XIII
ELSIE PROMISES TO RETURN
One beautiful May day Curtis came into the house with shining face.
"Sis, our artists are coming back," he called to Jennie from the hall.
"Are they? Oh, isn't that glorious!" she answered, running to meet him."When are they to reach here? Whom did you hear from?"
"Lawson. They can't come till some time in June, however."
Jennie's face fell. "In June! I thought you meant they were comingnow--right away--this week."
"Lawson furthermore writes that he expects to bring a sculptor withhim--a Mr. Parker. You remember those photographs he showed us of somestatues of Indians? Well, this is the man who made the figures. His wifeis coming as chaperon for Miss Brisbane."
"She still needs a chaperon, does she?"
"It would seem so. Besides, Mrs. Parker goes everywhere with herhusband."
"I hope she'll be as nice as Mrs. Wilcox."
"I don't think Lawson would bring any crooked timber along--there mustbe something worth while in them."
"Well, I am delighted, George. I confess I'm hungry for a message fromthe outside world; and during the school vacation we can get away oncein a while to enjoy ourselves."
The certainty of the return of the artistic colony changed Curtis'sentire summer outlook. Work had dragged heavily upon him during Februaryand March, and there were moments when his enthusiasm ebbed. It was atrying position. He began to understand how a man might start in hisduties with the most commendable desire, even solemn resolution, to beever kindly and patient and self-respecting, and end by cursing theredmen and himself most impartially. Misunderstandings are so easy wheretwo races are forced into daily contact, without knowledge of eachother's speech, and with only a partial comprehension of each other'soutlook on the world. Some of the employes possessed a small vocabularyof common Tetong words, but they could neither explain nor reason aboutany act. They could only command. Curtis, by means of the sign language,which he had carried to marvellous clearness and swiftness, was able tomake himself understood fairly well on most topics, but neverthelessfound himself groping at times in the obscure caverns of their thinking.
"Even after a man gets their thought he must comprehend the origin oftheir motives," he said to Wilson, his clerk. "Everything they do hasmeaning and sequence. They have developed, like ourselves, throughcountless generations of life under relatively stable conditions. Thesematerial conditions are now giving way, are vanishing, but the mentaltraits they formed will persist. Think of this when you are impatientwith them."
Wilson took a pessimistic view. "I defy the angel Gabriel to keep histemper if he should get himself appointed clerk. If I was a married manI could make a better mark; but there it is--they can't see me." Heended with a deep sigh.
Curtis took advantage of Lawson's letter to write again to Elsie, andthough he considered it a very polite and entirely circumspectperformance, his fervor of gladness burned through every line, and thegirl as she read it fell to musing on the singularity of the situation.He was in her mind very often, now; the romance and the poetry of thework he was doing began at last to appeal to her, and the knowledge thatshe, in a sense, shared the possibilities with him, was distinctlypleasurable. She had perception enough to feel also the force of thecontrast in their lives, he toiling thanklessly on a barren, sun-smitland, in effort to lead a subject race to self-supporting freedom, whileshe, dabbling in art for art's sake, sat in a secure place and watchedhim curiously.
"How well he writes," she thought, returning to his letter. Hissentences clutched her like strong hands, and she could not escape them.As she read she drew again the splendid lines of his head in profile,and then, a sentence later, it seemed that he was looking straight intoher eyes, grave of countenance, involved in some moral question whosesolution he considered essential to his happiness and to the welfare ofhis people. Surely he was a most uncommon soldier. When she had finishedreading she was sincerely moved to reply. She had nothing definitely inmind to say, and yet somehow she visualized him at his desk waiting ananswer. "The worst of it is, we seem to have no topic in common excepthis distressing Indians," she said, as she returned to her work. "Evenart to him means painting the redmen sympathetically."
But he could not be put aside. He was narrow and one-sided, but he wassincere and manly--and handsome. That was the very worst of it; he wastoo attractive to be forgotten. Therefore she took up her pen again,being careful to keep close to artistic motives. She spoke of thesuccess of her spring exhibition, and said: "It has confirmed me in thedesire to go on valiantly in the same line. That is the reason I amcoming back to the Tetongs. I feel that I begin to knowthem--artistically, I mean; not as you know them--and I need yourblazing sunlight to drink up the fogs that I brought from Holland andBelgium. The prismatic flare of color out there pleases me. It's justthe white ray split into its primary colors, but I can get it. I'm goingto do more of those canvases of the moving figure blended with thelandscape; they make a stunning technical problem in vibration as wellas in values; and then the critics shout over them, too. I sold the oneyou liked so well, and also five portraits, and feel vastly encouraged.Owen Field was over from New York and gave me a real hurrah. I am goingto exhibit in New York next fall if all goes well with me among theTetongs."
The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop Page 13
