"Neither would I. That's just the same wayIlook at it, Herbert. If I ever begin to treat her any better, she's got my father and mother to thank, not me. That's the only reasonI'dbe willing to saywe better leave the plank down and let her in, if she comes around here like she's liable to."
"Well," said Herbert. "I'mwilling. I don't want to get in trouble with the family."
And they mounted the stairs to their editorial, reportorial, and printing rooms; and began to work in a manner not only preoccupied but apprehensive. At intervals they would give each other a furtive glance, and then seem to reflect upon their fathers' and mothers' wishes and the troublous state of the times. Florence did not keep them waiting long, however.
She might have been easier to bear had her manner of arrival been less assured. She romped up the stairs, came skipping across the old floor, swinging her hat by a ribbon, flung open the gate in the sacred railing, and, flouncing into the principal chair, immodestly placed her feet on the table in front of that chair. Additionally, such was her lively humour, she affected to light and smoke the stub of a lead pencil. "Well, men," she said heartily, "I don't want to see any loafin' around here, men. I expect I'll have a pretty good newspaper this week; yes, sir, a pretty good newspaper, and I guess you men got to jump around a good deal to do everythingI think of, or else maybe I guess I'll have to turn you off. I don't want to haf to do that, men."
The blackmailed partners made no reply, on account of an inability that was perfect for the moment. They stared at her helplessly, though not kindly; for in their expressions the conflict between desire and policy was almost staringly vivid. And such was their preoccupation, each with the bitterness of his own case, that neither wondered at the other's strange complaisance.
Florence made it clear to them that henceforth she was the editor ofThe North End Daily Oriole. (She said she had decided not to change the name.) She informed them that they were to be her printers; she did not care to get all inky and nasty herself, she said. She would, however, do all the writing for her newspaper, and had with her a new poem. Also, she would furnish all the news and it would be printed just as she wrote it, and printednicely, too, or else——She left the sentence unfinished.
Thus did this cool hand take possession of an established industry, and in much the same fashion did she continue to manage it. There were unsuppressible protests; there was covert anguish; there was even a strike—but it was a short one.When the printers remained away from their late Newspaper Building, on Wednesday afternoon, Florence had an interview with Herbert after dinner at his own door. He explained coldly that Henry and he had grown tired of the printing-press and had decided to put in all their spare time building a theatre in Henry's attic; but Florence gave him to understand that the theatre could not be; she preferred theOriole.
Henry and Herbert had both stopped "speaking" to Patty Fairchild, for each believed her treacherous to himself; but Florence now informed Herbert that far from depending on mere hearsay, she had in her own possession the confession of his knowledge that he had ocular beauty; that she had discovered the paper where Patty had lost it; and that it was now in a secure place, and in an envelope, upon the outside of which was already written, "For Wallie Torbin. Kindness of Florence A."
Herbert surrendered.
So did Henry Rooter, a little later that evening, after a telephoned conversation with the slave-driver.
Therefore, the two miserable printers were back in their places the next afternoon. They told each other that the theatre they had planned wasn't somuch after all; and anyhow your father and mother didn't last all your life, and it was better to do what they wanted, and be polite while they were alive.
And on Saturday the newOriole, now in every jot and item the inspired organ of feminism, made its undeniably sensational appearance.
A copy, neatly folded, was placed in the hand of Noble Dill, as he set forth for his place of business, after lunching at home with his mother. Florence was the person who placed it there; she came hurriedly from somewhere in the neighbourhood, out of what yard or alley he did not notice, and slipped the little oblong sheet into his lax fingers.
"There!" she said breathlessly. "There's a good deal about you in it this week, Mr. Dill, and I guess—I guess——"
"What, Florence?"
"I guess maybe you'll——" She looked up at him shyly; then, with no more to say, turned and ran back in the direction whence she had come. Noble walked on, not at once examining her little gift, but carrying it absently in fingers still lax at the end of a dangling arm. There was no life in him for anything. Julia was away.
Away! And yet the dazzling creature looked athim from sky, from earth, from air; looked at him with the most poignant kindness, yet always shook her head! She had answered his first letter by a kind little note, his second by a kinder and littler one, and his third, fourth, fifth, and sixth by no note at all; but by the kindest message (through one of her aunts) that she was thinking about him a great deal. And even this was three weeks ago. Since then from Julia—nothing at all!
But yesterday something a little stimulating had happened. On the street, downtown, he had come face to face, momentarily, with Julia's father; and for the first time in Noble's life Mr. Atwater nodded to him pleasantly. Noble went on his way, elated. Was there not something almost fatherly in this strange greeting?
An event so singular might be interpreted in the happiest way: What had Julia written her father, to change him so toward Noble? And Noble was still dreamily interpreting as he walked down the street withThe North End Daily Orioleidle in an idle hand.
He found a use for that hand presently, and, having sighed, lifted it to press it upon his brow, but did not complete the gesture. As his hand came withinthe scope of his gaze, levelled on the unfathomable distance, he observed that the fingers held a sheet of printed paper; and he remembered Florence. Instead of pressing his brow he unfolded the journal she had thrust upon him. As he began to read, his eye was lustreless, his gait slack and dreary; but soon his whole demeanour changed, it cannot be said for the better.
THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLEAtwater & Co., Owners & PropietorsSubscribe NOW 25 cents Per. Year. Sub-scriptions should be brought to the EastMain Entrance of Atwater & Co., News-paper Building every afternoon430 to VI 25 CentsPOEMSMy Soul by Florence AtwaterWhen my heart is drearyThen my soul is wearyAs a bird with a broken wingWho never again will singLike the sound of a vast amenThat comes from a church of men.When my soul is drearyIt could never be cheeryBut I think of my idealAnd everything seems realLike the sound of the bright church bells peal.Poems by Florence Atwater will be inthe paper each and every Sat.Advertisements 45c. each UpJoseph K. Atwater Co.127 South Iowa St.Steam PumpsThe News of the City__________Miss Florence Atwater of tHis Cityreceived a mark of 94 in History Examinationat the concusion of the school Term last June.Blue hair ribbons are in style again.Miss Patty Fairchild of this City has notbeen doing as well in Declamation latelyas formerly.MR. Noble Dill of this City is seldomseen on the streets of the City withoutsmoking a cigarette.Miss Julia Atwater of this City is outof the City.The MR. Rayfort family of this Cityhave been presentde with the presentof a new Cat by Geo. the man employeD byBalf & CO. This cat is perfectlybaeutiful and still quit young.Miss Julia Atwater of this City is visitingfriends in the Soth. The family have hadmany letters from her that are read by eachand all of the famild.Mr. Noble Dill of this City is in businesswith his Father.There was quite a wind storm Thursday doingdamage to shade trees in many parts of ourbeautiful City.From Letters to the family Miss JuliaAtwater of this City is enjoying her visitin the south a greadeal.Miss Patty Fairchild of the 7 A of thisCity, will probably not pass in ARithmetiC—unlessgreat improvement takes place beforeExamination.Miss Julia Atwater of this City wrote aletter to the family stating while visitingin the SOuth she has made an engagementto be married to MR. Crum of that City.The family do not know who this MR. Crumis but It is said he is a widower thoughhe has been diVorced with a great manychildren.The new ditch of the MR. Henry D. Vance,backyard of this City is about throughnow as little remain to be done and it isthought the beighborhood will son lookbetter. Subscribe NOW 25c. Per Year Adv.45c. up. Atwater & Co. Newspaper Building25 Cents Per Years.
THE NORTH END DAILY ORIOLEAtwater & Co., Owners & PropietorsSubscribe NOW 25 cents Per. Year. Sub-scriptions should be brought to the EastMain Entrance of Atwater & Co., News-paper Building every afternoon430 to VI 25 CentsPOEMSMy Soul by Florence AtwaterWhen my heart is drearyThen my soul is wearyAs a bird with a broken wingWho never again will singLike the sound of a vast amenThat comes from a church of men.When my soul is drearyIt could never be cheeryBut I think of my idealAnd everything seems realLike the sound of the bright church bells peal.Poems by Florence Atwater will be inthe paper each and every Sat.Advertisements 45c. each UpJoseph K. Atwater Co.127 South Iowa St.Steam Pumps
The News of the City__________
Miss Florence Atwater of tHis Cityreceived a mark of 94 in History Examinationat the concusion of the school Term last June.Blue hair ribbons are in style again.Miss Patty Fairchild of this City has notbeen doing as well in Declamation latelyas formerly.MR. Noble Dill of this City is seldomseen on the streets of the City withoutsmoking a cigarette.Miss Julia Atwater of this City is outof the City.The MR. Rayfort family of this Cityhave been presentde with the presentof a new Cat by Geo. the man employeD byBalf & CO. This cat is perfectlybaeutiful and still quit young.Miss Julia Atwater of this City is visitingfriends in the Soth. The family have hadmany letters from her that are read by eachand all of the famild.Mr. Noble Dill of this City is in businesswith his Father.There was quite a wind storm Thursday doingdamage to shade trees in many parts of ourbeautiful City.From Letters to the family Miss JuliaAtwater of this City is enjoying her visitin the south a greadeal.Miss Patty Fairchild of the 7 A of thisCity, will probably not pass in ARithmetiC—unlessgreat improvement takes place beforeExamination.Miss Julia Atwater of this City wrote aletter to the family stating while visitingin the SOuth she has made an engagementto be married to MR. Crum of that City.The family do not know who this MR. Crumis but It is said he is a widower thoughhe has been diVorced with a great manychildren.The new ditch of the MR. Henry D. Vance,backyard of this City is about throughnow as little remain to be done and it isthought the beighborhood will son lookbetter. Subscribe NOW 25c. Per Year Adv.45c. up. Atwater & Co. Newspaper Building25 Cents Per Years.
It may be assumed that the last of the news items was wasted upon Noble Dill and that he never knew of the neighbourhood improvement believed to be imminent as a result of the final touches to the ditch of the Mr. Henry D. Vance backyard.
Throughout that afternoon adult members of the Atwater family connection made futile efforts to secure all the copies of the week's edition ofThe North End Daily Oriole. It could not be done.
It was a trying time for "the family." Great Aunt Carrie said that she had the "worst afternoon of any of 'em," because young Newland Sanders came to her house at two and did not leave until five; all the time counting over, one by one, the hours he'd spent with Julia since she was seventeen and turned out, unfortunately, to be a Beauty. Newland had not restrained himself, Aunt Carrie said, and long before he left she wished Julia had never been born—and as for Herbert Illingsworth Atwater, Junior, the only thing to do with him was to send him to some strict Military School.
Florence's father telephoned to her mother from downtown at three, and said that Mr. George Plum and the ardent vocalist, Clairdyce, had just left hisoffice. They had not called in company, however, but coincidentally; and each had a copy ofThe North End Daily Oriole, already somewhat worn with folding and unfolding. Mr. Clairdyce's condition was one of desperate calm, Florence's father said, but Mr. Plum's agitation left him rather unpresentable for the street, though he had finally gone forth with his hair just as he had rumpled it, and with his hat in his hand. They wished the truth, they said: Was it true or was it not true? Mr. Atwater had told them that he feared Julia was indeed engaged, though he knew nothing of her fiancé's previous marriage or marriages, or of the number of his children. They had responded that they cared nothing about that. This man Crum's record was a matter of indifference to them, they said. All they wanted to know was whether Julia was engaged or not—and she was!
"The odd thing tome," Mr. Atwater continued to his wife, "is where on earth Herbert could have got his story about this Crum's being a widower, and divorced, and with all those children. Do you know if Julia's written any of the family about these things and they haven't told the rest of us?"
"No," said Mrs. Atwater. "I'm sure she hasn't.Every letter she's written to any of us has passed all through the family, and I know I've seen every one of 'em. She's never said anything about him at all, except that he was a lawyer. I'm sureIcan't imagine where Herbert got his awful information; I never thought he was the kind of boy to just make up such things out of whole cloth."
Florence, sitting quietly in a chair near by, with a copy of "Sesame and Lilies" in her lap, listened to her mother's side of this conversation with an expression of impersonal interest; and if she could have realized how completely her parents had forgotten (naturally enough) the details of their first rambling discussion of Julia's engagement, she might really have felt as little alarm as she showed.
"Well," said Mr. Atwater, "I'm gladourbranch of the family isn't responsible. That's a comfort, anyhow, especially as people are reading copies of Herbert's dreadful paper all up and down the town, my clerk says. He tells me that over at the Unity Trust Company, where young Murdock Hawes is cashier, they only got hold of one copy, but typewrote it and multigraphed it, and some of 'em have already learned it by heart to recite to poor young Hawes. He's the one who sent Julia the three fivepoundboxes of chocolates from New York all at the same time, you remember."
"Yes," Mrs. Atwater sighed. "Poor thing!"
"Florence is out among the family, I suppose?" he inquired.
"No; she's right here. She's just started to read Ruskin this afternoon. She says she's going to begin and read all of him straight through. That's very nice, don't you think?"
He seemed to muse before replying.
"I think that's very nice, at her age especially," Mrs. Atwater urged. "Don't you?"
"Ye-es! Oh, yes! At least I suppose so. Ah—you don't think—of course she hasn't had anything at all to do with this?"
"Well, I don'tseehow she could. You know Aunt Fanny told us how Herbert declared before them all, only last Sunday night, that Florence should never have one thing to do with his printing-press, and said they wouldn't even let her come near it."
"Yes, that's a fact. I'm glad Herbert made it so clear that she can't be implicated. I suppose the family are all pretty well down on Uncle Joseph?"
"Uncle Joseph is being greatly blamed," said Mrs. Atwater primly. "He really ought to haveknown better than to put such an instrument as a printing-press into the hands of an irresponsible boy of that age. Of course it simply encouraged him to print all kinds of things. We none of us think Uncle Joseph ever dreamed that Herbert would publish, anything exactly likethis, and of course Uncle Joseph says himself he never dreamed such a thing; he's said so time and time and time again, all afternoon. But of course he's greatly blamed."
"I suppose there've been quite a good many of 'em over there blaming him?" her husband inquired.
"Yes—until he telephoned to a garage and hired a car and went for a drive. He said he had plenty of money with him and didn't know when he'd be back."
"Serves him right," said Mr. Atwater. "Does anybody know where Herbert is?"
"Not yet!"
"Well——" and he returned to a former theme. "Iamglad we aren't implicated. Florence is right there with you, you say?"
"Yes," Mrs. Atwater replied. "She's right here, reading. You aren't worried about her, are you?" she added.
"Oh, no; I'm sure it's all right. I only thought——"
"Only thought what?"
"Well, itdidstrike me as curious," said Mr. Atwater; "especially after Aunt Fanny's telling us how Herbert declared Florence could never have a single thing to do with his paper again——"
"Well, what?"
"Well, here's her poem right at the top of it, and averyfriendly item about her history mark of last June. It doesn't seem like Herbert to be so complimentary to Florence, all of a sudden. Just struck me as rather curious; that's all."
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Atwater, "it does seem a little odd, when you think of it."
"Have youaskedFlorence if she had anything to do with getting out this week'sOriole?"
"Why, no; it never occurred to me, especially after what Aunt Fanny told us," said Mrs. Atwater. "I'll ask her now."
But she was obliged to postpone putting the intended question. "Sesame and Lilies" lay sweetly upon the seat of the chair that Florence had occupied; but Florence herself had gone somewhere else.
She had gone for a long, long ramble; and pedestrianswho encountered her, and happened to notice her expression, were interested; and as they went on their way several of them interrupted the course of their meditations to say to themselves that she was the most thoughtful looking young girl they had ever seen. There was a touch of wistfulness about her, too; as of one whose benevolence must renounce all hope of comprehension and reward.
Now, among those who observed her unusual expression was a gentleman of great dimensions disposed in a closed automobile that went labouring among mudholes in an unpaved outskirt of the town. He rapped upon the glass before him, to get the driver's attention, and a moment later the car drew up beside Florence, as she stood in a deep reverie at the intersection of two roads.
Uncle Joseph opened the door and took his cigar from his mouth. "Get in, Florence," he said. "I'll take you for a ride." She started violently; whereupon he restored the cigar to his mouth, puffed upon it, breathing heavily the while as was his wont, and added, "I'm not going home. I'm out for a nice long ride. Get in."
"I was takin' a walk," she said dubiously. "I haf to take a whole lot of exercise, and I ought to walkand walk and walk. I guess I ought to keep on walkin'."
"Get in," he said. "I'm out riding. I don't knowwhenI'll get home!"
Florence stepped in, Uncle Joseph closed the door, and the car slowly bumped onward.
"You know where Herbert is?" Uncle Joseph inquired.
"No," said Florence, in a gentle voice.
"I do," he said. "Herbert and your friend Henry Rooter came to our house with one of the last copies of theOriolethey were distributing to subscribers; and after I read it I kind of foresaw that the feller responsible for their owning a printing-press was going to be in some sort of family trouble or other. I had quite a talk with 'em and they hinted they hadn't had much to do with this number of the paper, except the mechanical end of it; but they wouldn't come out right full with what they meant. They seemed to have some good reason for protecting a third party, and said quite a good deal about their fathers and mothers being but mortal and so on; so Henry and Herbert thought they oughtn't to expose this third party—whoever she may happen to be. Well, I thought they better not staytoo long, because I was compromised enough already, without being seen in their company; and I gave 'em something to help 'em out with at the movies. You can stay at movies an awful long time, and if you've got money enough to go to several of 'em, why, you're fixed for pretty near as long as you please. A body ought to be able to live a couple o' months at the movies for nine or ten dollars, I should think."
He was silent for a time, then asked, "I don't suppose your papa and mamma will be worrying about you, will they, Florence?"
"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "Not in the least! There was nothin' at all for me to do at our house this afternoon."
"That's good," he said, "because before we go back I was thinking some of driving around by way of Texas."
Florence looked at him trustfully and said nothing. It seemed to her that he suspected something; she was not sure; but his conversation was a little peculiar, though not in the least sinister. Indeed she was able to make out that he had more the air of an accomplice than of a prosecutor or a detective. Nevertheless, she was convinced that far, far the best course for her to pursue, during the next few days, wouldbe one of steadfast reserve. And such a course was congenial to her mood, which was subdued, not to say apprehensive; though she was sure her recent conduct, if viewed sympathetically, would be found at least Christian. The trouble was that probably it would not be viewed sympathetically. No one would understand how carefully and tactfully she had prepared the items of theOrioleto lead suavely up to the news of Aunt Julia's engagement and break it to Noble Dill in a manner that would save his reason.
Therefore, on account of this probable lack of comprehension on the part of the family and public, it seemed to her that the only wise and good course to follow would be to claim nothing for herself, but to allow Herbert and Henry to remain undisturbed in full credit for publishing theOriole. This involved a disappointment, it is true; nevertheless, she decided to bear it.
She had looked forward to surprising "the family" delightfully. As they fluttered in exclamation about her, she had expected to say, "Oh, thepoemisn't so much, I guess—I wrote it quite a few days ago and I'm writing a couple new ones now—but I did take quite a lot o' time and trouble with the rest ofthe paper, because I had to write every single word of it, or else let Henry and Herbert try to, and 'course they'd just of ruined it. Oh, it isn't so much to talk about, I guess; it just sort ofcomesto me to do things that way."
Thirteen attempts to exercise a great philanthropy, and every grown person in sight, with the possible exception of Great-Uncle Joseph, goes into wholly unanticipated fits of horror. Cause and effect have no honest relation: Fate operates without justice or even rational sequence; life and the universe appear to be governed, not in order and with system, but by Chance, becoming sinister at any moment without reason.
And while Florence, thus a pessimist, sat beside fat Uncle Joseph during their long, long drive, relatives of hers were indeed going into fits; at least, so Florence would have described their gestures and incoherences of comment. Moreover, after the movies, straight into such a fitful scene did the luckless Herbert walk when urged homeward by thoughts of food, at about six that evening. Henry Rooter had strongly advised him against entering the house.
"You better not," he said earnestly. "Honest, you better not, Herbert!"
"Well, we got apple dumplings for dinner," Herbert said, his tone showing the strain of mental uncertainty. "Eliza told me this morning we were goin' to have 'em. I kind of hate to go in, but I guess I better, Henry."
"Youwon't see any apple dumplings," Henry predicted.
"Well, I believe I better try it, Henry."
"You better come home with me. My father and mother'll be perfectly willing to have you."
"I know that," said Herbert. "But I guess I better go in and try it, anyhow, Henry. I didn't have anything to do with what's in theOriole. It's every last word ole Florence's doing. I haven't got any more right to be picked on for that than a child."
"Yes," Henry admitted. "But if you go and tell 'em so, I bet she'd get even with you some way that would probably getmein trouble, too, before we get through with the job.Iwouldn't tell 'em if I was you, Herbert!"
"Well, I wasn't intending to," Herbert responded gloomily; and the thought of each, unknown to the other, was the same, consisting of a symbolic likeness of Wallie Torbin at his worst. "Ioughtto tellon Florence; by rights I ought," said Herbert; "but I've decided I won't. There's no tellin' what she wouldn't do. Not that she could do anything tome, particyourly——"
"Nor me, either," his friend interposed hurriedly. "I don't worry about anything like that! Still, if I was you I wouldn't tell. She's only a girl, we got to remember."
"Yes," said Herbert. "That's the wayIlook at it, Henry; and the way I look at it is just simply this: long as sheisa girl, why, simply let her go. You can't tell what she'd do, and so what's the use to go and tell on a girl?"
"That's the wayIlook at it," Henry agreed. "What's the use? If I was in your place, I'd act just the same way you do."
"Well," said Herbert, "I guess I better go on in the house, Henry. It's a good while after dark."
"You're makin' a big mistake!" Henry Rooter called after him. "Youwon't see any apple dumplings, I bet a hunderd dollars! You better come on home with me."
Herbert no more than half opened his front door before he perceived that his friend's advice had been excellent. So clearly Herbert perceived this,that he impulsively decided not to open the door any farther, but on the contrary to close it and retire; and he would have done so, had his mother not reached forth and detained him. She was, in fact, just inside that door, standing in the hall with one of his great-aunts, one of his aunts, two aunts-by-marriage, and an elderly unmarried cousin, who were all just on the point of leaving. However, they changed their minds and decided to remain, now that Herbert was among them.
The captive's father joined them, a few minutes later, but it had already become clear to Herbert thatThe North End Daily Oriolewas in one sense a thing of the past, though in another sense this former owner and proprietor was certain that he would never hear the last of it. However, on account of the life of blackmail and slavery now led by the members of the old régime, theOriole'sextinction was far less painful to Herbert than his father supposed; and the latter wasted a great deal of severity, insisting that the printing-press should be returned that very night to Uncle Joseph. Herbert's heartiest retrospective wish was that the ole printing-press had been returned to Uncle Joseph long ago.
"If you can find him to give it to!" Aunt Harrietsuggested. "Nobodyknowswhere he goes when he gets the way he did this afternoon when we were discussing it with him! I only hope he'll be back to-night!"
"He can't stay away forever," Aunt Fanny remarked. "That garage is charging him five dollars an hour for the automobile he's in, and surely even Joseph will decide there's a limit to wildnesssometime!"
"I don't care when he comes back," Herbert's father declared grimly. "Whenever he does he's got to take that printing-press back—and Herbert will be let out of the house long enough to carry it over. His mother or I will go with him."
Herbert bore much more than this. He had seated himself on the third step of the stairway, and maintained as much dogged silence as he could. Once, however, they got a yelp of anguish out of him. It was when Cousin Virginia said: "Oh, Herbert, Herbert! How could you make up that terrible falsehood about Mr. Crum? And,thinkof it; right on the same page with your cousin Florence's pure little poem!"
Herbert uttered sounds incoherent but loud, and expressive of a supreme physical revulsion. Theshocked audience readily understood that he liked neither Cousin Virginia's chiding nor Cousin Florence's pure little poem.
"Shame!" said his father.
Herbert controlled himself. It could be seen that his spirit was broken, when Aunt Fanny mourned, shaking her head at him, smiling ruefully:
"Oh, if boys could only be girls!"
Herbert just looked at her.
"The worst thing," said his father;—"that is, if there's any part of it that's worse than another—the worst thing about it all is this rumour about Noble Dill."
"What about that poor thing?" Aunt Harriet asked. "We haven't heard."
"Why, I walked up from downtown with old man Dill," said Mr. Atwater, "and the Dill family are all very much worried. It seems that Noble started downtown after lunch, as usual, and pretty soon he came back to the house and he had a copy of this awful paper that little Florence had given him, and——"
"Whogave it to him?" Aunt Fanny asked. "Who?"
"Little Florence."
"Why, that's curious," Cousin Virginia murmured. "I must telephone and ask her mother about that."
The brooding Herbert looked up, and there was a gleam in his dogged eye; but he said nothing.
"Go on," Aunt Harriet urged. "What did Noble do?"
"Why, his mother said he just went up to his room and changed his shoes and necktie——"
"I thought so," Aunt Fanny whispered. "Crazy!"
"And then," Mr. Atwater continued, "he left the house and she supposed he'd gone down to the office; but she was uneasy, and telephoned his father. Noble hadn't come. He didn't come all afternoon, and he didn't go back to the house; and they telephoned around to every place hecouldgo that they know of, and they couldn't find him or hear anything about him at all—not anywhere." Mr. Atwater coughed, and paused.
"But what," Aunt Harriet cried;—"whatdo they think's become of him?"
"Old man Dill said they were all pretty anxious," said Mr. Atwater. "They're afraid Noble has—they're afraid he's disappeared."
Aunt Fanny screamed.
Then, in perfect accord, they all turned to look at Herbert, who rose and would have retired upstairs had he been permitted.
As that perturbing evening wore on, word gradually reached the most outlying members of the Atwater family connection that Noble Dill was missing. Ordinarily, this bit of news would have caused them no severe anxiety. Noble's person and intellect were so commonplace—"insignificant" was the term usually preferred in his own circle—that he was considered to be as nearly negligible as it is charitable to consider a fellow-being. True, there was one thing that set him apart; he was found worthy of a superlative when he fell in love with Julia; and of course this distinction caused him to become better known and more talked about than he had been in his earlier youth.
However, the eccentricities of a person in such an extremity of love are seldom valued except as comedy, and even then with no warmth of heart for the comedian, but rather with an incredulous disdain; so it is safe to say that under other circumstances, Noble might have been missing, indeed, and few of the Atwaters would have missed him. But as matters stood they worried a great deal about him,fearing that a rash act on his part might reflect notoriety upon themselves on account of their beautiful relative—andThe North End Daily Oriole. And when nine o'clock came and Mrs. Dill reported to Herbert's father, over the telephone, that nothing had yet been heard of her son, the pressure of those who were blaming theOriolemore than they blamed Julia became so wearing that Herbert decided he would rather spend the remaining days of his life running away from Wallie Torbin than put in any more of such a dog's evening as hewasputting in. Thus he defined it.
He made a confession; that is to say, it was a proclamation. He proclaimed his innocence. He began history with a description of events distinctly subsequent to Sunday pastimes with Patty Fairchild, and explained how he and Henry had felt that their parents would not always be with them, and as their parents wished them to be polite, they had resolved to be polite to Florence. Proceeding, he related in detail her whole journalistic exploit.
Of the matter in hand he told the perfect and absolute truth—and was immediately refuted, confuted, and demonstrated to be a false witness by Aunt Fanny, Aunt Carrie, and Cousin Virginia, who hadall heard him vehemently declare, no longer ago than the preceding Sunday evening, that he and his partner had taken secure measures to prevent Florence from ever again setting foot within the Newspaper Building. In addition, he was quite showered with definitions; and these, though so various, all sought to phrase but the one subject: his conduct in seeking to drag Florence into the mire, when she was absent and could not defend herself. Poor Florence would answer later in the evening, he was told severely; and though her cause was thus championed against the slander, it is true that some of her defenders felt stirrings of curiosity in regard to Florence. In fact, there was getting to be something almost like a cloud upon her reputation. There were several things for her to explain;—among them, her taking it upon herself to see that Noble received a copy of theOriole, and also her sudden departure from home and rather odd protraction of absence therefrom. It was not thought she was in good company. Uncle Joseph had telephoned from a suburb that they were dining at a farmhouse and would thence descend to the general region of the movies.
"Nobodyknows what that man'll do, when hedecides to!" Aunt Carrie said nervously. "Letting the poor child stay up so late! She ought to be in bed this minute, even if it is Saturday night! Or else she ought to be here to listen to her own bad little cousin trying to put his terrible responsibility on her shoulders."
One item of this description of himself the badgered Herbert could not bear in silence, although he had just declared that since the truth was so ill-respected among his persecutors he would open his mouth no more until the day of his death. He passed over "bad," but furiously stated his height in feet, inches, and fractions of inches.
Aunt Fanny shook her head in mourning. "That may be, Herbert," she said gently. "But you must try to realize it can't bring poor young Mr. Dill back to his family."
Again Herbert just looked at her. He had no indifference more profound than that upon which her strained conception of the relation between cause and effect seemed to touch;—from his point of view, to be missing should be the lightest of calamities. It is true that he was concerned with the restoration of Noble Dill to the rest of the Dills so far as such an event might affect his own incomparablemisfortunes, but not otherwise. He regarded Noble and Noble's disappearance merely as unfair damage to himself, and he continued to look at this sorrowing great-aunt of his until his thoughts made his strange gaze appear to her so hardened that she shook her head and looked away.
"Poor young Mr. Dill!" she said. "If someone could only have been with him and kept talking to him until he got used to the idea a little!"
Cousin Virginia nodded comprehendingly. "Yes, it might have tided him over," she said. "He wasn't handsome, nor impressive, of course, nor anything like that, but he always spoke so nicely to people on the street. I'm sure he never harmed even a kitten, poor soul!"
"I'm sure he never did," Herbert's mother agreed gently. "Not even a kitten. I do wonder where he is now."
But Aunt Fanny uttered a little cry of protest. "I'm afraid we may hear!" she said. "Any moment!"
These sympathetic women had unanimously set their expectation in so romantically pessimistic a groove that the most tragic news of Noble would have surprised them little. But if the truth of his whereabouts could have been made known to them, as they sat thus together at what was developing virtually into his wake, with Herbert as a compulsory participant, they would have turned the session into a riot of amazement. Noble was in the very last place (they would have said, when calmer) where anybody in the world could have even madly dreamed of looking for him! They would have been right about it. No one could have expected to find Noble to-night inside the old, four-square brick house of H. I. Atwater, Senior, chief of the Atwaters and father of too gentle Julia. Moreover, Mr. Atwater himself was not at present in the house; he had closed and locked it the day before, giving the servants a week's vacation and telling them not to return till he sent for them; and he hadthen gone out of town to look over a hominy-mill he thought of buying. And yet, as the wake went on, there was a light in the house, and under that light sat Noble Dill.
Returning home, after Florence had placed the shattering paper within his hand, Noble had changed his shoes and his tie. He was but a mechanism; he had no motive. The shoes he put on were no better than those he took off; the fresh tie was no lovelier than the one he had worn; nor had it even the lucidity to be a purple one, as the banner of grief. No; his action was, if so viewed, "crazy," as Aunt Fanny had called it. Agitation first took this form; that was all. Love and change of dress are so closely allied; and in happier days, when Noble had come home from work and would see Julia in the evening, he usually changed his clothes. No doubt there is some faint tracery here, probably too indistinct to repay contemplation.
When he left the house he walked rapidly downtown, and toward the end of this one-mile journey he ran; but as he was then approaching the railway station, no one thought him eccentric. He was, however, for when he entered the station he went to a bench and sat looking upward for more thanten minutes before he rose, went to a ticket window and asked for a time-table.
"What road?" the clerk inquired.
"All points South," said Noble.
He placed the time-table, still folded, in his pocket, rested an elbow on the brass apron of the window, and would have given himself up to reflections, though urged to move away. Several people, wishing to buy tickets, had formed a line behind him; they perceived that Noble had nothing more to say to the clerk, and the latter encouraged their protests, even going so far as to inquire: "For heaven's sakes, can't you let these folk buy their tickets?" And since Noble still did not move: "My gosh, haven't you got nofeet?"
"Feet? Oh, yes," said Noble gently. "I'm going away." And went back to his seat.
Afterwhile, he sought to study his time-table. Ordinarily, his mind was one of those able to decipher and comprehend railway time-tables; he had few gifts, but this was one of them. It failed him now; so he wandered back to the ticket-window, and, after urgent coaching, eventually took his place at the end instead of at the head of the line that waited there. In his turn he came again to the window, and departedfrom it after a conversation with the clerk that left the latter in accord with Aunt Fanny Atwater's commiserating adjective, though the clerk's own pity was expressed in argot. "The poor nut!" he explained to his next client. "Wants to buy a ticket on a train that don't pull out until ten thirty-five to-night; and me fillin' it all out, stampin' it and everything, what for? Turned out all his pockets and couldn't come within eight dollars o' the price! Where you want to go?"
Noble went back to his bench and sat there for a long time, though there was no time, long or short, for him. He was not yet consciously suffering; nor was he thinking at all. True, he had a dim, persistent impulse to action—or why should he be at the station?—but for the clearest expression of his condition it is necessary to borrow a culinary symbol; he was jelling. But the state of shock was slowly dispersing, while a perception of approaching anguish as slowly increased. He was beginning to swallow nothing at intervals and the intervals were growing shorter.
Dusk was misting down, outdoors, when with dragging steps he came out of the station. He looked hazily up and down the street, where thecorner-lamps and shop-windows now were lighted; and, after dreary hesitation, he went in search of a pawn-shop, and found one. The old man who operated it must have been a philanthropist, for Noble was so fortunate as to secure a loan of nine dollars upon his watch. Surprised at this, he returned to the station, and went back to the same old bench.
It was fully occupied, and he stood for some time looking with vague reproach at the large family of coloured people who had taken it. He had a feeling that he lived there and that these coloured people were trespassers; but upon becoming aware that part of an orange was being rubbed over his left shoe by the youngest of the children, he groaned abruptly and found another bench.
A little after six o'clock a clanging and commotion in the train-shed outside, attending the arrival of a "through express," stirred him from his torpor, and he walked heavily across the room to the same ticket-window he had twice blocked; but there was no queue attached to it now. He rested his elbow upon the apron and his chin upon his hand, while the clerk waited until he should state his wishes. This was a new clerk, who had just relieved the other.
"Well! Well!" he said at last.
"I'll take it now," Noble responded.
"What'll you take now?"
"That ticket."
"What ticket?"
"The same one I wanted before," Noble sighed.
The clerk gave him a piercing look, glanced out of the window and saw that there were no other clients, then went to a desk at the farther end of his compartment, and took up some clerical work he had in hand.
Noble leaned upon the apron of the window, waiting; and if he thought anything, he thought the man was serving him.
The high, vaulted room became resonant with voices and the blurred echoes of mingling footsteps on the marble floor, as passengers from the express hurried anxiously to the street, or more gaily straggled through, shouting with friends who came to greet them; and among these moving groups there walked a youthful fine lady noticeably enlivening to the dullest eye. She was preceded by a brisk porter who carried two travelling-bags of a rich sort, as well as a sack of implements for the game of golf; and she was warm in dark furs, against which the vastyclump of violets she wore showed dewy gleamings of blue.
At sight of Noble Dill, more than pensive at the ticket-window, she hesitated, then stopped and observed him. That she should observe anybody was in a way a coincidence, for, as it happened, she was herself the most observed person in all the place. She was veiled in two veils, but she had been seen in the train without these, and some of her fellow-travellers, though strangers to her, were walking near her in a hypocritical way, hoping still not to lose sight of her, even veiled. And although the shroudings permitted the most meagre information of her features, what they did reveal was harmfully piquant; moreover, there was a sweetness of figure, a disturbing grace; while nothing could disguise her air of wearing that many violets casually as a daily perquisite and matter of course.