"Oh, live alone and keep a big dog, and sell chickens. That's what Mrs. Marian does. By the way, she looks just a little bit like you."
"Thank you!"
"She was at the game on Thanksgiving Day, strange to say, for she seldom leaves home. Did you see a pretty white-haired woman, right south of where we were?"
"Is that how I look? No, I didn't see her. I wasn't at the game."
"You weren't? Why not? You missed a wonderful thing."
And Burgess told her the whole story from his viewpoint, of course. What he was too proud to mention to Dr. Fenneben or Elinor he spoke of freely to Dennie, and he felt as if the weight of the limestone ledge was lifted from him with the telling.
"Don't you think the young ruffian was pretty hard on me?" he asked.
"No, I don't," Dennie said, frankly. "I think you were pretty hard on him."
A sudden resolve seized Burgess. He came around to Dennie's side of the table.
"Miss Dennie, I want to tell you something, unimportant in itself, but better shared than kept. On the night of our picnic in October your father, who was not quite himself--"
"Yes, I understand," Dennie said, with downcast eyes.
"Pardon me, Dennie, I would not hurt your feelings." His voice was very gentle, and Dennie looked up gratefully. "On that night your father made me promise--made me hold up my hand and swear--I'm easily forced, you will think--to look after you if he were taken away. I did it to pacify him, not to ever embarrass you. He also told me enough about young Burleigh to make me wish, in the office of protector, to warn you."
"Was my father quite himself then?" Dennie asked.
"Not quite," Burgess replied.
"Listen to him some day when he is. He is another man then. But," she added, "I know you mean well."
In spite of her courage her eyes were full of tears, and for the first time in his sheltered pleasant life the real spirit of sympathy woke in the soul of Vincent Burgess.
"You are a brave, good girl, Dennie. If I can ever serve you in any way, it will be a privilege to me to do it."
Ten minutes after they had left the library Trench, who had been stationary in the north alcove, slowly came to life. He had been posing as a statue, Winged Victory with a head on, he declared afterward to Vic Burleigh, to whom he told the whole story.
"Let me sing my swan song," he declared. "Then me for Lagonda's whirlpool. I'm not fit to live in a decent community, a blithering idiot and rascally villain, who lies in wait to hear and see like a fool. I thought Dennie knew I was there and would be in to dust me out in a minute. And when it was too late I turned to a pillar of salt and waited. But I believe I'll change my mind, after all. I'll live; and if Professor Burgess, A.B. of Cambridge-by-the-bean-patch, dares to make love to Dennie Saxon--on the side--he'll go head foremost into the whirlpool to feed Lagonda's rapacious spirit. I've said it."
CHAPTER VIII
LOSS, OR GAIN?
We cannot make bargains for blisses,
Nor catch them like fishes in nets,
And sometimes the thing our life misses
Helps more than the thing which it gets.
--CARY
ELINOR WREAM spent the holidays in the East and was two weeks late in entering school again. Then her Uncle Lloyd tightened the rules, exacting full measure for lost time, until she bewailed to her girl friends that she had no opportunity even to make fudge or wash her hair.
"Were you sorry to come back, then, Norrie?" her uncle asked one evening when they were alone in their library, and Elinor was lamenting her hard lot.
"No, I want to be with you, Uncle Lloyd."
She was sitting on the arm of his morris chair, softly stroking his heavy hair away from his forehead.
"Looks like it, the way you hurried back," Dr. Fenneben said, smiling.
"But Uncle Joshua isn't well, although, to be honest, he didn't seem a bit anxious to have me stay. He's so wrapped up in Sanscrit he has no time to live in the present. Why didn't he ever marry?"
"You have just said why," her uncle answered her.
"Why didn't you ever marry. Were you ever in love?"
The library lamp cast only a shaded light over Lloyd Fenneben lounging comfortably in his chair. To a woman's eye he would have seemed the picture of an ideal husband.
"Yes, I was in love once. I didn't marry because--because--I didn't."
"How romantic! Was it unrequited, or money, or what?" Norrie asked, eagerly.
"Or what," he answered, and her finer sense made her change the subject.
"Say, Uncle Lloyd, Uncle Joshua says he wants me to marry."
"What's he up to now? Tell me about it."
Norrie was charming tonight in a dainty red evening gown that set off her pretty face, crowned with beautiful dark hair. Somehow the sight of her made deeper the void in Fenneben's life--since that love affair of his own long ago.
"Well," Norrie went on, "Uncle says I'm to marry rich, because my papa expected me to. He said papa had money which was mamma's and he used it for college endowments, because the Wreams love colleges best, and that it was his wish, and it's Uncle Joshua's too, that I should marry well. I knew I came honestly by my love of spending. I inherited it from my mother. Aren't the Wreams all funny men to just see nothing in money, but a cap and gown and a Master's Degree? But you are a human being, Uncle Lloyd. You wouldn't leave a daughter dependent on her uncles and use her money to endow colleges, would you?" The white arm stole round his neck affectionately, as Elinor added softly, "I'm going to tell you something else. Uncle Joshua wants me to marry Professor Burgess."
"Do you want to marry him?" Fenneben asked.
"He hasn't asked me to yet. But he is such a gentleman and he has a fortune in his own name, or in trust, or something like that. It would please the Cambridge folks, and Uncle Joshua expects me to consent, and I've never disobeyed uncle's wishes, so I couldn't refuse now. And, well, if he'll wait till I'm ready, I guess it will suit me."
"He'll wait all right, if he wants you, Norrie. He must wait until you graduate," the Dean declared.
"Oh, yes; a Wream without a college diploma is like a ship without a compass, a mere derelict on life's sea. I'm in no hurry anyhow," and she began to talk of other things.
In the months that followed Trench had no need to watch Professor Burgess in his relation to Dennie Saxon, for Burgess had no thought of her other than of kindly sympathy. That is, Burgess thought he had no thought. He knew he was in love with Elinor, knew that back in Cambridge before he was graduated from the university. He had been told that Elinor liked luxurious living, and he had money--he had told Fenneben as much in their first interview. Everything seemed to be settled now, for Joshua Wream had written Burgess the kind of letter only a very old man, and an abstract scholar, and a bachelor would ever write, telling all that he had said to Norrie. He made it obligatory that Fenneben should first give his sanction to the union. He requested also that Burgess would never mention this letter to his dear young niece, and he expressly stipulated that Norrie should graduate at Sunrise first. He ended with an old man's blessing and with the assurance that with Elinor safely provided for his conscience (why his conscience?) would be at rest, and he could die in peace. So there was smooth sailing at Sunrise for many months. Elinor was always charming, and Dr. Fenneben seemed oblivious to the situation, least of all to putting up any objection, which, according to brother Joshua, would have blocked the game of love. There was time now for profound research, the study of types, seclusion, and the advantage of geographical breath which had brought the Professor to Kansas, and which he heeded less and less with the passing days. For he found himself more and more living in the lives of the students. He had been ashamed, once, of having been Dennie Saxon's escort; and he never knew when she came to be the one person in Lagonda Ledge to whom he turned for confidence and aid in many things.
Meanwhile the big boy from the western claim was as surely going up the rounds of culture as the Professor
was coming down to the common needs of common minds, and both were unconscious then that back of each was Dr. Fenneben, "dear old Funnybone" to the student body, playing each man for his king row in the great game of life fought out in Sunrise-by-the-Walnut.
Toward Elinor, Victor Burleigh seemed utterly indifferent. Even Lloyd Fenneben, who had caught an insight into things on the night of the October storm, and had begun to read that new line in the boy's face, failed to grasp what lay back of those innocent-looking, wide-open eyes, whose tiger-golden gleam showed but rarely now. Vic was easily the most popular fellow in his class, and the year at Sunrise had worked a marvelous change in him.
"You are a darned smooth citizen," Trench drawled, as he and Burleigh stood in the shade by the campus gate on the closing day of their freshman year.
A group of girls had been bidding the two good-bye for the summer. As Elinor Wream, who was the last one of the company, offered her hand to Vic there was a look of expectancy in her glance which found no response in his own eyes. As he turned away with indifferent courtesy to Trench, the big right guard stared hard at him.
"You are a--well, any kind of a smooth citizen, I say," he repeated.
"What's troubling your liver now?" Vic asked.
Trench did not heed the question, but said, slowly: "And-the-big-noble-hearted-young-fellow-walked-in-and-out-beside-her-day-by-day,-and-she-never-knew-whose-face-haunted-his-dreams,-nor-ever-thought-how-the-touch-of-her-hand-thrilled-his-every-pulse-beat,-and-how-her-smile-was-the-light-of-his-soul. And-he-grew-handsomer-and-more-beloved-with-the-passing-seasons,-and,-lonely-and-longing,-he-grew-braver-also-to-meet-life's-battles,-a-splendid-manhood--"
A sudden clutch on Trench's arm, the blaze of the old-time fury in burning eyes, as Vic's hoarse voice cried:
"For God's sake, Trench, get out of my sight!"
"I will," drawled Trench. "The only friend you ever had. I'll carry my troubles up to Big Chief Funnybone. Like as not he'll sentence me to tumble you through the chapel door of the south turret down the `road to perdition.' No use though, you go that road every day. Better treat me right and tell me all your troubles. If there is any cool handle to take hold of Gehanna by next to Funnybone, I'm the one fellow in Sunrise to grab onto it."
But Vic was out of hearing.
And the days of a long, hot Kansas summer, a glorious autumn, and a short, nippy winter swung by in their appointed seasons. And now the springtime was unrolling in dainty beauty of tender green leaf, and growing grass, and warm, sweet air, and trill of song bird. College students philosophize little in the springtime of their sophomore year. Having learned all that books can teach, and a little more, they seek other pastime. Nobody in Sunrise except Dr. Fenneben took the time to remember how stiff and ungenial Professor Burgess was when he first came West; nor what an awkward gosling Victor Burleigh was the day he entered Sunrise; nor that once it could have seemed just a little odd to invite Dennie Saxon, a poor student, daughter of a half-reformed drunkard, to the class parties; nor that even Elinor Wream, "Norrie the beloved," was not supposed to be engaged to Vincent Burgess. Supposed! And that, when her senior year was well along, the engagement would be openly spoken of as now in her sophomore year, it was quietly accepted, even if Professor Burgess was often Dennie Saxon's escort. That was because he was such a gentleman. Nor that with all these changes Trench had remained the same old lazy Trench, the comfortable idol of the girls, for he was right guard to all of them, and cared for none. And they never knew till afterward that for all the four years he was faithful to a little sweetheart out in the sandy Cimarron River country, to whom he took back clean hands and a pure heart, when he went home after four years of college life.
None of these things were noted especially, save by Dr. Lloyd Fenneben, and he wasn't a sophomore nor a professor in love with a pretty girl; a professor learning for the first time that sympathy has also its culture value, as well as perfectly translated Horace, and that the growth of a human soul means something as beautiful as the growth of a complete conjugation on an old Greek stem from an older Greek root. Fenneben had learned all this while he was chasing about the Kansas prairies with a college in his vest pocket.
There were some unchanged things, however, which Fenneben only guessed at. Victor Burleigh had never apologized to Professor Burgess for his rude attack, unless a certain strained dignified courtesy be the mark of a tacit apology. And Burgess could give only cold recognition to the big fellow who had choked him into submission and had gone unpunished by the college authorities.
Between these two Fenneben guessed there was no change. But he did not grieve deeply. There must be a personal phase in this grudge that no third person could handle. It might be a girl--but the face of the returns indicated otherwise. Meanwhile the college was doing its perfect work for Burleigh, whose strength of mind, and self-control, and growing graciousness of manner betokened the splendid manhood that should rest on this foundation. While the spirit of the prairie sod, the benediction of the broad-sweeping air of heaven, and the sturdy, wholesome life of the sons and daughters of freedom-loving, broad-spirited men and women--all were giving to Vincent Burgess a new happiness in his work unlike any pleasure he had ever known before.
Little Bug Buler, now four years of age, had changed least of all among changing things about Lagonda Ledge. A sweet-faced, quaint little fellow he was, with big appealing eyes, a baby lisp to his words, and innocent ways. He was a sturdy, pudgy, self-reliant youngster, however, who took long rambles alone and turned up safe at the right moment. All Lagonda Ledge petted him, even to Burgess, who never forgot the day in the rotunda when Bug's pitying voice had broken Burleigh's grip on his neck.
Bond Saxon had not changed, nor the white-haired woman of Pigeon Place--nor the reputation of the ravines and rocky coverts for hiding law breakers across the Walnut River. And Fenneben noted often the slender blue smoke rising where nobody had a house.
It was an April day in the Walnut Valley, with all the freshness of the earth just washed and perfumed by April showers. The sunshine was pale gold. There was a gray-green filmy light from budding trees, and the old-time miracle of the grass was wrought out once more before the eyes of men. The orchards along the Walnut were faintly pink, and the eggs in the robin's nest, the south winds purring through the wooded spaces, the odor of far-plowed furrows on the prairie farms, all gave assurance of the year's gladdest days. From the Sunrise ledge the beauty of the landscape was exquisite. There was no haze overhanging the earth now, and the Walnut Valley was a picture beyond a Master's dream. Victor Burleigh sat on the top of the flight of steps leading from the lower campus, looking lazily out with dreamy eyes on all that the earth had to give on this sweet April afternoon.
Presently Elinor Wream came around the north angle of the building, hesitated a little, then walked straight to the steps.
"Good afternoon, Victor," she said.
Burleigh looked up, glad then of his months of discipline and self-control. A sight good for anybody on a day like this was this college girl with beautiful dark hair and laughing dark eyes, a satiny pink and white complexion, and a slender form, clad just now in dainty pink gingham with faint little edgings of white and pale green, all stylishly put together to reveal rounded arms, and white neck, and dimpled chin.
"Hello, Elinor," Vic said, calmly, making room for her on the stone steps. "Take a seat."
Elinor sat down beside him, throwing her hat on the ground.
"Whither away?" Vic asked.
"I'll tell you presently. I want to get over my stage fright first."
"All right, look at this view. I'll give it to you if you like it." Vic had turned to the west again and was looking away toward the dreamy prairies beyond the valley.
Elinor recalled the September day when the bull snake lay sunning itself on this very stone. How shy and awkward he seemed then, with only a deep sweet voice to attract favorable attention. And now, big, and graceful, and handsome, and reserved--any girl might be proud
to have his regard. Of course, for herself, there was Vincent Burgess in the pleasant inevitable sometime. She gave little thought to that. She was living in the present. And in the wooing spirit of the April afternoon Elinor was glad to sit here beside Victor Burleigh.
"What time next month do we have the big baseball game?" she asked. "The game that is to make Sunrise the champion college in Kansas, and you our college champion?" Vic's lips suddenly grew gray.
"Friday, the thirteenth--auspicious date!" he answered. "But I may not play in it. I might fail."
"Oh, we must win this game, anyhow, and you never do fail. Don't forget the name your mother gave you. Do you remember when you told me that?"
"A couple of thousand years ago, wasn't it?" Vic asked, smiling down on her. "If I don't play Sunrise needn't fail, even for Friday, the thirteenth."
"But it will fail without you. You pulled us to victory a year ago at the Thanksgiving game, and last fall the Sunrise goal line wasn't crossed the whole season with `Burleigh! Burly! Burlee!' for a slogan. We must win this year. Then it will be a complete championship: football, basket-ball, and baseball. We won't do it though unless we have `Burleigh at the bat'."
A shadow crossed his face and he looked away to where a tiny film of blue smoke was rising above the rough ledges beyond the river.
"I'm getting over my stage fright now," Elinor said, the pink deepening on her fair cheek, "and I'll tell you what I want."
"Command me!" he said, gallantly.
"Well, it's awful, and the girls are too mean to live. But they are getting even with me, they say, for something I did last fall."
"All right." Vic was waiting, graciously.
"A lot of us have broken some of the rules of the Sorority and it's decreed that I must go over the route we came home by on the night of the storm down in the Kickapoo Corral. They are having a `spread' down there at five o'clock and we are to get there in time for it, going by the west side of the river, and they'll bring us home. They said I should ask you to go with me, and if you wouldn't go for me to ask Mr. Trench to go. They are too silly for anything."
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