The morning opened auspiciously with a raking from Grubbs, who, finding
that the Governor had decamped, most ungenerously held Archie
responsible for his departure.
"I swear every year," he declared, "I'll never hire another tramp and
hereafter I'll let the crops rot before I'll have one on the place."
Archie replied with heat that he knew nothing about the Governor or the
reason for his precipitate passing. As the scolding the foreman had
given him the day before still rankled, he protested his ignorance of
the Governor and all his ways with a vigor strengthened much to his own
edification by oaths he had never employed before. The foreman, taken
aback by his onslaught, mumbled and then asked humbly as though ashamed
of his lack of confidence in his employee: "Well, you two landed here
together and I thought you might be gettin' ready to play the same
trick. Look here, d'ye know anything about horses?"
"Well, I've ridden some," Archie answered guardedly, fearing the
imposition of some disagreeable task as a punishment for his violent
language.
"Ridden; where th' hell have you rode?"
Archie's knowledge of horses had been gained by cautious riding in park
bridle paths with a groom, but to confess this would be only to increase
the wrath and arouse the suspicions of the farmer.
"Oh, I've always been around horses," said Archie. "I guess I can handle
'em all right."
The foreman meditated, gave a hitch to his trousers, inspected Archie
from head to foot and spat.
"Humph! I gotta find somebody t' watch the old man's granddaughter ride
'er pony, and I guess I'll give you the job if y' got sense enough to
set on a horse and keep th' kid from breakin' 'er neck. What y' think o'
that! I gotta waste a horse right now when I could use a dozen more, so
a grown man can play with a kid! The old man's skipped this morning
without sayin' whether he'd ever be back again!"
"Mr. Congdon has left?" asked Archie, with all the innocence he could
muster.
"Not only has he gone but he's took a scrub I was usin' as handy man on
the place. You can't beat it! There ought to be a law against city men
ownin' farms an' makin' farmers do their work."
Archie thought this sound philosophy and he expressed his agreement
heartily.
"Well, go to the barn and clean up that pony, and clap on a boy's saddle
you'll find there; and there's a sorrel mare in the last stall on the
left you can take. The kid'll be out lookin' fer y', and y' want to take
mighty good care of 'er; she's the ole man's pet and he'll kill y' if
anything goes wrong with 'er. Keep 'er out about an hour and be
partickler careful. Between you and me there's somethin' queer about the
kid bein' here; row o' some kind between her pa and ma. Her pa's here
sick. Guess all them Congdon's got something wrong with 'em!"
Archie restrained an impulse to affirm the last statement and set off
stolidly for the barn. He felt himself a better man for his interview
with the foreman, who proved to be human and no bad fellow after all.
His appointment as groom for the daughter of Putney Congdon was only
another ironic turn of fate. The child might remember him as the man who
had rescued her balloon in Central Park, but in his shabby clothes and
with his face disguised by a week's growth of beard this was unlikely. A
more serious matter for concern was the possibility that the Governor or
his agents might attempt to steal her away from him while she was in his
care. But so far in his stormy pilgrimage he had gained nothing by
yielding to apprehensions and he whistled as he rubbed down the pony and
got his own mount ready.
The child came running into the barn lot followed by the woman who had
been a party to her abduction, and danced joyfully toward the pony.
"Edith mustn't stay out too long; an hour will be enough for the first
day. And please keep close to the gate. You're sure you understand
horses?"
Archie satisfied her on all points, submitting himself to her critical
gaze without flinching. In his big straw hat he was not even remotely
suggestive of the man who had attempted to frustrate the seizure of the
child in the park. In her ecstatic welcome of the pony Edith hardly gave
Archie a glance. A riding costume had been improvised for her out of a
boy scout's suit, and with her curls flying under her broad hat she was
a spirited and appealing figure. The woman followed them down the lane
to the road, where she indicated the bounds to be observed during the
lesson. The pony was old and fat, and only with much urging could he be
brought to a trot. Archie delivered himself of all the wisdom he could
recall from the instruction of his riding teacher as to seat and
carriage. The companionship of the child cheered him; and as they
patrolled the road she prattled with youthful volubility. When a
traction engine passed towing a threshing machine the sorrel mare showed
her mettle in a series of gyrations that all but landed Archie in a
fence corner.
Edith, watching him with trepidation, cried out in admiration of his
horsemanship. The woman, satisfied that the groom was really a master
horseman, sat down on the grass by the gate to read.
Archie, in his anxiety to save the child from mishap, had given little
attention to the traffic on the road until he awoke to the fact that the
same touring car had passed twice within a short period. It was a smart
vehicle with a chauffeur in gray livery whose figure tantalized his
memory. It flashed upon him in a moment that this was either the
Governor's New York chauffeur or some one who bore a striking
resemblance to that person. The Governor had hinted at the summoning of
many assistants to aid in his undertaking, and it was not at all
unlikely that he had drawn upon his New York establishment. But for the
child to be abducted during the progress of the riding lesson might lead
to unpleasant consequences and was not at all to Archie's taste.
The woman's attention was wholly relaxed and she scarcely glanced up as
he passed her. There could be no better opportunity for the seizure, as
the laborers were widely distributed over the farm. A stretch of
woodland opposite the Congdon gate precluded the possibility of
interruption from that quarter.
The gray-clad chauffeur passed again, this time in a more powerful car.
He made no sign but Archie caught a glimpse of the Governor busily
talking with a strange man. Convinced now that the Governor's plans were
culminating and that the car was making these circuits of the farm to
enable the occupants to get their bearings, Archie awaited anxiously the
next appearance of the machine. When at the end of a quarter of an hour
it shot into view he was at the farthest point from the gate indicated
by the woman as the range of Edith's exercise.
"That girth needs pulling up a little; let's dismount here," said
Archie, drawing up under a tree at the roadside. The woman was deeply
preoccupied with her book and apparently oblivious to the traffic on the
road. Archie pretended to be having trouble with the saddle, as he
filled in the time necessary for the car to reach him. It passed the
gate more rapidly than on previous occasions, but slowed down at once
and a familiar voice greeted him.
"Pardon me, but is this the road to Tiffin? I'm afraid we've been
running round in a circle."
"Straight ahead! And I suggest that you be in a hurry about it!" said
Archie, seeing that the woman had risen and was now moving rapidly
toward them. The Governor stepped jauntily from the running board, with
his hands thrust into the pockets of his duster. There was a twinkle in
his eyes as he noted Archie's trepidation. He glanced toward the woman
indifferently, removed his cap and addressed the little girl, who stood
beside the pony with her hand on the bridle. A second car drew up just
behind the Governor's machine. The woman was calling loudly to Edith to
come to her immediately.
"Edith--Miss Edith Congdon," said the Governor, smiling. "Your mother
wants you very, very much and I've come to take you to her. If you will
jump into the car you will see her very soon. We must be in a hurry or
that woman will catch you. You needn't have a fear in the world. Will
you trust me?"
The child hesitated, and Archie, enraged at the deliberation with which
the Governor was managing the abduction, really leaving it to the child
whether she should go or not, saw the look of fear she bent upon the
approaching woman--a look that yielded to wonder and amazement and hope
as she jumped nimbly into the machine.
[Illustration: "We must be in a hurry or that woman will catch you"]
At the same moment two men sprang out of the second car and rushed at
Archie. One of them flung a carriage robe over his head and twisted it
round his throat, then they gathered him up, head and heels, and tossed
him over the fence. The thing could not have been managed more neatly if
it had been rehearsed. The Governor leaned over the fence and gazing
upon Archie, wriggling in a patch of briars, unconcernedly recited:
"'She who comes to me and pleadeth
In the lovely name of Edith
Shall not fail of what was wanted;
Edith means the blessed, therefore
All that she may wish or care for,
Shall, when best for her, be granted!'"
The two cars were enveloped in a cloud of dust when Archie, tearing the
blanket from his head, rose to confront the screaming woman. Twice he
had seen the child stolen, and the first occasion had not been without
its drama, but the Governor had made of the second the sheerest farce.
The woman berated him roughly for his stupidity while he attempted to
explain.
"The man who talked to the little girl knew her--called her by name.
They've probably just gone for a ride."
This only increased the woman's indignation and he roused himself to
placate her.
"I had better run to the house and telephone to the Tiffin police," he
suggested.
To his infinite surprise she declared in alarm that this must not be
done; she would go herself and tell the child's father what had occurred
and let him deal with the matter. This was wholly beyond his
comprehension and to conceal his emotions he fell back heavily upon his
rôle of the country bumpkin, complaining of imaginary injuries and
vowing that he would have the law on the men who assaulted him. The
woman glanced carefully about, as though to make sure they had not been
observed and then set off for the house. She took several steps and then
turned to say:
"Don't talk about this--do you understand? You're not to say a word
about it. I'll see Mr. Putney Congdon and tell him just how it
happened."
"But if the police should ask me--"
"Don't be a fool! The police are not going to know about this. Those
were Mr. Putney Congdon's orders in case anything like this happened.
And you needn't talk to the other hands about it either. I'll fix the
foreman; all you've got to do is to keep your mouth shut."
Her assumption that Mr. Putney Congdon would not be greatly aroused by
the abduction of his daughter was anything but clarifying. Archie
returned the pony to the barn and was sitting in the door brooding upon
the prevailing madness of the human race when Grubbs found him.
"Well, it certainly beats hell!" the man remarked, wiping his brow with
the back of his hand.
"There's a good deal in what you say," Archie mournfully assented. "I
want you to know that it wasn't my fault. Those fellows--there were
about six of 'em--jumped on me and tried to choke me to death and then
pitched me over the fence and it was all over in half a second. I
apologize if that's what you expect."
"I don't expect a damned thing! That fool woman said I wasn't to pester
you about it as you wasn't to blame, which makes me sore, for at the
first jump I was goin' to call the sheriff and turn y' over. But from
what she says we're not to say a word--not a word, mind y'! Y' can't
beat it!"
"I certainly shan't attempt to beat it," replied Archie sadly. "I'd like
to catch a March hare just to tell him that some human beings are a lot
crazier than he is. We haven't done justice to the intellectual powers
of the rabbit."
The foreman blinked but the remark penetrated and he burst into a loud
guffaw. That a child should be picked up in the road and carried away
was startling enough but that nothing was to be done about it was so
egregious that words failed to do justice to it. It was only eleven
o'clock and he told Archie that he might spend an hour at the woodpile,
even guiding him to that unromantic spot and initiating him into the
uses of saw and ax.
V
Three days in the harvest field brought Archie to a new respect for his
daily bread. He found joy in the discovery that he had strength to throw
into the scale against man's necessities. He was taking a holiday from
life itself; and he was content to bide his time until the vacation
ended. He was passing through an ordeal and if he emerged alive he would
be a wiser and better man. He planned a life with Isabel that should be
spent wholly in the open. Cities should never know him again. Isabel
lived now so vividly in his mind that trifles he had not thought of in
their meetings became of tremendous importance; foolish things, lover's
fatuities. There was a certain grave deliberation of speech, more
deliberate when the sentence was to end in laughter; this he knew to be
adorable. There was the tiniest little scar, almost imperceptible, over
one of her temples; it was the right one, he remembered. An injury in
childhood, perhaps; he grieved over it as though he had seen the cruel
wound inflicted. And she had a way of laying her hand against her cheek
that touched him deeply as he thought of it. Her hands were the most
wonderful he had ever seen; useful, capable hands, slim and long.
When he thought of the castigation she had given him in those dark days
when they so miserably misunderstood each other, it helped to remember
her hands; they were hands that could be only the accompaniment of a
kind and generous heart. There was the troublesome cousin who loved her;
but he consoled himself with the reflection that she would not have
mentioned the man if she had really cared for him; and yet this might be
only a blind. He would have an eye to that cousin. The buried treasure
he hadn't taken very seriously. In spite of all the remarkable things
that had happened to him he still had moments of incredulity, and in the
midst of an Ohio wheatfield, with the click and clatter of the reapers
in his ears and the dry scent of the wheat in his nostrils, to dream of
buried gold was transcendent folly.
Gossip from the farmhouse reached him at the back door and he was alert
for any sign that Putney Congdon meditated leaving. Eliphalet had not
returned; he judged that Perky, probably inspired by the Governor, had
frightened the old man into taking a long journey. The woman who had
cared for Edith had left; he got that direct from Grubbs, who poured out
confidences freely as they smoked together after the twilight supper.
"Say, I guess I sized you up all wrong. You don't act like a bum at all;
I guess you and me might rent a farm round here somewhere and make some
money out of it next year. You're the first hobo I ever saw who could do
a day's work without cryin'."
The queer ways of the Congdons had not been referred to between them
until the third evening, when they took counsel of their tobacco apart
from the other men, sprawling on the grass in a friendly intimacy that
Archie found flattering. A plain, hard-fisted farmer liked him and
showed a preference for his society; the thing was unbelievable.
"I get it through the kitchen that the old man's son's goin' to clear
out tonight. Orders was sent to have a machine ready to take him to town
at eleven o'clock. Guess there was nothing the matter with him nohow--y'
know what these rich young fellas are, and they say the old man's worth
a mint. The idea of a big grown man havin' a nurse take care of him
makes me sick. I ain't seen that fella since he came. Telegram phoned
out this evenin' made 'im jump out o' bed, they say, and he's off for
somewhere tonight. Sees a chance to make a lot of money most likely."
Archie cautiously changed the subject, but he was already planning his
departure. The Governor had bidden him follow Congdon and here were his
marching orders. The prospect of playing the spy upon Congdon had grown
no less disagreeable since the Governor had told him that this was to be
his next duty. The only thing that reconciled him to the unattractive
task was the assurance that Congdon would set out at once for Heart o'
Dreams Camp, where Isabel presumably was now established. To bother
himself further with the Congdons was not to his liking; he had ceased
wishing that he had killed Putney; he wished now that the whole family
were at the other side of the world where they wouldn't so persistently
interfere with his affairs.
Grubbs complained bitterly because upon him fell the duty of getting
Putney into town to catch a west-bound train at midnight.
"You'd think we run a taxi joint here! Where am I goin' to get a night's
rest, I'd like to know!"
With the seven-mile tramp to town before him Archie was unable to
sympathize with Grubbs' longing for slumber. He left the foreman
tinkering the machine in which Putney was to be borne to the station,
changed his hat for his cap and stole out of the sleeping quarters to
the road.
The thought that he was on his way to Isabel lightened his step, and he
trudged along with frequent invocations of the stars. He carried nothing
in his pockets but the sealed address the Governor's sister had given
him; the verse in Isabel's writing, and a roll of bills the Governor had
pressed upon him when they parted.
Reaching town, he found himself with an hour to spare. He got his bag
from the station and bought a ticket. There was only one upper
available, said the agent with the usual optimistic suggestion of ticket
agents that something better might be found when the train came in. He
spent half an hour at a hotel cleaning up and changing to the clothing
he had discarded at Cleveland.
... Grubbs carried Putney's luggage across the platform with dogged
stride, passing Archie without a sign of recognition. He was followed by
a tall man in a gray suit whose left arm was supported by a sling.
Grubbs took hasty leave and the two travelers were left alone.
"A warm night," Congdon remarked.
Archie agreed to this, a trifle huskily. Congdon was not a bad looking
fellow; his tone and manner, and his face, as revealed by the platform
lights, encouraged the belief that he was a gentleman.
"No red caps here, I suppose," said Congdon with a glance toward the
station.
"I fancy not," Archie replied. "I'll be glad to help you with your
bags."
"Oh, thank you! I have a game shoulder,--nearly well now, but it gives
me a twinge occasionally. The train's on time, I believe."
A blast from the locomotive and a humming of the rails woke the station
to life. Archie grabbed the larger of Congdon's bags and led the way
toward a voice bawling "Chicago sleeper." Congdon showed his ticket for
lower three and climbed in; Archie remaining behind to negotiate for
space.
"Nothing left but uppers; you can take upper three."
He found Congdon in the aisle disposing of his effects.
"I've got the upper half of the section," said Archie, "But I promise
not to be a nuisance to you."
"That will be all right. I asked for a stateroom but you can never get
what you want at these way stations. I'm going to smoke for a while."
Archie threw his suitcase into the upper berth and clung to the
curtains as the train started with a jerk. Here was a situation so
utterly confounding that his spirit sank under the weight of it. He was
not only traveling with a man he had shot; he was obliged to sleep over
him. The propinquity made it possible to finish the business begun at
Bailey Harbor and be done with him. He felt the perspiration trickling
down his cheeks. The possibilities of the next few hours were hideous;
what if he were unable to resist an impulse to give Putney Congdon his
quietus; what if--
He staggered toward the smoking compartment and found it unoccupied save
for Congdon, who had planted himself in a chair and was trying to light
a cigarette. Archie sank upon the leather divan and struck and held a
match for him.
Congdon thanked him with a nod and remarked that the weather was
favoring the farmers.
Archie, satisfied that the rather melancholy blue eyes had found in him
nothing familiar or suggestive of their earlier and tragic meeting,
heartily commended the weather as excellent for the crops. Congdon gave
a hitch to his shoulder occasionally and flinched when a sudden jerk of
the car threw him against the window frame. The glint of pain in his
eyes sent a wave of remorse through Archie's soul. Congdon bore his
affliction manfully. There was about him nothing even remotely
suggestive of Eliphalet Congdon's grotesque figure or excited, choppy
speech. He had suffered and perhaps his wound was not alone responsible
for his pallor or the hurt look in his eyes. As Congdon played nervously
with his watch chain, he inspected Archie with quick furtive glances.
"I'm all banged up--nerves shot to pieces," he said abruptly, turning
his gaze intently upon Archie.
"That's rough. Used to be troubled a good deal myself."
The sound of his own voice and the consciousness that the victim of his
bullet was reaching out to him for sympathy brought back his courage. He
would be very kind to Putney Congdon. Even apart from the disabled
shoulder there was a pathos in the man. Archie felt that in happier
moments he could become very fond of Putney Congdon. He looked like a
chap it would be pleasant to sit with at a table for two in a quiet club
corner.
"Chicago?" Congdon asked. It seemed to Archie that he threw into the
question a hope that they were to be fellow travelers to the end of the
journey. Here was something, a turn of the screw, that even the Governor
could not have foreseen.
The conductor came for their tickets and Archie took advantage of the
interruption to ponder the ethics and the etiquette of his predicament;
but there was no precedent in all history for such a synchronization of
two gentlemen who had recently engaged in a midnight duel. Archie was
appalled by the consciousness that he and Congdon were really hitting it
off.
The tickets surrendered, Congdon drew out his watch, said that he had
been sleeping badly and hated to go to bed. He sat erect and tried to
reach his coat pocket. His face twitched with the pain of the effort.
"I had a bottle of dope I'm supposed to take to help me sleep; must have
left it in my bag. Will you poke the button, please?"
"Can't I get it for you?" asked Archie.
"You are very kind. It's the small satchel--a lot of stuff in it all
mixed up. A bottle about as long as your hand."
Opening the bag in Congdon's berth Archie's hand fell upon a photograph
that lay on top. The face swam before his eyes and he pitched forward in
his agitation, bumping his head viciously against the window. It was a
photograph of Isabel Perry, an Isabel somewhat younger than the girl he
knew, but Isabel--indubitably Isabel! Another dive into the bag's
recesses brought up the photograph of Edith Congdon that had been
snatched from the frame in the Bailey Harbor cottage. This was
explicable enough, but the likeness of Isabel in Congdon's satchel was
utterly inexplicable and astounding. He groped for the bottle and crept
back to the smoking compartment.
"That's right; thanks. One teaspoonful in water if you don't mind. This
is really quite unpardonable. You are very good to bother with me; I'd
counted on the porter's help. Had a trained nurse for a while but you
can't go traveling over the country with a nurse, and the woman had
begun to bore me to death. I'd rather die than have doctors and nurses
trailing me about."
"They're odious," Archie assented. "There! Now have a cigarette to kill
the taste."
"Good idea! One more and I'll turn in."
A cigarette is the most insignificant of peace offerings, and yet Archie
experienced a pleasurable thrill as Putney Congdon accepted one from his
case. They were very good cigarettes, of a brand with which Archie had
supplied himself generously at Tiffin and Congdon expressed his approval
of them.
Congdon, the custodian of a photograph of Isabel Perry, demanded a more
careful inspection, and Archie studied him with renewed interest. Isabel
had in no way indicated that she knew Congdon; it was Mrs. Congdon that
she was trying to serve, and Isabel was hardly a girl to bestow her
photograph upon a married man. Congdon had no business with the
photograph and Archie bitterly resented its presence in the man's
luggage.
He jumped when Congdon announced that he was ready to turn in, followed
him to the berth, and helped him to undress, even touching the wounded
shoulder.
"That little scratch there's coming along all right now, but the bone's
sore; suppose I'll feel weather changes as old chaps do who have
rheumatism."
"Whistle if you need anything in the night," said Archie, and allowed
the porter to push him into the upper berth, the first he had ever
occupied. Wakened now and then by unusual jars, he heard nothing of
Congdon. He stifled a desire to steal Isabel's photograph and in time
slept the sleep of exhaustion.
When they were roused by the porter he helped Congdon into his clothes,
chose a clean shirt for him and laughingly offered to shave him.
Congdon regarded him quizzically.
"You're a mighty good fellow! It's about time I was introducing myself.
My name is Congdon. I live in New York; just taking a little trip for my
health; going up into the lakes."
"Comly's my name. No particular plans myself. Just knocking about a
bit."
By the time Archie had made his toilet they were running into the
Chicago station.
"Suppose we have breakfast in the station restaurant?" Congdon
suggested. "If I go up to the University Club I'm likely to run into
somebody who'll want me to do things. And I'm not up to it; really I'm
not."
"I understand perfectly," said Archie.
"And see here, old man; I don't want to force myself on you, but you've
been awfully decent to me. Don't be alarmed, but to tell you the honest
truth my nerves are in such a state that I'm afraid to be alone. If a
poor neurasthenic won't bore you too much I wish you'd let me tag you
till my train leaves tonight. I promise not to be a nuisance and if it
becomes unbearable, just chuck me!"
They not only breakfasted together, but after motoring through the parks
they spent an hour at the art institute and then Archie acted as host at
luncheon. The fear of being accosted by an acquaintance made him
nervous, and his anxiety seemed to be shared by Congdon, who chose an
eating place unfrequented by travelers. By this time Archie was fully
committed to the further journey into Michigan and contributed his half
to the purchase of a stateroom for the trip.
"I'm using you; you can see that I'm using you, making a valet of you,
dragging you into the wilderness!" exclaimed Congdon. "But I always was
a selfish whelp."
He made the confession with a grim smile, and an impatient sweep of his
free arm as though brushing himself out of existence.
Archie's intimate friends were few; men thought him difficult, or looked
upon him as an invalid to be left to his own devices; and yet he felt
that he had known Putney Congdon for years.
On a bench in Grant Park Congdon swung himself into a confidential
attitude.
"Life's the devil's own business," he said with a deep sigh. "I've got
to a place where I don't care what happens--everything black anywhere I
look. I've been trying for the past four or five years to do things God
Almighty never intended me to do. I was happily married; two beautiful
children; none finer,--but I'll shorten up the story so you can see what
a monkey fate has made of me. My father's a crank, a genius in his way,
but decidedly eccentric. My mother died when I was a youngster and as I
was an only child father tried all sorts of schemes of educating me,
whimsical notions, one after another. The result was I've never got a
look in anywhere; unfitted for everything. After I married he still
tried to hold the rein on me, wanted to put me into businesses I hated
and kept meddling with my domestic affairs. All this made me weak and
irresolute. I have a mechanical turn--not a strong bent but the only
thing that ever tugged at me very hard. Almost made some important
inventions, but only almost. About the time I'd get a good start father
would shoot me off into something else, and if I refused he'd cut off my
allowance. Never set me up for myself; keeps me dependent on his bounty.
Humiliating; positively humiliating!"
"I can imagine so," Archie agreed. He had now got the explanation of the
blue prints in the Bailey Harbor house and found himself deeply
interested in Congdon's recital.
"Well, sir, I was about to offer myself as exhibit _A_ on a slab in the
nearest morgue," Congdon continued, "when I met a young woman who
_seemed_ to understand me, and right there's where I made the greatest
mistake of my life. It was last spring when that happened. Talk about
plausibility, Comly! The word never had any meaning until that girl came
along. She made a fool of me; that's the short of it. I took her into
dinner at the house of some friends right here in Chicago--I lived here
about a month trying to learn a patent medicine business father had gone
into. The thing was a fake; a ghastly imposition on the public. Such
things have a weird fascination for father; it's simply an obsession,
for he doesn't need the money."
He was wandering into a description of various other dubious businesses
that had attracted Eliphalet Congdon when Archie, nervously twisting a
folded newspaper, brought him back to the girl who had played so
mischievous a part in his life.
"Oh yes! Well, I was ready to jump at anything and she diagnosed my case
with marvelous penetration. Really, Comly, it was staggering! She said
I faced life with the soul of a coward; she'd got an inkling, I suppose,
of my father's freakishness and injustice; and she told me I lacked
assurance and initiative. Suggested that I go armed and shoot any one
who stepped on my toes. All this with a laugh, of course; but
nevertheless I felt that she really meant it. She said a man can do
anything he really determines to do; it's up to him. She recited a piece
of verse to the effect that a man fears his fate too much if he won't
put his life to the test. I was fool enough to believe it. I tried to
follow her advice. It ended in my having a row with my father that beat
all the other rows I ever had with him and he turned against my
wife--said she was trying to estrange us. And when I ran away to escape
from the nasty mess he sent her telegrams in my name threatening to
kidnap the children and he did in fact kidnap my little daughter.
Snatched her away from her mother and carried her out to one of his
farms in Ohio. But my wife's a great woman, Comly; one of the dearest,
bravest women in the world. She's played a clever trick on the old
gentleman and got the child back again and I'm damned glad of it. I got
a message that the little girl's up in Michigan, so that's really where
I'm headed for. I don't dare believe that _she_ sent me the message, but
I hope to God she did. That's the way things have gone with me ever
since I listened to that girl. Everything all upside down. She's a
siren; a dangerous character; I ought to have known better!"
"She's beautiful, I suppose," Archie ventured, fanning himself with his
hat.
"Devilishly handsome!" Congdon exclaimed.
Archie had suffered a blow but he was meeting it bravely. Having
believed that Isabel had given him this same advice quite spontaneously,
it was with a shock that he realized that she had offered it in similar
terms to Congdon. There was no question as to the identity of the girl
who had bidden Congdon plant his back to the wall and defy the world; no
one but Isabel would ever have done that.
"And this young woman," Archie asked after a long glance at the lake,
"pardon me if I ask whether she affected you in a sentimental way? Did
you well, er--"
"If you mean am I in love with her," began Congdon, "I believe I can say
honestly that it hardly amounts to that. And yet she made a curious
impression on me. You know how it is, Comly! A man may love his wife
with all his heart and soul and he may mean to be awfully square with
her; and yet there may be a face or a voice now and then that will,
well, you know, make him wobble a little. I did think about that girl a
lot; it was damned funny how I thought of her. She'd pop up in my mind
when I had absolutely willed that I would never think of her again. And
yet the more I resolved to get her out of my mind the more stubbornly
she'd keep coming into my thoughts.
"I suppose in a way it was my pride; I hated to think that a girl as
pretty and clever and attractive as she is thought me a contemptible,
slinking coward. We all want to be heroes to women; it's one of the
damned weaknesses of our sex, Comly. I'd ceased to be a hero to my wife,
who's the gentlest and most long suffering woman alive, but this other
woman rather gave me hope that I might qualify for the finals in _her_
eyes. Now, Comly, I see that you're a steady-going fellow; never thrown
off your balance; not a chap to be made a fool of by a girl who amuses
herself at your expense at a dinner party. I wish you'd tell me frankly
just what you think of this?"
"I'd say," replied Archie, attempting to meet this demand with a
philosophic air, "I'd say that the girl probably played the game on
every man she thought she could impose on. Merely a part of her social
technique; a stunt, so to speak, which she'd found would make us weak
males sit up and take notice. If I were you I'd clean forget the whole
business; on the other hand there's the suspicion that you appealed to
her strongly, a girlish fancy, perhaps, and she thought you were the
sort of fellow that would be hit harder if she roused you to action. I
tell you, Congdon, women are curious creatures. Just when you think
you've got your hand on a pretty bird she flutters away and sings
merrily in another part of the wood."
"Right!" ejaculated Congdon. "By George, that expresses it exactly!"
"About your child, up there in Michigan," said Archie, pleased that he
was scoring as a man of wisdom, "it's wholly possible that your wife
sent you the wire as an approach to a reconciliation."
"Oh, Lord, no! You don't know my wife, Comly. You see I got answers to
the telegrams father sent her in my name and she hit right back at me!
Don't you believe that she's coaxing me to come back to her. And here's
the message I got out there in Ohio that caused me to jump for the
train."
He produced from his pocket a crumpled telegram which read:
Your daughter is in safe hands at Huddleston, Michigan. Proceed to
that point with serenity and contemplate the stars with a tranquil
spirit.
This was so clearly the Governor's work that Archie found it difficult
to refrain from laughing.
"My wife," Congdon continued, "would never send a message like that; you
may be sure of it. You may think it queer that I set off, when I was ill
and not feeling up to the trip, on the strength of a message like that.
But ever since that girl told me I oughtn't to hesitate when I heard the
bugle I can't resist the temptation to act on the spur of the moment.
I'm a fool, I suppose. Tell me I'm a fool, Comly."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. There's always the chance that the girl
had sized you up right and gave you sound advice. Don't answer if you
don't want to, but have you really done anything, anything you wouldn't
have done if that girl hadn't told you to step on the world a little
harder?"
Congdon's free hand worked convulsively; he bent closer to Archie and
whispered:
"I've killed a man!"
"You murdered a man!" Archie gasped.
"Not a question about it, my dear fellow! It was up at my house on the
Maine shore. After father had driven my wife away I went there to look
at the ruins of my home. A sentimental pilgrimage, feeling that I'd made
a mess of everything and mighty blue. I was mooning through the house
when I ran into a burglar. The scoundrel had gone to bed in the guest
room. I was scared to death when I opened the door and spotted him but I
thought of that girl's advice and pulled my gun and shot him. Couldn't
have missed the fellow across a bedroom. As I ran down the stairway he
took a shot at me; that's what's the matter with my shoulder. I got up
to Portland and a doctor I know there fixed me up and kept the thing
dark. I passed at the hospital as the victim of a pistol wound
accidentally inflicted."
"Well, I'd say you're out of it easy. Of course you didn't kill him or
he wouldn't have been able to wound you. I congratulate you on your
escape!"
"Thanks, Comly; but you see he didn't die immediately, but crawled off
and breathed his life out in some lonely place. It's horrible! Of course
he was a thief and had no business in the house; but as I sit here on
this park bench I'm a murderer! I never got beyond the headlines in the
Portland papers; simply couldn't bear it and haven't dared look at a
newspaper since. I shot a poor devil who had quite as much right to live
as I have. The thing will hang over me till I die! I don't know just why
I am confiding in you, but something tells me that you can look at the
thing straight. If you say I ought to go to Maine and surrender myself
and tell what I know about the shooting of that man I'll do it."
"Most certainly not!" cried Archie with mournful recollection of his own
speculations on the same point in the hours when he believed that he
himself was responsible for Hoky's death. The emotional strain of the
talk was telling on him. He had never expected to hear from Congdon's
lips the story of their duel at Bailey Harbor. Congdon had no idea that
he had fired not at a man but at a reflection in a mirror; and it was a
question whether common decency didn't demand that he set Congdon
straight. Congdon in all likelihood wouldn't believe him. Nobody would
believe such a story! And certainly if he should tell all he knew of the
Congdons and Isabel, and wind up by acknowledging that it was he who had
been in the Bailey Harbor house on the night of the shooting, Congdon
would probably be so frightened that he would run away in terror to seek
police protection.
Congdon, unaware of his companion's perturbation, rose and suggested a
walk to freshen them up before train time.
"I thank God I fell in with you," he said with feeling. "Just talking to
you has helped me a whole lot!"
Archie, his guilt heavy upon him, walked up Michigan Avenue beside the
man he had shot.