CHAPTER XVIII
In his room Martin laid his head upon his desk. He wondered about Roberts, his magnificence at the drag, the mad poem intended for himself. Confused by these thoughts, he fell asleep. He dreamed that he was in the bow of a shining canoe, spinning down a great white length of rapids. In the stern of the boat two men were fighting. Rio, and the giant with the white, rain-soaked shirt were striking each other fiercely. Above them hovered the spirit of Freud, smiling at both of them and holding a battered text in one hand and a setscrew in the other which were apparently to be awarded to the victor. Roberts, however, in the form of mist, obstructed the blows of the fighters until the two gladiators became entangled and suddenly dissolved. The spirit of Freud withdrew hastily, while the adviser, with a faint smile at Martin, sat down in the boat as it rotated toward destruction.
Martin awakened from the dream with a somber expression. Then he shook his head and laughed.
“What a symbol!” he exclaimed to himself.
The deep whistles of a ship ready to sail seemed to agitate him and he lowered his head upon the desk again. He thought of Paris, where Drew was going, of Tai with him, and of Deane seeing him off. Once more Martin fell asleep, this time in a world uninhabited by dreams.
This was true for the most part, for Tai was playing in Drew’s suite, while Pat attended him as though he were a little saint.
In the great lounge of the liner Drew was talking seriously with Deane.
“I can’t understand Martin,” he said. “And I must confess that it is impossible for me to live within his orbit.”
“You dislike him so?” Deane raised her dark eyes.
Drew shook his head.
“I can’t connect that term with him,” he answered. “I loved him very deeply at one time. Now, I hate him, or rather, am frightfully jealous of him.”
“Of his sins?” asked Deane.
“No,” replied Drew irritably. “He has no sins. He has none because he does not believe the things he does are wrong.” Drew touched a handkerchief to his head. “Martin,” he continued, “could destroy the world and it would not be sinful. He is selfish, but because he knows it, there is no feeling of blame. He’s like a ghost, and all of the people around him are like ghosts. Even I came tofeel like one. There is no reality about him. Yes,” Drew sighed, “he is the most physical creature in the world, and the most untouchable. Oh—I know what you’re thinking, Deane! And I know I’m just putting on.” Suddenly Drew stopped and lit a cigarette for Deane and one for himself.
“I like him the way he is,” said Deane. “I like his unreality. And he isn’t the way you think he is.”
“Oh,no,” said Drew, arching his eyebrows. “Oh, dear no!”
“Just the same,” went on Deane quietly, “although I’ve seen him pretend to have the quality you say he has, I’m a woman, and I would know. I would rebel.” She tapped out her cigarette. “Surely, Drew, you can see that he speculates about himself in order to enjoy his own pursuits.”
“That may be so,” agreed Drew, somewhat sardonically. “But I have something of more immediate importance, Deane. Roberts is not well. I don’t know what the trouble is, but he has changed terribly in the past few months. His reaction to Martin is instantaneous and violent. This may affect you. Please see as little as you can of him.”
“I know,” said Deane with a charming, puzzled frown. “I’ve felt it too, and sometimes it frightens me.”
“Please come to Paris,” suggested Drew impulsively, leaning forward and taking both her hands in his.
“Sweet Drew,” whispered Deane, “how good you are! But I love Martin and I need to be with him, I want to go right away to him. Now. Even now,” She stood up and held Drew’s arm as they strolled to the promenade.
“Let’s say good-by right here,” she said, her full, red lips trembling. “I’m about to cry.”
“It isn’t good-by at all, dearest,” said Drew, smiling gravely. “You know that in spite of anything, we’ll always be together. Go to Martin now, but remember thatwehave the phone, the cable, the secret bond and love in understanding.” He kissed her on both cheeks and as Deane turned, she saw that his eyes were misty.
After she had gone, Drew went into Tai’s little room. The ship was slipping out of the pier and the child clapped his hands at the movement. Drew lay down on the couch and laid his arms over his eyes. This!—to happen for the second time in his life! It was too severe. There could not be a third. Little Tai approached softly and kissed the tears away. It was all he knew, and suddenly Drew smiled.
Before he went on the promenade he looked out through the darkness and saw the black, rolling water. He gazed at himself in the mirror and drew a warm scarf under his dark overcoat. Then he pulled his dark hat over his forehead, looked steadily at himself once more and went on deck.
He hesitated for a moment by a large ventilator as hesaw a young man leaning on the rail, studying the ocean. The boy’s profile was quaint in the dim overhead lights. Drew pulled his own hat lower, turned up the collar of his coat and approached the stranger with unhurried, gentle steps.