Amazing Grace, Who Proves That Virtue Has Its Silver Lining

by Kate Trimble Sharber

  CHAPTER XII

  AN ASSIGNMENT

  The next afternoon the city editor again said "Damn" and blushed.

  "You needn't blush," I said to him wearily.

  He glanced around in surprise.

  "No?"

  "No! I quite agree with you!"

  It was late in the afternoon, but I made no apology for my tardiness,as I hung my hat on its nail and started toward my desk.

  "Oh, you feel like saying it yourself, eh?" he questioned.

  "I do."

  He turned then and looked at me squarely. It was very seldom that hedid such a thing, and as some time had elapsed since his last look hewas likely able to detect a subtle change in my face.

  "What's wrong with you?" he asked gruffly. "If you had _my_ job, now,there'd be something to worry over! What's the matter?"

  "Nothing."

  He turned away, precipitately.

  "Gee! Let me get out of here! That's what women always say whenthey're getting ready to cry."

  "But I'm not going to cry!" I assured him, as he dashed through thedoorway and I turned with some relief to my desk, for talking wassomewhat of an effort.

  I raised the top, whistling softly--one can nearly _always_ manage alittle sizzling whistle--then shrank back in terror from what I sawthere.--Such chaos as must have been scattered about before sunrise onthe morning of the First Day! Was it possible that I had been excitedyesterday to the point of leaving the mucilage bottle unstopped?

  I set to work, however, with a little sickening sense of shame, tomaking right the ravages that had taken place.

  "A woman may fashion her balloon of anticipation out of silvertissue--but her parachute is _always_ made of sack-cloth!" I groaned.

  My desk was really in the wildest disorder. The tin top of themucilage bottle had disappeared, the bottle had been overturned, itscontents had been lavished upon the devoted head of a militantsuffragette, and she was pinioned tightly to my blotting-pad.

  "The elevator to Success is not running--take the stairs," grinned aframed motto above the desk.

  "You take a--back seat!" I said, jumping up and turning the thing tothe wall. "What do I care about success, if it's the sort of thingconnected with typewriters, offices, copy paper and a pot of paste?I'm--I'm _des-qua-mat-ing_!"

  Never before in my experience had the life of journalistic devotionlooked quite so black as the ink that accompanies it.

  "Mottoes about success ought to belong to men, anyhow!" I said again,looking up furiously at the drab back of the frame. "I'm not a man,nor cut out for man's work. I'm just a woman, and my head aches!"

  I looked again at the militant suffragette, for it was a tragedy tome. I had spent a week of time and five honest dollars in the effortto get that photograph from a New York studio. She wasn't any commonsuffragette, but a strict head-liner.

  "I'm not even a woman--I'm a child to let a little thing like thisupset me," I was deciding a while later, when the door of the roomopened again and some one entered.

  "You're a big baby!" the city editor pronounced disgustedly, coming upto my desk and lowering his voice. "I knew you were going to cry."

  "I--I think I may be coming down with typhoid," I said coldly, tokeep from encouraging him in conversation. "And I've got a terriblelot of work to do before it gets quite dark. Really, an awful lot."

  He dropped back a few paces, then circled nearer once more.

  "Got anything--special?" he asked aimlessly.

  His manner was so entirely inconsequential that I knew he had the mostimportant thing for a month up his sleeve.

  "Do you call this--mess anything special?" I asked. "I've got to do ageneral house-cleaning, and I wish I had a vacuum machine that wouldsuck the whole business up into its mouth, swallow it and digestit--so I'd never see a scrap of it again."

  Have I said before that he was a middle-aged man, named Hudson, andhad scant red hair? It doesn't make any special difference about hislooks, since I hadn't taken any rash vow to marry the firstunfortunate man who crossed my path, but he looked so ludicrouslyinsignificant and unlike an instrument of fate as he stood there,trying to break the news to me by degrees.

  "Hate your ordinary work this afternoon?" he asked.

  "I hate everything."

  "Then, how would you like to change off a little?"

  "I'd like to change off from breathing--if that would accommodate youany," I replied.

  He made a "tut-tut" admonition with the tip of his tongue.

  "You might not find blowing red-hot coals any pleasanter," he warned,"and angry little girls like you can't hope to go to heaven when theydie!"

  I rose, with a great effort after professional dignity.

  "Mr. Hudson, evidently you have an assignment for me," I said. "Willyou be so good as to let me know what it is?"

  But even then he looked for a full thirty seconds into the lusciousdoors of a fruit stand across the street.

  "I want _you_ to get--that Consolidated Traction Company story forme," he then declared.

  I jumped back as I had never jumped but once in my life before--thetime when Aunt Patricia announced that she was going to leave JamesChristie's love-letters to me.

  "You were at that dance last night!" I cried out accusingly, thenrealizing the absurdity of this I began stammering. "I mean, that I'ma special feature writer!" I kept on before he had had time to send memore than a demon's grin of comprehension.

  "You are and this story is devilish special," he returned. "I want youto get it."

  His tone, which all of a sudden was the boiled-down essence ofbusiness, sent me in a tremor over toward the nail where my hat hung.It was getting dark and I remembered then that I had heard fragmentsof telephonic conversation earlier in the evening anent "catching himthere about seven."

  "Well?"

  He looked at me--with almost a human expression.

  "I wasn't at the ball last night--but grapevines have been rustling, Iadmit," he said. "I hate like the very devil to ask you to do it, ifyou want to know the truth, but there's no other way out. I hope youbelieve me."

  "A city editor doesn't have to be believed, but has to be obeyed," Iresponded, rising again from my chair where I had dropped to lock mydesk. "Now, what is it I must do?"

  "Well, I have a hunch that you will succeed where Clemons and Boltonand Reade have failed," he said. "And the foolish way the fellow actsmakes it necessary for us to use all haste and strategy!"

  "The fellow?"

  "Maitland Tait. A day or two ago it was understood that he mightremain in this town for several days longer--then to-day comes thenews that he's straining every nerve to get away to-morrow!"

  "Oh, to-morrow!"

  "It appears that all the smoke in Pittsburgh is curling up intoquestion marks to find out when he's coming back--"

  "He's so important?"

  "Exactly! But to-night he's going to hold a final conference atLoomis, and you can catch him before time for this if you'll go righton now."

  "Very well," I answered, feeling myself in profound hypnosis.

  "And, say! You'll have to hurry," he said, pressing the advantage myquiet demeanor offered. "Here! Take this hunk o' copy paper and hike!"

  I accepted the proffered paper, still hypnotized, then when I hadreached the door I stopped.

  "Understand, Mr. Hudson, I'm doing this because you have assigned itto me!" I said with a cutting severity. "Please let that be perfectlyplain! I shouldn't go a step toward Loomis--not even if it were amatter of life and death--if it were _not_ a matter of urgentbusiness!"

  He looked at me blankly for a moment, then grinned. Afterward Irealized that he knew this declaration was being made to my own innerconsciousness, and not to him.

  "Don't ask him for a photograph--for God's sake!" he called after me,from the head of the steps. "Remember--you're going out there on the_Herald's_ account and the _Herald_ doesn't need his picture, becauseit happens that we've already got a dandy one of him!"

  I t
urned back fiercely.

  "I hadn't _dreamed_ of asking him for his photograph!" I fired. "Ihope I have some vestige of reasoning power left!"

  At the corner a car to Loomis was passing, and once inside I inspectedevery passenger in the deadly fear of seeing some one whom I knew.There was no one there, however, who could later be placed on thewitness-stand against me, so I sat down and watched the town outsidespeeding by--first the busy up-town portion, then the heavy wholesaledistrict, with its barrels tumbling out of wagon ends and its mingledodor of fruit, vinegar and molasses, combined with soap and tannedhides. After this the river was crossed, we sped through a suburbansettlement, out into the open country, then nearer and nearer andnearer.

  All the time I sat like one paralyzed. I hated intensely the thoughtof going out there, but the very speed of the car seemed to furnishexcuse enough for me not to get off! I didn't have will power enoughto push the bell, so when the greasy terminal of the line was reachedI rose quietly and left the car along with a number of men in overallsand a bevy of tired dejected-looking women.

  "They ought to call it 'Gloom-is,'" I muttered, as I alighted at thelittle wooden station, where one small, yellow incandescent lightshowed you just how dark and desolate the place was. "And these peoplelive here!--I'll never say a word against West Clydemont Place againas long as I live!"

  Without seeming to notice the gloom, the people who had come out onthe car with me dispersed in different directions, two or three of themen making first for the shadow of a big brick building which stoodtowering blackly a little distance up from the car tracks. I followedafter them, then stopped before a lighted door at this building whilethey disappeared into a giant round-house farther back. The whir ofmachinery was steady and monotonous, and it served to drown out thenoise my heart was making, for I was legitimately frightened, even inmy reportorial capacity, as well as being embarrassed and ashamed,independent of the _Herald_. It was a most unpleasant moment.

  "This must be the office!"

  The big door was slightly ajar, so I entered, rapping with unsteadyknuckles a moment later against the forbidding panels of another doormarked "Private."

  "Well?"

  "Well" is only a tolerant word at best--never encouraging--and now itsounded very much like "Go to the devil!"

  "I don't give a rap if he _is_ the Vice-President and General Managerof the Consolidated Traction Company," I muttered, the capital lettersof his position and big corporation, however, pelting like gianthailstones against my courage. "I'm Special Feature Writer for _TheOldburgh Herald_!"

  "If you've got any business with me open that door and come in!" wasthe further invitation I received. "If you haven't, go on off!"

  The invitation wasn't exactly pressing in its tone, but I managed tonerve myself up to accepting it.

  "But I have got some--business with you!" I gasped, as I opened thedoor.

  Mr. Tait turned around from his desk--a worse-looking desk by far thanthe one I had left at the _Herald_ office.

  "Good lord--that is, I mean to say, _dear_ me!" he muttered, as hewheeled and saw me. "Miss Christie!"

  "This must be the office"]

  "Are you so surprised--then?"

  "Surprised? Of course, a little, but--no-o, not so much either, whenyou come to think of it!"

  The room was bare and barn-like, with a couple of shining desks, andhalf a dozen chairs. A calendar, showing a red-gowned lady, who inturn was showing her knees, hung against the opposite wall. Mr. Taitdrew up one of the chairs.

  "Thank you--though I haven't a minute to stay!"

  I stammered a little, then sat down and scrambled about in my bag fora small fan I always carried.

  "A minute?"

  "Not long, really--for it's getting late, you see!"

  My fingers were twitching nervously with the fan, trying to stuff itback into the bag and hide that miserable copy paper which had sprungout of its lair like a "jack-in-the-box" at the opening of the clasp.

  He smiled--so silently and persistently that I was constrained to lookup and catch it. He had seemed not to observe the copy paper.

  "If you're in such a hurry your '_business_' must be urgent," he said,and his tone was full of satire.

  "It is, but--"

  I looked at him again, then hesitated, my voice breaking suddenly.Somehow, I felt that I was a thousand miles away from that magic spoton the Nile where the evening before had placed me. He looked sodifferent!

  "You needn't rub it in on me!" I flashed back at him.

  His chair was tilted slightly against the desk, and he sat thereobserving me impersonally as if I were a wasp pinned on a cardboard.He was looking aloof and keenly aristocratic--as he was at theentrance of the conservatory the evening before.

  "Rub it in on you?"

  "I mean that I didn't want to come out here to-night!"

  My face was growing hot, and try as I would to keep my eyes dry andprofessional-looking something sprang up and glittered sobewilderingly that as I turned away toward the lady on the calendar,she looked like a dozen ladies--all of them doing the hesitationwaltz.

  He straightened up in his chair, relieving that impertinent tilt.

  "Oh,--you didn't want to come?"

  "Of course not!"

  I blinked decisively--and the red-gowned one faded back to her normalnumber, but my eyelids were heavy and wet still.

  "But--but--"

  "Please don't think that I came out here to-night because I wanted tosee you, Mr. Tait!" I was starting to explain, when he interrupted me,the satire quite gone.

  "But, after all, what else was there to do?" he asked, with surprisinggentleness.

  "What else?"

  "Yes. Certainly it was _your_ next move,--Grace!"

  My heart out-did the machinery in the round-house in the way of makinga hubbub at that instant, but he seemed not to hear.

  "I mean to say--I--I expected to hear from you in some manner to-day.That is, I _hoped_ to hear."

  I gave a hysterical laugh.

  "But you didn't expect me to board a trolley-car and run you downafter night in your own den--surely?" I demanded.

  He half rose from his chair, hushing my mocking word with a gesture.His manner was chivalrously protecting.

  "You shan't talk that way about yourself!" he said insistently."Whatever you have chosen to do is--is--all right!"

  I felt bewildered.

  "I just wanted to let you know--" I began, when he stopped me again,this time with an air of finality.

  "Please don't waste this _dear_ little hour in explaining!" he begged."I want you to know--to feel absolutely that nothing you might ever docould be misunderstood by me! I feel now that I _know_ you--yourimpulsive, headstrong ways--"

  "'Heart-strong,' Aunt Patricia used to say," I modified softly.

  He nodded.

  "Of course--'heart-strong!' I understand you! I understand why yourefrained from telling me of your engagement, even."

  My eyes dropped.

  "I didn't--know then."

  "You didn't know how I felt--what an unhappy complication you werestirring up."

  There was a tense little silence, then he spoke again.

  "If you are not in love with your fiance--never have been in love withhim--why do you maintain the relationship?" he asked, in as carefuland businesslike a manner as if he were inquiring the price ofpig-iron.

  "Because--because that's the way we do things down here in thisstate," I answered. "What we _never_ have done before, we have a hardtime starting--and mother idolizes him!"

  He smiled--his own particular brand of smile--for the first time.

  "Little--goose!" he said.

  "Then--last night, when you pretended that you were going straightaway--"

  "I _am_ going away," he broke in with considerable dignity. "That is,I have my plans laid that way now."

  "Plans?"

  "Yes. It's true that my resolution to get away from this town was bornrather precipitately last night; however,
I have been able to make myplans coincide."

  "Oh!" I began with a foolish little quiver in my voice, then collectedmyself. "I'm glad that you could arrange your affairs sosatisfactorily."

  He looked across at me, his mouth grim.

  "Why should I stay?" he demanded. "To-night will see the finishing upof the business which brought me to Oldburgh!"

  Then, and not until then, I'm afraid, did I really recall the face ofmy city editor--and the fact that he had sent me out to obtain aninterview, not a proposal.

  "Your business with the Macdermott Realty Company?" I inquired.

  Maitland Tait looked at me with an amused smile.

  "What do you know about that?" he asked.

  "Nothing except what all the world knows!"

  I managed to inject some hurt feeling into my voice, as if I had aright to know more, which in truth I felt.

  "And how much does the world know?"

  "Merely that you've either planned to shut down this plant here andmove the whole business to Birmingham, or you've bought up acres andacres more of Oldburgh's suburbs and will make this spot so importantand permanent that the company's grandchildren will have to call ithome."

  "But you--_you_ don't know which I've done, eh?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then shall I tell you? Are you interested?"

  "I'm certainly interested in knowing whether or not you'll--ever comeback to Oldburgh--but I don't want you to tell _me_ anything you'drather I shouldn't know."

  "I believe I want to tell you," he replied, his face softeninghumorously. "We have bought acres and acres more of Oldburgh'ssuburbs, and we're going to have quite a little city out here!"

  "There's room for improvement," I observed, looking out through thewindow into the greasy darkness.

  "There is and I'm going to see to it that the improvement's made!There will be model cottages here in place of those miserable hovelsthat I'm glad you can't see from here to-night--and each cottage willhave its garden spot--"

  "That's good!" I approved. "I love gardens."

  "Wait until you see some English ones I have seen," he saidpatriotically.

  "I shall--then pattern my own by them! But--these Loomis plans?"

  "Model cottages, with gardens--then a schoolhouse, with well-keptgrounds--a club-room for men--"

  "And a _sewing_ circle for their wives," I added contemptuously.

  He looked taken aback.

  "Don't you like that?" he asked anxiously. "Why shouldn't they sew?"

  "But why should they--just because they're women?" I asked in answer,and after a moment he began to see light.

  "Of course if you prefer having them write novels, model in clay andillumine parchments we'll add those departments," he declared, with agenerous air. "We're determined to have everything that an altruisticage has thrust upon the manufacturer to reduce his net income."

  "And--occasionally--_you'll_ be coming back to Oldburgh to see thatthe gardens grow silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids allin a row?" I suggested, but after a momentary smile his face sobered.

  "I don't know! There are things--in England--that complicate anyarrangements, I mean _business_ arrangements, I might wish to makejust now."

  "And Loomis will have to get along without you?"

  I had put the question idly, with no ulterior motive in the world, buthe leaned forward until the arm of his revolving chair scraped againstmy chair.

  "Loomis _can_ get along without me," he said, in a low tone, "andtherefore must--but if I should find that I am needed--_wanted_ herein Oldburgh--"

  The shriek of the city-bound trolley-car broke in at that instantupon the quiet of the room, interrupting his slow tense words; and Isprang up and crossed to the window, for I felt suddenly a wilddistaste to having Maitland Tait say important things to me then andthere! Something in me demanded the most beautiful setting the worldcould afford for what he was going to say!

  "I ought--I ought to catch that car!"

  He followed me, his face gravely wondering.

  "My motor is here. I'll take you back to town," he said, looking overmy shoulder into the noisy, dimly-lit scene.

  "But--weren't you going to be busy out here this evening?"

  "Yes--later. I'll go with you, then return to a meeting I have here."

  He rang the bell beside his desk and a moment later the face ofCollins appeared in the doorway. Outside the limousine was breathingsoftly.

  I don't remember what we talked about going in to town, or whether wetalked at all or not; but when the machine slowed up at the _Herald_building and Maitland Tait helped me out, there was the same lightshining from his eyes that shone there the night before--the lightthat made the glint of the silver oars on Cleopatra's Nile barge turnpale--and the radiance half blinded me.

  "Grace, you don't want me to say anything to-night--I can see that,"he said. "And you are right--if you are still bound to that other man!I can say nothing until I know you are free--"

  He whispered the words, our hands meeting warmly.

  "But, if you are going away!--You'll come and say good-by?"

  "If it's to say good-by there'll be no use coming," he answered. "You_know_ how I feel!"

  "But we must say good-by!" I plead.

  He leaned forward then, as he made a motion to step back into the car.His eyes were passionate.

  "What matters where good-by is said--if we can do nothing but say it?"he demanded. "It's _your_ next move, Grace."