It was a nasty little article by a fellow literary craftsman from the
Pacific coast, that set me off, brought me to the full realisation that
I was but playing the usual, conventional game,--that roused me to the
determination that I must no longer sail under false colours.
This writer retailed how, after a brief, disillusioning few weeks
together, Hildreth had grown tired of the poverty and spareness of the
living a poet was able to make for her ... of how I was lazy, impliedly
dirty ... of how, up against realities, we had parted ... I had, he
stated, in fact, deserted her, and was now on my way back to Kansas,
riding the rods of freights, once more an unsavoury outcast, a knight of
the road ... he ended with the implication, if I remember correctly,
that the reception that awaited me in Kansas, would be, to say the
least, problematical.
Of course this story was made up out of whole cloth.
'Gene Mallows afterward informed me that the big literary club in San
Francisco that this hack belonged to had seriously considered
disciplining him by expulsion for his unethical behaviour toward a
fellow-writer.
* * * * *
But I maintain that it was good that he penned the scurrilous article.
For I had allowed happiness to lull my radical conscience asleep. It was
now goaded awake. I held a conference with Hildreth.
"There is now only one thing for me to ... to come right out with it
that you and I are living here together in a free union, and that the
love we bear each other not only justifies, but sanctifies our doing as
we do--as no legal or ecclesiastical procedure could....
"That here we are and here we intend to abide, on these principles--no
matter what the rest of the world does or says or thinks."
"I admit, Johnnie, that that would be the ideal way, but--" interrupted
Darrie--
"But nothing--I'm tired of sneaking around, hiding from grocers and
butcher boys, when everybody knows--
"And besides, Hildreth," turning to her, taking her in my arms, kissing
her tenderly on the brow--"don't you see what it all means?
"As long as I pretend not to be living with you I'm considered a sly dog
that seduced his friend's wife and got away with it ... 'served him
right, the husband, for being such a boob!' ... 'rather a clever chap,
that Gregory, don't you know, not to be blamed much, eh?' ... 'only
human, eh?' ...--'she's a deuced pretty little woman, they say!'
"Can't you see the sly looks, the nudges they give each other, as they
gossip in the clubs?"
"Don't let your imagination get the better of you, please don't!" urged
Darrie....
"No," I went on, "I'm going to send right now for Jerome Miller, a
newspaper lad I knew in Kansas, who's now in New York on a paper, and
give him an interview that will set us right with the stupid world once
and for all. Miller was a fellow student of mine at Laurel ... he's a
fine, square chap who will give me a clean break ... was president of
our Scoop Club."
"Darling, darling, dearest," pleaded Hildreth, "I thought you had about
enough of the newspapers ... you've seen how they've distorted all our
ideals ... how our attempt to use them for propaganda has gone to smash
... how they pervert ... the filth and abuse they heap upon pioneers of
thought in any direction--why wake the wild beasts up again?"
"What's the use believing in anything, if we don't stick up for what we
believe?"
"Oh, go ahead, dear, if you feel so strongly about it, but--" and her
tiny, dark head drooped, "I'm a little wearied ... I want quiet and
peace a little while longer ... I'm getting the worst of it--not you so
much, or Penton.
"I'm the woman in the case.
"Remember the invitation the other night, from the Congregational
minister--for tea? He invited you for tea, you remember, and left me
out?"
"--remember, too," I replied fondly, caressing her head, "how I didn't
even deign to reply to the ---- ---- ---- ----!"
"Sh!" putting her hand gently and affectionately over my mouth, "don't
swear so ... very well, poke the wild beasts again!... but we'll only
serve as sport for another Roman holiday for the newspapers."