CHAPTER XXVISERIOUS THOUGHTS
The young people at The Cedars had taken Garry Knapp right into the heart of their social life. He knew he was welcome and the hospitality shown him was a most delightful experience for the young Westerner.
But “business was business.” He could not see wherein he had any right to accept a favor from Major Dale because Dorothy wished her father to aid him. That was not Garry’s idea of a manly part—to use the father of the girl you love as a staff in getting on in the world.
There was no conceit in Garry’s belief that he had tacit permission, was it right to accept it, to try to win Dorothy Dale’s heart and hand. He was just as well assured in his soul that Dorothy had been attracted to him as he was that she had gained his affection. “Love like a lightning bolt,” Tavia had called Dorothy’s interest in Garry Knapp. It was literally true in the young man’s case. He had fallen in love with Dorothy Dale almost at first sight.
Every time he saw her during that all too briefoccasion in New York his feeling for the girl had grown. By leaps and bounds it increased until, just as Tavia had once said, if Dorothy had been in Tavia’s financial situation Garry Knapp would never have left New York without first learning whether or not there was any possible chance of his winning the girl he knew he loved.
Now it was revealed to him that he had that chance—and bitterly did he regret the knowledge. For he gained it at the cost of his peace of mind.
It is one thing to long for the object forbidden us; it is quite another thing to know that we may claim that longed-for object if honor did not interfere. To Garry Knapp’s mind he could not meet what was Dorothy Dale’s perfectly proper advances, and keep his own self-respect.
Were he more sanguine, or a more imaginative young man, he might have done so. But Garry Knapp’s head was filled with hard, practical common sense. Young men and more often young girls allow themselves to become engaged with little thought for the future. Garry was not that kind. Suppose Dorothy Dale did accept his attentions and was willing to wait for him until he could win out in some line of industrial endeavor that would afford the competence that he believed he should possess before marrying a girl used to the luxuries Dorothy was used to, Garry Knapp felt it would be wrong to accept the sacrifice.
The chances of business life, especially for a young man with the small experience and the small capital he would have, were too great. To “tie a girl up” under such circumstances was a thing Garry could not contemplate and keep his self-respect. He would not, he told himself, be led even to admit by word or look that he desired to be Dorothy’s suitor.
To hide this desire during the few days he remained at The Cedars was the hardest task Garry Knapp had ever undertaken. If Dorothy was demure and modest she was likewise determined. Her happiness, she felt, was at stake and although she could but admire the attitude Garry held upon this momentous question she did not feel that he was right.
“Why, what does it matter about money—mere money?” she said one night to Tavia, confessing everything when her chum had crept into her bed with her after the lights were out. “I believe I care for money less than he does.”
“You bet you do!” ejaculated Tavia, vigorously. “Just at present that young cowboy person is caring more for money than Ananias did. Money looks bigger to him than anything else in the world. With money he could have you, Doro Doodlekins—don’t you see?”
“But he can have me without!” wailed Dorothy, burying her head in the pillow.
“Oh, no he can’t,” Tavia said wisely and quietly. “You know he can’t. If you could tempt him to throw up his principles in the matter, you know very well, Doro, that you would be heartbroken.”
“What?”
“Yes you would. You wouldn’t want a young man dangling after you who had thrown aside his self-respect for a girl. Now, would you?” And without waiting for an answer she continued: “Not that I approve of his foolishness. Some menarethat way, however. Thank heaven I am not a man.”
“Oh! I’m glad you’re not, either,” confessed Dorothy with her soft lips now against Tavia’s cheek.
“Thank you, ma’am. I have often thought I’d like to be of the hemale persuasion; but never, no more!” declared Tavia, with vigor. “SupposeIshould then be afflicted with an ingrowing conscience about taking money from the woman I married? Whe-e-e-ew!”
“He wouldn’t have to,” murmured Dorothy, burying her head again and speaking in a muffled voice. “I’d give up the money.”
“And if he had any sense or unselfishness at all he wouldn’t let you dothat,” snapped Tavia. “No. You couldn’t get along without much money now, Dorothy.”
“Nonsense——”
“It is the truth. I know I should be hopelessly unhappy myself if I had to go home and live again just as they do there. I have been spoiled,” said Tavia, her voice growing lugubrious. “I want wealth—luxuries—and everything good that money buys. Yes, Doro, when it comesmytime to become engaged, I must get a wealthy man or none at all. I shall be put up at auction——”
“Tavia! How you talk! Ridiculous!” exclaimed Dorothy. “You talk like a heathen.”
“Am one when it comes to money matters,” groaned the girl. “I have got to marry money——”
“If Nat White were as poor as a church mouse, you’d marry him in a minute!”
“Oh—er—well,” sighed Tavia, “Nat is not going to ask me, I am afraid.”
“He would in a minute if you’d tell him about those Lance Petterby letters.”
“Don’t you dare tell him, Dorothy Dale!” exclaimed Tavia, almost in fear. “You must not. Now, promise.”
“I have promised,” her friend said gloomily.
“And see that you stick to it. I know,” said Tavia, “that I could bring Nat back to me by explaining. But there should be no need of explaining. He should know that—that—oh, well, what’s the use of talking! It’s all off!” and Tavia flounced around and buried her nose in the pillow.
Dorothy’s wits were at work, however. In the morning she “put a flea in Ned’s ear,” as Tavia would have said, and Ned hurried off to the telegraph office to send a day letter to his brother. Dorothy did not censor that telegraph despatch or this section of it would never have gone over the wire:
“Come back home and take a squint at the cowboy D. has picked out for herself.”
“Come back home and take a squint at the cowboy D. has picked out for herself.”