The Third Violet

by Stephen Crane

  THE THIRD VIOLET

  by

  STEPHEN CRANE

  Author of The Red Badge of Courage,The Little Regiment, and Maggie

  New YorkD. Appleton and Company1897

  Copyright, 1897,by D. Appleton and Company.Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane.

  THE THIRD VIOLET.

  CHAPTER I.

  The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags,and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at thestruggles of the black monster.

  When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with theenthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platformof the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from thevillage were present to examine the consignment of people from the city.These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stagedrivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city.

  Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbedawkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled andknocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backwardwith fine caution. "Hello, little man," said Hawker, "did it hurt?" Thechild regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker hadcalled his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politelywaiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but avoice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conductinga little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of theeasel. The boy resumed his cautious descent.

  The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that asindividuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, asa man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thunderingtrunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling throughthe crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where isthe stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young womanregarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and heturned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he hadlooked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it." At thesame time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her,though! What a glance--oh, murder! The--the--the distance in her eyes!"

  He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage forHemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinnedexpectantly at him. "Oh," said Hawker, "you drive the stage for HemlockInn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage." The youngwoman smiled.

  The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of thevehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see thefirst coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of thestage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy,the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at onceto be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated thestage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seateduncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker aglance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now," heinformed him cheerfully.

  "Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry."

  "Oh, I didn't mind it much," continued the little boy, swinging hislong, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'mhurt, anyhow." He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose softlips set defensively.

  The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group inthe gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow andthoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, thegreen hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of goldstruck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of thesun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from timeto time he conversed with them in yells.

  The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilagedto their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmlyvaluing him.

  "Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy.

  "I like it very well," answered Hawker.

  "I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot abears."

  "I hope you may."

  "Did you ever shoot a bears?"

  "No."

  "Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'dlook around for one. Where I live----"

  "Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhapsevery one is not interested in your conversation." The boy seemedembarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with anapologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills,and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions forfear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid.

  Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl withthe--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward anddiscovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled inhis seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way andthat way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or ashoulder.

  The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Trainwas an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll benine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty darktravellin'."

  Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?"

  "Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' JimHawker's son, hain't yeh?"

  "Yes."

  "I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?"

  "Yes."

  "Want t' git off at th' cross-road?"

  "Yes."

  "Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?"

  "Yes."

  "On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em,they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter."

  In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glancedfurtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with themother of the children.

  CHAPTER II.

  When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a brokenhinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the grass.

  "Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle wasinstantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle ofdelight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly expressedhis emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and then dancingover the ground with his head and his tail very near to each other. Hegave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally describe hisgladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod," said Hawker, and the setter,overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully.

  There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dogthe door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading theireyes and peering down the yellow stream. Presently they shouted, "Herehe is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will! why, Will!"they panted.

  "We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation andunanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, thepaint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house.

  He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She hadlaid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned thedarkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes werebright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured softand half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one toanother. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was alwaysfully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this ceremony ofwelcome and that everybody was heeding him.

  "Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as sherecovered herself. The girls clamoured sentence
s at him. "Pa's out inthe barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to thecross-roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. Whatmade you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!"

  The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?"

  "No," said Hawker, "but----"

  The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you somethingright away." They bustled about the kitchen and dove from time to timeinto the cellar. They called to each other in happy voices.

  Steps sounded on the line of stones that led from the door toward thebarn, and a shout came from the darkness. "Well, William, home again,hey?" Hawker's grey father came stamping genially into the room. "Ithought maybe you got lost. I was comin' to hunt you," he said,grinning, as they stood with gripped hands. "What made you so late?"

  While Hawker confronted the supper the family sat about and contemplatedhim with shining eyes. His sisters noted his tie and propounded somequestions concerning it. His mother watched to make sure that he shouldconsume a notable quantity of the preserved cherries. "He used to be sofond of 'em when he was little," she said.

  "Oh, Will," cried the younger sister, "do you remember Lil' Johnson?Yeh? She's married. Married las' June."

  "Is the boy's room all ready, mother?" asked the father.

  "We fixed it this mornin'," she said.

  "And do you remember Jeff Decker?" shouted the elder sister. "Well, he'sdead. Yep. Drowned, pickerel fishin'--poor feller!"

  "Well, how are you gitting along, William?" asked the father. "Sell manypictures?"

  "An occasional one."

  "Saw your illustrations in the May number of Perkinson's." The old manpaused for a moment, and then added, quite weakly, "Pretty good."

  "How's everything about the place?"

  "Oh, just about the same--'bout the same. The colt run away with me lastweek, but didn't break nothin', though. I was scared, because I had outthe new buggy--we got a new buggy--but it didn't break nothin'. I'mgoin' to sell the oxen in the fall; I don't want to winter 'em. And thenin the spring I'll get a good hoss team. I rented th' back five-acre toJohn Westfall. I had more'n I could handle with only one hired hand.Times is pickin' up a little, but not much--not much."

  "And we got a new school-teacher," said one of the girls.

  "Will, you never noticed my new rocker," said the old mother, pointing."I set it right where I thought you'd see it, and you never took nonotice. Ain't it nice? Father bought it at Monticello for my birthday. Ithought you'd notice it first thing."

  When Hawker had retired for the night, he raised a sash and sat by thewindow smoking. The odour of the woods and the fields came sweetly tohis nostrils. The crickets chanted their hymn of the night. On the blackbrow of the mountain he could see two long rows of twinkling dots whichmarked the position of Hemlock Inn.

  CHAPTER III.

  Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden. In New York Hollanden hadannounced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn. "I don'tlike to see the world progressing," he had said; "I shall go to SullivanCounty for a time."

  In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and aftermanoeuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he hadno desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it. The time was onlynine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden beforeeleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware thatthere was a sunrise and an early morning.

  Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on whichtrees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky andsundry little white clouds. He fiddled away perfunctorily at it. Aspectator would have believed, probably, that he was sketching thepines on the hill where shone the red porches of Hemlock Inn.

  Finally, a white-flannel young man walked into the landscape. Hawkerwaved a brush. "Hi, Hollie, get out of the colour-scheme!"

  At this cry the white-flannel young man looked down at his feetapprehensively. Finally he came forward grinning. "Why, hello, Hawker,old boy! Glad to find you here." He perched on a boulder and began tostudy Hawker's canvas and the vivid yellow stubble with the oliveshadows. He wheeled his eyes from one to the other. "Say, Hawker," hesaid suddenly, "why don't you marry Miss Fanhall?"

  Hawker had a brush in his mouth, but he took it quickly out, and said,"Marry Miss Fanhall? Who the devil is Miss Fanhall?"

  Hollanden clasped both hands about his knee and looked thoughtfullyaway. "Oh, she's a girl."

  "She is?" said Hawker.

  "Yes. She came to the inn last night with her sister-in-law and a smalltribe of young Fanhalls. There's six of them, I think."

  "Two," said Hawker, "a boy and a girl."

  "How do you--oh, you must have come up with them. Of course. Why, thenyou saw her."

  "Was that her?" asked Hawker listlessly.

  "Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?"

  "Oh!" said Hawker.

  Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money," he said. "Loads of it.And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in yourwork. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat itsimply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe--yes, I am sure shecould be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now, ifyou weren't such a hopeless chump----"

  "Oh, shut up, Hollie," said the painter.

  For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again."Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health.Something like that. She----"

  "Great heavens," said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!"

  "Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can youexpect, then, from a man of my sense? You--you old stick--you----"

  "It was quite dark," protested the painter.

  "Quite dark," repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?"

  "Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you know."

  "No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If youhad any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do youplay tennis?"

  "After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?"

  "Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out atthe game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning withthe Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will bedown on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player."

  "Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarkedHawker.

  "Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of theinn--"they think I'm so amiable."

  "Well, I'll come up and help you out."

  "Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against thelittlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape andmeditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble.

  "That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observedHollanden softly.

  Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "Ibelieve you're crazy."

  "What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture."You've got no more appreciation than a post."

  "They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to hiswork. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems tome you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," hesaid.

  "Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a pastof sorrow and gloom. I----"

  "You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man.

  "Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight wisdom."Oh, of course."

  "Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean tobe unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting upthere and howling about the colour of hair and eyes."

  "I'm not ridiculous."

  "Yes, you are, you know, Hollie."

  The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rod
e in the train withher, and in the stage."

  "I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker.

  "Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here,and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch andbelaboured Hawker's shoulders.

  "Stop that!" said the painter.

  "Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life,here she comes now!"

  CHAPTER IV.

  One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, Ithink. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressiverespectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save toget where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in alarge group on that porch and take measurements of character asimportantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived atHemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving thisassemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change myclothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliateit. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine.Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten withadmiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not movedfrom the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These longwalks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.' And Ikeep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of thegreat law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps willbelieve good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that theywill believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, theworst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?'And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person." Aftersome thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, andeverything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative.Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once,you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyingscan't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!"