CHAPTER XXIIITHE RACE
Bythe day of the first boat race Professor Jawn Galloway had become a perfect tender of “stays,” and an enthusiastic champion ofSago-ye-wat-haagainst the world. Richard was mustered in as the other “stay tender,” and the Wheelen boy volunteered for jib and spinnaker. There was no questioning, of course, of Walter’s position; the captain is always the helmsman and in complete charge of the yacht.
During the morning the crew tried out their various “tricks” and at noon dropped anchor before Alley’s Inn, which since the days of the old Keuka Yacht Club had been the starting point of the Lake races. The distance was approximately twelve miles, three times around a triangular course, beginning at Alley’s Inn, thence across the Lake to Willow Grove and up to the North Buoy and back.
At noon the wind dropped to a light breeze which faded into nothingness by one o’clock. At two, however, the Lake was white with racing “caps.” A characteristic sudden southwester had sprung out of the hills and was sweeping up the Lake. In the cove before Alley’s Inn the boats were securely sheltered, but once beyond the little headlands the fragile yachts felt the full sweep of the gale and bent over perilously and tugged at their side stays.
Automobiles were parking on the lawn, the trolley line was running extra cars, and motor-boats were chugging over from every part of the Lake. There was great curiosity to see the trial of the new yacht, but greater to see the erratic Walter Wells in the rôle of skipper. Alley’s Inn was doing a big business. Luncheon tables overflowed to the wide porches and even on to the lawn.
Richard looked about him for Geraldine. He did not see her; but Phœbe was in evidence. Phœbe was at a table with Mrs. Wells and Walter. The boy was eating little, but he was obviously pleased at Phœbe’s solicitous attention. She fluttered over him like a young hen, if a young hen could ever be gay, witty and encouraging, and could “burble” effervescently. After all, thought Richard, Walter was her “case.” It was she who had suggested yachting; she had even named the boat. She was the only one with any practical influence over the boy.
Evidently Jerry did not intend to lunch at Alley’s Inn. She had not appeared at breakfast. Sukie said she had gone off dressed in a walking gown—a short-skirted grey corduroy. Sukie said she went off just before sunrise and that she had taken “Count” with her.
Her reaction in “Grandfather’s Room” had been exactly opposite of Richard’s expectation. Her main anger, it seems, had been over the secrecy which she herself had originated, and which circumstances had prolonged. She had been a willing enough conspirator there, but, it appears, the conspirator had been conspired against. She believed that she was in the secret all along, and it turned out in the end that she had been completely out of it. The startling conclusion—richman coming so pat to rescue the bankrupt heiress!—had been too much of a surprise; indeed, it seemed almost in the nature of a carefully-planned joke at her expense. That, no doubt, was part of the cause for her outburst, he reasoned.
Another cause, perhaps, was her pride in possession; she loved independence and hated dependence. How Virginia has always hated a tyrant! Her code would not permit her to be under permanent obligations to anyone. There must always be a chance to pay back, to make equal return; and what chance was here?—a bankrupt estate against millions.
There was another cause which Richard did not get—many others, indeed, but chief among them was the fact that Richard helpless and dependent upon her was a satisfactory situation, but Richard independent could fare his way whenever the so-called “spirit” should move him. His new rôle would make Jerry relatively the beggar-maid and Richard the opulent distributor of largess. She could not stand that. It was abhorrent. All her training was against succumbing to superiority.
Upon one phase of the case Richard knew his ground. He had noted the change in her the moment they had crossed the threshold of “Red Jacket.” On board the steamer she had been a lively, intelligent, well-bred American, not to be distinguished from others of that delightful group; but the transfer to her own lands transformed her. In Europe she was one of many; at “Red Jacket” she was Somebody.
One time on the way home Mrs. Wells had confided to Richard that she would be glad to get home. “Europe is always wonderful, but I could not live there,” she said. Richard confessed that he could liveanywhere. But she shook her head, “In Europe I am one of a crowd; in Jerusalem township I am a Person with a capital P. There we have been the big family, for ever, it seems; and we have come to act and react like Persons. Out of Jerusalem township I always feel like a king without a country.”
The big house and the grounds and the servants were necessary background to bring out Geraldine Wells. And she fitted into them naturally, not like someone presuming to be a Person, but as one manor-born.
While Richard cogitated these weighty personal matters he was standing on the high embankment overlooking the Lake and seemed to be watching Fagner as he manœuvred theMoodiksin the growing gale. Here Jawn joined him.
“Whoop-la!” Jawn cried. TheMoodikshad flapped over suddenly. “She almost went over that time! It’s a life-preserver I’ll be needing if this blow keeps up. What’s that? Thunder? Shiver-me-timbers, but it looks squally over to the sou’ by sou’-sou’-sou’-west. Excuse me for the technical language, old hoss.”
“Is ‘old hoss’ technical?” Richard inquired without turning around.
“No, you jackass,” Jawn replied serenely. “I was referring to the nautical language. With white pants on I feel ridiculously nautical. Have you seen my white hat?”
“No.”
“Well then, have you seen your own white hat?”
“Have I a white hat?”
“How in the blazes do you suppose you can tend ‘stays’ in a real yacht race for a silver cup unless you wear a white hat? You might as well seek an audienceat Buckingham Palace in overalls and blickey; or play tennis in a dress-suit; or football in pyjamas; or—you’re not listening at all.”
“Eh?” Richard came out of his reverie. “Oh! So I have a hat, have I?”
Jawn sighed disconsolately.
“What’s the use of the gift of speech,” he groaned, “if nobody has the gift of listening to it?”
“Go on, Jawn,” Richard turned pleasantly. “I’m listening. But I couldn’t get my attention away from theMoodiks. Fagner’ll have to take a reef in, don’t you think? I don’t believe he’ll go over, but he’ll waste so much time coming up into the wind; and that breeze is mighty gusty to-day.”
“What do I care what happens to him?” Jawn asked. “The more time he takes the better we’ll like it. We’re going to win.”
“How do you know?”
“Well,” said Jawn, “I’ve timed theSago-ye-wat-haand she gets over ground better than the best records they have here. We did the whole course the other day in sixteen seconds less than the oldTecumseh, which holds the record. And besides I spent my good money on white sailor hats with blue bands on ’em. Wait till you see the blue bands with ‘Sago-ye-wat-ha’ printed in gold! Yum! We’ll look like regulars off a battleship. Walter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when I presented him with his.”
Richard began to show interest.
“The boy has changed wonderfully, don’t you think?”
Jawn dropped his bantering tone. Into his face came the serious gleam of the specialist; his holiday carelessness disappeared.
“You’re quite right,” he said. “The boy’s got stuff in him. We’ve been chumming around a bit this past week. I thought he was a plain ‘moron,’ at first—not an idiot, but slightly off the normal, you know—but I’ve changed completely on that. I’ve been giving him all sorts of tests on the quiet. You were absolutely right in your first diagnosis. Drink is not his ‘primary,’ it’s this yacht business. In some ways he’s a fool, but not on board theSago-ye-wat-ha! That’shis, his very own. It’s the first sensation of genuine ownership he’s ever had, and it fills him so full of pride and self-glorification that his small brain hasn’t room for anything else. The only thing I fear is that he won’t be able to stand a loss to-day. I’ve tried to prepare him for it, but he won’t think of losing. I’m afraid we’ve got to win this race, if we have to make a short cut across one of the buoys and trust that the judges aren’t looking.”
Tyler, the skipper of theCohlosa, came up at this juncture. The men had met before.
“My friend, the enemy!” cried Jawn, shaking hands vigorously. “OldSago-ye-wat-hais after your scalp to-day, Tyler. TheCohlosahad better hold on tight to her hair-ribbons and stand ready to yell police any minute.”
“TheCohlosais easily frightened,” said Tyler genially. “We have run away from a number of fierce boats.”
Phœbe saw the men together and slipped over to them. Walter had gone on board theSago-ye-wat-ha.
“Don’t quarrel, now,” she said. “Try to keep your tempers, men. I know how you feel, but hide it. Pretend at least to be friends. I’m shakin’ hands with you, Mr. Tyler, but I’m countin’ my beads forSago-ye-wat-haand rainin’ my last curses on theCohlosa, bad cess to it!”
“Well, I’m sorry,” smiled Tyler; “for they say that the prayer of the righteous availeth much.”
“Now don’t talk that way!” she protested. “I must keep all the fires of hatred goin’, an’ how can I hate you properly, man, when you blarney me so beautifully? I never was the one to stand out against a man who’d flattered me. Well, I hope you come in second, then, Mr. Tyler, but don’t tell me any more pretty lies or I’ll be wishin’ it a tie race. An’ now, as man to woman, Mr. Tyler, give us a tip. Do you think we have a chance? An’ is there any little thing you can suggest to help us beat you?”
“Votes for women!” cried Jawn. “Wait till they carry on a Presidential campaign, boys. We’ll all be confessing to bribery and ballot-stuffing weeks before we start to do the crooked work. Own up, Tyler, that you’ve got a gasolene engine concealed under the rudder. Or perhaps you’ll oblige a lady by boring a few auger holes in the bottom.”
“Jawn Galloway!” Phœbe turned on him. “How can you have the nerve to go on talkin’ an’ in the same breath refer toanythingbein’ bored?”
Jawn surrendered and let Phœbe have the floor. Her bantering request to Tyler had a serious object back of it. This race was something more, as she well knew, than a test of skill; it was the test of a man. Walter’s fate was more or less in the balance, and she wished to allay her painful anxiety by some encouraging word. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have given a bundle of fiddle-strings to be the winner of a dozen Lake cups; but this race was not an ordinary race.
Somehow Tyler, a fine, sensitive man—sportsmanevery inch of him—caught the undercurrent of seriousness back of the laughing face.
“Fagner is always dangerous in a race,” he said, “but this time we both have our eye on Walter. He’s a fine, natural sailor, the best ‘passenger’ I ever had. He knows what I’m going to do before I do it and is ready to follow up the order without wasting valuable seconds. He has a splendid knowledge of local wind currents—almost unnatural. I’ve often asked his advice when I’ve been in a pinch. The only question is, has he the control to stand the strain of a long race? I’d like to see the boy win, Mrs. Norris——”
“You’re a good lad!” Mrs. Norris broke in nervously. “Go on; tell me some more. It’ll keep me from faintin’ away. You’re good as a drink, Mr. Tyler.”
“I’d like to see him win,” Tyler continued, “though, of course, I’m going to make him work. There’s nothing more merciless in these parts than the yacht races, you know.”
“Sure, we’re not askin’ for any gifts,” chirped Phœbe, “but I thank you for the encouragin’ word, just the same, Mr. Tyler.”
It was close to three o’clock, the starting time, and Walter, with the help of Wheelen, was hoisting the mainsail. This was hint enough for Jawn and Richard to get on board. One searching glance around the grounds before Richard stepped from the dock into theSago-ye-wat-hagave no sign of Geraldine. As he took his place at the port-stays and coiled his ropes he wondered if she would come down, or if she were still marching away across the hills with “Count.” Discouragement seized him, a rare mood of this optimistic man, and for several dismal minutes he lost his faith in “the gods” who held all things in their capacious laps.
When the “get ready” gun sounded the wind was half a gale and pointing almost directly up the Lake. The judges were questioning the wisdom of starting, but evidently decided to take a chance, for in a moment or two the starting gun went off and thePluma, a small boat with a three-minute handicap, crossed the line, and the race was on. TheAurorafollowed a half-minute later and then came the anxious wait of two minutes while theCohlosaand theMoodiksjockeyed along the edge of the starting line, each eager to get into the best position when their signal-gun should set them free. TheCohlosaand theMoodikswere boats of the same sail area, so their handicap was identical.Sago-ye-wat-hacarried a slightly larger mainsail, a matter of inches only, but it forced her to take the “scratch” position, a half-minute back of her two “Class A” rivals.
Both theCohlosaand theMoodikshad taken the precaution of a single reef. Walter had not shown his hand until close to the starting minute. His mainsail was only half hoisted. But the moment the two “Class A” yachts nosed across the line—Fagner, as usual, getting the best position—he raised the sail and disclosed three reefs. It was a type of caution that the yachtsmen on shore did not expect of Walter Wells.
“Afraid of trouble?” Richard asked.
“No,” said Walter. “Want speed. Can’t get speed when she’s half on keel.”
So many exciting things were happening at once that hardly anyone noticed theSago-ye-wat-haas she struck the line with the gun. ThePlumahad dropped her sail and her men were busy trying to keep it from ripping away. TheAurorahad come right about into the wind. Her men were bailing like good fellows. Fagner andTyler were beating over to the Willow Grove buoy bent nearly level with the water.
TheSago-ye-wat-hastood up well and with her three reefs was able to steer a straight course. At Willow Grove the three boats seemed to be entangled. The judges were on tiptoe, glasses to face, watching for possible fouls, but no one was ready to see theSago-ye-wat-hamove sedately around the buoy and fly off before the wind in the lead. In the first leg she had made up her half-minute handicap!
The strength of the wind was made instantly clear to the spectators on shore. By the recorded time Walter had nosed around the first buoy just six seconds ahead of Fagner, but while those six seconds were being ticked off he was speeding up the Lake with the gale behind him. As they all broke out in a line for the two-mile run north the gap between the first two boats seemed leagues.
Walter did not risk his spinnaker—any extra sail was perilous in that gale—but first Fagner and then Tyler flung their great balloon jibs out with the daring of veterans. It was a beautiful sight, that two-mile run; every inch of the race was in full view of the group on shore, although it took glasses to distinguish the yachts as they huddled together near the North Buoy.
Up to within a quarter of a mile of the North Buoy the yachts had maintained their distances,Sago-ye-wat-hafirst, Fagner a hundred yards astern and Tyler a few feet in the rear. ThePlumaand theAurorahad swamped and were towed ashore by ready motor-boats.
But within a quarter of a mile of the North Buoy the wind suddenly slackened. Then the spinnakers told. In the swift changes that occur in yacht racesof this sort the positions seemed instantly to change. Again the three boats massed at the buoy, but this time theCohlosacame about first, followed by theMoodiks. TheSago-ye-wat-hawas last.
Anyone can sail before the wind. The test of seamanship is in the cleverness of the tacking, and that test was now on. Tyler shot off to the east and, as everyone knew, Fagner did the opposite. Fagner’s theory seemed to be that if you get an advantage of a slant of the wind it is better to have the other fellow in some other part of the Lake. Walter followed Tyler, but broke his tack early; so the three boats were soon in widely scattered portions of the Lake. As they crossed and recrossed each other’s paths it was impossible to tell which was in the lead. The long beat down the Lake was therefore tremendously exciting to the partisans on shore, each group seeing its own the victor.
Characteristic of winds in this hilly country the breeze, still moderately stiff but no longer the fierce gale of the beginning, shifted to the southeast. Each skipper was thoroughly aware of the change, of course, but none, perhaps, were so mindful of the advantages of changing the original plans as Walter. In the middle of the Lake he suddenly let out his reefs and came about. He was now pointing almost directly to the cove at Electric Park just above Alley’s Inn; and into this cove he slid until he was lost to the group on the high ground at the starting point. Fagner and Tyler were beating down to the starting buoy from the east, but it was soon obvious that each would have to take one more tack, although they “pointed” courageously; but as they put about reluctantly for one more try, theSago-ye-wat-hanosed along the shore and shot past Alley’s Inn, crossed the starting line and swung out fora long tack to Willow Grove. Walter had been pointing straight into the southeast wind, seemingly an impossible feat. According to all the rules his mainsail and jib should have been flapping uselessly, but, instead, they had been comfortably filled. A back-current from the western hills had carried him forward.
It was three minutes before Fagner crossed the line and a minute more before Tyler finished the first leg. By that time Walter had rounded the Willow Grove buoy and was scudding up the Lake with the southeaster back of him. It was then that he flung out his spinnaker.
To the surprise of everyone he did not aim directly for the North Buoy, but crowded far to the east. In an uncanny way he had guessed that the freakish wind would soon shift to the east and then to the northeast. And so it did. He crossed the Lake with the wind still at his back and came about the North Buoy in time to get the new shift to northeast. His spinnaker was still ballooning beautifully as he came down to finish the second leg, while Fagner and Tyler were beating up in long tacks.
The wind had blown him up the Lake and obligingly had turned around to blow him down again. And while he had gone north in a straight line his competitors for the cup had been compelled to zigzag across the Lake, five times his distance.
Luck had been with Walter, of course, but at the same time he had been knowing enough to take advantage of his special knowledge of the ways of the wind. In his present position nothing short of a calm could have taken the race from him, and the northeaster that began to blow—it was the old storm, which had bythis time veered to an opposite quarter—gave no signs of letting up.
The end came rapidly. When Walter crossed the finish line a winner of the first of the three races for the cup, theMoodiksand theCohlosahad not yet reached the North Buoy on the final leg.
It was as theSago-ye-wat-hapassed Alley’s Inn a winner and sped on down the Lake towards Bluff Point and “home” that Richard caught sight of “Count” stretched out on the lawn and saw beside him a figure in grey standing silhouetted against the trees; then he knew that Jerry had been present to see at least the glorious finish. She had a pair of field-glasses to her eyes, and as he became conscious of the fact that she was following the fast retreating yacht his ears burned and the blood flushed his neck and forehead. It was fortunate at that moment that theSago-ye-wat-hahad no urgent need of her “stay” tender!
Walter bore his victory very grimly. He smiled faintly towards the shore as the horns tooted and the motor whistles blew and he listened attentively to the chorus of exciting congratulations from his crew and from the crowd on the end of the dock and from unknown persons scooting by in motor-boats, but he said nothing. His eye was on Bluff Point and his mind seemed to be busy calculating if this sweeping northeaster would last long enough to carry him home.
The other members of the crew would have preferred to stay and bask in the victory. It would be pleasant to anchor off the Inn and watch the veterans,MoodiksandCohlosa, fight it out for second place. But Walter said “No,” and no one pressed him. The victory was his entirely, they realized, and in this happy hour the captain’s wishes would be their law.
On his way home Richard spent his time watching the boy’s face. In the past month Walter seemed to have grown several steps nearer to manhood; certainly as he held the tiller snug under his left arm and trimmed the mainsheet with his right hand he looked miles removed from the helpless creature of the S.S.Victoria. The “cure” had made great progress; so great, indeed, that Richard was quite puffed up with pride of this secret victory of his which outclassed the winning of a mere yacht race.
He wished to hear him talk, to see how he carried himself in this unique experience of having done something worthy of public commendation.
“If that wind-pocket is always off shore when a southeaster blows,” he began, “how is it that the other skippers don’t know of it?”
“’Tain’t always there,” said Walter; but he did not grin sheepishly, as he might have done several weeks ago.
“Oh!... Weren’t you sure it was there to-day?”
“No, not sure; jes’ took a chance. Things looked right.”
“Suppose you had missed your guess?”
“We’d ’a’ lost.”
“Were you prepared to lose?”
“Sure! This ain’t the on’y race! Best out o’ five.”
The races were scheduled one each week until one boat had taken three wins, but Richard knew that his work with Walter was over. There was no excuse he would offer to stay longer at “Red Jacket,” for there would be volunteers a-plenty to tend port-stays, and, evidently, Walter had “found himself.” Richard’s feelings were a complex of disappointment and joy. The new life in New York was making a vigorous callupon him. His wander-years were over, and, as easily as season slips into season, he was turning directly about and facing with high curiosity the next stage when he would take up his father’s work as man of many affairs.
Wheelen put off in his motor-boat, and Walter left as soon as everything was stowed away, but Jawn and Richard sat in the shade of the Lombardy poplars and enjoyed the fine August evening. Their talk was interrupted by a crash of some falling object in Phœbe’s cottage. A trifling accident, probably. They had heard Phœbe’s voice when Walter entered. Of course she had driven down with the Wells or probably had come down in the trolley and, naturally, would have made the distance in much less time than it took the yacht to round Bluff Point and beat up to the dock.
Voices in anger and another crash of furniture brought the two men to their feet. Before they had taken a dozen steps they saw Walter rush out and reach up to the little shelf where the whisky had rested untouched since early spring. Phœbe followed instantly; she was talking to him soothingly, although the men noticed that she had unhooked Seth’s whip; but Walter was shrill and defiant. When Jerry, too, emerged from the house the men dropped into a walk and entered upon the scene with seeming calmness.
Jerry stood away from the boy, but Phœbe was not afraid of him.
“You said y’d marry me!” Walter shouted hoarsely and gripped the whisky. “You said——”
“No, Walter,” Phœbe pursued him calmly. “I said I would think about it. An’ Iamthinkin’ about it, my boy.”
“Y’r puttin’ me off, an’ puttin’ me off!” he complained harshly. “An’ I won’t stan’ it, d’ye hear?Won’t stan’ it! Gotta know some time ’r other. Gotta knownow!”
“Listen to the lad!” Phœbe was purring cheerily. “He isn’t satisfied to win a boat race, but he must win a woman all in the same day.” Walter tossed his head defiantly and raised the bottle. “If you so much as lift that stuff to your lips, young man,” she cried suddenly, so suddenly as to upset a considerable portion of it on her porch; “if ye even touch it,” she cried, “I’ll not only never marry you but I’ll beat you with this whip till you cry for mercy!” Then when he dropped his arm she laughed softly—burbled, that is!—and coaxed him again. “How do I know I won’t marry you, lad? You must give me time, now. It’s a long while to be together as man an’ wife—ah!” she sighed comically—“it’s that sentimental I am I can’t say the words without it sendin’ me all a-flutter!... Come in, Walter; put that stuff up—no, don’t throw it away! Put it back where you got it. I want you to have it right before you, to make sure you’ve got really done with it. An’ by the same token, me lad, I’ll just hang me little whip up here beside it, to keep it company like!” Her laugh took all the sting out of that remark, but it did not conceal the determination back of the words.
The men would have slipped off, but Phœbe invited them to stay. And she invited them also to help her prepare a fitting supper to celebrate the victory. In a few moments her chatter and laughter filled all the scene and blotted out the ugly episode. And every now and then she would give Walter little pats as she passed him—he made no effort to help with the “party”—and she would whisper startling little things in his ear and set him grinning in spite of himself.
And Jerry? She was still in her walking suit of grey corduroy, and her mood was somewhat of that sombre colour, but the victory of Walter’s boat and the shock made by Walter’s revelations of his relations with Phœbe had served to put a slight glow of warmth into her speech. To Richard she conversed frankly, but with an air of keeping something back.
Later in the evening when in the clatter of voices he managed to tell her that he would go to New York on the morrow, her eyes opened very wide, but she said nothing.
“It is for good,” he tried to smile.
“What are you going to do there?” she asked indifferently.
“Take up my father’s work, if I am able.”
“That’s rather inconsistent, isn’t it?”
“Nothing that one does honestly is inconsistent,” he replied firmly. “I never believed I could do it; but the inward voice calls very loud just now, and I am eager to try myself in this new experience.”
“We shall miss you,” she tried to tell him in a tone of polite sincerity, and she bravely declined to avoid looking at him. Their eyes met squarely. It was a dangerous moment, but she managed it with dramatic success; so much so that while his own eyes had the appearance of a pathetic dog waiting for his biscuit, hers resembled nothing so much as the round staring optics of those old-fashioned French dolls.
As abruptly as Phœbe had invited everyone to stay and sup with her, she invited everyone to leave. She wished to be alone, she said, to gather her scattered wits. Walter was expressly included in the notice of eviction, but he stubbornly remained behind.
Phœbe affected not to observe him as she cleared upbriskly, humming as she went in and out doors, as she brushed crumbs, or moved chairs and benches about. Walter watched her hungrily, but his bravado was gone; he glanced at her now and then almost timidly, fearing, somehow, her very physical strength and the atmosphere she carried of confidence, determination, will—qualities he vaguely envied in her.
“Well, Walter,” she turned to him at length, as if at last she had gathered those scattered wits and had them concentrated on a thing to do. “Well, Walter, we have a few matters to settle, haven’t we?”
Walter tried to answer, but speech was not quite possible for him. He was keen enough to sense disaster in her tone, and knew not how to meet it with words.
“Did I ever say I would marry you?” she went at him with brisk directness.
“Yes,” he answered doggedly.
“Think, boy,” swiftly she softened her tone. “Wasn’t it you who were always at me, and didn’t I always tell you that I wouldn’t even talk about it? Boy! Boy!” She came near him and mothered him with her smile. “Wasn’t it always you? Always just you?”
“Yes,” he managed huskily.
“I’m six years older than you——” she began, but he interrupted fiercely.
“That makes no difference!” he cried. “No difference at all!”
“If it were only that, boy,” she continued. “But I am more than six years older, Walter; I am ages older. I have lived ... lived——” she stopped and let her eyes rove about the room. “Years! What are years!” She threw up her hands. “Twenty-eight? I’m nearer a hundred and twenty-eight! Life hasburned me out, and all the faster because before the world I am too proud to own to it; in experience, boy, I am an old woman.”
He stopped her and told her of her youth and her beauty and her compelling loveliness. His voice trembled, but he forced himself through a strong manly speech.
“Fine!” cried Phœbe. “Boy! Boy!” she crooned, “it’s yourself you’re comin’ to now! Now you’re talkin’ like a man! Talkin’ like a man, you are! And let me talk to you like a woman. Maybe I didn’t say I would marry you, but I was ready to—if I was forced to it——”
“Forced!” he exclaimed. “What d’ y’ mean?”
“Just that—forced.” Her voice was low now, and solemn. “If there had been no other way out, no other way to save you from yourself, I’d have done it. You and your mother and Jerry are all I have, and what would I not do for them? I would have done it; but it would have been like taking in some hunted creature that everybody had given up. And that is pity, Walter; just pity.”
“Don’t care what you call it,” he said.
“Pity is all right for stray dogs, Walter. If you had been just a crippled little puppy—well, I could have shared everything with you. But to marry, to live together—I couldn’t. I thought I could, but now I see that I never could. I am not big enough for that.”
He stood up and began to summon his strength to combat her, but she waved him down.
“Listen,” she said. “Listen until I finish.... Boy, it wouldn’t work. We’re not the mates for each other. No! No! We’re not, I tell you.”
Then he broke forth in speeches that were mixturesof strength and weakness. He demanded his rights; he begged her to be kind; he threatened; he pointed out the misery she was planning for him.
“And are you thinkin’ of my misery?” she asked, so plaintively as to arrest him.
“You?”
“Yes—just me. Do you fancy for a moment that it wouldn’t be misery for me? I pity you, and I care for you so much that my heart aches for you; I would give years of my life to see you grow into a strong dependable man, but I don’t love you.... Don’t speak yet; let me speak. I will tell you something that nobody else knows. In my bedroom is a tiny closet which nobody opens but me; and when it is opened it is an altar, with candles, and a sweet, old, crooked image of Saint Francis which belonged to my mother; Saint Francis who loved the birds and the souls of all dumb things. And I fool everybody, everybody but you; for I pray before my little altar—and I have oh! such faith! But nobody else knows that; nobody but you and me now. How I fool them all with my bad tongue!... And when I pray I pray for you. I pray that the good in you shall grow and grow and grow. And my prayer is answered daily! And I pray that the good Saint Francis shall spread out his arms and take you up and shield you from all bitterness and wrong thinking. ‘Dear God,’ I say, ‘make my boy to see; reach out the hand to his stumbling feet; make my boy to see.’”
He tried to tell her something, but he could not speak. The pity in her voice, her swimming eyes, and the picture she conjured before him of the trustful suppliant bowed below her little candles—it was too much; it engulfed him.
Soon she went on. “I don’t love you and you would find it out; and then—why, Walter, in the next ten years you will be still a youth, a youth demanding youth; while I will be forty and faded out. Oh, yes, I will! I know my kind. They are either very young or very old—no middle years at all. I will grow suddenly old—and it would come all the quicker if every day I should suffer.”
He told her defiantly that she would not suffer.
“Oh, yes, I should,” she nodded her head wisely. “For you, Walter, it might mean a little happiness, but for me it would be daily and hourly pain. I know. You look at the present, but I see the years and years ahead. No, boy; you must grow strong as you have been growing. You must throw off the evil that has gripped you. And then, some day when you have become a man among men, love will come to you, and you and she will ... will go off together ... as ... as once ... I thought I was going.”
Softly she slipped into a chair and buried her face in her hands, and the quiet tears came.
After a painful moment or two Phœbe controlled her voice, but she did not look up as she spoke, nor take her hands away from her face.
“I haven’t told you all, Walter,” she said. “I have been trying not to say it ... but I must tell you. I have prayed that if it must be, I would take you and give my life to you.... And I will.”
“You will?” he asked incredulously, and struggled to grasp the meaning of her startling suggestion.
“I will if it is God’s will.... He will tell me.... Oh, I have great faith, boy. He will tell me in a very simple way. I offer all my life to you as I meant to do when you came here that night a year ago, and I gotyou on your feet and you promised to try. And you have tried, boy; I’m proud of the way you have tried!... I promised God then that if He willed it I would take you and save your soul.... He will tell me; it will be when you say again that you want me ... that you still want me to do it.”
“When I say I——” he began, but found no need to finish.
Walter saw all too clearly what she meant. She nodded, but did not remove her hands from her face. She seemed to be waiting tremulously for the verdict from on high.
If he still insisted that he wanted her, if his mind was blind to the sacrifice, then he would indeed need her; if he thought enough of her not to drag her down with him, then there was the spark of a man in him, and he would not need her. And as he spoke, so would God speak.
For an irresolute moment or two Walter stood watching her; then he swore a savage sort of oath and cried out that he would make her keep her word; and then he fled out of the house, as if fearful of himself. But the incoherencies had gone from his speech. He was a beaten man, but, Phœbe exulted as she dabbed at her eyes, he was a man! It was a bitter hour for him, but he was struggling now, not as a weakling, petulant and unreasonable, but as a man battling with grief. So in spite of her tears there was a smile on her face as she looked after him. She listened, and knew his step on the uneven planks of the dock. Then she heard the “plump” of his plunge into the tender, which gave her a horrid second of terror until the powerful strokes of oars creaking fainter and fainter told her that he was rowing out into the calm Lake.
She went to the window and watched his black silhouette. The moon was just beginning to mount.
“It’s the Lake that we go to in our little troubles,” she murmured. “The dear old mother of a Lake!”