The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig: A Novel

by David Graham Phillips

  CHAPTER XIV

  MAGGIE AND JOSH

  Wrath is a baseless flame in the intelligent aged; also, Margaret'sgrandmother was something more than a mere expert in social craft, wouldhave been woman of the world had not circumstances compressed her to itspetty department of fashionable society. Before Craig had cleared thefront door she was respecting him, even as she raged against him.Insolent, impudent, coarsely insulting--yes, all these. But very much aman, a masculine force; with weaknesses, it was true, and his fullmeasure of the low-sprung's obsequious snobbishness; but, for all that,strong, persistent, concentrated, one who knew the master-art of makinghis weaknesses serve as pitfalls into which his enemies were lured, tofall victim to his strength.

  "Yes, he will arrive," reflected Madam Bowker. "Branch will yet have toserve him. Poor Branch! What a misery for a man to be born with amaster's mind but with the lack of will and courage that keeps a man aservant. Yes, Craig will arrive!... What a pity he has no money."

  But, on second thought, that seemed less a disadvantage. If she shouldlet him marry Margaret they would be dependent upon her; she couldcontrol them--him--through holding the purse strings. And when thatremote time came at which it would please God to call her from herearthly labors to their eternal reward, she could transfer the controlto Margaret. "Men of his origin are always weak on the social side," shereflected. "And it wouldn't be in nature for a person as grasping ofpower as he is not to be eager about money also."

  With the advent of plutocratic fashion respect for official position haddwindled at Washington. In Rome in the days when the imperators becamemere creatures of the army, the seat of fashion and of power wastransferred to the old and rich families aloof from the government andbuying peace and privilege from it. So Washington's fashionable societyhas come to realize, even more clearly than does the rest of thecountry, that, despite spasmodic struggles and apparent spurts ofreaction, power has passed to the plutocracy, and that officialdom is,as a rule, servant verging toward slave. Still, form is a delusion oftenacious hold upon the human mind. The old lady's discoveries ofCraig's political prospects did not warm her toward him as would newsthat he was in the way of being vastly rich; but she retained enough ofthe fading respect for high-titled office to feel that he was not thequite impossibility she had fancied, but was fit to be an aspirant foran aristocratic alliance.

  "If Margaret doesn't fall in love with him after she marries him,"reflected she, "all may be well. Of course, if she does she'll probablyruin him and herself, too. But I think she'll have enough sense of herposition, of how to maintain it for herself, and for him and herchildren, not to be a fool."

  Meanwhile Craig was also cooling down. He had meant every word hesaid--while he was saying it. Only one self-convinced could have been soeffective. But, sobering off from his rhetorical debauch in the quietstreets of that majestic quarter, he began to feel that he had gonefarther, much farther, than he intended.

  "I don't see how, in self-respect, I could have said less," thought he."And surely the old woman isn't so lost to decency that she can'tappreciate and admire self-respect."

  Still he might have spoken less harshly; might have been a littleconsiderate of the fact that he was not making a stump speech, but wasin the drawing-room of a high-born, high-bred lady. "And gad, she IS apatrician!"

  His eyes were surveying the splendid mansions round about--the beautifulwindow-gardens--the curtains at the windows, which he had learned werereal lace, whatever that might be, and most expensive. Very fine, thatway of living! Very comfortable, to have servants at beck and call, andmost satisfactory to the craving for power--trifles, it is true, butstill the substantial and tangible evidence of power. "And it impressesthe people, too. We're all snobs at bottom. We're not yet developedenough to appreciate such a lofty abstraction as democracy."

  True, Margaret was not rich; but the old grandmother was. Doubtless, ifhe managed her right, she would see to it that he and Margaret had somesuch luxury as these grandly-housed people--"but not too much, for thatwould interfere with my political program." He did not protest thispositively; the program seemed, for the moment, rather vague and notvery attractive. The main point seemed to be money and the right sort ofposition among the right sort of people. He shook himself, scowled,muttered: "I am a damn fool! What do _I_ amount to except as I rise inpolitics and stay risen? I must be mighty careful or I'll lose my pointof view and become a wretched hanger-on at the skirts of these fakers.For they are fakers--frauds of the first water! Take their accidentalmoney away from them and they'd sink to be day laborers, most ofthem--and not of much account there."

  He was sorely perplexed; he did not know what to do--what he ought todo--even what he wanted to do. One thing seemed clear--that he had gonefurther than was necessary in antagonizing the old woman. Whether hewanted to marry the girl or not, he certainly did not wish, at thisstage of the game, to make it impossible. The wise plan was to leave thesituation open in every direction, so that he could freely advance orfreely retreat as unfolding events might dictate. So he turned in thedirection of the Severence house, walked at his usual tearing pace,arrived there somewhat wilted of collar and exceedingly dusty of shoeand trouser-leg.

  Greater physical contrast could hardly have been than that between himand Margaret, descending to him in the cool garden where he was moppinghimself and dusting his shoes, all with the same handkerchief. She wasin a graceful walking costume of pale blue, scrupulously neat, perfectto the smallest detail. As she advanced she observed him with eyes thatnothing escaped; and being in one of her exquisite moods, when thesenses are equally quick to welcome the agreeable or to shrink from thedisagreeable, she had a sense of physical repugnance. He saw her theinstant she came out of the house. Her dress, its harmony with herdelicateness of feature and coloring, the gliding motion of her formcombined to throw him instantly into a state of intoxication. He rushedtoward her; she halted, shivered, shrank. "Don't--look at me like that!"she exclaimed half under her breath.

  "And why not? Aren't you mine?" And he seized her, enwrapped her in hisarms, pressed his lips firmly upon her hair, her cheek--upon her lips.There he lingered; her eyes closed, her form, he felt, was yieldingwithin his embrace as though she were about to faint.

  "Don't--please," she murmured, when he let her catch her breath."I--I--can't bear it."

  "Do you love me?" he cried passionately.

  "Let me go!" She struggled futilely in his plowman arms.

  "Say you love me!"

  "If you don't let me go I shall hate you!"

  "I see I shall have to kiss you until you do love me."

  "Yes--yes--whatever you wish me to say," she cried, suddenly freeingherself by dodging most undignifiedly out of his arms.

  She stood a little way from him, panting, as was he. She frownedfiercely, then her eyes softened, became tender--just why she could nothave explained. "What a dirty boy it is!" she said softly. "Go into thehouse and ask Williams to take you where you can make yourselfpresentable."

  "Not I," said he, dropping into a seat. "Come, sit here beside me."

  She laughed; obeyed. She even made several light passes at his wet mopof hair. She wondered why it was that she liked to touch him, where afew minutes before she had shrunk from it.

  "I've just been down telling that old grandmother of yours what Ithought of her," said he.

  She startled. "How did you happen to go there?" she exclaimed. Sheforgot herself so completely that she added imperiously: "I wanted youto keep away from her until I was ready for you to go."

  "She sent for me," apologized he. "I went. We came together with a bang.She told me I wanted to marry you; I told her YOU wanted to marry ME.She told me I was low; I told her she was a fraud. She said I wasinsolent; I said good-afternoon. If I hadn't marched out rather quicklyI guess she'd have had me thrown out."

  Margaret was sitting stone-still, her hands limp in her lap.

  "So you see it's all up," continued he, with a curious air of bravado,patently in
sincere. "And it's just as well. You oughtn't to marry me.It's a crime for me to have permitted things to go this far."

  "Perhaps you are right," replied she slowly and thoughtfully. "Perhapsyou are right."

  He made one of his exclamatory gestures, a swift jerk around of the headtoward her. He had all he could do to restrain himself from protesting,without regard to his pretenses to himself and to her. "Do you meanthat, Maggie?" he asked with more appeal in his voice than he wasconscious of.

  "Never call me that again!" she cried. "It's detestable--so common!"

  He drew back as if she had struck him. "I beg your pardon," he said withgentle dignity. "I shall not do it again. Maggie was my mother'sname--what she was always called at home."

  She turned her eyes toward him with a kind of horror in them. "Oh,forgive me!" she begged, her clasped hands upon his arm. "I didn't meanit at all--not at all. It is I that am detestable and common. I spokethat way because I was irritated about something else." She laid onehand caressingly against his cheek. "You must always call meMaggie--when--when "--very softly--"you love me very, very much. I likeyou to have a name for me that nobody else has."

  He seized her hands. "You DO care for me, don't you?" he cried.

  She hesitated. "I don't quite know," said she. Then, less seriously:"Not at all, I'm sure, when you talk of breaking the engagement. I WISHyou hadn't seen grandmother!"

  "I wish so, too," confessed he. "I made an ass of myself."

  She glanced at him quickly. "Why do you say that?"

  "I don't know," he stammered confusedly. How could he tell her?

  "A moment ago you seemed well pleased with what you'd done."

  "Well, I guess I went too far. I wasn't very polite."

  "You never are."

  "I'm going to try to do better.... No, I don't think it would be wisefor me to go and apologize to her."

  She was looking at him strangely. "Why are you so anxious to conciliateher?"

  He saw what a break he had made, became all at once red andinarticulate.

  "What is she to you?" persisted the girl.

  "Nothing at all," he blustered. "I don't care--THAT"--he snapped hisfingers--"for her opinion. I don't care if everybody in the world isagainst our marrying. I want just you--only you."

  "Obviously," said she with a dry laugh that was highly disconcerting tohim. "I certainly have no fortune--or hope of one, so far as I know."

  This so astounded, so disconcerted him that he forgot to conceal it."Why, I thought--your grandmother--that is--" He was remembering, wasstammering, was unable to finish.

  "Go on," she urged, obviously enjoying his hot confusion.

  He became suddenly angry. "Look here, Margaret," he cried, "you don'tsuspect me of--"

  She put her fingers on his lips and laughed quietly at him. "You'dbetter run along now. I'm going to hurry away to grandmother, to try torepair the damage you did." She rose and called, "Lucia! Lucia!" Theround, rosy, rather slovenly Miss Severence appeared in the littlebalcony--the only part of the house in view from where they sat.

  "Telephone the stables for the small victoria," called Margaret.

  "Mother's out in it," replied Lucia.

  "Then the small brougham."

  "I want that. Why don't you take the electric?"

  "All right."

  Lucia disappeared. Margaret turned upon the deeply-impressed Craig."What's the matter?" asked she, though she knew.

  "I can't get used to this carriage business," said he. "I don't like it.Where the private carriage begins just there democracy ends. It is theparting of the ways. People who are driving have to look down; peoplewho aren't have to look up."

  "Nonsense!" said Margaret, though it seemed to her to be the truth.

  "Nonsense, of course," retorted Craig. "But nonsense rules the world."He caught her roughly by the arm. "I warn you now, when we--"

  "Run along, Josh," cried she, extricating herself and laughing, and witha wave of the hand she vanished into the shrubbery. As soon as she wasbeyond the danger of having to continue that curious conversation shewalked less rapidly. "I wonder what he really thinks," she said toherself. "I wonder what I really think. I suspect we'd both be amazed atourselves and at each other if we knew."

  Arrived at her grandmother's she had one more and huger cause forwonder. There were a dozen people in the big salon, the old ladypresiding at the tea-table in high good humor. "Ah--here you are,Margaret," cried she. "Why didn't you bring your young man?"

  "He's too busy for frivolity," replied Margaret.

  "I saw him this afternoon," continued Madam Bowker, talking aside to heralone when the ripples from the new stone in the pond had died away."He's what they call a pretty rough customer. But he has his goodpoints."

  "You liked him better?" said the astonished Margaret.

  "I disliked him less," corrected the old lady. "He's not a man anyone"--this with emphasis and a sharp glance at hergranddaughter--"likes. He neither likes nor is liked. He's too much ofan ambition for such petty things. People of purpose divide theirfellows into two classes, the useful and the useless. They seek alliesamong the useful, they avoid the useless."

  Margaret laughed.

  "Why do you laugh, child? Because you don't believe it?"

  Margaret sighed. "No, because I don't want to believe it."