you must have found a Blowsalinda on some of these hill farms:--why,
man, you're as red as her father's beets. I congratulate you, Jim: I do,
heartily. As you say, the tender passion is merely a spark struck by the
flint of Opportunity on the steel of Desire; and for the rest, you can
enrich her practical native virtues with the golden hues of your
imagination. She'll suit you just as well as any of these proud cityfied
damsels--after you've sent her a term or two to boarding school; and
she'll be more content to stay up here than the city girl would."
I paused to view my work, and was satisfied. The shadows of wrath and
disgust were chasing each other over my friend's intelligent
countenance. You see, I get so browbeaten at home that I must avenge
myself on somebody now and then; and of course, it has to be a man. And
then it is all for Jim's good, and he deserves all he is getting. So I
went on.
"But seeing this is so, Jim, you ought to be content; and what means all
your wild talk of last night and this morning, as if you had something
on your conscience? You haven't--you wouldn't--No, you're not that kind
of a man. Well then, what in thunder have you been making all this fuss
about, and pitching into me for?"
He suppressed something with a gulp: I think it was not an expression of
gratitude or affection. "Confound you, Bob; one never knows how to take
you. In the name of Satan and all the devils, what are you after now?"
"I'm not after anything in the name of the gentlemen you mention; they
are no friends of mine, nor objects of my regard. Put a better name on
it, and I'm after getting you to say what you mean, as we agreed--though
it seems to be hard work. Who's playing tricks upon travellers, and
misleading a confiding friend now? I never knew such a man for beating
about the bush, and talking nonsense." (I remembered this apothegm of
Jane's, which sounded well, and fitted in nicely just here.)
He appeared to take himself to pieces, shake them well, and put them
together carefully, before he spoke. "Perhaps my language was obscure,
or even enigmatical; but I thought you might understand. Forgive me if I
have been harsh, Bob, not to say uncivil: I have gone through a good
deal, until I hardly know myself. It is base enough for a man to be thus
at the mercy of mere externals--and I used to think I could practice the
Stoic doctrine! But to be human is to be a pitiable, and, if you like, a
despicable creature. I knew a case that may serve in a way to
explain--not to justify--my treatment of you. Say it was years ago; the
man met, in a friend's house, a lady who showed him the utmost kindness.
She was used to all deference, till she and every one regarded it as her
right--as it was. And he--it's not pleasant to tell--he ended by
insulting her. I always understood how that fellow never could bear to
mention her name, nor to hear it; how any reminder of her, or contact
with the friends through whom he met her, would upset him. He would get
confused, and some of his self-reproaches would fall on the wrong heads.
I suppose you never knew how that could be, Bob."
"I never was in exactly such a scrape as that; but I've been near enough
to imagine, and make allowances. Your friend must have thought a good
deal of the lady, in spite of his insulting her. He apologized, of
course?"
"Certainly, and then took himself off, and kept out of her way ever
after. It was all he could do."
"Just how did he insult her? It could hardly have been intentional."
"O no. He had had misfortunes, or something of the kind, and she took a
humane interest in him--tried to help him, no doubt. Women often do such
things, I believe; it is very creditable to them, but liable to be
dangerous in a case like this, for men are sometimes fools enough to
misinterpret it. Well, this particular beast took it into his wooden
head that she cared for him--in a personal way, you know; and--you
wouldn't think a man could be such an infernal ape, would you?--he told
her so."
"He planned beforehand to tell her so--thought that was the right card
to play, the proper way of wooing?"
"You make him worse than he was. It came out unawares--he was surprised
into it. The conversation took a certain turn, and he misunderstood for
a moment. That was all, and it was quite enough."
"What did the lady do then?"
"She was naturally and properly indignant and contemptuous; made him see
his place. He took it, and took his departure."
"Did it never enter your friend's wise head that he might have
mismanaged the affair in some other way than the one you mention; for
instance, in going off so speedily?"
"No other course was possible. Enough of this, Bob: he bore the penalty
of his offence."
"Excuse me: it's a curious case, and as a student of human nature I like
to study such, and master all the facts. You say it never occurred to
him that the worst part of his offence might be his levanting in such
haste? that it might have been a more appropriate act of penitence to
wait a day, or five minutes, and give the lady a chance to forgive him?"
"How can you make such low suggestions? The man was not a scoundrel at
heart: at least he had always passed for a gentleman before, and thought
himself such."
"For one who goes about insulting ladies, he was a singularly modest
youth. So he never thought afterwards that there might have been a basis
of fact for the fancy that made the trouble?"
"Drop the subject, will you? I brought it in merely as an illustration,
that you might see how a man can be affected--even his character
changed--by the recollection of such a blunder. It would destroy his
self-respect."
"Naturally. But self-respect is too good a thing to lose forever, and
this illustration of yours may serve to pass the time till you are ready
to talk of your own affairs, which you say it somehow illustrates. Did
your friend never think that the girl might have led him on, either
seriously or for mere amusement? If she did, that would be some excuse
for him."
"I tell you he was not that kind of a blackguard. All sorts of thoughts
will offer themselves to a man in such a state of mind, I suppose; but
he knew her too well to admit any that lowered her. O no, he saw the
fault was all his. At the moment he was bewildered, and could not
realize the sudden change, nor what he had done; so his apology (if I
remember that part of his story) may have been inadequate in manner,
however suitable in words. Apart from that, which could not be mended
afterwards, he did all he possibly could."
"I beg to differ, Jim. I think this fellow did much worse than you seem
to realize. Stare as much as you like: if he is still a friend of yours,
I am sorry for him, as for one who has committed a most outrageous
blunder and a nearly unpardonable wrong. What right had he to think of
himself alone? You say the girl had shown goodness of heart, and a real
interest in him? Then suppose the interest went no further than he
thought: what business had he to burden her mind with a broken
friendship and the feeling that she had helped to spoil his life? Or
suppose the interest in him did go further. What do you and he know
about a woman's feelings?"
He was pale now, and wild in the eyes. "Your last supposition is
impossible. For the other--you may possibly be right. He never thought
she would care--or that he could do anything but what he did."
"A nice lot he is then. If I were you, I would write to him to-morrow
and give him a lecture--supposing they are both alive and free. And if
this affair was anyway parallel to your own, of which you won't talk, I
hope it may be a lesson to you--a warning, if you need one. Do you
suppose women, of the high-minded and superior sort, have no hearts, no
consciences, no sense of the duties of humanity? They have a blanked
sight more than you and your friend seem to have, I can tell you. You'd
better sleep on this, and wake with some enlarged ideas. As you decline
to tell me anything of yourself, and so I can't help you there, I'm
going to bed."
XXIX.
SUBMISSION.
Next day Jim was haggard and restless, and wanted to potter about the
house. I took him to the largest stream in those parts, when our rods
came in play; and there he did some of the worst fishing I ever
saw--worse than I did in May, when I had him on my mind. He has himself
on his mind now, and some one else too. He kept trying to talk, which is
impossible when you are wading. After he had lost a two-pounder and
fallen into a deep hole, I got out on the bank to avoid a place where
the water went down hill too fast--something between rapids and a
cascade. He came and sat on a log by me, looking disconsolate.
"Jim," I said, "You're pretty wet. Perhaps you'd better go home and
write that letter."
"I don't see my way yet. How can you be so positive?"
"Because I've heard the story before, and know more about it than you
do. I had a friend who was there at the time too. O, it caused some
talk, I can tell you. Did your hero suppose it would interest nobody but
himself?"
"Yes, as I told you. Good heavens! You don't mean--"
"O, no public talk; only the family, and people who knew the facts and
could be trusted. They were all sorry for him too; they thought he was
such an ass. You see a performance like his can't end where it begins;
it has consequences."
"You say, 'for him too.' They couldn't be sorry for the lady--why should
they?"
"You are pigheaded, Jim. What did I tell you last night? This thing put
its mark on her, in a way no man has a right to mark a woman without
her consent. See that trout jump, in the pool down yonder? I must get
him."
"Wait a moment. What I told you about could not have been known unless
the lady told it; and she was not of that sort. I don't understand."
"Decidedly you don't. I can't waste a day like this on second-hand
gossip, Jim; as you said yesterday, the evening is the time for talk.
You go home and change your clothes and rest your brain. I know my way
here, and I want to fill my basket. I'll get back in time for supper.
Here, you can take these."
And so I sent him off. He is biddable and humble now, and will be more
so presently; in a kind of transition state, he is. He came back in the
afternoon, and sat on the bank while I pulled out the biggest fish yet.
I carried home the best basket we've had; not so many specimens, but far
finer ones, than from that Devil's Brook in the Land Accursed. In
fishing, as in other things, a good deal depends on your state of mind.
That evening I dressed for dinner, as far as I could, like a gentleman;
not that any visitors were likely to drop in, but I thought it due to
the occasion. Jim, having plenty of leisure at command, and noting my
manoeuvres, did the same. He ate little, but I paid due attention to the
trout and claret, and took my time to it; though we do not have a lot of
courses and ceremony at meals up here, nor are such necessary. Then we
settled ourselves in easy chairs before the great fireplace, where pine
logs were roaring: the nights are cold now, and this is one comfort of
these out-of-the-way places, where fuel is plenty.
As soon as he had a chance, he began. "There is some mystery about this,
Bob. You wouldn't answer my question this morning."
"Now that I have dined, James, I'll answer any questions you
like--provided they are such as may fitly be put to the father of a
family. So fire away."
"First then, how do you come to know so much about this?"
"Because I was there. O, not eavesdropping, not as a spy--that is out of
my line; but purely, and luckily as it proves, by accident." And I told
him all about it. I will not say that his jaw dropped, but his facial
apparatus elongated.
"Then Cl--she knows that you know?"
"Not a word. What do you take me for? How could I tell her?"
"But--the others know?"
"Certainly not. You have the most extraordinary notions, Hartman. It was
her secret, not theirs. If you had been in my place, perhaps you would
have written to the papers, or told the story at family prayers. Can't
you see that it was impossible for me to let her know till I had had it
out with you?"
"And you have stood by me, knowing all this--you are still my friend?"
"Well, if I had had merely myself to consider, my natural loathing and
contempt for the beast, ape, idiot and scoundrel who was capable of such
conduct might have led me to extremities. O, I endorse all the
compliments you have paid yourself. But there is my interesting family;
the twins have quite a regard for you, and Herbert. And so has my wife;
she doesn't know you as well as I do. And my sister--a superior person,
though too soft-hearted, whom I cherish with a deep fraternal
affection--she has been besieging me with intercessions, and melting my
obduracy with her tears; and that for one who has made all this coil,
and whose qualities have been too well enumerated by himself."
"I will try to be more deserving of her kindness, Bob: I told you she
was the right sort. But you said just now they did not know."
"Only by surmise, and inference from your hasty departure, and
from--subsequent developments. Women are not wholly fools, Jim: they are
just as good as we; perhaps better, and sometimes wiser. O, they are
very well in their way. Let us bear with them, James, and allow for
their redeeming traits."
"Don't hit a man with his own words when he is down, Bob. But--there is
Another, whom you've not mentioned."
"So there is: you didn't mention her, either. Come to think of it, there
is another member of my household, whom we have overlooked in this
discussion, yet to whom I owe some sort of consideration."
"Of course I know who is first with you: I am content to come in a bad
second. You haven't--I suppose--any word--from Her?"
"What do you take her for? Ladies can't do that sort of thing. See here,
Hartman, don't get on that line again. She is used to due respect."
His face fell. "I know: I mean nothing else. What have you to say to me
then?"
"Say? Haven't I said enough? Confound you, it's your turn to say things
now."
"I thought I had said a good deal. O, I am ready to make my submission,
if it will do any good. Imagine the rest, can't you? Don't be playing
your games on me now, Bob."
There was a tone of pathos in this: I took a good look at him, and saw
that he was doing the contrite as well as I could expect. He will do it
better without a middleman when he gets the chance; he'll hardly lapse
into the other style again soon. All I have to do is to secure her
position meanwhile.
"Well, what comes next? I believe I am on the witness-stand now."
"Tell me about Her, Bob."
"She is changed. Of old, one never knew what to expect of her. Now she
is different. No stale customs about her, my boy."
"'Nor custom stale her infinite variety,' I suppose you mean. Yes, so I
found--but that was my own fault. Some might prefer your version. But
you don't imply--"
"No, I don't. You must find out for yourself about that. I thought you
knew that she is chary of her confidences, and that none of us is given
to seeking them. She has mentioned your name once in all this time, and
then to say that you and I were great clumsy things--which is true;
measurably of me, of you most eminently."
"What chance is there for me then?" He was discouraged again. Jim is so
foolish; he gets exalted and depressed on the slightest provocation.
Perhaps I was like that once, but it was long ago.
"Well, she knows I am here; do you suppose I would have come if she
objected? Make what you can out of that.--You needn't make too much of
it either: go slow, now. You see she doesn't like to be thwarted in her
benevolent plans; and you were a wild man, to be reclaimed and
civilized. Instead of submitting like a decent savage, you broke loose
all at once, and left her to feel that she had done you harm instead of
good. You are the only fellow who ever gave her any trouble: I can't see
how you had the cheek to do it. Why, man, you have got to learn manners
if you want to associate with that kind. She could do better than you
any day; but a wilful woman must have her way, and a gentleman usually
lets her have it.--Now there you go again. I didn't say what her way
might be in this case, did I? How should I know what she wants of you?
Probably just to smooth you down, and be friends, and see you behave.
The other supposition, as you said last night, is too wildly impossible.
You ought to be glad to meet her on any terms she may choose to make,
and thankful and proud to undergo any penance of her imposing, after
your conduct, and the annoyance it has caused her and all of us. Most
women, in her place, would let you stay in the woods and eat your heart
out. Perhaps she will yet; you needn't look so pleased. All I know is
that you owe her reparation. You ought to go on your knees from here to
the avenue, even if you have to come back on foot."
"You have gained in insight since August, Bob. You express my views with
accuracy--though one can hardly talk of these matters to another man. I
always honored you for holding Her in such esteem. But practically, what
am I to do?"
"That is not easy to say, James: it can hardly be plain sailing. If
women were not more forgiving than we, bless their little hearts, you
would have no chance to do anything. And the finer grain they are of,
the more embarrassing it becomes; with her sort it is peculiarly
difficult. I know, from long and trying experience; I have to mind my
p's and q's, I tell you. If you had taken up with one of these farmers'
daughters, as you nearly led me to believe last night--there's nothing
to get mad about--it would have been much simpler and easier for you. If
it were that other man, I should say to him, Write to the lady, if you
think that safe: I don't advise it. But if you had a friend who knew her
well, and was a person of capacity and resource and great tact and
approved discretion, and willing to employ all these qualities in your
service--"
"O, I'll leave the affair in your hands: I don't see what else I can do.
I'm everlastingly obliged to you, of course."
"Yes, I should think you would be; a nice mess you'd make of it by
yourself. You have no idea how this thing has weighed on my mind ever
since you left us at Newport; nor how awkward it is, even for me, to
approach a girl of her sensitive pride and highminded delicacy on such a
subject. But I'm ready to go on suffering in your cause, James, even if
it be for years."
"I hope it won't take as long as that. Hurry it up, old man, now you've
got a start. Don't let the injury to Her and the weight on my conscience
go on accumulating. What you do, do quickly."
"So you'd like me to rush off to-morrow? There's gratitude. No, sir; I
must think the matter over, and I may have to consult you about details.
Besides, they are all exercised about my health, and expect me to make
my week out. Your case is not a strong one, James; all depends on the
way it is put. I will not ruin it by indecent pressure or undue haste.
Leave it to me, and let sweet sleep revisit the weary head whence she
has fled so long. In simpler language, keep still and do as I tell you,
and don't bother."
I took pen and ink to my room, and indited a home epistle. It informed
Mabel that I was progressing toward recovery, and expected to ship some
large trout, carefully packed in ice; also that she was a true prophet,
and the other business in hand was moving just as she had foretold. I
enclosed a brief note to Clarice, which said simply, "O. K. Ever thine,"
and signed it with my initials and Jim's: and a cartoon for Jane, which
I sat up late to design and execute. It represented a small lover,
transfixed with a large arrow, prostrating himself before a Haughty
Damsel of High Degree. This work of art, with the subjoined effusions,
will keep up their spirits till I get home.
XXX.
WASTED ADVICE.
I will not tell you what more we did that week, nor how many wagonloads
of big game we bagged when we sallied forth with guns to make war upon
the monarchs of the forest: perhaps their hides and horns are on view in
my library, and perhaps not. Nor will you expect any more scenery of me,
seeing how I have groaned and sweated to produce the pen-pictures you
have already enjoyed: I don't desire to advertise Jim's retreat too
much, and spoil its seclusion. He was impatient and restive, but feeling
much better than when I came, and ready to do anything I wished--of
course. But he wanted to talk all the time, and ask questions: he kept
me busy pacifying him, till I was tired. Rational conversation on
serious subjects is good, but to be thus forever harping on small
personal feelings and relations makes one realize that Silence is
Golden. Clarice never acts in that way: I wish Jim would have some
occasional flashes of taciturnity, like Macaulay.
The day before I left, while we were burying a calf I had shot by
mistake, he said, "Bob, do you remember my asking you once, in a purely
suppositious way, what you would do if I were to quarrel with--Her?"
"O yes. But the farmer that owned this late lamented beast ought to be
paid for it."
"Never mind that. I'll attend to it after you're gone, and save your
feelings. Well, you said you'd stand by both of us."
"Hang my feelings: do you suppose I expend feelings on a misguided
heifer? It got in the bushes where you said I might look for a deer, and
here's a ten on account; you can write me if it costs more. My
sympathies, James, are reserved for nobler animals when they make worse
mistakes."
"Yes, as I have proved. You've kept your word; but you were pretty rough
on me."
"Your conduct was pretty rough on all of us. I had to open your eyes;
and I don't want you to try those tricks again. If you do, I may have to
shoot you by mistake."
"You would have been welcome to shoot me last week. Why did you leave me
so long in the dark, Bob?"
"O, the deuce! Were explanations due from our side? It's true you need
somebody to take care of you; but, you see, I have others to look after,
and so can't devote myself exclusively to you: you'd better get a
keeper. It was Jane who urged my coming up here. I always meant to, but
I couldn't till Clarice suggested it."
"She suggested it, did she? You never told me that before."
"I ought not to have told you now, if it makes you fly off the handle in
this way. She merely said to Mabel, no doubt in all sincerity, that I
looked badly and needed a change; she said nothing about my coming here.
She has a regard for me; whether you are anybody in her eyes remains to
be seen. Don't jump to conclusions, now. The Princess is not a person to
take liberties with, as I've learned by repeated lessons."
"I know it, Bob: one lesson is enough for me. I suppose it would hardly
do for me to go back with you?"
"Hardly. Personally I should be delighted, and so would some others;
but--you know as well as I do. I have got to feel somebody's pulse, and
proceed very gingerly. Possess your soul in what patience you can till
you hear from me. See here, Hartman; with your views, and your
well-grounded aversion to domestic and even social life, a little of
this sort of thing ought to go a long way. I should think you'd be
unwilling to risk contact with the world again. A child that will play
about the cars, you know, after it's once been run over--"
"O, but you have opened my eyes to a sacred duty. Honor is above
self-preservation. I want to purge my conscience, you see."
"Then do that and pause there. It was your vaulting ambition which
overleaped all bounds before. If you get into another row, you may have
to stay in it. I have full power of attorney, you say; well, I may have
to make all sorts of promises for you before I can get you leave to
return to duty, and you'll be expected to keep them. You don't know how
difficult that will be for your unbridled inexperience; you'll be
cabined, cribbed, confined within the dull limits of Propriety. It would
be much better for you to be content with a correspondence, if you can
get as far as that. You could expound your penitence and changed views
by mail, and have time to think what you were saying, and get it in
shape; whereas, if you plunge into the cold and heartless world again,
you'll probably get into more trouble, and I can't come up here to set
you straight again--not before next May. You were right, James: there is
nothing in common between you and the world. Why expose yourself to its
temptations, its dangers, its hollow and soul-wearying forms? This
atmosphere is so much purer; there is less of Vanity and Woe up here.
Stay where you are well off. Clarice can write a pretty good letter when
she chooses; I'll try to fix it that way for you." But he would not
accept this reasonable view, and insisted on my getting permission for
him to come down before Christmas, and as much sooner as possible.
So nobody but he could drive me to the cars; he filled the fifteen miles
with charges and reminders. As the train moved off, he was waving his
hat, his face radiant with hope and pathetic with confidence. He looks
ten years younger than he did last week. A pretty fellow he is to call
himself a Pessimist.
XXXI.
RESULTS REPORTED.