THE IMPULSIVE YOUNG MAN FROM HOME
Music resounded in the parlours of Jim Sargent’s house; music so sweet
and compelling in its harmony that Aunt Grace slipped to the head of the
stairs, to listen in mingled ecstasy and pride. Up through the hallway
floated a clear, mellow soprano and a rich, deep baritone, blended so
perfectly that they seemed twin tones. Aunt Grace, drawn by a
fascination she could not resist, crept down to where she could see the
source of the melody. Gail, exceptionally pretty to-night in her simple
little dove-coloured gown with its one pink rose, sat at the piano,
while towering above her, with his chest expanded and a look of perfect
peace on his face, stood the Reverend Smith Boyd.
Enraptured, Aunt Grace stood and listened until the close of the ballad.
Leafing through her music for the next treat, Gail looked up at the
young rector, and made some smiling remark. Her shining brown hair,
waving about her forehead, was caught up in a simple knot at the back,
and the delicate colour of her cheeks was like the fresh glow of dawn.
The Reverend Smith Boyd bent slightly to answer, and he, too, smiled as
he spoke; but as he happened to find himself gazing deep into the brown
eyes of Gail, the smile began to fade, and Aunt Grace Sargent, scared,
ran back up the stairs and into her own room, where she took a book, and
held it in her lap, upside down. The remark which Gail had made was
this:
“You should have used your voice professionally.”
The reply of the rector was:
“I do.”
“I didn’t mean oratorically,” she laughed, then returned nervously to
her search for the next selection. She had seen that change in his
smile. “It is so rare to find a perfect speaking voice coupled with a
perfect singing voice,” she rattled on. “Here’s that simple little May
Song. Just harmony, that’s all.”
Once more their voices rose in that perfect blending which is the most
delicate of all exhilarations. In the melody itself there was an
appealing sympathy, and, in that moment, these two were in as perfect
accord as their voices. There is something in the music of the human
tone which exerts a magnetic attraction like no other in the world;
which breaks down the barriers of antagonism, which sweeps away the
walls of self entrenchment, which attracts and draws, which explains and
does away with explanation. This was the first hour they had spent
without a clash, and the Reverend Smith Boyd, his eyes quite blue
to-night, brought another stack of music from the rack.
The butler, an aggravating image with only one joint in his body,
paraded solemnly through the hall, and back again with the card tray,
while Gail and the rector sang “Juanita” from an old college song book,
which the Reverend Boyd had discovered in high glee. Aunt Grace came
down the stairs and out past the doors of the music salon. There were
voices of animated greeting in the hall, and Aunty returned to the door
just as the rector was spreading open the book at “Sweet and Low.”
“Pardon me,” beamed Aunty. “There’s a little surprise out here for you.”
“For me?” and Gail rose, with a smile and a pretty little nod of
apology.
She moved with swiftly quiet grace into the hall. There was a little
half shrieking exclamation. The rector, setting a chair smilingly for
Mrs. Sargent, happened, quite unwittingly, to come in range of the hall
mirror at the moment of the half shriek, and he saw an impulsive young
man grab Gail Sargent in his arms, and kiss her!
“Howard!” protested Gail, in the midst of embarrassed laughter; and
presently she came in, rosy-cheeked, with the impulsive young man, whose
hair was inclined to thinness in front. He was rather good-looking, on
second inspection, with a sharp eye and a brisk manner and a healthy
complexion.
“Mr. Clemmens, Doctor Boyd,” introduced Gail, and there was the ring of
genuine pleasure in her voice. “Mr. Clemmens is one of my very best
friends from back home,” and she viewed this one of her very best
friends with pride as he shook hands with the Reverend Smith Boyd. He
was easy of manner, was Mr. Clemmens, even confident, though he had
scarcely the ease which does not need self-assertion.
“I am delighted to meet any friend of Miss Sargent,” admitted the
rector, in that flowing, mellow baritone which no one heard for the
first time without surprise.
“Allow me to say the same,” returned the young man from back home,
making a critical and jealous inspection of the disturbingly commanding
rector. His voice was brisk, staccato, and a trifle high pitched. Gail
had always admired it, not for its musical quality, of course, but for
its clean-cut decisiveness.
“When did you arrive?” asked Mrs. Sargent, with hospitable interest.
“Just this minute,” stated Clemmens, exchanging a glance of pleasure
with Gail. “I only stopped at the hotel long enough to throw in my
luggage, and drove straight on here.” He turned to her so expectantly
that the rector rose.
“You’re not going?” protested Gail, and was startled to find that the
Reverend Smith Boyd’s eyes were no longer blue. They were cold.
“I’m afraid that I must,” he answered her in the conventional apologetic
tone, which was not at all like his singing voice. It sounded rather
inflexible, and as if it might not blend very well. “I trust that I
shall have the pleasure of meeting you again, Mr. Clemmens,” and he
shook hands with the brisk young man in a most dignified fashion. He
bowed his frigid adieus to the ladies, and marched into the hall for his
hat.
“Rector?” guessed Mr. Clemmens, when the outer door had closed.
“Of Market Square Church,” proudly asserted Aunt Grace. “He is a
wonderfully gifted young man. The rectory is right next door.”
“Oh yes,” responded Mr. Clemmens perfunctorily, and he turned slowly to
Gail. “Fine looking chap, isn’t he?”
Gail bridled a trifle. She knew that trick of jealous interrogation
quite well. Howard was trying to surprise her into some facial
expression which would betray her attitude toward the Reverend Smith
Boyd.
“He’s perfectly splendid!” she beamed. “He has the richest baritone I’ve
ever heard.”
“It blends so perfectly with Gail’s,” supplemented the admiring Aunt
Grace. “We must have him over so you may hear them sing.”
“I’ll be delighted,” lied Mr. Clemmens, shooting another glance of
displeasure at Gail.
Somehow, Aunt Grace felt that there was an atmosphere of discomfort in
the room, and she thought she had better go upstairs, to worry about it.
“You’ll take dinner with us to-morrow evening, I hope,” she cordially
invited.
“You won’t have to ask me twice,” laughed Mr. Clemmens, rising because
Aunt Grace did. He was always punctilious, and the manner of his
courtesies showed that he was punctilious.
“Well, girl, tell me all about it,” heartily began the young man from
home, when Aunty had made her apologies and her departure. He imprisoned
her hand in his, and seated her on the couch, and sat beside her,
crossing his legs comfortably.
“I’ve been having a delightful time,” replied Gail. “Suppose we go over
to the blue room, Howard. It’s much more pleasant, I think.” She wanted
to be away from the piano. It distressed her.
“All right,” cheerfully acquiesced Howard, and, still retaining her
hand, he went over with her into the blue room, and seated her on the
couch, and sat beside her, and crossed his legs. “We made up our monthly
report just before I came. Our rate of increase is over ten per cent.
better than in any previous month since we began. Three more years, and
we’ll have the biggest insurance business in the state; that is, except
the big outside companies.”
“Isn’t that splendid!” and her enthusiasm was fine to see. She had been
kept posted on the progress of the Midwest Mutual Insurance Company
since its inception, and naturally she was very much interested. “Then
you’ll branch out into other states.”
“Not for ten years to come,” he told her, smiling at her woman-like
overestimate. “The Midwest won’t do that until we’ve covered the home
territory so thoroughly that there’ll be no chance of further expansion.
My board of directors brought up that matter at the last meeting, but I
turned it down flat-footed. I’m enterprising enough, but I’m thorough.
The president has thrown the entire responsibility on my shoulders, and
I won’t take any foolish risks.”
Gail turned to him in clear-eyed speculation.
“If I were a man, I’m afraid I’d be a business gambler,” she mused.
“I’ve no doubt you would,” he comfortably laughed. “However, my method
is the safest. Ten years from now, Gail, I’ll have money that I made
myself, and, in twenty, I’ll be shamelessly rich. Sounds good, doesn’t
it?”
“You have enough money now, if that’s all you want,” she reminded him.
“No, I’m ambitious,” he insisted. “Not for myself, though. Gail, you
know why I made this trip,” and he bent closer to her. His staccato
voice softened and his eyes were very earnest. “I couldn’t stay away.”
He clasped his other hand over hers, and drew closer.
“I told you you mustn’t, Howard,” she gently chided him, though she made
no attempt to withdraw her hand. “I’m not ready yet to decide about
things.”
He was a poor psychologist.
“All right,” he cheerfully assented, dropping the earnestness from his
voice and from his eyes, but retaining her hand. His clasp was warm and
strong and wholesome. “Mrs. King’s ball was rather a tame affair this
year, though I may have been prejudiced because you weren’t there.”
He drifted easily into chat of home people and affairs, and she felt
more and more contented every minute. After all, he was of her own
people, linked to them and to her. It was comfortable to be with some
one whom one thoroughly understood. There was no recess of his mind with
which she was not intimately acquainted. She could foretell his mental
processes as easily as she could read the time on her watch. It was
tremendously restful, after her contact with the stronger personalities
which she had found here. She had been wondering in what indefinable
manner Howard had changed, but now she began to see that it was she who
had shifted her viewpoint. The men she had met here, with the exception
of such as Van Ploon and Cunningham and Ted Teasdale, were far more
complex than Howard, a quality which at times might be more interesting
than agreeable.
A rush of noise filled the hall. Lucile and Ted Teasdale, handsome Dick
Rodley and Arly Fosland and Houston Van Ploon, had come clattering in as
an escort for Mrs. Davies, whose pet fad was to have as many young
people as possible bring her home from any place.
The young man from back home took his plunge into that vortex with
becoming steadiness. Gail had looked to see him a trifle bewildered, and
would have had small criticism for him if he had, but he greeted them
all on a friendly basis, and, sitting down again beside her, crossed his
legs, while Mrs. Davies calmly lorgnetted him.
“Where’s the baby?” demanded handsome Dick Rodley, heading for the
stairs.
“Silly, you mustn’t!” cried Lucile, and started after him. “Flakes
should be asleep at this hour.”
“I came in for the sole purpose of teaching Flakes the turkey trot,”
declared handsome Dick, and ran away, followed by Lucile.
“Lucile’s becoming passé,” criticised Ted. “She’s flirting with Rodley
for the second time.”
“Can you blame her?” defended Arly, stealing a surreptitious glance at
the young man from back home, then the devil of mischief seized her and
she leaned forward. “Do you flirt, Mr. Clemmens?”
For once the easy assurance of Howard left him, and he blushed. The
stiff, but kindly disposed Van Ploon came to his rescue.
“Perhaps Mr. Clemmens is not yet married,” he suggested.
To save him, Clemmens, used, under any circumstances, to the easy sang
froid of the insurance business, could not keep himself from turning to
Gail with accusing horror in his eyes. Was this the sort of company she
kept? He glanced over at Arly Fosland. She was sitting in the deep
corner of her favourite couch, nursing a slender ankle, and even her
shining black hair, to say nothing of her shining black eyes, seemed to
be snapping with wicked delight. It was so unusual to find a young man
one could shock.
Lucile and handsome Dick came struggling down the stairway with Flakes
between them, and Gail sprang instantly to take the bewildered puppy
from them both. Little blonde Lucile gave up her interest to the prior
right, but Rodley pretended to be obstinate about it. His deep eyes
burned down into Gail’s, as he stood bending above her, and his smile,
to Howard’s concentrated gaze, had in it that dangerous fascination
which few women could resist! Gail was positively smiling up into his
eyes!
“Tableau!” called Ted. “All ready for the next reel.”
“Hold it a while,” begged Arly, and even the young man from home was
forced to admit that the picture was handsome enough to be retained. The
Adonislike Dick, with his black hair and black eyes, his curly black
moustache and his black goatee, his pink cheeks and his white teeth;
Gail, gracefully erect, her head thrown back, her brown hair waving and
her eyes dancing; the Adonis bending over her and the fluffy white
Flakes between them; it was painfully beautiful; and Mr. Clemmens
suddenly regretted his square-toed shoes and his business suit.
“Children, go home,” suddenly commanded Mrs. Davies. “Dick, put the dog
back where you found it.”
“I suppose we’ll have to go home,” drawled Ted. “Dick, put back that
dog.”
“Put away the dog, Dick,” ordered the heavier voice of young Van Ploon.
“Come along, Gail, I’ll put him away.”
At his approach, Dick placed the puppy, with great care, in Gail’s
charge, and took her arm. Van Ploon took her other arm, and together the
trio, laughing, went away to return Flakes to his bed. They clung to her
most affectionately, bending over her on either side; and they called
her Gail!
The others were ready to go when they returned from the collie nursery,
and the three young men stood for a moment in a row near the door. Gail
looked them over with a puzzled expression. What was there about them
which was so attractive? Was it poise, sureness, polish, breeding,
experience, insolence, grooming—what? Even the stiff Van Ploon seemed
smooth of bearing to-night!
“Come home, Gail,” begged Clemmens, when the noisy party had laughed its
way out of the door and Aunt Helen Davies had gone upstairs.
She knew what was in his mind, but compassion overcame her resentment,
because there was suffering in his voice and in his eyes. She smiled on
him forgivingly, and did not withdraw the hand he took again.
“New York’s an evil place,” he urged. “Who are these friends of yours?”
and he looked at her accusingly.
“Why, they are tremendously nice people, Howard,” she told him,
forgiving him again because he did not understand. “Lucile is the pretty
cousin about whom I wrote you, Ted is her husband, and the others are
their friends.”
“I don’t like them,” he rather sternly said. “They are not fit company
for you. They see no sacredness in marriage, with their open flirting.”
“Why, Howard, that’s only a joke. Ted and Lucile are exceptionally
devoted to each other.” She turned and studied him seriously. Was he
smaller of stature than he had seemed back home, or what was it?
They still were standing in the hall, and the front door opened.
“Brought you a prodigal,” hailed Uncle Jim, slipping his latchkey in his
pocket as he held the door open for the prodigal in question. “Hello,
Clemmens. When did you blow in?” and he advanced to shake hands.
Gail was watching the doorway. Some one outside was vigorously stamping
his feet. The prodigal came in, and proved to be Allison, buoyant of
step, sparkling of eye, firm of jaw, and ruddy from the night wind.
Smiling with the sureness of welcome, he came eagerly up to Gail, and
took her hand, retaining it until she felt compelled to withdraw it,
recognising again that thrill. The barest trace of a flush came into her
cheeks, and paled again.
“Allison, meet one of Chubsy’s friends from home,” called Uncle Jim.
“Mr. Allison, Mr. Clemmens.”
As the two shook hands, Gail turned again to the young man from back
home. Yes, he had grown smaller.