CHAPTER XIX
_The Fly in the Ointment_
At last the union was organised at mill and mine.
The men had been duly instructed as to the burden of their wrongs andthe measures necessary for redress. They had been taught that all whowere not for them were against them, and that scabs were traitors totheir fellows, that heaven was not for them, hell too good for them, andthat on earth they only crowded the deserving from their own. In warninghis fellows against bending the knee to Baal, Morrison did not feel itincumbent upon him to state that there was a whole sky full of otherheathen deities, and that, in turning from one deity to make obeisanceto another, they might miss the one true God. He did not even take thetrouble to state that there was a chance for wise selection--that it wasbetter to worship Osiris than to fall into the hands of Moloch.
With enthusiasm, distilled as much from Pierre's whisky as fromMorrison's wisdom, the men had elected Morrison leader, and now awaitedhis commands. Morrison had decided on a strike. This would demonstratehis power and terrify his opponents. There was enough shrewdness in himto select a plausible excuse. He knew very well that even among his mostardent adherents there was much common sense and an inherent perceptionof justice; that, while this would not stand in the way of precipitatinga strike, it might prevent its perfect fruition. Whatever his ownconvictions, Morrison felt intuitively that ideas in the minds of themajority of men were but characters written on sand which the firstsweep of washing waves would wipe out and leave motiveless; that othersmust stand by with ready stylus, to write again and again that which wasswept away. In other words, he must have aides; that these aides, ifthey were to remain steadfast, must be thinking men, impressed with thejustice of their position.
Hartwell had supplied just the motive that was needed. As yet, it wasnot apparent; but it was on the way. When it arrived there would be nodoubt of its identity, or the course of action which must then bepursued. Morrison was sure that it would come, was sure of the riot thatwould follow. His face darkened, flattened to the similitude of aserpent about to strike.
There was a flaw in Morrison's otherwise perfect fruit. Where hithertohad been the calm of undisputed possession was now the rage of baffleddesire. Aside from momentary resentment at Elise's first interview withFirmstone, the fact had made little impression on him. As Pierre ruledhis household, even so he intended to rule his own, and, according toMorrison's idea of the conventional, a temporary trifling with anotherman was one of the undeniable perquisites of an engaged girl. Morrisonhad been too sure of himself to feel a twinge of jealousy, ratherconsidering such a course of action, when not too frequently indulged,an additional tribute to his own personality. What Morrison mistook forlove was only passion. It was honourable, insomuch as he intended tomake Elise his wife.
Morrison ascribed only one motive to the subsequent meetings which heknew took place between Elise and Firmstone. Elise was drifting fartherand farther from him, in spite of all that he could do. "Rowing," as heexpressed it, had not been of infrequent occurrence between himself andElise before Firmstone had appeared on the scene; but on such occasionsElise had been as ready for a "mix-up" as she was now anxious to avoidone. There was another thing to which he could not close his eyes. Therehad been defiance, hatred, an eager fierceness, both in attack anddefence, which was now wholly lacking. On several recent occasions hehad sought a quarrel with Elise; but while she had stood her ground,there was a contempt in her manner, her eyes, her voice, which could notdo otherwise than attract his attention.
To do Morrison the justice which he really deserved, there was in him asmuch of love for Elise as his nature was capable of harbouring for anyone outside himself. He looked upon her as his own, and he was defendingthis idea of possession with the same pugnacity that he would protecthis dollars from a thief. Morrison had been forced to the conclusionthat Elise was lost to him. Hitherto Firmstone had been an impersonalobstacle in his path. Now--The eyes narrowed to a slit, the venomouslips were compressed. Morrison was a beast. Only the vengeance of abeast could wipe out the disgrace that had been forced upon him.
In reality Elise was only a child. Unpropitious and uncongenial as hadbeen her surroundings to her finer nature, these had only retardeddevelopment; they had not killed the germ. Her untrammelled life hadbeen natural, but hardly neutral. To put conditions in a word, herundirected life had stored up an abundant supply of nourishing food thatwould thrust into vigorous life the dormant germ of noble womanhood whenthe proper time should come. There had been no hot-house forcing, butthe natural growth of the healthy, hardy plant which would battlesuccessfully the storms that were bound to come.
In the cramped and sordid lives which had surrounded her there was muchto repel and little to attract. The parental love of Pierre was strongand fierce, but it was animal, it was satiating, selfish, andundemonstrative. Hence Elise was almost wholly unconscious of itsexistence. As for Madame, hers was a love unselfish; but dominated andovershadowed, in terror of her husband, she stood in but little less aweof Elise. These two, the one selfish, with strength of mind sufficientto bend others to his purposes, the other unselfish, but with everyspontaneous emotion repressed by stronger personalities, exerted anunconscious but corresponding influence upon their equally unconsciousward. These manifestations were animal, and in Elise they met with ananimal response. She felt the domineering strength of Pierre, butwithout awe she defied it. She felt the unselfish and timorous love ofMadame. She trampled it beneath her childish feet, or yielded to a stormof repentant emotion that overwhelmed and bewildered its timidrecipient. She was surrounded and imbued with emotions, unguided,unanalysed, misunderstood, that rose supreme, or were blotted out as thestrength of the individual was equal to or inferior to its opposition.They were animal emotions that one moment would lick and caress andfight to the death, the next in a moment of rage would smite to theearth. As Elise approached womanhood, these emotions were intensified,but were otherwise unmodified. There was another element which came as anatural temporal sequence. She had seen with unseeing eyes young girlsgiven in marriage; she had no question but that a like fate was in storefor her. So it happened that when Pierre, announcing to her hersixteenth birthday, had likewise broached the subject of marriage sheopposed it not on rational grounds but simply on general principles. Shewas not at first conscious of any objections to Morrison. Being ignorantof marriage she had no grounds upon which to base a choice. To herMorrison was no better and no worse than any other man she had met.Morrison was perfectly right in his assumptions. Had not circumstancesinterfered, in the end he would have had his way. Morrison was alsoperfectly wrong. Elise was not Madame in any sense of the word. Hisreign would have been at least troubled, if not in the end usurped. Thefirst circumstance which had already interfered to prevent therealisation of his desire was one which, very naturally, would be thelast to appeal to him. This circumstance was Zephyr.
From the earliest infancy of Elise, Zephyr had been, in a way, herconstant guardian and companion. With enough strength of character tomake him fearless, it was insufficient to arouse the ambition to carveout a distinctive position for himself. He absorbed and masteredwhatever came in his way, but there his ambition ceased. He wasrespected and, to a certain extent, feared, even by those who werenaturally possessed of stronger natures.
There may be something in the fabled power of the human eye to cow asavage beast, but unfortunately it will probably never be satisfactorilydemonstrated. A man confronted with the beast will invariably andinstinctively trust to his concrete "44" rather than to the abstractforce of human magnetism. Yet there is a germ of truth in the proverbialstatement. Brought face to face with his human antagonist, the thinkingman always stands in fear of himself, of his sense of justice, while thebrute in his opponent has no scruples and no desires save those ofpersonal triumph.
These things Elise did not see. The things she saw which appealed to herand influenced her were, first of all, Zephyr's fearlessness of otherswho were feared, his good-natured,
philosophical cynicism whichridiculed foibles that he did not feel called upon to combat, hisprotecting love for her which was always considerate but neverobsequious, which was unrestraining yet restrained her in the end.Against his cynical stoicism the waves of her childish rage beatthemselves to calm, or, hurt and wounded, she wept out her childishsorrows in his comforting arms. The protecting value of it she did notknow, but in Zephyr, and that was the only name by which she knew him,was the only untrammelled outlet for every passion of her childish aswell as for her maturing soul.
Zephyr alone would have thwarted Morrison's designs on Elise. ButMorrison despised Zephyr, even though he feared him. Zephyr in a neutralway had preserved Elise from herself and from her surroundings. Neutral,because his efforts were conserving, not developmental. Neutral, for,while he could keep her feet from straying in paths of destruction, hehad through ignorance been unable to guide them in ways that led to ahigher life.
This mission had been left to Firmstone. Not that Zephyr's work had beenless important, for the hand that fallows ground performs as high amission as the hand that sows the chosen seed. Unconsciously at first,Firmstone had opened the eyes of Elise to vistas, to possibilities whichhitherto had been undreamed of. It mattered little that as yet she sawmen as trees, the great and saving fact remained, her eyes were openedand she saw.
Morrison's eyes were also opened. He saw first the growing influence ofFirmstone and later the association of Elise with Miss Hartwell. Hecould not see that Elise, with the influence of Firmstone, was animpossibility to him. Like a venomous serpent that strikes blindly atthe club and not at the man who wields it, Morrison concentrated thefull strength of his rage against Firmstone.
Perhaps no characterisation of Elise could be stronger than the baldstatement that as yet she was entirely oblivious of self. The openingvistas of a broader, higher life were too absorbing, too intoxicating inthemselves, to permit the intrusion of the disturbing element ofpersonality. Her eager absorption of the minutest detail, her keenperception of the slightest discordant note, pleased Miss Hartwell asmuch as it delighted Firmstone.
Elise was as spontaneous and unreserved with the latter as with theformer. She preferred Firmstone's company because with him was anunconscious personality that met her own on even terms. Firmstone lovedstrength and beauty for themselves, Miss Hartwell for the personalpleasure they gave her. She was flattered by the childish attentionwhich was tendered her and piqued by the obvious fact that herpersonality had made only a slight impression upon Elise as comparedwith that of Firmstone.
This particular afternoon Elise was returning from a few hours spentwith Miss Hartwell at the Falls. It had been rather unsatisfactory toboth. As the sun began to sink behind the mountain they had started downthe trail together, but the walk was a silent one. Miss Hartwell had aslight flush of annoyance. Elise, sober and puzzled, was absorbed bythoughts that were as yet undifferentiated and unidentified. They partedat the Blue Goose.
Elise turned at the steps and entered by the back door. Morrison waswatching, unseen by either. He noted Elise's path, and as she entered heconfronted her. Elise barely noticed him and was preparing to goupstairs. Morrison divined her intention and barred her way.
"You're getting too high-toned for common folks, ain't you?"
Elise paused perforce. There was a struggling look in her eyes. Herthoughts had been too far away from her surroundings to allow of animmediate return. She remained silent. The scowl on Morrison's faceintensified.
"When you're Mrs. Morrison, you won't go traipsing around with nohigh-toned bosses and female dudes more than once. I'll learn you."
Elise came back with a crash.
"Mrs. Morrison!" She did not speak the words, she shrank from them andleft them hanging in their self-polluted atmosphere. "Learn me!" Thewords were vibrant with a low-pitched hum, that smote and bored like theimpact of an electric wave. "You--you--snake; you--how dare you!"
Morrison did not flinch. The blind fury of a dared beast flamed in hiseyes.
"Dare, you vixen! I'll make you, or break you! I've been in too manyscraps and smelled too much powder to get scared by a hen that's tryingto crow."
The animal was dominant in Elise. Fury personified flew at Morrison.
"You'll teach me; will you? I'll teach you the difference between a henand a wild cat."
The door from the kitchen was opened and Madame came in. She flungherself between Elise and Morrison. The repressed timorous love of yearsflamed upon the thin cheeks, flashed from the faded eyes. There was notrace of fear. Her slight form fairly shook with the intensity of herpassion.
"Go! Go! Go!" The last was uttered in a voice little less than a shriek."Don't you touch Elise. She is mine. Why don't you go?"
Her trembling hands pushed Morrison toward the open door. Bewildered,staggered, cowed, he slunk from the room. Madame closed the door. Sheturned toward Elise. The passion had receded, only the patient pleadingwas in her eyes.
The next instant she saw nothing. Her head was crushed upon Elise'sshoulder, the clasping arms caressed and bound, and hot cheeks werepressed against her own. Another instant and she was pushed into achair. For the first time in her life, Madame's hungry heart was fed.Elise loved her. That was enough.
The westward sinking sun had drawn the veil of darkness up from thegreying east. Its cycles of waxing and waning were measured by the clickof tensioned springs and beat of swinging pendulums. But in the growingdarkness another sun was rising, its cycles measured by beating heartsto an unending day.
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