"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden.
"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him acountry swain," she rejoined.
"Who?" asked Hollanden.
CHAPTER XVII.
Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from bookswere the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst.Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people.Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions onquestions that were left to them. "That is the most odiouslyaristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe.
"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally,they are a collection of ingenious blockheads."
"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning.
"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden.
As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of theWorcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too,was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air.
"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said thepainter at last, in a low tone.
"Why, yes--certainly," said the girl.
Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from theparlours drifted to the black wall of the night.
"I shall miss you," said the painter.
"Oh, I dare say," said the girl.
Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spacesof the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as theysoftly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn andsorrowful dance.
"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," saidthe painter.
"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl.
From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, andthe Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for theirwell-being.
"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again. His manner was ratherdesperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsidedwith an air of defeat.
Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say Ishall return to New York myself in a few weeks."
"I hope you will call," she said.
"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfiedlook at her.
"Oh, Mr. Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emergingfrom the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in theair, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shalldo. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?"
"Yes," said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully."
"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can'timagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spendten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying theentire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she isgoing to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one period of rest atany rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know."
"Here," said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as ifyou were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying tohim?"
"Why," answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to himhow lonely it would be without Grace."
"Oh!" said Hollanden.
As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined thegroup. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay thevanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if sheexpected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night,"and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid andabsent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits.
Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned tosay, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a stillmore placid and absent-minded manner.
Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when hestood the Worcester mother moved and looked around expectantly, butOglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her.
Presently Miss Fanhall arose.
"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollandenand Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed byher daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitchedviolently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate----" he said. He pickedthe thread of a past argument with great agility.
Hawker said to the girl, "I--I--I shall miss you dreadfully."
She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a lowvoice.
"Yes," he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence.She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet froma cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turnedtoward the approaching Oglethorpe.
"Good-night, Mr. Hawker," said the latter. "I am very glad to have metyou, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night."
He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given ussuch a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. Youmust come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpretthe inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my firstopportunity."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curledon the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump,on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a stateof gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyfulcelebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to theedge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulouswelcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, oldboy," said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his masterhad entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at somethingthat lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly,for he returned in a moment to the door-mat.
But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out ofthe house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, thesteps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog waggedhis tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had againentered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, butthe thing that had lain there was gone.
CHAPTER XVIII.
It was evident at breakfast that Hawker's sisters had achievedinformation. "What's the matter with you this morning?" asked one. "Youlook as if you hadn't slep' well."
"There is nothing the matter with me," he rejoined, looking glumly athis plate.
"Well, you look kind of broke up."
"How I look is of no consequence. I tell you there is nothing the matterwith me."
"Oh!" said his sister. She exchanged meaning glances with the otherfeminine members of the family. Presently the other sister observed, "Iheard she was going home to-day."
"Who?" said Hawker, with a challenge in his tone.
"Why, that New York girl--Miss What's-her-name," replied the sister,with an undaunted smile.
"Did you, indeed? Well, perhaps she is."
"Oh, you don't know for sure, I s'pose."
Hawker arose from the table, and, taking his hat, went away.
"Mary!" said the mother, in the sepulchral tone of belated butconscientious reproof.
"Well, I don't care. He needn't be so grand. I didn't go to tease him. Idon't care."
"Well, you ought to care," said the old man suddenly. "There's no sensein you wimen folks pestering the boy all the time. Let him alone withhis own business, can't you?"
"Well, ain't we leaving him alone?"
"No, you ain't--'cept when he ain't here. I don't wonder the boy grabshis hat and skips out when you git to going."
"Well, what did we say to him now? Tell us what we said to him that wasso dreadful."
"Aw, thunder an' lightnin'!" cried the old man with a sudden greatsnarl. They seemed to know by th
is ejaculation that he had emerged in aninstant from that place where man endures, and they ended thediscussion. The old man continued his breakfast.
During his walk that morning Hawker visited a certain cascade, acertain lake, and some roads, paths, groves, nooks. Later in the day hemade a sketch, choosing an hour when the atmosphere was of a dark blue,like powder smoke in the shade of trees, and the western sky was burningin strips of red. He painted with a wild face, like a man who iskilling.
After supper he and his father strolled under the apple boughs in theorchard and smoked. Once he gestured wearily. "Oh, I guess I'll go backto New York in a few days."
"Um," replied his father calmly. "All right, William."
Several days later Hawker accosted his father in the barnyard. "Isuppose you think sometimes I don't care so much about you and the folksand the old place any more; but I do."
"Um," said the old man. "When you goin'?"
"Where?" asked Hawker, flushing.
"Back to New York."
"Why--I hadn't thought much about---- Oh, next week, I guess."
"Well, do as you like, William. You know how glad me an' mother and thegirls are to have you come home with us whenever you can come. You knowthat. But you must do as you think best, and if you ought to go back toNew York now, William, why--do as you think best."
"Well, my work----" said Hawker.
From time to time the mother made wondering speech to the sisters. "Howmuch nicer William is now! He's just as good as he can be. There for awhile he was so cross and out of sorts. I don't see what could have comeover him. But now he's just as good as he can be."
Hollanden told him, "Come up to the inn more, you fool."
"I was up there yesterday."
"Yesterday! What of that? I've seen the time when the farm couldn't holdyou for two hours during the day."
"Go to blazes!"
"Millicent got a letter from Grace Fanhall the other day."
"That so?"
"Yes, she did. Grace wrote---- Say, does that shadow look pure purpleto you?"
"Certainly it does, or I wouldn't paint it so, duffer. What did shewrite?"
"Well, if that shadow is pure purple my eyes are liars. It looks a kindof slate colour to me. Lord! if what you fellows say in your pictures istrue, the whole earth must be blazing and burning and glowing and----"
Hawker went into a rage. "Oh, you don't know anything about colour,Hollie. For heaven's sake, shut up, or I'll smash you with the easel."
"Well, I was going to tell you what Grace wrote in her letter. Shesaid----"
"Go on."
"Gimme time, can't you? She said that town was stupid, and that shewished she was back at Hemlock Inn."
"Oh! Is that all?"
"Is that all? I wonder what you expected? Well, and she asked to berecalled to you."
"Yes? Thanks."
"And that's all. 'Gad, for such a devoted man as you were, yourenthusiasm and interest is stupendous."
* * * * *
The father said to the mother, "Well, William's going back to New Yorknext week."
"Is he? Why, he ain't said nothing to me about it."
"Well, he is, anyhow."
"I declare! What do you s'pose he's going back before September for,John?"
"How do I know?"
"Well, it's funny, John. I bet--I bet he's going back so's he can seethat girl."
"He says it's his work."
CHAPTER XIX.
Wrinkles had been peering into the little dry-goods box that acted as acupboard. "There are only two eggs and half a loaf of bread left," heannounced brutally.
"Heavens!" said Warwickson from where he lay smoking on the bed. Hespoke in a dismal voice. This tone, it is said, had earned him hispopular name of Great Grief.
From different points of the compass Wrinkles looked at the littlecupboard with a tremendous scowl, as if he intended thus to frighten theeggs into becoming more than two, and the bread into becoming a loaf."Plague take it!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, shut up, Wrinkles!" said Grief from the bed.
Wrinkles sat down with an air austere and virtuous. "Well, what are wegoing to do?" he demanded of the others.
Grief, after swearing, said: "There, that's right! Now you're happy.The holy office of the inquisition! Blast your buttons, Wrinkles, youalways try to keep us from starving peacefully! It is two hours beforedinner, anyhow, and----"
"Well, but what are you going to do?" persisted Wrinkles.
Pennoyer, with his head afar down, had been busily scratching at apen-and-ink drawing. He looked up from his board to utter a plaintiveoptimism. "The Monthly Amazement will pay me to-morrow. They ought to.I've waited over three months now. I'm going down there to-morrow, andperhaps I'll get it."
His friends listened with airs of tolerance. "Oh, no doubt, Penny, oldman." But at last Wrinkles giggled pityingly. Over on the bed Griefcroaked deep down in his throat. Nothing was said for a long timethereafter.
The crash of the New York streets came faintly to this room.
Occasionally one could hear the tramp of feet in the intricate corridorsof the begrimed building which squatted, slumbering, and old, betweentwo exalted commercial structures which would have had to bend afardown to perceive it. The northward march of the city's progress hadhappened not to overturn this aged structure, and it huddled there, lostand forgotten, while the cloud-veering towers strode on.
Meanwhile the first shadows of dusk came in at the blurred windows ofthe room. Pennoyer threw down his pen and tossed his drawing over on thewonderful heap of stuff that hid the table. "It's too dark to work." Helit a pipe and walked about, stretching his shoulders like a man whoselabour was valuable.
When the dusk came fully the youths grew apparently sad. The solemnityof the gloom seemed to make them ponder. "Light the gas, Wrinkles," saidGrief fretfully.
The flood of orange light showed clearly the dull walls lined withsketches, the tousled bed in one corner, the masses of boxes and trunksin another, a little dead stove, and the wonderful table. Moreover,there were wine-coloured draperies flung in some places, and on a shelf,high up, there were plaster casts, with dust in the creases. A longstove-pipe wandered off in the wrong direction and then turnedimpulsively toward a hole in the wall. There were some elaborate cobwebson the ceiling.
"Well, let's eat," said Grief.
"Eat," said Wrinkles, with a jeer; "I told you there was only two eggsand a little bread left. How are we going to eat?"
Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour fordinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly. "Thunder and turf!" Grieffinally announced as the result of his deliberations.
"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home----" began Pennoyer.
"But he isn't," objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that."
Grief and Pennoyer thought more. Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let'seat what we've got." The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as ifit had been in their minds.
Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident littlethunder upon the door. Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove,Pennoyer engaged in slicing the bread, and Great Grief affixing therubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!"
The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into theroom like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves.
"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried.
"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you."
It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts.
Grief spoke first. "Yes, you have?" he said incredulously.
"Why, certainly I have. What's the matter?"
They grinned. "Well, old lady," responded Grief, "you've hit us at thewrong time. We are, in fact, all out of everything. No dinner, tomention, and, what's more, we haven't got a sou."
"What? Again?" cried Florinda.
"Yes, again. You'd better dine home to-night."
"But I'll--I'll stake you," said the girl ea
gerly. "Oh, you poor oldidiots! It's a shame! Say, I'll stake you."
"Certainly not," said Pennoyer sternly.
"What are you talking about, Splutter?" demanded Wrinkles in an angryvoice.
"No, that won't go down," said Grief, in a resolute yet wistful tone.
Florinda divested herself of her hat, jacket, and gloves, and put themwhere she pleased. "Got coffee, haven't you? Well, I'm not going to stira step. You're a fine lot of birds!" she added bitterly, "You've allpulled me out of a whole lot of scrape--oh, any number of times--and nowyou're broke, you go acting like a set of dudes."
Great Grief had fixed the coffee to boil on the gas stove, but he had towatch it closely, for the rubber tube was short, and a chair wasbalanced on a trunk, and two bundles of kindling was balanced on thechair, and the gas stove was balanced on the kindling. Coffee-making washere accounted a feat.
Pennoyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to goshy one."
Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown atthe table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it ofits litter.
Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to makecoffee!"
"What ain't?"
"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take----" She explained someway to him which he couldn't understand.
"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like amusic box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gasstove.
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