BELLA'S CHAMPION
It was early in the afternoon when Lisle arrived at Millicent's house
and, after a glance at its quaint exterior, was ushered into her
drawing-room. There he sat down and looked about while he waited. The
salient tones of its decoration were white and aqueous blue, and the
effect struck him as pleasantly chaste and cool. Among the rather mixed
ornaments were a couple of marble statuettes, the figures airily poised
and very finely wrought. Next, he noticed some daintily carved objects in
ivory, and a picture in water-color of a wide, gray stretch of moor with
distance and solitude skilfully conveyed. He had risen to examine it when
Millicent entered.
"I'm glad you came, though, as you're used to the life of the woods and
rivers, I'm a little diffident about showing you my sketches," she said.
"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting."
Lisle smiled and she liked the candidly humorous gleam in his eyes.
"Nasmyth warned me that I was early--or rather he said that if I were
going to visit anybody else I would have been too soon. I'd better
confess, however, that I've been making a good use of the time. Things of
this kind"--he indicated the statuettes--"are almost new to me. They
strike me as unusually fine."
"Yes," she answered, realizing that he had an artistic eye, "they are
beautiful--and one sees so many that are not. George brought them from
Italy for me. This"--she moved toward a representation in ivory of a
Mogul gateway--"is of course a different style, but it's remarkable in
its patient elaboration of detail. The mosque's not so fine. Nasmyth sent
me the pair from India; he once made a trip to the fringe of the
Himalayas."
Lisle examined the object carefully, and she waited with some interest
for his comment.
"It's wonderful," he declared. "I suppose it's a truthful copy?"
"I'm inclined to think the man who carved that had not the gift of
imagination. He merely reproduced faithfully what he saw."
"Different peoples have strikingly different ways, haven't they?"
commented Lisle. "While they were making that small Eastern arch, we'd
fling up a thriving wooden town or build a hotel of steel and cement to
hold a thousand guests. The biggest bridges that carry our great
freight-trains across the roaring gorges in the Rockies cost less labor."
"I should imagine it. What then?"
He studied the carved ivory.
"In a dry climate the original of this would last for centuries--it has
lasted since the days of the Moguls--an object of beauty for generations
to enjoy. Perhaps those old builders used their time as well as we do.
Our works serve their purpose, but one can't call them pretty."
She was pleased with his answer.
"I think that gets the strongest hold on me," he went on, glancing toward
the picture of the moor; "it's real!"
There was a hint of diffidence in Millicent's expression.
"But you can hardly judge, can you? You have scarcely seen the English
moors."
"I've spent a while on the high Albertan plains, and you have the same
things yonder; the vast sweep of sky, the rolling waste running on
forever. It's all in that picture; how expressed, I don't know--there are
only the grades of color, scarcely a line to gage the distance by. Still,
the sense of space is vivid."
Millicent blushed.
"You're an indulgent critic; that drawing is my own."
He did not appear embarrassed, though she saw that he had not suspected
the fact. She had already noticed that when he might, perhaps, have
looked awkward he only looked serious.
"After what you have said," she resumed, "I'll show you the other things
with greater confidence. Do you know, I thought all you Western people
were grimly utilitarian?"
He sat down and considered this. The man could laugh readily, but he was
also characterized by a certain gravity, which she found refreshing by
contrast with the light glibness to which she was more accustomed.
"Well," he reasoned, "in my opinion, the white man's greatest superiority
over all other peoples is his capacity for making useful things--even if
they're only ugly sawmills or grimy locomotives. Philosophy never fed any
one or lightened anybody's toil; commerce is a convenience, but the man
who makes a big profit out of it is only levying a heavy toll on somebody
else. It seems to me that all our actual benefits come from the
constructor."
"Have you been building sawmills?" Millicent asked mischievously.
He laughed with open good-humor. "Oh, no; that's why I'm free to talk. I
happened to find a lode with some gold in it, and gold is only a handy
means of exchanging things. I'll own that I was probably doing more
useful work when I stood up to my waist in ice-water, fitting sharp
stones into a pulp-mill dam."
"Perhaps you're right," Millicent agreed, "but it sounds severe. What of
the people who never do anything directly useful at all?"
"There are a few who, by just going up and down in it, keep the world
sweet and clean. Some of the rest could very well be spared."
"Then you believe that everybody must practically justify his existence?"
"If he fails to do so with us, his existence generally ceases. The
wilderness where I found the gold is full of the bones of the unfit."
Millicent spread out some drawings. Most were in color, in some cases
several of the same object, done with patient care, and she was strangely
pleased when she saw the quick appreciation in his eyes.
"An otter; it's alive," he remarked. "You've shown it working through a
shallow, looking much less like an animal than a fish--that's right."
"I made half a dozen sketches, and I'm not satisfied yet."
"Thorough," he commented. "You get there, if you have to hammer the heart
out of whatever you're up against."
"It's my brother's book," she answered. "I'm finishing it for him. He did
other things--most of them useful, indirectly. I've only this--and I'd
like my part to be good."
He nodded sympathetically, looking troubled.
"I can understand," he said. "I had a partner--I owe him more than I
could ever have repaid, and he left a troublesome piece of work to me. It
will have to be put through. But let me see some more; they're great."
She showed him a red jay; a tiny gold-crest perched on a thorn branch; a
kingfisher gleaming with turquoise hues, poised ready for a dive upon a
froth-lapped stone. He was no cultured critic, but he knew the ways of
the wild creatures and saw that she had talent, for her representations
of them were instinct with life.
They were interrupted by a scratching at the door and when she opened it
a white setter hobbled awkwardly in and curled itself at her feet.
"He's rather a big dog for the house, but I can't keep him away from me,"
she explained. "As you see, he has lost a foot, in a trap, and he was
marked for destruction when I asked for him. Sometimes I think he knows
that I saved his life."
The dog looked up and raising a paw scraped at her hand, until she opened
it, when he thrust his chin into her palm. It was a trivial incident, but
it somehow stirred the man.
"Now I know where you got power to draw these lesser brethren," he said.
"Study alone would never have given it to you."
She let this pass. He was almost embarrassing in his directness, though
she acquitted him of any crude intention of flattering her.
"I promised to let you read my brother's diary," she reminded him. "If
you will wait a few moments, I'll get it."
The dog pattered after her, as though unwilling to remain out of her
sight, and she came back presently with a small leather case and opening
it took out a tattered notebook. Noticing how she handled it and that the
case was beautifully made, Lisle fancied that it was precious to her, in
which he was correct. Indeed, she was then wondering why she had
volunteered to show it to this stranger when only two of her intimate
friends had seen it.
"Thank you," he said, when she gave it to him; and drawing his chair
nearer the window he began to read.
Though he was already acquainted with most of it, the story gripped him.
On the surface, it was merely a plain record of a hazardous and laborious
journey; but to one gifted with understanding it was more than this--a
vivid narrative of a struggle waged against physical suffering, weakness,
and hunger, by optimistic human nature. An odd word here, a line or two
in another place, was eloquent of simple, steadfast courage and
endurance; and even when the weakening man clearly knew that his end was
near there was no outbreak of desperation or sign of faltering. He had
dragged himself onward to the last, indomitable.
Then Lisle proceeded to examine the book more closely. It showed the
effects of exposure to the weather to an unusual degree, considering that
the covers were thick and that the rescue party had recovered it shortly
after its owner's death. Moreover, Lisle did not think that George
Gladwyne would have left it in the snow. Several pages were missing, and
having been over the ground, he knew that they recorded the part of the
journey during which the two caches of provisions had been made, and he
had already decided that there would be a list of their contents. This
conclusion was confirmed by the fact that Gladwyne had enumerated the
stores they started with, and had once or twice made a reduced list when
they had afterward taken stock. The abstraction of the records was
clearly Clarence's work. Then he realized that he had spent some time in
perusing the diary and he handed it back to Millicent with something that
implied a respect for it. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes and her
heart warmed toward him.
"It's the greatest story I've ever read," he declared.
She made no answer, but he knew that she was pleased and it filled him
with a wish to tell her that she was very much like her dead brother.
More he could not have said, but remembering that he had already gone as
far as was permissible he had sense enough to repress the inclination. He
saw the girl's lips close firmly, as if she were conscious of some
emotion, but there was silence for a minute or two. He broke it at
length.
"I know that you have granted me a very great privilege, and I'm
grateful," he told her, and added, because he thought a partial change of
the subject might be considerate: "In a way, it's hard to realize that
tale in this restful place. It's easier out yonder, where what you could
call the general tone is different."
"Nasmyth once said something like that," Millicent replied. "I suppose
the change is marked."
Lisle nodded.
"Here you have order, peace, security. In the wilds, it's all battle, the
survival of the strong; frost and ice rending the solid hills, rivers
scoring out deep ravines, beast destroying beast, or struggling with
starvation. Man's not exempt either; a small blunder--a deer missed or a
flour bag lost--may cost him his life. For the difference you have to
thank the constructor, the maker of plows and spades and more complex
machines."
"That's one of your pet hobbies, isn't it?"
He once more changed the subject.
"I wish that I could show you the wilderness," he said.
Millicent looked thoughtful.
"I should like to see it. I've an idea that if this book is well received
I might, perhaps, try something a little more ambitious--the larger
beasts and wilder birds of other countries. In that case, I should choose
British Columbia."
"Then you will let me be your guide?"
She made a conditional promise, and shortly afterward he left her.
Meeting Nasmyth he walked with him toward Gladwyne's house, where they
found the guests assembled on the lawn and Mrs. Gladwyne sitting by a
tea-table. One or two young women were standing near and several men had
gathered about a mat laid upon the grass fifty yards from where a small
target had been set up. Lisle joined Bella Crestwick, who detached
herself from the others.
"What is this?" he asked. "It's a very short range."
"Miniature rifle shooting," she informed him. "It's becoming popular.
Gladwyne has been trying to form a club. My brother Jim is president of
some league. He's rather keen and there are reasons why I'm glad of it."
She added the last words confidentially and Lisle ventured to nod. It
struck him that a healthy interest in any organized work or amusement
would be beneficial to young Crestwick. The girl looked at him, as if
considering something; and then she seemed to make up her mind.
"There's one thing I don't like," she complained. "They will shoot for
high stakes. Jim isn't a bad shot, but he's too eager. I'm afraid he's
inclined to be venturesome just now."
Lisle thought that she had a request to make. There was something about
him that inspired confidence, and the girl had made a friend of him.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
She made a sign of impatience; he was too direct. "Oh," she pouted,
"aren't you taking a good deal for granted? Still, you bushmen can shoot,
can't you?"
"As a rule," Lisle answered. "I almost think I see."
"Then," she retorted, "you shouldn't have said so; you should merely have
smiled and acted."
"I'm from the wilds; you mustn't expect too much. Well, if you'll excuse
me."
She flashed a grateful glance at him, and he sauntered toward the group
of men, among whom Gladwyne stood. There was a sharp crack as he
approached them, a thin streak of smoke drifted across the figure lying
on the mat, and a man beside it lowered the glasses he held.
"High to the left," he announced. "You're not in good form, Jim. Hadn't
you better give up?"
Lisle studied the speaker, whom he had met once or twice already. He was
approaching middle-age and was inclined to corpulence, but there was
something in his pose that suggested a military training. His face was
fleshy, but the features were bold and he was coarsely handsome. As a
rule, he affected an easy good-humor, but Lisle had felt that there was
something about him which he could best describe as predatory. He
occasionally spoke of business ties, so he had an occupation, but he had
not in Lisle's hearing mentioned what it was.
Crestwick's face was hot as he answered his remark.
"Not at all, Batley. The trouble is that I'm used to the Roberts target,
and the spots on the card are puzzling after the rings. I'll get into it
presently."
"Oh, well," acquiesced the other. "As you didn't fix a time limit, we'll
go on again, though it's getting tame and I want some tea."
"I'll increase the interest again, if you like," the lad replied.
Lisle joined the group.
"What's it all about?" he asked.
"Batley's a pretty good rifle shot, but if he won't mind my saying so
he's a little opinionated," Gladwyne explained. "Crestwick questioned an
idea of his, and the end of it was that Batley offered to prove his
point--that a stiff pull-off is as good as a light one in practised
hands--by backing himself to beat the field. Crestwick took him up, and
since the rest of us were obviously out of it, the thing has resolved
itself into a match between the two. Crestwick is using an easy-triggered
rifle; Batley's has an unusually hard spring."
Lisle considered. Remembering Bella's remarks, he thought it would be
easy to lure the lad into a rash bet. He was headstrong and his manners
might have been more conciliatory, but Lisle, learning the amount of the
stakes, decided that his host should not have let the thing go so far.
"Crestwick doubled several times; he's stubborn and doesn't like to be
beaten," Gladwyne resumed. "I had the same ideas when I was as young as
he is."
"I've offered to let him off," Batley broke in. "I'd do so now only he's
kept me shooting for the last half-hour. As Gladwyne says, he's
obstinate, and it's a pity that he's wrong. If he'd trained his
wrist-tendons by using a harder trigger, he'd have made a passably good
shot."
Lisle was aware that while there was something to be said for Batley's
view, Crestwick was justified in contending that the lighter tension was
more adapted to the case of the average person; but he recognized that
the indulgent manner of the older men was calculated, he thought
intentionally, to exasperate the hot-headed lad.
"Well," he observed, addressing Batley, "you have the courage of your
convictions if you have offered to maintain them against all comers,
which I understand is what you have done."
The man nodded carelessly and Lisle went on:
"After all, since I dare say these gentlemen are more used to the
shotgun, your superiority doesn't prove very much."
Crestwick looked around at him quickly.
"Most of you Colonials can use the rifle; do you feel inclined to take
him on? You're a dark horse, but I'll double the stakes if he'll throw
you in."
This was what Lisle wanted, but he turned to the others.
"I've never had a small rifle in my hands--we use the 44-70, and I must
leave you to decide whether my shooting would be fair to Mr. Batley. In
that case, I'll put up half the stakes."
The men said there was no reason why he should not join, and Batley made
no protest, though Lisle fancied that he was not pleased. Lying down on
the mat, he took the light-springed rifle and the six cartridges handed
him and fixed his eyes on the target, which was a playing-card pinned to
a thick plank. He got the first shot off before he was quite ready--the
light pull was new to him--and somebody called that he had touched the
left top corner. The next shot was down at the bottom, and the four
following marks were scattered about the card. When he got up, Batley
looked reassured and proceeded to make a neat pattern around the center
of another card. There was no doubt that Crestwick was anxious, and when
he took his turn he shot badly. In the meanwhile, the rest of the party
on the lawn had gradually gathered round; the eager attitude of the
original spectators hinted that something out of the usual course was
going on.
Lisle was very cool when he lay down again. A swift, encouraging glance
from Bella Crestwick made him determined, and during his previous six
shots he had, he thought, learned the right tension on the trigger.
"Wipe it out for me, somebody," he said, holding up the rifle.
Bella seized it and deftly used the rod, regardless of soiled fingers.
"May it bring you luck," she wished, with a defiant glance at Batley, who
smiled at her as she returned the weapon.
Then there was a hush of expectancy. Lisle took his time; a sharp crack,
a streak of smoke, and Gladwyne raising his glasses, laughed.
"High!" he called. "Top spot!"
It was a three of hearts, and Gladwyne's smile lingered for a moment
after Lisle fired again.
"Bottom now; you're low!" he cried, and then his expression slightly
changed. Both spots were drilled out--this did not look altogether like
an accident.
"Center!" he announced after another shot, and all the faces surrounding
him became intent. The three hearts were neatly punched.
"A fresh card!" exclaimed Crestwick, looking around at Batley with an
exultant sparkle in his eyes. "You offered to let me off. Shall I return
the compliment?"
The man laughed carelessly, though Lisle thought it cost him an effort.
"No," he retorted; "I can't show myself less of a sportsman than you are;
but I think I've the option of demanding a longer range. Move the mat
back twenty-five yards and put up an ace of spades; it's the plainest.
Three shots each should suffice at the distance."
Crestwick got down and thrice touched the outside of the card; Batley did
better, for two shots broke the edge of the black and one was close above
them. It was good shooting at so small a mark, and Lisle was a little
anxious as he very deliberately stretched himself out on the mat. Having
little of the gambler's instinct in his nature, he was reluctant to lose
the money at stake, but he was more unwilling to let Batley fleece the
lad whom, as he recognized now, he had been asked to aid. He meant to do
so, if the thing were possible, and twice he paused and relaxed his grip
when his sight grew slightly blurred.
Then there was a sharp crack, and he smiled when he heard Gladwyne's
report.
"I can't see it. These are only opera-glasses."
Dead silence followed the next shot, which left no visible mark on the
target; and Lisle did not look around as he thrust his last cartridge
into the rifle. He let it lie beside him for half a minute while he
opened and shut his right hand, and then, taking it up quickly, fired.
Still there was no blur on the white surface of the card and Gladwyne
sharply shut his glasses, while two of the onlookers ran toward the
target. They came back in silence and one significantly held up the ace.
There were three small holes in the black center.
Gladwyne had turned away when Lisle got up, but Batley concealed his
feelings very well.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "As I can't beat that, the only thing left me
is to pay up."
Lisle turned to Crestwick, who looked hot and excited.
"You made the bet," he said. "Will you use my half in buying a
competition cup for one of your clubs?"
He saw Batley's smile and a somewhat curious look in Gladwyne's face, but
the group broke up and he strolled back across the lawn with Bella.
"I'm grateful," she said softly. "I was a little afraid at first that I
was asking too much of you."
Lisle met her glance with a good assumption of surprise.
"Grateful? Because I indulged in a rather enjoyable match?"
She laughed.
"You learn rapidly. But I'd better say in excuse that I didn't think I'd
involved you in a very serious risk. He hasn't your eyes and hands--one
couldn't expect it. You don't need pick-me-ups in the morning, do you?"
Lisle was slightly embarrassed. This girl's knowledge of life was too
extensive, and he would have preferred that she should exhibit it to
somebody else.
"Well," she concluded as they approached the tea-table, "my thanks are
yours, even if you don't value them."
"What do you expect me to say?" he asked, regarding her with some
amusement and appreciation. She was alluringly pretty in her rather
elaborate light dress.
"Yes," she smiled mockingly, disregarding his question; "these things
become me better than the tweeds, don't they? They make one look nice and
soft and fluffy; but that's deceptive. You see, I can scratch; in fact, I
felt I could have scratched Batley badly if I'd got the chance. There's
another hint for you--make what you like of it."
Then with a laugh she swung round and left him, puzzled.