Having accepted this commission from a sense of his general uselessness,
the mutilated man said good-night and went to his room. How carefully
comfortable it had been made by loving bands! Even the telephone was
there to console him.
So he telephoned a telegram:
Miss Coggeshall, Eglantine, Wickford, Conn.
Home and hungry. Do you know anybody who would invite Gratia and
me to dinner?
Marvin.
No sooner had he sent it than he realized its misleading quality. He was
hungry in the literal sense, not hungry for Gratia. Language was always
spilling over like that. Take the idiotic names of the elements—names of
towns, islands, countries, men, colors, goddesses, anything to conceal
the one important thing, the number. Nitrogen did not give birth,
phosphorus did not carry more light than vanadium, and vanadium was not
the goddess of love.
What was a goddess, anyhow, and what was love? Being unable to define
either of these obsolete expressions, Marvin went to sleep. The earth
turned round and showed again one star that blotted out all the rest.
But the electromagnetic sunlight did not awaken him. Nothing did that
till the baser elements of his nature were touched—the smell of coffee
tickling the tips of receptors in his nose.
He opened his eyes, and saw his beautiful mother standing there with a
tray of breakfast.
She set down the tray and handed him a slip of paper which he perceived
to be Miss Kate’s answer. It read, “She is here, attending her class
reunion.”
“Mother, I hate to leave all this luxury, but I’m leaving at ten o’clock
for Wickford, to ask Gratia to marry me. Her father does not especially
approve of me. Should you object to her as a daughter?”
“My dearest, you know I wouldn’t. Give her my dearest love as soon as
she accepts you.”
The day was sweet, and he spent most of it on the observation platform
of the swift train. They ran through sun and shower. Now it was a bank
of wild pale clover along the track, with nitrifying nodules on the
roots and sweet volatile oils swept from every leaf by the cyclone on
which he sat. Now it was a field of red clover with virgin bees stealing
nectar or carrying male pollen to delicate cold tubes, while overhead
the lightning fixed the nitrogen, and rain washed it down to the roots.
He was early to bed above the resonant wheels, but lay thinking about
Asher Ferry. It was natural that Asher should object to him, and decent
of Asher to be sorry for him, and decent of Asher to open the door and
not have him thrown out. That yielding was a sign of strength, even if
Asher was a poor judge of cloth. Good judge however of some other
things. First man to see the possibilities of vanadium in farm
machinery—owed a lot to the resulting lightness. Physically
near-sighted, mentally far-sighted. Simple as a child in all that big
house. Pacifist because so simple-minded. Suppose things had gone
otherwise. Suppose Asher had smilingly consented, seen them married,
given him a laboratory. Never thought of it before. Couldn’t have
accepted anyhow. Wasn’t in love, never had been in love. What was love?
Asked that question last night, got no answer, went to sleep—
And at this point, having been just to his enemy, Marvin slept the sleep
of the just. Since thought is mostly a series of interruptions, he was
interrupted. Since the sun was not pouring into his eyes, his triangular
cells began to plump out their nuclei, ready to nerve him for the
morrow. And many more such things happened to him, the which no man
knoweth.
Next day he turned into the roseate enclosure as of old, and received
the unsolicited kiss of the lady who had once cuffed him on the ear. He
explained briefly that Asher Ferry had declined to invite him to dinner,
perhaps because of the cut of his clothes.
“I see. But you look so pale, so thin, so manly—oh, my dear fellow, I’m
sure she can’t resist. I’ll send her down immediately.”
Marvin stepped into his hired car and waited, while his inconsiderate
heart thumped against his ribs.
In five minutes she appeared. She wore a blue dress and a close-fitting
hat, and was entrancing to look at.
He sprang down to meet her, and she kissed him! This looked bad. Her
months of silence had apparently blossomed into love.
He helped her into the car, and off they started as of old.
“Marvin, you look grand in your uniform.”
“Thank you, dear. You wore a uniform, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it was very plain.”
“That’s a pretty dress you are wearing. What do you call it?”
“This? It’s just a cotton voile, and it’s out of date.”
Out of date or not, that silver blue clung to her slenderness, and the
skirt of it had approximately a million pin-tucks. There was a white
organdy sash about her dainty middle. A square white collar of the same
stuff revealed the petally texture of her neck where it met her body in
a sort of dimple.
“Why do you call it out of date?”
“The blue isn’t right. Girls are wearing a French blue now, to suggest
the uniform of the French soldiers. And pin-tucks are quite out; deep
folds are the right thing.”
“Well, Gratia, I don’t know one goods from another, but I can learn.”
She laughed. “Stay all night, and see me this evening in my Veronese
green. Tomorrow I’ll put on my silk duvetyn because it matches my eyes.
Can you guess the color?”
“Midnight blue.”
“Wrong. It’s gentian.”
“Gratia, you get your eyes from your father.”
“I know it, and it worries me a little. Do you suppose near-sightedness
is hereditary?”
Something in her anxious tone made him think of Jimmy’s eyes. It gave
him a ray of hope, but he dared not presume upon it.
“Gratia, I don’t know. But if there were myopia in my family and I
feared my children would catch it, I’d consult the greatest living
authority. I don’t feel called upon to name him. I am bound to remind
you that the Mahans are not short sighted. They can see anything at a
distance except field-guns.”
“Was it a field-gun that robbed you?”
“Yes, I was careless that morning.”
“Marvin, you had the finest left hand that ever was.”
“Does the loss of it make a difference?”
“Why, not much. You steer remarkably well, considering.”
“Thank you, dear. I can’t even tie my cravat or wash my hand without
help.”
He brought the car to a halt at the top of the hill.
“This is where we left the road three years ago. Let’s go over and look
at the thorn-apple again.”
“I’d a little rather not. You’ll want me to sit down, and the ground is
too damp for this dress.”
“Gratia, you are cruel not to give me the right atmosphere for what I am
going to say.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
“But I do. Gratia, will you please marry me?”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t you love me?”
“I can’t say that I do.”
“Have I offended you?”
“No. Do you love me?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then everything is all right. I’m glad it’s over.”
They continued their drive, and the sunshine seemed brighter.
“Marvin, your father was simply horrid to my father.”
“I know. By the way, it seems that all the trouble started with Jimmy.
Tell me about him.”
“Why, father has invited him to dinner six times.”
“I suppose it’s a mark of favor when your father invites a man to
dinner. I called on him in the hope of such a favor myself, but he
opened the door and showed me out.”
“Father opened the door for you! He never did that for Jimmy. Did you
tell him you wanted to marry me?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Why, merely that I intended to ask you. Tell me more about Jimmy.”
“Well, father keeps raising his salary.”
“Fine! Jimmy is all wool and a yard wide.”
“Marvin—”
“Yes, dear.”
“Hogs are a yard wide, but they are not woolly.”
“Gratia, have I lived to hear you make a joke? I’ll act on the
suggestion the minute I get back home. Jimmy shall change his name.”
“I don’t think you are very delicate.”
“Well, let’s be delicate. Let’s go and call on his mother.”
Gratia could not object, but when they approached the little orchard and
saw the white shawl on the porch as of yore, she said she would wait in
the car.
Marvin ran up the driveway, and kissed Susan Endicott Hogg before she
could escape him. Susan however had caught sight of Gratia and was
plainly furious. Never in her life had she so felt the need of
controlling her temper. But she did control it. She welcomed her
unwelcome guest. She told him he was a hero. He assured her that he was
no such thing, but only a blind Bwan—a term that he had to explain. She
listened to the details, but her mind was obviously on that lost
daughter-in-law out in the car.
When the painful interview was over, Marvin carried his lost love back
to Eglantine in the highest good humor. They made a stunning pair when
they walked into Miss Coggeshall’s office.
Miss Kate looked up. Marvin stood with his arm around Gratia, and the
pale gold of her beautiful hair was shadowed by the auburn above it.
“Am I to congratulate you?”
“Yes! We’re not going to get married.”