THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD
In spite of the exaltation of renunciation, and in spite of the joy of
being newly and especially "wanted," those early September days were
sometimes hard for David. Not until he had relinquished all hope of his
"start" did he fully realize what that hope had meant to him.
There were times, to be sure, when there was nothing but rejoicing
within him that he was able thus to aid the Hollys. There were other
times when there was nothing but the sore heartache because of the
great work out in the beautiful world that could now never be done; and
because of the unlovely work at hand that must be done. To tell the
truth, indeed, David's entire conception of life had become suddenly a
chaos of puzzling contradictions.
To Mr. Jack, one day, David went with his perplexities. Not that he
told him of the gold-pieces and of the unexpected use to which they had
been put--indeed, no. David had made up his mind never, if he could
help himself, to mention those gold-pieces to any one who did not
already know of them. They meant questions, and the questions,
explanations. And he had had enough of both on that particular subject.
But to Mr. Jack he said one day, when they were alone together:--
"Mr. Jack, how many folks have you got inside of your head?"
"Eh--what, David?"
David repeated his question and attached an explanation.
"I mean, the folks that--that make you do things."
Mr. Jack laughed.
"Well," he said, "I believe some people make claims to quite a number,
and perhaps almost every one owns to a Dr. Jekyll and a Mr. Hyde."
"Who are they?"
"Never mind, David. I don't think you know the gentlemen, anyhow.
They're only something like the little girl with a curl. One is very,
very good, indeed, and the other is horrid."
"Oh, yes, I know them; they're the ones that come to me," returned
David, with a sigh. "I've had them a lot, lately."
Mr. Jack stared.
"Oh, have you?"
"Yes; and that's what's the trouble. How can you drive them off--the
one that is bad, I mean?"
"Well, really," confessed Mr. Jack, "I'm not sure I can tell. You
see--the gentlemen visit me sometimes."
"Oh, do they?"
"Yes."
"I'm so glad--that is, I mean," amended David, in answer to Mr. Jack's
uplifted eyebrows, "I'm glad that you understand what I'm talking
about. You see, I tried Perry Larson last night on it, to get him to
tell me what to do. But he only stared and laughed. He didn't know the
names of 'em, anyhow, as you do, and at last he got really almost angry
and said I made him feel so 'buggy' and 'creepy' that he wouldn't dare
look at himself in the glass if I kept on, for fear some one he'd never
known was there should jump out at him."
Mr. Jack chuckled.
"Well, I suspect, David, that Perry knew one of your gentlemen by the
name of 'conscience,' perhaps; and I also suspect that maybe conscience
does pretty nearly fill the bill, and that you've been having a bout
with that. Eh? Now, what is the trouble? Tell me about it."
David stirred uneasily. Instead of answering, he asked another question.
"Mr. Jack, it is a beautiful world, isn't it?"
For a moment there was no answer; then a low voice replied:--
"Your father said it was, David."
Again David moved restlessly.
"Yes; but father was on the mountain. And down here--well, down here
there are lots of things that I don't believe he knew about."
"What, for instance?"
"Why, lots of things--too many to tell. Of course there are things like
catching fish, and killing birds and squirrels and other things to eat,
and plaguing cats and dogs. Father never would have called those
beautiful. Then there are others like little Jimmy Clark who can't
walk, and the man at the Marstons' who's sick, and Joe Glaspell who is
blind. Then there are still different ones like Mr. Holly's little boy.
Perry says he ran away years and years ago, and made his people very
unhappy. Father wouldn't call that a beautiful world, would he? And how
can people like that always play in tune? And there are the Princess
and the Pauper that you told about."
"Oh, the story?"
"Yes; and people like them can't be happy and think the world is
beautiful, of course."
"Why not?"
"Because they didn't end right. They didn't get married and live happy
ever after, you know."
"Well, I don't think I'd worry about that, David,--at least, not about
the Princess. I fancy the world was very beautiful to her, all right.
The Pauper--well, perhaps he wasn't very happy. But, after all, David,
you know happiness is something inside of yourself. Perhaps half of
these people are happy, in their way."
"There! and that's another thing," sighed David. "You see, I found that
out--that it was inside of yourself--quite a while ago, and I told the
Lady of the Roses. But now I--can't make it work myself."
"What's the matter?"
"Well, you see then something was going to happen--something that I
liked; and I found that just thinking of it made it so that I didn't
mind raking or hoeing, or anything like that; and I told the Lady of
the Roses. And I told her that even if it wasn't going to happen she
could THINK it was going to, and that that would be just the same,
because 't was the thinking that made my hours sunny ones. It wasn't
the DOING at all. I said I knew because I hadn't DONE it yet. See?"
"I--think so, David."
"Well, I've found out that it isn't the same at all; for now that I
KNOW that this beautiful thing isn't ever going to happen to me, I can
think and think all day, and it doesn't do a mite of good. The sun is
just as hot, and my back aches just as hard, and the field is just as
big and endless as it used to be when I had to call it that those hours
didn't count. Now, what is the matter?"
Mr. Jack laughed, but he shook his head a little sadly.
"You're getting into too deep waters for me, David. I suspect you're
floundering in a sea that has upset the boats of sages since the world
began. But what is it that was so nice, and that isn't going to happen?
Perhaps I MIGHT help on that."
"No, you couldn't," frowned David; "and there couldn't anybody, either,
you see, because I wouldn't go back now and LET it happen, anyhow, as
long as I know what I do. Why, if I did, there wouldn't be ANY hours
that were sunny then--not even the ones after four o'clock; I--I'd feel
so mean! But what I don't see is just how I can fix it up with the Lady
of the Roses."
"What has she to do with it?"
"Why, at the very first, when she said she didn't have ANY sunshiny
hours, I told her--"
"When she said what?" interposed Mr. Jack, coming suddenly erect in his
chair.
"That she didn't have any hours to count, you know."
"To--COUNT?"
"Yes; it was the sundial. Didn't I tell you? Yes, I know I did--about
the words on it--not counting any hours that weren't sunny, you know.
And she said she wouldn't have ANY hours to count; that the sun never
shone for her."
"Why, David," demurred Mr. Jack in a voice that shook a little, "are
you sure? Did she say just that? You--you must be mistaken--when she
has--has everything to make her happy."
"I wasn't, because I said that same thing to her myself--afterwards.
And then I told her--when I found out myself, you know--about its being
what was inside of you, after all, that counted; and then is when I
asked her if she couldn't think of something nice that was going to
happen to her sometime."
"Well, what did she say?"
"She shook her head, and said 'No.' Then she looked away, and her eyes
got soft and dark like little pools in the brook where the water stops
to rest. And she said she had hoped once that this something would
happen; but that it hadn't, and that it would take something more than
thinking to bring it. And I know now what she meant, because thinking
isn't all that counts, is it?"
Mr. Jack did not answer. He had risen to his feet, and was pacing
restlessly up and down the veranda. Once or twice he turned his eyes
toward the towers of Sunnycrest, and David noticed that there was a new
look on his face.
Very soon, however, the old tiredness came back to his eyes, and he
dropped into his seat again, muttering "Fool! of course it couldn't
be--that!"
"Be what?" asked David.
Mr. Jack started.
"Er--nothing; nothing that you would understand, David. Go on--with
what you were saying."
"There isn't any more. It's all done. It's only that I'm wondering how
I'm going to learn here that it's a beautiful world, so that I
can--tell father."
Mr. Jack roused himself. He had the air of a man who determinedly
throws to one side a heavy burden.
"Well, David," he smiled, "as I said before, you are still out on that
sea where there are so many little upturned boats. There might be a
good many ways of answering that question."
"Mr. Holly says," mused the boy, aloud, a little gloomily, "that it
doesn't make any difference whether we find things beautiful or not;
that we're here to do something serious in the world."
"That is about what I should have expected of Mr. Holly" retorted Mr.
Jack grimly. "He acts it--and looks it. But--I don't believe you are
going to tell your father just that."
"No, sir, I don't believe I am," accorded David soberly.
"I have an idea that you're going to find that answer just where your
father said you would--in your violin. See if you don't. Things that
aren't beautiful you'll make beautiful--because we find what we are
looking for, and you're looking for beautiful things. After all, boy,
if we march straight ahead, chin up, and sing our own little song with
all our might and main, we shan't come so far amiss from the goal, I'm
thinking. There! that's preaching, and I didn't mean to preach;
but--well, to tell the truth, that was meant for myself, for--I'm
hunting for the beautiful world, too."
"Yes, sir, I know," returned David fervently. And again Mr. Jack,
looking into the sympathetic, glowing dark eyes, wondered if, after
all, David really could--know.
Even yet Mr. Jack was not used to David; there were "so many of him,"
he told himself. There were the boy, the artist, and a third
personality so evanescent that it defied being named. The boy was
jolly, impetuous, confidential, and delightful--plainly reveling in all
manner of fun and frolic. The artist was nothing but a bunch of nervous
alertness, ready to find melody and rhythm in every passing thought or
flying cloud. The third--that baffling third that defied the
naming--was a dreamy, visionary, untouchable creature who floated so
far above one's head that one's hand could never pull him down to get a
good square chance to see what he did look like. All this thought Mr.
Jack as he gazed into David's luminous eyes.