Complete Works of Stephen Crane

by Stephen Crane

  The professor was looking helplessly from his daughter to his wife, and from his wife to his daughter, like a man who was convinced that his troubles would never end. This new catastrophe created a different kind of difficulty, but he considered that the difficulties were as robust as had been the preceding ones. He put on his hat and went out of the room. He felt an impossibility of saying anything to Coleman, but he felt that he must look upon him. He must look upon this man and try to know from his manner the measure of guilt. And incidentally he longed for the machinery of a finished society which prevents its parts from clashing, prevents it with its great series of I law upon law, easily operative but relentless. Here he felt as a man flung into the jungle with his wife and daughter, where they could become the victims of any sort of savagery. His thought referred once more to what he considered the invaluable services of Coleman, and as he observed them in conjunction with the present accusation, he was simply dazed. It was then possible that one man could play two such divergent parts. He had not learned this at Washurst. But no; the world was not such a bed of putrefaction. He would not believe it; he would not believe it.

  After adventures which require great nervous en. durance, it is only upon the second or third night that the common man sleeps hard. The students had expected to slumber like dogs on the first night after their trials. but none slept long, And few slept.

  Coleman was the first man to arise. When he left the room the students were just beginning to blink. He took his dragoman among the shops and he bought there all the little odds and ends which might go to make up the best breakfast in Arta. If he had had news of certain talk he probably would not have been buying breakfast for eleven people. Instead, he would have been buying breakfast for one. During his absence the students arose and performed their frugal toilets. Considerable attention was paid to Coke by the others. “ He made a monkey of you,” said Peter Tounley with unction. “ He twisted you until you looked like a wet, grey rag. You had better leave this wise guy alone.”

  It was not the night nor was it meditation that had taught Coke anything, but he seemed to have learned something from the mere lapse of time. In appearance he was subdued, but he managed to make a temporary jauntiness as he said : “ Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Well, you ought to know,” said he who was called Billie. “You ought to know. You made an egregious snark of yourself. Indeed, you sometimes resembled a boojum. Anyhow, you were a plain chump. You exploded your face about something of which you knew nothing, and I’m damned if I believe you’d make even a good retriever.”

  “You’re a half-bred water-spaniel,” blurted Peter Tounley. “And,” he added, musingly, “that is a pretty low animal.”

  Coke was argumentative. “Why am I? “ he asked, turning his head from side to side. “ I don’t see where I was so wrong.”

  “Oh, dances, balloons, picnics, parades and ascensions,” they retorted, profanely. “ You swam voluntarily into water that was too deep for you. Swim out. Get dry. Here’s a towel.”

  Coke, smitten in the face with a wet cloth rolled into a ball, grabbed it and flung it futilely at a well-dodging companion “ No,” he cried, “ I don’t see it. Now look here. I don’t see why we shouldn’t all resent this Nora Black business.”

  One student said: “Well, what’s the matter with Nora B lack, anyhow?”

  Another student said “I don’t see how you’ve been issued any license to say things about Nora Black.”

  Another student said dubiously: “ Well, he knows her well.”

  And then three or four spoke at once. “ He was very badly rattled when she appeared upon the scene.”

  Peter Tounley asked: “Well, which of you people know anything wrong about Nora Black?”

  There was a pause, and then Coke said: “ Oh, of course-I don’t know-but-”

  He who was called Billie then addressed his com- panions. “ It wouldn’t be right to repeat any old lie about Nora Black, and by the same token it wouldn’t be right to see old Mother Wainwright chummin’ with her. There is no wisdom in going further than that. Old Mother Wainwright don’t know that her fair companion of yesterday is the famous comic opera star. For my part, I believe that Coleman is simply afraid to tell her. I don’t think he wished to see Nora Black yesterday any more than he wished to see the devil. The discussion, as I understand itconcerned itself only with what Coleman had to do with the thing, and yesterday anybody could see that he was in a panic.”

  They heard a step on the stair, and directly Coleman entered, followed by his dragoman. They were laden with the raw material for breakfast. The correspondent looked keenly among the students, for it was plain that they had been talking of him. It, filled him with rage, and for a stifling moment he could not think why he failed to immediately decamp in chagrin and leave eleven orphans to whatever fate. their general incompetence might lead them. It struck him as a deep shame that even then he and his paid man were carrying in the breakfast. He wanted to fling it all on the floor and walk out. Then he remembered Marjory. She was the reason. She was the reason for everything.

  But he could not repress certain, of his thoughts. “Say, you people,” he said, icily, “ you had better soon learn to hustle for yourselves. I may be a dragoman, and a butler, and a cook, and a housemaid, but I’m blowed if I’m a wet nurse.” In reality, he had taken the most generous pleasure in working for the others before their eyes had even been opened from sleep, but it was now all turned to wormwood. It is certain that even this could not have deviated this executive man from labour and management. because these were his life. But he felt that he was about to walk out of the room, consigning them all to Hades. His glance of angry, reproach fastened itself mainly upon Peter Tounley, because he knew that of all, Peter was the most innocent.

  Peter, Tounley was abashed by this glance. So you’ve brought us something to eat, old man. That is tremendously nice of you-we-appreciate it like everything.”

  Coleman was mollified by Peter’s tone. Peter had had that emotion which is equivalent to a sense of guilt, although in reality he was speckless. Two or three of the other students bobbed up to a sense of the situation. They ran to Coleman, and with polite cries took his provisions from him. One dropped a bunch of lettuce on the floor, and others reproached him with scholastic curses. Coke was seated near the window, half militant, half conciliatory. It was impossible for him to keep up a manner of deadly enmity while Coleman was bringing in his breakfast. He would have much preferred that Coleman had not brought in his breakfast. He would have much preferred to have foregone breakfast altogether. He would have much preferred anything. There seemed to be a conspiracy of circumstance to put him in the wrong and make him appear as a ridiculous young peasant. He was the victim of a benefaction, and he hated Coleman harder now than at any previous time. He saw that if he stalked out and took his breakfast alone in a cafe, the others would consider him still more of an outsider. Coleman had expressed himself like a man of the world and a gentleman, and Coke was convinced that he was a superior man of the world and a superior gentleman, but that he simply had not had words to express his position at the proper time. Coleman was glib. Therefore, Coke had been the victim of an attitude as well as of a benefaction. And so he deeply hated Coleman.

  The others were talking cheerfully. “What the deuce are these, Coleman? Sausages? Oh, my. And look at these burlesque fishes. Say, these Greeks don’t care what they eat. Them thar things am sardines in the crude state. No? Great God, look at those things. Look. What? Yes, they are. Radishes. Greek synonym for radishes.”

  The professor entered. “ Oh,” he said apologetically, as if he were intruding in a boudoir. All his serious desire to probe Coleman to the bottom ended in embarrassment. Mayhap it was not a law of feeling, but it happened at any rate. “ He had come in a puzzled frame of mind, even an accusative frame of mind, and almost immediately he found himself suffer. ing like a culprit before his judge. It is a phenomenon of what we call guilt and innocence. />
  “Coleman welcomed him cordially. “ Well, professor, good-morning. I’ve rounded up some things that at least may be eaten.”

  “You are very good “ very considerate, Mr. Coleman,” answered the professor, hastily. “ I’am sure we are much indebted to you.” He had scanned the correspondent’s face, land it had been so devoid of guile that he was fearful that his suspicion, a base suspicion, of this noble soul would be detected. “ No, no, we can never thank you enough.”

  Some of the students began to caper with a sort of decorous hilarity before their teacher. “ Look at the sausage, professor. Did you ever see such sausage “ Isn’t it salubrious “ And see these other things, sir. Aren’t they curious “ I shouldn’t wonder if they were alive. Turnips, sir? No, sir. I think they are Pharisees. I have seen a Pharisee look like a pelican, but I have never seen a Pharisee look like a turnip, so I think these turnips must be Pharisees, sir, Yes, they may be walrus. We’re not sure. Anyhow, their angles are geometrically all wrong. Peter, look out.” Some green stuff was flung across the room. The professor laughed; Coleman laughed. Despite Coke, dark-browed, sulking. and yet desirous of reinstating himself, the room had waxed warm with the old college feeling, the feeling of lads who seemed never to treat anything respectfully and yet at the same time managed to treat the real things with respect. The professor himself contributed to their wild carouse over the strange Greek viands. It was a vivacious moment common to this class in times of relaxation, and it was understood perfectly.

  Coke arose. “ I don’t see that I have any friends here,” he said, hoarsely, “ and in consequence I don’t see why I should remain here.”

  All looked at him. At the same moment Mrs. Wainwright and Marjory entered the room.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  “Good-morning,” said Mrs. Wainwright jovially to the students and then she stared at Coleman as if he were a sweep at a wedding.

  “Good-morning,” said Marjory.

  Coleman and the students made reply. “Good-morning. Good-morning. Good-morning. Good-morning—”

  It was curious to see this greeting, this common phrase, this bit of old ware, this antique, come upon a dramatic scene and pulverise it. Nothing remained but a ridiculous dust. Coke, glowering, with his lips still trembling from heroic speech, was an angry clown, a pantaloon in rage. Nothing was to be done to keep him from looking like an ass. He, strode toward the door mumbling about a walk before breakfast.

  Mrs. Wainwright beamed upon him. “ Why, Mr. Coke, not before breakfast? You surely won’t have time.” It was grim punishment. He appeared to go blind, and he fairly staggered out of the door mumbling again, mumbling thanks or apologies or explanations. About the mouth of Coleman played a sinister smile. The professor cast. upon his wife a glance expressing weariness. It was as if he said “ There you go again. You can’t keep your foot out of it.” She understood the glance, and so she asked blankly: “Why, What’s the matter? Oh.” Her belated mind grasped that it waw an aftermath of the quarrel of Coleman and Coke. Marjory looked as if she was distressed in the belief that her mother had been stupid. Coleman was outwardly serene. It was Peter Tounley who finally laughed a cheery, healthy laugh and they all looked at him with gratitude as if his sudden mirth had been a real statement or recon- ciliation and consequent peace.

  The dragoman and others disported themselves until a breakfast was laid upon the floor. The adventurers squatted upon the floor. They made a large company. The professor and Coleman discussed the means of getting to Athens. Peter Tounley sat next to Marjory. “ Peter,” she said, privately, “ what was all this trouble between Coleman and Coke?”

  Peter answered blandly: “ Oh, nothing at Nothing at all.”

  “Well, but—” she persisted, “ what was the cause of it?”

  He looked at her quaintly. He was not one of those in love with her, but be was interested in the affair. “ Don’t you know? “ he asked.

  She understood from his manner that she had been some kind of an issue in the quarrel. “ No,” she answered, hastily. “ I don’t.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean that,” said Peter. “I only meant — I only meant — oh, well, it was nothing-really.”

  “It must have been about something,” continued Marjory. She continued, because Peter had denied that she was concerned in it. “ Whose fault?”

  “I really don’t know. It was all rather confusing,” lied Peter, tranquilly.

  Coleman and the professor decided to accept a plan of the correspondent’s dragoman to start soon on the first stage of the journey to Athens. The dragoman had said that he had found two large carriages rentable.

  Coke, the outcast, walked alone in the narrow streets. The flight of the crown prince’s army from Larissa had just been announced in Arta, but Coke was probably the most woebegone object on the Greek peninsula.

  He encountered a strange sight on the streets. A woman garbed in the style for walking of an afternoon on upper Broadway was approaching him through a mass of kilted mountaineers and soldiers in soiled overcoats. Of course he recognised Nora Black.

  In his conviction that everybody in the world was at this time considering him a mere worm, he was sure that she would not heed him. Beyond that he had been presented to her notice in but a transient and cursory fashion. But contrary to his conviction, she turned a radiant smile upon him. “ Oh,” she said, brusquely, “ you are one of the students. Good morning.” In her manner was all the confidence of an old warrior, a veteran, who addresses the universe with assurance because of his past battles.

  Coke grinned at this strange greeting. “ Yes, Miss Black,” he answered, “ I am one of the students.”

  She did not seem to quite know how to formulate her next speech. “ Er-I suppose you’re going to Athens at once “ You must be glad after your horrid experiences.”

  “I believe they are going to start for Athens today,” said Coke.

  Nora was all attention. “‘They?’” she repeated. “Aren’t you going with them?”

  “Well,” he said, “ * * Well—”

  She saw of course that there had been some kind of trouble. She laughed. “ You look as if somebody had kicked you down stairs,” she said, candidly. She at once assumed an intimate manner toward him which was like a temporary motherhood. “ Come, walk with me and tell me all about it.” There was in her tone a most artistic suggestion that whatever had happened she was on his side. He was not loath. The street was full of soldiers whose tongues clattered so loudly that the two foreigners might have been wandering in a great cave of the winds. “ Well, what was the row about? “ asked Nora. “ And who was in it?”

  It would have been no solace to Coke to pour out his tale even if it had been a story that he could have told Nora. He was not stopped by the fact that he had gotten himself in the quarrel because he had insulted the name of the girt at his side. He did not think of it at that time. The whole thing was now extremely vague in outline to him and he only had a dull feeling of misery and loneliness. He wanted her to cheer him.

  Nora laughed again. “ Why, you’re a regular little kid. Do you mean to say you’ve come out here sulking alone because of some nursery quarrel? “ He was ruffled by her manner. It did not contain the cheering he required. “ Oh, I don’t know that I’m such a regular little kid,” he said, sullenly. “ The quarrel was not a nursery quarrel.”

  “Why don’t you challenge him to a duel? “ asked Nora, suddenly. She was watching him closely.

  “Who?” said Coke.

  “Coleman, you stupid,” answered Nora.

  They stared at each other, Coke paying her first the tribute of astonishment and then the tribute of admiration. “Why, how did you guess that?” he demanded.

  “Oh,” said Nora., “ I’ve known Rufus Coleman for years, and he is always rowing with people.”

  “That is just it,” cried Coke eagerly. “That is just it. I fairly hate the man. Almost all of the other fellows will stand his abuse, but it riles me, I tell yo
u. I think he is a beast. And, of course, if you seriously meant what you said about challenging him to a duel — I mean if there is any sense in that sort of thing-I would challenge Coleman. I swear I would. I think he’s a great bluffer, anyhow. Shouldn’t wonder if he would back out. Really, I shouldn’t.

  Nora smiled humourously at a house on her side of the narrow way. “I wouldn’t wonder if he did either “ she answered. After a time she said “ Well, do you mean to say that you have definitely shaken them? Aren’t you going back to Athens with them or anything?”

  “I-I don’t see how I can,” he said, morosely.

  “Oh,” she said. She reflected for a time. At last she turned to him archly and asked: “Some words over a lady?”

  Coke looked at her blankly. He suddenly remembered the horrible facts. “ No-no-not over a lady.”

  “My dear boy, you are a liar,” said Nora, freely. “You are a little unskilful liar. It was some words over a lady, and the lady’s name is Marjory Wainwright.”

  Coke felt as though he had suddenly been let out of a cell, but he continued a mechanical denial. “No, no * * It wasn’t truly * * upon my word * *”

  “Nonsense,” said Nora. “ I know better. Don’t you think you can fool me, you little cub. I know you’re in love with Marjory Wainwright, and you think Coleman is your rival. What a blockhead you are. Can’t you understand that people see these things?”

  “Well-” stammered Coke.

  “Nonsense,” said Nora again. “Don’t try to fool me, you may as well understand that it’s useless. I am too wise.”

  “Well-” stammered Coke.

  “Go ahead,” urged Nora. “ Tell me about it. Have it out.”

  He began with great importance and solemnity. “Now, to tell you the truth * * that is why I hate him * * I hate him like anything. * * I can’t see why everybody admires him so. I don’t see anything to him myself. I don’t believe he’s got any more principle than a wolf. I wouldn’t trust him with two dollars. Why, I know stories about him that would make your hair curl. When I think of a girl like Marjory—”