Yates stood for a moment regarding the dejected attitude of his friend.
“Hello, old man!” he cried, “you have the most ‘hark-from-the-tombs’
appearance I ever saw. What’s the matter?”
Renmark looked up.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Of course it’s I. Been expecting anybody else?”
“No. I have been waiting for you, and thinking of a variety of things.”
“You look it. Well, Renny, congratulate me, my boy. She’s mine, and I’m
hers--which are two ways of stating the same delightful fact. I’m up
in a balloon, Renny. I’m engaged to the prettiest, sweetest, and most
delightful girl there is from the Atlantic to the Pacific. What d’ye
think of that? Say, Renmark, there’s nothing on earth like it. You
ought to reform and go in for being in love. It would make a man of you.
Champagne isn’t to be compared to it. Get up here and dance, and don’t
sit there like a bear nursing a sore paw. Do you comprehend that I am to
be married to the darlingest girl that lives?”
“God help her!”
“That’s what I say. Every day of her life, bless her! But I don’t say it
quite in that tone, Renmark. What’s the matter with you? One would think
you were in love with the girl yourself, if such a thing were possible.”
“Why is it not possible?”
“If that is a conundrum, I can answer it the first time. Because you
are a fossil. You are too good, Renny; therefore dull and uninteresting.
Now, there is nothing a woman likes so much as to reclaim a man. It
always annoys a woman to know that the man she is interested in has a
past with which she has had nothing to do. If he is wicked and she can
sort of make him over, like an old dress, she revels in the process. She
flatters herself she makes a new man of him, and thinks she owns that
new man by right of manufacture. We owe it to the sex, Renny, to give
‘em a chance at reforming us. I have known men who hated tobacco take
to smoking merely to give it up joyfully for the sake of the women
they loved. Now, if a man is perfect to begin with, what is a dear,
ministering angel of a woman to do with him? Manifestly nothing. The
trouble with you, Renny, is that you are too evidently ruled by a
good and well-trained conscience, and naturally all women you meet
intuitively see this, and have no use for you. A little wickedness would
be the making of you.”
“You think, then, that if a man’s impulse is to do what his conscience
tells him is wrong, he should follow his impulse, and not his
conscience?”
“You state the case with unnecessary seriousness. I believe that an
occasional blow-out is good for a man. But if you ever have an impulse
of that kind, I think you should give way to it for once, just to see
how it feels. A man who is too good gets conceited about himself.”
“I half believe you are right, Mr. Yates,” said the professor, rising.
“I will act on your advice, and, as you put it, see how it feels. My
conscience tells me that I should congratulate you, and wish you a long
and happy life with the girl you have--I won’t say chosen, but tossed up
for. The natural man in me, on the other hand, urges me to break every
bone in your worthless body. Throw off your coat, Yates.”
“Oh, I say, Renmark, you’re crazy.”
“Perhaps so. Be all the more on your guard, if you believe it. A lunatic
is sometimes dangerous.”
“Oh, go away. You’re dreaming. You’re talking in your sleep. What!
Fight? Tonight? Nonsense!”
“Do you want me to strike you before you are ready?”
“No, Renny, no. My wants are always modest. I don’t wish to fight at
all, especially to-night. I’m a reformed man, I tell you. I have no
desire to bid good-by to my best girl with a black eye to-morrow.”
“Then stop talking, if you can, and defend yourself.”
“It’s impossible to fight here in the dark. Don’t flatter yourself for
a moment that I am afraid. You just spar with yourself and get limbered
up, while I put some wood on the fire. This is too ridiculous.”
Yates gathered some fuel, and managed to coax the dying embers into a
blaze.
“There,” he said, “that’s better. Now, let me have a look at you. In the
name of wonder, Renny, what do you want to fight me for to-night?”
“I refuse to give my reason.”
“Then I refuse to fight. I’ll run, and I can beat you in a foot race any
day in the week. Why, you’re worse than her father. He at least let me
know why he fought me.”
“Whose father?”
“Kitty’s father, of course--my future father-in-law. And that’s another
ordeal ahead of me. I haven’t spoken to the old man yet, and I need all
my fighting grit for that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t my language plain? It usually is.”
“To whom are you engaged? As I understand your talk, it is to Miss
Bartlett. Am I right?”
“Right as rain, Renny. This fire is dying down again. Say, can’t we
postpone our fracas until daylight? I don’t want to gather any more
wood. Besides, one of us is sure to be knocked into the fire, and thus
ruin whatever is left of our clothes. What do you say?”
“Say? I say I am an idiot.”
“Hello! reason is returning, Renny. I perfectly agree with you.”
“Thank you. Then you did not propose to Mar--to Miss Howard?”
“Now, you touch upon a sore spot, Renmark, that I am trying to forget.
You remember the unfortunate toss-up; in fact, I think you referred to
it a moment ago, and you were justly indignant about it at the time.
Well, I don’t care to talk much about the sequel; but, as you know the
beginning, you will have to know the end, because I want to wring a
sacred promise from you. You are never to mention this episode of the
toss-up, or of my confession, to any living soul. The telling of it
might do harm, and it couldn’t possibly do any good. Will you promise?”
“Certainly. But do not tell me unless you wish to.”
“I don’t exactly yearn to talk about it, but it is better you should
understand how the land lies, so you won’t make any mistake. Not on _my_
account, you know, but I would not like it to come to Kitty’s ears. Yes,
I proposed to Margaret--first. She wouldn’t look at me. Can you credit
that?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I----”
“Exactly. I see you _can_ credit it. Well, I couldn’t at first; but
Margaret knows her own mind, there’s no question about _that_. Say!
she’s in love with some other fellow. I found out that much.”
“You asked her, I presume.”
“Well, it’s my profession to find out things; and, naturally, if I do
that for my paper, it is not likely I am going to be behindhand when it
comes to myself. She denied it at first, but admitted it afterward, and
then bolted.”
“You must have used great tact and delicacy.”
“See here, Renmark; I’m not going to stand any of your sneering. I told
you this was a sore subject with me. I’m not telling you because I like
to, but because I have to. Don’t put me in fighting humor, Mr. Renmark.
If _I_ talk fight, I won’t begin for no reason and then back out for no
reason. I’ll go on.”
“I’ll be discreet, and beg to take back all I said. What else?”
“Nothing else. Isn’t that enough? It was more than enough for me--at the
time. I tell you, Renmark, I spent a pretty bad half hour sitting on the
fence and thinking about it.”
“So long as that?”
Yates rose from the fire indignantly.
“I take that back, too,” cried the professor hastily. “I didn’t mean
it.”
“It strikes me you’ve become awfully funny all of a sudden. Don’t you
think it’s about time we took to our bunks? It’s late.”
Renmark agreed with him but did not turn in. He walked to the friendly
fence, laid his arms along the top rail, and gazed at the friendly
stars. He had not noticed before how lovely the night was, with its
impressive stillness, as if the world had stopped, as a steamer stops in
mid-ocean. After quieting his troubled spirit with the restful stars he
climbed the fence and walked down the road, taking little heed of the
direction. The still night was a soothing companion. He came at last to
a sleeping village of wooden houses, and through the center of the town
ran a single line of rails, an iron link connecting the unknown hamlet
with all civilization. A red and a green light glimmered down the line,
giving the only indication that a train ever came that way. As he went a
mile or two farther the cool breath of the great lake made itself felt,
and after crossing a field he suddenly came upon the water, finding all
further progress in that direction barred. Huge sand dunes formed the
shore, covered with sighing pines. At the foot of the dunes stretched
a broad beach of firm sand, dimly visible in contrast with the darker
water; and at long intervals fell the light ripple of the languid summer
waves, running up the beach with a half-asleep whisper, that became
softer and softer until it was merged in the silence beyond. Far out on
the dark waters a point of light, like a floating star, showed where a
steamer was slowly making her way; and so still was the night that he
felt rather than heard her pulsating engines. It was the only sign of
life visible from that enchanted bay--the bay of the silver beach.
Renmark threw himself down on the soft sand at the foot of a dune.
The point of light gradually worked its way to the west, following,
doubtless unconsciously, the star of empire, and disappeared around the
headland, taking with it a certain vague sense of companionship. But the
world is very small, and a man is never quite as much alone as he thinks
he is. Renmark heard the low hoot of an owl among the trees, which
cry he was astonished to hear answered from the water. He sat up and
listened. Presently there grated on the sand the keel of a boat, and
someone stepped ashore. From the woods there emerged the shadowy forms
of three men. Nothing was said, but they got silently into the boat,
which might have been Charon’s craft for all he could see of it. The
rattle of the rowlocks and the plash of oars followed, while a voice
cautioned the rowers to make less noise. It was evident that some
belated fugitives were eluding the authorities of both countries.
Renmark thought, with a smile, that if Yates were in his place he would
at least give them a fright. A sharp command to an imaginary company
to load and fire would travel far on such a night, and would give the
rowers a few moments of great discomfort. Renmark, however, did not
shout, but treated the episode as part of the mystical dream, and lay
down on the sand again. He noticed that the water in the east seemed
to feel the approach of morning even before the sky. Gradually the
day dawned, a slowly lightening gray at first, until the coming sun
spattered a filmy cloud with gold and crimson. Renmark watched the glory
of the sunrise, took one lingering look at the curved beauty of the
bay shore, shook the sand from his clothing, and started back for the
village and the camp beyond.
The village was astir when he reached it. He was surprised to see
Stoliker on horseback in front of one of the taverns. Two assistants
were with him, also seated on horses. The constable seemed disturbed by
the sight of Renmark, but he was there to do his duty.
“Hello!” he cried, “you’re up early. I have a warrant for the arrest of
your friend: I suppose you won’t tell me where he is?”
“You can’t expect me to give any information that will get a friend into
trouble, can you? especially as he has done nothing.”
“That’s as may turn out before a jury,” said one of the assistants
gravely.
“Yes,” assented, Stoliker, winking quietly at the professor. “That is
for judge and jury to determine--not you.”
“Well,” said Renmark, “I will not inform about anybody, unless I am
compelled to do so, but I may save you some trouble by telling where I
have been and what I have seen. I am on my way back from the lake. If
you go down there, you will still see the mark of a boat’s keel on the
sand, and probably footprints. A boat came over from the other shore in
the night, and a man got on board. I don’t say who the man was, and I
had nothing to do with the matter in any way except as a spectator. That
is all the information I have to give.”
Stoliker turned to his assistants, and nodded. “What did I tell you?” he
asked. “We were right on his track.”
“You said the railroad,” grumbled the man who had spoken before.
“Well, we were within two miles of him. Let us go down to the lake and
see the traces. Then we can return the warrant.”
Renmark found Yates still asleep in the tent. He prepared breakfast
without disturbing him. When the meal was ready, he roused the reporter
and told him of his meeting with Stoliker, advising him to get back to
New York without delay.
Yates yawned sleepily.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve been dreaming it all out. I’ll get father-in-law
to tote me out to Fort Erie to-night.”
“Do you think it will be safe to put it off so long?”
“Safer than trying to get away during the day. After breakfast I’m going
down to the Bartlett homestead. Must have a talk with the old folks,
you know. I’ll spend the rest of the day making up for that interview
by talking with Kitty. Stoliker will never search for me there, and,
now that he thinks I’m gone, he will likely make a visit to the tent.
Stoliker is a good fellow, but his strong point is duty, you know; and
if he’s certain I’m gone, he’ll give his country the worth of its money
by searching. I won’t be back for dinner, so you can put in your time
reading my Dime Novels. I make no reflections on your cooking, Renny,
now that the vacation is over; but I have my preferences, and they
incline toward a final meal with the Bartletts. If I were you, I’d have
a nap. You look tired out.”
“I am,” said the professor.
Renmark intended to lie down for a few moments until Yates was clear of
the camp, after which he determined to pay a visit; but Nature, when she
got him locked up in sleep, took her revenge. He did not hear Stoliker
and his satellites search the premises, just as Yates had predicted they
would; and when he finally awoke, he found to his astonishment that
it was nearly dark. But he was all the better for his sleep, and he
attended to his personal appearance with more than ordinary care.
Old Hiram Bartlett accepted the situation with the patient and grim
stolidity of a man who takes a blow dealt him by a Providence known by
him to be inscrutable. What he had done to deserve it was beyond his
comprehension. He silently hitched up his horses, and, for the first
time in his life, drove into Fort Erie without any reasonable excuse for
going there. He tied his team at the usual corner, after which he sat at
one of the taverns and drank strong waters that had no apparent effect
on him. He even went so far as to smoke two native cigars; and a man
who can do that can do anything. To bring up a daughter who would
deliberately accept a man from “the States,” and to have a wife who
would aid and abet such an action, giving comfort and support to the
enemy, seemed to him traitorous to all the traditions of 1812, or any
other date in the history of the two countries. At times wild ideas of
getting blind full, and going home to break every breakable thing in the
house, rose in his mind; but prudence whispered that he had to live all
the rest of his life with his wife, and he realized that this scheme of
vengeance had its drawbacks. Finally, he untied his patient team, after
paying his bill, and drove silently home, not having returned, even by
a nod, any of the salutations tendered to him that day. He was somewhat
relieved to find no questions were asked, and that his wife recognized
the fact that he was passing through a crisis. Nevertheless, there was
a steely glitter in her eye under which he uneasily quailed, for it told
him a line had been reached which it would not be well for him to cross.
She forgave, but it must not go any further.
When Yates kissed Kitty good-night at the gate, he asked her, with some
trepidation, whether she had told anyone of their engagement.
“No one but Margaret,” said Kitty.
“And what did she say?” asked Yates, as if, after all, her opinion was
of no importance.
“She said she was sure I should be happy, and she knew you would make a
good husband.”
“She’s rather a nice girl, is Margaret,” remarked Yates, with the air
of a man willing to concede good qualities to a girl other than his own,
but indicating, after all, that there was but one on earth for him.
“She is a lovely girl,” said Kitty enthusiastically. “I wonder, Dick,
when you knew her, why you ever fell in love with me.”
“The idea! I haven’t a word to say against Margaret; but, compared with
my girl----”
And he finished his sentence with a practical illustration of his frame
of mind.
As he walked alone down the road he reflected that Margaret had acted
very handsomely, and he resolved to drop in and wish her good-by. But as
he approached the house his courage began to fail him, and he thought
it better to sit on the fence, near the place where he had sat the night
before, and think it over. It took a good deal of thinking. But as he
sat there it was destined that Yates should receive some information
which would simplify matters. Two persons came slowly out of the gate
in the gathering darkness. They strolled together up the road past him,
absorbed in themselves. When directly opposite the reporter, Renmark put
his arm around Margaret’s waist, and Yates nearly fell off the fence.
He held his breath until they were safely out of hearing, then slid down
and crawled along in the shadow until he came to the side road, up which
he walked, thoughtfully pausing every few moments to remark: “Well, I’ll
be----” But speech seemed to have failed him; he could get no further.
He stopped at the fence and leaned against it, gazing for the last time
at the tent, glimmering white, like a misshapen ghost, among the somber
trees. He had no energy left to climb over.
“Well, I’m a chimpanzee,” he muttered to himself at last. “The highest
bidder can have me, with no upset price. Dick Yates, I wouldn’t have
believed it of you. _You_ a newspaper man? _You_ a reporter from ‘way
back? _You_ up to snuff? Yates, I’m ashamed to be seen in your company!
Go back to New York, and let the youngest reporter in from a country
newspaper scoop the daylight out of you. To think that this thing has
been going on right under your well-developed nose, and you never saw
it--worse, never had the faintest suspicion of it; that it was thrust at
you twenty times a day--nearly got your stupid head smashed on account
of it; yet you bleated away like the innocent little lamb that you are,
and never even suspected! Dick, you’re a three-sheet-poster fool in
colored ink. And to think that both of them know all about the first
proposal! _Both_ of them! Well, thank Heaven, Toronto is a long way from
New York.”
THE END.