day out, ever since I first knew you. That's why you're where you are;
it doesn't take a soothsayer to tell that."
Waldron laughed. "You're a flatterer," he said.
Julius shook his head. "Not a bit of it. It's written all over you. If I
got caught in the middle of an earthquake anywhere, and the ground
stopped shaking and I looked around me to find out what to do next, and
my eye fell on you out of hundreds bunched around me, I should
simply--follow you out of the mess!"
"That's a great tribute," Waldron admitted, "from a fellow whom I used to
know as the cleverest at getting himself out of scrapes of all the boys
who were resourceful in getting into them."
"Having exchanged large-sized bouquets," Julius observed with sudden
gravity, "we will now drive home. Do you know I'm mighty sorry my sister
Dorothy isn't there? You remember her, do you?--or maybe you don't. She
was just a 'kid' with a couple of long tails of hair down her back. My
second sister, Barbara--we call her 'Bud'--was in your class, I believe.
She remembers you all right; says she was tremendously impressed by the
way you slew the fractions on the blackboard. Bud married Jack Elliot, as
I told you yesterday; and a great old boy he is, too, for a
brother-in-law."
Discoursing of his family, with occasional mention of his sister Dorothy,
Julius took his friend to the Elliot home. Mrs. Jack, fresh and charming,
made them welcome. Jack himself, by some happy chance, had been able to
come out for luncheon, and the three men found each other thoroughly
congenial.
After luncheon Julius contrived a chance to exchange a brief colloquy
with Mrs. Jack on the subject of the guest.
"What do you think of him, Bud? Pretty fine sort to have developed from
the grub who did the stunts with fractions, with his freckled face
turning lobster colour because you girls were looking at him?"
"I can't believe he's the same," Mrs. Jack whispered, looking through the
open window at the figure on the porch outside, its side turned toward
her. "I haven't seen a man in a long time with so much character in his
face. He's not exactly handsome, but--yes, I certainly do like his face
very much. I wish--I really wish Dot were here."
"Oh, no, not at all!" Julius objected. "Dot's satisfied with Ridge
Jordan, or thinks she is. So are you."
"I have always liked Ridge," Mrs. Jack insisted; "but--well, Mr. Waldron
is quite another type."
"Yes, quite another," Julius murmured, and returned to the porch.
Before the two took the train for the mountains Julius managed to let
Waldron see a photograph of Dorothy. As a matter of fact; photographs of
Dorothy were all about the house, but in Julius's own room hung one which
the brother considered the gem of them all. It showed one of those
straight-out-of-the-picture faces which are sometimes so attractive, the
eyebrows level above the wonderful eyes, the lips serious and sweet, the
head well poised upon the lovely neck, the whole aspect one of youth
unconscious of its charm, yet feeling a subtle power of its own.
Waldron, his attention called to the photograph, surveyed it with a quiet
comment: "I should have known she would look like this when she grew
up"; and turned away without undue lingering. Yet Julius was satisfied
that Waldron would know the face again when he saw it, as it was intended
that he should.
It was a journey of an hour and a half by rail up into the mountain
resort where, by certain artfully veiled investigations, Julius had
ascertained that the bridal party would stop for dinner. Scheming
joyously, he led his companion from the train at a station several miles
from Saxifrage Inn, alighting at a mere flag station in the midst of a
semi-wilderness. The promised tramp began without the knowledge of the
guest as to where it was to end or hint as to what might be found there.
Coats over their arms, the two young men swung away upon the trail--a
wide, much-used trail, which could be followed without difficulty. The
warm summer air was fragrant with the scent of balsam, pine, and fern;
pine needles carpeted the path; faint forest sounds came to their
ears--the call of a loon from a distant lake, the whirr of a partridge,
the chatter of a squirrel, the splash of falling water. Waldron took off
his straw hat and tucked it under his arm, baring his forehead to the
spice-laden breeze that now and then filtered through the forest,
stirring languid leaves to motion.
"Ah, but I'd like to be just setting out on a fortnight of this!" he
breathed. "Dressed for the part, a pack on my back--or a canoe. When I
was a boy I used to go on long canoeing trips, following our river to its
mouth. I don't like the tropics as well as I do the temperate zones."
"If you weren't such a tremendous grind you would do it now," Julius
offered. "A fellow needs a vacation, now and then, if he's to keep
in shape."
Waldron glanced at him, smiling. "So he does. But somehow I've managed to
keep in shape. I inherit from my father a fairly tough constitution, and
also the love of work, the seeing my job through to the finish without
loss of time. I suspect that's what keeps me going."
They fell into talk about Waldron's work.
In answer to Julius's questions Waldron told him a good deal about the
work itself--little, as Julius afterward realized, of his own part in it.
The miles fell away beneath their steadily marching feet, and in due
season, by Julius's management, they emerged from the trail at a certain
rocky bluff overlooking the distant country, upon which was perched the
small but county-famous inn where they were to have dinner.
A string of automobiles stood along the driveway, and among them Julius
readily recognized the three with which he was familiar as those which
had been conveying the Clifford-Jordan bridal party to and from its
places of entertainment for the last fortnight. No sign of the party
itself was to be seen upon the side piazzas which encompassed the inn.
But this was easily understood. From some distance away the sounds
proceeding from a shrubbery-screened point upon the bluff before the
inn betrayed the presence of a company of revellers. This was as it
should be. Even Julius Broughton's audacity was not to be carried to
the point of forcing himself and his friend, uninvited, upon a set of
young people already carefully selected and for the time being rigidly
separated from the rest of mankind by metaphorical white ribbons
stretched to insure privacy.
Julius left Waldron upon the porch and went into the inn to ascertain, if
might be, from the management where the bridal party would be dining.
Learning, as he had expected, that a private apartment was devoted to
their use, he went to the public dining room and selected a table. Being
early he was able to secure one in an alcove, looking out through an open
window upon the path along which the bridal party, returning from the
bluff, would be sure to approach. To this he presently led Waldron and
seated him so that he faced the path outside, the vista of distant
countryside beyond. The young people of the Clifford-Jordan party were to
dine at eight, and it lacked only a few minutes of this hour when they
appeared down the path.
Julius had just given his order and leaned comfortably back in his chair
when he caught sight of them. "By George!" he ejaculated. "Well, well! so
_this_ is where they've come! Been mighty mysterious about where they
meant to spend the day, but we've caught 'em. Started in the opposite
direction this morning, too--just for a blind. You see there are a lot of
practical jokers among Clifford's friends, and their attentions haven't
been confined to the hour of the wedding itself. I say, recognize the
girl in the lead with the bride's brother, that light-haired fellow?"
Drawing back so that he was concealed by the curtains of the window
Waldron looked out at the approaching bevy of young people. Up the path
they came, talking, laughing, shifting like a pattern in a kaleidoscope,
gay, handsome, sophisticated, modishly dressed, unconventionally
mannered, yet showing, most of them, the traces of that youthful ennui so
often betrayed in these modern days by those who of all the world should
feel it least.
Julius's brotherly eye rested upon his sister, as it had done that
morning, with cool satisfaction. Some of the girls looked in disarray,
hair tumbled, frocks rumpled, faces burned. Dorothy's simple white serge
suit was unmussed, her hair was trim under her plain white hat with its
black velvet band, her colour was even, her dark eyes clear. Although
Ridgeway Jordan was bestowing upon her the most devoted attentions, his
eyes constantly seeking--but seldom finding--hers, she was showing no
consciousness of it beyond the little, curving, half-smile with which she
was answering him. In a word, her brother felt, Dot was sweet--strong
and sweet and unspoiled--fascinating, too, being a woman and not without
guile. Didn't she know--of course she did--that it was just that
noncommittal attitude of hers, amused and pleased and interested, but
unimpressed by their regard, that drew the men like a magnet?
Behind Dorothy and young Jordan one of the bridesmaids, an
extraordinarily pretty girl, was laughing hysterically, clutching at her
attendant's sleeve and then pushing him away. He was laughing with
her--and at her--and his eyes, all the time, were following Dorothy
Broughton. It seemed to Julius, as the party came on, that most of the
girls were behaving foolishly--and quite all the men. Perhaps it was
because they had all seen so much of each other during these days and
nights of merry-making that they had reached the borders of a dangerous
familiarity. A little tired of one another most of them had become, it
was more than probable. Against this background Dorothy showed easily
the most distinction of them all; she looked in her simple attire,
contrasted with the elaborate costumes of the other bridesmaids, like a
young princess reigning over a too frivolous suite.
Kirke Waldron looked, unperceived, out of his window, and Julius, turning
his eyes from the picture before him, observed his friend. Waldron's face
was not what might be called an expressive one; it was the face of a man
who had learned not to show what he might be feeling. There was no mask
there; only cool and balanced control, coupled with the keenest
observation. But Julius imagined that Waldron's close-set lips relaxed a
little as he stared at Dorothy.
The party came on into the inn; the sound of their voices and laughter
died away. Some young people at a table near, who also had been
looking out of a window, made various comments to which Julius listened
with interest.
"Swell-looking lot. Wonder who they are."
"Must be the bridal party they have here to-night. Dining privately."
"Awfully pretty girls," was one young woman's opinion; "better looking
than the men. Why are the men in bridal parties never as good looking as
you expect?"
"Bridegroom doesn't want himself cut out. He has no advantage of a veil
and train; he has to stand out in his raw black and white and compete
with the other men on his own merits."
"I wonder if that was the bride, that prettiest girl in front."
"Don't know. Probably. If she is, the chap's lucky who gets her."
Julius felt a desire to get up and explain that his sister was nobody's
bride, and wasn't going to be anybody's until the right man came along.
Instead he sat still and stared at his plate. As he had watched his
sister coming toward him, with Ridgeway Jordan beside her looking into
her face with that look of eager hopefulness, he had experienced a
powerful longing to go out and lead Ridge away to some secluded spot and
explain to him that he wasn't good enough. It wasn't as if there were
anything against young Jordan; there was certainly nothing specific.
Julius found himself wishing there were.
Upon the bluff in the cool darkness the two young men spent the following
hour, enjoying to the full the refreshing, woods-laden breath of the
night air, their pipes sending up clouds of fragrant smoke and keeping
them free from the onslaughts of the insects which otherwise at that
hour would have been very annoying. From time to time Julius lighted
matches and consulted the unrelenting face of his watch. They did not
talk much; it was a time for silence and the comradeship of silence.
The station at which the tram would stop was not a dozen rods from the
hotel. Until the last minute, therefore, they could linger. But at half
after nine Julius sprang up.
"Let's go back to the hotel and wait on the porch," he proposed.
The two paced back to the porch, which hummed with talk. The whole small
company of the inn's few permanent guests was gathered there, obviously
to see the bridal party when it should appear and take to its motors.
There was not much to amuse hotel guests up here in the mountains; they
could not afford to miss so interesting a departure.
From not far in the distance suddenly a whistle pierced the night air.
"I say, that's too bad!" cried Julius low to his friend. "I hoped they'd
come out before you had to go and you could meet Dot. Just our luck!"
"We'd better be off," said Waldron, and he led the way. It was a flag
station, as he had learned, and he could not afford to lose the train. It
would be after midnight before he could get back to the city as it was,
and he was to leave the city at nine in the morning for his long absence.
Someone was waving a lantern as they approached the station. The forest
hid the track in both directions, but the roar of the nearing train could
now be plainly heard.
Walking fast, a trifle in advance, Waldron suddenly turned and spoke over
his shoulder: "I suppose my ears deceive me, but that certainly sounds as
if it were coming from the wrong direction."
"Your ears do deceive you, of course," Julius responded. "All sounds
are queer in the night. Still--by George! it certainly does seem to
come from--"
The train, puffing and panting from its pull up the grade, now showed its
headlight through the trees. There was no question about it, it was
coming from the wrong direction, and therefore, unquestionably, was going
in the wrong direction.
"Must be two trains pass here," cried Julius, and he ran ahead to the
hotel hand who was still waving his lantern, although the train was
slowing to a standstill. "There's another train to-night?" he questioned.
"No, sir. This one's all the' is to-night."
Julius turned and looked at his friend. "Well, I certainly have got you
into a nice scrape," he said solemnly.
"It looks like it," Waldron answered shortly. "The thing is now, how to
get out of it. We must hire something and drive back--or to a station
somewhere."
They debated the question. They hurried back to the office and
interviewed the management, which shook its head dubiously. The little
mountain resort was far from stations where trains could be had for the
city fifty miles away. The inn had no conveyance to offer except one work
team of horses and a wagon, guests invariably coming by train or motor.
There were three automobiles out on the driveway, but they belonged to
the bridal party. There had been other automobiles, but they had all left
soon after dinner, their passengers having come for the dinner only, and
proceeding on their way in time to make some other stopping place by
bedtime. There seemed to be no way to get Waldron back except to ask a
favour of Ridgeway Jordan.
Kirke Waldron knit his brows when Julius made this suggestion as a last
resort. "I certainly hate to ask such a favour in the circumstances," he
said. "But it's a case of 'must.' I wouldn't miss that ship to-morrow
morning for any sum you could name; I can't miss it."
"I'll call Ridge out," said Julius promptly, "or--well, good luck! here
he comes."
Wheeling, he advanced to meet a slim young man who was hurrying down the
wide staircase to the lobby. Jordan's first glance was one of
astonishment, his second of suspicion. The reputation of Julius Broughton
for mischief, particularly at times like these, was one not to be lightly
overlooked. But Julius's air of earnestness was disarming.
"No joking, Ridge," he said. "Mr. Waldron and I wandered over here on a
long tramp. Dot wouldn't tell me where you people were going. We meant to
take the train at nine forty-five, but--well, you know timetables. It
turned out to be an up train instead of a down train. It was all my
fault. It wouldn't matter, but Mr. Waldron will miss a more than
important engagement with a ship sailing for South America if he doesn't
get back to catch the eleven-fifty to town. You see there isn't a
conveyance here--"
But of course there was no need to explain further. Jordan was a
gentleman, and even if he had doubted Julius there was no doubting the
expression in the eyes of the man to whom Julius now presented him. Young
Jordan knew a man of serious affairs when he saw one; unquestionably he
saw one now. He promptly offered seats in one of the cars.
Waldron expressed his regret that they should be obliged to force
themselves upon a private party, and Jordan assured him that it would be
a pleasure to serve them, although he said it with one more appraising
glance at Julius. He added that he would take them in his own car, that
being the only one which had two seats to spare. As Julius had noted this
fact in the morning he was not surprised, only grateful that he had not
had to scheme for this distribution of the company.
Jordan went to the desk and gave an order, then returned to his
party upstairs.
Julius and Waldron retired to the porch.
Presently the party came trooping out, arrayed for the trip. Dorothy in
an enveloping white coat, her hat replaced by a particularly effective
little rose-coloured bonnet of her own clever manufacture, found herself
confronted upon the lantern-lighted porch, as she was about to step into
the car, by her brother with a strange man at his elbow.
She looked straight up at him, as Julius presented him. He looked
straight down at her, and for an appreciable period of time the two pairs
of eyes continued to dwell upon each other. Until this extraordinarily
thorough mutual survey was over neither said a word. The rest of the
party, diverting themselves with the usual laughter and badinage--some
of it of a recognizably sleepy character--took their places, and only
those nearest noted the addition to the list of passengers. The other man
and girl of Jordan's car were an engaged pair, absorbed in each other, an
astute reason for his selection of them to accompany himself and Dorothy.
The rear seat of the great car easily held four people. Ashworth and Miss
Vincent occupied two of the places; during the day Jordan and Dorothy had
held the other two. Ashworth had already handed in Miss Vincent. The two
chaperons of the party young Jordan had throughout the day thoughtfully
bestowed in the other cars.
"Put my friend beside Sis, will you, Ridge?" suggested Julius in his
host's ear. "They used to be old schoolmates and haven't met for years.
He's off to-morrow for a long stay. It's their only chance to talk over
old times."
Jordon nodded; there was nothing else to do. He could joyfully have
taken his friend Julius by the scruff of his neck and hurled him out into
the night, if by some miracle he could suddenly have become that young
man's superior in strength. But social training prevailed over natural
brute instinct, and it was with entire politeness that he made this
arrangement of his guests.
He then put Julius into the seat beside the chauffeur, and himself took
one of the extra folding seats, swinging it about to half face those upon
the rear seat. In this manner he was nearly as close to Miss Dorothy
Broughton as he would have been beside her--nearly, but not quite! To his
notion there was all the difference in the world.
Kirke Waldron, understanding intuitively the position as come-between in
which he had been placed in Ridgeway Jordan's big automobile by Julius's
misreading of the railway timetable, and, as far as that part of the
situation was concerned, wishing himself a hundred miles away, was also
keenly alive to that which the gods--and Julius--had given him by seating
him beside Dorothy. As the car hummed down the long trail from the inn he
played his part with all the discretion of which he was capable; and he
had learned many things since the days when he had fallen over his own
awkward feet on the way to the blackboard. He talked a little with
Dorothy--not too much; he talked considerably more with Ridgeway
Jordan--but not more than was necessary; the greater part of the time he
was silent with the rest, as was most fitting of all in the summer
moonlight and the balmy night air.
Dorothy, sitting beside him, reminded Julius, as from time to time he
glanced contentedly back at her from, his place beside the chauffeur, of
a particularly demure kitten in the presence of two well-bred but
definitely intentioned hunting dogs. She was very quiet, and only now and
then he caught a word or two from her or the low sound of her attractive
contralto laugh.
Just once, as the car whirled through a brightly lighted square in a
small village where a country festival of some sort was in progress, he
saw her take advantage of a moment when everybody's attention was caught
by the scene, and look suddenly and absorbedly at Kirke Waldron's face in
profile. But when Ridge Jordan whirled about upon his folding seat, to
call her attention to the antics of a clown in the square, she was ready
for him with a smile and a gay word of assent. Julius laughed to himself.
There was no question that Kirke's face, even in profile, was one to make
Ridge's look insignificant. As for the man himself--
The car, rushing on through the summer night, its powerful searchlights
sending ahead a long, clear lane of safety where the road was straight,
but making the dark walls on either side resolve into black pockets of
mystery where the curves came, approached one of those long, winding
descents, followed by a second abrupt turn and a corresponding ascent,
which are--or should be--the terror of motorists. All good drivers, at
such places, hurling themselves through the darkness, sound warning
signals, lest other cars, less cautious, be rushing toward them without
sound of their coming.
Jordan's chauffeur, sending his car on down the winding hill with hardly
appreciable loss of speed, took this precaution, and the mellow but
challenging notes of his horn were winding a long warning when the thing
happened which was to happen. No accident, but the horror of one which
comes so close that it all but seizes its victims, and leaves them weak
and shuddering with what might have been.
Another car dashed around the lower turn, apparently not hearing the
warning, or determined to ignore it, that no momentum with which to climb
the steep grade coming should be lost. There was an instant in which the
two drivers glimpsed each other out of the gloom of the unlighted curve;
then quick action upon the part of both--lightning-like swerves to avoid
the danger--two great cars rocking each on the brink of disaster, then
righting themselves and running on into safety, no pausing to let any
look back and ponder upon the closeness of the escape.
It was all over so quickly that it was like the swift passage of a
hideous thought, but there had been time for every soul in the car to
look death in the face. And in that moment of peril there had been
individual action--instantaneous--the action which is instinctive and
born of character.
Julius himself had sat absolutely still beside the chauffeur, his muscles
tensely bracing themselves for whatever might come. Ashworth had caught
Miss Vincent, rigid with fear, into his arms. Waldron, throwing up the
arm next to Dorothy to grasp her with it, felt her hand leap toward him,
and with his free hand seized it in his own.
Staring straight ahead then they saw a strange thing, yet not so strange
when one remembers human nature. Ridgeway Jordan had leaped to his feet
and thrown one leg over the side of the car ready to jump, when, before
he could complete the movement, the car righted itself and he sank back
into his seat.
"Holy smoke!" Julius murmured under his breath, and glanced at the
chauffeur.