The professor had then asked with considerable spirit for the proofs upon which Mrs. Wainwright named Coleman a monster, and had made a wry face over her completely conventional reply. He had told her categorically his opinion of her erudition in such matters.
But Mrs. Wainwright was not to be deterred from an exciting espousal of the cause of her sex. Upon the instant that the professor strenuously opposed her she becamean apostle, an enlightened, uplifted apostle to the world on the wrongs of her sex. She had come down with this thing as if it were a disease. Nothing could stop her. Her husband, her daughter, all influences in other directions, had been overturned with a roar, and the first thing fully clear to the professor’s mind had been that his wife was riding affably in the carriage with Nora Black. Coleman aroused when he heard one of the students cry out: “ Why, there is Rufus Coleman’s dragoman. He must be here.” A moment later they thronged upon him. “ Hi, old man, caught you again! Where did you break to? Glad to catch you, old boy. How are you making it? Where’s your horse?”
“Sent the horses on to, Athens,” said Coleman. He had not yet recovered his composure, and he was glad to find available this commonplace return to their exuberant greetings and questions. “ Sent them on to Athens with the groom.”
In the mean time the engine of the little train was screaming to heaven that its intention of starting was most serious. The diligencia careered to the station platform and unburdened. Coleman had had his dragoman place his luggage in a little first-class carriage and he defiantly entered it and closed the door. He had a sudden return to the old sense of downfall, and with it came the original rebellious desires. However, he hoped that somebody would intrude upon him. It was Peter Tounley. The student flung open the door and then yelled to the distance : “ Here’s an empty one.” He clattered into the compartment. “ Hello, Coleman! Didn’t know you were in here! “ At his heels came Nora Black, Coke and Marjory. “ Oh! “ they said, when they saw the occupant of the carriage. “ Oh! “ Coleman was furious. He could have distributed some of his traps in a way to create more room, but he did not move.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THERE was a demonstration of the unequalled facilities of a European railway carriage for rendering unpleasant things almost intolerable. These people could find no way to alleviate the poignancy of their position. Coleman did not know where to look. Every personal mannerism becomes accentuated in a European railway carriage. If you glance at a man, your glance defines itself as a stare. If you carefully look at nothing, you create for yourself a resemblance to all wooden-headed things. A newspaper is, then, in the nature of a preservative, and Coleman longed for a newspaper.
It was this abominable railway carriage which exacted the first display of agitation from Marjory. She flushed rosily, and her eyes wavered over the cornpartment. Nora Black laughed in a way that was a shock to the nerves. Coke seemed very angry, indeed, and Peter Tounley was in pitiful distress. Everything was acutely, painfully vivid, bald, painted as glaringly as a grocer’s new wagon. It fulfilled those traditions which the artists deplore when they use their pet phrase on a picture, “It hurts.” The damnable power of accentuation of the European railway carriage seemed, to Coleman’s amazed mind, to be redoubled and redoubled.
It was Peter Tounley who seemed to be in the greatest agony. He looked at the correspondent beseechingly and said: “It’s a very cold morning, Coleman.” This was an actual appeal in the name of humanity.
Coleman came squarely. to the front and even grinned a little at poor Peter Tounley’s misery. “Yes, it is a cold morning, Peter. I should say it to one of the coldest mornings in my recollection.”
Peter Tounley had not intended a typical American emphasis on the polar conditions which obtained in the compartment at this time, but Coleman had given the word this meaning. Spontaneously every body smiled, and at once the tension was relieved. But of course the satanic powers of the railway carriage could not be altogether set at naught. Of course it fell to the lot of Coke to get the seat directly in front of Coleman, and thus, face to face, they were doomed to stare at each other.
Peter Tounley was inspired to begin conventional babble, in which he took great care to make an appear. ance of talking to all in the carriage. “ Funny thing I never knew these mornings in Greece were so cold. I thought the climate here was quite tropical. It must have been inconvenient in the ancient times, when, I am told, people didn’t wear near so many- er-clothes. Really, I don’t see how they stood it. For my part, I would like nothing so much as a buffalo robe. I suppose when those great sculptors were doing their masterpieces, they had to wear gloves. Ever think of that? Funny, isn’t it? Aren’t you cold, Marjory? I am. jingo! Imagine the Spartans in ulsters, going out to meet an enemy in cape-overcoats, and being desired by their mothers to return with their ulsters or wrapped in them.”
It was rather hard work for Peter Tounley. Both Marjory and Coleman tried to display an interest in his labours, and they laughed not at what he said, but because they believed it assisted him. The little train, meanwhile, wandered up a great green slope, and the day rapidly coloured the land.
At first Nora Black did not display a militant mood, but as time passed Coleman saw clearly that she was considering the advisability of a new attack. She had Coleman and Marjory in conjunction and where they were unable to escape from her. The opportunities were great. To Coleman, she seemed to be gloating over the possibilities of making more mischief. She was looking at him speculatively, as if considering the best place to hit him first. Presently she drawled : “ Rufus, I wish you would fix my rug about me a little better.” Coleman saw that this was a beginning. Peter Tounley sprang to his feet with speed and en- thusiasm. “ Oh, let me do it for you.” He had her well muffled in the rug before she could protest, even if a protest had been rational. The young man had no idea of defending Coleman. He had no knowledge of the necessity for it. It had been merely the exercise of his habit of amiability, his chronic desire to see everybody comfortable. His passion in this direction was well known in Washurst, where the students had borrowed a phrase from the photographers in order to describe him fully in a nickname. They called him “ Look-pleasant Tounley.” This did not in any way antagonise his perfect willingness to fight on occasions with a singular desperation, which usually has a small stool in every mind where good nature has a throne.
“Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Tounley,” said Nora Black, without gratitude. “ Rufus is always so lax in these matters.”
“I don’t know how you know it,” said Coleman boldly, and he looked her fearlessly in the eye. The battle had begun.
“Oh,” responded Nora, airily, “ I have had opportunity enough to know it, I should think, by this time.”
“No,” said Coleman, “ since I have never paid you particular and direct attention, you cannot possibly know what I am lax in and what I am not lax in. I would be obliged to be of service at any time, Nora, but surely you do not consider that you have a right to my services superior to any other right.”
Nora Black simply went mad, but fortunately part of her madness was in the form of speechlessness. Otherwise there might have been heard something approaching to billingsgate.
Marjory and Peter Tounley turned first hot and then cold, and looked as if they wanted to fly away; and even Coke, penned helplessly in with this unpleasant incident, seemed to have a sudden attack of distress. The only frigid person was Coleman. He had made his declaration of independence, and he saw with glee that the victory was complete. Nora Black might storm and rage, but he had announced his position in an unconventional blunt way which nobody in the carriage could fail to understand. He felt somewhat like smiling with confidence and defiance in Nora’s face, but he still had the fear for Marjory.
Unexpectedly, the fight was all out of Nora Black. She had the fury of a woman scorned, but evidently she had perceived that all was over and lost. The remainder of her wrath dispensed itself in glares which Coleman withstood with great com
posure.
A strained silence fell upon the group which lasted until they arrived at the little port of Mesalonghi, whence they were to take ship for Patras. Coleman found himself wondering why he had not gone flatly at the great question at a much earlier period, indeed at the first moment when the great question began to make life exciting for him. He thought that if he had charged Nora’s guns in the beginning they would have turned out to be the same incapable artillery. Instead of that he had run away and continued to run away until he was actually cornered and made to fight, and his easy victory had defined him as a person who had, earlier, indulged in much stupidity and cowardice. Everything had worked out so simply, his terrors had been dispelled so easily, that he probably was led to overestimate his success. And it occurred suddenly to him. He foresaw a fine occasion to talk privately to Marjory when all had boarded the steamer for Patras and he resolved to make use of it. This he believed would end the strife and conclusively laurel him.
The train finally drew up on a little stone pier and some boatmen began to scream like gulls. The steamer lay at anchor in the placid blue cove. The embarkation was chaotic in the Oriental fashion and there was the customary misery which was only relieved when the travellers had set foot on the deck of the steamer. Coleman did not devote any premature attention to finding Marjory, but when the steamer was fairly out on the calm waters of the Gulf of Corinth, he saw her pacing to and fro with Peter Tounley. At first he lurked in the distance waiting for an opportunity, but ultimately he decided to make his own opportunity. He approached them. “Marjory,would you let me speak to you alone for a few moments? You won’t mind, will you, Peter?”
“Oh, no, certainly not,” said Peter Tounley.
“Of course. It is not some dreadful revelation, is it? “ said Marjory, bantering him coolly.
“No,” answered Coleman, abstractedly. He was thinking of what he was going to say. Peter Tounley vanished around the corner of a deck-house and Marjory and Coleman began to pace to and fro even as Marjory and Peter Tounley had done. Coleman had thought to speak his mind frankly and once for all, and on the train he had invented many clear expressions of his feeling. It did not appear that he had forgotten them. It seemed, more, that they had become entangled in his mind in such a way that he could not unravel the end of his discourse.
In the pause, Marjory began to speak in admiration of the scenery. “ I never imagined that Greece was so full of mountains. One reads so much of the Attic Plains, but aren’t these mountains royal? They look so rugged and cold, whereas the bay is absolutely as blue as the old descriptions of a summer sea.”
“I wanted to speak to you about Nora Black,” said Coleman.
“Nora Black? Why?” said Marjory, lifting her eye- brows.
You know well enough,” said Coleman, in a head. long fashion. “ You must know, you must have seen it. She knows I care for you and she wants to stop it. And she has no right to-to interfere. She is a fiend, a perfect fiend. She is trying to make you feel that I care for her.”
“And don’t you care for her? “ asked Marjory.
“No,” said Coleman, vehemently. “ I don’t care for her at all.”
“Very well,” answered Marjory, simply. “ I believe you.” She managed to give the words the effect of a mere announcement that she believed him and it was in no way plain that she was glad or that she esteemed the matter as being of consequence.
He scowled at her in dark resentment. “ You mean by that, I suppose, that you don’t believe me?”
“Oh,” answered Marjory, wearily, “ I believe you. I said so. Don’t talk about it any more.”
“Then,” said Coleman, slowly, “ you mean that you do not care whether I’m telling the truth or not?”
“Why, of course I care,” she said. “ Lying is not nice.”
He did not know, apparently, exactly how to deal with her manner, which was actually so pliable that-it was marble, if one may speak in that way. He looked ruefully at the sea. He had expected a far easier time. “ Well-” he began.
“Really,” interrupted Marjory, “ this is something which I do not care to discuss. I would rather you would not speak to me at all about it. It seems too -too-bad. I can readily give you my word that I believe you, but I would prefer you not to try to talk to me about it or-anything of that sort. Mother!”
Mrs. Wainwright was hovering anxiously in the vicinity, and she now bore down rapidly upon the pair. “You are very nearly to Patras,” she said reproachfully to her daughter, as if the fact had some fault of Marjory’s concealed in it. She in no way ac- knowledged the presence of Coleman.
“Oh, are we? “ cried Marjory.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Wainwright. “ We are.”
She stood waiting as if she expected Marjory to in- stantly quit Coleman. The girl wavered a moment and then followed her mother. “ Good-bye.” she said. “I hope we may see you again in Athens.” It was a command to him to travel alone with his servant on the long railway journey from Patras to Athens. It was a dismissal of a casual acquaintance given so graciously that it stung him to the depths of his pride. He bowed his adieu and his thanks. When the yelling boatmen came again, he and his man proceeded to the shore in an early boat without looking in any way after the welfare of the others.
At the train, the party split into three sections. Coleman and his man had one compartment, Nora Black and her squad had another, and the Wainwrights and students occupied two more.
The little officer was still in tow of Nora Black. He was very enthusiastic. In French she directed him to remain silent, but he did not appear to understand. “ You tell him,” she then said to her dragoman, “ to sit in a corner and not to speak until I tell him to, or I won’t have him in here.” She seemed anxious to unburden herself to the old lady companion. “ Do you know,” she said, “ that girl has a nerve like steel. I tried to break it there in that inn, but I couldn’t budge her. If I am going to have her beaten I must prove myself to be a very, very artful person.”
“Why did you try to break her nerve? “ asked the old lady, yawning. “Why do you want to have her beaten?”
“Because I do, old stupid,” answered Nora. “ You should have heard the things I said to her.”
“About what?”
“About Coleman. Can’t you understand anything at all?”
“And why should you say anything about Coleman to her?” queried the old lady, still hopelessly befogged.
“Because,” cried Nora, darting a look of wrath at her companion, “ I want to prevent that marriage.” She had been betrayed into this avowal by the singularly opaque mind of the old lady. The latter at once sat erect. - “ Oh, ho,” she said, as if a ray of light had been let into her head. “ Oh, ho. So that’s it, is it?”
“Yes, that’s it, rejoined Nora, shortly.
The old lady was amazed into a long period of meditation. At last she spoke depressingly. “ Well, how are you going to prevent it? Those things can’t be done in these days at all. If they care for each other-”
Nora burst out furiously. “Don’t venture opinions until you know what you are talking about, please. They don’t care for each other, do you see? She cares for him, but he don’t give a snap of his fingers for her.”
“But,” cried the bewildered lady, “ if he don’t care for her, there will be nothing to prevent. If he don’t care for her, he won’t ask her to marry him, and so there won’t be anything to prevent.”
Nora made a broad gesture of impatience. “ Oh, can’t you get anything through your head? Haven’t you seen that the girl has been the only young woman in that whole party lost up there in the mountains, and that naturally more than half of the men still think they are in love with her? That’s what it is. Can’t you see? It always happens that way. Then Coleman comes along and makes a fool of himself with the others.”
The old lady spoke up brightly as if at last feeling able to contribute something intelligent to the talk. “ Oh, then, he does care for her.�
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Nora’s eyes looked as if their glance might shrivel the old lady’s hair. “Don’t I keep telling you that it is no such thing? Can’t you understand? It is all glamour! Fascination! Way up there in the wilderness! Only one even passable woman in sight.”
“I don’t say that I am so very keen,” said the old lady, somewhat offended, “but I fail to see where I could improve when first you tell me he don’t care for her, and then you tell me that he does care for her.”
“Glamour,’ ‘ Fascination,’” quoted Nora. “ Don’t you understand the meaning of the words?”
“Well,” asked the other, didn’t he know her, then, before he came over here?”
Nora was silent for a time, while a gloom upon her face deepened. It had struck her that the theories for which she protested so energetically might not be of such great value. Spoken aloud, they had a sudden new flimsiness. Perhaps she had reiterated to herself that Coleman was the victim of glamour only because she wished it to be true. One theory, however, re- mained unshaken. Marjory was an artful rninx, with no truth in her.
She presently felt the necessity of replying to the question of her companion. “ Oh,” she said, care- lessly, “ I suppose they were acquainted-in a way.”
Complete Works of Stephen Crane Page 57
