There is a pale moon, consequently the electric street-lamps are
unlighted. The setting is nowise picturesque. The street is narrow,
unpaved, and fringed on either side with maples in leaf. It is late
June. To right and left, are to be discerned behind the trees rows of
characterless frame houses, that, for the greater part, are set well
back in yards, where, here and there, are lilac bushes, rose trees,
smoke trees, and silver birches, ghostly in the thin light. The moon's
rays, glimmering upon the latched green blinds of the lower
stories--which seem black--streak them with white.
At the end of the block, on the east side of the street, stands a house
markedly different from the others. It is three stories in height,
whilst they are two; the lawn, cut by a gravel path, slopes gently to
the walk, and is close cropped; across the front of the house and
continuing unbroken along either side to the back is a broad, covered
porch with a spindled rail at its edge like a little fence. The only
door is at the top of the path, in front. In a window directly above
the door is a card the legend on which the moon makes clear--"Rooms to
Rent." There is no fence about the place. On the south side another
gravel path, narrower than the one in front and bordered with box, links
the sidewalk to the porch. The main path prongs to still another set of
steps on the north side. The house is white and looms big in the
paleness. In a pear-tree near the south porch-steps a katydid scrapes
her dreary tune; whilst, on the north steps, a vagrant cat sits in
silent adoration of the night, contemplating, presumably, the joys
thereof. A stillness made the more tangible by the katydid's song
pervades the scene.
The deep throated bells in the library tower on the campus ring out six
times--ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Accurately it lacks but fifteen
minutes of being midnight.
Suddenly the song of the katydid ceases, and the cat, seized with panic,
leaps from the north steps and vanishes beneath the grape trellis at the
back. Footfalls sound on the cement, and presently a couple slant across
the lawn to the porch, issuing from the shadow of the trees into the
white light that floods the lawn. He is seen to be a well set up youth
who looks twenty-three. It is the moon, for he is twenty. Upon his blond
head is perched a slouch hat of a dirty gray color and bound with a
wide black band. His trousers, turned up at the ankles, are baggy at the
hips and bulge beneath the belted Norfolk jacket that he wears. His hat
is pulled down rakishly in front. She is a head shorter than he, and
plump. Were it high noon her face would glow ruddy. She wears a straw
sailor-hat such as no sailor ever wore; a shirt waist, and a white duck
skirt that flares at the hem and appears somewhat crumpled. Her steps
are mincing; he slouches. Between them they carry by its two
out-springing handles a small luncheon hamper. He is a junior; his walk
gives the clue to his class. So is she; so does hers. At the porch he
sets the basket on the lowest step and turns to her:--
JAMIE. Well, we beat 'em; didn't we?
HILDA [_fumbling in her finger purse_]. Uh huh. Let's go up-stairs and
wait.
JAMIE [_doubtfully_]. Had we better? Won't your landlady think---- It's
awful late.
HILDA [_testily_]. We don't pay her three dollars a week to think;
besides, they'll surely be here in a minute. We couldn't have been more
than a mile ahead of them. They're at the livery now, probably. [_During
this speech she fumbles in her purse._] Oh, dear!
JAMIE [_endeavoring to smother a yawn_]. Wha's mat'r?
HILDA [_looking up at him and making a little moüe_]. I can't find my
key!
JAMIE [_with a quick show of interest_]. You haven't lost it, have you?
HILDA [_snappishly_]. Well, it isn't here, anyway. Oh, oh, oh, how mad
it makes me to lose things--but--I remember now; I left it on the
_chiffonier_ while we were dressing. Just to think I should have come
away and left it lying there--oh, dear! [_She gazes up at him
appealingly._]
JAMIE [_a note of resignation in his voice, perhaps, which she, however,
does not seem to perceive_]. What's the difference? We'll wait for 'em.
Minnie'll have hers, won't she? It'll be nicer waiting out here, anyway.
Look at that moon! Beaut, isn't it? [_He takes up the basket and moves
away._]
HILDA. Where are you going?
JAMIE [_perhaps significantly_]. 'Round on the side porch; this is too
near the street.
HILDA [_following him, and aside_]. I can't see why they don't come.
[_Aloud._] Can we hear them?
JAMIE. Sure! [_He sets the basket beside one of the pillars of the north
porch. They both sit on the top step, she with her elbows on her knees,
her chin in her two hands. For a space he whistles softly between his
teeth. Thereafter they converse in half-whispers._]
JAMIE. They'll be along in a minute.
HILDA. I hope so. They will unless Herbert's persuaded her to go hunting
for flowers by moonlight. I wouldn't be as crazy over botany as he is
for all the degrees the old university gives. [_She edges nearer him
and, taking his hand in one of hers, draws his arm around her waist.
Sighing._] Oh, dear!
JAMIE [_bringing his face closer to hers_]. What is it--angel?
HILDA [_with infinite--or, almost infinite, tenderness_]. Oh, nothing. I
was only thinking about the day; how happy it has been.
JAMIE [_tenderly_]. Has it been, dear?
HILDA [_her head against his shoulder_]. You know it
has--lovely--perfect!
JAMIE. What made it?
HILDA. You know what....
JAMIE No, I don't; tell me. What?
HILDA [_with tender impatience_]. Why you, of course, foolish--because
we were together, and all that....
JAMIE. Oh!
HILDA. Now, what did you say "oh" for?
JAMIE. I don't know--because I'm glad you enjoyed the day, I guess.
HILDA. Did you want me to enjoy it--very much?
JAMIE. Of course I did, dear; I want you to be happy all the time----
We are going to be happy always, aren't we?
HILDA. Are we?
JAMIE. Aren't we?
HILDA [_tenderly_]. Y-e-s---- [_Their lips are very close. The moon
rushes behind a cloud._] There! Now you've shocked the man in the moon!
JAMIE. I guess he's used to it. I wish I had a dollar for all the times
he's seen that!
HILDA. And just think! There isn't a soul he can talk to about it!
JAMIE. Maybe he tells Mars; you don't know.
HILDA. Oh, Jamie, you ought to take course one in astronomy! Mars and
the moon are miles and miles apart!
JAMIE. Are they?
HILDA [_tapping his hand_]. Yes, and you ought to know it.
JAMIE. But I don't know as much as you do, dearie.
HILDA. That's a very pretty speech, but you do, all the same. Sometimes
I think you know just a little bit more.
JAMIE. Well, I don't; besides, how could I? You're working for Ph. B.,
and I'll only get a cheap old B. L.
HILDA. That's your own fault. You could have selected Ph. B. Herbert
did.
JAMIE. But Herbert knows more than I do, too. [_He grins, away from
her._]
HILDA. Why, Jamie, he doesn't either! He doesn't know _anything_ but
botany. I'm glad you aren't an old prosy botanist.
JAMIE. Maybe I'm not a very good botanist, but I've prided myself on my
taste in flowers----
HILDA. Now what makes you say that? You don't know a cowslip from a
hollyhock!
JAMIE. Maybe not, but I fell in love with you, didn't I?
HILDA [_snuggling very close_]. Dearest! [_Again the modest man in the
moon hides his face behind a cloud._]
JAMIE [_reminiscently_]. Do you remember what happened a month ago
to-night?
HILDA [_softly_]. Of course I do.
JAMIE. What?
HILDA [_more softly_]. You proposed.
JAMIE [_stroking her hair_]. Where?
HILDA. Why, where we were to-day--at Whitmore--in Mr. Stevens'
sail-boat.
JAMIE. Yes, that's so. I thought maybe you'd forgotten....
HILDA [_drawing back_]. Jamie! Forget! Never! Why that's the greatest
thing that ever comes into a girl's life! Forget it? How could you!
JAMIE. And you're just the same?
HILDA [_her head against his shoulder again_]. Always!
JAMIE. The old lake looked somewhat different to-day, didn't it; so many
of the cottages open, and such a crowd around?
HILDA. Yes, but it wasn't so nice as it was that day. I thought there
were just a few too many around to-day, didn't you?