II
THE BOOK OF SHELTER
Peter's play is remarkable; it really is. He has collected all the greatand wonderful things that life in America contains and put them togetherin a way that reads as if Edgar Allan Poe had helped Henry James toconstruct it, though they had forgotten to ask Mark Twain to dinner andhad never heard of John Burroughs. I felt when I got through the firstact as if I had been living for a week shut into an old Gothic cathedralaisle decorated by marble-carved inspired words, and I was both cold andhungry. The more I read of Peter's play the more congenial I felt withFarrington. I had enough education to see that it was a genuine literaryachievement, but I had heart enough to know that something had to bedone to rescue all his characters from the arctic region. Could I do itsingle-handed even for a person I cared as much for as I did for Peter?I decided that I could not, and that the only way I could prove myloyalty and affection for Peter was to abase myself before SamCrittenden and his cruelty to me, and get his help. Only for Peter wouldI have done such a thing, which in the end I didn't have to do at all.
Since the night Sam refused me the use of his farm and put me out of hislife for ever I had not seen him until by his own intention. Or maybe itwas Tolly's.
"See here, Betty, what you need is a good fox or tango and you hadbetter come to it up at Sue's to-night."
Tolly had broken in upon my despairing meditations over the way in whichPeter's hero talks wicked business and congested charity to the poorlittle heroine in the very first act while she is full of a beautifulaffection Peter didn't seem to see, and ready to pour it forth to thehero before he started out on a long life mission. Maybe it wassorrowing with her at being thus suppressed by everybody that made mewrite her case to Peter with such fervor. I had just finished the letterwhen Tolly came to my rescue with the offer of a nice warm dance tonourish me up.
"Don't make me kidnap you, Betty; go fluff and rose up a bit," hecommanded, as he seated himself on the front steps with a determinationwhich was as business-like as his management of the Electric LightCompany.
"I think I had better go to Sue's to thaw out some of my lonelinessover this play," I answered him as I looked up with desperation and asmudge on my face. Then I went to my room and left Tolly alone withPeter's poor little heroine. "Say, tell the poet to get the man with thedinner-pail who is eating hunk sandwiches at lunch-time on the pavementin front of any construction job in New York to tell him what he did andsaid to his girl at the firemen's ball the night before, and thentranslate it into some of this first-class poetry. That'll be a greatplay," said Tolly, as I came down-stairs just as he had turned pagetwenty-five of Peter's manuscript. Tolly's coarseness doesn't affect meas it does Edith because there is always so much point to it.
"You don't quite understand Peter and his play, Tolly, dear," I said,with dignity, though I felt exactly the same way about it and hadn'tknown how to express it in human interest terms as well as Tolly.
"I sure don't," answered Tolly, cheerfully, and not at all as if I hadput him in his place in regard to his criticism of our epic. "Come on;let's hurry. Everybody is waiting for us."
It was good to be in a buzz of girls and men once more for the firsttime in two weeks since I settled down to do my worst or best by Peter,with my Grandmother Nelson's garden-book locked up in thepreserve-closet down in the darkest corner of the cellar, and Sam lostin the fastness of The Briers.
Everybody wanted to dance with me at the same time, and the girlskissed me into a lovely, warm cheerfulness. The girls in Hayesboro arethe sustaining kind of friends, like pound-cake, sweetened andbeautifully frosted. "Has he consented to let the hero kiss the poorthing's hand before he goes to fight the case of the miners?" Juliawhispered, warmly, as she took a few tango steps with me in her armsbefore Billy Robertson claimed her and Tolly picked me up to juggle withme in his new Kentucky version of the fox-trot.
"I'm expecting a letter to-morrow," I answered her as Tolly slid me awaythree steps, skidded two, and slid back four. And then, having begun, Idanced; all of me danced; even my heart, which had started out as heavyas lead, got into the feather class before I went around the room threetimes. It is strange how even great responsibilities melt away beforedance music like icicles on the southern side of the house. It was in aperfectly melted condition that I at last dropped from Tolly's graspinto a pair of new arms which cradled me against a broad breast withsuch gentleness that I might have thought it was mother come to thedance if I hadn't caught a whiff of cedar woodsiness when I turned mynose into a miniature brier-patch of blue-berried cedar in thebuttonhole of the coat against which my face was pressed as my feetcaught step with a pair of smart shoes bearing a smear of moss loam onone side.
"Sam!" I gasped, with emotional indignation that had a decided trace ofjoy.
"Yes, I feel that way, too," answered Sam, roughing my hair slightlywith his chin as both his hands were employed holding me to him while weslid and skidded and slid again. "I don't forgive you; I never shall," Isaid, haughtily, as I drew away from him the fraction of an inch thatcame very near making us collide with Sue and Billy, who were dancingwildly, but in perfect accord.
"You'll have to when you hear the worst," answered Sam, as he firmlypressed my shoulder into his while he manoeuvered me first past Edithand Tolly and then across right in front of Pink Herriford, who weighsall of two hundred, dancing with Julia Buford, who must tip the scalesat one hundred and sixty. It was a hairbreadth rapture of escape.
"Is anything the matter with the cows or anybody else?" I demanded,anxiously, from his shoulder.
"Worse!"
"Oh, Sam, has anything died at The Briers?"
"Worse," he answered again, while he defied Tolly with a double crossand then took a chance with Pink and Julia as I pressed him closer withmy arms and my questions.
"Dance me out on the porch through the window and tell me, Sam," Idemanded.
"Not when this music and Julia and Pink hold out like that, Bettykin.It'll be bad enough when you do hear it," answered Sam, laughing down atme with the same wide-mouthed smile he had always used on me whenholding something over my head and making me reach up for it. "Besides,it has been two whole weeks since I've--had you," he added, and againhis strong arms cradled as well as guided. Getting back into somepeople's atmosphere is like recovering the use of a lung a person hadtemporarily lost; breathing improves. I've always breathed easily inSam's friendship. That was why I could dance with him as I did even upto the last bar of the music. Then he swung me out through one of thelong windows on to the porch under the dusky spring starlight.
"I hate to tell you, Betty, though I have walked a five-mile blister onmy left heel in these dancing-shoes just to break the news to you," Samanswered my repeated demand to be told his "worse."
"Oh, Sam, a real blister?" I exclaimed, losing sight of the threatenedcatastrophe at the thought of his blistered heel. I knew how tenderSam's feet were, for I had doctored them since infancy. I used to paytribute in the form of apples and tea-cakes for the privilege of bindingup his ten and twelve year old wounded toes, and I suppose I hadn'treally got over my liking for thus operating.
"Oh, not all from the walk," answered Sam, as he smiled down on meconsolingly. "I've got a brand-new mule and I nearly plowed him andmyself to death to-day. I don't seem to be well heeled enough to plowand dance both."
"What did you plow, Sam?" I came close up to his shoulder so that thebit of woods in his buttonhole grazed my cheek as my head drooped withan embarrassed hope.
"I plowed for the early potatoes on the south slope and--and--"
"And what?"
"I'm thinking of growing a crop of--hollyhocks, if I get time to plant'em."
"Where did you plow, Sam?"
"In spots all over the place."
"Where?"
"Well, then, about a hundred feet south by southwest from my door-step,if you must have it. Great sakes! do you think this heel is going toswell, Betty, from your deep experience?"
"I--I
'm so happy, Sam," I faltered, with more emotion than I knew Samliked, but I think all apologies ought to be met enthusiastically at thefront gate, whether they intended to come in or not.
"Well, I'm not--I'm blistered." He again plaintively referred to hissufferings which I had forgotten in my joy at having him back in thebonds of friendship, even if slightly damaged.
"Come over home with me and I'll plaster it so it won't break or swell.You know I know how," I answered, eagerly.
"Cold cream and an old handkerchief like you used to keep. Um--um! thethought is good, Betty," he answered, as
Over Paradise Ridge Page 8