WINNER TAKE ALL
His first conscious thought was of his great need to go to her quickly,
yet he waited several days to give his marked face time to heal, Hamilton
and Jack English waiting with him. And at length, on the way north, he
shyly opened his heart to them; he told them of his plan. Because he was
urgent about it, and more than a little panicky, they promised they would
see him through with it; when they parted at Grand Central it was to be
for only an hour or two.
"You'll not fail me?" he asked anxiously.
Hamilton made game of him, a little.
"We'll be there," he answered. "Where's your nerve, man? We'll be there
with our hair in a braid."
"We'll be there," echoed English soberly. "We'll be in your corner."
He very nearly missed her; and yet afterward she always insisted that she
was sure he would come, even in that last minute while she stood looking
about to be certain that she had overlooked nothing in the apartment
which she could no longer have afforded to keep even had she wanted to.
Therefore her start at his appearance upon the threshold did not equal
his surprise at the sight of her dressed for traveling, her belongings
already packed.
For it fairly demoralized him. Like every good tactician he had coped
with as many details as could be handled in advance, but against this
moment his preparation had been none too thorough. Desperately, once or
twice, he had tried to drill himself for it, practicing a line or two
which he hoped he could remember.
"I'm not her kind; I'm different from what she is," he had told himself,
"and I will tell her that. But I'll tell her, too, that I'll not _stay_
different any longer than it can be helped. I am no dunce; I'll learn to
be her kind."
But, slipping away too happily into thoughts of how different she was
from everyone else in the whole world, beyond that he had not found it
easy to go. None too steadily he had decided to rely upon inspiration.
And now at the sight of her in a scant blue suit and tiny hat, bag in
hand before him, every last syllable of his rehearsals basely failed him.
He looked from her inquiring eyes to the stripped room. She believed she
understood that survey.
"Felicity's gone," she said in a voice that he hardly recognized as her
own. "She went with Dunham, the afternoon of the day you left for the
South. I did not tell you then because--"
It seemed too obvious, so she left it unsaid.
At that he reddened and was a little ashamed and humbler than ever at
heart. But he'd not thought of Felicity for weeks; he'd never thought of
her like this.
"Oh," was all he could manage. "Oh. And you--?"
She thought she understood his blankness.
"I was just going myself."
"Where?" He was suddenly afraid that it was too late for his plan,--that
it had always been too late.
"I don't know," she answered. "Home, maybe--where I used to live. It
doesn't much matter--anywhere."
Her eyes had not once left his face. And now he saw that they were as
changed as her voice. He would have said, had they been other than hers,
that they were bitter; no, not bitter; sardonic and mocking. Temporarily
like Felicity's. And she must be very tired, judging from her voice,
even more tired and wan than she looked.
The phrases which he had rehearsed deserted him treacherously.
"Then--then, why not come with me?" he labored over it. "I've a
drawing-room on the Lake Shore on the five o'clock. I knew about
Felicity; that wasn't why I came back. I came because I thought maybe we
could go out--you and I--and look around together."
He knew it was a poor thing of weak words and not what his inarticulate
heart would have uttered. Yet he was not prepared for her reception of
it.
She laughed up into his face, a hard little, crisp little laugh.
"Why not?" she said. "Why not?"
And when he took her in his arms and kissed her it was not as he had
dreamed it would be. Her body was slack, her lips not merely passive but
cold against his own. His heart heavy for reasons which he could not
name, he set her quickly free.
"I'll be back for you, then, at three," he said. "Will you be ready?"
As casually, it came to him, just as calmly he might have discussed his
plan with any man.
"At three," she repeated. "I'll be ready."
He left her, not as happy as when he had sped up the stairs; left her
demoralized now. In the interlude before his return she sat motionless,
her mind a tumult of doubt.
She too had dreamed what that embrace would be; she had wanted always to
be near him, yet she had just shrunk from it.
"Who am I to dictate such terms to life?" Felicity had demanded.
"And who was she," in all that long month Cecille had been asking of
herself, "who was _she_? And what was she waiting for?"
Even a percentage of happiness, Felicity had preached, would be less
unendurable than no happiness--ever--at all; and she had at last
convinced herself that this was so. Yet now she shook with doubt. Was
this dead thing the actuality which at any price she had hoped to save?
Once she was very close to flight; more than once, more childishly than
she knew, she wished that she would die.
But she kept to her promise and waited; she was ready and went with him
at three, though after he had put her in the taxi and climbed in beside
her, she found it difficult to breathe. She could not have forced words
from her throat had she wanted to, and he was as silent as she. For at
the end of hours he had hit upon an explanation of this mood of hers, her
trouble, and it was troubling him deeply, too. Two or three times,
watching her still face and quiet hands, it had been upon the tip of his
tongue to tell her that after all they could still abandon his plan.
He had not offered to kiss her again, nor even reached for her hand, and
she had been grateful for this, almost hysterically grateful as she
recalled the little opportunities which she had once contrived for just
such contacts. And the taxi was not merely stifling; it was like a trap.
The seat was far too narrow. Even though she huddled into her corner the
six inches of clear space which separated them was all too brief.
So they rode south, both unhappier with every turn of the wheels, till
suddenly he saw her hands tighten into fists, and her lips begin to move.
"I can't," was what he made of that whisper. "Oh, ask him to
stop--please--please!"
He did not question her; her face was enough. The cab pulled up to the
curb. She flung open the door and started to get out. But she could not
go like this--not without a word--not without some explanation--even if
she had to brave his rage.
"I can't," she told him. The voice was tired, but not beaten--no. "I
thought I could, because I loved you oh--so--much. But I can't. I know
it now; I've known it all along."
But he didn't seem angry; he seemed only gentle and sorry. And his voice
sounded sorry, and kind.
"I think I knew it, too," he was saying, slowly; "knew it was wrong, all
the while. But I didn't realize how wrong till I saw it was making you
sad. At first it seemed to me that this would be the finer way, quiet
and soon over, no fuss nor any crowd. I have seen weddings that were
ribald and not sacred, and I wanted ours to be none of that. Just you
and I and the minister, with Hamilton and English standing by; and then
just you and I going away together, leaving no wise winking, no meaning
whispers behind. And that _was_ right,--but only half right; I have been
selfish with you. It is a sober step for a girl like you; she wants her
folks at such a time. We will wait now for your people."
She had paused to wait for his answer--his anger--with one foot upon the
running board, one foot on the curb. But slowly, as his voice went
gravely on and on, she turned and faced him and listened, incredulous.
The words were distinct enough; they drummed at her ears, but they did
not penetrate, not even after he had finished, until she stared about her
and saw how far they'd come. They were far south of Grand Central and
Forty-second Street. Then it went reeling through her.
He would have stepped out, but she pushed him back and followed him
inside.
"Where were we going?" she gasped. But she knew--she knew! She wanted
to laugh, and wanted to cry, and didn't know which to do.
"We have to get a license, you know," he told her soberly.
She decided then to cry, not much, just a little. But she made him smile.
"We've lost a lot of time," she sniffed brokenly. "You'd better tell him
to hurry."
The driver had been disappointed; he had expected more of her. But then
you couldn't never tell about them dames with real class. But he was
deferential; he had recognized his fare.
"Where to, Mr. Blair?" he opened the door at that moment to ask. "We
gotta step on 'er, if you still want to make it."
Perry ordered him to step on 'er.
Then the miracle came to pass. She found the worn seat yards too wide,
the mean interior cathedral.
And Hamilton and Jack English did not fail them. They were waiting.
They were "in his corner" as they had promised to be. They accompanied
the bride and groom to the station. And while Hamilton was shaking hands
with her husband, Jack English found opportunity for a word with his wife.
"Didn't I tell you?" he asked. "Didn't I say you'd picked a game guy?"
She was dewy of lip, star-eyed.
"You told me," she said.
He studied her with peculiar intentness.
"This game will never hold him," he at last went on. "He'll want to take
you far, so his fight has just begun. You believe in him. You'll be
proud of him, some day."
She dropped her eyes; she was too honest with herself not to admit that
she had wondered about that, often hoped and therefore feared she might
not be.
"I mean to," she answered, her voice not large. "And I'm proud enough,
right now."
But not until hours after did she realize how proud. Hours later as she
sat in their drawing-room on the Lake Shore Limited and watched her
husband, just outside the open door, talking with a senator and a
prominent divine, her tiny disloyalty punished her a little. How hard
and clear cut his profile was--his nose was rather large! And how
man-sure, and boyishly diffident. She'd be secure, her whole life
through--and she hated men who boasted. She suffered some for her
snobbish wonder; but she was conscious of a new, great joy.
"My lad!" she tried it aloud. "My lad!"
She laid her fingers to her throat. A pulse throbbed there.
How eager they seemed for his company; how interested! And there was no
patronage in their manner; rather they sought to establish equality; they
sought to be approved. This game would not hold him--and their chance
was equal to any. They were both young, very young--though she was
extremely mature for twenty years! Maybe--she didn't lean exactly toward
the ministry--but perhaps a senator--
Her eyes grew misty and veiled; she was lost to all but her dreams.
And then the train stopped and she heard the senator talking, his voice
very loud with no din of motion to drown it.
"I snapped my right over"--it punctured her blissful gossamer of
fancy--"I snapped my right over--and _he_ made no more trouble for
anyone, in _that_ town."
She heard her husband answer, but could not make out the words. But
apparently the prominent divine had been champing on the bit; the
senator, she thought, must have interrupted him.
"--a bully, the town bully, and an extremely powerful man. But that did
not deter me. I was outraged, you see--righteously indignant. So I
hooked with my left--I believe, sir, that that is the correct term--"
The absurd, fat things! She heard her husband assuring him that it was.
Her husband!
So later he returned to a very bright-eyed wife. He dropped into a seat
and she was happier still at the happiness in his eyes. For a time he
was quiet; then suddenly he slanted his head at her. He began to tell
her about the pots and pans.
"Some battle!" he drawled at the finish of it. "Champion--winner take
all!"
Nor had he been able to keep down a little note of pride. It was quite
as if, still humbly, in his own plains' talk, he had assured her, "Your
husband is no dub."
And so she started that soon to become better acquainted with him. He
was no braggart with others; to his own wife he would boast a little.
Husbands were likely to, she realized--she loved him more.
And the words had started a thought in her own head. She had lost that
phrase of Felicity's, and searched for it, and was glad to find it again.
"Some battle," she echoed softly. "Some battle--winner take all."
Then she rose and went to him.
"Perry, lad," she murmured, "I'm not sure but what there are _two_
champions, right here in this very car!"