The light shone only on her averted cheek. "I was so afraid ... you
wouldn't ask me!"
"Silly girl! When every infinitesimal part of me aches and cries out to
you! I can't believe yet that you've said yes."
"Yes," in joyous affection.
"And I will aim a lifetime toward making you glad you've said it!"
"I'll always be glad, no matter what comes."
"I've got to let you go now--it must be almost three.... And I'm not
going to kiss you, even now, dearest--dearest--dearest! I'll say it all
night to myself; I'll never use another word----"
"Well, hardly ever," she amended prettily.
"When we can be married, then you'll let me kiss you. And don't put me
off too long!"
He fingered the wheel thoughtfully; why let her out at all? No, he must
help protect her now.
"Good night, Jane ... dearest mine."
"Good-night ... my man."
His car sliced the friendly night that lay heavy on the hill road. He
whirled up the great half circle to the crest far to the east of the
cottage, and muffled the engine at the highest point. To his left, too
far away to be distinguished except as an irregular blackness against
the softer gray of the valley behind, lay the black peak of Crenshaw
Hill, the fatal shattered entries beyond it, the mourning shacks of
Hewintown near it. There was no light in them. Behind was the blur of
Shadow Valley, and the endless diminishing rollers of hills sloping
slowly to the salt gulf monotonous miles away. Before him lay
Adamsville, almost asleep; the symmetrical criss-cross of lights, like a
vast checker-board blending into the far distance, caught his
imagination. His heart sang aloud with his own happiness--an emotion so
overcoming, that he forced himself to think of lesser topics, to regain
mental balance before returning to the rapture of Jane again....
The iron city, an iron checker-board of lights.... The will-less men
moved here and there by great hands hidden in the opposing
darknesses--by capital's sleek and pudgy paw, by labor's grimed and
toil-stained fingers: behind these, moved by the greater mastery of the
forces of nature; by the mountain, and the iron grip it embodied; by the
touch of the golden god that was to-day its master. A futile game, for
the poor pawns ... where one in a thousand became king; and kingship
brought no joy, but only division and unrest. The blasted,
furnace-punished ore was material for the painful alchemy that made it
gold: more than this, the miners themselves, the stooped laborers, the
slatternly starved wives, the thin children, the corpses lifted from the
ruptured bowels of the hill, to a final scattering in some cheap pine
house of decay--all these were part of the horrid modern alchemy that
made them gold for his father's sake. That he had ever been a part of
it! Well, with Jane his, he was through with the old horrors....
Jane ... with an effort he brought his mind again to the scene before
him. The sleeping homes of the iron city, black in the darkness before
him! Each of those tiny houses held situations, problems, as complex as
that storm that must soon break over the cottage beyond the mining
section. They were all asleep, gathering strength for fresh outbreaks of
hatred and love.
What if they never woke? What if the sleep became a merciful finality,
sponging out the aimless unrest men called life? Who could say which
would be better?
For him, his problems simplified, glorified now by what Jane had said
to-night, life, with all its zest and joyous restlessness, was
infinitely preferable.
He must go on; he must make the complete break with his father, and
soon. It was a perilous thing, this going alone; but he knew that he was
able to do it, just as he had once roamed alone the hidden reaches of
the mountain.
He stood out from his car, to be nearer to the mountain. It was an
instinctive action he could not have explained. The soft strength of the
soil rose through him; he felt refreshed. It was not only battlefield,
but the cause of the struggle; it was the prize to be won by the angry
puppets its iron strings pulled here and there. There was no other
course he could follow; he felt a calm certainty that the mountain, the
great dark mother with its bleeding iron heart of red, understood this,
and was wholly in accord with it. The mountain understood it--and a
dearer, nearer heart, his from henceforth.
He slept at length peacefully.
Paul Judson pushed the next morning's paper over to Mary without words,
his stiff forefinger indicating the part he wished her to read. It was
an account of the previous night's meeting, featuring a florid write-up
of Pelham's emotional outburst.
She finished it without comment.
Her husband looked at her evenly. "There has never been any insanity in
either side of the family, or I would think Pelham came by this
naturally."
"He isn't a fool, Paul."
"Where does he think this will end? It's bad enough when we are united
against the perpetual unrest of the ignorant mob. But to have my son
turn against all that his ancestors fought for!"
Mary watched him thoughtfully. "You two cannot pull together, Paul. Why
not help him get somewhere else?"
"You mean----"
"You mentioned that Governor Tennant wanted to do you a favor, and
suggested Pell as mining inspector, or something. Wouldn't that
straighten out this situation?"
Paul looked at her doubtfully. "One of us has to make the break. Of
course, he'll make trouble wherever he is. But he is my son. A thing
like that might make him behave."
Finishing his coffee, he pushed his chair back raspingly over the
hardwood floor. Over in the boys' wing he called Ned. "Will you tell
Pelham I would like to speak to him?"
Father and eldest son walked quietly out over the untouched portion of
the outcrop before the house. "You don't want me to discuss with you the
unusual line of activity you have taken up, Pelham...."
"It is only fair to tell you, father, that I have joined the socialist
party."
"You don't intend to remain with the mining company."
Pelham gulped. This was what it must mean.
"I can get Bob Tennant to appoint you a State Mining Inspector. You can
live on the salary."
"There is no work I would rather do.... Of course, I can not change my
ideas."
"We'll regard it as settled. I'll wire him this morning."
Two days later, Pelham received the notification of the appointment,
just before Spence, the labor lawyer, had him on the phone. The young
mine-operator at once shared his information.
"That's splendid, Judson! I've got news too--the referendum was eight to
one for strike--and the national's wired that John Dawson's on the way!
Big John Dawson--now for some fireworks!"
This was progress, with a vengeance! Pelham was free at last of the
company; the revolution--at least in Adamsville--was heartily on its
way. With Jane's spirit backing him, and always beside him, he felt that
this hectic week had justified itself. Now for the triumphant clash!