PIG IRON
SHORT STORIES
_BY . DUDREA . PARKER_
[MRS. SUMNER PARKER]
[Illustration]
Printed in the U. S. A. at Baltimore,
THE NORMAN, REMINGTON COMPANY,
One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty-one.
_Copyright, 1921_
The Norman,
Remington Company
_All rights reserved_
TO
MY MOTHER
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
An Ephemeral Love, 11
The White Petal, 69
The Reporter, 89
AN EPHEMERAL LOVE
Betty listlessly extended her hand to Walter; he bade her good-bye and
strolled slowly homeward. That he was worried was evidenced by the
nervous energy with which he smoked one cigarette after another until a
box was consumed before he reached the door of his home, which stood on
the hill leading to the railroad and bordering the fashionable district
of Baltimore.
Was it Betty’s interest in or love for another man that caused her
apparent indifference, or was it his poverty that caused her to hold
herself aloof from him? He knew full well that he had no luxuries
to offer, yet the thought of her slipping from him forever made him
desperate.
Walter was not visionary--he could not afford to be so; on the
contrary, he was ultra-conservative, a quality not his by inheritance,
but by compulsion. Since his father’s death he had paid off some bills,
supported his mother, saved a few thousand dollars, and managed to
extend his business somewhat. Yet, as I say, luxuries were far from
his reach--but tonight he craved them as never before. He condemned
himself and attributed his poverty to his bovine stupidity. He was
thirty and had a well-established lumber business, by means of which he
believed another man could have attained wealth and position by this
time.
These and similar thoughts passed through his mind--they come to
all of us at times when our personal affairs loom so large upon our
horizons--as he sat in his bedroom rocking on a straight-back chair. He
was debating a big idea--a resolution to embark upon a business venture
that had presented itself to him a short while before. It was not a
speculation, but an original idea that involved risk, yet offered in
return great wealth if it proved successful.
After an hour or more of deliberation he started to retire, entirely
convinced that the proposition was feasible, and that tomorrow he would
act upon his decision.
Nine o’clock found him in the office of the National Transportation
Company.
“Son, is Mr. Bailey, your purchasing agent, here?” he asked of the
clerk.
“Just this second come,” answered the boy, showing Walter into the
agent’s office.
Mr. Bailey, a jolly-faced man, arose.
“Good morning; what can I do for you?” he inquired, pushing forward a
chair.
“My name is Walter Gary. I’m in the lumber business and I’ve come to
talk to you about dunnage. I understand that you are paying about
twenty dollars a thousand feet for the rough plank lumber, which you
use to separate and pack your cargoes of wheat for England.”
“Yes,” replied the agent.
“My business,” continued Walter, “is wholesale lumber, and I represent
large Southern mills, besides having a yard fairly well stocked on
the water front. My proposition is to furnish you, without charge,
lumber of good grade--ones, twos and commons, good lengths, which will
make less work in separating cargoes, and being of good quality will
be reasonably free from knots and shakes and much more satisfactory
material to handle. However, we are not giving you something for
nothing, although you will be free from expense in handling it. What
we ask is that you deliver the lumber to our agents at dock in England
when you have unloaded the wheat. You see, we both will profit by the
transaction, as it will free you from your usual expense and at the
same time will enable me to overcome the high rate of ocean freight.”
The agent paced slowly up and down, with his hands thrust into his
pockets, listening attentively to what Walter had to say. He was not an
agent possessed of his own importance, as agents usually are, but made
the situation easy by a kindly nod of his head at intervals--and with
each nod Walter saw visions of his own home and Betty as its mistress.
“That sounds like a pretty clever scheme,” he said, continuing to walk
back and forth. “Can we always have dunnage when we want it? In other
words can we depend upon you?”
“Most assuredly,” answered Walter, in the tone of one accustomed to
keeping his word. “We will furnish bond guaranteeing deliveries.”
“Of course, it would have to be submitted to the president and
directors before I could act, but if you care to put your proposition
in writing and will return tomorrow at three, I shall try to get in
touch with them immediately.”
It was hard for Walter to conceal his elation. Was it possible that he
had at last found a means by which he could ship lumber to Europe where
it was greatly needed for building and rebuilding and where his agent
could dispose of it at almost any figure--all without the exorbitant
freight rates imposed since the war started and which had not yet been
removed?
“I shall return at three tomorrow, Mr. Bailey, good-day.”
“Good-day.”
Walter stepped briskly into his office, did a little two-step, tossed
his hat in the air, and said, “I have great hopes, Miss Franklin, great
hopes.”
The little typewriter smiled a smile of mingled interest and
apprehension.
“I wish you good luck, Mr. Gary,” she responded.
A full three-quarters of an hour elapsed while Walter waited the
following day in the office of the National Transportation Company.
Had Bailey forgotten his appointment? Had the directors accepted or
rejected his offer? When would they take a consignment? He was thinking
these and other thoughts, as he sat leaning in the chair, turning his
hat around and around in his hands.
“Well, I’ve kept you waiting some time,” said Mr. Bailey, hastily
entering the office.
Walter tried to conceal his anxiety.
“You asked me to come at three, and I like to be on time, although I am
in a bit of a rush.”
“Yes, these are busy times for all of us. This question of feeding
Europe is a perplexing one, aside from business transactions. Food
stuffs must be rushed to the hungry ones at any cost. If you have been
over seas you no doubt know how they need our help.”
“No, I didn’t get over,” replied Walter somewhat dolefully. “I tried
even before our country declared war. I wanted to go over with the
Canadians: after I failed there and the U. S. took it up I tried again,
but they turned me down, too. I have a dislocated shoulder and a broken
knee cap--got them playing football at college; in fact, I was on my
back two months with them. But I thought I was pretty well over it by
this time--only feel it when the weather is bad.”
“Those who wanted to serve and were rejected should have had a badge,
stripe or something to show they were not slackers,” sympathetically
replied Mr. Bailey. “The country rejects the individual for things that
are not his fault, and the world thinks as it pleases.”
“Oh, well, it could have been worse. I did what I could at home
putting Liberty Loans over, buying bonds, and making the soldiers
comfortable in a general way, but none of it compensates for the real
thing.”
“Well, I think I’ve put the lumber deal through for you, although I
had some difficulty doing it. Everybody is suspicious of free goods. I
explained to the directors that your reason for giving the dunnage was
to have it turned over to your London agent for disposal, after the
cargoes were unloaded on the other side. They thought it a very fair
proposition.”
Bailey drew his chair nearer to Walter and smiled encouragingly.
“It will certainly serve both your purpose and mine,” interposed
Walter. “It will save you the expense of buying lumber with which to
pack your wheat, and it will enable me to place quantities of it on the
other side.”
“A clever idea,” repeated Bailey. “Can you have two hundred thousand
feet delivered to me by Thursday?”
“I think so--by rushing like Sam Hill.”
“All right, draw up your contract and get a move on you.”
“I have already prepared it and have it here in my pocket. You see, I
was hoping for the best.”
The contract was signed, and he hurried to break the good news to Miss
Franklin.
“If this plan is successful,” said he, “you shall have a long vacation,
and I--I have promised myself too much already--but if it fails! I
tremble to think of the consequences.”
“Mr. Gary,” asked Miss Franklin, “are you sure there is such a wild
demand for lumber on the other side as you say there is?”
“Yes, quite sure. My doubt lies in the question: Will Proctor be equal
to the occasion! If this lumber is properly handled we should be able
to make a million easily before the time expires.”
“It’s a big undertaking, isn’t it,” she said, astounded at the figure
mentioned.
“Yes, but there is a big stake,” responded Walter, and the little
typist detected a note of sadness in his voice.
He hurried to disclose the good news to his mother, and as he pulled
a chair to her side he patted her joyfully upon the cheeks, “Mother,
perhaps we shall soon be rich,” he said.
“Rich!” repeated Mrs. Gary, softly, yet in a tone of surprise. “I
thought we were doing remarkably well for our bad beginning. Indeed,
I was thinking only yesterday of what a comfortable feeling it was to
have our debts paid and a little money laid away besides?”
“I--I used the money, Mother,” confessed Walter, overcome with a
feeling of remorse. “But I am quite sure to have it back soon, besides
a great deal more. A big opportunity presented itself and I took
advantage of it.” Walter tried to appear more confident than he really
was.
“What?” asked Mrs. Gary, in a voice that indicated alarm. “You have not
used all the money, have you?”
“Yes, I used it on a big deal.”
“Pray, what could such a deal be?” inquired Mrs. Gary, who had been
more than apprehensive of her son’s restlessness of late. As they
talked together she quietly assorted remnants of wool, left from the
many sweaters she had knit; and from her demeanor one could detect at a
glance that she was a woman of composure and experience.
“Usually I prefer to tell you, Mother, before I take a leap, as you
know, but this time I acted upon my own initiative.”
“What have you done?”
Walter related to his mother, in detail, the story of his lumber
transaction. He finished by saying, “You see the National
Transportation Company have contracted to use my lumber for two
years. Of course, I mean to send a good quality, and this will aid in
reconstruction work on the other side and besides give us a big profit.”
“I see,” she responded, and gave her boy an admiring look.
“To carry out the program means sacrifice, and that’s what is worrying
me.”
“The step is taken, so let us hope for the best,” answered Mrs. Gary,
cheerfully. “When do you deliver your first consignment!”
“Thursday, two hundred thousand feet.”
Walter’s mother arose, took her boy’s face gently between her two
hands, and looking steadfastly into his honest, dark eyes, said, “if
you fail you have only done your best. Opportunities rarely present
themselves. It is by the creation of them that men succeed. Half of
success is grit.”
“You are a dear brave ‘sport.’ The next time I shall not be afraid to
consult with you on all my business problems.”
“And I shall try not to retard progress.”
“It gives me more courage to go ahead when I know you are in on the
deal; things seem to turn out better.”
“We all feel that way, dear. The troubles of life diminish when they
are shared by others. Even the greatest becomes smaller when one knows
that others are helping to bear it. It seems selfish, but misery loves
company.”
* * * * *
“The cable, has it come yet, Miss Franklin?”
“Not yet.”
Walter seated himself at his desk. There was a far away look in his
face. “It should have been here four days ago. What do you think could
be delaying Proctor?”
“Possibly it is the cable that’s delayed, and not Mr. Proctor. Forget
it, Mr. Gary, then it will be sure to come.”
“How can I forget it when so much depends on that first consignment?
I’ve hardly slept a wink since it was sent.”
“You’ll be a wreck if you keep worrying like this,” rejoined the little
stenographer.
“I’d be all right if I could only hear from Proctor.”
Walter rose nervously from the chair at every turn of the door-knob.
Would the thing never come? Surely, he must take Miss Franklin’s advice
and stop worrying about it. So he bade her close up, and strolled
slowly homeward. He shrank from telling his mother again that he had
had no word from London, for he knew only too well with what effort she
was suppressing her anxiety.
He thought of diverting his course to Betty’s office, but his better
judgment caused him to continue; for he knew that even though Betty
were ready to leave, some admirer would be waiting for her in his car,
and she generally preferred riding to walking.
As he entered the door he heard his mother’s voice softly singing a
familiar tune; it encouraged him.
“Mother,” he called, feigning indifference, “that darn thing hasn’t
come yet.”
“Mr. Proctor appears to be having some difficulty in disposing of the
goods, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know what to think. Even if there was no market for the
lumber, I should think he would wire.”
“Never mind,” suggested Mrs. Gary. “Don’t cross bridges until you come
to them. Go and see Betty this evening, she will cheer you up a bit.”
“Oh, no, I’ll wait and see if I make a success of this deal first;
because if I lose, it will be good-bye to her anyway.”
“Why good-bye! It will surely make no difference to her if you win or
lose. I shouldn’t think she was that sort of a girl.”
“She’s a fine girl, but she loves money and all it buys.”
“No more than other girls; they all love money.”
“But there is a difference. Take Sarah White for instance, the question
of money isn’t in her make up. She’d as soon marry Jack Evans and keep
her position, if it would help, as not.”
“Yes, I believe she would,” affirmed Mrs. Gary, “but wouldn’t Betty?”
“Never; she wouldn’t marry the best man on earth unless he were rich.”
“Perhaps she has never loved.”
“Mere love of a man will never sway Betty.”
“She has great aspirations--she loves luxuries, and the one who can
supply them will be the one she will take.”
“You do her an injustice. She never impressed me as having such exalted
desires.”
“But I know her so well. Yet with it all my one prayer is to be able to
give her what she desires.”
Mrs. Gary quickly dropped her work in her lap.
“Then you mean you love her, Walter?”
“Yes, I love her, her face is always before me--a vision that refuses
to vanish!”
“I shall try to become better acquainted with her, dear, I had no idea
she played such an important part in your life.”
“She is a hard little trick to know.”
“And feeling as you do, you say you have not spoken to her of your
venture.”
“No, because if I win I shall ask her to marry me. If I lose she shall
never know that I love her.”
Walter stooped, kissed his mother and walked slowly from the room,
closing the door gently behind him.
* * * * *
“What has become of you anyway!” asked Jack Evans as he appeared in
Walter’s office at lunch time. His entrance had not the slightest
effect, however, upon the attention his friend and the stenographer
were giving to a cable which apparently had just arrived. They did not
raise their eyes from the sheet or give any sign of recognition until
the last word had been read; then Walter waved the paper and said,
“Three cheers!”
“What the dickens is the matter with you?”
“Read it,” returned Walter, thrusting the paper into Jack’s hand for
him to read. “‘Last of shipment disposed of. Good price. Order on hand
for five hundred thousand feet.’ It’s the deal I was telling you of
yesterday.”
“Good work! have you another consignment going out soon?”
“Yes, and every dollar I own and a lot besides is tied up in a yard
full of lumber waiting to be shipped.”
“Lucky dog.”
“I thought I was anything but lucky yesterday, after I had waited a
week without a word from Proctor. Heavens, I thought I would go crazy.
Last night I felt like swimming to England. I cabled him three times
before he answered.”
“Maybe you will play some golf with a fellow now.”
“I am ready for anything. Want to play this afternoon?”
“Sure, at four. Meet me at the club. Oh, say, Betty was asking about
you yesterday; she says she hasn’t seen you for more than a week.”
“What did she say and how did she look when she said it?” laughingly
inquired Walter as they left the office.
“I told you what she said, you chump, and she looked as though she
meant it. Why don’t you quit working on that Bolshevism rot and join us
occasionally at the club.”
“I’ve been anxious about my business and besides Betty seems to be
having a pretty good time without me.”
“Nonsense, why don’t you assert yourself? Women like to be bossed,
you know.” This was said in the tone of a person confident of his own
powers along this line.
“Is that the way you manage Sarah? You surely have no kick coming where
she is concerned.”
“No, she’s a brick, only she works too hard to suit me. Poor kid,
she doesn’t get in from Washington until five; then if she has an
engagement at night, she is all in the next day.”
“The satisfaction of knowing she is doing her bit compensates for that.”
“Yes, and now that the war is over, I’m hoping we’ll all be able to
relax soon. I for one am sick of it all. The sight of a new man to
train simply deadens me.”
“Pshaw, Jack, what are you talking about? Aren’t you proud the Hopkins
students made such a good showing for themselves?”
“Yes, but I’m tired.”
“How many of them got over anyway?”
“About three hundred and eighty in France, and approximately two
hundred in the camps ready for service.”
“Good, they have shown what they are made of, haven’t they!”
“Yes, because many of them are only children.”
“I envy them!” reflectively added Walter.
The two men parted. Jack was tall--at least six feet. He was slender
and straight. He wore a Canadian uniform which showed off his figure to
advantage. He also wore the D. S. C. ribbon, which was the envy of his
men friends who had not seen service, and the glory and pride of all
the girls upon whom he condescended to lavish attentions.
He had been assigned to Baltimore a year before to train college
students for service. He found our clubs open to him, as were also the
homes of our socially prominent families, because he was descended from
a fine old Canadian family whose unimpeachable manners and traditions
marked them unmistakably as of good English stock. These traits were
prominent in Jack, and revealed themselves in his accent and cultured
intonations.
Walter watched him out of sight, wondering why Jack had shown such a
fondness for him, who was so entirely different. He compared Jack’s
graceful figure with his own, which was handicapped by a droop in one
shoulder, and a limp. Often had Walter thought of his imperfections and
promised himself to make up in knowledge what he lacked in form.
“Miss Franklin,” said he, when he returned from lunch, “a little golf
and tennis for me in the afternoons, but no other holiday this summer.
I want you to run off and get rested up, because there will be lots of
work for all of us soon.”
“But you have already worked so hard, Mr. Gary, you ought to take a
rest too.”
“All of my wants are satisfied with this deal going through. It will
not be long now before Gary & Co. will mean more than just a name to
Baltimore.”
* * * * *
These days Walter’s whistle sounded through the house like music to his
mother’s ears. He worked late into the night, but when morning came he
was punctual and smiling.
“Love and business must be moving hand in hand with my boy,” remarked
Mrs. Gary at breakfast one morning.
“No, mother, I have seen very little of Betty in the last two months,
but I have had a good many notes from her, and writing was something
she never had time to do before--it indicates she’s thinking of me,
anyway.”
“Possibly she is not working so hard now.”
“Yes, she said she had only been to the club once in the last month,
and you know how she loves to dance. She is sick of filing cards, poor
kid. She is weary of her position. She is much too beautiful to be kept
indoors. She would be able to live in the sunshine. It must be hard
when one’s friends are all able to take life so easily. Of course, the
girls are all working now for the Government, but there’s a difference
between working for patriotism and for a living.”
“Working for a living has its virtues; it’s broadening, and she will
learn things that are not taught at home.”
“But she has that unconquerable yearning for life and its activities.”
“That’s all the better. She will learn to appreciate the advantages
when they come to her, and she probably will never make the mistake
of allowing her life to narrow down to one of domesticity, as so many
young people do. If they could only learn that just as a landscape
without a perspective is flat, so is a young life which has no outside
interests to bring into relief the monotony of its daily tasks! Without
a background of knowledge for comparison the unusual in life is flat
and meaningless.”
* * * * *
Betty sat on the edge of her little white bed. It stood in a room
simply furnished, and its whitish cast made a fitting background for
her slight figure clothed in black with a plain white frill at the
neck. Her eyes were slowly following the lines of a letter, which ran:
“DEAR BETTY:
“I send you roses to remind you that there is still much that is
beautiful in the world--flowers and hills and sky, and nearer than
these, home and family and friends. And there is much work to be
done, work full worthy of your best, which just now you feel like
giving to memory only; and there are so many lives to which your life
may contribute something of what your mother gave to you.
“It is one of my abiding faiths that life must be forward-looking and
onward-pressing, not with forgetfulness of those who have gone, but
with strength and even happiness in the knowledge that we carry on
their work and that they do not die; that through us, and through our
children and friends, and all to whom we pass on something of what we
received from them, they are borne on to everlasting life.
“For the moment we feel only the great loss--and today I feel as
if something had gone from my life because so much has gone from
yours--but sad as the moment is, it should also be one of the
greatest moments of life; for from it should arise, purified from
everything earthly, an ideal which may be as a torch to light the
way. Thus among the most beautiful things still in the world are the
spirits of those who have gone.
“With love,
“WALTER.”
She folded the sheet that carried the consoling message--the only word
that had helped her bear the loss of her mother and chum, whom she
had seen buried but a few days before. She walked to the faded white
roses which had accompanied it and which stood on a table close by. She
touched them gently and then turned to the bed, and throwing herself on
the pillow sobbed softly to herself.
Suddenly someone knocked gently upon the door.
How long had she been there? Rising she caught a glimpse of one very
red cheek as she passed the mirror. She must have slept a long while.
“Why, Aunt Martha, what time can it be?” she inquired of a small kindly
faced woman who stood outside the door.
“Eight-thirty, dear,” her aunt replied, patting her on the arm. “Walter
is waiting down stairs to know if you will see him for a moment.”
“Yes, Marty,” she said, using the pet name to compensate her aunt for
climbing three flights of stairs. “I shall be right down.” She closed
the door, and sat down to think over the problem with which she was
confronted. Her thoughts returned to the subject which occupied her
mind before she fell asleep. She glanced at the letter which had
fallen to the floor--such a message. Only one with a great heart could
put such thoughts into words. There was no doubt in her mind that
some day Walter would be a “big” man. He had already accumulated a
fortune, and his name was on the lips of all her friends. He loved her
devotedly--that she was sure of, and he had been the favorite of her
mother, who had cautioned her to think twice before she rejected him.
“And why shouldn’t I marry him?” she asked herself over and over.
“There is lots in life besides love. If he is willing to take me with
a heart that is just friendly and accept other qualities instead of
love, why shouldn’t I make the deal for myself--just as he made one in
lumber? He received large profits, and so would I. In return he gave
good lumber, and I would supply good material as a wife. He signed a
contract, and so will I.”
She arose, bathed her face in cold water, carelessly twisted her hair
low on her neck, and descended the stairs.
Walter stepped to meet her, she extended her hands, more cordially than
she had ever done before, and he took them in his own. Never had he
been so much in love with her. He gazed into the eyes that were of a
surpassingly beautiful shade of brown. They looked larger than ever
from grief and loss of sleep, and seemed to match the hair which clung
to her forehead with a weblike softness. The nose was not large, but
straight and well formed. The lips were a bit thinner and the mouth a
bit larger than those an artist would choose for a model, but the even
white teeth that had always been her salient attraction compensated for
these deficiencies. These features went to make up a face that was not
indicative of weakness, yet would not impress one as strong.
“I can’t tell you how my heart goes out to you in your sorrow,” he
whispered softly.
“The letter, such a comforting letter,” she answered, tears filling her
eyes. “It helped more than anything.”
“Then it has fulfilled its mission.”
“How sweet of you to send the flowers,” she added.
“It isn’t a fraction of what I should I like to do for you. Betty, if
you only knew how I love you! But there, I didn’t come to worry you
again. My new machine has just come, and I thought you might like a
breath of air.”
“How refreshing it would be,” she answered. And she accepted with her
eyes and turned to pick up a wrap. In fact, Betty was a flirt, and
quite often her eyes said things that her lips did not confirm.
“What a monster in comparison with our little Ford,” said she, as she
sank into the softly cushioned seat beside Walter.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Then I wish it was yours instead of mine.”
“But then it would not be wonderful if you were not here beside me.”
Walter gasped and almost ran into a passing machine. He looked down at
the small figure beside him and asked. “Really--really, Betty, do you
mean what you say?”
And in her heart Betty almost believed herself that she meant it.
* * * * *
It was a season of reaction. War was over and with spring came the end
of the winter festivities. Betty had derived much benefit from Walter’s
newly acquired fortune. There had been rides, dinners, flowers and
everything dear to the heart of a girl. She found Walter’s attentions
the envy of other girls, and she reveled in the thought that he had
eyes for no one but her--until she accepted his proposal of marriage
and the wedding day was not far distant.
Then she revolted against the affection which she had obtained so
easily, and which required such little effort to hold.
Jack often made the third party, and she found she liked it better when
he was there. About Jack was a vagueness--an air of uncertainty and
superiority that had always attracted her, even though he had paired
off with Sarah.
As for Jack--deep in his heart there was the desire to prove to Betty
that she could not number him among her many suitors. Yet recently he
had been forced to admit that he liked and even sought her company.
It was a day brisk and cool for spring. Betty was in a perverse mood.
She had whipped her dog without just provocation, and she had answered
her aunt shortly several times that morning. The ’phone rang--it was
Walter.
“Do you need me to help open packages?” “Why--no, Walter; there are
only a few, and I’m so frightfully busy with the dressmakers that I
can’t stop just now.”
“When you need me you’ll call me, won’t you, dear?” he asked, in a half
pleading voice.
“Yes, I--I surely shall.”
“This evening, may I come up?”
“I really ought to go to bed early; I’m so tired.”
“Very well,” he answered in a disappointed but conciliatory tone.
Betty slowly hung up the receiver, slipped into a scarlet sweater, and
prepared for a walk in the country. The vivid color contrasted strongly
with the pale cheeks, that had grown whiter and whiter of late. Her
mind dwelt only on one subject. In two days the fatal knot would be
tied--would she able to live up to the bargain? Could she give full pay
for value received? Walter, she knew, was the embodiment of gentleness
and would make a good husband, but she craved for someone whom she
must strive to win, and then plan to hold; neither had been necessary
here. She had won him without competition, and now he was wholly at her
command. “If only he were more elusive,” she thought, “if only he went
to places and did a few things without me.”
“I miss the office dreadfully, Marty,” said she between yawns.
“You always wanted to be out of it when you were there,” answered her
aunt in a tone of surprise.
“The work was drudgery, simply because filing cards required no brains.
It was only repetition, but it was something to do.”
“It will not be long that you will wish for something to do. Soon there
will be work, work and more work.”
“How can one work without an incentive?”
“An incentive! What more of an incentive could you and Walter wish
than each other? You must conjure him to climb rung by rung to the top
of the ladder, and that can be done only by setting a good example.
A wife can lead her husband in paths that are good or bad. A man is
more pliant than a woman, more susceptible to influence; therefore,
she leads and he follows. One must be careful not to leave the other
behind. Bear and forbear, and pull together.”
“Walter is entirely too easily led,” said Betty musingly.
“That’s only because he loves you,” said her aunt in absolute surprise,
“and without the charms that were given you by God, you never could
have won him. And remember, the seeds of love must be sown very deeply
now, in order to hold him when your charms have failed. Beauty doesn’t
last forever, and age makes furrows in women’s faces much quicker than
in those of men. Men are out in the world where a variety of people and
circumstances tends to keep them young; their minds are diverted, and
they have no time for worry over petty annoyances, while women’s minds
become stagnant from the repetition of a daily routine. Their lives
are confined within a narrow periphery, and there are only a few who
enlarge the circle by wandering forth.”
Betty hurriedly made preparations to be gone.
“Why will you not see Walter this afternoon when he wants so much to
see you?”
“I just want to be alone,” flung back Betty as she closed the door, but
she had walked only a short distance when on turning the corner, she
ran full into Jack. Always immaculately dressed, he wore the nonchalant
air of a person who was confident that his appearance was an asset.
“And where is Walt this fine afternoon?” he asked, manifesting his
pleasure at the chance meeting.
“He ’phoned a while ago, but I have to go to the dressmaker.”
“Are you going to be there long?”
“Not so very.”
“May I wait and will you take a walk with me? It’s just the kind of a
day for a walk.”
“I think I should love to,” she answered. And within she was conscious
of both happiness and guilt.
She made haste and it was not long before she was back, sauntering
slowly by Jack’s side, and keeping in step without effort.
“Betty, do you know you walk like a boy, and don’t we step nicely
together?” Jack asked her, leaning down to peep into her eyes under the
broad hat. “I’ve always heard that people who keep step uniformly are
well matched,” he continued.
“I believe I can keep step with most anyone,” she answered, catching
the significance of his words.
“But not so nicely as with me, I’m confident,” he replied.
“Don’t you hate to see the trees lose their leaves?” asked Betty to
turn the subject, as she would divert a naughty child from something
that exasperated it. “It is always such a sad season to me,” she
continued.
“Fall isn’t always a sad season, but this one is especially so,” said
Jack wickedly, “because the trees are losing their leaves and so am I
losing my little friend.”
“Will I be lost, just because I’m married?”
“In a way.”
“Oh no, you must come to see us even more often than you come now, and
bring Sarah with you. By the way, where is Sarah? She has not been
around for a week?”
“Indeed I don’t know,” was the indifferent reply, and this very
attitude of indifference particularly pleased Betty. She resolved
somewhere within her (if she could keep Walter from finding it out), to
hold Jack’s admiration at all costs.
They walked, chatted and laughed away the time until darkness
completely overtook them. Walter did not hear of the little escapade;
and if he had he was by nature too gentle, kind and unsuspecting to
have thought long or hard of it.
After the wedding the young pair settled down in a lovely old colonial
home, which spread itself against a hill in a rambling fashion. It was
made conspicuous and inviting by a new coat of paint. Their choice had
fallen upon this house, because of Betty’s admiration of its finely
detailed mantels, the broad stair, the quaint colonial windows, the
box-wood garden, and the rustic spring house, with the little stream
bordered by a row of weeping willows, whose boughs drooped so low that
they seemed to be replenishing the brook with their tears.
Here Betty learned to know Walter. He taught her to love the
out-of-doors. He patiently labored to teach her the correct strokes
in golf and tennis, although he himself was handicapped in his
participation in these games. In the evenings he tried to pick up the
threads of his and her neglected education--he sought diligently to
teach her to love the best in literature. And taking his life as a
whole it centered about this little creature whom God had made too
perfect in form and face.
Betty was fascinated and even entertained by the atmosphere of this new
environment while it was new, but in the course of time she began to
long for a change--adventure, and admiration for the world at large.
About two years after the marriage Jack paid one of his visits to the
Garys. It was springtime, and the air was filled with the beauty of the
season. Romance with her transforming wand had already touched Betty,
and thoughts of Jack never failed to quicken her pulse.
It was his fourth or fifth visit since Christmas; and each time Walter
and Betty had welcomed him wholeheartedly.
Jack had risen early this morning prepared to take a long walk, and
had been served a cup of hot coffee before starting. He was, as usual,
perfectly dressed. One could not call him vain; yet he had an inherent
desire to appear handsomer, more learned, and more of an athlete, in
the company of Betty than he really was.
Going down the drive he heard a happy peal of laughter. It was
childish, yet more mellow and appealing in its ring. Looking around
Jack perceived the slight figure of Betty perched high in a tree. She
was climbing higher with the agility of a squirrel, stepping from limb
to limb and frolicking among the branches like a young animal, that had
not yet been burdened with the care of gathering food or preparing for
winter shelter. On limbs lower down were two small boys of about eight
and ten, children of the overseer. They had already become Betty’s
playmates, and were making a desperate effort not to be outdone by her.
Jack gave a long low whistle. Betty clung closer to the trunk of the
tree and then peeped out, disclosing to view one eye and a part of her
dishevelled hair. In answer to the whistle she encircled her mouth with
her hand and called, “It’s too early for anyone to be up yet.”
“May I climb up there?” called back Jack softly.
“No, I’m all disarranged.”
“Please let me,” he pleaded.
“I’m coming down this minute,” answered Betty, lowering herself to the
ground.
“Will you walk a little with me?” asked Jack, bound not to lose her for
the two long hours before the morning meal.
“I’m only in bloomers,” answered Betty still protecting herself from
view.
“They are all the better for walking--come with me, the air is
wonderful.”
“Come along then.”
In less than a minute Jack was by her side. “How adorable,” he
remarked, as he caught his breath and surveyed the small figure before
him attired in a middy blouse, bloomers and sneakers.
“Is it bad for me to walk with you so early without Walter,” she asked
slyly, pretending not to know.
“Why what’s bad about it? It isn’t premeditated, and I’m not going to
abduct you.”
“Abduct me,” repeated Betty, “I never thought of such a thing.”
“But I have,” Jack replied, complacently. “I’d steal you this very
second, if I dared.”
“If you talk like that, Jack, I shall not stay with you.”
Jack’s persistence in making intimate and affectionate remarks served
apparently to discompose Betty at times, although more than once she
was conscious of having feigned annoyance. But now she turned quickly
and started toward the house. Jack leaped forward and caught her by the
wrist.
“Don’t be prudish,” he pleaded.
“But you say such disrespectful things to me,” pouted Betty.
“I didn’t mean to; please forgive me.”
Betty yielded and they started off again over the hills at a brisk pace.
“Let’s run a race,” suggested Betty.
“All right, we’ll start at the foot of the hill, and race to the second
big tree.”
“May I have a handicap?” asked Betty.
“Yes, to the little rock just there,” said Jack, pointing to a stone a
few feet away.
“Oh, that isn’t enough,” grumbled Betty.
“It’s all you can have,” answered Jack in his usual decided manner.
“Don’t start until I say three. One--two--three.”
They were off. Betty sprang up the hill like a deer. Jack gradually
overtook her, but when she heard him gaining on her, she summoned all
of her remaining strength and fairly leapt over the ground. Jack pulled
ahead and won by only a few paces--and he had done his best. She backed
to the tree for support while Jack threw himself to the ground.
“Ah, you’re all out of breath.”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Jack, jumping to his feet. “Why are--are
you using the tree for a prop?”
“But I didn’t fall down and I’m not out of breath.”
Jack moved to her side, drew her arm through his, and said, “Come on,
little boy, you did very well, and I love you against that tree.”
“I believe I shall stay by the tree,” she added wickedly, glancing into
Jack’s face to see if he caught the significance of her words.
Quick as a flash he answered, “The tree isn’t necessary. It is the same
anywhere.”
A flash of deep scarlet rose to Betty’s cheeks, as she realized that,
for the first time in her acquaintance with Jack, she had deliberately
invited his advances. And though a feeling of joy surged through her
being at the thought of it, she was conscious of a deep sense of shame
on realizing that she, who had always esteemed herself above such
practices, had not only allowed another than her husband to make open
advances to her, but had even encouraged him to do so.
“Please will you tell me the time?” she asked, with eyes averted.
“Just ten minutes after eight.”
“We must be hurrying along,” she said, quickening her step, “breakfast
will be served, and besides we’re very bad.”
“Bad,” repeated Jack, “why bad?”
“Because it is bad for us to be speaking this way to each other--I’m
deceiving Walter--I didn’t mean to say what I said.”
“But I meant what I said,” replied Jack, in his habitual positive tone,
“and what’s more I can’t help it. Love is the only thing in life that
can’t be regulated. It comes and goes unbidden. To work or to be idle,
to be kind-hearted or cruel, to accustom ourselves to outdoor or indoor
lives is ours to decree, but to love or not to love is beyond the power
of any human being, and right at this moment I am loving you more than
I ever loved any one in all my life.
“What causes this great love,” he continued philosophically, “I am at
a loss to know. Candidly I should much prefer to love Sarah, because I
believe she loves me, and besides she is not encumbered with a husband.”
“Walter is not an inc----.”
“Tell me honestly, Betty dear,” interrupted Jack, “do you want me to
love you, or must I go away?”
“I think you must go away.” But she wished he would not take her at her
word.
“When?”
“I--I don’t know,” she stammered, restraining her tears.
“But you care, don’t you? Admit it, do admit it. Admit it so that I can
go back to my work and accomplish something.” He had not yet felt the
sting of a troubled conscience, nor did he realize that the inconstancy
of his friend was drawing a cloud around her life that might never be
cleared away.
Betty stepped closer to the man, who had so dominated her will. She
looked straight into his compelling eyes, and the words which she
wanted to say failed her. She felt that she could not see him go from
her, yet she knew that there was no comparison between him and her
husband; that her husband possessed all the qualities of a strong and
good man that the other man lacked.
Walter sat reading the morning paper. Jack paced slowly up and down on
the veranda. The family gathered for breakfast. Betty appeared in a
fresh yellow muslin, relieved by a snow white collar and sash. As she
descended the stairs Walter laid aside the paper.
“Aren’t you going to church, dear?” he asked. “I thought you would be
ready by this time.”
“Can we leave Jack?” her heart jumping at the mere mention of his name.
“Make him go along,” responded Walter.
“He doesn’t like church; and especially on a day like this, I am sure
he would rather be out of doors.”
“Oh, well there is lots for him to do--ride, play golf, anything he
likes. We’ll be gone but a short time.”
“Can’t we worship in the open today? It’s so wonderful out-of-doors.”
“It is wonderful,” replied Walter, drawing out Betty’s chair for her,
“and it does seem hard to shut one’s self up on a day like this. But
there is no getting around it--there are certain duties we owe to the
Creator of these wonderful days, and there is only one day in the week
on which we can openly pay them. If I evade them I am conscious all the
week of having neglected my duty. It’s all right, dear, to say let’s
worship in the open, but we just don’t do it. Once off, that’s the end
of it.”
“Oh, come, Walt, don’t make me feel like a heathen,” interposed Jack.
“I don’t mind going to church, but it’s the everlasting long sermons we
are subjected to, that I dislike.”
“I admit it isn’t the sermon that attracts me; I go simply to offer my
thanks, and--and to worship in a way, although I must confess that it
is the whole service that does me good--the sermon, the hymns and the
prayers. It’s like taking a shower on a hot day.”
“It is indeed,” remarked Aunt Marty. “I can tell you children from
experience, that material things do not satisfy when one is nearing the
end of life. It’s the good we’ve done and the trust we’ve had on the
journey, and it is that worship that Walter speaks of that stimulates
and inspires us to do the good and have the trust.”
“How about driving in to hear Dr. Burk this morning? He isn’t afraid of
the truth, and will tell us something worth listening to, I am sure.
Jack, you’ll like him; come along, and we’ll have golf right after
dinner.”
“I’ll play you some golf, but I am going to renig on the church
proposition. I’ve strayed too far from the fold to be gathered into it
now. May I borrow Delphie and go for a ride?”
“Sure, I’ll have Frank saddle her for you,” answered Walter.
The meal was finished; Aunt Marty left hastily to make ready for
church. Betty lingered in the conservatory rearranging a few stray
ferns.
“Dear, are you going?”
“Have I time to dress? It’s so late already.”
“Well, leave the plants alone and hurry.”
“Walter dear, if you don’t mind I think I shall stay at home. There are
lots of little things I want to do and when they are finished perhaps
I’ll ride a little with Jack.”
“No, don’t let me keep you home,” interposed Jack, trying to appear
disconcerted at Betty’s indecision.
“As you like, dear,” answered Walter, “only be careful with Ringgold,
she is as wild as a hare--she hasn’t had exercise lately.”
“You are sure you won’t mind?” asked Betty pleadingly, as she steadily
looked into Walter’s eyes, for she knew his power of observance and
his ability intuitively to arrive at conclusions which were often
startlingly correct.
“I’m satisfied if you are,” he answered.
Betty was conscious of a feeling of guilt as she watched the two men go
down the room side by side--Walter, a bit stooped, bald and slightly
limping, Jack, tall, straight, thin, with a mass of dark hair. Her
cheeks burned as she thought of her subterfuge, and felt herself
drifting into deception.
“I’ll take good care of the little lady, Walt,” Jack was saying, as the
car whisked away.
Jack lingered about on the veranda; Betty disappeared and did not
return until she heard the low, long, familiar whistle come from the
foot of the stairs. At that moment she appeared on the landing.
“Do come and talk to me, little boy?” begged Jack in a soft, loving
tone.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to church,” answered Betty regretfully, as she
slowly descended to the lower step. This brought her head to a level
with Jack’s shoulder.
“Did you stay for my sake? Don’t be stingy--say yes,” he coaxed.
“No--no indeed, there was lots to be done here.”
She stepped back up the stairs, half disgusted at both her own and
Jack’s actions. She tried not to be one of those helpless girls who
unconsciously betray themselves, and whose behavior is controlled
solely by their impulses. She could not comprehend in what manner
she had become apathetic toward Walter--Walter who was so tender,
thoughtful, and true to her. She would have expressed the utmost
surprise and disapprobation if she had heard that another had been
detected in this immodest affair--if indeed, she had believed it
possible.
“I stayed because I did not like to leave my guest alone, and because I
really had things to do.”
“But I am vain enough to think that had I not been here the ‘things to
do’ would have remained as they were.”
As Jack made this assertion he drew Betty gently back to him and
pressed his lips to the top of her head. She stood as if held by a vice.
“Please--please, Jack, won’t you help me to be good? I owe so much to
Walter.”
“Money is money, my little boy, but there is no such thing as a love
debt. We know not where love goes or whence it comes. We only know that
it has come to you--and to me. It has caught us as fish are caught in a
net, and I can think of no escape.”
“But we must do something. Can’t we pray for guidance?”
“No--I can only pray that in some way I shall soon be able to make you
mine.”
Again he kissed the top of her head, and as she turned to resist him,
he folded her slowly but closely into his arms. She yielded--their lips
met, every nerve and fibre tense in the two young bodies.
“You were mine in heaven, darling, long before you came to earth. I
lost you--and all these years I’ve been searching for you; now I’ve
found you, never, never to let you go--mine--you must be mine.”
“Oh, Jack, how can I ever look at Walter again?” sobbed Betty, tearing
herself away. “I can never make my peace with God and him,” she said
brokenly. “I shall always be afraid in the day lest my actions betray
my guilt, and at night I shall be afraid to sleep for fear some
self-accusing word may escape my lips.”
“It would be cruel for me to subject you to such misery,” said Jack,
leading her to a comfortable couch, which stood before a large open
fire. “Come with me--come until we can arrange to be each other’s?”
“Leave--leave Walter?” she asked, as if half dazed. The words seemed
crude--unreal, if she had suddenly awakened from a dream whose content
was even now vague and fast fading into the subconscious.
“Come, darling, we’ll solve it later,” said Jack, holding her closer in
his arms. “My little boy is so frightened now.”
His words and movements indicated possession. She was now the ruling
passion of his life----.
* * * * *