The next morning Corliss was knocked out of a late bed by Bash, one of
Jacob Welse's Indians. He was the bearer of a brief little note from
Frona, which contained a request for the mining engineer to come and
see her at his first opportunity. That was all that was said, and he
pondered over it deeply. What did she wish to say to him? She was
still such an unknown quantity,--and never so much as now in the light
of the day before,--that he could not guess. Did she desire to give
him his dismissal on a definite, well-understood basis? To take
advantage of her sex and further humiliate him? To tell him what she
thought of him in coolly considered, cold-measured terms? Or was she
penitently striving to make amends for the unmerited harshness she had
dealt him? There was neither contrition nor anger in the note, no
clew, nothing save a formally worded desire to see him.
So it was in a rather unsettled and curious frame of mind that he
walked in upon her as the last hour of the morning drew to a close. He
was neither on his dignity nor off, his attitude being strictly
non-committal against the moment she should disclose hers. But without
beating about the bush, in that way of hers which he had come already
to admire, she at once showed her colors and came frankly forward to
him. The first glimpse of her face told him, the first feel of her
hand, before she had said a word, told him that all was well.
"I am glad you have come," she began. "I could not be at peace with
myself until I had seen you and told you how sorry I am for yesterday,
and how deeply ashamed I--"
"There, there. It's not so bad as all that." They were still
standing, and he took a step nearer to her. "I assure you I can
appreciate your side of it; and though, looking at it theoretically, it
was the highest conduct, demanding the fullest meed of praise, still,
in all frankness, there is much to--to--"
"Yes."
"Much to deplore in it from the social stand-point. And unhappily, we
cannot leave the social stand-point out of our reckoning. But so far
as I may speak for myself, you have done nothing to feel sorry for or
be ashamed of."
"It is kind of you," she cried, graciously. "Only it is not true, and
you know it is not true. You know that you acted for the best; you
know that I hurt you, insulted you; you know that I behaved like a
fish-wife, and you do know that I disgusted you--"
"No, no!" He raised his hand as though to ward from her the blows she
dealt herself.
"But yes, yes. And I have all reason in the world to be ashamed. I
can only say this in defence: the woman had affected me deeply--so
deeply that I was close to weeping. Then you came on the scene,--you
know what you did,--and the sorrow for her bred an indignation against
you, and--well, I worked myself into a nervous condition such as I had
never experienced in my life. It was hysteria, I suppose. Anyway, I
was not myself."
"We were neither of us ourselves."
"Now you are untrue. I did wrong, but you were yourself, as much so
then as now. But do be seated. Here we stand as though you were ready
to run away at first sign of another outbreak."
"Surely you are not so terrible!" he laughed, adroitly pulling his
chair into position so that the light fell upon her face.
"Rather, you are not such a coward. I must have been terrible
yesterday. I--I almost struck you. And you were certainly brave when
the whip hung over you. Why, you did not even attempt to raise a hand
and shield yourself."
"I notice the dogs your whip falls among come nevertheless to lick your
hand and to be petted."
"Ergo?" she queried, audaciously.
"Ergo, it all depends," he equivocated.
"And, notwithstanding, I am forgiven?"
"As I hope to be forgiven."
"Then I am glad--only, you have done nothing to be forgiven for. You
acted according to your light, and I to mine, though it must be
acknowledged that mine casts the broader flare. Ah! I have it,"
clapping her hands in delight, "I was not angry with you yesterday; nor
did I behave rudely to you, or even threaten you. It was utterly
impersonal, the whole of it. You simply stood for society, for the
type which aroused my indignation and anger; and, as its
representative, you bore the brunt of it. Don't you see?"
"I see, and cleverly put; only, while you escape the charge of
maltreating me yesterday; you throw yourself open to it to-day. You
make me out all that is narrow-minded and mean and despicable, which is
very unjust. Only a few minutes past I said that your way of looking
at it, theoretically considered, was irreproachable. But not so when
we include society."
"But you misunderstand me, Vance. Listen." Her hand went out to his,
and he was content to listen. "I have always upheld that what is is
well. I grant the wisdom of the prevailing social judgment in this
matter. Though I deplore it, I grant it; for the human is so made.
But I grant it socially only. I, as an individual, choose to regard
such things differently. And as between individuals so minded, why
should it not be so regarded? Don't you see? Now I find you guilty.
As between you and me, yesterday, on the river, you did not so regard
it. You behaved as narrow-mindedly as would have the society you
represent."
"Then you would preach two doctrines?" he retaliated. "One for the
elect and one for the herd? You would be a democrat in theory and an
aristocrat in practice? In fact, the whole stand you are making is
nothing more or less than Jesuitical."
"I suppose with the next breath you will be contending that all men are
born free and equal, with a bundle of natural rights thrown in? You
are going to have Del Bishop work for you; by what equal free-born
right will he work for you, or you suffer him to work?"
"No," he denied. "I should have to modify somewhat the questions of
equality and rights."
"And if you modify, you are lost!" she exulted. "For you can only
modify in the direction of my position, which is neither so Jesuitical
nor so harsh as you have defined it. But don't let us get lost in
dialectics. I want to see what I can see, so tell me about this woman."
"Not a very tasteful topic," Corliss objected.
"But I seek knowledge."
"Nor can it be wholesome knowledge."
Frona tapped her foot impatiently, and studied him.
"She is beautiful, very beautiful," she suggested. "Do you not think
so?"
"As beautiful as hell."
"But still beautiful," she insisted.
"Yes, if you will have it so. And she is as cruel, and hard, and
hopeless as she is beautiful."
"Yet I came upon her, alone, by the trail, her face softened, and tears
in her eyes. And I believe, with a woman's ken, that I saw a side of
her to which you are blind. And so strongly did I see it, that when
you appeared my mind was blank to all save the solitary wail, _Oh, the
pity of it_! _The pity of it_! And she is a woman, even as I, and I
doubt not that we are very much alike. Why, she even quoted
Browning--"
"And last week," he cut her short, "in a single sitting, she gambled
away thirty thousand of Jack Dorsey's dust,--Dorsey, with two mortgages
already on his dump! They found him in the snow next morning, with one
chamber empty in his revolver."
Frona made no reply, but, walking over to the candle, deliberately
thrust her finger into the flame. Then she held it up to Corliss that
he might see the outraged skin, red and angry.
"And so I point the parable. The fire is very good, but I misuse it,
and I am punished."
"You forget," he objected. "The fire works in blind obedience to
natural law. Lucile is a free agent. That which she has chosen to do,
that she has done."
"Nay, it is you who forget, for just as surely Dorsey was a free agent.
But you said Lucile. Is that her name? I wish I knew her better."
Corliss winced. "Don't! You hurt me when you say such things."
"And why, pray?"
"Because--because--"
"Yes?"
"Because I honor woman highly. Frona, you have always made a stand for
frankness, and I can now advantage by it. It hurts me because of the
honor in which I hold you, because I cannot bear to see taint approach
you. Why, when I saw you and that woman together on the trail, I--you
cannot understand what I suffered."
"Taint?" There was a tightening about her lips which he did not
notice, and a just perceptible lustre of victory lighted her eyes.
"Yes, taint,--contamination," he reiterated. "There are some things
which it were not well for a good woman to understand. One cannot
dabble with mud and remain spotless."
"That opens the field wide." She clasped and unclasped her hands
gleefully. "You have said that her name was Lucile; you display a
knowledge of her; you have given me facts about her; you doubtless
retain many which you dare not give; in short, if one cannot dabble and
remain spotless, how about you?"
"But I am--"
"A man, of course. Very good. Because you are a man, you may court
contamination. Because I am a woman, I may not. Contamination
contaminates, does it not? Then you, what do you here with me? Out
upon you!"
Corliss threw up his hands laughingly. "I give in. You are too much
for me with your formal logic. I can only fall back on the higher
logic, which you will not recognize."
"Which is--"
"Strength. What man wills for woman, that will he have."
"I take you, then, on your own ground," she rushed on. "What of
Lucile? What man has willed that he has had. So you, and all men,
have willed since the beginning of time. So poor Dorsey willed. You
cannot answer, so let me speak something that occurs to me concerning
that higher logic you call strength. I have met it before. I
recognized it in you, yesterday, on the sleds."
"In me?"
"In you, when you reached out and clutched at me. You could not down
the primitive passion, and, for that matter, you did not know it was
uppermost. But the expression on your face, I imagine, was very like
that of a woman-stealing cave-man. Another instant, and I am sure you
would have laid violent hands upon me."
"Then I ask your pardon. I did not dream--"
"There you go, spoiling it all! I--I quite liked you for it. Don't
you remember, I, too, was a cave-woman, brandishing the whip over your
head?
"But I am not done with you yet, Sir Doubleface, even if you have
dropped out of the battle." Her eyes were sparkling mischievously, and
the wee laughter-creases were forming on her cheek. "I purpose to
unmask you."
"As clay in the hands of the potter," he responded, meekly.
"Then you must remember several things. At first, when I was very
humble and apologetic, you made it easier for me by saying that you
could only condemn my conduct on the ground of being socially unwise.
Remember?"
Corliss nodded.
"Then, just after you branded me as Jesuitical, I turned the
conversation to Lucile, saying that I wished to see what I could see."
Again he nodded.
"And just as I expected, I saw. For in only a few minutes you began to
talk about taint, and contamination, and dabbling in mud,--and all in
relation to me. There are your two propositions, sir. You may only
stand on one, and I feel sure that you stand on the last one. Yes, I
am right. You do. And you were insincere, confess, when you found my
conduct unwise only from the social point of view. I like sincerity."
"Yes," he began, "I was unwittingly insincere. But I did not know it
until further analysis, with your help, put me straight. Say what you
will, Frona, my conception of woman is such that she should not court
defilement."
"But cannot we be as gods, knowing good and evil?"
"But we are not gods," he shook his head, sadly.
"Only the men are?"
"That is new-womanish talk," he frowned. "Equal rights, the ballot,
and all that."
"Oh! Don't!" she protested. "You won't understand me; you can't. I
am no woman's rights' creature; and I stand, not for the new woman, but
for the new womanhood. Because I am sincere; because I desire to be
natural, and honest, and true; and because I am consistent with myself,
you choose to misunderstand it all and to lay wrong strictures upon me.
I do try to be consistent, and I think I fairly succeed; but you can
see neither rhyme nor reason in my consistency. Perhaps it is because
you are unused to consistent, natural women; because, more likely, you
are only familiar with the hot-house breeds,--pretty, helpless,
well-rounded, stall-fatted little things, blissfully innocent and
criminally ignorant. They are not natural or strong; nor can they
mother the natural and strong."
She stopped abruptly. They heard somebody enter the hall, and a heavy,
soft-moccasined tread approaching.
"We are friends," she added hurriedly, and Corliss answered with his
eyes.
"Ain't intrudin', am I?" Dave Harney grinned broad insinuation and
looked about ponderously before coming up to shake hands.
"Not at all," Corliss answered. "We've bored each other till we were
pining for some one to come along. If you hadn't, we would soon have
been quarrelling, wouldn't we, Miss Welse?"
"I don't think he states the situation fairly," she smiled back. "In
fact, we had already begun to quarrel."
"You do look a mite flustered," Harney criticised, dropping his
loose-jointed frame all over the pillows of the lounging couch.
"How's the famine?" Corliss asked. "Any public relief started yet?"
"Won't need any public relief. Miss Frona's old man was too forehanded
fer 'em. Scairt the daylights out of the critters, I do b'lieve.
Three thousand went out over the ice hittin' the high places, an' half
ez many again went down to the caches, and the market's loosened some
considerable. Jest what Welse figgered on, everybody speculated on a
rise and held all the grub they could lay hand to. That helped scare
the shorts, and away they stampeded fer Salt Water, the whole caboodle,
a-takin' all the dogs with 'em. Say!" he sat up solemnly, "corner
dogs! They'll rise suthin' unheard on in the spring when freightin'
gits brisk. I've corralled a hundred a'ready, an' I figger to clear a
hundred dollars clean on every hide of 'em."
"Think so?"
"Think so! I guess yes. Between we three, confidential, I'm startin'
a couple of lads down into the Lower Country next week to buy up five
hundred of the best huskies they kin spot. Think so! I've limbered my
jints too long in the land to git caught nappin'."
Frona burst out laughing. "But you got pinched on the sugar, Dave."
"Oh, I dunno," he responded, complacently. "Which reminds me. I've
got a noospaper, an' only four weeks' old, the _Seattle
Post-Intelligencer_."
"Has the United States and Spain--"
"Not so fast, not so fast!" The long Yankee waved his arms for
silence, cutting off Frona's question which was following fast on that
of Corliss.
"But have you read it?" they both demanded.
"Unh huh, every line, advertisements an' all."
"Then do tell me," Frona began. "Has--"
"Now you keep quiet, Miss Frona, till I tell you about it reg'lar.
That noospaper cost me fifty dollars--caught the man comin' in round
the bend above Klondike City, an' bought it on the spot. The dummy
could a-got a hundred fer it, easy, if he'd held on till he made
town--"
"But what does it say? Has--"
"Ez I was sayin', that noospaper cost me fifty dollars. It's the only
one that come in. Everybody's jest dyin' to hear the noos. So I
invited a select number of 'em to come here to yer parlors to-night,
Miss Frona, ez the only likely place, an' they kin read it out loud, by
shifts, ez long ez they want or till they're tired--that is, if you'll
let 'em have the use of the place."
"Why, of course, they are welcome. And you are very kind to--"
He waved her praise away. "Jest ez I kalkilated. Now it so happens,
ez you said, that I was pinched on sugar. So every mother's son and
daughter that gits a squint at that paper to-night got to pony up five
cups of sugar. Savve? Five cups,--big cups, white, or brown, or
cube,--an' I'll take their IOU's, an' send a boy round to their shacks
the day followin' to collect."
Frona's face went blank at the telling, then the laughter came back
into it. "Won't it be jolly? I'll do it if it raises a scandal.
To-night, Dave? Sure to-night?"
"Sure. An' you git a complimentary, you know, fer the loan of yer
parlor."
"But papa must pay his five cups. You must insist upon it, Dave."
Dave's eyes twinkled appreciatively. "I'll git it back on him, you
bet!"
"And I'll make him come," she promised, "at the tail of Dave Harney's
chariot."
"Sugar cart," Dave suggested. "An' to-morrow night I'll take the paper
down to the Opery House. Won't be fresh, then, so they kin git in
cheap; a cup'll be about the right thing, I reckon." He sat up and
cracked his huge knuckles boastfully. "I ain't ben a-burnin' daylight
sence navigation closed; an' if they set up all night they won't be up
early enough in the mornin' to git ahead of Dave Harney--even on a
sugar proposition."