ON AN ORCHARD SLOPE
Fred moved off across the fields in quest of Perry. Charles never left
him wholly happy. His long absence from home had in a way lessened his
reliance on family ties, and an interview with his brother deepened the
sense of his own dullness. He wondered whether it were not proof of his
general worthlessness that he was so quickly adjusting himself to the
conditions of rural life; and yet from such reflections his spirit
quickly rebounded. In the very soil itself, he felt a kinship, born of a
hidden, elusive, cramped vein of poetic feeling that lay deep in his
nature. All life, he vaguely realized, is of a piece: man and the earth
to which he is born respond to the same laws. He contemplated the
wheatfield, tilled partly by his own hands, with a stirring of the heart
that was new to his experience. He was wedded to this land; his hope was
bound up in it; and he meant to serve it well.
He sprang over the fence into a woods pasture on Amzi Montgomery's farm
and strode on. He picked up a walnut and carried it in his hand,
sniffing the pungent odor of the rind. It was as warm as spring, and the
dead leaves, crisp and crackling under his tread, seemed an anomaly. The
wood behind him, he crossed a pasture toward the barn and hesitated,
seeing that Perry was entertaining visitors. He had fallen into the
habit of dropping in at the Perrys' on Sunday afternoons and he was
expected to-day, so he kept on. As he reached the barn lot, he
identified Amzi Montgomery and Phyllis Kirkwood, to whom Perry was
apparently dilating on the good points of a Jersey calf that was eyeing
the visitors wonderingly.
"Don't be afraid, Holton; my lecture is just over. You've heard it
before and I'm not going to repeat it," Perry called to him.
"How do you do, Mr. Holton," said Phil.
He pulled off his hat and walked up to shake hands with her.
"I didn't expect to find you here. I usually come over Sunday
afternoons."
"Does that mean you wouldn't have come if you'd known we were here!"
laughed Phil. "Oh, Uncle Amy, this is Mr. Fred Holton. He's your
next-door neighbor."
Amzi turned from his observation of the calf and took the cigar from his
mouth. He remembered Fred Holton as a boy and the young man had latterly
fallen within his range of vision in Main Street. He availed himself of
this nearer view to survey Samuel Holton's younger son deliberately.
Fred waited an instant for the banker to make a sign. Amzi took a step
toward him and Fred advanced and offered his hand.
"How d' ye do, Fred," said Amzi, and looked him over again. He addressed
him quite as cordially as he would have spoken to any other young man he
might have found there. "Perry has told me about you. I guess you've got
quite a job over there."
"Yes, but I was looking for a job when I took it," said Fred.
"I like being a farmer myself," said the banker, "when I know the corn's
growing while I'm in bed in town."
"I think I'll stay up nights to watch my corn grow, if it ever does,"
said Fred.
"That land of yours is all right," said Amzi amiably, "but it's got to
be brought up. That farm's been cursed with overdrafts, and overdrafts
in any business are bad."
"That's a new way of putting it," Fred replied, "but I'm sure it's sound
doctrine. You can't take out what you don't put in."
"That," said Amzi, feeling in his pocket for his matchbox, "is a safe
general principle."
He passed his cigar-case to Perry and Fred, commended his own cigars
humorously, and looked Fred over again as the young man refused,
explaining that he had grown used to a pipe and was afraid of the shock
to his system of a good cigar.
"We were going to take a walk over the place; Mr. Montgomery wants to
see his orchard. Come along, won't you?" said Perry.
Fred waited for a confirmation of the tenant's invitation.
"Yes; come along, Fred," said Amzi.
His manner toward Holton was that of an old acquaintance; he called him
Fred quite as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him
to do so. Phil and Perry moved off together and Amzi walked along beside
Fred across a field of wheat stubble toward the orchard that stretched
away on a slope that corresponded to the rise of Listening Hill in the
highway. He talked of fruit-growing in which he appeared to be deeply
interested, and declared that there was no reason why fruit should be
only an insect-blighted by-product of such farms as his; that
intelligent farmers were more and more taking it up. He confessed his
firm belief in scientific farming in all its branches. Most men in small
towns keep some touch with the soil. In a place like Montgomery the soil
is the immediate source of urban prosperity, and in offices and stores
men discuss crop conditions and prospects as a matter of course. Amzi
owned a number of farms in different parts of the county, but this one
that had been long in the family was his particular pride. He paused now
and then to point out features of his possessions for Fred's admiration.
"Land," he observed reflectively, "is like a man or a horse; you got to
treat 'em right or they won't work. Thunder! You think you'll stick it
out over there, do you?"
"I've got to; and I want to! I want to make it go!"
Amzi glared at him a moment with puffed cheeks. Fred had spoken with
warmth, and being unfamiliar with the banker's habit of trying to blow
up occasionally, for no reason whatever, he was a little appalled by
Amzi's manner of receiving his declaration.
"If you mean it like that," said the banker, "you will make it go. It's
the wanting to do a thing real hard that brings it round. Is that
gospel?"
He blurted his question with a ferociousness that again startled Fred;
but he was beginning to suspect that this was the banker's usual way of
conversing, and his awe of him diminished. Amzi was an amusing person,
with a tang of his own; and he clearly meant to be kind. It was
necessary to answer the banker's last explosion and Fred replied
soberly:
"I hope it is; I hope the wanting to do it will help in the doing."
Amzi made no response to this. He seemed to ignore it, and spoke of
Perry admiringly, as the kind of man he liked, quoting statistics of the
wheat yield of the field they were traversing, and then stopped
abruptly.
"Thunder! How did they come to give you the farm?"
"I took it: I chose to take it. It was by an agreement between my
brother and sister and me. I'm not sure but that I got the best of the
partition. The stocks and bonds father left didn't mean anything to me.
I don't know anything about such things."
"They let you have the farm as your share; you were afraid of the other
stuff?"
"Yes; it didn't look very good and I was perfectly satisfied. I thought
the arrangement fair enough to me: Charlie knew about the other things
and I didn't. Most of them were very doubtful."
"They told you they were doubtful; you didn't know anything about them.
Was that the way of it?"
"Yes; that was about the way of it, Mr. Montgomery."
Amzi glared and drew out his handkerchief to mop his face.
"I saw an automobile come out of your place awhile ago and climb the
hill toward town. Charlie been to see you?"
"Yes. He had some friends with him from the city. Charlie knows no end
of people."
"There are people like that," said Amzi, kicking a clod, and in doing so
nearly losing his equilibrium; "there are people with a talent for
knowing folks." This was not an important observation, nor was it at all
relevant. Mr. Montgomery had merely gone as far as he cared to in the
discussion of the distribution of Samuel Holton's estate and this was
his way of changing the subject.
Amzi walked ahead with Perry when they met at the edge of the orchard
and Phil loitered behind with Fred. A hawk swung from the cloudless
blue; sparrows, disturbed by these visitors, flew down the orchard
aisles in panic. The air was as dry as the stubble of the shorn fields.
From the elevation crowned by the orchard it was possible to survey the
neighborhood and Phil and Fred paused in silence for several minutes,
with their faces turned toward the creek.
Seeing Phil thus was very different from seeing her across a fence in
the moonlight, or meeting her at her kitchen door. Her new dark-blue
gown with hat to match struck him as being very stylish, as indeed, they
were, having come from the best shop in Indianapolis. Phil in gloves was
a different Phil, a remote being quite out of hailing distance. He was
torn between admiration for her dressed-upness and rebellion against a
splendor that set her apart like a goddess for timorous adoration.
Standing beside and a little behind her, his soul was shaken by the
quick shadowings of her lashes. He was so deep in thought during this
silent contemplation that he started and blushed when she turned round
suddenly.
"We're terribly solemn, I think," she remarked, regarding him
carelessly.
This was unfair. She had no right to look at him in that fashion, taking
his breath away and saying something to which he could think of no reply
whatever. Amzi and Perry had wandered away out of sight. She had spoken
of solemnity; it was a solemn thing to be alone with a girl like Phil,
on a day like this, under a fleckless sky, and with the scarlet maples
and the golden beeches gladdening the distances. Without looking at him,
Phil extended her monologue:--
"I like cheerfulness myself."
"I'm not so opposed to it as you may imagine," he replied, smiling. "I'm
not much of a talker. I've been alone a whole lot, in lonesome places
where there wasn't anybody to talk to. I suppose talking is a habit.
When there are people around who talk about things it's natural to get
into the way of talking. Isn't that so?"
"I suspect it is," Phil answered. "While my critics haven't exactly said
that I talk too much, they agree that I talk at the wrong time. Let's
all be seated."
She dropped down on the grass, and smoothed her skirt. It was the best
everyday dress she had ever owned and she meant to be careful of it. Her
patent leather oxford ties were the nicest she had ever had, and she was
not without her pride in their brightness. Fred seated himself near her.
His clothes were his Sunday best, and none too good at that; he was
painfully conscious of the contrast of their raiment.
"Your brother Charlie talks a good deal. I saw him the other day," said
Phil.
"Yes; Charlie talks mighty well. He can talk to anybody. Where did you
meet him?"
"In town, at father's office."
"Oh; he was there, was he?"
It was plain that Fred was surprised that there should be any
intercourse between the Kirkwoods and his brother.
"He called to see father; but he didn't see him," explained Phil, as
though reading his thoughts and willing to satisfy his curiosity.
"Charlie's getting up a new trolley line. He wanted me to go in with
him."
"Gave you a chance to escape from your farm? I should think you would be
tempted."
"I didn't feel the temptation particularly," answered Fred; "but it was
kind of him to come and see me."
"Well, there is that," Phil replied indifferently. "You seemed to get
on first-rate with Uncle Amy. Was that the first time you ever talked to
him?"
"Yes. But I remember that once when I was a little chap he met me in the
street over by the college--I remember the exact spot--and gave me a
penny. I seem to remember that he used to do that with children quite
unexpectedly. I imagine that he does a lot of nice things for people."
"Uncle Amy," said Phil deliberately, "is the second grandest man now
present on earth. Daddy is the first."
"I don't know your father, except as I see him in the street."
"I suppose not," said Phil.
These commonplaces were leading nowhere, and they were becoming the
least bit trying.
"My aunts have decided that the Montgomerys and the Holtons might as
well bury the hatchet. They're going to ask your Uncle William to my
party. They can't stand not knowing your aunt."
He did not at once grasp this. He was only dimly conscious of Montgomery
social values and the prominence of his Uncle William's wife had not
seemed to him a matter of importance. His acquaintance with that lady
was indeed slight, and he did not see at once wherein Phil's aunts had
anything to gain by cultivating her society, nor did Phil enlighten him.
This turn of the talk embarrassed him by its suggestion of the escapade
in which Phil's mother and his uncle had figured. Phil was not
apparently troubled by this.
"They didn't invite you to my party, did they?"
He did not know exactly whom she meant by "they"; and he had not heard
of Phil's party.
"No," he answered, smiling; "they probably never heard of me."
"Well, you will be invited. Your brother and sister are coming. Your
brother Charlie told me so. He's going to give up a trip to New York
just to be there."
Phil, he reflected, had been pleased by Charles's magnanimity in
changing plans that embraced the magical name of New York to be present
at her coming-out party. From his knowledge of his brother he felt quite
sure that Charles must think it worth while to abandon the visit to New
York to pay the tribute of his presence to a daughter of the
Montgomerys. This contributed to Fred's discomfiture and made it more
difficult to talk to Phil. On the face of it Phil was not a difficult
person. He had seen her dance round a corn-shock in the moonlight, and a
girl who would do that ought to be easy to talk to; and he had seen her,
aproned at her kitchen door, throw an apple at a cat with enviable
exactness of aim, and a girl who threw apples at cats should be human
and approachable. It must be her smart city frock that made the
difference: he hated Phil's clothes, and he resented with particular
animosity the gloves that concealed her hands.
She saw the frown on his face.
"I don't believe I heard you say whether you were coming to my party or
not. If you expect to travel about that time you needn't put yourself
out, of course. You shall have one of our regular engraved invitations.
How do you get mail out here?" she ended practically.
"R.F.D. 7. It will be thrilling to get something out of that bird's nest
besides bills, fertilizer and incubator circulars, and the bulletins of
the Department of Agriculture. Thank you very much. But if, after
conferring with your aunts, you find that they don't approve of me, it
will be all right."
"You have funny thoughts in your head, don't you? Don't you suppose I'm
going to have something to say about my own party? Just for a postscript
I'll tell you now that I expect you to come. If I've got to have a party
I want to have as many fellow-sufferers as possible."
"Does that mean"--and Fred laughed--"that you are not terribly excited
about your own party? It sounded that way."
He was not interested in parties himself; he had hardly been to one
since he was a child, and the thought of such an imposing function as he
assumed Phil's coming out would be appalled him. And there was the
matter of clothes: the dress-suit he had purchased while he was in
college had gone glimmering long ago. The Sunday best he wore to-day was
two years old, and a discerning eye might have detected its
imperfections which a recent careful pressing had not wholly
obliterated. His gaze turned for a moment toward the land in which lay
his hope; he had to look past Phil to see those acres. His thoughts were
still upon her party and his relation to it, so that it was with a
distinct shock that he heard her say softly and wistfully:--
"It's queer, isn't it?"
"What is?"
She lifted her arm with a sweeping gesture.
"The world--things generally--what interests you and me; what interests
Uncle Amy and Mr. Perry; the buzzings in all our noddles. Thousands of
people, in towns just like Montgomery, live along some way or other, and
most of them do the best they can, and keep out of jails and poorhouses,
mostly, and nothing very important happens to them or has to. It always
strikes me as odd how unimportant we all are. We're just us, and if God
didn't make us very big or wise or good, why, there's nothing to be done
about it. And no matter how hard we get knocked, or how often we
stumble, why, most of us like the game and wouldn't give it up for
anything. I think that's splendid; the way we just keep plugging on. We
all think something pleasant is going to happen to-morrow or
day-after-to-morrow. Everybody does. And that's what keeps the world
moving and everybody tolerably cheerful and happy."
Phil the philosopher was still another sort of person. She had spoken in
her usual tone and he looked at her wonderingly. It was a new experience
to hear life reduced to the simple terms Phil used. She seemed to him
like a teacher who keeps a dull pupil after class, and, by eliminating
all unessential factors, makes clear what an hour before had been only
a jumble of meaningless terms in the student's mind.
He was still dumb before this new Phil with her a, b, c philosophy when
her eyes brightened, and she sprang to her feet. Bending forward with
her hand to her ear, and then dropping her arms to her sides, she
said:--
"Adown the orchard aisles they come, methinks,--
My lord who guardest well his treasure chests,
Attended by his squire and faithful drudge,
And back to town I soon must lightly skip
Else father will be roaring for his tea."
She was, indeed, a mystifying being! It was not until the absurdity of
her last line broke upon him that he saw that this was only another side
of Phil the inexplicable. She threw up her arm and signaled to her Uncle
Amzi, who was approaching with Perry. The interruption was unwelcome. It
had been a bewildering experience to sit beside Phil on the sunny
orchard slope. He had not known that any girl could be like this.
"Do you write poetry?" he asked, from the depths of his humility.
She turned with a mockery of disdain.
"I should think you could see, Mr. Holton, that these are not singing
robes, nor is this lovely creation of a hat wrought in the similitude of
a wreath of laurel; but both speak for the plain prose of life. You
have, therefore, no reason to fear me."
In a moment they were all on their way to the house; and soon Phil and
Amzi were driving homeward.
"What was Fred Holton talking to you about?" asked Amzi, as he shook the
reins over the back of his roadster.
"He wasn't talking to me, Amy; I was talking to him. He's a nice boy."
"He doesn't run so much to gold watches and chains as the rest of 'em.
He seems to be pretty decent. Perry says he's got the right stuff in
him." And then, with more animation: "Those Holtons! Thunder!"