CHAPTER V
THE SIGN AND SEAL
"The river forever flows yet she sees no farther than I who am forever silent, forever still."
MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT.
"Jim Manning, you've no right to speak to me that way," said Penelope.
Jim returned her look clearly. "You are to stay here, Pen," he repeatedslowly.
"You've got your nerve, Still!" exclaimed Sara. "Pen's as much mycompany as she is yours. Quit trying to start something. Pen, comealong."
Jim did not stir for a moment, then he jerked his head toward the bathhouse. "Go ahead and get into your suit, Sara. Penelope and I will waithere for you."
Sara had seen Jim in this guise before, on the football field. For amoment he scowled, then he shrugged his shoulders. "You old mule!" hegrunted. "All right, Pen. You pacify the brute and I'll be back in a fewminutes."
Pen did not yield so gracefully. She sat down in the sand with her backhalf turned to Jim and he, with his boyish jaw set, eyed heruncomfortably. She did not speak to him until Sara appeared and, withan airy wave of the hand, waded into the water.
"I think Sara looks like a Greek god in a bathing suit," she said."You'd know he was going to be a duke, just to look at him."
Jim gave a good imitation of one of Uncle Denny's grunts and said: "Heisn't a duke--yet--and he's gone in too soon after eating."
"And he's got beautiful manners," Pen continued. "You treat me as if Iwere a child. He never forgets that I am a lady."
"Oh, slush!" drawled Jim.
Pen turned her back, squarely. Sara did not remain long in the water butcame up dripping and shivering to burrow in the hot sand. Pendeliberately sifted sand over him, patting it down as she saw the othersdo, while she told Sara how wonderfully he swam.
Sara eyed Jim mischievously, while he answered: "Never mind, Pen. WhenI'm the duke, you shall be the duchess and have a marble swimming poolall of your own. And old Prunes will be over here coaching AnthonyComstock while you and I are doing Europe--in our bathing suits."
Penelope flushed quickly and Sara's halo of romance shone brighter thanever.
"The Duchess Pen," he went on largely. "Not half bad. For my part, Ican't see any objection to a girl as pretty as you are wearing a bathingsuit anywhere, any time."
Pen looked at Sara adoringly. At sixteen one loves the gods easily. Jim,with averted face, watched the waves dumbly. It had been easy thatmorning to toss speech back and forth with the boat crowd. But now, asalways, when he felt that his need for words was dire, speech desertedhim. Suddenly he was realizing that Pen was no longer a little girl andthat she admired Saradokis ardently. When the young Greek strolled awayto dress, Jim looked at Pen intently. She was so lovely, so rosy, somischievous, so light and sweet as only sixteen can be.
"Cross patch. Draw the latch! Sit by the sea and grouch," she sang.
Jim flushed. "I'm not grouchy," he protested.
"Oh, yes you are!" cried Pen. "And when Sara comes back, he and I aregoing up for some ice cream while you stay here and get over it. You canmeet us for supper with Aunt Mary and Uncle Denny."
Jim, after the two had left, sat for a long time in the sand. He wishedthat he could have a look at the old swimming hole up at Exham. Hewished that he and Uncle Denny and his mother and Pen were living atExham. For the first time he felt a vague distrust of Sara. After a timehe got into his bathing suit and spent the rest of the afternoon in andout of the water, dressing only in time to meet the rest for supper.
After supper the whole party went to one of the great dancing pavilions.Uncle Denny and Jim's mother danced old-fashioned waltzes, while Saraand Jim took turn about whirling Penelope through two steps andgalloping through modern waltz steps. The music and something in Jim'sface touched Pen. As he piloted her silently over the great floor intheir first waltz, she looked up into his face and said:
"I was horrid, Still Jim. You were so bossy. But you were right; it wasno place for me."
Jim's arm tightened round her soft waist. "Pen," he said, "promise meyou'll shake Sara and the rest and walk home from the boat with metonight."
Pen hesitated. She would rather have walked home with Sara, but she wasvery contrite over Jim's lonely afternoon, so she promised. Sara leftthe boat at the Battery to get a subway train home. When the othersreached 23rd street, it was not difficult for Jim and Pen to drop wellbehind Uncle Denny and Jim's mother. Jim drew Pen's arm firmly withinhis own. This seemed very funny to Penelope and yet she enjoyed it.There had come a subtle but decided change in the boy's attitude towardher that day, that she felt was a clear tribute to her newly acquiredyoung ladyhood. So, while she giggled under her breath, she enjoyedJim's sedulous assistance at the street crossings immensely.
But try as he would, Jim could say nothing until they reached the oldbrownstone front. He mounted the steps with her slowly. In the dimlylighted vestibule he took both her hands.
"Look up at me, Pen," he said.
The girl looked up into the tall boy's face. Jim looked down into hersweet eyes. His own grew wistful.
"I wish I were ten years older," he said. Then very firmly: "Penelope,you belong to _me_. Remember that, always. We belong to each other. WhenI have made a name for myself I'm coming back to marry you."
"But," protested Pen, "I'd much rather be a duchess."
Jim held her hands firmly. "You belong to me. You shall never marrySaradokis."
Pen's soft gaze deepened as she looked into Jim's eyes. She saw a lightthere that stirred something within her that never before had beentouched. And Jim, his face white, drew Penelope to him and laid his softyoung lips to hers, holding her close with boyish arms that trembled athis own audacity, even while they were strong with a man's desire tohold.
Penelope gave a little sobbing breath as Jim released her.
"That's my sign and seal," he said slowly, "that kiss. That's to holdyou until I'm a man."
The little look of tragedy that often lurked in Pen's eyes was veryplain as she said: "It will be a long time before you have made a namefor yourself, Still Jim. Lots of things will happen before then."
"I won't change," said Jim. "The Mannings don't." Then with a great sighas of having definitely settled his life, he added: "Gee, I'm hungry! Mestomach is touching me backbone. Let's see if there isn't something inthe pantry. Come on, Pen."
And Pen, with a sudden flash of dimples, followed him.
It was not long after Pen's birthday that the college year ended and Jimand Sara went to work. Jim had spent his previous vacations with thefamily at the shore. Saradokis was planning to become a constructionengineer, with New York as his field. He wanted Jim to go intopartnership with him when they were through college. So he persuaded Jimthat it would be a good experience for them to put in their juniorvacation at work on one of the mighty skyscrapers always in process ofconstruction.
They got jobs as steam drillmen. Jim liked the work. He liked the meresense of physical accomplishment in working the drill. He liked to be apart of the creative force that was producing the building. But to hissurprise, his old sense of suffocation in being crowded in with theimmigrant workman returned to him. There came back, too, some of the oldmelancholy questioning that he had known as a boy.
He said to Sara one day: "My father used to say that when he was a boythe phrase, 'American workman' stood for the highest efficiency in theworld, but that even in his day the phrase had become a joke. How couldyou expect this rabble to know that there might be such a thing as anAmerican standard of efficiency?"
Sara laughed. "Junior Economics stick out all over you, Still. Thisbunch does as good work as the American owners will pay for."
Jim was silent for a time, then he said: "I wonder what's the matterwith us Americans? How did we come to give our country away to thishorde?"
"'Us Americans!'" mimicked Saradokis. "What is an American, anyhow?"
"I'm an American," returned Jim, briefly.
"Sure," answered the Greek, "but so am I and so are most of thesefellows. And none of us knows what an American is. I'll admit it wasyour type founded the government. But you are goners. There is noAmerican type any more. And by and by we'll modify your old Anglo-Saxoninstitutions so that G. Washington will simply revolve in his grave.We'll add Greek ideas and Yiddish and Wop and Bohunk and Armenian andNigger and Chinese and Magyar. Gee! The world will forget there ever wasone of you big-headed New Englanders in this country. Huh! What is anAmerican? The American type will have a boarding house hash beaten forinfinite variety in a generation or so."
The two young men were marching along 23rd street on their way to Jim'shouse for dinner. At Sara's words Jim stopped and stared at the youngGreek. His gray eyes were black.
"So that's the way you feel about us, you foreigners!" exclaimed Jim."We blazed the trail for you fellows in this country and called you overhere to use it. And you've suffocated us and you are glad of it. GoodGod! Dad and the Indians!"
"What did you call us over here for but to make us do your dirty workfor you?" chuckled the Greek. "Serves you right. Piffle! What's anAmerican want to talk about my race and thine for? There's room for allof us!"
Jim did not answer. All that evening he scarcely spoke. That night hedreamed again of his father's broken body and dying face against thegolden August fields. All the next day as he sweated on the drill, thefutile questionings of his childhood were with him.
At noon, Sara eyed him across the shining surface of a Child'srestaurant table. Each noon they devoured a quarter of their day's wagesin roast beef and baked apples.
"Are you sore at me, Still?" asked Sara. "I wasn't roasting you,personally, last night."
Jim shook his head. Sara waited for words but Jim ate on in silence.
"Oh, for the love of heaven, come out of it!" groaned Sara. "Tell mewhat ails you, then you can go back in and shut the door. What has gotyour goat? You can think we foreigners are all rotters if you want to."
"You don't get the point," replied Jim. "I don't think for a minute thatyou newcomers haven't a perfect right to come over here. But I have racepride. You haven't. I can't see America turned from North European toSouth in type without feeling suffocated."
The young Greek stared at Jim fixedly. Then he shook his head. "You arein a bad way, my child. I prescribe a course at vaudeville tonight. Isee you can still eat, though."
Jim stuck by his drill until fall. During these three months he ponderedmore over his father's and Exham's failure than he had for years. Yet hereached no conclusion save the blind one that he was going to fightagainst his own extinction, that he was going to found a family, that hewas going to make the old Manning name once more known and respected.
It was after this summer that the presence of race barrier was felt byJim and Sara. And somehow, too, after Pen's birthday there was a newrestraint between the two boys. Both of them realized then that Pen wasmore to them than the little playmate they had hitherto considered her.Jim believed that the kiss in the vestibule bound Pen to himirretrievably. But this did not prevent him from feeling uneasy andresentful over Sara's devotion to her.
Nothing could have been more charming to a girl of Pen's age than Sara'sway of showing his devotion. Flowers and candy, new books and music heshowered on her endlessly, to Mrs. Manning's great disapproval. ButUncle Denny shrugged his shoulders.
"Let it have its course, me dear. 'Tis the surest cure. And Jim mustlearn to speak for himself, poor boy."
So the pretty game went on. Something in Sara's heritage made him afinished man of the world, while Jim was still an awkward boy. WhileJim's affection manifested itself in silent watchfulness, inunobtrusive, secret little acts of thoughtfulness and care, Saradokiswas announcing Pen as the Duchess to all their friends and openlysinging his joy in her beauty and cleverness.
For even at sixteen Pen showed at times the clear minded thoughtfulnessthat later in life was to be her chief characteristic. This in spite ofthe fact that Uncle Denny insisted on her going to a fashionable privateschool. She read enormously, anything and everything that came to hand.Uncle Denny's books on social and political economy were devoured quiteas readily as Jim's novels of adventure or her own Christina Rossetti.And Sara was to her all the heroes of all the tales she read, althoughafter the episode of the Sign and Seal some of the heroes showed asurprising and uncontrollable likeness to Jim. Penelope never forgot thekiss in the vestibule. She never recalled it without a sense of lossthat she was too young to understand and with a look in her eyes thatdid not belong to her youth but to her Celtic temperament.
She looked Jim over keenly when the family came up from the shore andJim was ready for his senior year. "You never were cut out for citywork, Jimmy," she said.
"I'm as fit as I ever was in my life," protested Jim.
"Physically, of course," answered Pen. "But you hate New York and soit's bad for you. Get out into the big country, Still Jim. I was broughtup in Colorado, remember. I know the kind of men that belong there. Ilove that color of necktie on you."
"Have you heard about the Reclamation Service?" asked Jim eagerly. Thenhe went on: "The government is building big dams to reclaim the aridwest. It puts up the money and does the work and then the farmers on theProject--that's what they call the system and the land it waters--haveten years or so to pay back what it cost and then the water systembelongs to them. They are going to put up some of the biggest dams inthe world. I'd like to try to get into that work. Somehow I like theidea of working for Uncle Sam. James Manning, U.S.R.S.--how does thatsound?"
"Too lovely for anything. I'm crazy about it. Sounds like Kipling andthe pyramids and Sahara, somehow."
"Will you come out there after I get a start, Pen?" asked Jim.
"Gee! I should say not! About the time you're beginning your second dam,I'll be overwhelming the courts of Europe," Pen giggled. Then she added,serenely: "You don't realize, Still, that I'm going to be a duchess."
"Aw, Pen, cut out that silly talk. You belong to me and don't you everthink your flirtation with Sara is serious for a minute. If I thoughtyou really did, I'd give up the Reclamation idea and go into partnershipwith Sara so as to watch him and keep him from getting you."
"You and Sara would never get along in business together," said Pen,with one of her far-seeing looks. "Sara would tie you in a bowknot inbusiness, and the older you two grow the more you are going to developeach other's worst sides."
"Nevertheless, Sara shall never get you," said Jim grimly.
Penelope gave Jim an odd glance. "Sara is my fate, Still Jim," she saidsoberly.
"Oh, pickles!" exclaimed Jim.
Pen tossed her head and left him.
It was in the spring of their senior year that Jim and Sara ran theMarathon. It was a great event in the world of college athletics. Menfrom every important college in the country competed in the tryout. Forthe final Marathon there were left twenty men, Sara and Jim among them.
The course was laid along Broadway from a point near Van Cortlandt Parkto Columbus Circle, ten long, clean miles of asphalt. Early on thebright May morning of the race crowds began to gather along the course.At first, a thin line of enthusiasts, planting themselves on camp stoolsalong the curb. Then at the beginning and end of the course the line,thickened to two or three deep until at last the police began toestablish lines. Mounted police appeared at intervals to turn traffic.The crowd as it thickened grew more noisy. Strange college yells wereemitted intermittently. Street fakirs traveled diligently up and downthe lines selling college banners. At last, Broadway lay a shining blackribbon, bordered with every hue of the rainbow, awaiting the runners.
Uncle Denny had an elaborate plan for seeing the race. He and Jim'smother and Penelope established themselves at 159th street, with awaiting automobile around the corner. After the runners had passed thispoint, the machine was to rush them to the grand stand at ColumbusCircle for the finish.
The three stood on the curb at 159th street, waiting. It wasmid-afte
rnoon when to the north, above the noise of the city, anincreasing roar told of the coming of the runners. Pen, standing betweenUncle Denny and Jim's mother, seized a hand of each. Far up the shiningblack asphalt ribbon appeared a group of white dots. The roar grew withtheir approach.
Suddenly Penelope leaned forward. "Sara! Sara! Jim! Jim!" she screamed.
Four men were leading the Marathon. A Californian, a Wisconsin man, Jimand Sara. Sara led, then Jim and the Californian, then the Wisconsin manwith not a foot between any two of them.
Jim was running easier than Sara. He had the advantage of less weightwith the same height. Sara's running pants and jersey were drenched withsweat. He was running with his mouth dropped open, head back, everysuperb line of his body showing under his wet clothes. His tawny hairgleamed in the sun. No sculptured marble of a Greek runner was ever morebeautiful than Sara as he ran the Marathon.
Jim was running "with his nerves," head forward, teeth clenched, fiststight to his side, long, lean and lithe. His magnificent head outlineditself for an instant against the sky line of the Hudson, fine, tense,like the painting of a Saxon warrior. Pen carried this picture of him inher heart for years.
The moment the boys had passed, Uncle Denny made a run for the machine.The three entered the grand stand just as the white dots appeared underthe elevated tracks at 66th street. There was a roar, a fluttering ofbanners, a crash of music from a band and a single runner broke from thegroup and staggered against the line. Saradokis had won the race.
Jim was not to be seen. Uncle Denny was frantic.
"Where's me boy?" he shouted. "He was fit to finish at the Battery whenhe passed us. Give me deck room here. I'm going to find him!"
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