AN UNHAPPY SCHOLAR
No sooner had Amos let Ellen go away from him than he regretted his
foolishness. He might as well have walked back with her to the house
where she lived and thus have been much longer in the half-paradise,
half-purgatory of her company. He did not cross to the next street as
he had intended, but walked rapidly after her.
The sun was setting and the river was bathed in golden light. Over all
lay a spell broken only by bird-songs. Men and women walked slowly; a
succession of lovers wandered arm-in-arm; automobiles moved quietly;
and occasionally a pair of horses trotted briskly by, drawing a
mistress who clung, for this hour at least, to the vehicle of an older
time. But Amos saw neither the river nor the pedestrians nor heard the
bird-songs; his eyes were fixed ahead searching for a figure which had
already vanished.
When he reached Ellen's habitation a sheltering twilight had fallen
and he sat down on a bench in the park. He saw lights shine here and
there and he thought that she might be lighting them, though his idea
of her duties was still vague. After a while he hid his face in his
hands. The ways of the world, the quickening of the pulse as night drew
on, the intercourse of delicate, silken-clad women and predatory men,
the prospect of fond assignations, the eluding of watchful wives and
guardians--it was the world of Evelyn Innes and Anna Karenina in which
Ellen was moving, though only a narrow space of street and wall divided
her from him. He felt that he should go mad.
Presently he saw that a car had glided into place before the Lanfair
house. The door opened and let out a soft glow and at once a tall man
and a short woman came down the steps and drove away. The man helped
his companion into the car with careful solicitude--it was, except for
one, the last drive which Stephen and Hilda were to have together. Amos
saw himself and Ellen going thus happily.
When it was quite dark he rose and went on his way, past other handsome
houses to a cross-street by which he approached the square. There again
he stood still as though his powers of locomotion were sufficient to
carry him only a short distance. The large, open space wore an air
of festivity. In the center, as from the center of a spider's web,
street-cars started to suburban districts, and round this center
circled perpetually the gleaming lights of automobiles. In a still
wider circle coincident with the pavement moved the human throng. At
the curb stood more or less permanent groups held by the eloquence of a
traveling quack or soap-vender.
The largest group listened to the loud singing and tambourine-playing
of the Salvation Army, and Amos, hearing their music, moved idly
toward them. The company was made up of two men and three women to
whom religion was not a dull habit, but a burning passion, and on
whose faces were recorded struggles as fierce as his own. Their leader
was a short man with immensely broad shoulders and a countenance
which expressed an almost savage earnestness. He had mounted a box in
order to be seen and he was speaking rapidly, reminding his audience
that they were sinners who needed a Saviour. He gesticulated with
disproportionately large hands, hardened by work in the steel mill. He
did not hold work to be a curse but a means of salvation.
Amos gazed without seeing and heard without understanding. Presently he
moved on down the street, looking absently at jewels and boxes of candy
and delicate slippers. In the window of the department store he saw a
sign, "New Titles in the Thinker's Library." Alas, the store was closed!
When he reached the Kloster it was almost midnight, but Grandfather was
awake and spoke feebly as soon as the door opened.
"Well?"
The vague question was startling. For an instant Amos could not
remember the object of his journey.
"Oh, yes," he cried catching his breath, "I saw her; she's all right;
she works hard."
"Will she come home?"
"No," said Amos. He stood with bent head, looking at the floor. He felt
a sharp envy of Ellen. After a while a slight movement startled him.
He saw Grandfather standing in the doorway. He had wrapped the sheet
about him and might have passed for the importunate ghost of the King
of Denmark. It seemed to Amos that Grandfather had been looking at him
for a long time.
"Did you try to persuade her to come home?"
"Yes," answered Amos vaguely.
"And she wouldn't listen?"
"No."
Grandfather went slowly back into his room and lay down. After a while
he uttered a sigh which seemed unending.