Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from books
were the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst.
Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people.
Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions on
questions that were left to them. "That is the most odiously
aristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe.
"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally,
they are a collection of ingenious blockheads."
"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning.
"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden.
As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of the
Worcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too,
was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air.
"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said the
painter at last, in a low tone.
"Why, yes--certainly," said the girl.
Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from the
parlours drifted to the black wall of the night.
"I shall miss you," said the painter.
"Oh, I dare say," said the girl.
Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spaces
of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they
softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and
sorrowful dance.
"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said
the painter.
"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl.
From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and
the Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for their
well-being.
"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again. His manner was rather
desperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided
with an air of defeat.
Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say I
shall return to New York myself in a few weeks."
"I hope you will call," she said.
"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfied
look at her.
"Oh, Mr. Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emerging
from the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in the
air, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shall
do. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?"
"Yes," said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully."
"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can't
imagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spend
ten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying the
entire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she is
going to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one period of rest at
any rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know."
"Here," said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as if
you were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying to
him?"
"Why," answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to him
how lonely it would be without Grace."
"Oh!" said Hollanden.
As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined the
group. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay the
vanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if she
expected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night,"
and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid and
absent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits.
Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to
say, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a still
more placid and absent-minded manner.
Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when he
stood the Worcester mother moved and looked around expectantly, but
Oglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her.
Presently Miss Fanhall arose.
"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollanden
and Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed by
her daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitched
violently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate----" he said. He picked
the thread of a past argument with great agility.
Hawker said to the girl, "I--I--I shall miss you dreadfully."
She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a low
voice.
"Yes," he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence.
She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet from
a cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turned
toward the approaching Oglethorpe.
"Good-night, Mr. Hawker," said the latter. "I am very glad to have met
you, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night."
He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given us
such a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. You
must come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpret
the inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my first
opportunity."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curled
on the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump,
on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a state
of gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyful
celebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to the
edge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulous
welcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, old
boy," said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his master
had entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at something
that lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly,
for he returned in a moment to the door-mat.
But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out of
the house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, the
steps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog wagged
his tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had again
entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, but
the thing that had lain there was gone.