XXVIIITHE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
AT Boston Allen Blynn was preparing to loaf about the old town at his ease until the door should open for his second lecture in that city. At eleven o’clock he was on his knees at the bed; he could not quite make up his mind which was the easiest pair of shoes for walking.
A knock at his door, the deferential tap of a well-feed “bell-hop” brought his cheery, “Come!” but he did not look around.
“Good morning, Professor,” greeted Gorgas, fresh and radiant.
“Gracious!” ejaculated the astonished Blynn.
“Don’t let me interrupt your rosary,” she laughed.
He jumped to his feet—still unadorned with shoes—and grasped both her extended hands.
“Well! Well!” he looked at her from several angles. “If this doesn’t beat the Pennsylvania-Dutch! How did you get here? Another ‘bee-line,’ eh? By the Great Horn Spoon, I’m glad to see you! Did the whole family come up? Where is Kate?” he made a motion as if to look into the hall, but quickly gave up because of the more overpowering desire to gaze at his entrancing visitor. “And how did you know I was here?”
“Hold on!” she stopped him. “This is no blooming quiz. I’m alone,mon capitaine. I just—came.”
His mind would not quite focus on the fact.
“I see!” he managed to say, but he did not see.
She produced a cardboard. “Thought I’d boost your little lecture by buying a ticket,” she explained.
“Alone!” he exclaimed. “When did you come?”
“On the Federal express, night before last. I mixed up your dates. Thought you were due in Boston yesterday. So I just naturally waited over.” She walked toward the window. “Great view you have here; simply great!” He seized the nearest pair of shoes and struggled into them. Then he followed her to the window.
“Does Mrs. Levering know you have come?” he asked, full of the proprieties.
She sang a bar of a popular hit.
“Do you know what you’re about?Does your mother know you’re out?
“Do you know what you’re about?Does your mother know you’re out?
“Do you know what you’re about?
Does your mother know you’re out?
“I didn’t say exactly where I was going; I don’t think I did,” she turned reflectively. “Why should I?”
He tried to explain. She was still a child, seventeen years old, he told her.
“I’m eighteen the tenth of this month, and that’s tomorrow,” she corrected.
He knew that. Still—he argued further.
“Whywillyou persist in looking down on me?” she stamped her foot, just like a child. “I’ve been on my own since I was knee high to a grasshopper.I’m making my own living; I do a man’s work and, by your own Horn Spoon, I can take care of myself. Look here: yesterday afternoon I sunned myself in the Common on a bench—”
“Heavens!” he muttered.
“You should use just the opposite word,” she commented complacently. “I just sat there and counted the men who ogled me and the ones who sat down and tried to talk.”
“Goodness!” said he.
“Opposite again,” she corrected. “They were just imps. Well, they didn’t waste much time on me, I tell you! Superior disdain, that’s the trick.”
The professor was flabbergasted. He told her so, and tried to make clear the risks she was running.
She laughed at him. “Now don’t be preachy, Allen Blynn; I’m in Boston to get ideas from the Jewelers’ Exposition—that, among other things. I’m a business woman, you know. It’s a new species; get used to it.”
The Jewelers’ Exposition was a discovery of the day before. It would not do to be too abrupt with Allen Blynn.
By the time he had gone with her to the Exposition and had heard her wise talk to the exhibitors, he was almost used to it; and by the time he had watched her taking notes and making sketches, he was quite reconciled. Then they just prowled.
“Let’s go window-cracking?” she suggested.
“Not for a minute!” he pretended alarm.
“Don’t you know ‘window-cracking’?” she looked incredulously. “Whereisyour knowledge of English? That’s my private word for looking in every window along one street and picking out the things you would buy, and not buying a thing. It’s great fun, and awfully cheap.”
So they went “window-cracking,” like penniless children.
They lunched in style at the best hotel and lived many weeks together in one afternoon. She gave him time to get his notes together for the lecture, drove with him to the hall and sat in the middle of the audience, an enraptured vision to stir him to his best.
At the close of the lecture he hurried to her.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered; “you are not the only lady that takes long journeys to help out struggling lecturers. I want you to meet ‘The Lady of the Interruption.’”
Her glance fell. “I hate her,” she said.
“S-sh!” he smiled and turned to a gracious matronly woman of about fifty-five.
“Mrs. Fellows, here’s my little girl, Gorgas,” he said.
“No longer a little girl,” Mrs. Fellows extended a hand.
“You are the ‘Lady’?” Gorgas gasped.
“Yes,” the “Lady” responded pleasantly. “You thought I was young and attractive, and you are happy to find I am not.”
“But youareattractive—you are lovely!” Gorgas shot out impulsively.
“Ah! thank you,” the Lady bowed herself away; “that is a nice speech. And I know you think you mean it.”
She was gone and others crowded around.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was old?” Gorgas inquired.
“It was a stupid joke of mine not to,” he replied as they struggled through the crowd. “I found her out long ago. She has had great troubles—death in a very frightful form. She has considerable wealth but gives her whole life to charity. Eccentric, a little; but her mind is mighty keen, I can tell you. I am very fond of her; that is why I did not like to discuss her with anyone after I found out.”
At half-past ten they were having supper in a gaudy grill-room, thrilling with the strumming of an Hungarian “orchestra” and the stirring air of city-bohemias.
Then Allen Blynn came partly to his senses. “You’re going home tonight,” he said firmly.
“On the ‘Midnight,’” she agreed, and displayed her Pullman ticket.
“Good!” he exclaimed, relieved. “I’m half responsible, you know,” he added. “It’s a great lark. I’m just chuck full of joy; but we must ship you off tonight.”
“Let’s quarrel a little bit, first,” she smiled. “We have had some dandy quarrels, haven’t we?”
He couldn’t remember any; then she would start one.
“First,” she began, “I want to know why you didn’t walk home with me the night of the picnic at Top-o’-the-Hill—when Leopold sang ‘Forty year on.’ I wrote you a little note asking you to go with me. You trotted off with Kate and left me with Leopold. We had the deuce of a time, I can tell you.”
Conscience-stricken, he remembered that half-read letter. The offer of the lectures had swamped his mind.
The explanation satisfied.
“Leopold wants to marry me,” she blurted out next.
“I know,” he replied gravely. “He told me as much,—but at seventeen! Think of it!”
“I wish you would not always be telling me that I am—” she began indignantly.
“But you are, you know,” he told her quietly. “Leopold is as old as I, but a man couldn’t possib—”
“Oh,” she laughed. “He couldn’t?Couldn’the! He’s been dogging me for ever so long. You make a big mistake about years. Everybody does. At thirteen, when I first talked with you, I was as much a woman as I am now or ever will be. And I’ve been sitting back trying to behave myself like a doll. At fifteen I had my height and—everything; and now I’m eighteen. I can’t stay in the refrigerator any longer, I tell you.... Leopold? Child? Let me tell you something, Allen Blynn. Leopold and I had a fightthat night. Not words, remember; but an ugly real fight, with fists and hands.... He knows I’m no child.... Now wait!” she held up her hand. “Leopold’s all right. He wants to marry me. He did just what he ought to have done. It was all right, absolutely right. It was my fault again. You went off and deserted me—and I just didn’t care what happened to me. Then I had to fight my way out.Nom d’une pipe! Nom du nom d’une pipe!... And that isn’t all. I must shock your old professorial head a little. There was another.... But I woke up and got out. Your letter did it—the one on morals and instincts, and that terrible story of the leper; don’t you remember?”
Yes, he remembered. The little woman before him was opening up astonishing vistas into her stirring life. But she was a child, he insisted. The general appearance was that of a woman; but that was a trick of hat and gown and hair, a disguise easily seen through. Her face was womanly, and her voice; but in both were cries of very young life. Her very wonderful health, the thing that gave her beauty—that was youth; and her frankness was the innocence of youth.
“Do you know what Bardek means by Saint Acetum?” she asked him suddenly. She had been studying his rather solemn-smiling face, delighting in its fine seriousness—made fine, she thought, by the light of a smile that hovered ever in the eyes and in and out the firm lips.
“What does Bardek mean by anything!” Allenchuckled contentedly, the solemnity quite fading from his face at the thought of the unfathomable Bardek. “Saint Acetum? I never heard of the person.”
“Oh!” Gorgas laughed in her impulsive way. “Saint Acetum is you!—The Vinegar Saint! Oh, Allen Blynn, that istoofunny!...” Allen frowned at her inquiringly. “That’s just the way he would look, too—stern, and wise, and worried—”
“Worried?”
“For fear the roof would fall in, you know.”
“Roof?” he glanced apprehensively at the ceiling.
“Saint Acetum, you know—” she tried to explain. His serious face was delightfully comic; in a flash she saw how it would be immensely jolly, and assuring, to have him gazing at her forever as if she needed the firmest and sternest looking after.
“Saint Acetum?” he cogitated. “There ain’t no such animal.”
“Oh, yes,” she continued, “Bardek says—”
“Bardek invented him, then.”
“Ofcourse, silly! That’s the fun of it. Saint Acetum is forever repairing ‘ze roof of ze Heaven’; and there he is up there all alone, patching and patching, and always looking for trouble; and he won’tevercome down and have a good time with the angels—not even once! It might rain, you see. And Bardek says, that’s just like you, Allen Blynn—”
“Isn’t Bardek a wonder!” His eyes glowed with delight in the Bohemian’s comic fantasy. “And isn’t that just like him!... The Vinegar Saint!...Well!...” A strong flash of determination came into his face suddenly. “And he is quite right!...Someonemust keep watch lest the Heavens fall! And they might fall, you know,” he added whimsically. “You believe that God is good, and all-wise, and all-powerful, don’t you?”
She nodded. “One must,” she said. “It would be terrible not to.”
“He is good, and wise; but perhaps not all-wise. And sometimes I think He is not all-powerful. The Old One has won some of the battles—in Eden, for instance. Sometimes I fancy—it is an ancient belief—that the long battle between Good and Evil, begun aeons ago in chaos, is still at its height, and that the outcome might even be in doubt; and then I fancy that He needs us—some of us—on the firing line; or, like your Vinegar Saint, guarding the outposts. Perhaps we are sometimes a brake on progress, but often we are the ones who save liberty from liberty’s self. You know, we Allens were Tories in the Revolution; we were for the existing order then, and against the revolutionists. There must be a drop or two of reactionary blood still in me!... Vinegar Saint! Good! But don’t think that the poor old chap loves the endless patching, or that the songs of the angels don’t tempt him mightily to shirk his job.... And if he gets to looking too fierce and vinegary, it’s because—”
“It’s because he is a dear old honestcapitaine,” she cried; “and I’d rather have him vinegary any day than—”
“Peppery?” he joked, determined not to be solemn.
“Yes, or even sugary. Ugh!” she affected a delightful shudder. “How I hate the sweety ones!”
This was a pleasing savor to the Vinegar Saint, and for a moment or two he forgot his patchings, and reveled in the unsaintly joy of flattery; then he remembered abruptly.
“What are you going to do about Leopold?” he asked.
“It depends upon you,mon capitaine,” she replied calmly. “If you don’t want me, Allen Blynn—anybodycan have me. There! It’s out! I’ve made up my mind to say this to you for almost a year. Let me—”
A preposterous waiter had to be dealt with. He was recommending some custard concoction with a dash of white wine, and inquiring about such irrelevant matters as demi-tasses or full cups. Gorgas had to be appealed to. She made selections deliberately, but her fingers were nervously restless.
“So you will take the wine-sauce?” the waiter was most interested.
“Yes,” said Blynn.
“Or would you prefer it with cream?”
“Yes,” said Blynn.
“Perhaps M’sieu’ would rather have the sliced oranges?”
“Yes, yes,” said Blynn in great distress, “Anything, old man. You fix it up. Anything. Just cut along like a good fellow, will you?”
“Don’t look so frowning,mon capitaine,” Gorgas smiled across the table, but her eyes belied that smile. “Don’t speak yet. Let me show you how I look at this thing. If I stop now, I’ll never begin again. And I just can’t stand keeping it inside.... When you came to me at the tennis-court five years ago and took me for a grown woman, the thing was done; right there. I’ve never got over it. I’ve tried; but it was no use; it got worse. I sent you to Holden to get rid of you.... You scared me.... You saw it, I guess. My eyes must have shown, for you got out of the way.... That’s why you suddenly fled to Holden; wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” dumbly.
“I knew.... It was beastly the way you cut me.... Don’t speak yet.... I don’t blame you.... Sometimes I’d catch you looking at me like a hungry dog, afraid to come near for fear I’d beat you or something. I know what was the matter. You were afraid of encouraging a child. Mercy! Encourage? That was just the way to make me rabid! Well, I resolved to grow up. I fought the family until I could dress the part, and I fooled everybody but you.... And now Iamgrown up.... It’s no fooling now.... And there you are, as far away as ever. So I said to myself, that man will have to be approached and stormed. He’ll never marry anybody, unless somebody asks him. No, you wouldn’t, Allen Blynn. You’re not a bit aggressive; you’re too courteous, too afraid of hurting folks’feelings. Well, I want to be hurt.... So I’m coming right at you. Here’s your chance, Allen Blynn.... Wait!... I figured it this way. It’s all mere custom, this woman-sitting-back-and-waiting business. I’ve got the same desire for my man as any man has for his woman. I want him. Shall I let him slip by? Not I. I’m going right for him. He’ll be startled at first, just the way women are—oh! I’ve talked with a lot of ’em!—but keeping right at it brings everything. Half the women don’t want the men that come at them; but the thought gets into their brains and grows until it bubbles over and swamps ’em. Oh, I know. Neddie Morris nearly had me, and so did Leopold; if you hadn’t been in my head one of ’em would have got me; it was just a matter of sliding.... Now, Allen Blynn, you’re my man.” They were very close together at their diminutive little table. She could have touched his arms, almost without leaning forward. Her voice grew very soft and tender as she added, “Aren’t I the brazen one!”
“Little woman,” he spoke with the greatest kindness. “Will you let me think this out?”
She nodded. For a half-hour they watched the silly crowd and nibbled at sweetish frothy desserts and sipped at cold coffees. Overbibulous folks laughed in high keys, and the Hungarian orchestra, taking its cue from the diners, grew noisier and noisier. At this moment the bandsmen were working vigorously on the quietest of love themes; castanets and cymbals clashed and tanged and told all the world about “long yearsago in old Madrid, where softly sighs of love the light guitar.” The song had taken the country only a few years before, and had now reached the stage of orchestral “variations.” The Hungarian leader was consumed with passion and beer; he gesticulated and shouted to his workers, and they bent to their task. Every child in America knew the absurd words. Even Allen Blynn knew them!
Come, my love, the stars are shining,Time is flying,Love is sighing,Come, my love, my heart is piningHere alone I wait for thee.
Come, my love, the stars are shining,Time is flying,Love is sighing,Come, my love, my heart is piningHere alone I wait for thee.
Come, my love, the stars are shining,
Time is flying,
Love is sighing,
Come, my love, my heart is pining
Here alone I wait for thee.
Mischievously Gorgas accompanied with the words of the refrain, she pianissimo, the orchestra thundering double forte to its climax. They smiled guiltily as they thought of the smashing, gesticulating music and the personal significance of the libretto.
“Well,” he turned to her.
“Well?” she rested her arms on the little table so that her two hands almost touched him.
“This is the greatest experience of my life,” he said soberly, “absolutely the greatest and the finest.” His face shone with exultation. “It is the last thing I dreamed of. I thought it was Leopold. The fact is—well, I was mortally sure. We talked together just before I left. He didn’t tell me outright, but I knew, of course. Naturally I couldn’t guess the details.... Thatisa revelation!...”
Already she thought she had read his answer andwithdrew her hands ever so slightly. Except for a deeply flushed face and sparkling eyes she gave no other sign; she was prepared for it to take time!
“Here alone I wait for thee!” the orchestra shouted.
“It’s hard to talk here. Come,” he looked earnestly at his watch as if he had never seen one before. “We’ll cab it for my hotel, where I must get your birthday gift—the manuscript book, you know.... Then I’ll see you to your train.... We have barely a half-hour.”
St. Acetum had not tumbled from the roof of the Heaven as Bardek had predicted; he seemed, rather, to be all too intent on his eternal patching and repairing. It was very assuring; one felt safe and protected; now, whatever else happened, the Heavens would not fall! For in spite of Bardek’s jests at the expense of the Saint, Gorgas knew that the good man would not so easily desert his high duties for anything merely personal. Still, she wished that he might at least just look down!
At her side of the cab she sat rigid; without a word she let him get out at the hotel and return with the gift; but as they drew near the railway terminal, she put a trembling hand on his shoulder.
“Won’t you even touch me?” she asked plaintively.
“Please! please!” he begged; and she withdrew to her place.Nom d’une pipe! Nom du nom d’une pipe!
“I’m not a bit sorry I came,” she said finally.
“Nor am I! Nor am I!” he replied fervently. “I feel—glorified!”
They walked slowly, like two tired persons, to her car. He saw about her tickets and bade her goodby at the steps.
“Is there—somebody else?” she asked quietly.
“Gracious, no!” he cried; but immediately he said, “Wait!” and looked worried. “Yes,” he corrected, “there is—and there isn’t at all!” His lips closed firmly, but his eyes seemed to be telling her not to believe a word of it.
“This little book,” he put the package into her hand hastily, as if he were eager to change the topic, “is five years of my life. It will explain what I have not been able to say to you tonight. But you are not to open it until your eighteenth birthday.”
“That is tomorrow—and tomorrow is almost here,” she told him. “In a few moments I’ll be eighteen.”
“Yes, I know!” he agreed. “So you will be! Well! well! On your ride home, then, you may read it. There is just one condition: you must begin at the beginning, and go straight through—‘Through hedge and over gate. Straight! straight! straight! straight!’” he quoted. “Promise!”
She promised.
The porters began to take on the appearance of getting under way; the Midnight Express was a punctual institution.
“All aboard!” someone called afar off. “Express for Philadelphia and Washington! All aboard!”
She leaned up to him with flaming invitation in her face.
“No one will know,” she said. “Quick! They’ll think we’re brother and sister!”
A big clock tolled the first stroke of twelve. He took her face in his hands so tempestuously as to startle and hurt, but she laughed.
“All aboard!”
“Go quick!” he cried.
The conductor was impatient. Boom! boom! the big clock finished out its twelve slow strokes.
“Many happy returns of the day,” he called after the moving train. She said nothing, but she waved until the darkness enveloped her.