The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him

by Paul Leicester Ford

  CHAPTER VII.

  FACING THE WORLD.

  Army surgeons recognize three types of wounded. One type so nervous,that it drops the moment it is struck, whether the wound is disabling ornot. Another so nerveless, that it fights on, unconscious that it hasbeen hit. A third, who, feeling the wound, goes on fighting, sustainedby its nerve. It is over the latter sort that the surgeons shake theirheads and look anxious.

  Peter did his packing quietly and quickly, not pausing for a moment inthe task. Then he went downstairs, and joined the party, just finishingthe supper. He refused, it is true, to eat anything, and was quiet, butthis phase was so normal in him, that it occasioned no remark. Askedwhere Miss Pierce was, he explained briefly that he had left her in thehall, in order to do his packing and had not seen her since.

  In a few moments the party broke up. Peter said a good-bye to each,quite conscious of what he was doing, yet really saying more and betterthings than he had said in his whole visit, and quite surprising themall in the apparent ease with which he went through the duty.

  "You must come and see us when you have put your shingle out in NewYork," said Mr. Pierce, not quite knowing why, having previously decidedthat they had had enough of Peter. "We shall be in the city early inSeptember, and ready to see our friends."

  "Thank you," replied Peter. He turned and went upstairs to his room. Heought to have spent the night pacing his floor, but he did not. He wentto bed instead Whether Peter slept, we cannot say. He certainly lay verystill, till the first ray of daylight brightened the sky. Then he roseand dressed. He went to the stables and explained to the groom that hewould walk to the station, and merely asked that his trunk should bethere in time to be checked. Then he returned to the house and told thecook that he would breakfast on the way. Finally he started for thestation, diverging on the way, so as to take a roundabout road, thatgave him a twelve-mile tramp in the time he had before the train left.

  Perhaps the hardest thing Peter encountered was answering his mother'squestions about the visit. Yet he never flinched nor dodged from a truereply, and if his mother had chosen, she could have had the whole story.But something in the way Peter spoke of Miss Pierce made Mrs. Stirlingcareful, and whatever she surmised she kept to herself, merely kissinghim good-night with a tenderness that was unusual not merely in aNew-Englander, but even in her. During the rest of his stay, the Pierceswere quite as much kept out of sight, as if they had never been known.Mrs. Stirling was not what we should call a "lady," yet few of those whorank as such, would have been as considerate or tender of Peter'strouble, if the power had been given them to lay it bare. Love,sympathy, unselfishness and forbearance are not bad equivalents forbreeding and etiquette, and have the additional advantage of meeting newand unusual conditions which sometimes occur to even the mostconventional.

  One hope did come to her, "Perhaps, now that"--and Mrs. Stirling left"that" blank even in her thoughts; "now my boy, my Peter, will not be soset on going to New York." In this, however, she was disappointed. Onthe second day of his stay, Peter spoke of his intention to start forNew York the following week.

  "Don't you think you could do as well here?" said Mrs. Stirling.

  "Up to a certain point, better. But New York has a big beyond," saidPeter. "I'll try it there first, and if I don't make my way, I'll comeback here"

  Few mothers hope for a son's failure, yet Mrs. Stirling allowed herselfa moment's happiness over this possibility. Then remembering that herPeter could not possibly fail, she became despondent. "They say NewYork's full of temptations," she said.

  "I suppose it is, mother," replied Peter, "to those who want to betempted."

  "I know I can trust you, Peter," said his mother, proudly, "but I wantyou to promise me one thing."

  "What?"

  "That if you do yield, if you do what you oughtn't to, you'll write andtell me about it?" Mrs. Stirling put her arms about Peter's neck, andlooked wistfully into his face.

  Peter was not blind to what this world is. Perhaps, had his mother knownit as he did, she might have seen how unfair her petition was. He didnot like to say yes, and could not say no.

  "I'll try to go straight, mother," he replied, "but that's a good dealto promise."

  "It's all I'm going to ask of you, Peter," urged Mrs. Stirling.

  "I have gone through four years of my life with nothing in it I couldn'ttell her," thought Peter. "If that's possible, I guess another four is."Then he said aloud, "Well, mother, since you want it, I'll do it."

  The reason of Peter's eagerness to get to New York, was chiefly to havesomething definite to do. He tried to obtain this distraction ofoccupation, at present, in a characteristic way, by taking excessivelylong walks, and by struggling with his mother's winter supply of wood.He thought that every long stride and every swing of the axe was workinghim free from the crushing lack of purpose that had settled upon him. Heimagined it would be even easier when he reached New York. "There'll beplenty to keep me busy there," was his mental hope.

  All his ambitions and plans seemed in a sense to have becomemeaningless, made so by the something which but ten days before had beenunknown to him. Like Moses he had seen the promised land. But Mosesdied. He had seen it, and must live on without it. He saw nothing in thefuture worth striving for, except a struggle to forget, if possible, thesweetest and dearest memory he had ever known. He thought of theepigram: "Most men can die well, but few can live well." Three weeksbefore he had smiled over it and set it down as a bit of Frenchcynicism. Now--on the verge of giving his mental assent to the theory, apair of slate-colored eyes in some way came into his mind, and evenFrench wit was discarded therefrom.

  Peter was taking his disappointment very seriously, if quietly. Had heonly known other girls, he might have made a safe recovery, for love'sremedy is truly the homeopathic "similia similibus curantur," womanplural being the natural cure for woman singular. As the Russian in the"Last Word" says, "A woman can do anything with a man--provided there isno other woman." In Peter's case there was no other woman. What wasworse, there seemed little prospect of there being one in the future.