Emerson's Wife and Other Western Stories

by Florence Finch Kelly

  POSEY

  "Since I breathed, A houseless head, beneath the sun and stars, The soul of the wood has stricken through my blood." --THE FORESTERS.

  Everybody who has ever seen him knows him only as "Posey"--a name forwhich he is indebted solely to the accident of birth. For in thatIndiana county where he first saw the light, and when he went toCalifornia, some forty years ago, that was the name at once bestowedupon him, and by it he has been known ever since. It is possible thatPosey has not forgotten what his name really is; but, if so, he is theonly person who has allowed his memory to be burdened with that uselessknowledge.

  The traveller is likely to meet him striding along any one of theforest roads or trails within forty miles of the Yosemite Valley, orlounging around a stage station, or taking his ease in somemountaineer's cabin. And he will know at once that that is Posey, forno one who has ever heard of him can mistake his identity at even thefirst glance. Moreover, Sunday is always with him, and Sunday is justas unmistakable as Posey. Sunday is a very small dog, of about thebigness of your two fists, that carries within his small skin enoughcourage, audacity, and dignity to befit the size of an elephant. He isalso known as "Posey's bear dog"--a sobriquet bestowed upon him partlyin humor, because of his ridiculously small size, and partly in honor,because of his utter fearlessness.

  Posey is a sparely built, muscular man, of medium size, quick and jerkyin his movements, and springy in his gait. His face is broad andtanned, his cheek bones high, and his nose a snub. His beard is shortand thin and grizzled, and his gray hair, curling at the ends, hangsaround his neck. His shoulders are sloping, his chest deep but notwide, his arms long, and his hips narrow. He is always dressed in ablue flannel shirt, blue overalls, hob-nailed shoes, and a gray slouchhat; and the whole outfit is always very old and very dirty. Hisoveralls, fastened upon him in some miraculous way, hang far below hiswaist. Why they stay in place suggests the goodness of God since itpasseth all understanding.

  Nature made a great mistake when she caused Posey to be born a whiteman, heir to all the white man's achievement. For he is a child ofearth--a gentle, kindly savage, a white man with the soul of an Indian.But Posey has done his best to correct nature's mistake, and has madehimself as much of an Indian as his white man's heritage will allow.He is a nomad, as thorough a nomad as any barbarian who never heard ofthose wondrous works of man called civilization. In all that widestretch of country which he frequents and in which he has lived forthirty years and better, there is not one spot which he can call home.But that is nothing to Posey. He would not know what to do with a homeif he had one.

  His sole possessions are some blankets, a gun, and Sunday. If he wantsto go anywhere, whether it be one mile or fifty miles away, he strapshis blankets on his back, whistles to Sunday, shoulders his gun, andgoes. Sometimes he sleeps on the ground and sometimes he stops for anight or for three months in the cabin of some lone mountaineer or inan Indian _rancheria_. It is doubtful if Posey himself knows how manyIndian wives and half-breed children he has in these Indian villagesscattered through the mountains. He will drop in on one of them for aday or a month, divide his possessions with her and her children,provide lavishly for them with gun and fishing-tackle while he isthere, and when the desire fills him to be somewhere else he will leavethem with as little concern as he feels for the birds and squirrels inthe trees.

  Save in the mirthfulness of which he is an ever-bubbling spring, Poseyhas become, in looks and gestures, in mode of thought and manner ofexpression, as much Indian as white. Nevertheless, he prefers, verygreatly, the society of his own race, and likes best that of people ofsuperior mental qualities and force of character. In Posey's creedthere is but one article, namely, that all men are eternally andimmutably equal--just as good as he is. That is, that would be thesole article in his creed if he had any creed and if he were consciousthat such is his belief. For it is very certain that Posey never gavethought, in all his life, to the question of human equality. He simplyhas an unconscious feeling about it which he has breathed into hisbeing from the mountain air around him and absorbed from the earthwhich has been his bed for many and many a night. It is there, just asthe dirt on his neck is there, and Posey is equally unconscious of themboth.

  Formerly, for a good many years, he was a guide in the Yosemite Valley,and once he had in his charge a woman who was a many times millionaire,of social prestige throughout two continents, and known by name allover her own land from the palaces of Newport to the huts in theSierras. She found fault with many things, and finally insisted thather stirrup was too small. Posey, who had cheerfully endeavored tosatisfy all her complaints, examined it carefully and then told her, ingentlest voice and politest manner: "The stirrup 's all right, madam.It's your foot that 's too damn big."

  Nobody ever saw Posey troubled in the least about anything in thisworld or the next. To him, mere existence is a pleasure, and the daysof his life have been a linked merriment long drawn out. He is alwaysready to listen to and laugh at and join in jokes and fun; and ifnothing new of that sort is at hand, old ones will answer the purposealmost as well. He is quick to repay such entertainment from his owninexhaustible store, and he never fails to turn anything that happens,no matter how serious it may be, into jest and farce. He has even beenknown to fling witticisms and ridicule at a bear that was coming at himfull speed. But, no; that is not quite accurate. Posey has been knownto say that he said these things to a charging bruin. But Poseyusually hunts alone.

  He is learned in the habits and secrets of the beasts and birds andreptiles and insects of the mountain and the forest, and in the virtuesand malefactions of trees and flowers. But he does not consider thisknowledge of any consequence, and sets far more store upon anotherstock of learning, which he does not display upon ordinary occasions.For such chance acquaintances among the tourists as he considersunusual in mental attainments he rolls out the scientific names oftrees and plants with unction and delight. Usually they are notrecognizable at first, because, having been learned by ear andpreserved by memory, their Latin has become somewhat Poseyized.

  He can reel off yards upon yards of narrative about adventures inmountain storms, exciting incidents in hunting, the people he hasguided in the Yosemite Valley and upon the mountains, and all thestrange things that could not but have happened to a merryearth-spirit, living alternately among the denizens of the wildernessand in the midst of a stream of people from all the four quarters ofthe globe. When he tells these tales he generally adopts the crescendomethod, being spurred on by the applause of his hearers to larger andlarger achievements as story succeeds story.

  One autumn afternoon I sat on the veranda at Wawona and listened to thetales of luck and pluck in forest and mountain that Posey, squatted onthe steps, poured forth for my entertainment and that of such others aschose to stop and listen. He talked in quick, jerky sentences,constantly bobbing his head about and making little, angular gestureswith his hands and arms.

  "Posey," I said, "did you ever meet a bear, face to face, when you didn't have a gun?"

  "Lots of times!"

  "What did you do?"

  "Pooh! I don't care, if 't ain't a grizzly. If I meet a grizzly onthe trail when I hain't no gun with me I don't tramp on his toes, youbet. I jest hide behind a bush and purtend I don't see him till hegets out the way. But any other kind of a bear 's got to give me righto' way, gun or no gun. Me get out of the way fer an ornery brown bear!Huh! Not much! All you've got to do is jest to stand up and lay downthe law to 'em, and they 'll sneak out and into the bushes and leaveyou the trail, 'fore you can get furder 'n 'Be it enacted.' I 'll betI could talk any brown bear in the Sierras out o' the trail in fiveminutes.

  "Once I was comin' down Pinoche Mountain, windin' along a narrow trailthrough some high bushes, when I seed a bear roundin' a turn not more'n ten yards ahead of me. I did n't have no gun, and it was n't muchof a trail, but I reckoned it was a heap sight better 'n scramblin'through them bushes,
and I jest thought I 'd let the bear do thescramblin'. Sunday, he rushed out between my legs and begun tobow-wow, bold as if he 'd been John Sullivan. 'Hist, Sunday!' says I,'I've got the floor! Gimme the first chance; and if there 's anytalking to do after that, you can do it.' So he come and squatted downbeside me; and the bear, he stood there lookin' at us.

  "'Mr. Bear,' says I, 'I 'd hate to have to spile your hide, but I 'lldo it if you don't get out o' this trail. I 've killed eighty bear inthese mountains, and I won't take no sass from you. The climate inthis trail ain't what you need, an' I advise you to git out of it. Offinto the bushes with you! Whoop! Git!' An' off he went, just as if Iowned that trail an' he was trespassin'.

  "I 'd hate to have to spile your hide, but I 'll do itif you don't get out o' this trail."]

  "That bear was as reasonable as any I ever see, but I had more troublewith a big feller up toward Crescent Lake. I got sleepy thatafternoon, for I 'd been settin' up watchin' fer bear the night before.So I put my gun an' a snack I had on a stump and went to sleep. When Iwaked up there was a big brown bear nosin' my lunch and tryin' to openthe bundle with his paw. I picked up some pine cones--_Pinuspondyrosy_ it was I was sleepin' under" (he rolled this out with theslyest glance at a professor from an Eastern college who had joined hislittle audience)--"an' begun peltin' 'em at him just so's to tip hisears and his tail. Sunday, he 'd travelled off somewhere and missedthis fun. Then I started in to abusin' that bear. My! I called himeverything I could lay my tongue to. He 'd stop an' listen a minute,cock up one ear and wink, and then he 'd go to work at that lunchpassel ag'in. I jest kept on swearin' harder and harder at him till Icould taste brimstone. And at last it got too much for 'im. He tookhis paws down off 'n that stump an' marched off as dignified as a womanwho 's heard you say somethin' you did n't mean her to.

  "But the cheekiest thing I ever did with a bear was one night over inDevil's Gulch. A big storm come up just about dark an' I found a sorto' cave to crawl into. A big tree, a _Pinus Lamberteeny_" (another slyglance at the professor), "had fell alongside o' some rocks an' made afine dry den. A lot of dry leaves was made into a bed, an' I says toSunday: 'Reckon we 'll have company before long. Wonder whether it 'llbe a brown or a grizzly.' Sunday, he curled up an' went to sleep, an'I was settin' down at the mouth of the den lookin' out into the darkwhen up come a big, black thing. I knew 't was the bear, an' it wastoo dark to see if it was a grizzly. But it just made me mad to thinkof that bear comin' to turn me out into the rain, an' I up with my fistan' give 'im a cuff. 'Git out o' this, you ole tramp,' says I. 'I washere first, an' there ain't no room fer you.' An' I belted him on theother ear. That bear jest turned tail an' walked off as meek as Moses,an' me an' Sunday had the den to ourselves all night.

  "Yes, sir," and he shook his head and chuckled in delighted remembranceof his waggishness, "that was jest about the cheekiest joke I everplayed on a bear!"

  Posey's mirthful spirits make him always a welcome visitor in thecabins that, tucked away among trees and bowlders, shelter the lonemountaineers. But of all those who live within the circuit of hisperegrinations his particular chum is Win Davis--"J. Winthrop Davis" isthe name painted in big, black letters on a pine board nailed to hiscabin door, although nobody ever takes the trouble to call him anythingbut "Win." After seeing that doorplate, you will hardly need to hearhis nasal intonation to know that he came from the land of the tutelarycodfish.

  That was nearly half a century ago and ever since he has been the childof the mines, the forests, and the mountains. And Nature, as if ingratitude for his loving allegiance, seems to have taken him under herprotection and stayed the progress of years over his head. For,although he has almost reached the allotted three score and ten, hisbig frame, his ruddy face, his shock of hair, his auburn beard thatflows to his waist, his actions, and his apparent feelings do notindicate a day over forty.

  When our buckboard stopped at his cabin door he rushed out, shoutinghospitable welcome in a tremendous voice. If he ever spoke in anythingless than a roar he would make his Herculean body and Jovian headridiculous. As he never does, he is grand.

  Posey was there, and, while Win bustled about in the lean-to kitchenmaking hot biscuits and coffee, he began to tell us entrancing yarns ofthe adventures and successes they had enjoyed hunting and trappingtogether during the previous winter. Apparently neither had felt itany hardship that for months they had been shut off entirely from allcompanionship with their kind. Nature is good to these lone men of themountains. She gives them happiness and serenity in her arms, steepsthem in lore of all manner of wild things, and makes them simple andhonest of heart as a child. But for what she gives she exacts an awfulprice, for she cuts from their hearts the dearest ties of the race. Inall those little cabins scattered along the slopes and through thegorges of the Sierras there is scarcely one in which you will find wifeor child, or regret that there is none, or wish that such might yet be.

  The talk drifted from one thing to another, and finally one of ourparty told Mark Twain's yarn about "the meanest man on earth." Ourhost listened at the kitchen door, a streak of flour shining whiteathwart the cataract of his auburn beard, and testified his amusementby a delighted roar that was like unto the rejoicings of a bull ofBashan.

  "Posey," he exclaimed, "tell 'em about that stingy friend o' yours!"

  Posey chuckled and pushed his old slouch hat to the back of his head.

  "Well," he said, "I reckon that feller was jest about as stingy as thefeller you 've been tellin' about, and mebby stingier, 'cause he 'dtake more risks. Anyway, he was as ornery stingy as he could be an'live. If he 'd been any wuss he 'd of died to save grub an' shoeleather. W'y, him and me was out huntin' together oncet, over towardMono. But I oughter tell you fust it was a long time ago, 'way back inthe days when everybody had to carry powder-flasks, an' each of us hadone on a string 'round his neck.

  "Well, 'long about noon we come to a clear, purty little lake and setdown to eat a snack. I was stoopin' over the edge of the lake to getsome water in my hat an' my powder-flask slipped off an' went,kersplash, down to the bottom! The water was so clear I could see itlayin' down there, as plain as could be, fifty feet down, I reckon, ferthem mountain lakes is prodeejus deep. Well, the other feller, hecould dive better 'n I could--he was a great one fer divin'--an' hesaid he 'd go down after it. So he stripped, but kep' his powder-flask'round his neck. That kinder riled me, fer it looked as if he wasafeared I 'd run off with it while he was gone. I did n't say nothin',though, an' down he went.

  "Well, I set there an' waited, an' finished eatin' my snack, an' waitedan' waited for him to come up agin. I reckon I must a' set there aboutfifteen minutes, anyhow, and at last I begun to git so curious aboutwhat he could be doin' all that time, that I up an' went over to theedge of the bank an' peeked down into the water. An' consarn mysoul!"--here Posey bristled up with as much excited interest in voiceand manner as if he were at that moment peering down into the depths ofthe lake--"What do you s'pose he was a-doin' down there?"

  "Drowning?" suggested one of our party in a tone that Posey must havethought too flippant for the occasion, for he turned upon the speakerwith an indignation that could not all have been inspired by the memoryof his stingy friend's deed.

  "Drownin'! Him! An' leave his duds up on the ground fer somebody elseto git the good of? Huh! Not much! No, sir! There he was, downthere at the bottom of the lake--an' I 'm a-tellin' you the Gospeltruth, an' you may take me out an' drown me in that there very lake ifI ain't--there was that ornery, stingy cuss down there takin' his timeto empty the powder out o' my flask into his'n! I was so mad I feltlike heavin' a rock down on 'im!"

  Like many a man in far less humble station, Posey has but to repeat anidea or a statement a few times to convince himself of its absolutetruth, no matter how reckless may have been its first enunciation. Aswe talked, the sound and savor of frying venison came appetizingly fromthe kitchen. Posey sniffed it and straightened up, with childli
ke,pleased expectancy.

  "Venison 's a mighty healthy meat, ain't it, Doc?" he said, addressinga physician who was with us. The doctor gave assent, and Posey swelledand beamed with pleasure that his opinion had won scientific approval.

  "Yes, sir," he went on enthusiastically, "it's the healthiest meatthere is! Wy, if a man would jest eat venison all the time, he 'dnever be sick, an'--an' he'd never die, neither!" He paused a moment,the least mite taken aback by the sweepingness of his proposition, thenglanced belligerently around his little circle of listeners andrepeated with emphasis: "No, sir! he'd never die!" He stopped again,but this time with triumph shining in his face, as who would say.Dispute it if you dare! Evidently he was quite convinced by that timeof the truth of his statement, but still felt the need of making hishearers believe. He brought his fist down upon the table with a blowthat made the dishes Win Davis was placing thereon jump and rattle, andexclaimed in tones of the most serious and heartfelt conviction:

  "No, sir! He'd live forever, he would! He 'd never, _never_ die!"

  A CASE OF THE INNER IMPERATIVE

  "This is my section," said Dr. Elizabeth Black; and the three women whowere convoying her down the aisle crowded around her for a lastgood-bye. There was an excited flurry of talk as they hoped herjourney would be pleasant and wished they were going too; and sheheartily wished they were; and they wondered if she would find ittiresome; and she assured them she was a good traveller; and theycharged her to write them a postal every day. Then all four had topress into the section to make room for two men to walk past them tothe next seat.

  "But they did n't get on here--they 've only been out on the platform,"said the youngest and prettiest of the three, lowering her voice andcasting a swift glance in their direction. "They look interesting,Doctor, and if they stay on long enough maybe you 'll scrapeacquaintance with them. When I take a long journey I always knoweverybody in the car by the end of the second day."

  "We must go, girls," exclaimed another. "It's time for the train tostart." Then she produced a florist's parcel, which she had beentrying to conceal in the folds of her dress, and unrolled from it abunch of glowing roses. Another pressed into Dr. Black's hands a book;and the third, a box of candy.

  "And here 's a magazine Dr. Wallace sent--you know she could n'tcome--and we agreed not to give them to you till the very lastminute--for our last good-bye--" Her voice wavered and Dr. Black brokein with surprised and grateful exclamations.

  "The book 's a love story," said the youngest one, an apologetic noteperceptible in her voice, "but it's a pretty story, and the treatment'sinteresting, and I thought you might enjoy it, for railroad travellingalways makes one feel sentimental, anyway."

  "Oh, the train 's moving! Good-bye, dear!" The one who was nearest toDr. Black left a hurried kiss upon her cheek, the others hastilypressed her hands, and all three scurried toward the door. Theirfriend raised her window and looked out in time to wave a finalfarewell as they landed safely upon the platform. As she settled backin her seat she saw that one of the men in the next section had alsobeen watching for their reappearance outside. Their eyes met as sheturned from the window, relieved and smiling.

  She admired her roses for a moment, tucked them into her belt, and thenopened her magazine. But her expression was more pensive thaninterested as she idled over its pages, looking now and then at apicture and reading only a paragraph or a stanza here and there. Herthoughts were more with the scenes of the life she was leaving behindher, or flying on, with inquiry and indecision, into that whither shewas bound. Should she stay on the Pacific Coast where she was going tovisit her father and mother in their new home, open an office in somecity near them, and build up a practice there? Or should she return totake the position which had been offered her in the faculty of thewomen's medical college from which she had been graduated with highhonors three years before? After her graduation, a year's work asinterne in the women's hospital had heightened the expectations of herfriends; and the success with which she had then served as physicianand superintendent of a branch dispensary and hospital in the slumdistrict had made all who were watching her progress predict for her abrilliant career.

  She had accepted the appointment to the college corps of instructorswith the deepest gratification, and she looked forward longingly to theopportunities it would give her for special work and to the surety ofadvancement that would follow. But her heart misgave her not a littleas she thought of the great joy it would give her father and mothershould she decide to stay near them in California, and of the griefthat her mother would try to dissemble if she should return to the East.

  Well, she would not decide the question now, and she put it from her asshe cast a careless eye over her fellow travellers, let it rest for amoment on the two men in the section in front of her own and thenturned to her book. Alternately reading, looking at the passinglandscape, and now and then lapsing into reverie, her attention was sowithdrawn from her surroundings that she was not aware that one of themen in front had turned several times and allowed a casual glance topass from her down the row of heads behind her. Nor did she notice,when they returned from an hour's absence in the smoker, that he satdown in the front seat of their section.

  "You don't mind riding backward?" commented his companion.

  "I 'm not particularly stuck on it, but just now I want to look at thatgirl in the section behind us. It's good for the eyes to rest on sucha splendid creature as she is."

  "I 'll come over there with you and we 'll study her together," theother replied, as he changed his seat.

  "Is n't she a fine specimen?" said the first. "She 's fivefeet nine if she 's an inch,--I noticed her when she got on atPhiladelphia,--broad-shouldered and deep-chested and clear-skinned.And that glow in her cheeks rivals the roses her friends gave her. Howold do you guess her, Wilson?"

  "I 'd never try guessing such a problem as that! She's evidently oneof the new women--you can tell that by her looks. And they never showtheir age, maybe because they don't think about it. This girl might betwenty, perhaps a year or two more, if you judge by her face. But ifyou take her expression into account--these women who do things alwayslook as if they 'd had an experience of life that in former days theycould n't acquire under forty. Well, you might split the differenceand say she 's thirty."

  "I don't think so. I 'd guess her under twenty-five. And she probablywon't look a day older than she does now for the next fifteen years."

  "I don't know about that, Adams. If she's a school-teacher she 'll getmore or less sharp-featured or anxious-faced and have wrinkles andcrow's-feet. And those are things that do not aid and abet a woman inforgetting her birthdays."

  "But she is n't a school-teacher, Wilson. She has n't got theunmistakable school-ma'am look. I 've been wondering what she is, andI don't make it out. I don't think she 's a doctor, because she hasn't got the professional cast of countenance, and she 's too carefullydressed."

  Wilson laughed and turned a bantering eye upon his companion. "Youmust be getting interested, Adams! Is it a case of love at firstsight?"

  "No, you know I 'm not given to that sort of thing. But I don't readmuch on the cars, on account of my eyes, and while you 've been readingI 've spent the time looking at the passengers. And I found that girland her roses by far the most pleasing items in the car."

  "But she is n't beautiful," Wilson objected. "Her face is not pretty,and she 's inclined to be raw-boned."

  "Yes, I 'll admit her features are irregular, and there 's fault to befound with each one. But that does n't matter. No woman with thatlive, creamy skin, that clear red in her cheeks, and that intelligentexpression, could be any less than handsome. And she fairly glows withhealth and vitality. She has made me just curious enough about hervocation to want to know what it is, and if she stays on the train longenough to make an opening possible I intend to try to find out."

  "Well," said Wilson, yawning, "you 're fortunate to be able to get upso much interes
t in your fellow-passengers. It is n't once in a dozenjourneys that I find anybody on a railroad train who does n't strike meas being an entirely superfluous person."

  "Oh, well," responded Adams good-naturedly, "you must remember that youare ten years older than I am, and that you are married and settleddown, while I 'm not."

  "It would be better for you if you were."

  "Yes, I know you are always preaching at me the advantages of doubleblessedness. But I 'm not going to marry until I can't help it. Whenthe girl comes along who can make me forget everything in the world butherself, I 'll marry her, if she 'll have me."

  "Which she probably won't, as things generally turn out in this world,"the other rejoined, smiling.

  In the meantime Dr. Black was dipping here and there into the pages ofher book, which had proved to be Mallock's "Human Document," moreinterested in its speculations concerning human nature and humannature's twin problems of life and love than in its slender thread ofstory. Gradually her interludes of meditation grew longer and morefrequent, until the book closed in her lap and she looked dreamily outof the window, her thoughts busy with herself, her past, and her future.

  Should she ever marry? She thought it rather unlikely, but she had nodefinite intentions on either side of the question. She smiled as herthoughts travelled back to her first engagement, in her high-schooldays. She admitted to herself that she had been rather a gay lassiethen, and had thought more about the boys than about her studies. Sheremembered, too, that she had been very popular among those same boys,and that that very popularity had doomed the engagement to a brief butexciting existence.

  Then she recalled how she had passed, soon after this episode, underthe influence of an enthusiastic teacher who had wakened her ambitionsand led her to decide that she must make of herself something out ofthe usual and go out into the world and take part in its work. Thensucceeded a period of such close application to her books that herparents and friends became alarmed lest she should injure herself. Sheceased to smile upon her youthful admirers and treated them so curtlyor talked to them so toploftily that she got the reputation of havingbecome a man-hater.

  "And I was n't anything of the sort," she said to herself, smiling andsmelling her roses. "I simply did n't like that kind of young men anymore. They bored me to death."

  About that time, she remembered, she began to be much more interestedin older men, men of more knowledge and achievement, and that they alsobegan to show a liking for her. The teachers in the high school seemedto find it interesting to talk with her. The district attorney, whowas their next door neighbor, seemed just as well satisfied, when hestrolled across the lawns for a chat with her father, if he foundElizabeth alone on the veranda. The family physician encouraged thescientific trend of her reading, loaned her books by Maudsley andDarwin and Havelock Ellis, and often dropped in to talk with her abouther studies, her reading, and her plans. He applauded and encouragedher first tentative notion that she would like to study medicine, andit was his arguments and influence that overcame her mother'sobjections and persuaded her father that it would be worth while tospend upon her medical education the money it would demand. And,finally, came the doctor's wife, asking to see her alone.

  "I am sure you do not realize what you are doing," the doctor's wifesaid, "and so I want to put it frankly before you, as one woman toanother. The truth is, my husband is falling in love with you; he isfascinated by you. And I want to ask you to save him from himself, andme from no end of heartache and misery, I 'm fond of you, Elizabeth,you know that, and I 'm proud of your abilities, and I want you to havea great success, but I don't want you to trample down my happiness onyour way. He and I have always been happy together until now; and itall rests with you, Elizabeth,--as a woman you know that--whether wekeep our happiness and content with each other or go straight on intosuch disaster and wretchedness as you cannot imagine. And so I 've putmy pride in my pocket--it was no small thing to do, my girl,--and havecome to ask you not to take my husband's love away from me."

  As Elizabeth looked back to that time she owned to herself that, deeplymoved as she had been by the appeal of the doctor's wife, her feelingshad not all been of the same sort. In the depths of her soul there hadbeen no little pride and exultation that the doctor was being chainedto her chariot wheels, and she remembered quite distinctly that she hadhad a strong desire to keep him there. She herself had felt for himnothing more than cordial friendship and gratitude; but, nevertheless,there had been mingled with generous compassion some resentment againstthe wife, whose appeal she could not disregard.

  Two years after that episode, while at home on her summer vacation, shemet a lawyer, a man of high position, wide intellectual sympathies, andmuch culture, who promptly fell in love with her and proposed marriage.He interested her deeply and exercised over her a greater fascinationthan any man she had met before, and she gave her promise to be hiswife, without thought as to its effect upon her future. But when shebegan to prepare for her return to the medical college he interposed anamazed veto. If she was to be his wife she must give up allexpectation of a career separate from their home. She wavered andhesitated for two days, and then packed her trunk and returned to herstudies. Thinking of him, as she gazed at the picturesque, woodedhills and valleys of Pennsylvania, she did not regret her action. Shehad never regretted it, she said to herself, but, nevertheless, she wassorry, she had always felt a distinct sense of loss, that he had passedout of her life.

  Since then, the straight road to her medical degree and through hersubsequent labors had been undisturbed by emotional storms. Twice shehad refused offers of marriage, but they had come from men for whom shefelt no more than the merest passing friendship. She had worked hard,and the farther she had progressed the more pleasure she had taken inher work and the more absorbed she had become in her prospects andambitions. Looking into the future, for which she had planned andtoward which she was working with all her powers, she said calmly toherself that it was more attractive to her than any other. And yet,would she be tempted to give up her ambitions and hopes of achievementif, for instance, she were to meet a man as well endowed in mind andheart as the hero of the book she had just been reading,--with suchfineness of fibre and such power of loving? She would not face thequestion squarely, but told herself that she was not at all likely tomeet such a paragon.

  "And, at any rate," she thought, as she was roused from her reverie bythe cry of "Dinner now ready in the dining-car," "of one thing I amvery sure, and that is that I shall never marry until I meet a manstrong enough in himself and in his love for me to make me forgeteverything else and not care whether or not I go on with my profession."

  The dining-car was so full that she was about to turn back, when thewaiter beckoned her to a table at which the two forward seats wereunoccupied. She took one with some hesitation and turned her facetoward the window.

  "I beg your pardon," said a voice from the other side of the table,"but if you find it disagreeable to ride backward won't you take myseat? I do not mind it in the least."

  She turned with a smiling and grateful refusal upon her tongue, sawthat her two neighbors across the table were the men from the sectionin front of hers, and hesitated. The other man quickly added his pleato his companion's, and in a few moments they had changed seats. Theone who had first spoken asked if her friends in Philadelphia gotsafely off the car, and presently all three were chatting pleasantlytogether.

  When Elizabeth returned to the Pullman the one who had proposedexchanging seats, and whom his friend called Adams, brought her someevening papers. She thanked him, and, seeing that he did not at onceturn away, asked him to sit down. They talked about the news in thepapers, laughed over stories which one or the other told, branched offupon books, and were pleased to find that they had some favorites incommon. They spoke of the scenery through which they had passed duringthe day and of the brilliant sunset into which the train seemed to beplunging, and he told her of the gorgeous sunset pa
noramas of the RockyMountains and of striking effects he had seen among the snow-clad peaksof the Sierras. He related adventures into which his profession, thatof mining engineer, had taken him; and Elizabeth listened withinterest, asked questions, made comments, and talked entertainingly,but said nothing of her own walk in life. When finally he saidgood-night and went to rejoin his companion in the smoker, the eveningwas so far gone that the busy porter had transformed the car into alane of tapestry.

  As Elizabeth lay in her berth, musing pleasantly over the events of theevening, it occurred to her that Mr. Adams had left a number ofopenings into which it would have been easy for her to step with someremark about herself or her work, which would have revealed hervocation. She had not done so merely because something else which shewanted to say had happened, each time, to come into her mind. Thinkingit over, she remembered so many such openings that it seemed as if theymust have been made with intent. She wondered if he had been trying tofind out her occupation, and smiled gleefully.

  "If that's what he wants to know," she thought, "I 'll give him aninteresting time to-morrow trying to find out. I wonder if he and hisfriend have made a wager about what my profession is. Very likely.Well, he 's a good talker and interesting enough to help pass the time;and if he wants to try again to-morrow, I 'll be at home in thissection until we reach Chicago."

  The next morning, with the excuse of some trivial attention to hercomfort, Adams came again to Elizabeth's seat and they were soontalking as interestedly as on the previous evening. A piece of news inthe morning paper gave him opportunity to turn the conversation uponthe profession of teaching for women and he talked of the noble workfor the public good which women do in that way. Elizabeth listenedwith a little gleam in the corner of her eye, agreed with him warmlyand spoke with enthusiasm of her own indebtedness to some of thoseunder whom she had studied.

  Then Adams dwelt on the widening opportunities for work andself-expression which women have nowadays, and said he thought that theprofession of medicine was one for which women were well fitted, andthat he was not surprised that so many women found in it congenial workand marked success. With some effort Elizabeth kept her face veryserious and doubted if the profession was one for which any but themost exceptional women were suited, and, on the whole, was inclined tothink that if she were very ill she would rather call a man than awoman physician. He led the talk on to other occupations in whichwomen engage, and some Elizabeth praised and others deprecated asvocations for her sex. But not once did she give any indication thatthey had touched upon her own kind of work. Adams looked puzzled andElizabeth concealed behind her handkerchief a smile which she was notable to repress.

  "I wonder what it can be," he thought. "She surely does something.The expression of her face, her intelligence, and her interest in allkinds of things tell that very plainly. I wish Chicago were not sonear. She 's an extremely interesting woman."

  "I suppose I shall soon have to bid you good-bye," he said, as theyneared the station in Chicago. "I have enjoyed our brief acquaintancevery much, and if I can be of any assistance to you in Chicago I shallbe glad to do so. I am going farther west, to California, on the SantaFe line, but as my train does not leave at once I shall have some timeto spare."

  "Why, what a jolly coincidence!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I also am goingto California on the Santa Fe line!"

  "Indeed! Then I am more fortunate than I expected to be!" Hispleasure shone in his brightening face. "My friend, Mr. Wilson, stopsin Chicago and I have been rather dreading the boredom of the rest ofthe trip. I don't read much on the cars, as I have to be careful of myeyes, and the time is apt to hang heavily on my hands. I have enjoyedour talks so much that I shall be very grateful if you will let me payyou an occasional visit during the rest of the journey."

  Elizabeth cast him a sidewise glance and smile. "I think the passingacquaintances one makes now and then and the brief friendships withpeople who merely cross one's path are among the most delightful of thesmall things of life. It often happens that they are more pleasant,for the time, than the old friendships that have lasted so long theyhave become commonplace."

  "For my part," he answered, "I don't think a friendship is worthcontinuing after it has become commonplace. I think I 'd like to bearbiter of manners and customs long enough to make it quite the properthing to march up to any one whose appearance you like and say, 'How doyou do? Your face interests me and I 'd like to know you. Here 's mycard.'"

  "Oh, if you 'll do that," smiled Elizabeth, "I 'll do my best to helpmake you dictator! I've so often wished to do that very thing! But ofcourse you don't dare. And yet you see such interesting faces,sometimes, faces of people you know you would like. Sometimes a faceof that sort haunts me long afterward, and I almost wish I had had thecourage to speak."

  "I am glad you understand," Adams replied with a little embarrassedlaugh, "because now I can confess that that very desire took possessionof me when I saw you come into the car yesterday."

  Elizabeth bent a demure glance upon his feet. "Shall I be verygracious and make a reciprocal confession, or shall I be entirelytruthful and admit that I scarcely saw you yesterday until you offeredme your seat in the dining-car?"

  The next day, as the train swept through the emerald levels of Iowa,Adams spent most of the time at Elizabeth's side and they talkedtogether with constant interest and satisfaction, each feeling agrowing pleasure in the other's society, and an increasing sense ofconsequence in whatever the other said. When Elizabeth withdrew thatnight behind the curtains of her berth she was possessed by such afeeling of elation as she had not felt in a long time. A smile was onher lips, and a smile was in her heart. Her pulse beat fast, her brainwas active, she could not sleep. Her mind was full of the happeningsand the conversation of the last two days, and all that he had said toher she went over again with vivid remembrance of the least details oflook and gesture. And in the background of her consciousness atriumphant refrain was keeping time with her thoughts. "He loves me,"it chanted, "already he loves me, more than he knows."

  In the smoking-room Adams was making up for the cigars he had deniedhimself during the day. He moved about restlessly, possessed by anintense desire to get out of doors and walk fast and far. His mind wasfilled by a galloping troop of vivid memories--a pair of bright,dark-lashed gray eyes, the sound of a low, clear laugh, the turn of arosy cheek, an opinion which had interested him, a pretty thought, away she had of smiling appealingly after she had said somethingwhimsical or perverse. And underlying and overlying and penetratingthrough all these was an irritated consciousness of the fact that itwould be a long time until the next day.

  Dr. Black looked out the next morning on the wide, forlorn plains ofwestern Kansas, with her heart as flooded with happiness as they werewith sunshine. A luxurious sense of power throbbed in her veins as shesmiled a good-morning to Adams across the aisle. He came at once toask how she had slept, and if she was beginning to feel the journeywearisome. Close upon the heels of her thrilling sense of gladness andmastery came the feminine instinct of concealment, and presently Adamsbegan to notice in her manner a suggestion of reserve. There wascertainly a difference, he said to himself, a little lessening of thefrank comradeship she had shown toward him the day before. He wonderedif he bored her, if he had shown too much desire for her society. Hewent away to the smoking car, where he fidgeted about, began a cigar,threw it out of the window, and in ten minutes was back again with abook he had fished out of his travelling-bag, asking if Miss Black hadread it and, if not,--would she like to take it for a while?

  It was Lubbock's "Pleasures of Life." No, Elizabeth had not read it,but she had read Lubbock's book on ants, bees, and wasps, and she beganto tell him about it, forgetting in the pleasure of companionship theconsciousness which a little while before had veiled her manner. Hefollowed with some stories about the tarantula and tarantula hawk whichhe had seen while on a professional trip in the Southwest. And so theywandered on, through talk
about insects and animals, back to the bookwhich lay on Elizabeth's lap. He took it up and read to her a pagehere and there, and soon they were talking earnestly about the variedideals that are possible to the young and ambitious.

  Adams had not tried again, since their second conversation, to find outher vocation. His pleasure in her society had driven all thought of itfrom his mind. He had even forgotten that he had ever supposed her tohave a profession. Elizabeth had said nothing about her work, at firstfrom whimsical perversity. But this morning, as they talked, adefinite desire crept into her mind that he should not know.

  "I shall not tell him I am a physician," she thought. "It's not muchlonger, and for this little while I want to be just a mere woman."

  And for the rest of that day it was only at rare intervals, and eventhen with a little shock of surprise, like that with which one suddenlycomes upon some old picture of himself, that she remembered she was adoctor of medicine. The physician was submerged in the woman. And thewoman was alive to her finger-tips with realization of her endowment ofthe "eternal feminine."

  Adams slept little that night, but lay with his head on his interlockedhands, staring out of his window at the fleeting shadows of the summernight, thinking of Elizabeth, remembering what Elizabeth had saidduring the day, seeing Elizabeth's face and eyes and the bit of whitethroat that showed above her collar, hearing Elizabeth's voice, andlonging to touch, with even a finger-tip, the sweep of soft brown hairthat rippled away from her neck. It seemed to him that morning wouldnever come. He looked at his watch a score of times, and, finally,rose at the first flush of dawn.

  For a while he moved restlessly back and forth between his section andthe smoking-room, like an uneasy ghost of murdered sleep. But at lastit occurred to him that he ought to stay out until Miss Black was readyfor breakfast, lest he might embarrass her by being near when sheshould emerge from behind her curtains in morning dishabille. So heretired to the smoker, gave the porter a goodly fee to tell him whenthe lady in Number 8 arose, and sat down resolutely at the window withhis elbows on the sill and his chin in his hands. He sat theredeterminedly, not allowing himself even to turn around, through whatseemed hours and hours of time. Now and then he dozed a little, andawoke with a start, dreaming he had heard her voice beside him or hadfelt the ripple of her dress against his hand.

  When at last the porter brought the welcome news, he went back to hisseat and waited for Elizabeth to reappear from the dressing-room. Itseemed to him that it must be near noon, although it was only eighto'clock, when finally he saw her coming down the aisle. He quicklybent his head over some memoranda with which he had been trying tooccupy himself, and pretended to be writing very busily as she movedtoward her section. But afterwards, when he looked at the paper hefound on it only some meaningless scrawls. Elizabeth's color deepenedas she saw him and a dark crimson wave swept to his brow as he felt herdraw near.

  That day Adams rarely left her side. In his tones, his looks, hismanner, she was able to read his love as plainly as if it had been putinto words. "And of course," she thought, with an inward smile, "hethinks he is concealing it all from me, and he would be surprised tofind that I know anything about it."

  Her own heart throbbed in response so exultantly and so gladly that itcarried her feeling beyond the doors of expression and transformed itinto irradiating feminine charm. It sparkled in her eyes, gave a newwinsomeness to her smile, a softer grace to her movements, and apenetrating sweetness to her voice.

  Once, when Adams had gone to fetch her a glass of water, she leaned herhead upon her hand for a moment and was conscious of a little nervouscatch in her breath. Something he had just said brought back to hermind a memory of the lawyer to whom she had been engaged and of whomshe had been thinking--was it only three days ago? It seemed as if shehad lived through many months since then. "If I had felt like thistoward him," she thought, "I would not have gone back to college."

  Adams gave her the water with adoration in his eyes. For an instanther glance met his and then quickly dropped. He leaned forward with asudden start and barely checked the words of love that were ready torush from his tongue. Then he left her for a little while and walkedabout restlessly for the few paces that were possible in the end of thecar.

  He must keep a closer watch on himself, he mused. What would she thinkof him if he dared to speak to her of love after a three days'acquaintance? By the merest scratch he had kept himself from clamoring"I love you! I love you!" in her ear. And justly she might haveconsidered it an insult. What was he to her but a mere caracquaintance? True, she had seemed to find his company pleasant andcongenial, and perhaps she would allow him to go to see her at herhome. And then, after he had made himself known to her father andmother and allowed them to find out who and what he was--then, he wouldbring his fate to the test.

  He went back with a tighter curb upon himself and a determination toguard his tongue more closely. Elizabeth felt at once the slightchange in his demeanor. But she did not stop to reason about it or toquestion herself as to its cause. Conscious only of an instinctive,imperious desire for him to be again just as he had been before, sheleaned toward him with a jesting remark, and the slow turn of her head,the witchery of her smile, the way her eyes flashed and dropped,strained his new resolution almost to the breaking-point. He leanedback in the seat with his arms rigid and his fists clenched until she,noticing the tense muscles of his hand, laughingly told him he wouldhave nervous prostration if he did not learn to relax his nerves.

  Presently the train switched and stopped at a small station, and Adamslearned from the conductor that they would wait there, perhaps fifteenor twenty minutes, for an east-bound train to pass. Most of thepassengers got out to walk up and down while they were waiting, andwhen Adams and Elizabeth saw, across the road, beside a restaurant, alittle vine-covered arbor in which were tables and chairs, they decidedthat it looked inviting, and went in to see if they could get somelemonade. It was quite deserted and after a few minutes Adams went outto see if he could find a waiter.

  When he returned, Elizabeth, sitting with her face toward the door,looked up with a welcoming smile, their eyes met, and hers did notdrop. He rushed toward her, his face shining with love. Scarcelyknowing what she did, she sprang to her feet, all her consciousnessengrossed in the thrilling prescience that in another instant she wouldsink into his arms. But at her very side, as he seized her hand, hestopped with a perceptible rigor of muscles and expression. Hisresolution of an hour before had flashed into his mind and he hadpulled himself together with a mighty effort.

  A little tremor passed through Elizabeth's body and she drew back alittle as he dropped her hand. "Oh, look! The train is going!" sheexclaimed, and rushed for the door.

  They ran at top speed across the road, he lifted her bodily to thefront steps of the last car, and swung himself upon the rear platform.They gained their seats, flushed and panting, and the conductor, comingto see if they had got on without injury, explained that the east-boundtrain was late and he had been ordered to go on to the next siding andwait there. He lingered for a few minutes, chatting with them anddenying their charge that he had not rung the bell. After he was gone,Adams turned to Elizabeth with a paling face and said:

  "I hope you will pardon me, Miss Black. I can only throw myself onyour mercy. My only excuse is that I--"

  She stopped him with a gesture. "Don't speak of it," she said, in alow tone, her eyes on the floor, "and don't think of it again. In suchan unusual friendship as ours, unusual incidents must be--"

  A thumping jar broke her speech and a sudden stop threw them bothviolently forward against the other seat.

  "Are you hurt?" Adams asked anxiously as they scrambled to their feet."There must have been an accident," he went on, putting his head out ofthe window. He drew it back quickly, his face white. "Don't look," heexclaimed. "There's been a collision! It's horrible! But don't bealarmed. There 's no more danger now. I 'll go out and see just whathas happe
ned."

  "Wait a minute, please! Perhaps you can help me," Elizabeth exclaimed,reaching for her suit case. "I'll be needed, and I 'll want help."She was hurriedly opening the case and taking out articles andpackages. With face intent and manner preoccupied she appeared adifferent person. The woman had sunk out of sight and the physicianwas uppermost.

  Adams looked on with an amazed face. "Then you are a physician!" heexclaimed. "I did not know--"

  She nodded, without looking up, absorbed in a search for something."That package of bandages," she murmured. "Oh, here it is. Yes, I 'ma physician, and I 've had practice in surgery. Come, let's get outthere at once. If you will carry these packages I 'll take my surgicalcase and my medicine bag. I 'm so glad I put all these things in mysuit case."

  It had been a head-on collision between the two trains. In some way,nobody knew how, there had been a misunderstanding of orders, and theeast-bound train, instead of waiting at the next switch, had come ontoward the usual passing place. In the shock of meeting, its enginehad reared and ploughed its way over the other and the two monsters layupon the ground, a mass of twisted scraps of iron. One engineer hadstuck to his post, the other had jumped, as had both the firemen. Onewas dead, the other three all severely injured. Among the train crewsand the passengers of the day coaches there were a number of brokenlimbs and many severe cuts, bruises, and shocks.

  From the east-bound train another physician appeared, and he andElizabeth worked over the injured, sometimes together, sometimesseparately. Adams was constantly beside her, ready to carry out herdirections. He brought water, held bandages, helped her to put themon, handed instruments, and kept her belongings close at hand. She hadcast aside her hat and rolled her sleeves above her elbows, and as shebent a flushed, perspiring, and absorbed face above her work, forgetfulalike of her own and of his personality, she seemed so utterly unlikethe woman he had known for the last three days that a feeling ofbewilderment and estrangement began to creep over him. Once shecomplimented him upon his watchfulness and dexterity, and the smilewith which she did it set his heart to throbbing again and bridged whathad seemed like a chasm between the two Elizabeths.

  He watched her long, slender, strong hands as she deftly and rapidlymanipulated the bandages, felt for a broken bone, or used herinstruments, and a great, awed wonder, the homage of intelligence toskilled capacity, mingled with the adoration that filled his soul.

  He began to torture himself with doubts and questions. Could such awoman care for him? What was there about him that could appeal to sorare a prize? What had he to offer in character, or personality, orachievement, or promise? And the more he doubted the more intensebecame his desire to know.

  Elizabeth rose from her knees beside a man whose crushed foot she hadbeen bandaging. "Is there anybody else?" she said to Adams. Her handsand arms were smeared with blood stains, and upon her dress there weresmirches of earth and blood. But Adams saw only that the red sunsetrays gilded her brown hair into a halo.

  "No," he answered, "I think not. The last bruise has been cared forand the last hysterical woman has quit crying. Now you must rest andrefresh yourself and have some dinner. An engine is coming from thewest to take the cars of the east-bound train back to the next stationand all the passengers who wish can go there; and to-night anothertrain will continue on their way those for California. It will be herebefore long, but perhaps it will be possible to get something to eatfirst."

  They started toward their car and met the other physician. "Will youdo me the honor of exchanging cards with me?" he said to Elizabeth."You have shown yourself so competent here this afternoon, and yourwork has been so skilfully done that I want to compliment you upon it,and to say that I am sure you have before you a promising future."

  Dr. Black's face flushed and her eyes sparkled with pleasure, as sheread on the card the name of a famous surgeon. "You are very kind,"she replied, "and I thank you heartily. Praise from one of your skilland standing is more worth having than anything else I can think of."

  Her words carried fresh doubt and despair to Adams's heart. "It can'tbe possible," he thought, "that such a woman would care, could care,for me and my love. And yet, I must know, I must know before this dayends."

  They returned to their car and found it deserted. Adams waited whileElizabeth went to the dressing-room to remove the stains of herafternoon's work.

  "It can't be possible," he kept saying to himself, "but I must know--Imust know, at once."

  With a great effort he forced himself into an appearance of composure.He feared that he might startle and offend her if he gave expression tothe ardors that throbbed in his heart and brain. "She must be tiredand nervous," he thought, "and I will try to speak and act calmly.

  "You would not let me finish my apology a few hours ago," he began, assoon as she returned, "but now you must listen to the only excuse Ihave for my fault--if it was a fault. The only thing I can say formyself is that I love you--love you so much that I almost forgotmyself. I love you more than I had thought it would be possible tolove any woman--and back there, in the summer-house, when I went in andsaw you sitting there, my love broke from my control and swept over melike a flood, and for a moment I scarcely knew what I did--I forgotmyself and the respect which was your due. But it was all because Ilove you so, and want you for my wife, my mate, more than I wantanything else in the world. I know, we 've only known each other forthree days, but I had to speak to you, now, at once. And if you careenough for me even to think about it, I won't ask for anything moreuntil you 've had time, you and your family, to know me better and findout who and what I am."

  Elizabeth listened with her gaze on her lap. She was conscious of afeeling of resentment, that increased as he went on, because he couldspeak so calmly and composedly. It showed in her eyes as she liftedthem to his face, but quickly changed to compassion as she saw theresuch suspense and longing as smote her heart with pain.

  "You do not need to speak," he said, and she saw his countenance winceand change. "I have read my answer in your eyes." He rose as if to go.

  "Wait a moment," she said hastily. "It is right that you should knowhow much I also cared until--" she broke off, hesitating, and then wenton, slowly and thoughtfully, with a puzzled air, as though she herselfdid not quite understand. "When you came back to me, in that littlesummer-house, and I looked into your eyes, my heart told me that youwere going to seize me in your arms; and I knew that if you did I wasready to sink into your embrace and to give up everything for yoursake. For you had swept me clean off my feet and had made me not carefor my career, or for anything but you. But when you did n't--believeme, I don't know how or why it was--somehow the shock of your not doingit, when I was so ready to give my love--well, the tide seemed to turnthen and go back. And now--I 'm on my feet again, and caretremendously about my profession and my career."

  He looked at her blankly, and as his lips twitched and moved she barelyheard, "And I did n't--I barely kept myself from doing it, because itseemed unworthy--"

  She shrugged her shoulders and interrupted him, in a tone as low ashis. "We who are strong can be taken only by a strength that isgreater than ours."

  "Good-bye," he said, rising. "Either my love was not quite greatenough, or my strength was too great. I will send the porter to carryyour bags and help you to find your section in the other train. Ishall stay here until to-morrow. Good-bye."

  His voice was very tender as he spoke the last word. She held out herhand, and he touched it with his lips. She pressed both hands upon herheart, which seemed bursting with cross-currents of feeling and desire.He was halfway down the aisle when she sprang to her feet and called tohim to stop, to come back. He turned and saw her slowly take a step ortwo toward him. The intent gaze which he bent upon her wavered for aninstant, and then she saw his lips grow tense and white.

  "No," he said deliberately, "I shall not come back. I do not want awife who would bring to me any less than the greatest love of whi
ch sheis capable. Good-bye, Dr. Black."

  He was gone, and Elizabeth, sinking back into her seat, saw him walkaway into the hills. The tears gathered in her eyes. She watched himas his figure disappeared among the twilight shadows.

  "I wonder if it would have been different--it might have beendifferent," she was thinking, "if he--he had been--as he was thisafternoon." She mused a little longer and then her face brightened asshe rose with a triumphant lifting of her head and a half-smile on herface. "And anyway," she said aloud, "he has my address!"