the street without remembering -her humanity. There was something in Bessie -that reserved the kiss for the last. Possibly after -the last song of the day, a kiss remained. She -put on the flowers he brought; even that did not -remind her, nor the dress he had bought for her—asking -him if he approved, not that she cared, but -because she was turning before the glass with the -thing upon her body and mind. She would have -asked a child the same.</p> - -<p>They went to Beathe’s for luncheon, which was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>also Bessie’s breakfast. There, it may have been -that she was ready to forget herself, knowing it -would keep for a little. In any event, she seemed -to see Bellair as he ordered for her, as if recalling -that he had made many things move easily of -late, and that it was pleasant to have these matters, -even luncheons, conducted by another. -Thinking of him, the voyage was instantly associated:</p> - -<p>“I said last night that I didn’t like that -woman,” she began. “I didn’t mean just that, of -course. But a woman can see another woman better -than a man. There are women who keep their -mouths shut and get great reputations for being -wise and all that. They never associate with -women. You’ll always find them with men, playing -sister and helping and saying little. Men get -to think they’re the whole thing——”</p> - -<p>“I suppose there are,” said Bellair.</p> - -<p>He wished she had not picked up this particular -point again; and yet a certain novelty about this -impressed him now, and recurred many times -afterward—that it was she who had broached -the subject.</p> - -<p>“Do you think a man knows men better than a -woman does?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Bessie had not thought of it; she was not sure.</p> - -<p>Nor was Bellair. “The fact is, it doesn’t -greatly matter what women think of women, and -what men think of men—compared to what men -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span>and women think of each other,” he observed.</p> - -<p>“You say you didn’t know that other man at -first—that preacher,” she remarked.</p> - -<p>“That’s true. There had to be danger—I had -to hear his voice in danger.”</p> - -<p>Bellair was lifted to his life-theme. He had -never really told it in one piece. He did not mean -to now, but Fleury came clearly to mind. The -food was served and it was quiet behind the palms. -If he could only say something for her heart. -She seemed ready. Points of human interest were -crowding to mind—perhaps he could hold her -with them.</p> - -<p>“... His every thought was for others,” he -was saying. “I disliked him at first, but he was so -kind and good-natured throughout that he could -not fail to impress me a bit, but I didn’t really see -him before the night of the wreck, when he arose to -take things in hand. It was not noise, nor voice, -but a different force. He seemed to rise—so that -the huge Stackhouse was just a squealing pig before -him. He had no fear. You looked into his -face and wanted to be near him, and to do what -he said. I caught his secret. A fool would. It -was because he wasn’t thinking of himself. It -seems, Bessie, as sure as you live—that the more -a man gives out in that pure way Fleury did for -us all—the more power floods into him. It came -to him in volumes. We all knew it—even Stackhouse——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> - -<p>“And this is what I’m getting at. <i>You’ve</i> got -the chance to use it. I can’t yet. I seem to be -all clotted with what I want, but you can! You -did. You pulled me out of the crowd, not knowing -me at all—made me come to you—changed -me. You can <i>give</i> with your singing—to hundreds—so -that they will answer in their thoughts, -and do things strange to themselves at first. -They’ll want to die for you—but that isn’t the -thing for you. You must want to sing for them—want -to give them your soul all the time. Greater -things will come to you than this—this which -makes you happy. All that the world could give -you—you will come to see—doesn’t matter—but -what you can give the world——”</p> - -<p>He saw her falling away from his story. It -crippled him. He did not think he could fail so -utterly.</p> - -<p>“But you <i>were</i> a thief,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I—was what?”</p> - -<p>“You preach all the time, but you were a -thief——”</p> - -<p>He had heard aright. His hand reached for -the wallet, that contained the letter from Lot & -Company, but fell from it again.</p> - -<p>“If you like,” he answered, “but I saw a beast -die in the open boat—and saw a saint die——”</p> - -<p>“You preach—preach—preach!” she cried, and -her own points of view returned with greater intensity. -“You’ve been kind—but, oh, you bore -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span>me so! You have been kind—but oh, don’t think -you fail to make one pay the price! You were -sunstruck, or crazed—and you come back preaching. -I’m sick of you—just in my highest day, -after the months of struggle—I hate you——”</p> - -<p>Bellair heard a ship’s bell. It was dark about -him—a cool, serene dark. The air fanned him -softly and sweet; the place rocked—just for an -instant, as if he were at sea.</p> - -<p>“I hate you when you preach,” she finished. -Her voice was softer. He knew she was smiling, -but did not look at her face. She had delivered -him. He was calm, and ineffably free, the circle -finished.</p> - -<p>“<i>Oh, that we two were Maying</i>——” he muttered, -his thoughts far down the seas—remote and -insular, serene and homing thoughts.</p> - -<p>“It takes two to sing that,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“But, I’m so sick of that——”</p> - -<p>“You must have sung it many times,” he said.</p> - -<p>He did not want to linger. A certain hush had -come to her from him. It was not yet three.... -He seemed surprised to find it broad day in the -street. She touched his sleeve, drawing him to the -curb, away from the crowds which astonished him. -Clearly something was wrong with his head.</p> - -<p>“Bessie—before your salary begins—have you -everything? Isn’t there something——?”</p> - -<p>She smiled and hesitated. He rubbed his eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span></p> - -<p>“I’m so glad I thought of it,” he said, drawing -forth the brown wallet.</p> - -<p>His gift bewildered her, but she did not ask -him this time what he wanted. Instead she asked:</p> - -<p>“But where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Bessie, I’m going home.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319-321]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PART_SEVEN_THE_STONE_HOUSE_II">PART SEVEN<br /> -THE STONE HOUSE: II</h2></div> - -<p class="center no-indent">1</p> - -<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> hard thing was to get Honolulu behind. -The first seven days at sea was -like a voyage to another planet. Bellair -could lose himself in the universe, -between the banging of the Chinese gongs that -called passengers willingly, for the most part, to -meals on the British ship <i>Suwarrow</i>.... They -had crawled out of the harbour in the dusk, a -southwest wind waiting at the gate, like an eager -lover for a maiden to steal forth. She was in his -arms shamelessly, before the dusk closed, the voices -from the land hardly yet having died away. Bellair -watched their meeting in the offing. The -blusterer came head on; the <i>Suwarrow</i> veered coquettishly -and started to run, knowing him the -swifter and the stronger, as all woman-things love -to know. Presently he had her, and they made a -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span>night of it—the moon breaking out aghast from -time to time, above black and flying garments of -cloud. Bellair enjoyed the game, the funnels -smoking the upper decks straight forward. They -were making a passage that night, in the southward -lift of that lover.</p> - -<p>He had found a little leaf of cigars in a German -shop in Honolulu; the same reminding him of -Stackhouse. They were <i>Brills</i>, with a Trichinopoli -flavour, a wrapping from the States, the main -filler doubtless from the Island plantations. The -German had talked of them long, playing with -the clotty little fellows in his hands, for they were -moist enough, not easily to be broken. “You sink -your teeth in one of these after a good dinner,” -he said, “and if you do not enjoy tobacco, it is -because you have been smoking other plants. -These are made by a workman——”</p> - -<p>Bellair smoked to the workman; also he smoked -to Stackhouse. Something kindly had come over -him for the Animal. Lot & Company had helped -him to it.... Yes, he thought, the animal part -is right enough. It is only when the human adult -consciousness turns predatory that the earth is laid -waste and the stars are fogged.... These were -but back-flips of Bellair’s mind. In the main he -was held so furiously ahead, that body and brain -ached with the strain. As nearly as he could describe -from the sensation, there was a carbon-stick -upstanding between his diaphragm and his throat. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span>Every time he thought of Auckland, it turned -hot.</p> - -<p>... He knew better where to begin now. The -beginning was not in New York. The wallet was -heavy upon him; he must not waste it; nor allow -it to waste itself through bad management. Auckland -was a desirable centre for the Stackhouse -operations. He could travel forth from one -agency to another. The fundamental ideas of -trade, together with large knowledge of how trade -should not be conducted, was his heritage from -Lot & Company. He would begin slowly and -sincerely to work out his big problems—holding -the fruits loosely in his hands; ready to give them -up to another, if that other should appear; contenting -himself only with the simplest things; -preparing always to be poorer, instead of richer.... -He would earn the right to be poor. The -thought warmed him, something of the natural -strength of youth about it.</p> - -<p>Standing out of the wind with an expensive -cigar, a superb course-dinner finished less than an -hour back, Bellair smiled at the ease of poverty, -welcoming all the details of clean, austere denial. -Yet he was not so far from it as would appear. -He had always taken these matters of luxury and -satiety with tentative grasp; even the dinners of -Stackhouse were but studies of life. His ideal was -closely adjusted to the Faraway Woman’s in these -things. One of the dearest of her sayings had to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span>do with renting the two front rooms of the stone -cottage. Yet now he hoped furiously that she -had not yet done so.</p> - -<p>His thoughts turned again out among the -Islands. He would meet the agents of Stackhouse. -They would be bewildered at first; they -would think he had come to peer and bite. He -would lift and help and pass on—making the circles -again and again, gaining confidence, not saying -much. No, the thing he had in mind had little -to do with words.... What a masonry among -men—here and there one giving his best secretly.</p> - -<p><i>No words about it.</i> Bellair halted and filled -his lungs from the good breeze. This thought had -repeated itself like a certain bright pattern through -all the weave of his conception. It had a familiar -look, and a prod that startled him now. The -whole meaning of it rushed home, so that he -laughed.</p> - -<p>He had reached in his own way, the exact point -that Fleury had set out with. He was determined -to act. He had ceased to talk.... Just then -looking up from his laughing reverie, he saw a star. -It was ahead, not high, very brilliant and golden. -It had only escaped a moment between the flying -black figures of the night, but more brilliant for -that. It was vast and familiar—the meaning tried -the throat and struck at his heart with strange -suffering.... Yes, the <i>Suwarrow</i> was lifting the -southern stars. There could be no doubt. He had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span>looked at that mighty sun too often from the open -boat to mistake. Fleury had said if it were as near -to earth as our sun, this little planet would be -dried to a cinder in ten seconds. It was the great -golden ball, <i>Canopus</i>.... A hand was placed -softly in his. Bellair was startled. He had been -far away, yet the gladness was instant, as he -turned down to the face of Davy Acton.</p> - -<p>“She’s better,” the boy said. “I’ve been trying -to get her to come up on deck. She told me to ask -you, if you thought it best.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, Davy—I’ll go with you to get her.”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">2</p> - -<p class="no-indent">He had seen very little of Mrs. Acton during -the voyage. Sailing was not her feat, but -the lady was winsome after her fast. Bellair had -found her very brave, and there had not been such -an opportunity to tell her so, as this night. He -wanted enough light to see her face, and enough -air to keep her above any qualm. They found a -cane-table, on the lee-side, toward America, the -light of a cabin passage upon it. Bellair ordered -an innocuous drink for Davy and himself, and -whispered along a pint of champagne, having -heard it spoken well of as an antidote for those -emerging from the sickness of the sea.</p> - -<p>“... It’s a little charged, cidery sort of a -drink—just made for people convalescent from the -first days out of ’Frisco,” he said.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span></p> -<p>She drank with serene confidence, and leaned -back to regard the glass and the two.</p> - -<p>“It’s not unlike a wine I drank long ago,” she -observed, and her eyes warmed with the memory.</p> - -<p>“A wine?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Just so, but it’s no crutch for the poor, I should -say, by the way it comes——”</p> - -<p>She pointed to the service-tub, which, unfortunately, -was of silver.</p> - -<p>“They like to keep it cold,” Bellair suggested.</p> - -<p>“It would need ice to keep that cold,” she replied.</p> - -<p>There was a lyrical lilt to her words that he -had not known before; in fact he hadn’t quite -known Mrs. Acton before. She was lifted from -the stratum of the submerged. She had her hands, -her health, and the days now and ahead were novel -in aspect. A little seasickness was nothing to one -who had met the City, and for years prevented it -from taking her boy. The heart for adventure -was not dead within her.... In fact, Bellair, -surveying the little plump white creature in new -black, with a sparkle in her eye, her hand upon the -thin stem of a glass, entered upon a pleasant passage.</p> - -<p>“You see, Mrs. Acton—I’ve been struck ever -since we sailed by the courage you showed in crossing -the world like this, at the word from a -stranger——”</p> - -<p>“Stranger,” she repeated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p> - -<p>“I wanted you to take me up on that, but the -fact is, you came at my word.”</p> - -<p>“’Twas not much I had to leave——”</p> - -<p>“I liked it better than the hotel.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know, Mr. Bellair, I never gave up -the hope of travel—a bit of travel before I passed? -But I thought it would be alone from Davy——” -Her eyes glistened.</p> - -<p>Bellair was wondering if there were others in -that tenement-house who had kept a hope.</p> - -<p>“You know,” he said, “when I decided to ask -you to come—because I was far from finished with -our lad—I anticipated that it would be somewhat -of a struggle. I saw how hard it was for you at -first—the night we told you about his loss of a -place——”</p> - -<p>“We were on the edge so long—the least bump -ready to push us over,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>“I made a little arrangement with the express -company to furnish you with a return ticket—you -and Davy, or cheques to secure them, and -enough beside to get you back to New York at -any time——”</p> - -<p>Her eyes widened. She turned to her boy to -see if he were in this great business. Wonders had -not ceased for him, since the first evening at the -hotel. Davy was intent upon her now, even more -than upon his friend.</p> - -<p>“So I had it all fixed in your name. There’s an -agency in Auckland—one in every city—so you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span>can’t go broke. And no one can cash these things -but you—after you call and register your signature. -You’ll find enough and to spare for your -passage (though I hope you won’t use it for many -a year), and expenses for you and the boy——”</p> - -<p>There were tears in her eyes. Bellair poured -her wineglass full in the excitement.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t need to do anything like that——”</p> - -<p>“That’s a point I am particularly proud of,” -he answered.</p> - -<p>“I’ll put this away for you,” she said, taking -the proffered envelope.</p> - -<p>The face of dusty wax-work sped past his inner -eyes.</p> - -<p>“It’s all one,” she added. “It’s easy for me to -say this, having nothing but what you give me. -Did you hear of the house where every one put -what they had in a basket hanging from the ceiling?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said.</p> - -<p>“’Twas mainly empty. The poor are great-hearted, -and those who have nothing.... This, -I’ll put in no basket, but the bank, and you’ll have -it when you get through giving away the rest. I’ll -trust in the Lord, sure, to take me home——”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t been very successful in giving away -much,” he said. “That’s our problem down here -among the Islands. Davy is to grow up and help -me. You are to help us. There is another to help -us.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Acton finished her glass. “Is it as much -as that, then?”</p> - -<p>Davy was regarding her with fine pride in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>Bellair sent him to the cabin for a book that -would be hard to find, and turned to the boy’s -mother:</p> - -<p>“I’ve got something to say to you about Davy. -I brought back a story and a fortune from my -other trip down here. The story was more important -by a whole lot. It changed everything -for me. I thought I’d only have to tell it, to -change others. That didn’t work. But Davy -listened, and he wasn’t the same afterward.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t understand him at first. I used to -think when he didn’t speak, he was bored. I used -to think I had to entertain him, buy him with gifts. -But I was wrong. He was thinking things out for -himself all the time. He was puzzled at first why -any one cared to be good to him and be a friend to -him—God, what a price the world must pay for -making boys as strange to kindness as that.... -But this is what I want to say. He believed in -me long ago in Lot & Company’s. I succeeded in -making him believe in me again. And because he -believed in me, he believed in my story, and when -he heard that—he wasn’t the same afterward.</p> - -<p>“I tell you, boys are full of wonderful things, -but the world has shut the door on them. All -we’ve got to do is to be patient and kind and keep -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span>the door open, and we’ll have human heroes about -us presently, instead of wolves and foxes and parrots -and apes.... I learned that from Davy -Acton. After he accepted me, he got my story—and -that showed me that my work is with boys, -and that first I’ve got to make them believe in me. -I’ve got to be the kind of a man to win that. -We’ll all pull together—you and Davy and that -other and I.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to help Davy, and I’m going to help -boys. They’re not set. They change. They are -open to dreams and ready for action. They can -forget themselves long enough to listen. The -world has treated them badly; the world has been -a stupid fool in bringing up its children. Why, -it’s half luck if we manage to amount to anything! -I think I know now how to do better. I’m going -to try. Why, I’d spend five years and all I have -to give one boy his big, deep chance of being as -human as God intended. I’ll help boys to find -their work, show them how to be clean and fit and -strong. I’ll show them that <i>getting</i> is but an incident, -and when carried too far becomes the crime -and the hell of the world.... He’s coming -back—and he’s found the book, too. I must use -it——”</p> - -<p>He had told his story in a kind of gust, and the -little woman had listened like a sensitive-plate, her -eyes brimming, her son moving higher and higher -in a future that was safe and green and pure.... -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span>It had come out at last for Bellair. He was -happy, for he knew that this which had been born -to-night, with the help of the mother’s listening, -was the right good thing—the thing that had -come home from hard experience to the heart of a -simple man.</p> - -<p>“Davy,” he said, “I’ve got a suspicion that your -mother could eat something. Call a steward, lad.”</p> - -<p>She started and fumbled for her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“Do you know—that is—I might try a bite, -Mr. Bellair——”</p> - -<p>The man was smiling. Davy returned and sat -down wonderingly between them. His mother -kept her mouth covered, but her eyes were wells -of joy.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know whether it’s that cider that needs -keeping so cold,” she began steadily, “or this -which Mr. Bellair has been saying, but the truth -is, Davy, I haven’t been so happy since a girl——”</p> - -<p>“A little lunch will fix that,” Bellair suggested -absently.</p> - -<p>“If it will,” she returned, “tell the man that it’s -nothing I wish for, this night.”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">3</p> - -<p class="no-indent">Auckland passengers were not to be landed -until the morning, but the <i>Suwarrow</i> sent one -boat ashore that night. By some law unknown -to the outsider, a few top bags of mail -were discriminately favoured, and they were in -<span class="pagenum2" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span>the boat. The second officer, with a handful of -telegrams to be filed; a travelling salesman called -home from the States on account of family illness, -also Bellair were in the boat. He had told Davy -and his mother that he was going to prepare a -place for them; that he would be back on the deck -of the <i>Suwarrow</i> before nine in the morning. Because -the little landing party was out of routine, -an hour or more was required for Bellair to obtain -release to the streets. It was now midnight.</p> - -<p>Three months away, and there had been no -word from the woman who had remained. In -fact, no arrangement for writing had been agreed -upon, except in case New York should hold him. -He had never seen the writing of the Faraway -Woman.... He believed with profound conviction -that within an hour’s ride by trolley from the -place in the street where he moved so hastily now, -there was a bluff, a stone cottage, a woman waiting -for him, and a child near her; that all was well -with the two and the place. Yet he lived and -moved now in a wearing, driving terror. All his -large and little moments of the past three months -passed before him like dancers on a flash-lit stage, -some beautiful, some false and ugly, but each calling -his eyes, something of his own upon them.</p> - -<p>The world had shown him well that man is -not ready for joy when he fears, yet Bellair was -afraid. Man deserves that which he complains of. -Still, he was afraid. He was exultant, too. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span>Cities might change and nations and laws, -but not that woman’s heart. He did not believe -she could love him, but he knew of her fondness -hoped for that again. She was in a -safe place—as any place in the world is safe. She -was well, with a health he had never known in -another, and the child was flesh of her. Yet he -feared, his heart too full to speak. He did not deserve -her, but he hoped for the miracle, hoped that -the driving laws of the human heart might be merciful, -hoped for her fondness again.</p> - -<p>He would stand before her at his worst—all -weakness and commonness of the man, Bellair, -open before her. Perhaps she would see his love -because of that, but he would not be able to tell -her. Never could he ask for her. If it were made -known, it would not be through words. It could -only come from him in a kind of delirium. <i>He</i> -must be carried away, a passion must take him out -of self. Very far he seemed from passion; rather -this was like a child in his heart, with gifts, deep -and changeless, but inarticulate, as a child is. It -had been long in coming, quietly fulfilling itself, -and this was the rising.</p> - -<p>... The last car was gone, but he found a carriage—an -open carriage, a slow horse, a cool and -starry night. The city was growing silent, the -edges darkened. There were high trees, a homing -touch about them after the sea, and a glimpse of -the harbour to the left. Bellair had not even a bag -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span>with him. He would take off his hat for a way, -and then put it on again. Sometimes he would -let his ungloved hand hang overside, as one would -do in a small boat. There was a leathery smell -from the seat of the carriage, with a bit of stable -flavour, that would get into a man’s clothes if he -stayed long enough. It was dusty, too, something -like a tight room full of old leather-bound books.</p> - -<p>The horse plumped along, a little lurch forward -at every fourth beat. Hunched and wrapped, the -driver sat, and extraordinarily still—a man used -to sitting, who gave himself utterly to it, a most -spineless and sunken manner. Every little while -he coughed, and every little while he spat.... -Once they passed a motor-car—two men and a -girl laughing between them; then the interurban -trolley going back—the car he had missed. His -heart thumped. It was the same car that he had -known, the same tracks, no upheaval of the earth -here so far.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Bellair was rounding the Horn in -the <i>Jade</i>; they struck rock or derelict, were lost -for ages in an open boat; they came to Auckland -and found a little stone house on the bluff, paused -there....</p> - -<p>He was away at sea again, from Auckland to -’Frisco, across the States, to <i>Brandt’s</i>, to <i>Pastern’s</i>, -to Lot & Company’s and the tenements, to the -<i>Castle</i> and the Landlady’s House; then trains and -the long southern sweep of the <i>Suwarrow</i>, down -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span>the great sea again to this ... plumping along -on the high, rocky shore. The brine came up to -him, almost as from the open boat. His eyes -smarted, his throat was dry, and the driver -coughed.</p> - -<p>Bellair had paper money in his hand. He -meant to look at it under the carriage-light, when -he stepped forth near the Gate. He leaned forward -and touched the great coat.</p> - -<p>“<i>Whoa</i>,” said the man, loud enough to rouse -the seven sleepers, and the horse came up with a -teeter.</p> - -<p>“Don’t stop,” said Bellair. “It’s a little ahead -yet. I’ll tell you when to stop.... Yes, let him -walk——”</p> - -<p>Now, Bellair surveyed what he had said. He -was like that, just about as coherent as that. The -<i>whoa</i> had shaken him empty for the most part.... -He would not know what to say to her. He -would sit or stand like a fool and grin.... But -she was great-hearted. She would help him.... -Awe and silence crept into him again.</p> - -<p>“Now, pull up——”</p> - -<p>“<i>Whoa</i>,” was the answer, shaking the trees.</p> - -<p>“There, that will do,” Bellair said tensely. He -stepped out and passed over the money, forgetting -to look at it. He was afraid the man would roar -again.</p> - -<p>It was nearer than he thought, but a step to the -Gate; its latch lifted softly and he crossed the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span>gravel, held by the voice of the rig turning behind. -It turned slowly as a ship in a small berth, and -the voice carried like the cackle of geese.... -There was no light. He was on the step. Something -sweet was growing at the door.... Something -brushed him at his feet. He leaned down -in the darkness, and touched the tabby-puss, -knocked softly.</p> - -<p>“Yes——” came from within.</p> - -<p>“It is I, Bellair——”</p> - -<p>The door was opened to absolute blackness. She -was not in his arms. Rather he was in her arms. -She seemed to tower above him. Around was the -softness and fragrance of her arms and her breast.... -Not the cottage—her arms made the home of -man. She held him from her, left him standing -bewildered in the centre of the room. He heard -her match, and her voice like a sigh, trailing to -him almost like a spirit-thing:</p> - -<p>“Oh,—I—am—so—happy!”</p> - -<p>The lamp was lit, but she left it in the alcove, -came to him again, a shawl about her. Lights -were playing upon his shut eye-lids, fulfilment in -his arms that a man can only know when he has -crossed the world to a woman, not a maiden; a -plenitude that a maiden cannot give.</p> - -<p>And now she brought the light, and looked into -his face—her own gleaming behind it, full of rapture, -the face of a love-woman, some inspired -training of the centuries upon it, all the mystery -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span>and delicacy for a man’s eyes that he can endure -and live....</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>He could only look at her.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” more softly.</p> - -<p>As if the thing had been left over in his mind, -and required clearing away, he answered:</p> - -<p>“Are—are the rooms rented?”</p> - -<p>She laughed, came closer than the light.</p> - -<p>“We are alone—only the child. I could not -let any one come—the rooms seemed yours.... -I thought you would come. It was time enough to -change when I heard from you——”</p> - -<p>“The little Gleam——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is here.... Oh, did you know what it -meant to us—when you went away?”</p> - -<p>“I knew what it meant to me——”</p> - -<p>“After the open boat and the days together -here—you knew all?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it would be easier.... And you -are changed! You are like a man who has found -his Quest.”</p> - -<p>She was about him like magic. They were moving -toward the little room. She stopped and put -the lamp back in the alcove.</p> - -<p>“We will not take it in there. It would wake -him.”</p> - -<p>... It was dark upon the threshold. She took -his hand. He heard her heart beating, or was it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span>his own?... They heard the little breathing. -She guided his hand to the warm little hand.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is well,” she whispered. “Everything -is perfect with your coming.... There.... -You hurried home to me, didn’t you?... Yes, -I hoped. I felt the ship. I could not sleep. I -wondered if I could be wrong.... Oh, to think -of the dawn coming in—finding us here together -... and the little Gleam....”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Gray light was coming in. Her face was shadowed, -but the gray was faint about her hair. His -heart had taken something perfect from her; something -of the nature of that peace which had come -to him at the <i>Jade’s</i> rail crossing the Line, but -greater than that, the fulfilment of that. Because -it was perfect, it could not last in its fulness. -That was the coolness of the Hills, but his love -was glowing now like noon sunlight in a valley, -the redolence of high sunlight in the river lowlands. -Mother Earth had taken them again.</p> - -<p>It was the tide of life; it was as she had told -him it must be with her, akin to the loveliest processes -of nature, like the gilding of a tea-rose, like -the flight of swans. He watched her as the dawn -rose, as a woman is only to be seen in her own -room; watched her without words, until from the -concentration, that which had been bound floated -free within him.... A sentence she had spoken -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>(it may have been an hour, or a moment ago) -returned to his consciousness. “Oh, how I wanted -you to come home to-night!”</p> - -<p>His mind was full of pictures and power. It -may have been the strangeness of the light, but -his eyes could not hold her face, nor his mind remember -the face that had welcomed him in the -lamplight. Different faces moved before his eyes, -a deep likeness in the plan of them, as pearls -would be sorted and matched for one string, a -wonderful sisterhood of faces, tenderness, fortitude, -ardour, joy, renunciation. It was like a -stroke. He had loved them all—facets of one -jewel. And was the jewel her soul?</p> - -<p>He arose, without turning from her, and moved -to the far corner of the room, where there was -neither chair nor table. As he moved, he watched -her with tireless thirsting eyes.</p> - -<p>She arose and came to him, moving low.... -This figure that came, thrilled him again with the -old magic of the river-banks. He could not pass -the wonder of her crossing the room to follow him.... -And now he saw her lips in the light—a -girl’s shyness about her lips. She was a girl that -instant—as if a veil had dropped behind her. It -had never been so before—a woman always, wise -and finished with years, compared to whom that -other was a child. And yet she was little older -than that other—in years. He loved the shyness -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span>of her lips. It was like one familiar bloom in -the midst of exotic wonders. It seemed he would -fall—before she touched him.</p> - -<p>She was low in his arms, as if her knees were -bent, as if she would make herself less for her -lord.... And something in that, even as he held -her, opened the long low roads of the past—glimpses -from that surging mystery behind us all—as -if they had sinned and expiated and aspired -together.</p> - -<p>“... That you would come to me——” he -whispered.</p> - -<p>“I have wanted to come to you so long.”</p> - -<p>“I thought—I could not tell you—I thought I -would stand helpless without words before you. -Why, everything I thought was wrong. I can -tell you—but there is no need——”</p> - -<p>“There is little need of words between us.”</p> - -<p>... That which she wore upon her feet was -heel-less, and all the cries and calls and warnings -and distances of the world were gone from between -them, as they stood together.... And -once her arms left him and were upheld, as if to -receive a perfect gift. A woman could command -heaven with that gesture.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They had reached the end of the forest, and -found the dawn. The sounds of the world came -back to them like an enchanter’s drone.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span></p> -<p>“Come,” she said, taking his hand, “it is day. -We must return to the village. And oh, to our -little Gleam! He is awakening. He will speak -your name.”</p> - -<p class="center no-indent">THE END</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT</p></div> - -<div class="adblock"> -<p class="center no-indent"><i>A Brief Expression of the Critical Reception of</i></p> - -<p class="ph2">DOWN AMONG MEN</p> - -<p><i>Outlook</i>: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive -genius, equipped with a remarkably flexible -use of English and impelled by the passion of a -mystic—the author of <i>Down Among Men</i> has -written a striking novel.</p> - -<p><i>The Dial</i>: Seems to us the most exalted and -appealing story Mr. Comfort has thus far written.</p> - -<p><i>The Argonaut</i>: A novel of extraordinary -power. It is good as <i>Routledge Rides Alone</i>. It -could hardly be better.</p> - -<p><i>London Post</i>: Alive with incident, bounding -with physical energy, dramatic in coloring, and -modern in every phrase. He has a message delivered -with vigor, inspired with tense passion.</p> - -<p><i>Atlantic Monthly</i>: There is so much real fire -in it—the fire of youth that has seen and suffered—so -much vitality and passion that one grows -chary of petty comments. The writer offers us -the cup of life, and there is blood in the cup.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago Record-Herald</i>: An almost perfect -tale of courage and adventure.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago Tribune</i>: Contains some of the most -remarkable scenes that have appeared in recent -American fiction.</p> - -<p><i>New York Times</i>: Few richer novels than -this of Mr. Comfort’s have been published in -many a long day.</p> - -<p><i>New York Globe</i>: We can say in all sincerity -that we know of no recent bit of descriptive writing -that can match this for sustained, breathless, -dramatic interest.</p> - -<p><i>Springfield Republican</i>: <i>Down Among Men</i> -is perhaps the most ambitious American novel that -has come out during the past year.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>12mo., Net $1.25.</i></p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2">MIDSTREAM</p></div> - -<p>... A hint from the first-year’s recognition of -a book that was made to remain in American literature:</p> - -<p><i>Boston Transcript</i>: If it be extravagance, let -it be so, to say that Comfort’s account of his childhood -has seldom been rivaled in literature. It -amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels -that will suggest themselves in our letters are the -great ones that occur in <i>Huckleberry Finn</i>.... -This man Comfort’s gamut is long and he has -raced its full length. One wonders whether the -interest, the skill, the general worth of it, the -things it has to report of all life, as well as the -one life, do not entitle <i>Midstream</i> to the very -long life that is enjoyed only by the very best of -books.</p> - -<p><i>San Francisco Argonaut</i>: Read the book. It -is autobiography in its perfection. It shows more -of the realities of the human being, more of god -and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind.</p> - -<p><i>Springfield Republican</i>: It is difficult to think -of any other young American who has so courageously -reversed the process of writing for the -“market” and so flatly insisted upon being taken, -if at all, on his own terms of life and art. And -now comes his frank and amazing revelation, <i>Midstream</i>, -in which he captures and carries the reader -on to a story of regeneration. He has come -far; the question is, how much farther will he go?</p> - -<p>Mary Fanton Roberts in <i>The Craftsman</i>: -Beside the stature of this book, the ordinary novel -and biography are curiously dwarfed. You read -it with a poignant interest and close it with wonder, -reverence and gratitude. There is something -strangely touching about words so candid, and a -draught of philosophy that has been pressed from -such wild and bitter-sweet fruit. The message -it contains is one to sink deep, penetrating and -enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. This -man’s words are incandescent. Many of us feel -that he is breathing into a language, grown trite -from hackneyed usage, the inspiration of a quickened -life.</p> - -<p>Ida Gilbert Myers in <i>Washington Star</i>: Courage -backs this revelation. The gift of self-searching -animates it. Honesty sustains it. And Mr. -Comfort’s rare power to seize and deliver his -vision inspires it. It is a tremendous thing—the -greatest thing that this writer has yet done.</p> - -<p>George Soule in <i>The Little Review</i>: Here is -a man’s life laid absolutely bare. A direct, big -thing, so simple that almost no one has done it -before—this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who -are made uncomfortable by intimate grasp of -anything, to whom reserve is more important than -truth—these will not read <i>Midstream</i> through, -but others will emerge from the book with -a sense of the absolute nobility of Mr. Comfort’s -frankness.</p> - -<p>Edwin Markham in <i>Hearst’s Magazine</i>: Will -Levington Comfort, a novelist of distinction, has -given us a book alive with human interest, with -passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his -despotism over words. He has been a wandering -foot—familiar with many strands; he has known -shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to -serene heights. He tells it all without vaunt, relating -his experience to the large meanings of -life for all men, to the mystic currents behind -life, out of which we come, to whose great deep -we return.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>12mo., Net, $1.25</i></p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak">RED FLEECE</p></div> - -<p><i>Springfield Republican</i>: The first genuine war -novel.</p> - -<p><i>Outlook</i>: The first novel of any real consequence -dealing with the great war.</p> - -<p><i>San Francisco Argonaut</i>: An extraordinary -book. The reader of Comfort’s book is carried -away on a storm of emotion.</p> - -<p><i>New York Tribune</i>: Decidedly the first notable -novel of the great war is Will Levington -Comfort’s <i>Red Fleece</i>. Comfort sees in the -moujik’s dreamy soul the seed of a spiritual regeneration -of the world.</p> - -<p><i>The Dial</i>: As a stylist, Mr. Comfort has never -done better work. “His clothing smelled of -death; and one morning before the smoke fell, he -watched the sun shining upon the smoke-clad -hills. That moment the thought held him -that the pine-trees were immortal, and men just -the dung of the earth.” It is not given to many -men to write such English as that.</p> - -<p><i>Boston Transcript</i>: This is a story written in -wireless. It leaves a lightning impression.</p> - -<p><i>New York Times</i>: This novel has one most -unusual fault. It is not long enough.</p> - -<p><i>Churchman</i>, New York: By far the most interesting -and thoughtful book of fiction springing -from the great war.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>12mo., Net, $1.25</i></p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter"> -<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p></div> - -<p>On page 123, side-ways has been changed to sideways.</p> - -<p>On page 130, banknotes has been changed to bank-notes.</p> - -<p>On page 310, waterfront has been changed to water-front.</p> - -<p>On page 336, eyelids has been changed to eye-lids.</p> - -<p>The name "Fomalhaut" was spelled multiple ways in this book; all have -been regularized to "Fomalhaut" (a star in the Southern Hemisphere.)</p> - -<p>All other spelling, hyphenation and dialect has been -retained as typeset.</p></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOT & COMPANY ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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