THE OUTCOME
Blake stood where the lovers had left him. Their sudden and seemingly
indifferent leave-taking had added its quota of depression to his
already sinking spirit. When he had come ashore and had been
intercepted by Mr. Leslie he already had begun to feel the reaction
from the strain and excitement of those interminable minutes and hours
on the bridge--the frightful responsibility of keeping all those
hundreds of men out on the gigantic structure, which at any second
might have crashed down with them to certain destruction.
Now even the remembrance that he had saved the bridge could not
stimulate him. Mr. Leslie's friendly praise, even his more than cordial
hand-grip, seemed meaningless. The world had suddenly turned drab and
gray. Her father had stated vaguely that some one was waiting to speak
with him in the office. He had hastened in, half hoping to find
_her_--and had found only them.
He had saved the bridge; he had found strength to do the square thing
by Mr. Leslie and even Ashton. And now they were all gone, even Jimmy,
and he was alone--alone! _She_ had come with the party. He was certain
that some one had told him that. Yet she had not spoken to him. She had
not even let him see her!
He went heavily across the room to the desk, and dropping into a chair,
began methodically to gather up and fold the torn and rumpled
blueprints upon the floor. But even an almost automatic habit has its
limitations. A drawing slipped, half-folded, from his listless fingers.
He groaned and leaned forward upon the desk, with his face buried in
his arms.
Genevieve came out from her hiding place very quietly, and stood gazing
at Blake. It was the first time that she had ever seen him give way to
grief or suffering. Always he had stood before her firm and unyielding,
even when most certain of defeat. It had never occurred to her that he
could be other than hard and defiant over his own struggles and sorrows.
All the mother-love of her woman's nature welled up from her heart in a
wave of tenderness and compassion. She went to him and laid her hand
softly on his dishevelled head.
"Tom!" she soothed. "Tom! You poor boy!"
The touch of her hand had stricken his body rigid with suspense. But at
the sound of her voice he slowly raised his head and fixed his eyes
upon her in an incredulous stare.
"It is I, Tom. Don't you know me?" she half whispered, shrinking back a
little way before the wildness of his look.
"_You_!" he gasped. He rose heavily. "Excuse me. I thought you were
with them--on the car."
"Did not papa tell you?"
"He said something. I thought I had mistaken him. But you _are_ here."
"Yes. I--I waited to speak with you--to tell you--"
"You told me that night all that's necessary," he said, averting his
head to hide the look of pain that he could not repress.
"I was beside myself!" she replied. "You should have known that, Tom.
How else could I have told you--told you--"
"The truth!" he broke in. "Don't think I blame you, Miss Jenny. Don't
blame yourself."
"No, no, you do not understand!" she insisted. "Wait--what did you and
papa do?"
"Made it up. So that's one thing less to worry you. He did it
handsomely. Cracked me up for saving his bridge."
"Your bridge, too!"
"What! You know that?"
"Yes, and that you're to be partner with Mr. Griffith--finish your
bridge, and build that great dam you invented, and--and if you wish, be
partner in some of papa's business."
"That's too much. I told him I'd be satisfied with the credit for my
bridge truss."
"Only that? Surely you'll not give up the bridge?"
"Well, 't isn't fair to kick a man when he's down. Ashton will have a
tough enough time of it, I guess, from what your father said. He's to
be allowed to resign, on condition that he acknowledges that he
borrowed my bridge truss."
"Borrowed?"
"Yes. It seems that his father is one of your father's particular
friends. So that's all settled."
She looked at him with radiant eyes. "Tom! You're even bigger--more
generous--than I had thought!"
"Don't!" he muttered, drawing back. "It makes it so much harder. You
don't realize!"
"Don't I?" she whispered, the color mounting swiftly in her down-bent
face. "That night--that fearful night, I--Tell me--has James explained
how we searched for you?--everywhere, all those days! We telegraphed
all over the country. James searched the city, and papa had all his
private agents--Where did you go?"
"South."
"South? Oh, and all this time--But that's past now--all the dreadful
waiting and anxiety! Could you but know our delight when Mr. Griffith
telegraphed that you were here!"
"What! Then you came because--"
"Yes, yes, to find you. Don't you see? We should have been here sooner,
only the telegram was not delivered until after midnight, and I had to
persuade Aunt Amice. She refused, until after I said I'd come anyway.
But of course she doesn't know, even now. Oh, Tom! Tom!--to think
you're over that dreadful attack and--"
"Attack?" he inquired.
"The one that started that night--through my fault--mine!"
"Your fault?" he repeated. "How on earth do you make that out?"
"I should have seen--understood! James had tried to explain; but I was
overwrought. Not until you were going--But that is all past, dear! I've
come to tell you that now you must let me help you. It is not right for
you to fight alone--to refuse my aid, when I--when I--love you!"
"Jenny! You can't mean it? After that night--after what I did that
night!"
"Yes," she whispered. "If you--if you'll forgive me."
"But--the drinking?"
"You can win! You proved it that night, when you crushed the glass. I
no longer fear, Tom. All my doubt has gone. Even without my help I know
that you--But I want to do my share, dear. If you're--you're willing,
we'll be married, and--"
"Jenny!" He stood for a moment, overcome. Then the words burst from his
deep chest: "Girl! Girl!--God! to think that I have that to tell you!
Yes, it's true--I proved it that night--I won out that night! Do you
hear, Jenny? I broke the curse! I proved it when I left you--went out
into the night--after drinking all that whiskey--went down into the
stockyards, past the worst saloons, all the joints. I went in and stood
about, in all the odor--whiskey, beer--one after the other, I went in,
and came out again, without having touched a drop. All the time I kept
remembering that I had lost you; but--I knew I had found myself."
"Tom!"
"When I had made sure, I went to the freight yards, got into a
fruit-car, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I was on the way to New
Orleans. Been hoboing ever since."
"Oh!"
"Best thing for me. Put kinks into my body, but took 'em all out of my
brain. About the drinking--it wasn't that night alone. I've kept
testing myself every chance--even took a taste to make sure. Now I
know. It's the simple truth, Jenny. I've won."
"My _man_!" she cried, and she came to him as he opened his arms.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Out of the Primitive, by Robert Ames Bennet