With the sun of a new noon, with the recurring need of obtaining
sustenance from one's environment, there came again the more practical
problems of this weary world.
At ten minutes past one on this day, Tuesday, Charles went slipping from
the house of the little Deming boys to that of the old lady who was
studying French. She lived, luckily, but three doors away. She was a
very lively old lady, and possessed her tutor's high regard. But that
she might represent help to him, that she could personify the tutelary
god of Bachelors rushing at last to his aid, had simply never crossed
his mind.
The old lady's regular lesson-hour was, of course, two-thirty o'clock.
But, as it happened, she had had her last instruction in the French
language for some time to come, it having popped into her head, and that
of the old gentleman her husband, to go to Palm Beach for a three weeks'
vacation. Hence her tutor's presence in her drawing-room at this
unwonted hour seemed to be due to mere chance (though who knows?). In
short, as he saw it, he had merely "stopped by" to deliver a list of
irregular verbs, which the old lady was to master completely while at
the Beach.
Having stopped, Charles did not start again upon the instant: far from
it. Friday's and Monday's run of luck had not been expected to keep up
indefinitely, at the best. And Donald's blundering remark betraying his
ruse had inevitably suggested the idea of experimenting a bit with
opposite tactics, to wit: quietly turning his schedule backward, for
variety's sake, and starting to lunch very late. Thus it was that
Charles, having said all he had to say to the old lady, lingered to say
it all again, and again, clinging verbosely to his oldest living pupil
as it were, while one eye shot perpetually out the front window, close
beside which he had taken up his position.
For the third time, the old lady promised to be studious on her holiday.
"Don't you remember how well I knew the plurals of the _-ou_ nouns
yesterday?" said she, chipper as a boy. "Well, my husband had heard them
every one to me the night before!--that was how I did it! Well, don't
you see, I'll make him hear me the verbs every afternoon while he's
taking his nap--over and over!"
"Exactly, ma'am. Do just that. Have him hear them over and over--every
afternoon. That's the only way really to master them--the only possible
way. And as I say--be sure to take along your dictionary and your
Fontaine's 'Fables,' and read three or four pages every day--except
Sunday. I said that just now, I know. But, ma'am, it's one of those
things that--ah--can't be said too often--"
Here the tutor's eye, reconnoitering out the window again, fell upon a
motor-car just coming to a standstill before the old lady's door. He
started, nervously. But, of course, this was not the Fordette: it was
five times too big, at least.
And he said, in a quickened voice: "Whose car is that standing out
there?"
"Why, mine, of course! Eustace stops for orders before going down to
bring my husband up and I just sign to him out of the window if there's
nothing. Indeed I hoped you wouldn't make me read my 'Fables' while I
was away, but I will if you say so, for of course I'm going to learn
French. And you take care of yourself, young man. You haven't looked
well to me for several days."
"I'm not quite well, ma'am, I fear," said Charles. "I was just thinking
I'd better let Eustace drive me down with him, if you don't mind.
I--ah--scarcely feel like walking to-day."
"Of course. And have him bring you up again when he takes my husband
back, why don't you? My dear young man, I reproach myself. I'd have had
him call for you at the Demings' and take you down every day, but you
know you always said you loved to walk."
"I did--I used to--but--ah--I rather think I've been overdoing it, of
late. I've been walking more than is good for me. Well!--thank you very
much. I'll go and get right in, shall I?"
Having wished his aged pupil a happy journey once more, Charles started
toward the door, much pleased with his lucky stroke. And then, all at
once, a splendid idea burst upon him, a vast and brilliant possibility.
And in exactly the same instant, he heard the chipper voice of the old
lady speaking again behind him, rather thoughtfully:--
"I wish I could persuade you to use my car altogether while we're
away.... But I suppose you'd think that fearfully--fearfully _effete_!"
"WHAT?"
It must have seemed odd to her, the instantaneousness with which her
tutor sprang round. And then he began to move back toward her, very
slowly, round unwinking eyes glued upon her.
"Ah--_what did you say_?"
"You look astounded. I suppose you're offended at the suggestion. Now,
really--why not take my car while I'm away?" said the old lady. (What a
dear, what a darling old lady she was, to be sure!) "Why are you young
men so reckless with your health, breaking it down with all this foolish
walking, up and down--"
"Oh, ma'am!" stammered Charles. "I--I hardly know what to say. I'm not
offended in the _least_--feeling as I do at present. But I--I really--"
"Then I'll make you do it!" she said, with the greatest energy. "I'm
going to exert all my will-power--I'm chock full of it, I warn you!--and
make you use the car regularly from now on, and stop this walking.
Promise me! I'll have Eustace report to you every morning for his
orders, and you are to use him as your own ..."
The tutor stood like a man entranced. Before his mind's eye there were
unrolling the most enchanting pictures: pictures of the same series that
had fascinated Angela's mind's eye when her brother had offered her the
Fordette, but of precisely the opposite intention; pictures of himself
whizzing securely from point to point, here or there at his careless
ease, all walking henceforth reduced to the mere hurried crossing of
sidewalks....
"But I--I'm afraid it would be an imposition! I don't deny it would be
a--a pleasure--a benefit--feeling as I--"
"Then that's settled! Imposition, nonsense! As it happens, you will be
doing us a favor. Why, wasn't my husband saying only last night that
Eustace, having nobody at all to look after him, was certain to spend
these three weeks in one long spree, and be worn to a shadow when we get
back? His habits are so unfortunate, I warn you about that--"
"It's so--_awfully_--kind of you, ma'am! I hardly know how to--"
"Not another word!--leave all the rest to me. And you really don't look
well, young man. Now, shall I have Bruce make you something,--oh, very
nice,--before you start down? Oh, why, bless you, I take a julep myself
whenever I feel the least bit like it!"
Then the ardor of his gratitude really touched the old lady, even though
it seemed excessive for her small courtesy. Later, looking out the
window, to sign to Eustace, she saw that the young man was actually
laughing to himself with pleasure, as he went down the front steps. She
thought him a very strange young man.
* * * * *
He gave his machine-god standing orders, which, after all, proved simple
enough. Eustace and the Big Six were to pick him up at the little Deming
boys' every day at one o'clock, and drive him to lunch; Eustace and the
Big Six were to call for him at Mrs. Herman's every afternoon at
half-past three, and take him to and from the Choristers'. Those,
positively, were the only danger-points, these the small arrangements by
which peril was to be circumvented. And he had not overrated the value
of his brilliant gift from fortune; the arrangements, being made, were
executed with the happiest success. In the fine big limousine of the old
lady (_la grande jolie limousine de la vieille_) Charles pursued his
daily rounds in complete security, and he hardly saw the shadow of
another meeting now.
Or rather, there was the possibility of but one more meeting; and, that
scarcely seemed to matter, now that he had so clearly won back his
voluntary celibacy.
At Saltman's bookstore, he had purchased a fresh copy of the odious
"Marna," and in his new kindness and good-will toward all, he finally
resolved to return the book in person, and to ask for Angela at the
door, to boot. Utter freedom of the city upheld his native dislike for
being a mere rude boor. And by one simple venture, he could honorably
liquidate all claims, pay at one stroke all the various calls demanded
of him: the book-call, the party-call, and the call in acknowledgment of
the Kiss.
Even if Angela should happen to be at home when he called, the isolated
meeting could hardly lead to trouble. But, after all, of course, the
point was to fulfill rather the letter of a call than its essential
spirit. Charles thought it decidedly for the best that Angela should not
be at home at the time. Thus he further procrastinated, awaiting an
afternoon so sweet and balmy that every owner of a self-propelling
vehicle would be morally certain to be out in it.
And then, while he so dallied about the Call, while his own days
continued to reel off smooth as clockwork, a faint new cloud began to
steal over his first careless happiness. Having finally saved himself,
the unheroic bachelor felt his deadened consideration for others slowly
and reluctantly stirring into life.
The first time he in his speedy limousine passed captive Donald in the
Fordette, Charles was even more pleased than he had been that other
day, at Miss Grace's window. By chance, he overhauled the little
conveyance on the second day of the new era, as he shot away from the
Choristers' at half-past four o'clock; and, captivated by the sight of
the simpleton engineer in his own old place, he could not resist leaning
forward as he drew abreast, knocking on the window and waving gayly to
the two nice normal cousins of Mary. He saw that Angela, recognizing
him, gave him one swift surprised stare. And then the old lady's Big Six
leapt by her, as the limited leaps by a tank in the night, and he sat
back convulsed with a brilliant diplomat's delights.
He, indeed, had put her on. Clearer and clearer it grew that he could
beat Mary Wing at match-making, if at nothing else under the sun.... Let
her look to herself!
But the second time Charles had this interesting experience--just two
days later, on his drive to Berringer's--he did not knock on the window,
or laugh, or even smile. No, this time he sat still on his luxurious
seat, looking straight ahead. And presently he found himself arguing,
very earnestly and conscientiously, and somewhat as follows:--
While it might be true that for the moment Angela liked him best
(entirely owing to the tender feelings aroused by the Kiss) no one could
deny that a match between her and Donald would be a far more suitable
thing. In fact, such a match would really be very suitable, indeed,
whatever cold-blooded eugenists like Mary Wing might think. Talk as you
liked, Donald was not at all the man to be happy with a girl who firmly
and continually "made a fellow use his cocoa." On the contrary, Donald
was the mere simple, primitive male who wanted a woman that he could
"protect," feel superior to and be coddled and attended by. And any
fair-minded person must admit that Angela, whatever little faults or
foibles she might seem to have, was precisely this sort of girl. Harsh
nonsense about her Sacred Duty to the Race was not in her.
Did she, indeed, have any faults--real faults of character, that is?
Womanly though she was, she was no idler, no parasite like Miss Grace,
for instance, but a genuine worker, accustomed to pay her own way by the
practice of a highly specialized and difficult business. This business,
at best, was a monotonous and grinding one; she herself was a stranger,
poor and lonely. Was it so wicked, then, that in her leisure-hour she
should wish to drive out occasionally, and meet her young friends?
The Big Six, "Marna," the matter of the Wings' flat, doubtless each had
contributed in its way to put Angela back in her true light: the light
she had shone in before the days of the wooing. Admit, if you liked,
that for the moment her purely feminine, or pursuing, side might seem to
be just a little over-developed: that, argued Charles, was but a
temporary, and really a proper and necessary manifestation. The Home
that Angela was at present engaged in making was Dr. and Mrs. Flower's
Home. The Will in things had it that every girl should have a Home of
her own to make. There lay the momentary source of Unrest: considered
rightly, the Fordette was merely the ingenious instrument employed by
the Will for working out its high designs. Once that was accomplished,
once Angela was established in her own little nest as Donald's sweet
true wife, then, beyond doubt, her essentially womanly side would at
once spring into full possession of her. Then she would fairly settle to
her life-work of making her own Home, while supplying large quantities
of just the sort of beauty and charm that engineers appreciate most.
Moreover (concluded Charles's argument of the case) marriage was clearly
a matter where quixotism was misplaced, and a man's first duty was to
himself. And, finally, of course he would never have put her on to
Donald, if he had known that the old lady was going to lend him her
limousine. But he had not known: and that was the old lady's fault if
anybody's.
On the night of this day, by chance,--the day of Donald's known fourth
drive in the instrument of the Will,--as Charles lay prone upon the
Studio lounge, feebly thinking up, Judge Blenso suddenly opened the
Studio door and said: "Charles! A lady at the 'phone!" Instantly coming
to an elbow, Charles inquired who this lady might be; and the Judge
(whose manner toward his relative had markedly changed, since Charles
was known to have abandoned his exercises and foregone his affair of
honor) replied with great coldness: "It's Miss Rose. Come along!" "Miss
Rose?" repeated Charles, slowly beginning to rise. "Why, I don't--"
"Yes, yes, I said! Miss Rose! No!--let me see! Miss Flower--something of
the sort! Good gad, how long're you going to keep her waiting?" But
Charles, remembering the promised bridge-party in a flash, said: "I'm
sick, Judge," and lay back on the lounge forthwith. "Ah--just say,
please, that you found me lying down--not well at all. She might leave a
message, if necessary." To which the Judge replied, disgusted: "I don't
wonder you're sick, the sickenin' life you lead! By gad, sir!--can't
even _walk_!..."
No message came back other than that Miss Flower was sorry to hear he
wasn't well. But the little incident, though nothing came of it, showed
clearly that she wasn't going to give him up without a struggle, Donald
or no. He could never feel completely safe until she was married, and
that was the truth. And he still had that cursed book to return, too.
But it seemed that his higher nature, once aroused, would not go quietly
back to sleep again. The first glad selfish days were over. When, on the
Tuesday following, he again saw Donald as Angela's willing captive,
when, shooting by, he observed the fatuous youth ogling and smirking
over his predicament, as much as to say that there was no such person as
Helen Carson, then Charles's face became very grave, his look intensely
thoughtful. And when he reached Berringer's that day, he ordered--sure
enough--"Wait for me, Eustace." And when he emerged from Berringer's, at
a little before two, he said, in the face of all resolves:--
"To Olive and Washington Streets, Eustace. And then turn and go slowly
out Dean Street, toward Lee Grammar School."