THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL
Nevertheless, the flying-machine episode played its part in the history
of the _Star_. Facts are like that. We refuse quite disdainfully to
recognize them, even crying "Fudge!" and "Nonsense!" and decline to put
them in the _Star_, or the _Sun_, or the _World_, or even in the sober
_Journal of the Society for the Enlargement of Human Heads_, but they
don't mind. They circle around us, with the sunshine flashing on their
wings, and all the simple and credulous people gaping up at them, and
they don't in the least care for our excellent platforms, constitutions,
and Bibles.
It was the flying-machine incident which was the immediate cause of the
return of Norton Carr. It was foreordained and likewise predestined that
he should return, but there had to be some proximate event. And what
better than a wandering flying-machine?
It was on a Sunday in May, such a perfect still morning as seems to come
only at that moment of the spring, and upon Sunday. I was sitting here
at my desk at the open window, busily writing. I could feel the warm,
sweet air of spring blowing in, I could hear the pleasant, subdued
noises from the barnyard, and by leaning just a little back I could see
the hens lazily fluffing their feathers in the sunny doorway of the
barn. I love such mornings.
The tender new shoots of the Virginia creeper were uncurling themselves
at the window ledge and feeling their way upward toward freedom--and
Nort put his head in among them.
"Hello, David!"
Though I had just been thinking of him, the sound of his voice startled
me. I looked around and saw him smiling very much in his old way.
"Nort, you rascal!" said I.
[Illustration: "I couldn't stay away another minute. I had to know what
the old Captain said and did when the flying-machine came to Hempfield"]
"David," he said, "I couldn't stay away another minute. I had to know
what the old Captain said and did when the flying-machine came to
Hempfield."
"Is that all you came back for?"
"May I come in?" And with that he climbed in at the window. I took him
by both his shoulders and looked him in the eye. I had a curious sense
of gladness in having him once more under my hand.
"You look thin, Nort, but I haven't any pity or sympathy for you. What
have you been up to now?"
We both forgot all about the flying-machine.
"Well, David," said he, "I've been finding out some things I didn't know
before--some things I can't do."
He was in a mood wholly unfamiliar to me, a sort of restrained, sad,
philosophical mood.
"You know," he continued, "I had a great idea for a novel----"
He paused and looked up at me, smiling rather sheepishly.
"Well, I started it----"
"You have!"
"Yes, I got the first two paragraphs written. And there I stuck. You see
I didn't know where to get hold; and then I thought I'd jump right into
the middle of the action, where it was hottest and most interesting--but
I found that my hero insisted on explaining everything to the heroine,
and wouldn't _do_ anything, and then, when I tried to think how I should
have it all come out, I found it didn't have any end, either. I leave it
to you, David, how any man is going to write a novel which he can
neither get into nor get out of?"
His face wore such a rueful, humorous look that I laughed aloud.
"It looks funny, I know," he said, "but it's really no laughing matter.
It seems to me I'm a complete fizzle."
"At twenty-five, Nort! And all this beautiful world around you! Why,
you've only to reach out your hand and take what you want."
I shall never forget the look on Nort's face as he leaned forward in his
chair, nor the words that seemed to be wrung out of his very soul:
"That's all right as philosophy, David, but I--want--Anthy."
I suppose I had known it all along, and should not have been surprised
or pained, and yet it was a moment before I could reply.
"Take her then, Nort," I said, "if you're big enough. But you can't
steal her, as they once stole their women; and you can't buy her, as
they do still."
Nort looked at me steadily.
"How, then?"
"You've got to win her, earn her. She's as able to take care of herself
as you are."
"I guess it's hopeless enough. There isn't much chance that a girl like
Anthy will see anything in a perfectly useless chap like me."
We sat for some time silent, Nort there in the chair at the end of the
table, I here by the window, and the warm air of spring coming in laden
with the heavy sweet odour of lilac blossoms. And I had a feeling at the
moment as though my hand were upon the destinies of two lives.
I don't know yet quite why I did it, but I leaned over presently and
opened the drawer in my desk where I keep my greatest treasures, and
took out a small package of letters. It was my prize possession, the
knowledge I had of the deep things in Anthy's life, a possession that I
had never thought I could share with any one, and yet at that moment it
seemed to me I wanted most of all to have Nort know with what a high and
precious thing he was dealing--the noble heart of a good woman.
So I gave him a glimpse of the Anthy I knew, told him about the secret
post-office box behind the portrait of Lincoln in the study of her
father's home, and of the letters she wrote and posted there. Then I
opened one of the letters and handed it to him. I watched him as he read
it, his hand trembling just a little. At last he looked up at me--with
his bare soul in his eyes. He got up slowly from his chair and looked
all about him, and then he said in a low voice, as if to himself:
"She was in here once, in this room, in this chair."
I have never been quite sure what Nort's mental processes were at that
moment, but at least they were swift, and as terribly serious as only
youth knows how to be. And absurd? Probably.
"David," he said, "I'm going away."
"Going away? Why?"
"David," said he, "I don't suppose there was ever in this world such a
great character as Anthy--I mean such a _truly_ great character."
He paused, looking at me intensely. If I had known that the next moment
was to be my last I should still have laughed, laughed irresistibly. It
was the moment when the high mood became unbearable. Moreover, I had a
sudden vision of Anthy herself, in her long gingham apron, going
sensibly, cheerfully, about the printing-office, a stick of type in her
hand, and, very likely, a smudge of printer's ink on her nose! Why do
such visions smite us at our most solemn moments? Nort was taken aback
at my laughter, and evidently provoked.
"I couldn't help it, Nort," I said. "I wonder if Anthy herself wouldn't
laugh if she were to hear you say such things."
"That's so," said Nort. "She _would_. I've never known any one, man or
woman, who had such a keen sense of humour as Anthy has."
"Sensible, too, Nort----"
"Sensible!" he exclaimed. "I should rather say so! I have never seen any
one in my life who was as sensible--I mean _sound_ and _wise_--as Anthy
is."
Two months before, Nort himself would have been the first to laugh at
such a situation as this: he would have laughed at himself, at me, and
even at Anthy, but now he was in no such mood. I prize the memory of
that moment; it was one of those rare times in life when it is given us
to see a human spirit at the moment of its greatest truth, simplicity,
passion. And is it not a worthy moment when everything that is selfish
in a human heart is consumed in the white heat of a great emotion?
Toward noon, when Harriet came in, greatly astonished to find a visitor
with me, Nort quite shocked her by jumping up from his chair and seizing
her by both hands.
"I'm terribly glad to see you, Miss Grayson," he said.
During dinner he seemed unable to tell whether he was eating chicken or
pie, and no sooner were we through than he insisted upon hurrying away.
He pledged me to secrecy concerning his whereabouts, but left his
address.
[Illustration]