ALAN MASSEY LOSES HIMSELF
While Ruth and Larry steered their storm tossed craft of love into smooth
haven at last; while Ted came into his own in the Canadian training camp
and Tony played Broadway to her heart's content, the two Masseys down in
Mexico drifted into a strange pact of friendship.
Had there been no other ministrations offered save those of creature
comfort alone Dick would have had cause to be immensely grateful to Alan
Massey. To good food, good nursing and material comfort the young man
reacted quickly for he was a healthy young animal and had no bad habits
to militate against recovery.
But there was more than creature comfort in Alan's service. Without the
latter's presence loneliness, homesickness and heartache would have
gnawed at the younger man retarding his physical gains. With Alan
Massey life even on a sick bed took on fascinating colors like a prism
in sunlight.
For the sick lad's delectation Alan spun long thrilling tales, many of
them based on personal experience in his wide travels in many lands. He
was a magnificent raconteur and Dick propped up among his pillows drank
it all in, listening like another Desdemona to strange moving accidents
of fire and flood which his scribbling soul recognized as superb copy.
Often too Alan read from books, called in the masters of the pen to set
the listener's eager mind atravel through wondrous, unexplored worlds.
Best of all perhaps were the twilight hours when Alan quoted long
passages of poetry from memory, lending to the magic of the poet's art
his own magic of voice and intonation. These were wonderful moments to
Dick, moments he was never to forget. He drank deep of the soul vintage
which the other man offered him out of the abundance of his experience as
a life long pilgrim in the service of beauty.
It was a curious relation--this growing friendship between the two men.
In some respects they were as master and pupil, in others were as man and
man, friend and friend, almost brother and brother. When Alan Massey gave
at all he gave magnificently without stint or reservation. He did now.
And when he willed to conquer he seldom if ever failed. He did not now.
He won, won first his cousin's liking, respect, and gratitude and finally
his loyal friendship and something else that was akin to reverence.
Tony Holiday's name was seldom mentioned between the two. Perhaps they
feared that with the name of the girl they both loved there might return
also the old antagonistic forces which had already wrought too much
havoc. Both sincerely desired peace and amity and therefore the woman who
held both their hearts in her keeping was almost banished from the talk
of the sick room though she was far from forgotten by either.
So things went on. In time Dick was judged by the physician well enough
to take the long journey back to New York. Alan secured the tickets, made
all the arrangements, permitting Dick not so much as the lifting of a
finger in his own behalf. And just then came Tony Holiday's letter to
Alan telling him she was his whenever he wanted her since he had cleared
the shield forever in her eyes by what he had done for Dick. She trusted
him, knew he would not ask her to marry him unless he was quite free
morally and every other way to ask her. She wanted him, could not be
surer of his love or her own if she waited a dozen years. He meant more
to her than her work, more than her beloved freedom more even than
Holiday Hill itself although she felt that she was not so much deserting
the Hill as bringing Alan to it. The others would learn to love him too.
They must, because she loved him so much! But even if they did not she
had made her choice. She belonged to him first of all.
"But think, dear," she finished. "Think well before you take me. Don't
come to me at all unless you can come free, with nothing on your soul
that is going to prevent your being happy with me. I shall ask no
questions if you come. I trust you to decide right for us both because
you lave me in the high way as well as all the other ways."
Alan took this letter of Tony's out into the night, walked with it
through flaming valleys of hell. She was his. Of her own free will she
had given herself to him, placed him higher in her heart at last than
even her sacred Hill. And yet after all the Hill stood between them, in
the challenge she flung at him. She was his to take if he could come
free. She left the decision to him. She trusted him.
Good God! Why should he hesitate to take what she was willing to give? He
had atoned, saved his cousin's life, lived decently, honorably as he had
promised, kept faith with Tony herself when he might perhaps have won her
on baser terms than he had made himself keep to because he loved her as
she said "in the high way as well as all the other ways." He would
contrive some way of giving his cousin back the money. He did not want
it. He only wanted Tony and her love. Why in the name of all the devils
should he who had sinned all his life, head up and eyes open, balk at
this one sin, the negative sin of mere silence, when it would give him
what he wanted more than all the world? What was he afraid of? The answer
he would not let himself discover. He was afraid of Tony Holiday's clear
eyes but he was more afraid of something else--his own soul which somehow
Tony had created by loving and believing in him.
All the next day, the day before they were to leave on the northern
journey, Alan behaved as if all the devils of hell which he had invoked
were with him. The old mocking bitterness of tongue was back, an even
more savage light than Dick remembered that night of their quarrel was in
his green eyes. The man was suddenly acidulated as if he had over night
suffered a chemical transformation which had affected both mind and body.
A wild beast tortured, evil, ready to pounce, looked out of his drawn,
white face.
Dick wondered greatly what had caused the strange reaction and seeing
the other was suffering tremendously for some reason or other
unexplained and perhaps inexplicable was profoundly sorry. His
friendship for the man who had saved his life was altogether too strong
and deep to be shaken by this temporary lapse into brutality which he
had known all along was there although held miraculously in abeyance
these many weeks. The man was a genius, with all the temperamental
fluctuations of mood which are comprehensible and forgivable in a
genius. Dick did not begrudge the other any relief he might find in his
debauch of ill humor, was more than willing he should work it off on his
humble self if it could do any good though he would be immensely
relieved when the old friendly Alan came back.
Twilight descended. Dick turned from the mirror after a critical survey
of his own lean, fever parched, yellow countenance.
"Lord! I look like a peanut," he commenced disgustedly. "I say, Massey,
when we get back to New York I think I should choke anybody if I were you
who dared to say we looked alike. One must draw the line somewhere at
what constitutes a permissible insult." He grinned whimsically at his own
expense, turned back to the mirror. "Upon my word, though, I believe it
is true. We do look alike. I never saw it until this minute. Funny
things--resemblances."
"This isn't so funny," drawled Alan. "We had the same great grandfather."
Dick whirled about staring at the other man as if he thought him
suddenly gone mad.
"What! What do you know about my great grandfather? Do you know
who I am?"
"I do. You are John Massey, old John's grandson, the chap I told you once
was dead and decently buried. I hoped it was true at the time but it
wasn't a week before I knew it was a lie. I found out John Massey was
alive and that he was going under the name of Dick Carson. Do you wonder
I hated you?"
Dick sat down, his face white. He looked and was utterly dazed.
"I don't understand," he said. "Do you mind explaining? It--it is a
little hard to get all at once."
And then Alan Massey told the story that no living being save himself
knew. He spared himself nothing, apologised for nothing, expressed no
regret, asked for no palliation of judgment, forgiveness or even
understanding. Quietly, apparently without emotion, he gave back to the
other man the birthright he had robbed him of by his selfish and
dishonorable connivance with a wicked old man now beyond the power of any
vengeance or penalty. Dick Carson was no longer nameless but as he
listened tensely to his cousin's revelations he almost found it in his
heart to wish he were. It was too terrible to have won his name at such a
cost. As he listened, watching Alan's eyes burn in the dusk in strange
contrast to his cool, liquid, studiously tranquil voice, Dick remembered
a line Alan himself had read him only the other day, "Hell, the shadow of
a soul on fire," the Persian phrased it. Watching, Dick Carson saw before
him a sadder thing, a soul which had once been on fire and was now but
gray ashes. The flame had blazed up, scorched and blackened its path. It
was over now, burnt out. At thirty-three Alan Massey was through, had
lived his life, had given up. The younger man saw this with a pang which
had no reactive thought of self, only compassion for the other.
"That is all, I think," said Alan at last. "I have all the proofs of your
identity with me. I never could destroy them somehow though I have meant
to over and over again. On the same principle I suppose that the sinning
monk sears the sign of the cross on his breast though he makes no outward
confession to the world and means to make none. I never meant to make
mine. I don't know why I am doing it now. Or rather I do. I couldn't
marry Tony with this thing between us. I tried to think I could, that I'd
made up to you by saving your life, that I was free to take my happiness
with her because I loved her and she loved me. And she does love me. She
wrote me yesterday she would marry me whenever I wished. I could have had
her. But I couldn't take her that way. I couldn't have made her happy.
She would have read the thing in my soul. She is too clean and honest and
true herself not to feel the presence of the other thing when it came
near her. I have tried to tell myself love was enough, that it would make
up to her for the rest. It isn't enough. You can't build life or
happiness except on the quarry stuff they keep on Holiday Hill, right,
honor, decency. You know that. Tony forgave my past. I believe she is
generous enough to forgive even this and go on with me. But I shan't ask
her. I won't let her. I--I've given her up with the rest."
The speaker came over to where Dick sat, silent, stunned.
"Enough of that. I have no wish to appeal to you in any way. The next
move is yours. You can act as you please. You can brand me as a
criminal if you choose. It is what I am, guilty in the eyes of the law
as well as in my own eyes and yours. I am not pleading innocence. I am
pleading unqualified guilt. Understand that clearly. I knew what I was
doing when I did it. I have known ever since. I've never been blind to
the rottenness of the thing. At first I did it for the money because I
was afraid of poverty and honest work. And then I went on with it for
Tony, because I loved her and wouldn't give her up to you. Now I've
given up the last ditch. The name is yours and the money is yours and
if you can win Tony she is yours. I'm out of the face for good and all.
But we have to settle just how the thing is going to be done. And that
is for you to say."
"I wish I needn't do anything about it," said Dick slowly after a moment.
"I don't want the money. I am almost afraid of it. It seems accursed
somehow considering what it did to you. Even the name I don't seem to
care so much about just now thought I have wanted a name as I have never
wanted anything else in the world except Tony. It was mostly for her I
wanted it. See here, Alan, why can't we make a compromise? You say
Roberts wrote two letters and you have both. Why can't we destroy the one
and send the other to the lawyers, the one that lets you out? It is
nobody's business but ours. We can say that the letter has just fallen
into your hands with the other proof that I am the John Massey that was
stolen. That would straighten the thing out for you. I've no desire to
brand you in any way. Why should I after all I owe you? You have made up
a million times by saving my life and by the way you have given the thing
over now. Anyway one doesn't exact payment from one's friends. And you
are my friend, Alan. You offered me friendship. I took it--was proud to
take it. I am proud now, prouder than ever."
And rising Dick Carson who was no longer Dick Carson but John Massey held
out his hand to the man who had wronged him so bitterly. The paraquet in
the corner jibbered harshly. Thunder rumbled heavily outside. An eerily
vivid flash of lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the dusk as
the two men clasped hands.
"John Massey!" Alan's voice with its deep cello quality was vibrant with
emotion. "You don't know what that means to me. Men have called me many
things but few have ever called me friend except in lip service for what
they thought they could get out of it. And from you--well, I can only
say, I thank you."
"We are the only Masseys. We ought to stand together," said Dick simply.
Alan smiled though the room was too dark for Dick to see.
"We can't stand together. I have forfeited the right. You chose the high
road long ago and I chose the other. We have both to abide by our
choices. We can't change those things at will. Spare me the public
revelation if you care to. I shall be glad for Tony's sake. For myself it
doesn't matter much. I don't expect to cross your path or hers again. I
am going to lose myself. Maybe some day you will win her. She will be
worth the winning. But don't hurry her if you want to win. She will have
to get over me first and that will take time."
"She will never get over you, Alan. I know her. Things go deep with her.
They do with all the Holidays. You shan't lose yourself. There is no need
of it. Tony loves you. You must stay and make her happy. You can now you
are free. She need never know the worst of this any more than the rest of
the world need know. We can divide the money. It is the only way I am
willing to have any of it."
Alan shook his head.
"We can divide nothing, not the money and not Tony's love. I told you I
was giving it all up. You cannot stop me. No man has ever stopped me from
doing what I willed to do. I have a letter or two to write now and so
I'll leave you. I am glad you don't hate me, John Massey. Shall we shake
hands once more and then--good-night?"
Their hands met again. A sharp glare of lightning lit the room with
ominous brilliancy for a moment. The paraquet screamed raucously. And
then the door closed on Alan Massey.
An hour later a servant brought word to Dick that an American was below
waiting to speak to him. He descended with the card in his hand. The name
was unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chicago, mining engineer.
The stranger stood in the hall waiting while Dick came down the stairs.
He was obviously ill at ease.
"I am Hallock," announced the visitor. "You are Richard Carson?"
Dick nodded. Already the name was beginning to sound strange on his ears.
In one hour he had gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was John
Massey. And no longer needed Tony's name, dear as it was.
"I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. Carson," the stranger
proceeded. "You have a friend named Alan Massey living here with you?"
Again Dick nodded. He was apprehensive at the mention of Alan's name.
"There was a riot down there." The speaker pointed down the street. "A
fuss over an American flag some dirty German dog had spit at. It didn't
take long to start a life sized row. We are all spoiling for a chance to
stick a few of the pigs ourselves whether we're technically at war or
not. A lot of us collected, your friend Massey among the rest. I
remember particularly when he joined the mob because he was so much
taller than the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was going to
an afternoon tea instead of getting into an international mess with
nearly all the contracting parties drunk and disorderly. There was a
good deal of excitement and confusion. I don't believe anybody knows
just what happened but a drunken Mexican drew a dagger somewhere in the
mix up and let it fly indiscriminate like. We all scattered like
mischief when we saw the thing flash. Nobody cares much for that kind of
plaything at close range. But Massey didn't move. It got him, clean in
the heart. He couldn't have suffered a second. It was all over in a
breath. He fell and the mob made itself scarce. Another fellow and I
were the first to get to him but there wasn't anything to do but look in
his pockets and find out who he was. We found his name on a card with
this address and your name scribbled on it in pencil. I say, Mr. Carson,
I am horribly sorry," suddenly perceiving Dick's white face. "You care a
lot, don't you?"
"I care a lot," said Dick woodenly. "He was my cousin and--my best
friend."
"I am sorry," repeated the young engineer. "Mr. Carson, there is
something else I feel as if I had to say though I shan't say it to any
one else. Massey might have dodged with the rest of us. He saw it coming
just as we did. He waited for it and I saw him smile as it came--a queer
smile at that. Maybe I'm mistaken but I have a hunch he wanted that
dagger to find him. That was why he smiled."
"I think you are entirely right, Mr. Hallock," said Dick. "I haven't any
doubt but that was why he smiled. He would smile just that way. Where
--where is he?" Dick brushed his hands across his eyes as he asked the
question. He had never felt so desolate, so utterly alone in his life.
"They are bringing him here. Shall I stay? Can I help anyway?"
Dick shook his head sadly.
"Thank you. I don't think there is anything any one can do. I--I wish
there was."
A little later Alan Massey's dead body lay in austere dignity in the
house in which he had saved his cousin's life and given him back his name
and fortune together with the right to win the girl he himself had loved
so well. The smile was still on his face and a strange serenity of
expression was there too. He slept well at last. He had lost himself as
he had proclaimed his intent to do and in losing had found himself. One
could not look upon that calm white sculptured face without feeling that.
Alan Massey had died a victor undaunted, a master of fate to the end.