IV

The weather was dry and intensely hot for several weeks, and then, at

the end of July, thunder-storms and torrential rains broke upon the

Sweet Water valley. The river burst out of its banks, all the creeks

were up, and the stubble of Ivy Peters' wheat fields lay under water. A

wide lake and two rushing creeks now separated the Forresters from the

town. Ben Keezer rode over to them every day to do the chores and to

take them their mail. One evening Ben, with his slicker and leather

mailbag, had just come out of the post-office and was preparing to mount

his horse, when Niel Herbert stopped him to ask in a low voice whether

he had got the Denver paper.

"Oh, yes. I always wait for the papers. She likes to have them to read

of an evening. Guess it's pretty lonesome over there." He swung into his

saddle and splashed off. Niel walked slowly around to the hotel for

dinner. He had found something very disconcerting in the Denver paper:

Frank Ellinger's picture on the society page, along with Constance

Ogden's. They had been married yesterday at Colorado Springs, and were

stopping at the Antlers.

After supper Niel put on his rubber coat and started for the

Forresters'. When he reached the first creek, he found that the

foot-bridge had been washed out from the far bank and lay obliquely in

the stream, battered at by the yellow current which might at any moment

carry it away. One could not cross the ford without a horse. He looked

irresolutely across the submerged bottom lands. The house was dark, no

lights in the parlour windows. The rain was beginning to fall again.

Perhaps she had rather be alone tonight. He would go over tomorrow.

He went back to the law office and tried to make himself comfortable,

though the place was in distracting disorder. The continued rain had set

one of the chimneys leaking, had brought down streams of soot and black

water and flooded the stove and the Judge's once handsome Brussels

carpet. The tinner had been there all afternoon, trying to find what was

the matter with the flue, cutting a new sheet-iron drawer to fit under

the stove-pipe. But at six o'clock he had gone away, leaving tools and

sheets of metal lying about. The rooms were damp and cold. Niel put on a

heavy sweater, since he could not have a fire, lit the big coal-oil

lamp, and sat down with a book. When at last he looked at his watch, it

was nearly midnight, and he had been reading three hours. He would have

another pipe, and go to bed. He had scarcely lit it, when he heard

quick, hurrying footsteps in the echoing corridor outside. He got to the

door in an instant, was there to open it before Mrs. Forrester had time

to knock. He caught her by the arm and pulled her in.

Everything but her wet, white face was hidden by a black rubber hat and

a coat that was much too big for her. Streams of water trickled from the

coat, and when she opened it he saw that she was drenched to the

waist,--her black dress clung in a muddy pulp about her.

"Mrs. Forrester," he cried, "you can't have crossed the creek! It's up

to a horse's belly in the ford."

"I came over the bridge, what's left of it. It shook under me, but I'm

not heavy." She threw off her hat and wiped the water from her face with

her hands.

"Why didn't you ask Ben to bring you over on his horse? Here, please

swallow this."

She pushed his hand aside. "Wait. Afterwards. Ben? I didn't think until

after he was gone. It's the telephone I want, long distance. Get me

Colorado Springs, the Antlers, quick!"

Then Niel noticed that she smelled strong of spirits; it steamed above

the smell of rubber and creek mud and wet cloth. She snatched up the

desk telephone, but he gently took it from her.

"I'll get them for you, but you're in no condition to talk now; you're

out of breath. Do you really want to talk tonight? You know Mrs. Beasley

will hear every word you say." Mrs. Beasley was the Sweet Water central,

and an indefatigable reporter of everything that went over the wires.

Mrs. Forrester, sitting in his uncle's desk chair, tapped the carpet

with the toe of her rubber boot. "Do hurry, please," she said in that

polite, warning tone of which even Ivy Peters was afraid.

Niel aroused the sleepy central and put in the call. "She asks whom you

wish to speak to?"

"Frank Ellinger. Say Judge Pommeroy's office wishes to speak to him."

Niel began soothing Mrs. Beasley at the other end. "No, not the

management, Mrs. Beasley, one of the guests. Frank Ellinger," he spelled

the name. "Yes. Judge Pommeroy's office wants to talk to him. I'll be

right here. As soon as you can, please."

He put down the instrument. "I'd rather, you know, publish anything in

the town paper than telephone it through Mrs. Beasley." Mrs. Forrester

paid no heed to him, did not look at him, sat staring at the wall. "I

can't see why you didn't call me up and ask me to bring a horse over for

you, if you felt you must get to a long distance telephone tonight."

"Yes; I didn't think of it. I only knew I had to get over here, and I

was afraid something might stop me." She was watching the telephone as

if it were alive. Her eyes were shrunk to hard points. Her brows, drawn

together in an acute angle, kept twitching in the frown which held

them,--the singular frown of one overcome by alcohol or fatigue, who is

holding on to consciousness by the strength of a single purpose. Her

blue lips, the black shadows under her eyes, made her look as if some

poison were at work in her body.

They waited and waited. Niel understood that she did not wish him to

talk. Her mind was struggling with something, with every blink of her

lashes she seemed to face it anew. Presently she rose as if she could

bear the suspense no longer and went over to the window, leaned against

it.

"Did you leave Captain Forrester alone?" Niel asked suddenly.

"Yes. Nothing will happen over there. Nothing ever _does_ happen!" she

answered wildly, wringing her hands.

The telephone buzzed. Mrs. Forrester darted toward the desk, but Niel

lifted the instrument in his left hand and barred her way with his

right. "Try to be calm, Mrs. Forrester. When I get Ellinger I will let

you talk to him,--and central will hear every word you say, remember."

After some exchanges with the Colorado office, he pointed her to the

chair. "Sit down and I'll give it to you. He is on the wire."

He did not dare to leave her alone, though it was awkward enough to be a

listener. He walked to the window and stood with his back to the desk

where she was sitting.

"Is that you, Frank? This is Marian. I won't keep you a moment. You were

asleep? So early? That's not like you. You've reformed already, haven't

you? That's what marriage does, they say. No, I wasn't altogether

surprised. You might have taken me into your confidence, though. Haven't

I deserved it?"

A long, listening pause. Niel stared stupidly at the dark window. He had

steeled his nerves for wild reproaches. The voice he heard behind him

was her most charming; playful, affectionate, intimate, with a thrill of

pleasant excitement that warmed its slight formality and burned through

the common-place words like the colour in an opal. He simply held his

breath while she fluttered on:

"Where shall you go for your honeymoon? Oh, I'm very sorry! So

soon . . . You must take good care of her. Give her my love. . . . I

should think California, at this time of the year, might be right . . ."

It went on like this for some minutes. The voice, it seemed to Niel, was

that of a woman, young, beautiful, happy,--warm and at her ease, sitting

in her own drawing-room and talking on a stormy night to a dear friend

far away.

"Oh, unusually well, for me. Stop and see for yourself. You will be

going to Omaha on business next week, before California. Oh, yes, you

will! Stop off between trains. You know how welcome you are, always."

A long pause. An exclamation from Mrs. Forrester made Niel turn sharply

round. Now it was coming! Her voice was darkening with every word. "I

think I understand you. You are not speaking from your own room? What,

from the office booth? Oh, then I understand you very well indeed!" Niel

looked about in alarm. It was time to stop her, but how? The voice went

on.

"Play safe! When have you ever played anything else? You know, Frank,

the truth is that you're a coward; a great, hulking coward. Do you hear

me? I want you to hear! . . . You've got a safe thing at last, I should

think; safe and pasty! How much stock did you get with it? A big block,

I hope! Now let me tell you the truth: I don't want you to come here! I

never want to see you again while I live, and I forbid you to come and

look at me when I'm dead. I don't want your hateful eyes to look at my

dead face. Do you hear me? Why don't you answer me? Don't dare to hang

up the receiver, you coward! Oh, you big . . . Frank, Frank, say

something! Oh, he's shut me off, I can't hear him!"

She flung the receiver down, dropped her head on the desk, and broke

into heavy, groaning sobs. Niel stood over her and waited with

composure. For once he had been quick enough; he had saved her. The

moment that quivering passion of hatred and wrong leaped into her voice,

he had taken the big shears left by the tinner and cut the insulated

wire behind the desk. Her reproaches had got no farther than this room.

When the sobs ceased he touched her shoulder. He shook her, but there

was no response. She was asleep, sunk in a heavy stupor. Her hands and

face were so cold that he thought there could not be a drop of warm

blood left in her body. He carried her into his room, cut off her

drenched clothing, wrapped her in his bathrobe and put her into his own

bed. She was absolutely unconscious. He blew out the light, locked her

in, and left the building, going as fast as he could to Judge Pommeroy's

cottage. He roused his uncle and briefly explained the situation.

"Can you dress and go down to the office for the rest of the night,

Uncle Judge? Some one must be with her. And I'll get over to the Captain

at once; he certainly oughtn't to be left alone. If she could get across

the bridge, I guess I can. By the way, she began talking wild, and I cut

the telephone wire behind your desk. So keep an eye on it. It might make

trouble on a stormy night like this. I'll get a livery hack and take

Mrs. Forrester home in the morning, before the town is awake."

When daylight began to break Niel went into Captain Forrester's room and

told him that his wife had been sent for in the night to answer a long

distance telephone call, and that now he was going to bring her home.

The Captain lay propped up on three big pillows. Since his face had

grown fat and relaxed, its ruggedness had changed to an almost Asiatic

smoothness. He looked like a wise old Chinese mandarin as he lay

listening to the young man's fantastic story with perfect composure,

merely blinking and saying, "Thank you, Niel, thank you."

As Niel went through the sleeping town on his way to the livery barn, he

saw the short, plump figure of Mrs. Beasley, like a boiled pudding sewed

up in a blue kimono, waddling through the feathery asparagus bed behind

the telephone office. She had already been next door to tell her

neighbour Molly Tucker, the seamstress, the story of her exciting night.

V

Soon afterward, when Captain Forrester had another stroke, Mrs. Beasley

and Molly Tucker and their friends were perfectly agreed that it was a

judgment upon his wife. No judgment could have been crueller. Under the

care of him, now that he was helpless, Mrs. Forrester quite went to

pieces.

Even after their misfortunes had begun to come upon them, she had

maintained her old reserve. She had asked nothing and accepted nothing.

Her demeanour toward the townspeople was always the same; easy, cordial,

and impersonal. Her own friends had moved away long ago,--all except

Judge Pommeroy and Dr. Dennison. When any of the housewives from the

town came to call, she met them in the parlour, chatted with them in the

smiling, careless manner they could never break through, and they got no

further. They still felt they must put on their best dress and carry a

card-case when they went to the Forresters'.

But now that the Captain was helpless, everything changed. She could

hold off the curious no longer. The townswomen brought soups and

custards for the invalid. When they came to sit out the night with him,

she turned the house over to them. She was worn out; so exhausted that

she was dull to what went on about her. The Mrs. Beasleys and Molly

Tuckers had their chance at last. They went in and out of Mrs.

Forrester's kitchen as familiarly as they did out of one another's. They

rummaged through the linen closet to find more sheets, pried about in

the attic and cellar. They went over the house like ants, the house

where they had never before got past the parlour; and they found they

had been fooled all these years. There was nothing remarkable about the

place at all! The kitchen was inconvenient, the sink was smelly. The

carpets were worn, the curtains faded, the clumsy, old-fashioned

furniture they wouldn't have had for a gift, and the upstairs bed-rooms

were full of dust and cobwebs.

Judge Pommeroy remarked to his nephew that he had never seen these women

look so wide-awake, so important and pleased with themselves, as now

when he encountered them bustling about the Forrester place. The

Captain's illness had the effect of a social revival, like a new club or

a church society. The creatures grew bolder and bolder,--and Mrs.

Forrester, apparently, had no power of resistance. She drudged in the

kitchen, slept, half-dressed, in one of the chambers upstairs, kept

herself going on black coffee and brandy. All the bars were down. She

had ceased to care about anything.

As the women came and went through the lane, Niel sometimes overheard

snatches of their conversation.

"Why didn't she sell some of that silver? All those platters and covered

dishes stuck away with the tarnish of years on them!"

"I wouldn't mind having some of her linen. There's a chest full of

double damask upstairs, every tablecloth long enough to make two. Did

you ever see anything like the wine glasses! I'll bet there's not as

many in both saloons put together. If she has a sale after he's gone,

I'll buy a dozen champagne glasses; they're nice to serve sherbet in."

"There are nine dozen glasses," said Molly Tucker, "counting them for

beer and whiskey. If there is a sale, I've a mind to bid in a couple of

them green ones, with long stems, for mantel ornaments. But she'll never

sell 'em all, unless she can get the saloons to take 'em."

Ed Elliott's mother laughed. "She'll never sell 'em, as long as she's

got anything to put in 'em."

"The cellar will go dry, some day."

"I guess there's always plenty that will get it for such as her. I never

go there now that I don't smell it on her. I went over late the other

night, and she was on her knees, washing up the kitchen floor. Her eyes

were glassy. She kept washing the place around the ice-box over and

over, till it made me nervous. I said, 'Mrs. Forrester, I think you've

washed that place several times already.'"

"Was she confused?"

"Not a particle! She laughed and said she was often absent-minded."

Mrs. Elliott's companions laughed, too, and agreed that absent-minded

was a good expression.

Niel repeated this conversation to his uncle. "Uncle," he declared, "I

don't see how I can go back to Boston and leave the Forresters. I'd like

to chuck school for a year, and see them through. I want to go over

there and clear those gossips out. Could you stay at the hotel for a few

weeks, and let me have Black Tom? With him to help me, I'd send every

one of those women trotting down the lane."

It was arranged quietly, and at once. Tom was put in the kitchen, and

Niel himself took charge of the nursing. He met the women with firmness:

they were very kind, but now nothing was needed. The Doctor had said the

house must be absolutely quiet and that the invalid must see no one.

Once the house was tranquil, Mrs. Forrester went to bed and slept for

the better part of a week. The Captain himself improved. On his good

days he could be put into a wheel-chair and rolled out into his garden

to enjoy the September sunlight and the last of his briar roses.

"Thank you, Niel, thank you, Tom," he often said when they lifted him

into his chair. "I value this quiet very highly." If a day came when

they thought he ought not to go out, he was sad and disappointed.

"Better get him out, no matter what," said Mrs. Forrester. "He likes to

look at his place. That, and his cigar, are the only pleasures he has

left."

When she was rested and in command of herself again, she took her place

in the kitchen, and Black Tom went back to the Judge.

At night, when he was alone, when Mrs. Forrester had gone to bed and the

Captain was resting quietly, Niel found a kind of solemn happiness in

his vigils. It had been hard to give up that year; most of his

classmates were younger than he. It had cost him something, but now that

he had taken the step, he was glad. As he put in the night hours,

sitting first in one chair and then in another, reading, smoking,

getting a lunch to keep himself awake, he had the satisfaction of those

who keep faith. He liked being alone with the old things that had seemed

so beautiful to him in his childhood. These were still the most

comfortable chairs in the world, and he would never like any pictures so

well as "William Tell's Chapel" and "The House of the Tragic Poet." No

card-table was so good for solitaire as this old one with a stone top,

mosaic in the pattern of a chess-board, which one of the Captain's

friends had brought him from Naples. No other house could take the place

of this one in his life.

He had time to think of many things; of himself and of his old friends

here. He had noticed that often when Mrs. Forrester was about her work,

the Captain would call to her, "Maidy, Maidy," and she would reply,

"Yes, Mr. Forrester," from wherever she happened to be, but without

coming to him,--as if she knew that when he called to her in that tone

he was not asking for anything. He wanted to know if she were near,

perhaps; or, perhaps, he merely liked to call her name and to hear her

answer. The longer Niel was with Captain Forrester in those peaceful

closing days of his life, the more he felt that the Captain knew his

wife better even than she knew herself; and that, knowing her, he,--to

use one of his own expressions,--valued her.