by Myrtle Reed
The House Beautiful
Four years at College had given Jack Hardy high ambitions, but twoyears in society had perceptibly lowered them. Jack had inheritedenough money to make him a prize in the matrimonial lottery and he wasnot slow to see that the reason of it lay in his bank account. Witha singular lack of conceit, he did not admit, even to himself, hispersonal charms.
Walking home one evening from a large reception, his indignationrapidly developed into a moving force, and in a sudden flash of insighthe saw two paths which lay straight before him.
One was smooth, leading to gardens of pleasure; the other rough,toilsome, and strewn with failures, but at the end of it was a goalwell worth working for. His inheritance was all he needed to enter one;but on the other hand, hard, unfaltering work lay before him and wasthe only way to success.
His strong young face was set in lines of unwonted determination."Farewell to an idle society life," he said aloud, "here's to hardwork, self-respect, and perhaps an honourable name."
There was not a little comment in his set when it became known thatHardy had left town without assigning any reasons, length of stay, oreven leaving an address.
He retired to an obscure hamlet on the Jersey coast and secured aroom in a rambling old house which faced the sea. Here he couldwork; he could study hard, or write, and become, perhaps, a strongman intellectually, instead of being a fastidious ornament in adrawing-room where he felt his financial value was the key-note to hispopularity.
The white-haired mistress of the mansion, however, had a confession tomake which did not agree at all with his inclinations.
"I've got another boarder," she said, "but she's a quiet,nice-appearing girl and I guess she won't disturb you any."
"Girl!" Hardy scowled, then recovered himself. "Please, don't take anymore boarders," he said smilingly, "I'll make it worth your while."
When he said "please" women instinctively obeyed him. Mrs. Kitsonreadily promised to abstain from further extension of the hilariouspastime of taking boarders, which she had hitherto found to benecessary to her pocket-book, if not to her inclinations.
He spent the afternoon in getting his traps settled in his newlocation. The quiet was broken only by the boom of the breakers on theshore below, and the room was guiltless of sofa pillows and photographframes with which women are wont to burden a helpless bachelor. He felta certain sense of emancipation.
It was rather awkward having a girl around, and he contemplated thepropriety of bribing Mrs. Kitson to invent some excuse for dispensingwith her presence. Some country damsel, he reflected, perhaps aseamstress, or a teacher who "boarded round." He determined to treather with cool politeness while he might be forced to endure herproximity.
Going down to supper he encountered the other boarder in thesitting-room. His hostess, rather uncertain as to the proper form ofintroduction, mumbled something he did not quite understand. He did notwish to appear at all concerned anyway, and bowed distantly.
Miss Wheeler's dark eyes flashed and the colour came into her face. Henoted the signs of resentment and wondered what he had done; not thathe cared, particularly, only one should always be polite.
The supper was delicious. Everything was well cooked and well served.The china was dainty and the linen spotless.
Under the kindly influence of food which proverbially melts themasculine heart, Hardy began to look occasionally, and with somecuriosity at the girl opposite him. She was tall, and well formed,her head well poised, and her voice, when she spoke, was agreeablymodulated. She must be the teacher who "boarded round."
She was apparently unconscious of his presence. She drew Mrs. Kitsoninto volumes of personal reminiscence which prevented any awkwardsilence, and when they had finished, went with the hostess into thekitchen and helped her wash the dishes.
Hardy stood aloof for a moment, and then went up-stairs. He wasaccustomed to having girls all smiles and attention when he graciouslyconsented to appear. This one, however, could not have been morepolitely unconcerned if he had been a door-mat!
"She doesn't know," he began unconsciously, as the dull red flooded hisface. "No, and she never shall!"
With that desire for achievement which pique inspires, he went to work.He had a dim notion of writing a story, such as he used to do for acollege paper, but it eventually became a short sketch, half humorousand half cynical in tone.
When it was finished, he went out to send it off. He knew the streetnumber of only one publication--a thing he had bought on the way downto appease the business instincts of the energetic and persistent trainboy.
When he returned, he glanced through the window of the sitting-room ashe stepped upon the broad, old-fashioned veranda. There was no lightexcept the driftwood fire in the big fireplace, and Miss Wheeler sat ina low chair watching it. It was an earnest womanly face full of purposeand aspiration. The repressed energy, which he had first noticed inher manner, was gone. She was off her guard, and her eyes were those ofa wistful child, softened and made tender by her dreaming.
When he went down to breakfast the next morning, he learned that MissWheeler had taken her bicycle and gone off to spend the day. With alittle tact, he diverted Mrs. Kitson's conversation to herself. He didnot wish to take an unfair advantage, and besides he was not at allinterested.
It was a long day, for he did not feel like work, so he trampedthrough the fields, sat on the sea shore, read a little, envied theconsolation other men seemed to find in smoking, and was conscious ofa new interest in life, when, just at dusk, Miss Wheeler rode up anddismounted at the gate.
Mrs. Kitson's penetrating voice rang out clearly, and rose to his room."How fur did you ride?"
Miss Wheeler was bending over her cyclometer, but her reply wasinaudible.
"Hey?"
"Twenty-three miles." Her young voice was clear and strong this time.
At supper he watched her closely for symptoms of weariness, but she wasfresh and rosy, and unaffectedly hungry. She still wore her bicyclesuit, and talked pleasantly with Mrs. Kitson. She answered Hardy'squestions, to be sure, but it was in monosyllables.
"She must have the strength of an Amazon," he mused, as he sat by thefire while she was helping Mrs. Kitson with the dishes, and laughingoccasionally in a happy childlike way.
A ten-mile ride would utterly exhaust any girl he knew, and sheapparently considered twice that distance merely a pleasant outing!
She came in after a while and sat on the other side of the hearth. Mrs.Kitson with many apologies, had gone "visitin'."
After an awkward silence he laughed outright--the boyish hearty laughthat won him friends everywhere.
"Are you going to keep it all to yourself?" she asked smiling.
"I was thinking," he returned, "of what the Autocrat said when some oneasked him to define happiness."
She dimpled prettily.
"Yes, I know. 'Four feet on a fender.'"
Hers were not so far away but that the contrast in size was evident.
The ice was broken. "And are you happy?" he inquired tentatively.
"Why shouldn't I be?" she answered. "I've got a sound body, a clearbrain, an honest name and a clean heart. Isn't that enough?" She lookedup smiling.
He hesitated, for her point of view was new to him. "Most people wouldinclude money in the list, I've got all the things you say make youhappy, and yet----"
"You haven't the money." She had finished his sentence for him.
"You don't look as if it bothered you a great deal," she added shyly.
He was silent. For once he had been separated from his birthright andconsidered apart from his inheritance. The sensation was distinctlynovel. "Do you ever think," she went on, "of the house you would buildif you had all the money you wanted?"
"I used to, when I was a very little boy," he answered with an effort.
"I do even now, it's one of my daydreams and I call it my HouseBeautiful," she said.
He asked a timid question and something of the expression he had s
eenon her face in the firelight the evening before, returned to it. Hadshe been dreaming of her "House Beautiful" then?
The mellow tones of her voice sounded full and soft in his ears. Shewas telling of a house of grey stone with wide porches and massivecolumns. She spoke of the reception hall, the stately stairway, and thetiger skin rug in the drawing-room.
A tower room with windows facing both the sunset and the sea, beautifulthings in costly woods, and fabrics in white and gold.
He was interested, in spite of himself, and began to help her planit. There was no difference of opinion, even in the smallest detail,and room by room, and floor by floor, they furnished their imaginarycastle. On the very top of the tower, the Stars and Stripes wouldalways flutter--"because it's the most beautiful flag in the world,"with a little choke in her voice, "and it means the most."
Only a week before he had attended that offensive reception, and he wasthinking of the contrast now. The men that night had spoken with anaffected English drawl, and the girls were all "going abroad for thesummer."
And to-night he had forgotten his bank and mining stocks, and wassitting by a driftwood fire with a girl who had childish dreams ofbuilding a house, and choked when she spoke of the flag.
"And the doors should open forever, and ever, to all who had doneanything noble in the world, or had tried to do it."
With a little lingering sigh, she stretched her white hands towards theflames. The House Beautiful was finished, but she was still dreaming.
He repeated her thought mentally: "The doors should be open forever,and ever, to all who had done anything noble in the world, or had_tried_ to do it." Would that bar him out? He turned uneasily in hischair.
Mrs. Kitson returned, and he felt that he must say something: "Youshould have gone to college," he ventured, in a tone which was meant tobe both fatherly and cheerful.
She rose smilingly and bade him good night. "I am a graduate ofVassar," she said simply.
A day or two later his heart fluttered gladly when the mail broughthim a check for his sketch, and a request to submit further manuscript.
He shut himself up in his room for a whole day and tried to work, buta far-away clack-clack grated on his nerves and made him irritable. Hewent off for a tramp and on his return found Miss Wheeler sitting onthe porch.
"Did you hear that constant clatter this afternoon?" he asked.
"Yes, it was my typewriter," she answered demurely. She was evidently astenographer.
"I'm sorry," said Hardy awkwardly, "but it disturbs me." Then with moreinnocent joy than foolish pride, he continued:
"I--ah--write, you know."
Miss Wheeler gathered up her books. "I regret that it annoys you," shesaid frigidly, "but I cannot help it." Then with an exact imitation ofhis tone and manner, she added: "I--ah--write, you know." And then sheleft him alone.
Hardy had business in town of such a pressing nature that he could noteven stop to tell Mrs. Kitson that he was going. He sent her a telegramfrom the station, saying he did not know when he would be able toreturn.
The gay streets of the city, brilliantly lighted, even in the earlyevening, were full of allurement, as they always are, to one who hasbeen away. But a higher impulse within him was striving with the onethat demanded pleasure. He would go back. So he bought some magazines,and sat down to wait for the outgoing train, the very next day.
He cut the leaves mechanically, and dipped here and there into thepages. Then the title of a story caught his attention, and he readit to the finish. It was a simple tale, told with no striving aftereffect, but the lines were broadly human, and it rang true. Thesignature was "Constance Wheeler."
The consciousness of his own caddishness came home to him like a blow.
They had a long talk the next day, and he told her what he was tryingto do. "But you discourage me," he said. "I never can do it as you do."
They were sitting by the sea, watching the sunset as the rich colourscame over from the west, and touched the waves with tints of opal."I've been doing it three or four years," she said, "and you are justbeginning." Then with unknowing comprehension she went on. "Besides,what one accomplishes, doesn't matter in the least. It's the work thatmakes men and women of us."
The light which was reflected back from the surf made her face tenderthen, and leaning forward, with a simple reverence which she could notmisunderstand, he kissed her hand.
The summer promised to be all too short. They studied and read togetherand criticised each other's work.
Hardy was fond of rowing, so they spent many hours together on thewater. Constance sat on a cushion in the stern and read aloud, whileJack pulled vigorously or let the boat drift idly, as best suited hismood.
One day the book was absorbingly interesting, and one of the oarsslipped into the softly-lapping water, and set out for lands unknown.Constance saw it first and her face changed. His eyes followed hers,but he sat quite still for a moment.
They were but a mile from shore and the tide was going in.
"We'll go in with it," she said bravely.
With the remaining oar Hardy turned the boat so as to catch the fullforce of the shoreward impulse, but in a very few minutes they saw thetide would not do as they wished.
A sudden cloud obscured the sun. The wind shifted and grew cold. Quickto act in an emergency, Jack took off his coat and shoes and tied theanchor rope under his arms. In an instant she saw what he was going todo.
"No--no, Jack," she pleaded.
It was the first time she had ever called him Jack. The sky wasthreatening and the wind was growing stronger.
"Constance, dearest," he said tenderly, "there is no other way."
He sprang into the water and struck out with long powerful strokes forthe shore.
As if conscious of its precious burden, the boat followed slowly andsteadily, then more slowly, then in fitful jerks. They were half-way tothe shore but Jack's strength was failing fast.
The sky grew darker, and there was a sullen roar of thunder. Constanceknelt in the stern, took off her dress and shoes, and took down herhair. She slipped into the water just as the storm broke, and Jack wasgasping when she swam up beside him.
"It's a cramp," he said weakly.
"I know. Can you slip the rope over your head?" She held him up whilehe obeyed. The sea was rising and she felt her strength to the full.
The boat drifted away and still holding him up she put the braids ofher hair into his hands. As a drowning man will catch at a straw, heclutched it, then sank almost into unconsciousness, but still held withspasmodic grasp to the only hope within his hands.
It was too dark now to see the shore, but Constance struggled on,keeping his head above the water as best she could. She rested fromtime to time by floating and spending only strength enough to keep themfrom being carried out to sea, but she was rapidly becoming exhausted.
At last, when she was too weak to swim another stroke, she sankdespairingly, and found the firm ground under her feet. It was easythen, and she half dragged him ashore.
When she awoke out of what seemed a horrible dream, she was in her ownroom, and Mrs. Kitson was bustling about her with motherly solicitude.Jack was kneeling beside her, and when she opened her eyes, his wereshining with the "light that was never on land or sea," as he took herhand.
An answering glow crept into her face and he stooped, unafraid, to herlips. There was no need of words between them--love went to meet lovewith open arms.
As soon as she was able to sit up, they made plans for their future."Just our two pens, Jack," she said happily, "to buy everything wewant. But we won't want much else, if we have each other." A lump rosein his throat, but it was not yet time to tell her.
He went to the city every day now, "on business," as he said, and asthe summer faded, and the leaves turned crimson and gold, Constancebegan her wedding gown. She put so many hopes and fancies into itwith the tiny careful stitches she took that had the white not beensenseless, it must have turned to rose under her han
ds.
They were married in a little church on a glorious autumn day.
"I think it's the last day," she said; "the summer only just waited forus."
He would not tell her where the wedding journey was to be, and sheshowed little curiosity.
"I don't care where we go," she said as they left the house for thelast time, "only you mustn't be extravagant."
It was not until the train stopped at a little town by the sea, andvery near the city, that he gave her any hint of his plans. They hadtaken a carriage and driven down a beautiful winding road. He waved hishand towards a distant hill.
"That is where we are going," he said. "It's rather a pretty place,"indifferently. "I think you'll like it."
She saw a stately mansion of grey stone, with wide porches and massivetower, and where he knew the reception hall and the stately stairwaywere just as she would wish her own house to be--even the tiger skinrug in the drawing-room, and the beautiful things in costly woods,and fabrics of white and gold. He could stand it no longer and leanedtowards her, thrilling with an unspeakable tenderness.
"Heart of mine," he whispered, "haven't you guessed it?"
From a Human Standpoint
