He said to Rainsford at luncheon, over nuts and raisins, and coffee as
black as George Washington's smiling face--
"I reckon you think I've got a heart of cotton, don't you? I reckon you
think I don't come up to the scratch, do you, old man? I assure you that
I went down to New York seeing scarlet. I had made my plans. Afterward,
mind you, Rainsford, not of course before a whole lot of people,--but in
his own studio, I intended to tell Cedersholm a few truths. Upon my
honour, I believe I _could_ have killed him."
Rainsford held a pecan nut between the crackers which he pressed slowly
as he listened to his friend. Antony's big hand was spread out on the
table; its grip would have been powerful on a man's throat.
"We often get rid of our furies on the way," said Rainsford, slowly. "We
keep them housed so long that they fly away unobserved at length. And
when at last we open the door, and expect to find them ready with their
poisons, they've gone, vanished every one."
"Not in this case," Fairfax shook his head. "I shall call on them all
some day and they will all answer me. But yesterday wasn't the time.
You'll think me poorer-spirited than ever, I daresay, but the woman he
is going to marry was there, a pretty woman, and she seemed to love
him."
Fairfax glanced up at the agent and saw only comprehension.
"Quite right, Tony." Rainsford returned Fairfax's look over his
glistening eyeglasses, cracked the pecan nut and took out the meat. "I
am not surprised."
Antony, who had taken a clipping from his wallet, held it out.
"Read this. I cut it out a week ago. Yesterday in the Central Park old
ambitions struck me hard. Read it."
The notice was from a Western paper, and spoke in detail of a
competition offered to American sculptors by the State of California,
for the design in plaster of a tomb. The finished work was to be placed
in the great new cemetery in Southern California. The prize to be
awarded was ten thousand dollars and the time for handing in the design
a year.
"Not a very cheerful or inspiring subject, Tony."
On the contrary, Fairfax thought so. He leaned forward eagerly, and
Rainsford, watching him, saw a transfigured man.
"Death," said the engineer, "has taken everything from me. Life has
given me nothing, old man. I have a feeling that perhaps now, through
this, I may regain what I have lost.... I long to take my chance."
The other exclaimed sympathetically, "My dear fellow, you must take it
by all means."
Fairfax remained thoughtful a moment, then asked almost appealingly----
"Why, how can I do so? Such an effort would cost my living, _her_
living, the renting of a place to work in...." As he watched Rainsford's
face his eyes kindled.
"I offered to lend you money once, Tony," recalled his friend, "and I
wish to God you'd taken the loan then, because just at present--"
The Utter Failure raised his near-sighted eyes, and the look of
disappointment on the bright countenance of the engineer cut him to the
heart.
"Never mind." Fairfax's voice was forced in its cheerfulness. "Something
or other will turn up, I shall work Sundays and half-days, and I reckon
I can put it through. I am bound to," he finished ardently, "just bound
to."
Rainsford said musingly, "I made a little investment, but it went to
pot. I hoped--I'm always hoping--but the money didn't double itself."
The engineer didn't hear him. He was already thinking how he could
transform his kitchen into a studio, although it had an east light. Just
here Rainsford leaned over and put his hand on Antony's sleeve. "I want
to say a word to you about your wife. I don't think she's very well."
"Molly?" answered his companion calmly. "She's all right. She has a
mighty fine constitution, and I never heard her complain. When did you
see her, Rainsford?" He frowned.
"Saturday, when you were in New York. You forgot to send your pass-book,
and I went for it myself."
"Well?" queried Antony. "What then?"
"Mrs. Fairfax gave me the book, and I stopped to speak with her for a
few moments. I find her very much changed."
The light died from the young man's illumined face where his visions had
kindled a sacred fire. The realities of life blotted it out.
"I'm not able to give Molly any distractions, that you know."
"She doesn't want them, Tony." Rainsford looked kindly and
affectionately, almost tenderly, at him, and repeated gently: "She
doesn't want amusement, Tony."
And Fairfax threw up his head with a sort of despair on his face--
"My God, Rainsford," he murmured, "what can I do?"
"I'm afraid she's breaking her heart," said the older man. "Poor little
woman!"