AS the extremes of fashionable feminine costume appear first on Fifth
Avenue in late November, and in early December are imitated in Harlem,
and finally in January pervade the metropolitan purlieus, so all the
great cities of the Union, writhing in the throes of a fashionable
suffragette revolution, presently inoculated the towns; and the towns
infected the villages, and the villages the hamlets, and the hamlets
passed the contagion along into the open country, where isolated farms
and dicky-birds alone remained uninfected and receptive.
It was even asserted by enthusiastic suffragettes that flocks of feminine
dicky-birds had begun to assault masculine birds of the same variety;
and that the American landscape was full of agitated male birds, lacking
rear plumage, flying distractedly in every direction or squatting
disconsolately in lonely trees, counting their tail feathers.
Mr. Borroughs and our late great President were excitedly inclined to
believe it, but the most famous and calm of explorers, who had recently
returned from exile to his camp on top of Mt. McKinley, warned the
scientific world on a type-writer not to credit anything that anybody
said until he had corroborated it in the magazines. And he left that week
for another trip to the pole to find out what the attitude of the
polecats might be concerning the matter in question.
Meanwhile the cities were full of trouble and forcibly selected
bridegrooms. From 60,000 marriages recorded in New York City for the
twelve months of the previous year, in the few months of the eugenic
revolution the number of weddings had reached the enormous figures of
180,000, not including Flatbush.
Thousands and thousands of marriageable young men were hiding in their
clubs or in the shrubbery of Central Park, waiting for a chance to make
their escape to the country and remain incognito in hay lofts until the
eugenic revolution had ended itself in a dazzling display of divorce.
Westchester, the Catskills, and even the country farther north were full
of young business men and professional men fleeing headlong from their
jobs in Wall Street, Broadway, and Fifth Avenue, and hiring out to
farmers and boarding house keepers under assumed names. One could jump a
young man out of almost any likely thicket north of the Bronx; they were
as plentiful and as shy as deer in the Catskills; corn field, scrub,
marsh, and almost any patch of woods in the State, if carefully beaten
up, would have yielded at least one or two flocks of skulking young men.
Now, as there was no close season, and marriageable youths in New York
City became scarcer, those militant suffragettes devoted to eugenic
principles began to make excursions into the suburbs in search of bevies
and singles--which had escaped the exciting days of the great Long Acre
drive and the bachelors' St. Bartholomew. And, as the April days turned
into May days, and the May days into June days, parties of pretty,
laughing, athletic girls penetrated farther and farther into the country,
joyously rummaging the woods and routing out and scattering into flight
the lurking denizens. For every den had its denizen, and Diana roamed the
earth once more.
There was excellent sport to be had along the Hudson. Some young ladies
went in automobiles; some in yachts; some by train, to points north,
where the landscape looked more promising and wilder--but probably not as
wild as the startled masculine countenances peering furtively from
hillside thickets as some gay camping party of distractingly pretty girls
appeared, carrying as excess baggage one clergywoman and a bundle of
marriage licenses, with the bridegroom's name represented only by a
question mark.
It was on an unusually beautiful day in early June that two briar-mangled
and weather-beaten young men, bearing every evidence of Wall Street and
excessive fright, might have been seen sitting up like a brace of
startled rabbits in a patch of ferns which grew along the edges of a
brook at the foot of a charmingly wooded slope among the Westchester
hills. In every direction stretched hills, woods, and Italians. The calm
remote sky was blue and unvexed by anything except factory smoke; not a
sound was visible, not a noise was to be seen.
Bacon was frying unctuously in a pan on the coals beside them; their
suit-cases lay near. They sat up in the fern patch, coffee cups
suspended, eyes wild, listening intently.
"Brown," whispered Vance, "did you hear anything except the hum of
automobiles?"
"I sure did," nodded Brown, craning his neck like a turkey in a
briar-patch and glaring around.
"If--if they've got dogs," said Vance, "they'll flush us before--hark!
Great guns! _Look_ at that bench show!"
Brown's hair rose on end. "They _have_ got dogs," he whispered, "a toy
bull, a Mexican, a Chow, two Pomms--and, by Jupiter! they've got a
marmoset! Look at 'em! Hark! You can hear those unnatural girls laughing!
Me for a quick getaway. Come on!"
"They--they may come from some college," faltered Vance; "they may run us
down. Shall we trust to our protective colouring and squat close?"
"Do you want to stay here until that miserable Chow comes poking his
orange-coloured head into the ferns and laughs at us with his blue
tongue?"
Vance wrung his hands, hurling coffee all over Brown in his agonised
indecision.
"Good heavens!" he moaned. "I don't _want_ to be married! I can't afford
it! Do you think those girls can outrun us?"
"If they can," said Brown, "they'll want me more than I want my liberty.
Look out! There's their bat-eared bull! See him sniff! The wretched mutt
has winded the bacon! We've got to make a break for it now! Come on! Beat
it, son!"
Up out of the covert crashed the two young fellows, and went prancing
away through the woods, suit-cases in hand. A chorus of excited yelps and
barks greeted the racket they made in their flight; a shrill whistle rang
out, then a pretty and excited voice:
"Mark! Quick, Gladys! There are two of them! Mark left!"
"Are they any good?" cried Gladys. "Oh, where are they, dear?"
"I only caught a glimpse of them. They looked like fine ones, in splendid
condition. Millicent! Quick, where are you?"
"Here!" came a third voice. "Oh, Constance! one is too perfectly splendid
for anything! Chow-Chow is at his heels! Look out! Mark right!"
"Run!" panted Constance, leaping a fallen log.
The lovely June woodland was now echoing with the happy cries of the
chase, the ki-yi of excited lap-dogs, the breathless voices of the young
girls, the heavy crashing racket of stampeding young men rushing headlong
through bramble and thicket with a noise like a hurricane amid dead
leaves.
Vance's legs, terror weakened, wobbled as he fled; and after ten minutes
he took to a tree with a despairing scream.
Brown, looking back from the edge of a mountain pasture, saw the dogs
leaping frantically at his friend's legs as he shinned rapidly up the
trunk, and disappeared into the clustering foliage; saw three flushed
young girls come running up with cries of innocent delight; saw one of
them release a slender, black, furry, spidery thing which immediately ran
up the tree; heard distracted yells from Vance:
"For heaven's sake, take away that marmoset! I can't bear 'em--I hate
'em, ladies! Ouch! He's all over me! He's trying to get into my pocket!
Take him away, for the love of Mike, and I'll come down!"
But Brown waited to hear no more. Horror now lent him her infernal wings;
he fairly fluttered across the mountain side, sailed down the farther
slope, and into a lonely country road. Along this he cantered, observed
only by surprised cattle, until, exhausted, he slackened his pace to a
walk.
Rickety fences and the remains of old stone walls flanked him on either
hand; the clearings were few, the cultivated patches fewer. He
encountered no houses. On a distant hillside stood a weather-beaten barn,
the sky shining blue through its roof rafters.
Beyond this the road forked; one branch narrowed to a grassy cattle path
and presently ended at a pair of bars. Inside the bars was a stone barn;
beside the barn a house of the century before last--a low, square stone
house, half stripped of its ancient stucco skin, a high-roofed one-story
affair, with sagging dormers peering from the slates and little oblong
loop-holes under the eaves, from which the straw of birds' nests
fluttered in the breeze.
Surely this ancient place, even if inhabited--as he saw it was--must be
sufficiently remote from the outer world to insure his safety. For here
the mountain road ended at the barn-yard bars; here the low wooded hills
walled in this little world of house, barn, and orchard, making a silent,
sunny place under the blue sky, sweet with late lilac bloom and the hum
of bees. No factory smoke was visible, no Italians.
He looked at the aged house. A black cat sat on the porch thoughtfully
polishing her countenance with the back of one paw. Three diminutive
parti-coloured kittens frisked and rolled and toddled around her; and
occasionally she seized one and washed it energetically against the
grain.
Brown looked at the door with its iron knocker, at the delicately spread
fan-light over it, at the side-lights, at the half-pillars with their
Ionic capitals, at the ancient clumps of lilacs flanking the stone
step--great, heavy-stemmed and gnarled old bushes now all hung with
perfumed clusters of palest lavender bloom.
Leaning there on the picket fence he inhaled their freshness, gazing up
into the sunny foliage of the ancient trees, elms, maples, and one oak so
aged and so magnificent that, awed, his eyes turned uneasily again toward
the house to reassure himself that it was still inhabited.
Cat and kittens were comfortable evidence, also a hen or two loitering
near, and the pleasant sound from a dozen bee-hives, and a wild rose in a
china bowl, dimly visible on an inner window-sill.
There were two characters he might assume; he might go to the back door
and request a job; he might bang on the front door with that iron
knocker, shaped like a mermaid, and ask for country board.
Of one thing, somehow or other, he was convincing himself; this crumbling
house and its occupants knew as much about the recent high-jinks in New
York as did the man who built it in the days when loop-holes were an
essential part of local architecture, and the painted Sagamore passed
like a spectre through the flanking forests.
So Brown, carrying his suit-case, opened the gate, walked up the path,
seized the knocker, and announced himself with resolution.
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