GOOD-BY
COLLEGE had opened; but they had slipped into it so quietly that there
hardly seemed to be a break. For Peggy and Priscilla, perhaps, there
was a bit of a pang at the realization that this was the last year of
what would probably be one of the sweetest periods in their lives to
look back on; and they privately vowed to make it rich in experience
and the beauty of living. Ruth and Amy, like Southey's brother who said
that "no young man believes that he will ever die," felt that college
life would never, could never, end. So a week after the beginning of
classes found the four girls trying conscientiously to live in the
present, and stifling vague, tantalizing memories of the past three
months.
A number of letters passed between Nelson Hallowell and his friend in
Oklahoma before the great step was decided on. And it must be confessed
that in the meantime Ruth's college work suffered. Nelson came almost
every evening to pour into her attentive ears the story of his hopes
and ambitions, and Ruth listened with the happy confidence that her
approval meant more to him than to any one in the world.
Ruth and Nelson were living in an enchanted world, where perfect
understanding took the place of speech. Nelson did not feel himself at
liberty to say to her the thing that was constantly in his thoughts.
The salary Mr. Flynn had paid him had not enabled him to save any
money, and his venture in Oklahoma, promising as he believed it, was,
after all, only a venture, with a possibility of failure. Nelson knew
that he himself was bound fast and irrevocably, but he wanted to leave
Ruth free as air. Yet he talked to her with the assurance that she knew
all he was in honor bound not to say, and her look, as she listened,
confirmed that certainty.
Those weeks during which the matter was being settled were a happy
time for both of them. Youth has a way of making the most of a present
joy, regardless of what the future has in store, and while this seems
very short-sighted to some older people, who can always look ahead
far enough to be miserable, the young will probably continue to
enjoy to-day's sunshine--regardless of the weather prognosticator,
who assures them of a storm in the middle of the week with a drop
in temperature. Nelson and Ruth saw as much of each other as they
could, and looked no further than a happiness born of a confidence and
understanding.
But the thing was settled at last, and the generous offer of Nelson's
soldier friend definitely accepted. Nelson gave Mr. Flynn notice, and
that irritable gentleman promptly lost his temper, and accused his
reliable clerk of folly and ingratitude. Later he realized his mistake,
and offered to raise his salary. But Nelson was as little moved by Mr.
Flynn's smiles as he had been by his frowns, and Mr. Flynn promptly
relapsed into his former irascibility.
"The war spoiled a lot of you young fellows. You're sick of hard work.
Loafing is the only thing that appeals to you."
"I never heard," laughed Nelson, "that life on a cattle ranch was
considered a soft snap."
"Well, if it isn't, you'll soon give it up," said Mr. Flynn
disagreeably. "An easy berth is what you're looking for, and it's my
opinion that you'll look some time before you find it."
The next two weeks fairly flew. Nelson was getting his necessary
outfit, and every afternoon, on the way home, he stopped to exhibit to
Ruth his latest purchases. And now the time had come when it was hard
for Ruth to smile and show the proper interest. Sometimes when she
remembered that the decision had been left to her, and that she had
brought this on herself, her heart almost failed her. It would have
been so much easier to have gone on in the old way. The thought of the
thousands of miles that would soon stretch between Nelson and herself
gave her a weak feeling in the knees. They had a great deal to say in
those days about letters but each realized, only two well, that the
best letter ever penned is a poor substitute for the exchange of speech
and of smiles.
The day of Nelson's departure Ruth went through the customary routine
with a curious sense of unreality. She had suggested Nelson's coming
to dinner, but he had declined, and she would never know what that
refusal cost him.
"I'd love to, Ruth. You don't know how I'd love to. But I think I
should take my last meal with mother."
"Yes, Nelson, I think so, too."
"She says she won't go down to the station to see me off," Nelson went
on. "She's been keen about my going from the start, but now that it's
come to the point, it's harder than she thought."
Ruth reflected that she could sympathize with Mrs. Hallowell perfectly.
"The train goes at ten," Nelson continued with a sprightly air that
would not have deceived the most gullible, "so I'll have plenty of time
to bore you stiff before you see the last of me."
Ruth forced the smile his jest demanded. "You know we're all going to
the station with you," she said. "Even Bob Carey's coming."
"I hope that Hitchcock won't show up," exclaimed Nelson apprehensively.
Ruth laughed. "No, I don't think Horace expects to honor us. Isn't it
the queerest thing," she added, "what Priscilla can see in him?"
"I should say so. Priscilla's one of the finest girls you'd meet in
a day's journey, and Hitchcock is a nut. I shouldn't think she could
stand it to have him around. Though I suppose," concluded Nelson with
customary modesty, "that Priscilla thinks just the same about you and
me."
"Priscilla! She wouldn't dare." Ruth's indignation was so intense that
Nelson shouted with laughter, but it warmed his heart, nevertheless.
In that last quick-moving Saturday, Ruth saw Nelson for a few moments
in the morning, and again about three in the afternoon. His stay was
short and rather unsatisfactory for he had some last errands to attend
to, and his mind was so full of them that his thoughts wandered from
what he was saying, and he left his sentences unfinished in the most
irritating fashion.
After he had answered a question of Ruth's in a way which showed he had
hardly heard what she had said, he looked up quickly at her half-vexed
exclamation, laughed, and jumped to his feet.
"It's no use, Ruth," he said. "I'm one of the fellows who's good
for only one thing at a time. I'll attend to these thousand-and-one
things that have been left over, and I'll see you about eight o 'clock
to-night. That will give us time for a nice little visit."
Up till that time the hours had fairly flown. Now they dragged. Ruth
watched the clock and waited for the tiresome, leisurely hour hand to
point to eight. The clan was to gather at a little after nine, and she
was thankful when Graham departed for Peggy's shortly after finishing
dinner. Peggy would keep him till the last minute. Peggy would
understand. Ruth had taken great pains in dusting the living-room that
morning, and she looked around it thinking that it made a picture of
cosy comfort Nelson might be glad to carry with him.
It was eight o'clock at last. Ruth straightened a book on the table,
brushed a speck of dust from her gown, and sat down facing the door.
There were quick steps on the side walk, and she never doubted that
they would come on up the walk, and then up the steps, and she meant to
have the door open before he had time to ring. But the footsteps went
on and the minute hand of the clock was also moving.
At quarter past eight Ruth was nervous. She got up and down, adjusted
the window shades, changed the arrangement of the chairs, fussed with
the flowers on the mantel, looked at herself in the mirror, and did
something to her hair. At half past eight she sat very still, frowning
slightly and biting her lip. At quarter of nine her cheeks had reddened
and she tapped the carpet with the toe of her shoe. And at nine o'clock
her heart gave a jump and she forgot how near she had come to being
angry. For the footsteps for which she had waited were coming up the
walk.
"Hello!" It was Priscilla's voice. "Don't tell me I'm the first one."
"The others will be here in a minute," Ruth replied in an even voice.
"Come right in and take off your coat, Priscilla, for this room's
awfully warm."
Priscilla complied with her friend's suggestion, and glanced at her
admiringly. She thought she had never seen Ruth look so pretty. "You've
got a lovely color to-night," she exclaimed.
"It's just because it's so hot here. I always get flushed when I'm
warm."
Priscilla was looking around the room as if in search of something.
"Why, where's Nelson?"
"He'll be here right away. You know there are always so many things
to be attended to in the last few minutes." But though Ruth gave this
explanation with a matter-of-fact cheerfulness that deceived even
Priscilla who knew her so well, she was seething inwardly. So this was
all he cared. He had sacrificed their quiet hour together. Now there
would be a crush and a crowd and everybody talking at once, and no
chance to say any of the things she had saved up for their last evening.
Not that she cared. Ruth flung up her head and laughed gaily at
something Priscilla was telling. Her hands were cold and her mouth
felt very dry, and her heart was pounding furiously. Nelson could come
when he was ready, and so that he didn't miss the train, it made no
difference to her.
Amy and Bob were next to arrive. Then came Peggy and Graham. "Nelson's
late, isn't he?" said Peggy with an uneasy glance at the clock. "He
hasn't any time to spare."
"I'll put on my things so we'll all be ready to start when he gets
here," Ruth returned casually. She had put on a little blue frock, of
which Nelson was especially fond, for the last evening, and she was
glad to conceal it by a long coat. Her hand trembled as she pinned her
hat in place. She hoped Nelson Hallowell wasn't conceited enough to
suppose she cared whether he came at one hour or another.
It was twenty minutes past nine when Nelson arrived, and he looked
rather white and shaken. As he had left for camp two years before, his
mother had stood smiling in the doorway to watch him go. When it was
whispered that they were going across, and he had told her she was not
likely to see him again till the war was over, she had kissed him with
lips that did not tremble. But then she had been lifted above herself
by the exalted spirits of the times. Now she had no sense of patriotic
service to sustain her. She realized that she was no longer a young
woman, that life was uncertain, and that her boy was going very far
away. Over their last meal together she had broken down, and wept as
Nelson had never seen his mother weep in all his life.
It is not to Nelson's discredit that he had forgotten Ruth. Or if that
is saying too much, his thought of her was vague and shadowy. Nelson's
father had died when he was a little boy, and through the years that
he was growing to manhood, his mother and he had been everything to
each other. The sight of her grief was torturing. He had put his arms
about her, and comforted her as best he could. He had offered to give
up the whole thing, and had started to go out to telegraph his friend
in Oklahoma that he was not coming. That, more than anything else,
had helped her to regain her self-control. As mothers have been doing
from time immemorial she wiped her wet eyes and tried to smile, that
he might go on his great adventure without a shadow on his heart.
Throughout that distressing, solemn, sacred time, it had never
occurred to Nelson to look at the clock. The thought of Ruth had hardly
crossed his mind. Even on his way to her homo, he was still thinking of
the mother he had left.
It was Graham who, hearing Nelson's step outside, rushed to admit him.
Nelson entered, blinking a little in the bright light of the room,
and speaking first to one and then another. Ruth in the corner by the
fireplace was talking to Bob Carey, and was so interested that she only
glanced in Nelson's direction, to toss him a smiling nod, and then
resume her conversation with Bob. Nelson gave a little start as if
some one had pinched him in the middle of a dream and he had suddenly
awakened.
"Well, old man," remarked Graham cheerfully, "you haven't left yourself
much leeway. It's just about time to start."
"I--yes, I suppose it is." Nelson looked in Ruth's direction and then
looked quickly away. As for Ruth, she was so absorbed by what Bob Carey
was saying, that her brother had to repeat his remark for her benefit.
"Come, Ruth. Better get a move on. We haven't any time to waste."
"Oh, is it really time to start?" Ruth asked carelessly. "I hadn't
noticed." And with that fib on her conscience, she rose and joined the
others.
Fond as Peggy was of Ruth, that evening she could have shaken her in
her exasperation. For on the walk to the street-car, Ruth clung to her
arm and chattered unceasingly. As Graham stuck doggedly to Peggy's
other side and Bob was with Amy, Nelson and Priscilla found themselves
walking together. But since Nelson was too dazed for speech, and
Priscilla was wondering what Horace would say to this juxtaposition,
they walked in an almost unbroken silence.
It was no better on the street car. Peggy maneuvered shamelessly to
put Nelson and Ruth into the one vacant seat, but Ruth slipped past
and took her seat beside a fat woman, who left so little space that
Ruth was in imminent danger of falling into the aisle, whenever the
car turned the corner. In Peggy's opinion such a catastrophe would
have been no more than she deserved. Peggy had to take the place she
had designed for Ruth, and did her best to be agreeable, but Nelson's
wandering replies showed the futility of her efforts.
A slight delay on the way brought them to the station less than ten
minutes before train time. Nelson's tickets were bought, of course,
and his reservations made. They stood in a group in the station
waiting-room and said the aimless things people generally say five
minutes before train-time. All but Ruth, that is. When Nelson looked at
her he found her attention absorbed by an Italian family, whose bundles
and babies occupied the nearest row of seats.
It was Graham who again took on himself the ungracious duty of calling
Nelson's attention to the flight of time. "I guess you'd better go
aboard, Nelson. You don't want to stand right here in the station, and
miss the train."
Nelson started violently. "Oh, no," he replied, "certainly not." He
turned to Bob Carey and shook hands with him, murmuring a mechanical
good-by. Amy stood at Bob's side and Nelson held out his hand to her.
Amy had shared Peggy's feeling of vexation with Ruth, and like Peggy
had resented her sense of impotence. Neither one of them would have
hesitated to take Ruth roundly to task for her conduct, but it was
impossible to scold her in Nelson's presence, and after he had started
on his long journey westward it would be too late. But as Amy looked
into the young fellow's down-cast face, a brilliant inspiration came to
her aid. She grasped his hand, pulled herself up on tiptoes, and kissed
the astonished youth squarely on the lips. "Good-by, Nelson, and good
luck."
Peggy, the next in line, saw her friend's ruse, and seconded her
admirably. It was impossible to tell whether Nelson blushed at the
second kiss, for the flaming color due to Amy's salute still dyed him
crimson. Priscilla pushed aside the obtrusive thought of Horace, and
backed up the others. And then Nelson came to Ruth.
For a moment Ruth had been in a quandary. After their warm friendship,
to part with Nelson with a formal handshake when the other girls had
kissed him, would be to proclaim publicly that she was angry, and
Ruth did not wish to seem angry, but only indifferent. And yet if she
kissed Nelson good-by, she had a suspicion that the barrier her pride
had built between them would melt like mist in the sun. She raised her
eyes and met his, those honest eyes in which she read bewilderment and
grief and appeal and something greater than all. And then, all at once,
her resentment seemed incomprehensibly petty. Whatever the reason that
Nelson had come late, it was not because he did not care. And so their
first kiss was exchanged in the garish light of a railway waiting-room,
with the calls of the trainmen blending with the unmelodious crying of
babies, with travelers coming and going, and a little circle of friends
standing by and taking everything in. But there are some experiences it
is impossible to spoil.
[Illustration: "SHE RAISED HER EYES AND MET HIS"]
"All aboard," cried Graham, and carried Nelson away. Ruth slipped her
arms through Peggy's, and turned toward the door, swallowing hard at
something that refused to be swallowed.
"If ever a girl deserved a scolding!" said Peggy in the tenderest
tones imaginable. "But I'm not going to do it now, because at the last
minute you redeemed yourself--thanks to Amy."