CHAPTER I
BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN
Frank rose and, plunging his hands into his pockets, lounged over to thewide window and gazed out on the wild March storm which was drenchingand dismaying Fifth Avenue. A weaving throng of carriages, auto-cars anddelivery wagons beat up and down against it, were driven by it frombehind, or buffeted from many directions at the corners. Coachmen,footmen and drivers huddled down into their waterproofs; pedestrianstried to breast the rain with their umbrellas and frequently lost them.From where he stood the young man could count five torn and twistedderelicts soaking in gutters. They seemed so very wet--everything did.When a stage--that relic of another day--lumbered by, the driver on top,only half sheltered by his battered oil-skins, seemed wetter and moredismal than any other object. It all had an art value, certainly, butthere were pleasanter things within. The young man turned to theluxurious room, with its wide blazing fire and the young girl who satlooking into the glowing depths.
"Do you know, Constance," he said, "I think you are a bit hard on me."Then he drifted into a very large and soft chair near her, and,stretching out his legs, stared comfortably into the fire as if the factwere no such serious matter, after all.
The girl smiled quietly. She had a rich oval face, with a deep look inher eyes, at once wistful and eager, and just a bit restless, as ifthere were problems there among the coals--questions she could notwholly solve.
"I did not think of it in that way," she said, "and you should not callme Constance, not now, and you are Mr. Weatherby. I do not know how weever began--the other way. I was only a girl, of course, and did notknow America so well, or realize--a good many things."
The young man stirred a little without looking up.
"I know," he assented; "I realize that six months seems a long period toa--to a young person, and makes a lot of difference, sometimes. Ibelieve you have had a birthday lately."
"Yes, my eighteenth--my majority. That ought to make a difference."
"Mine didn't to me. I'm just about the same now as I was then, and----"
"As you always will be. That is just the trouble."
"I was going to say, as I always had been."
"Which would not be true. You were different, as a boy."
"And who gave you that impression, pray?"
The girl flushed a little.
"I mean, you must have been," she added, a trifle inconsequently. "Boysalways are. You had ambitions, then."
"Well, yes, and I gratified them. I wanted to be captain of my collegeteam, and I was. We held the championship as long as I held the place. Iwanted to make a record in pole-vaulting, and I did. It hasn't beenbeaten since. Then I wanted the Half-mile Cup, and I won that, too. Ithink those were my chief aspirations when I entered college, and when Icame out there were no more worlds to conquer. Incidentally I carriedoff the honors for putting into American some of Mr. Horace's justlypopular odes, edited the college paper for a year, and was valedictorianof the class. But those were trivial things. It was my prowess thatgave me standing and will remain one of the old school's traditions longafter this flesh has become dust."
The girl's eyes had grown brighter as he recounted his achievements. Shecould not help stealing a glance of admiration at the handsome fellowstretched out before her, whose athletic deeds had made him honoredamong his kind. Then she smiled.
"Perhaps you were a pillar of modesty, too," she commented, "once."
He laughed--a gentle, lazy laugh in which she joined--and presently sheadded:
"Of course, I know you did those things. That is just it. You could doanything, and be anything, if you only would. Oh, but you don't seem tocare! You seem satisfied, comfortable and good-naturedly indifferent; ifyou were poor, I should say idle--I suppose the trouble is there. Youhave never been poor and lonely and learned to want things. So, ofcourse, you never learned to care for--for anything."
Her companion leaned toward her--his handsome face full of a light thatwas not all of the fire.
"I have, for you," he whispered.
The girl's face lighted, too. Her eyes seemed to look into some goldenland which she was not quite willing to enter.
"No," she demurred gently. "I am not sure of that. Let us forget aboutthat. As you say, a half-year has been a long time--to a child. I hadjust come from abroad then with my parents, and I had been most of thetime in a school where girls are just children, no matter what theirages. When we came home, I suppose I did not know just what to do withmy freedom. And then, you see, Father and Mother liked you, and let youcome to the house, and when I first saw you and knew you--when I got toknow you, I mean--I was glad to have you come, too. Then we rode anddrove and golfed all those days about Lenox--all those days--your memoryis poor, very poor, but you may recall those October days, last year,when I had just come home--those days, you know----"
Again the girl's eyes were looking far into a fair land which queenshave willingly died to enter, while the young man had pulled his chairclose, as one eager to lead her across the border.
"No," she went on--speaking more to herself than to him, "I am older,now--ages older, and trying to grow wise, and to see things as they are.Riding, driving and golfing are not all of life. Life is serious--a sortof battle, in which one must either lead or follow or merely look on.You were not made to follow, and I could not bear to have you look on. Ialways thought of you as a leader. During those days at Lenox you seemedto me a sort of king, or something like that, at play. You see I wasjust a schoolgirl with ideals, keeping the shield of Launcelot bright. Ihad idealized him so long--the one I should meet some day. It was allvery foolish, but I had pictured him as a paladin in armor, who wouldhave diversions, too, but who would lay them aside to go forth andredress wrong. You see what a silly child I was, and how necessary itwas for me to change when I found that I had been dreaming, that the oneI had met never expected to conquer or do battle for a cause--that thediversions were the end and sum of his desire, with maybe a littlelove-making as a part of it all."
"A little--" Her companion started to enter protest, but did notcontinue. The girl was staring into the fire as she spoke and seemedonly to half remember his existence. For the most part he had known heras one full of the very joy of living, given to seeing life from itscheerful, often from its humorous, side. Yet he knew her to be volatile,a creature of moods. This one, which he had learned to know but lately,would pass. He watched her, a little troubled yet fascinated by it all,his whole being stirred by the charm of her presence.
"One so strong--so qualified--should lead," she continued slowly, "notmerely look on. Oh, if I were a man I should lead--I should ride tovictory! I should be a--a--I do not know what," she concludedhelplessly, "but I should ride to victory."
He restrained any impulse he may have had to smile, and presently said,rather quietly:
"I suppose there are avenues of conquest to-day, as there were when theworld was young. But I am afraid they are so crowded with the rank andfile that paladins ride few and far between. You know," he added, morelightly, "knight-errantry has gone out of fashion, and armor would be aclumsy thing to wear--crossing Broadway, for instance."
She laughed happily--her sense of humor was never very deeply buried.
"I know," she nodded, "we do not meet many Galahads these days, and mostof the armor is make-believe, yet I am sure there are knights whom we donot recognize, with armor which we do not see."
The young man sat up a bit straighter in his chair and assumed a morematter-of-fact tone.
"Suppose we put aside allegory," he said, "and discuss just how youthink a man--myself, for instance--could set the world afire--make itwiser and better, I mean."
The embers were dying down, and she looked into them a little longerbefore replying. Then, presently:
"Oh, if I were only a man!" she repeated. "There is so much--so manythings--for a man to do. Discovery, science, feats of engineering, theprofessions, the arts, philanthropy--oh, everything! And for us, solittle!"
"We do not monopolize it all, you know. Quite a few women are engagedin the professions and philanthropy; many in the arts."
"The arts, yes, but I am without talent. I play because I have beentaught, and because I have practiced--oh, so hard! But God neverintended that the world should hear me. I love painting and literature,and all those things. But I cannot create them. I can only look on. Ihave thought of the professions--I have thought a great deal aboutmedicine and the law. But I am afraid those would not do, either. Icannot understand law papers, even the very simple ones Father has triedto explain to me. And I am not careful enough with medicines--I almostpoisoned poor Mamma last week with something that looked like herheadache drops and turned out to be a kind of preparation for bruises.Besides, somehow I never can quite see myself as a lawyer in court, orgoing about as a doctor. Lawyers always have to go to court, don't they?I am afraid I should be so confused, and maybe be arrested. They arrestlawyers don't they, sometimes?"
"They should," admitted the young man, "more often than they do. I don'tbelieve you ought to take the risk, at any rate. I somehow can't thinkof you either as a lawyer or a doctor. Those things don't seem to fityou."
"That's just it. Nothing fits me. Oh, I am not even as much as I seem tobe, yet can be nothing else!" she burst out rather incoherently, thensomewhat hastily added: "There is philanthropy, of course. I could dogood, I suppose, and Father would furnish the money. But I could neverundertake things. I should just have to follow, and contribute. Some onewould always have to lead. Some one who could go among people andcomprehend their needs, and know how to go to work to supply them. Ishould do the wrong thing and make trouble----"
"And maybe get arrested----"
They laughed together. They were little more than children, after all.
"I know there _are_ women who lead in such things," she went on. "Theycome here quite often, and Father gives them a good deal. But theyalways seem so self-possessed and capable. I stand in awe of them, and Ialways wonder how they came to be made so wise and brave, and why mostof us are so different. I always wonder."
The young man regarded her very tenderly.
"I am glad you are different," he said earnestly. "My mother is alittle like that, and of course I think the world of her. Still, I amglad you are different."
He leaned over and lifted an end of log with the tongs. A bright blazesprang up, and for a while they watched it without speaking. It seemedto Frank Weatherby that nothing in the world was so worth while as to bethere near her--to watch her there in the firelight that lingered alittle to bring out the rich coloring of her rare young face, thenflickered by to glint among the deep frames along the wall, to loseitself at last amid the heavy hangings. He was careful not to renewtheir discussion, and hoped she had forgotten it. There had been no talkof these matters during their earlier acquaintance, when she had butjust returned with her parents from a long sojourn abroad. That had beenat Lenox, where they had filled the autumn season with happy recreation,and a love-making which he had begun half in jest and then, all at once,found that for him it meant more than anything else in the world. Notthat anything had hitherto meant a great deal. He had been an only boy,with a fond mother, and there was a great deal of money between them. Ithad somehow never been a part of his education that those who did notneed to strive should do so. His mother was a woman of ideas, but thishad not been one of them. Perhaps as a boy he had dreamed his dreams,but somehow there had never seemed a reason for making them reality. Theidea of mental and spiritual progress, of being a benefactor of mankindwas well enough, but it was somehow an abstract thing--something apartfrom him--at least, from the day of youth and love.
The Lucky Piece: A Tale of the North Woods Page 2