"Authoritative source, you said?" questioned Vandervent. "I suppose that
means a drug fiend named Garland."
Penwell nodded.
"You should have locked that bird up, Mr. Vandervent, until he lost his
love for talk."
"And money," amended Vandervent.
"Not much. Fifty dollars."
"Cheap at the price. Still," said Vandervent, "rather expensive when you
can't use what he told you."
"No?" Penwell was politely interested. For all his youth, one would have
judged him a good poker player.
"Miss Deane was unfortunate; a victim of circumstances. The _Era_
wouldn't drag her into a nasty scandal, would it?" demanded Vandervent.
"News is news," stated Penwell.
"Listen to a trade?" asked Vandervent.
"Always willing to," smiled Penwell.
Vandervent blushed.
"Unfortunately, sometimes, a Vandervent is always a Vandervent."
"Thou speakest truth, O Sage!" laughed the young man.
"And what a Vandervent eats for breakfast makes snappy reading, I think
you'd call it, for _hoi polloi_, eh?"
"Continue. You interest me strangely," said Penwell.
"My engagement--its announcement rather--would be a 'beat' of some
value?"
Penwell bowed to Clancy.
"Miss Deane, gaze upon a man so sinful that he takes a bribe." He turned
to Vandervent. "The _Era_ won't print a word about Miss Deane. Who's the
lady?"
"Miss Deane," said Vandervent.
For a moment Penwell stared at the young girl. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"Miss Deane, I didn't want this assignment. But a reporter does what
he's told. I can't tell you how glad I am that I can turn in something
bigger for the paper. Why, Mr. Vandervent, the paper wouldn't dare take
a chance on printing something that Garland said about your _fiancée_!"
"It might prove rather expensive for the _Era_," said Vandervent.
But Penwell didn't hear him. He was staring at Clancy. And smiling.
"Miss Deane, I don't know anything about you. I hope you'll tell me
something for the paper. But whoever you may be, you've done well in
your engagement. You're going to marry one of the whitest--tell me, when
was the engagement contracted?"
Clancy colored to the roots of her hair. Vandervent gently pushed the
reporter toward the door.
"Come back," he said, "in five minutes and we'll answer that question."
Penwell looked from one to the other. Then he grinned. Then he backed
out of the room. For a moment, there was silence between the girl and
the man. Vandervent spoke first.
"Was I--impertinent? Do I--assume too much?"
Slowly Clancy turned until she faced him. The heart of her stood in her
eyes. Yet, because she was a woman, she must ask.
"Did you--is it because you want to save me--or do you really----"
He didn't answer. He crushed her in his arms. She had not known that he
was so strong. And within his arms she found the answer to her
question. She owned the "Open, Sesame"--youth. Her challenging gray eyes
might some day grow dim; the satiny luster of her black hair might give
way to silver, but the heart of her would ever be young, and so the
world would be hers. For it is only the young in spirit who win life's
battles; youth cannot comprehend defeat, and so it knows only victory.
And she had come to New York, which jibes at age, but bends a supple
knee to youth. And because she was young, would always be young, Clancy
Deane would be bound by no rules, no mental timetables would fetter her.
For the old, on learning that the train has gone, surrender to despair.
The young take another train. Neither road nor the destination matters
to youth, and so--it always arrives.
She had come to work, to win a career. She would, instead, be a wife.
For the present, happily, willingly, she surrendered ambition. But it
would come back to her. Whether it would speak to her in terms of her
husband's career, or of her own--that was on the knees of the gods.
For the moment, she was beaten--beaten by love. But the Clancy Deanes
are never beaten by circumstances. If they bow to love, it is because
from love they build a greater triumph than from ambition. Youth always
is triumphant when it surrenders to youth.
She found the answer in his arms. And nestled there, she vowed that she
would keep the answer there. And because age would never touch her, she
could fulfil her vow if she chose. Clairvoyantly, she looked ahead;
suddenly she knew that she would always choose. Her lips went up to his.