CHAPTER XVIBENTON KING AWAKENS
Janet was pale and silent as King drove into town. Glancing at her, he saw that her lips were pressed together, her smooth brow puckered a bit, and her eyes filled with a strange, thoughtful expression. Her hands tightly gripped the handle of her parasol.
“I’m sorry it happened that way, Janet,” he said apologetically. “It was thoughtless of me to get caught in that mob, so that you were compelled to suffer the humiliation of witnessing such a brutal spectacle.”
“You were not to blame,” she returned, in a low, queer voice. “I begged you to wait. I’m glad I did.”
“You’re what—glad?” he exclaimed, astonished. “It was not a thing for a girl like you to see and hear.”
“Still,” she declared, “I am glad I saw it. I know now that any man with an atom of manhood in his make-up may sometimes be compelled to fight.”
“That’s right,” he agreed, “and he can’t always pick a gentleman, or a man of his own class, for an antagonist.”
She looked at him quickly. “Do you think Tom Locke is a gentleman?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that; it’s doubtful, considering the company he’s with.”
“Do gentlemen never play baseball?”
“Certainly—in college games.”
“But theyneverplay professionally?”
“I wouldn’t say that, you know,” was his slow answer. “Some college men go in for professional baseball after graduating. Almost always, they need the money to give them a start in some chosen profession or business. But not all college players are gentlemen, by any means; far from it. At Harvard, even though baseball and football players and members of the track team were decidedly popular in a general way, there were none of them in my set, and I didn’t see fit to associate with them much.”
Even as he said it, he flushed a bit, knowing she, like many others in Kingsbridge, must be fully aware of the fact that his exasperated father had removed him from Harvard in his sophomore year to avoid the disgrace of his suspension, or possible expulsion, because of certain wild escapadesin which he had been concerned, along with some others of his own particularly swift set. Nevertheless, he had his standards of deportment and qualifications essential to the gentleman, though, doubtless, it would be no easy matter to make them clear to some strait-laced, narrow-minded persons.
He was nettled by the conviction that Janet was suddenly taking altogether too much interest in the practically unknown Kingsbridge pitcher, who, following his surprising double victory of the day, was surely destined to become a popular idol in the town. He had known Janet three years, having met her at a church sociable in the days when Cyrus King was setting about in earnest, by the construction of his mills, to turn Kingsbridge from a dull, sleepy settlement into a hustling, chesty town. At first she had seemed to be an unusually pretty, vivacious little girl, with somewhat more refinement and good sense than the usual run of country maidens; but that he would ever become genuinely and deeply interested in her had not occurred to him as a remote possibility. Even after he had left college and begun work in the big sawmill, although he found her much matured and developed, and therefore still more interesting, he but slowly came to realizethat she was the possessor of some potent charm, indefinite, elusive, indescribable, which was casting a powerful spell over him.
Not until this day, however, had he realized how firmly this spell had gripped him. It had come upon him as a surprise which he obstinately tried to misinterpret; for why should he, the only son and heir of old Cy King, several times over a millionaire, permit himself to be bewitched past self-mastery by this little country girl, daughter of a broken-down village parson, who had not tried to bewitch him at all? It seemed ridiculous, something to demand self-reproach; for, least of all, when he thought of such a thing, which was rarely, had he fancied himself silly enough to be caught in such a net. Moreover, he knew what stormy anger the knowledge would produce in his father if the knowledge ever came to him.
The truth had stabbed him there upon the baseball field. It had taken the piercing form of a jealous pang, which he had sought to conceal when he saw that Janet was becoming interested in the new Kingsbridge pitcher; and it cut deeper and deeper as her interest grew and developed into out-spoken admiration. He had seen her watching that fierce fist fight, knowing all the while that she was praying that Locke might conquer,and, though she had held herself marvelously in hand, he seemed to fathom all the torture and dread which filled her heart. That she should care so much what might happen to a total stranger, even though he were the new-found idol of the Kingsbridge fans, was sufficient to skim the scales swiftly from Benton King’s eyes, and leave him confessing to himself, without shame, that she was very dear to him. For, trite but true, that which we desire very much becomes a thousand times more desirable as our chance of possession grows less.
And now, as they drove slowly homeward, something writhed and burned within him at the further evidence of her interest in Locke. He was tempted to speak up boldly and say that there was not one chance in a million that the fellow could be a gentleman; but he had not yet lost his head, even if his heart was gone, and he had sense enough to know that such a course might be the most unwise one he could pursue. So he held himself in check, registering an inward vow that he would see to it that this fellow Locke found as little chance as might be to give him worriment over Janet.
Too soon the little parsonage, a modest story-and-a-half house, one of the oldest in Kingsbridge,came into view. Too soon they were at the door, and he was helping her to alight. He held her hand to the extreme limit of good taste, held it and pressed it, saying:
“I shall be at church to-morrow. If you don’t mind, it would give me pleasure to escort you home after the services.”
She looked at him in surprise, her lips parted in an odd little smile, her violet eyes emphasizing her wonderment.
“Why, Bent, you’ve scarcely attended church half a dozen times since you came home from college. What brings you out to-morrow?”
“You!” he answered, feeling himself thrill and choke a bit. “I’m a heathen, I admit; but I’m coming out to-morrow to worship—you.” He had said such things before, to other girls, but he had spoken them lightly, and without a tremor; now little electric vibrations were running along his nerves, and, though he knew that his face was pale, he could feel his swollen heart pulsing hard, and his temples drumming. He had never dreamed that saying such a “little thing” to a pretty girl would come so near unmanning him.
Her surprise had grown, but she was self-possessed. “Thou shalt not worship false gods,” she laughed. Then, as if she saw something in hiseyes which made her fear he would go further, she hastily gave her consent: “If you come out to church to-morrow I’ll permit you to walk home with me—after Sabbath School. That’ll be your reward for listening to father’s sermon. Now, for the first time in my life, I feel that I have really done something for the heathen.”
Laughing, she ran up the steps of the trellised porch, turning a moment to say good night, framed in an arch of June green vines. Head bared, he gazed at that picture, and found it the fairest his eyes had ever looked upon. There was now in his mind no question, no doubt; he knew.
“Good night, Janet,” he said softly. “Until to-morrow, and that will be—a year.” He had laughed at silly, lovesick chaps who said things like that; but now, before he knew what he was saying, he had uttered it with all the sincerity of his soul.