declining the Holden offer,” he was thinking hard and did not seem to
have heard her question. “I’m lazy, I suppose; I hate to make changes.
Holden would mean boarding and no real home. It would mean giving up a
mighty pleasant work here and a lot of good fellows,” looking about the
table.
Her question seemed to come slowly to the front of his mind. He would
have made some sort of rejoinder, but she was at the moment scolding
Morris, who was pretending to eat ice cream from a knife.
They were rising and breaking up before she spoke to him again.
“Don’t forget, _mon capitaine_,” she plucked his sleeve. “You are to
stay after the others.”
“Oh, yes,” his face lighted up. “Count on me.... It will be like old
times.”
“How frightfully time flies,” she reverted suddenly to a burlesque of
the bored lady-out-to-dinner. “Why it seems only yestehdee that we wuh
children togetheh.”
Like a belated jest he began to see through her strange airs. “I’ve
been frightfully stupid tonight,” he admitted. “Some of your fooling
was too delicate for me; it got completely by--”
“I’m simply living up to my gown, sir,--in spots.”
His rather old-young face looked its honest admiration.
“What’s that thing-em-bob on your--oh! Do you belong to a sorority?
Why, bless my soul! It’s a fraternity pin--eh? remade into a brooch....
Whose is it?”
“Edwin’s; he had it done for my birthday; nifty, isn’t it?... You
didn’t give me anything, miser.”
“Little girls shouldn’t wear men’s fraternity pins,” he scolded gently.
“_Oui, mon père._”
“‘_Mon père_’--ugh! That’s wicked of you, to remind me of my years....
But you know about the custom, don’t you?”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, perhaps it doesn’t always count. In my ‘frat’ it’s a pretty
serious crime, punishable by drinking a quart of quashia-water, to give
your emblem to anyone but _the_ lady. It’s the old, ancient ‘token’
over again; love is blind and lovers are dumb; the token given and the
token received is the time-honored language of a contract begun....
But there! That’s all nonsense.... Of course, you can wear it without
any significance at all. You’re hardly old enough to contemplate an
engagement.”
“Don’t you be too sure, Mr. Professor,” she hummed wisely as she
strolled away to bid farewell to her guests.
Edwin was sauntering by. She whistled a private signal which brought
him swiftly about with an “Aye! aye! sir!” “Don’t forget, you’re to
stay till the rest have gone,” she whispered quite audibly.
“Not your Uncle Dudley,” Edwin responded cheerily.
* * * * *
Kate seemed to know that Blynn would remain later, for she piloted
him to the library as a matter of course. Mr. and Mrs. Levering were
reading in the alcove in the far end of the big room.
“Let’s ‘owl,’” she suggested. “Owl” was the family name for the family
habit of staying up late. “Let’s ‘owl’ and talk. I’m broad awake. What
kind of chairs did they have, mother, in ’61? I have the hardest time
finding one that fits the hoop.”
She tried several chairs prettily. Certainly that style of apparel
increased the helplessness of women, usually a beauty asset.
“Come over here, child,” called the mother, “and I’ll show you a trick.”
The trick consisted in slyly slipping out of the hoops--a kind of
detachable understructure--and leaving them in the alcove.
While he waited, Blynn could hear little contagious, intimate laughters
from the lawn. Gorgas and Morris were helping McAlley extinguish the
Chinese lanterns and, youthlike, were taking their time about it.
“I’m the decoy,” thought Allen, rubbing one palm along the side of
the face. “Oh, these children! They fascinate me with their nimble
intelligence and their mysterious changes. It’s a great business,
dealing in children. They give one an enormous amount of joy--I fancy
it’s the best thing I do, after all; but they set me hungering for a
pack of my own that won’t desert me when I’ve given them all my toys
to play with.... I believe that little minx was flirting with both
of us tonight. Trying out her new wings! The gown made her conscious
of things. Ah, well,” he yawned.... “Hello! What did you do with the
flare-bellows?”
Kate trailed in with a large quantity of subdued skirt.
“I took the machinery out.... Now! I can sit comfortably at last. Oh!
I’m tired.”
She dropped among a lot of cushions in front of him.
“Any more interesting Elizabethan theories?” she began.
“Plenty,” he replied. “At present I am interested in Elizabethan
devils.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Well,” he hesitated, and then went on, just like a professor! “King
James claimed that flying devils tried to upset his boat in the North
Sea, and he personally attended the trial of a lot of old bedlams, who
confessed and were burned. But in some old documents in the University
I have found something even more exciting. One of the genuinely
thrilling things that I’ve come across is Dr. Dee’s diary, scribbled
on the margins of old almanacs. He was an astrologer, alchemist,
mathematician, spiritualist, physician, in other words, a 16th century
scientist. Elizabeth consulted him for propitious days; that is, she
had her fortune told.”
Kate snuggled up to listen. He went on thoughtfully.
“Dee records his cases. Susan G. came to see him about her devil. He
tries to exorcise it by the laying on of hands and much imperative
Latin. Then she goes away relieved. A servant in the house has an
incorrigible evil spirit. There is much praying over her case and a
deal of incantation without permanent cure. One day she slips by him
on the stairs. His professional eye has seen symptoms of the inward
struggle between imp and human. He follows quickly. She slides behind
a door at the bottom of the stair. He hears a gurgling sound and the
fall of a heavy body. Behind the door lies the poor maid. The devil had
tempted her to cut her throat, he says, so that she could die in sin
and be his in æternum.”
“I suppose you believe in the Elizabethan devil?”
“Doesn’t everybody? We’re coming back to witches and devils. The
Psychological Research Society is only 19th century for Dr. Dee;
and what with telepathic influence urging to crime, and multiple
personalities, I don’t see anything in Elizabethan so-called
superstition that we moderns haven’t improved upon.”
“So love is a contagious disease,” Kate ruminated, “and most of us are
possessed of devils. Charming thoughts! At that rate, one might marry a
devil.”
“Many do,” he laughed.
[Illustration: “_I am loafing my life away_”]
“The devil might have me,” she mused, “if he came in some guises.”
“You think you’re joking, but you’re not,” he came back in his
characteristic bluntness. “Beatrice jested in exactly the same
tone. ‘I may sit in a corner,’ she sighed, ‘and cry heigh-ho for a
husband!’--but gave herself mightily away then. And do you remember
Margaret’s reply? ‘Methinks you look with your eyes as other women do,’
said she. Now you, Miss Levering, you want to marry; of course, you
do. It’s as natural a desire as hunger. ‘You look with your eyes as
other women do.’ Millions of women feel exactly as you do; and, alack,
millions for some confounded civilized reason don’t get the chance; or
they won’t take a chance when they get one. If I were you I’d learn
to do something--fill your mind with an absorbing occupation, basket
weaving, rug making, study, writing--something; act as if you were
never to catch the infection, or whatever it is.... That’s what I’m
doing.... Why don’t you be a librarian?”
“You are the frankest man I know,” she spoke after a moment’s
contemplation of his earnest face. “I believe you are right.... I am
loafing my life away. And I’m useless as--” she shut her lips together
firmly. Tears glistened in the lamp-light.
He leaned forward with great brotherly sympathy.
“I did not mean to hurt--”
“Oh, no! no! no! You? You hurt? My dear, dear man! You haven’t the
power to hurt--you are so transparent and sincere. It’s--it’s the devil
in me, I suppose,” she laughed nervously, “that did the stabbing....
But what is a woman to do? Sit and wait for some accidental man to give
her the only thing she has been made fit for? I wish I did have a job.
But, lordy! wouldn’t there be a roar if I hired out! Father Levering
would have a stroke!”
She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Let’s go out in the air,” she suggested.
The lanterns had been extinguished, but in the September starlight the
wide lawn was awake and glowing. There they talked familiarly until the
Seminary tower spoke a heavy “one.”
Kate had unburdened, as women and children did to Blynn; and he had
filled her with good, courageous thinking, his native gift. They seemed
infinitely acquainted as they approached the cosy light of the library;
and Kate was happy again. Her little laugh punctuated the conversation
often.
Gorgas? Where had she gone? Blynn made a futile search. Ah, children!
children! he thought grimly; the subtle September night had taken them
off. He tried the bower at the end of the orchard, whistling first,
as a precaution--Blynn was a good sportsman--but she was not on the
grounds, nor in the house.
McAlley, with his lantern, came sleepily out into the light of the path.
“Mr. Blynn,” he beckoned; and then in great secrecy, “Gorgas--she’s
went to bed. She gives me this letter for you. Faith! It’s a cat-nap
I’ve been takin’, and almost forgot it all.... Good night, Mr. Blynn.”
“Good night, Mac.”
The little note said:
_Mon Capitaine:_
I waited for you ever so long, and then I peeked in at you, but you
seemed so happy with Kate that I just waited a little longer and
then went trotting off to sleep. I have so much to tell you. Edwin
plays in the finals at Haverford, Wednesday. Come and take me, please
do. You’re to get your own luncheon. We start promptly at twelve,
because Mac is going to drive us over. We can watch the game from
the carriage. Edwin will get the Club to serve tea. I’ve seen Bardek
again. And I’m to have an exhibit at the Art School.
_Comme toujours toute à toi_,
G.
P. S’s. 1. Mother says I may go if you take me. She won’t listen to
anybody else going along.
2. I gave Edwin back his frat. pin temp--would say temperarilly if I
could spell it.
3. Kate looked happy, too. _Wouldn’t that be fine!!_
“The little matchmaker!” he chuckled at the stars; “concocted the
rendezvous and all.... It’s young Bianca getting the elder Katherina
out of the way, again!... Shrewd!... And her whole-hearted unselfish
self, too.... Well, I feel decidedly better. Morris--dandy chap, clean,
straight sort. I know ’em; true as--” His mind trailed off in search
of a strong comparison. “Indecision is the vice of life.” He walked
briskly and tried to shake off uncomfortable thoughts. “It’s fine to
have things settled.... Oh, the luxurious sensation of a mind finally
made up!” But he walked with a long stride, his hands thrust deep into
pockets; and his eyes were staring ahead as if trying to pluck a new
decision out of the darkness.
XIII
TOPIC NUMBER FOUR
Where are the landaus and barouches of yesteryear, overpowering
symbols of upper caste? Gone with the calash, the chaise, the coach
and the cabriolet. The formal vehicle of the Leverings was called
“the carriage” to distinguish it from the informal surrey. The
“carriage” was always driven by Mac, who donned for the purpose a
special outfit--Mr. Levering’s minim of Quaker blood balked at anything
suggesting livery--aimed to indicate that Mac was just a remove and
a half from membership in the family. Mac’s name for them was “his
blacks,” which the Leverings adopted as a private code.
“Oh, Mac!” Kate would haloo from the rear porch. “‘Blacks’ at three.”
“’Right, Mis’ Lev’ring.” Mac would quite comprehend that a call or a
drive was on the program for the afternoon.
On the drive to Haverford, Mac was resplendent in new “blacks”; his
white linen ascot shone beatifically from its dark setting, and his new
square-blocked hat had a small cockade at the side--clearly contraband
that had escaped the eye of Father Levering. The carriage was eloquent
of labor.
Blynn remarked the added note of luxury.
“We just had to smart up a bit,” explained Gorgas. “We can’t look
shabby and have those ‘main-liners’ elevating lorgnettes at us _all_
the afternoon.... Oh, I’ve been preparing for this for months, getting
a little new harness here and there, and some fresh paint, and working
Dad for new ‘blacks’ for Mac. This is the first time I put them all
together. Ain’t we stylish?... Come, get in; we must make the most of
every minute--”
“But aren’t we frightfully early? The games aren’t until four o’clock,
I understand,” Blynn stood stupidly contemplating his watch.
“In, _mon capitaine_!” she commanded, “before mother changes her mind
and sends Kate along.... Do exactly what you’re told. I’m Pippa today,”
parodying, “This is my _one_ holiday in the _whole_ year!... We’re off,
Mac; Cresheim, you know.”
“I ought to have worn my store clothes,” Blynn remarked ruefully. “This
is awful grand.... Ought to have been a band playing as we started off,
flags waving, whistles blowing--”
“Hush!” she plucked his arm eagerly. “Don’t let’s waste time. I have so
much to tell you.”
“Well,” he looked at her in his old rôle of father-confessor, “what has
the naughty child been doing lately?”
“First, this is the longest skirt I ever owned.” She kicked out and
showed just an inch or two above her high shoe-tops. “We had a big row
over it. Kate says I’m rushing things too fast; want to be old before
my time. Mother says the neighborhood wouldn’t hear of long skirts and
hair completely up. I say, I’m as old as I dress. Nobody looks you up
in the Bible as you walk along the street. I don’t wear ‘1874 September
10th’ on my forehead. And as for the neighbors--” she laughed. “Do you
remember how Bardek bristled once when you spoke about something being
all right, but dangerous because contrary to public opinion?”
“Oh, I want to know,” he interrupted; “you say you’ve seen Bardek.”
“We haven’t reached that topic yet, Mr. Professor;” she settled back
comfortably. “That’s a subject we shall take up later in the course. At
present, we are discussing clothes. You got me this long dress. Thank
you.”
“I? Pray, how?”
“I put it to mother how you would feel taking care of a child all day.
They had me all planned for a dotted Swiss, pink sash, and a floppy
leghorn--ugh! and my hair down like Alice in Wonderland’s!... So, I
stormed and used you for argument. Quoted you, too--things you would
have said, if--if you had said ’em. I pictured the thing; made them see
us walking hand-in-hand, before all that Main-line crowd, Father Rollo
and daughter Rollo--me lost in that leghorn! Well, they compromised on
this.”
“You did it mighty quick,” he remarked thoughtfully. His eye took in
the satisfying effect of the close-fitting silk “basque,” with its
soft, flaring sleeves drooping in mysterious folds from the shoulders,
and the oldish dark hat with its snug cluster of blood-red roses.
“One whole month,” she told him. “The dressmaker comes only on Mondays,
you know.”
“A month?” He was puzzled. “You didn’t know I was coming with you a
month ago?”
“Oh, yes, I did, _mon capitaine_,” she chuckled. “You were all planned,
too.”
“Bless my soul!” he ejaculated.
“Topic number two,” she announced, “is Holden. Of course, you are going
to take that professorship?”
“No!” he spoke sharply. “I can’t possibly do it--The fact is--well,
I’ll tell you--Diccon got it for me. He’s a member of the trustees. I
didn’t know that. He just pulled for me--awfully fine of him; but he
used the bludgeon of newspaper power and every trick he could lay hold
of. There was an immense competition--I didn’t know that, either--and
he won out by a big majority, against the President’s candidate, too. I
wormed it out of him. He says it’s all right--says that’s the way it’s
done.... Says he’ll make me President next.... Gross!... And I thought
they had read my little studies--Pooh! There’s something humiliating in
that sort of thing--even if it is customary. I told Diccon I couldn’t
take it.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He said, ‘Think it over.’ I have thought it over. It’s no use.”
“I agree with Diccon,” she spoke firmly. “You ought to go. You must
take things the way they’re given. I got this dress by arguing the
family out of their best judgment. I fibbed a little and put up an
artificial storm--pure dramatics, every bit of it--all the time I was
thinking how nice a chocolate soda water would taste--I just bulldozed
them into giving in. I asked for more than I possibly could get and
got what I really wanted. You’re too--too poetic. My advice is to go
to Holden and be somebody. The other fellows were playing the same
game--don’t forget that!--and they lost. Oh, it was not ideal, but it
was perfectly fair. Your friends had the stronger pull, that’s all.”
“I abominate ‘pull,’” he muttered, “all I’ve ever--”
She put a hand squarely across his lips and held it there.
“Hush!” she warned. “That topic is overboard, for the present. Let’s
be happy on this ‘_one_ holiday of the _whole_ year.’” She rolled her
eyes, like an ingenuous Pippa. “Topic number three is very near. I can
hear it.” She raised her hand to make a funnel of it. “Hoo-eeee!” she
called across the ravine.
“Hoo-eee!” came a familiar bass, followed by a crashing of bushes. Mac
stopped as if on signal.
“_Grüss Gott! Herr Professor!_” he greeted Blynn; “H’lo, Mac!” he
dropped into colloquial English for the driver; but nothing but French
would do for the lady, “_Jolie à croquer, la petite gosse!_”
Bardek, round-faced and smiling, held out gripping hands to all three.
As if it had been arranged he clambered into the carriage and drove on
with them.
“How fine it is to see you!” he looked affectionately at Blynn.
“This is not a good French day--only half and half,” he swept the
sky critically, “or I would kiss you on both cheek. Ha! How you
would jump! Oh, but you are so cold in America! You shake the hand,
sometimes--good!--but you miss much warmth, much flow of blood. The
love of man for woman, you have so! so!” a shrug that showed our lack
even there, “but the love of man for man you have not at all--a great
thing.”
“Bardek,” Gorgas broke in, “I will not have you making speeches all
over the place. You--”
“In Bohemia,” he went joyfully on, waving an apologetic hand at the
interrupter, “we embrace and kiss and have hot feelings. Here, you bow
or say, ‘H’lo’ or ‘So long, ol’ man.’ Ach! We are flesh and blood. We
were made to tingle when we touch. You don’t half love what you don’t
touch. I keep my hands off this little missy--she would not let me
smooth her and pat her; she jump so! And you, Miester Bleen--là! là!
_là!_ là!--if I hold you in my arms--or the good Mac there, who I love,
too--and kiss you on the ears and on the head! Cr-r-azy! What you say?
Nut-ty! To ze Blockley Assylumm, queek! Before he run about and bite
somebody else. Eh? It is so, is it not?”
“I often feel like that,” Blynn confessed, “with men, I mean.”
“Of _course_, you do,” Bardek arched his brows. “You are human being
wit’ nerves,” he said “ner-r-ufs”--“and you have gr-reat power of
affection bottled up, corked, inside of you. But, you are ashamed, eh?
to show it?”
“Undoubtedly, quite ashamed. I often want to throw my arms over a good
man friend--like Leopold, for instance--but--I’d die first.”
“There!” he turned to Gorgas. “He would die for that! For a little
not’ing peoples die. In Turkey the lady would die if she show the lip;
in America, the lady would die if she show the foot; in Paris, the lady
would die if she _not_ show the foot. In England, the lady and the man
sneak away quiet and take the baths in boxes in the ocean; in America
they dance together in the water and show the ladies how to float,
so! And, oh! so little clothes. Poof! Bah! I would die but for only
one thing--when I cannot longer get a good breath! All else is jus’
foolishness. I--”
“Bardek,” interrupted Gorgas, “if you talk any longer I’ll turn you
over to the police as a public nuisance.”
“See!” he cried. “How queek I be still. _Me voilà! Silencieux comme une
carpe_--still like fish!”
“This is strictly business, Mr. Blynn. Bardek has been helping me with
my exhibition at the Applied Arts--”
“And it is won-derful, her work. I--ach! That is one thing I die for,
if they pass law to make me to shut up.”
“They’re going to give me a special exhibition--‘One-man Show,’ they
call it. Bardek came back in August, and we’ve been working together
in my smithy--the old spring-house, you know. I couldn’t go down the
Valley any longer; it wouldn’t look right--”
“_Nom d’une pipe_!” he blurted. “The land of liberty. Bah!...
Excuse!--_Toujours silencieux!_”
“So, we worked him in as a friend of Mac’s. Dad actually hired him once
to whitewash the palings!” she chuckled merrily at the thought, as did
Bardek.
“Me! W’itewashes! Oop!” he clapped his hand across his ready mouth.
“Now I have a plan. Bardek is to take that little house back of us.”
“_Take_?” asked Bardek. “How do you _take_ house?”
She shook a warning finger.
“The little white cottage, with the garden. You own it; don’t you? It
is never rented. Well, Bardek is to live there, and do copper work. You
come to see Mother Levering and pump her full of Bardek and have him
hired for a teacher--to get ready for the exposition, you know. Say
anything; make up something. Mother believes anything you tell her.”
“_Wait!_” exploded Bardek. “Please give me to speak. I to live in a
house? W’ite house wit’ garden? and plumbing? and window sashes? and
tables and chairs? and doors?”
To each article of the inventory Gorgas nodded.
“For me,” she added. “All for me.”
He turned energetically to Blynn. “I make mistake. There is one other
t’ing I die for--to live like chicken in a house....” He looked at her
curiously. “_Nom d’une pipe!_” he speculated. “I see I am going to do
that t’ing.... _Nom du nom d’une pipe!_ I am going to live in a house!
Wah!” he laughed aloud, head thrown back. “You do not know w’at you
ask. And I do not know w’at I do. I swear, ten, fifteen year ago, I
take big oath that I nevair again live in house--some day I tell you
zat story--and now,” he recovered and looked at Gorgas solemnly, “I do
t’at t’ing.... All ri’--for you! Good! Bury me in your w’ite house....
_Nom du nom du nom d’une pipe!_”
“That’s settled,” she turned now to Blynn. “We think twelve dollars a
month is a good price for the cottage--especially since you haven’t
rented it for ever so long. Mac will get it put in good shape for you.
Is it a go?... For me!”
“Take it for nothing,” said Blynn.
“Well, we’ll call it eight dollars, then,” she resumed.
“Ho!” cried Bardek, highly amused. “She is good at the bargain. In my
country the woman get everything cheap.”
“Here’s where you get out, Bardek.”
“Ach, so soon! Well, I get in, I go housekeeping, I get out--_comme tu
voudras, mon enfant_. Some day, she say, ‘Bardek, go jump in Schuylkill
river, please,’ and I say, ‘Yes, miss, jus’ please wait till I put
on my coat.’... Goodby, Mr. Blynn; Goodby, ol’ Mac; adieu, Madam
Pompadour, who make kings of the earth go live in little w’ite closets.
_Adieu!_”
Farewells were waved until Bardek could be seen no longer.
“Topic number four,” she took up the next part of her program abruptly.
“I’m not going to let you drop me, Allen Blynn.... I just won’t stand
it.”
She spoke hurriedly and nervously. Allen Blynn was quite taken by
surprise.
“It isn’t fair. You said you would take charge of me, my education, I
mean; you told mother you would; everybody thought so, too; and then,
you just--walked out.... For the last year I’ve seen you only once or
twice on the streets, and you’re always rushing somewhere.... What have
I done?... We’ve got to settle this thing right here and now. I’ve been
thinking and thinking and I can’t make it out. You just avoid me as if
I weren’t fit to--” the storm began to subside. “Of course, I don’t
mean that. But why can’t we be good pals, like we were? Why not, _mon
capitaine_?”
The abruptness of the thing almost overwhelmed him. The contrast
between her gaiety in dealing with Bardek and the almost bitter
seriousness of the present mood was a shock.