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THE THIRD VIOLET
by
STEPHEN CRANE
Author of The Red Badge of Courage,
The Little Regiment, and Maggie
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1897
Copyright, 1897,
by D. Appleton and Company.
Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane.
THE THIRD VIOLET.
CHAPTER I.
The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags,
and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at the
struggles of the black monster.
When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with the
enthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platform
of the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from the
village were present to examine the consignment of people from the city.
These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stage
drivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city.
Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbed
awkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled and
knocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backward
with fine caution. "Hello, little man," said Hawker, "did it hurt?" The
child regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker had
called his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politely
waiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but a
voice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conducting
a little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of the
easel. The boy resumed his cautious descent.
The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that as
individuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, as
a man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thundering
trunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling through
the crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where is
the stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young woman
regarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and he
turned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he had
looked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it." At the
same time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her,
though! What a glance--oh, murder! The--the--the distance in her eyes!"
He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage for
Hemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinned
expectantly at him. "Oh," said Hawker, "you drive the stage for Hemlock
Inn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage." The young
woman smiled.
The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of the
vehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see the
first coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of the
stage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy,
the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at once
to be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated the
stage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seated
uncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker a
glance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now," he
informed him cheerfully.
"Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, I didn't mind it much," continued the little boy, swinging his
long, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'm
hurt, anyhow." He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose soft
lips set defensively.
The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group in
the gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow and
thoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, the
green hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of gold
struck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of the
sun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from time
to time he conversed with them in yells.
The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilaged
to their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmly
valuing him.
"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy.
"I like it very well," answered Hawker.
"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot a
bears."
"I hope you may."
"Did you ever shoot a bears?"
"No."
"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'd
look around for one. Where I live----"
"Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhaps
every one is not interested in your conversation." The boy seemed
embarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with an
apologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills,
and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions for
fear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid.
Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl with
the--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward and
discovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled in
his seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way and
that way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or a
shoulder.
The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Train
was an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll be
nine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty dark
travellin'."
Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?"
"Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' Jim
Hawker's son, hain't yeh?"
"Yes."
"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?"
"Yes."
"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?"
"Yes."
"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?"
"Yes."
"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge
'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em,
they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter."
In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glanced
furtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with the
mother of the children.