But when your arms are full of girl and fluff
You hide your nerve behind a yard of grin;
You'd spit into a bulldog's face, or bluff
A flock of dragons with a safety pin.
Life's a slow skate, but love's the dopey glim
That puts a brewery horse in racing trim.
--Wallace Irwin.
CANARIES SING FOR THE HERO
Part 1
James Farnum had been back in Verden twenty-four hours. A few little
scars still decorated his handsome visage, but he explained them away
with the story of a motor car accident. Just now he was walking to the
bank, and he had spoken his piece five times in a distance of three
blocks. From experience he was getting letter perfect as to the details.
Even the idiotic joke about the clutch seemed now a necessary part of
the recital.
It was just as he was crossing Powers that a motor car whirled around
the corner and down upon a man descending from a street car. The
chauffeur honked wildly and rammed the brakes home. Simultaneously James
leaped, flinging his weight upon the man standing dazed in the path of
the automobile. The two went down together, and for a moment Farnum knew
only a crash of the senses.
He was helped to his feet. Voices, distant and detached, asked whether
he was hurt. Blood trickled into his eyes from a cut in the head. It
came to him oddly enough that his story about the motor car accident
would now be true.
A slender figure in gray slipped swiftly past him and knelt beside the
still shape lying on the asphalt.
“Bring water, Roberts!”
James knew that clear, sweet voice. It could belong only to Alice Frome.
“Are you much hurt, Mr. Farnum?”
“No, I think not--a cut over my eye and a few bruises.”
“I'm so glad. But this poor old man--I'm afraid he's badly hurt.”
“Was he run over?”
“No. You saved him from that. You don't know him, do you?”
The lawyer looked at the unconscious man and could not repress a start.
It was his father. For just an eyebeat he hesitated before he said,
“I've seen him before somewhere.”
“We must take him to the hospital. Isn't there a doctor here? Someone
run for a doctor.” The young woman's glance swept the crowd in appeal.
“I'll take care of him. Better get away before the crowd is too large,
Miss Frome.”
“No. It was our machine did it. Oh, here's a doctor.”
A pair of lean, muscular shoulders pushed through the press after the
doctor. “Much hurt, James?” inquired their owner.
“No. For heaven's sake, get Miss Frome away, Jeff,” implored his cousin.
“Miss Frome!” Jeff stepped forward with an exclamation.
The young woman looked up. She was kneeling in the street and supporting
the head of the wounded man. Her face was almost as bloodless as his.
“We almost ran him down. Your cousin jumped to save him. He isn't dead,
doctor, is he?”
Jeff turned swiftly to his cousin and spoke in a low voice. “It's your
father.”
The lawyer pushed forward with a manner of authority.
“This won't do, doctor. The crowd's growing and we're delaying the
traffic. Let us lift him into the machine and take him to the hospital.”
“Very good, Mr. Farnum.”
“Doctor, will you go with him to the hospital? And Jeff... you, too, if
you please.”
A minute later the car pushed its way slowly through the crush of people
and disappeared. James was left standing on the curb with Alice.
He spoke brusquely. “Someone call a cab, please....I'll send you home,
Miss Frome.”
“No, to the hospital,” she corrected. “I couldn't go home now without
knowing how he is.”
“Very well. Anything to get away from here.”
“And you can have your cut attended to there.”
“Oh, that's nothing. A basin of cold water is all I need. Here's the
cab, thank heaven.”
The girl's gaze followed the automobile up the hill as she waited for
the taxicab to stop. “I do hope he isn't hurt badly,” she murmured
piteously.
“Probably he isn't. Just stunned, the doctor seemed to think. Anyhow it
was an unavoidable accident.”
The eyes of the young woman kindled. “I'll never forget the way you
jumped to save him. It was splendid.”
James flushed with pleasure. “Nonsense. I merely pushed him aside.”
“You merely risked your life for his. A bagatelle--don't mention it,”
the girl mocked.
Farnum nodded, the old warmth for her in his eyes. “All right, I'll take
all the praise you want to give me. It's been a good while since you
have thought I deserved any.”
Alice looked out of the window in a silence that appeared to accuse him.
“Yet once”--She felt in his fine voice the vibration of feeling--“once
we were friends. We met on the common ground of--of the spirit,” he
risked.
Her eyes came round to meet his. “Is it my fault that we are not still
friends?”
“I don't know. Something has come between us. What is it?”
“If you don't know I can't tell you.”
“I think I know.” He folded his handkerchief again to find a spot
unstained. “You wanted me to fit into some ideal of me you had
formed. Am I to blame because I can't do it? Isn't the fault with your
austerity? I've got to follow my own convictions--not Jeff's, not even
yours. Life's a fight, and it's every man for himself. He has to work
out his own salvation in his own way. Nobody can do it for him. The
final test is his success or failure. I'm going to succeed.”
“Are you?” The compassion of her look he could not understand. “But how
shall we define success?”
“It's getting power and wielding it.”
“But doesn't it depend on how one wields it?”
“Yes. It must be made to produce big results. Now my idea of a
successful man is your uncle, Joe Powers.”
“And my idea of one is your cousin, Jefferson Farnum.”
The young man sat up. “You're not seriously telling me that you think
Jeff is successful as compared with Joe Powers?”
“Yes. In my opinion he is the most successful man I ever met.”
James was annoyed. “I expect you have a monopoly in that opinion, Miss
Frome--unless Jeff shares it.”
“He doesn't.”
The lawyer laughed irritably. “No, I shouldn't think he would.” He added
a moment later: “I don't suppose Jeff is worth a hundred dollars.”
“Probably not.”
“And Joe Powers is worth a hundred millions.”
“That settles it. I must have been wrong.” Alice looked at him with a
flash of demure daring. “Valencia said something to me the other day I
didn't quite understand. Ought I to congratulate you?”
“What did she say?” he asked eagerly.
“Oh, I'll not tell you what she said. My question was in first.”
“You may as well, though it's still a secret. Nobody knows it but you
and me.”
“And Valencia.”
“I didn't know she knew it yet.”
Alice stared. “Not know that she is going to marry you? Then it isn't
really arranged?”
“It is and it isn't.”
“Oh!”
“I know it and she suspects it.”
“Is this a riddle?”
“Riddle is a good word when we speak of your cousin,” he admitted
judicially.
“Perhaps I asked a question I ought not to have.”
“Not at all. I'm trying to answer you as well as I can. Last time I
mentioned the subject she laughed at me.”
“So you've asked her?”
“No, I told her.”
“And she said?”
“Regretted that other plans would not permit her to fall in with mine.”
“Then I don't quite see how you are so sure.”
“That's just what she says, but I've a notion she is planning the
trousseau.”
Alice flashed a sidelong look at him. Was he playing with her? Or did he
mean it?
“You'll let me know when I may safely congratulate you,” she retorted
ironically.
“Now is the best time. I may not see you this evening.”
“Oh, it's to be this evening, is it?”
“To the best of my belief and hope.”
His complacency struck a spark from her. “You needn't be so cock sure. I
daresay she won't have you.”
His smile took her into his confidence. “That's what I'm afraid of
myself, but I daren't let her see it.”
“That sounds better.”
“I think she wants to eat her cake and have it, too.”
“Meaning, please?”
“That she likes me, but would rather hold me off a while.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, that would be like Val.”
“Meanwhile I don't know whether I'm to be a happy man or not.”
Her fine eyes looked in their direct fashion right into his. “I must say
you appear greatly worried.”
“Yes,” he smiled.
“You must be tremendously in love with her.”
“Ye-es, thank you.”
“Why are you going to marry her then--if she'll let you?”
“Now I'm having Joe Powers' railroads and his steamboats and his mines
thrown at me, am I not?” he asked lightly.
“No, I don't think that meanly of you. I know you're a victim of
ambition, but I don't suppose it would take you that far.”
He gave her an ironical bow. “Thanks for this testimonial of respect.
You're right. It wouldn't. I'm going to marry Joe Power's daughter, _Deo
volente_ because she is the most interesting woman I know and the most
beautiful one.”
“Oh! That's the reason.”
“These, plus a sentimental one which I can't uncover to the cynical eyes
of my young cousin that is to be, are my motives; though, mind you, I'm
not fool enough to be impervious to the railroads and the ocean liners
and the mines you didn't mention. I hope my reasons satisfy you,” he
added coolly.
“If they satisfy Val they do me, but very likely you'll find they
won't.”
“The doubt adds a fillip to the situation.”
Her eyes had gone from time to time out of the window. Now she gave a
sigh of relief. “Here we are at the hospital. Oh, I do hope that poor
man is all right!”
“I'm sure he is. He was recovering consciousness when they left.
James helped her out of the cab and they went together up the steps. In
the hall they met Jeff. He had just come down stairs.
“Everything's all right. His head must have struck the asphalt, but
there seems to be no danger.”
Alice noticed that the newspaper man spoke to his cousin and not to her.
Part 2
Though Valencia Van Tyle had not made up her mind to get married, James
hit the mark when he guessed that she was interesting herself in the
accessories that would go with such an event. The position she took in
the matter was characteristic. She had gone the length of taking expert
counsel with her New York modiste concerning gowns for the occasion,
without having at all decided that she would exchange her present
independence for another venture into stormy matrimonial seas.
“Perhaps I shatn't have to make up my mind at all,” she found amusement
in chuckling to herself. “What a saving of trouble it would be if he
would abduct me in his car. I could always blame him then if it did not
turn out well.”
Something of this she expressed to James the evening of the day of the
accident, watching him through half-shuttered eyes to see how he would
take her first concession that she was considering him.
He took without external disturbance her gay, embarrassed suggestion,
the manner of which might mean either shyness or the highest expression
of her art.
“I'd kidnap you fast enough except that I don't want to rob you of the
fun of getting ready. How long will it take you? Would my birthday be
too soon? It's on the fourth of June.”
“Too soon for what?” she asked innocently.
“For my birthday present--Valencia Powers.”
She liked it that he used her maiden surname instead of her married one.
It seemed to imply that he loved her in the swift, ardent way of youth.
“Are you sure you want it?”
The lawyer appreciated her soft, warm allurement, the appeal of sex with
which she was so prodigally endowed. His breath came a little faster.
“He won't be happy till he gets it.”
Her faint laughter rippled out. “That's just the point, my friend. Will
he be happy then? And, which is more important to her, will she?”
“That's what I'm here to see. I'm going to make you happy.”
She laced her fingers behind her tawny head, not quite unaware perhaps
that the attitude set off the perfect modeling of her soft, supple body.
“I don't doubt your good intentions, but it takes more than that to make
marriage happy when the contracting parties are not Heaven-sent.”
“But we are--we are.”
Valencia shook her head. “Oh, no! There will be no rapturous song of
birds for us, none of that fine wantonness that doesn't stop to count
the cost. If we marry no doubt we'll have good reasons, but not the very
best one--that we can't help it.”
He would not consent to that. “You're not speaking for me. The birds
sing, Valencia.”
“Canaries in a cage,” she mocked.
“You've forgotten two things.”
“Yes?”
“That you are the most beautiful woman on earth, and that I'm a man,
with red blood in my veins.”
Under lowered lids she studied him. This very confident, alert American,
modern from head to heel, attracted her more than any other man. There
was a dynamic quality in him that stirred her blood. He was efficient,
selfish enough to win, and yet considerate in the small things that go
to make up the sum of existence. Why not then? She must marry some time
and she was as nearly in love as she would ever be.
“What ARE your reasons for wanting me?”
“We smoke the same Egyptians,” he mocked.
“That's a good reason, so far as it goes.”
“And you're such a charming puzzle that I would like to domesticate it
and study the eternal mystery at my leisure.”
“Then it's as a diversion that you want me.”
“A thing of beauty and a joy forever, the poet puts it. But diversion
if you like. What greater test of charming versatility for a woman
than that she remain a diversion to her husband, unstaled by custom and
undulled by familiarity?”
After all her father would be pleased to have her marry an American
business man. The Powers' millions could easily buy for her a fine old
dukedom if she wanted one. At present there was more than one available
title-holder on her horizon. But Valencia did not care to take up the
responsibilities that go with such a position. She was too indolent
to adapt her life to the standards of others--and perhaps too proud.
Moreover, it happened that she had had enough of the club man type in
the late lamented Van Tyle. This man was a worker. He would not annoy
her or interfere with her careless pleasures. Again she asked herself,
Why not?
“I suppose you really do like me.” Her face was tilted in gay little
appeal.
“I'm not going to tell you how much. It wouldn't be good for discipline
in the house.”
Her soft little laugh bubbled over. “We seem to have quite settled it.
And I hadn't the slightest notion of agreeing to anything so ridiculous
when I ventured that indiscreet remark about an abduction.” She looked
up at him with smiling insolence. “You're only an adventurer, you know.
I daresay you haven't even paid for the car in which you were going to
kidnap me.”
“No,” he admitted cheerfully.
“I wonder what Dad will think of it.”
“He'll thank Heaven you didn't present him with a French or Italian
count to support.”
“I believe he will. His objection to Gus was that he looked like a
foreigner and never had done a day's work in his life. Poor Gus! He
didn't measure up to Dad's idea of a man. Now I suppose you could earn a
living for us.”
“I'm not expecting you to take in sewing.”
“Are you going to do the independent if Dad cuts up rough?” she asked
saucily.
“Independent is the word.” He smiled with a sudden appreciation of the
situation. “And I take it he means to cut up rough. I wired him to-day I
was going to ask you to marry me.”
“You didn't.”
“Yes.”
“But wasn't that a little premature? Perhaps it wouldn't have been
necessary. Or did you take me for granted?”
“There was always the car for a kidnapping in case of necessity,” he
joked.
“Why did you do it?”
“I wanted to be above board about it even if I am an adventurer.”
“What did he say? How could you put it in a telegram?”
“Red consoles marooned sweet post delayed.”
“Dear me! What gibberish is that?”
“It's from our private code. It means, 'Going to marry your daughter if
she is willing. With your consent, I hope.'”
“And he answered? I'll take the English version, please.”
“'Consent refused. No fortune hunters need apply.' That is not a direct
quotation, but it conveys his meaning accurately enough.”
“So I'm to be cut off with a shilling.” Her eyes bubbled with delight.
“I reckon so. Of course I had to come back at him.”
“How, may I ask?” She was vastly amused at this novel correspondence.
“Oh, I merely said in substance that I was glad to hear it because you
couldn't think now I wanted to marry you for your money. I added that
if things came my way we would send him cards later. One doesn't like to
slang one's wife's father, so I drew it mild.”
“I don't believe a word of it. You wouldn't dare.”
That she admired and at the same time distrusted was so apparent that he
drew a yellow envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.
“This is his latest contribution to the literature of frankness. You
see his feelings overflowed so promptly he had to turn loose in good
American talk right off the bat. Couldn't wait for the code.”
She read aloud. “Your resignation as General Counsel Transcontinental
will be accepted immediately. Turn over papers to Walker and go to the
devil.” It was signed “Powers.”
“That's all, is it? No further exchange of compliments,” she wanted to
know.
“That's all, except that he is reading my resignation by this time. I
sent it two hours ago. In it I tried to convey to him my sense of regret
at being obliged to sever business relations owing to the fact that
I was about to contract family ties with him. I hoped that he would
command me in any way he saw fit and was sorry we couldn't come to an
agreement in the present instance.”
“I don't believe you're a bit sorry. Don't you realize what an expensive
luxury you're getting in me and how serious a thing it is to cast off
heaven knows how many millions?”
“Oh, I realize it!”
“But you expect him to come round when he has had time to think it
over?”
“It's hard for me to conceive of anybody not wanting me for a
son-in-law,” he admitted cheerfully.
Valencia nodded. “He'll like you all the better for standing up to him.
He's fond of Alice because she's impudent to him.”
“I didn't mean to be impudent, but I couldn't lie down and let him prove
me what he called me.”
“If you're that kind of a man I'm almost glad you're going to make me
marry you,” she confided.
He leaned over her chair, his eyes shining. “I'll make you more than
almost glad, Valencia. You're going to learn what it is to--oh, damn
it!”
He was impersonally admiring her Whistler when the maid brushed aside
the portieres. She had come to bring Mrs. Van Tyle a telegram.
“No answer, Pratt.”
After the maid had retired her mistress called James to her side. Over
her shoulder he read it.
“Glad he is an American and not living on his father. Didn't think you
had so much sense. Tell that young man I want to see him in New York
immediately.”
The message was signed with the name of her father.
“What do you suppose he wants with you in New York?”
James was radiant. He kissed the perfect lips turned toward him before
he answered. “Oh, to make me president of the Transcontinental maybe.
How should I know? It's an olive branch. Isn't that enough?”
“When shall you go?”
He looked at his watch. “The limited leaves at nine-thirty. That gives
me nearly an hour.”
“You're not going to-night?”
“I'm going to-night. I must, dear. Those are the orders and I've got to
obey them.”
“But suppose I give you different orders. Surely I have some rights,
to-night of all nights. Why, we haven't been engaged ten minutes.
Business doesn't always come first.”
James hesitated. “It's the last thing I want to do, but when Joe Powers
says 'Come!' I know enough to jump.”
“But when I say stay?” she pleaded.
“Then I stop the prettiest mouth in the world with kisses and run away
before I hear the order.” Gaily he suited the action to the word.
But, for once swift, she reached the door before him.
“Wait. Don't go, dear.”
The last word came faintly, unexpectedly. The enticement of the appeal
went to his head. He had shaken her out of the indifference that was her
pride. One arm slipped round her waist. His other hand tilted back her
head until he could look into the eyes in which a new fire had been
kindled.
“What about that almost glad? If I stay will you forget all qualifying
words and be just glad?”
She nodded quickly, laughing ever so softly. “Yes, I'll help you listen
to the birds sing. Do you know I can almost hear them?”
James drew a deep breath and caught her swiftly to him. “New York will
have to wait till to-morrow. The birds will sing to-night and we will
not count the cost.”
“Yes, my lord,” she answered demurely.
For to-night she wanted to forget that their birds were only caged
canaries.
CHAPTER 23
“And what are the names of the Fortunate Isles,
Lo! duty and love and a large content;
And these are the Isles of the watery miles
That God let down from the firmament.
Lo! duty and love and a true man's trust,
Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust:
Lo! duty and love and a sweet babe's smiles,
And these, O friends, are the Fortunate Isles.”
AND LARKS FOR THE REBEL
Beneath a sky faintly pink with the warning of the coming sunrise Jeff
walked an old logging trail that would take him back to camp from his
morning dip. Ferns and blackberry bushes, heavy with dew, reached across
the road and grappled with each other. At every step, as he pushed
through the tangle, a shower of drops went flying.
His was the incomparable buoyant humor of a lover treading a newborn
world. A smile was in his eyes, tender, luminous, cheerful. He thought
of the woman whom he had not seen for many months, and he was buoyed up
by the fine spiritual edge which does not know defeat. Win or lose, it
was clear gain to have loved her.
With him he carried a vision of her, young, ardent, all fire and flame.
One spoke of things beautiful and her face lit from within. Her words,
motions, came from the depths, half revealed and half concealed dear
hidden secrets. He recalled the grace of the delicate throat curve,
little tricks of expression, the sweetness of her energy.
The forest broke, opening into a clearing. He stood to drink in its
beauty, for the sun, peeping over a saddle in the hills, had painted the
place a valley of gold and russet. And while he waited there came out of
the woods beyond, into that splendid setting, the vision that was in his
mind.
He was not surprised that his eyes were playing him tricks. This was
after all the proper frame for the picture of his golden sweetheart.
Lance-straight and slender, his wood nymph waded knee deep through the
ferns. Straight toward him she came, and his temples began to throb. A
sylph of the woods should be diaphanous. The one he saw was a creature
of color and warmth and definiteness. Life, sweet and mocking, flowed
through her radiantly. His heart sang within him, for the woman he loved
out of a world of beautiful women was coming to him, light-footed as
Daphne, the rhythm of the morning in her step.
She spoke, commonplace words enough. “Last night I heard you were here.”
“And I didn't know you were within a thousand miles.”
“We came back to Verden Thursday and are up over Sunday,” she explained.
He was lost in the witchery of the spell she cast over him. Not the
drooping maidenhair ferns through which she trailed were more
delicate or graceful than she. But some instinct in him played surface
commonplaces against the insurgent emotion of his heart.
“You like Washington?”
“I like home better.”
“But you were popular at the capital. I read a great deal in the papers
about your triumphs.”
The dye in her cheeks ran a little stronger. There had been much gossip
about a certain Italian nobleman who had wooed her openly and madly.
“They told a lot of nonsense.”
“And some that wasn't nonsense.”
“Not much.” She changed the subject lightly. “You read all about the
wedding, of course.”
He quoted. “Miss Alice Frome as maid of honor preceded the bride,
appearing in a handsome gown of very delicate old rose satin with an
overdress of--”
“Very good. You may go to the head of the class, sir. Valencia was
beautiful and your cousin never looked more handsome.”
“Which is saying a good deal.”
“And we're all hoping they will live happy ever after.”
“You know he is being talked of for United States Senator already.”
“You will oppose him?” she asked quickly.
“I shall have to.”
“Still an irreconcilable.” Her smile could be vivid, and just now it
was.
“Still a demagogue and a trouble maker,” he admitted.
“You've won the recall and the direct primary since I left.”
“Yes. We've been busy.”
“And our friends--how are they?”
“You should see Jefferson Davis Farnum Miller. He's two months old and
as fat as a dumpling.”
“I've seen him. He's a credit to his godfather.”
“Isn't he? That's one happy family.”
“I wonder who's to blame for that,” she said, the star flash in her
eyes.
“Nellie told you?”
“She told me.”
“They exaggerate. Nobody could have done less than I.”
“Or more.” She did not dwell upon the subject. “Tell me about Mr.
Marchant.”
He went over for her the story of the little poet's gentle death. She
listened till he made an end.
“Then it was not hard for him?”
“No. He had one of his good, eager days, then guietly fell asleep.”
“And passed to where, beyond these voices, there is rest and peace,” she
quoted, ever so softly.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps he knows now all about his Perfect State.” Her wistful smile
was very tender.
“Perhaps.”
They walked together slowly across the valley.
“It is nearly six months since I have seen you.”
“Five months and twenty-seven days.” The words had slipped out almost
without her volition. She hurried on, ashamed, the color flying in her
cheeks, “I remember because it was the day we ran down your cousin and
that old gentleman. It has always been a great comfort to me to know
that he was not seriously injured.”
“No. It was only the shock of his fall.”
“What was his name? I don't think I heard it.”
There was just an instant's silence before he pronounced, “Farnum--Mr.
Robert Farnum.”
“A relative of yours?”
“Yes.”
Across her brain there flashed a fugitive memory of three words Jeff had
spoken to his cousin the day of the accident. “It's your father.”
But how could that be? She had always understood that both the parents
of James were dead. The lawyer had denied knowing the man whose life
he had saved. And yet she had been sure of the words and of a furtive,
frightened look on the face of James. According to the story of the
_Herald_ the father of Jefferson, a former convict, was named Robert.
But once, when she had made some allusion to it Captain Chunn had
exploded into vigorous denial. It was a puzzle the meaning of which she
could not guess.
“He has several times mentioned his wish to thank you for your
kindness,” Jeff mentioned.
“I'll be glad to meet him.” Swiftly she flashed a question at him. “Is
he James Farnum's father?”
“Haven't you read the papers? He is said to be mine.”
“But he isn't. He isn't. I see it now. James was ashamed to acknowledge
a father who had been in prison. Your enemies made a mistake and you let
it go.”
“It's all long since past. I wouldn't say anything about it to anybody.”
“Of course you wouldn't,” she scoffed. Her eyes were very bright. She
wanted to laugh and to weep at her discovery.
“You see it didn't matter with my friends. And my reputation was beyond
hope anyhow. It was different with James.”
She nodded. “Yes. It wouldn't have improved his chances with Valencia,”
her cousin admitted.
Jeff permitted himself a smile. “My impression was that he did not have
Mrs. Van Tyle in mind at the time.”
They had waded through the wet ferns to the edge of the woods. As her
eyes swept the russet valley through which they had passed Alice drew a
deep breath of pleasure. How good it was to be alive in such a world
of beauty! A meadow lark throbbed its three notes at her joyfully to
emphasize their kinship. An English pheasant strutted across the path
and disappeared into the ferns. Neither the man nor the woman spoke. All
the glad day called them to the emotional climax toward which they were
racing.
Womanlike, Alice attempted to evade what she most desired. He was to be
her mate. She knew it now. But the fear of him was in her heart.
“Were you so fond of him? Is that why you did it for him?” she asked.
“I didn't do it for him.”
“For whom then?”
He did not answer. Nor did his eyes meet hers. They were fixed on the
moving ferns where the pheasant had disappeared.
Alice guessed. He had done it for the girl because he thought her in
love with his cousin. A warm glow suffused her. No man made such a
sacrifice for a woman unless he cared for her.
The meadow lark flung out another carefree ecstasy. The theme of it was
the triumphant certainty that love is the greatest thing in the world.
Jeff felt that it was now or never.
“I love you. It's been hidden in my heart more than eight years, but
I find I must tell you. All the arguments against it I've rehearsed a
thousand times. The world is at your feet. You could never love a man
like me. To your friends I'm a bad lot. They never would consider me a
moment.”
Gently she interrupted. “Is it my friends you want to marry?”
The surprise of it took him by the throat. His astonished eyes
questioned for a denial. In that moment a wonderful secret was born into
the world. She held out both hands with a divine frankness, a sweetness
of surrender beyond words.
“But your father--your people!”
“'Where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people.”' She
murmured it with a broken little laugh that was a sob.
Even then he did not take her in his arms. The habit of reverence for
her was of many years' growth and not to be broken in an instant.
“You are sure, dear--quite sure?”
“I've been sure ever since the day of our first talk on the
_Bellingham._”
Still he fought the joy that flooded him. “I must tell you the truth so
that you won't idealize me... and the situation. I am enlisted in this
fight for life. Where it will lead me I don't know. But I must follow
the road I see. You will lose your friends. They will think me a crank,
an enemy to society; and they will think you demented. But even for you
I can't turn back.”
A tender glow was in her deep eyes. “If I did not know that do you think
I would marry you?”
“But you've always had the best things. You've never known what it is to
be poor.”
“No, I've never had the best things, never till I knew you, dear. I've
starved for them and did not know how to escape the prison I was in.
Then you came... and you showed me. The world is at my feet now. Not the
world you meant, of idleness and luxury and ennui... but that better one
of the spirit where you and I shall walk together as comrades of all who
work and laugh and weep.”
“If I could be sure!”
“Of me, Jeff?”
“That I can make you happy. After all it's a chance.”
“We all live on a chance. I'll take mine beside the man I love. There is
one way under heaven by which men may be saved. I'm going to walk that
way with you, dear.”
Jeff threw away the reins of a worldly wise prudence.
“For ever and ever, Alice,” he cried softly, shaken to his soul.
As their lips met the lark throbbed a betrothal song.
...............
They went slowly through the wet ferns, hand in hand. It was amazingly
true that he had won her, but Jeff could scarce believe the miracle.
More than once he recurred to it.
“You saw what no other young woman of your set in Verden did, the human
in me through my vagabondage. But why? There's nothing in my appearance
to attract.”
“Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,” she laughed. “And I won't
have you questioning my taste, sir. I've always thought you very
good-looking, if you must have it.”
“If you're as far gone as that!” His low laughter rang out to meet hers,
for no reason except the best of reasons--that they walked alone with
love through a world wonderful.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Vision Spendid, by William MacLeod Raine