Who Cares? A Story of Adolescence

by Cosmo Hamilton

  VIII

  Martin was not given to suspicion. He accepted people at their facevalue and believed in human nature. It never occurred to him, then,that the apparently ingenuous and disarming Irene, with her straightglance and wide smile, had brought Tootles to Devon except by accidentor for anything but health and peace. He was awfully glad to see them.They added to the excellent effect upon his spirits which had beenworked by the constant companionship of the irrepressible Howard,before whose habitual breeziness depression could stand little chance.

  Also he had youth and health and plenty to do in gorgeous weather, andso his case, which he had been examining rather morbidly, assumed aless painful aspect. His love and need of Joan remained just as strong,but the sense of martyrdom brought about by loneliness andself-analysis left him. Once more he assured himself that Joan was akid and must have her head until she became a woman and faced facts.Over and over again he repeated to himself the creed that she had flunginto the teeth of fate, and in this he found more excuse than shedeserved for the way in which she had used him to suit her purpose andput him into the position of a big elder brother whose duty it was tosupport her, in loco parentis, and not interfere with her pastimes.However much she fooled and flirted, he had an unshakable faith in hercleanness and sweetness, and if he continued to let her alone, to getfed up with what she called the Merry-go-round, she would one day comehome and begin all over again. She was a kid, just a kid as she hadsaid, and why, after all, should she be bullied and bully-ragged beforeshe had had time to work it off? That's how he argued.

  Meanwhile, he was, thankfully enough, no longer alone. Here were Howardand the two girls and the yawl and the sun, and he would keep merry andbright until Joan came back. He was too proud and sensitive to go toJoan and have it all out with her and thus dispel what had developedinto a double misunderstanding, and too loyal to go to Joan's motherand tell his story and beg for help. Like Joan and Howard, and whoknows how many other young things in the world, he was paying theinevitable penalty for believing that he could face the problems oflife unassisted, unadvised and was making a dreadful hash of it inconsequence. He little knew that his kindness to Tootles had made Joanbelieve that he had exchanged his armor for broadcloth and put her in a"who cares?" mood far more dangerous than the one which had sent herinto the night life of New York, or that, owing to Tootles, she was, atthat very moment, for the fun of the thing, driving Gilbert Palgrave toa state of anger and desperation which might lead to tragedy. Pooryoung things, misguided and falsely proud and at a loose end! What awaste of youth and spring which a few wise words of counsel wouldretrieve and render blessed.

  And as for Tootles, with her once white face and red lips and hair thatcame out of a bottle, Martin was to her what Joan was to Palgrave andfor the same reason. Irene's hints and innuendos had taken root. Caringnothing for the practical side of her friend's point of view,--theassured future business,--all her energies were bent to attract Martin,all that was feminine in her was making a huge effort to win, by hookor crook, somehow soon, an answer, however temporary, to her love.Never mind what happened after these summer weeks were over. Whatmatter if she went mad so that she had her day? She had never comeacross any man like this young Martin, with his clean eyes andsensitive soul and honest hands, his, to her, inconceivable capacity of"being brother," his puzzling aloofness from the lure of sex. Shedidn't understand what it meant to a boy of Martin's type to cherishideals and struggle to live up to a standard that had been set for himby his father. In her daily fight for mere self-preservation, in whichjoy came by accident, any such thing as principle seemed crazy. Herstreet--Arab interpretation of the law of life was to snatch ateverything that she could reach because there was so much that wasbeyond her grasp. Her love for Martin was the one passion of her sordidlittle life, and she would be thankful and contented to carry memoriesback to her garret which no future rough-and-tumble could ever takeaway or blot out.

  For several days after the first of many dinners with the boys, Tootlesplayed her cards with the utmost care. The foursome became inseparable,bathing, sailing and motoring from morning to night. If there was anytruth in the power of propinquity, it must have been discovered then.Howard attached himself to Irene whom he found something more thanmerry and amusing,--a girl of indomitable courage and optimism, infact. He liked her immensely. And so Tootles paired off with Martin andhad innumerable opportunities of putting forward the challenge of sex.She took them all, but with the most carefully considered subtlety. Shedescended to nothing obvious, as was to be expected from one of hertype, which was not famous for such a thing as self-restraint. She paidgreat attention to her appearance and kept a close watch on her tongue.She played what she imagined was the part of a little lady, toned downher usual exuberance, her too loud laugh and her characteristic habitof giving quick and smart back answers. But in all her long talks withMartin she hinted ever so lightly that she and he had not been throwntogether from opposite poles without a reason. She tried to touch hismind with the thought that it was to become what she said it might thenight of the accident,--a romance, a perfectly private little affair oftheir own, stolen from their particular routine, which could be endedat a moment's notice. She tried to wrap the episode up in a page ofpoetry which might have been torn from a little book by Francois Villonand give it a wistfulness and charm that she thought would appeal tohim. But it was not until one more than usually exquisite night, whenthe spirit of July lingered in the air and the warmth of the sun stilllay among the stars, that she made her first step towards her goal.Howard and Irene had wandered down to the water, and she was left withMartin sitting elfishly among the ferns on the bank below the cottageand above the silver lapping water. Martin, very much alive to themagic spell of the night, with the young sap stirring in his veins, layat her feet, and she put her hand caressingly on his head and began totalk in a half whisper.

  "Boy, oh, boy," she said, "what shall I do without you when this dreamcomes to an end?"

  "Dream again," said Martin.

  "Down there in the city, so far away from trees?"

  "Why not? We can take our dreams with us wherever we go. But it isn'tcoming to an end yet."

  "How long will it last?"

  "Until the sun gets cold," said Martin, catching her mood, "and there'sa chill in the air."

  She slipped down a little so that he should see the light in her eyes.There was hardly an inch between their lips, and the only sound was thebeating of her heart. Youth and July and the scent of honeysuckle.

  "I thought I was dead when you helped me out of that wreck," she wenton in a quivering voice, and her long-fingered hand on his face. "Ithink I must be really dead to-night. Surely this is too sweet to belife."

  "Dear little Tootles," said Martin softly. She was so close that hecould feel the rise and fall of her breasts. "Don't let's talk ofdeath. We're too young."

  The sap was stirring in his veins. She was like a fairy, this girl, whoought never to have wandered into a city.

  "Martin," she said, "when the sun gets cold and there's a chill in theair will you ever come back to this hour in a dream?"

  "Often, Tootles, my dear."

  "And will you see the light in my eyes and feel my hands on your faceand my lips on your lips?"

  She bent forward and put them there and drew back with a shaking soband scrambled up and fled.

  She had seen the others coming, but that was not why she had tornherself away. One flash of sex was enough that night. The next time hemust do the kissing.

  Eve and July and the scent of honeysuckle!

  Breakfast was on the table. To Irene, who came down in her dressinggown with her hair just bundled up and her face coated with powder,eight o'clock was an unearthly hour at which to begin the day. In NewYork she slept until eleven, read the paper until twelve, cooked anddisposed of a combined breakfast-lunch at one, and if it was a matineeday, rushed round to the theater, and if it wasn't, killed time untilher work called her in the evening. A boob's lif
e, as she called it,was a trying business, but the tyranny of the bustling woman with whomshe lodged was such that if breakfast was not eaten at eight o'clock itwas not there to eat. Like an English undergraduate who scrambles outof bed to attend Chapel simply to avoid a fine, this product ofBroadway theaterdom conformed to the rule of Mrs. Burrell's energetichouse because the good air of Devon gave her a voracious appetite.Then, too, even if she missed breakfast, she had to pay for it, "sothere you are, old dear."

  Tootles, up with the lark as usual, was down among the ducks, givingFarmer Burrell a useful hand. She delighted in doing so. From a countrygrandfather she had inherited a love of animals and of the earlyfreshness of the morning that found eager expression, now that she hadthe chance of giving it full rein. Then, too, all that was maternal inher nature warmed at the sight and sound of all those new, soft, yellowthings that waddled closely behind the wagging tails of their mothers,and it gave her a sort of sweet comfort to go down on her knees andhold one of these frightened babies against her cheek.

  Crying out, "Oo-oo, Tootles," from halfway down the cinder path, Irene,stimulated by the aroma of hot coffee and toast, and eggs and bacon,returned to the living room and fell to humming, "You're here and I'mhere."

  Tootles joined her immediately, a very different looking little personfrom the tired-eyed, yawning girl of the city rabbit warren. Health wasin her eyes and a little smile at the corners of her mouth. Quick workwas made of the meal to the intermittent duck talk of Mrs. Burrell whocame in and out of the kitchen through a creaking door,--a normal,noisy soul, to whom life was a succession of laborious days spentbetween the cooking stove and the washtub with a regular Saturdaynight, in her best clothes, at the motion-picture theater at Sag Harborto gape at the abnormality of Theda Bara and scream with uncontrolledmirth at the ingenious antics of Charlie Chaplin. An ancient Ford madepossible this weekly dip into these intense excitements.

  And then the two girls left the living room with its inevitable rockingchairs and framed texts and old heating stove with a funnel through thewall and went out into the sun.

  "Well, dearie," said Irene, sitting on the edge of the stoop, withinsound of the squeaking of a many-armed clothes drier, teased by a nicesailing wind. "Us for the yawl to-day."

  "You for the yawl," said Tootles. "I'm staying here to help old manBurrell. It's his busy day."

  Irene looked up quickly. "What's the idea?"

  "Just that,--and something else. I don't want to see Martin till thisevening. I moved things last night, and I want him to miss me a bit."

  "Ah," said Irene. "I guessed it meant something when you made thatquick exit when we moved up. Have you got him, dearie?"

  Tootles shot out a queer little sigh and nodded.

  "That's fine. He's not like the others, is he? But you've played himgreat. Oh, I've seen it all, never you fear. Subtle, old dear, verysubtle. Shouldn't have had the patience myself. Go in and win. He'sworth it." Tootles put her hands over her face and a great sob shookher.

  In an instant, Irene had her in her arms. "Dear old Tootles," she said,"it means an awful lot to you, don't it? Don't give way, girlie. You'vedone mighty well so far. Now follow it up, hot and fast. That boy's gota big heart and he's generous and kind, and he won't forget. I broughtyou here for this, such a chance as it was, and if I can see youproperly fixed up and happy, my old uncle's little bit of velvet willhave come in mighty useful, eh? Got a plan for to-night?"

  Tootles nodded again. "If I don't win to-night," she said, "it's allover. I shall have to own that he cares for me less than the dust. Ishall have to throw up my hands and creep away and hide. Oh, my God, amI such a rotten little freak as all that, Irene? Tell me, go on, tellme."

  "Freak? You! For Heaven's sake. Don't the two front rows give nobodybut you the supper signal whenever the chorus is on?"

  "But they're not like Martin. He's,--well, I dunno just what he is. Forone thing there's that butterfly he's married to. He's never said asmuch as half a word about her to me, but the look that came into hiseyes when he saw her the night I told you about,--I'd be run over by atrain for it any time. He's a man alright and wants love as bad as Ido. I know that, but sometimes, when I watch his face, when neither ofus is talking, there's a queer smile on it, like a man who's looking upat somebody, and he sets his jaw and squares his shoulders just as ifhe had heard a voice telling him to play straight. Many times I've seenit, Irene, and after that I have to begin all over again. I respect himfor it, and it makes me love him more and more. I've never had the luckto meet a man like him. The world would be a bit less rotten for thelikes of you and me if there were more of him about, I tell you. But ithurts me like the devil because it makes me feel no better than a shoewith the buttons off and the heel all worn down, and I ask myselfwhat's the blooming use. But last night I kissed him, and I saw hiseyes glint for the first time and to-night,--to-night, Irene, I'm goingto play my last card. Yes, that's what I'm going to do, play the lastcard in the pack."

  "How?" asked Irene eagerly, sympathy and curiosity bubbling to the top.

  Tootles shook her head. "It isn't lucky to go talking about it." shesaid, with a most wistful smile. "You'll know whether it's the heightsor the depths for me when you see me in the morning."

  "In the morning? Shan't you be..."

  "Don't ask. Just wish me luck and go and have a good day with the boys.I shall be waiting for you at the cottage. And now I'm off down to theducks. Say I've got a headache and don't let 'em come round and try tofetch me. So long, Irene; you've been some pal to me through this and Ishall never forget."

  Whereupon Tootles went off to lend the unloquacious Burrell a helpinghand, and Irene ran up to the bedroom to dress.

  From the pompous veranda of the Hosack place Gilbert Palgrave, sickwith jealousy, watched Joan swimming out to the barrels with thatcursed boy in tow. And he, too, had made up his mind to play his lastcard that night.

  Man and woman and love,--the old, inevitable story.