CHAPTER XI
A FALSEHOOD UNDER THE PALMS
"Make me a willow cabin at your gate," quoted Mr. Magee, looking at thehermit's shack with interest.
"U-m-m," replied Miss Norton. Thus beautiful sentiments frequently fare,even at the hands of the most beautiful. Mr. Magee abandoned his projectof completing the speech.
The door of the hermit's abode opened before Mr. Max's masterful knock,and the bearded little man appeared on the threshold. He was clad in apurple dressing-gown that suggested some woman had picked it. Surely noman could have fallen victim to that riot of color.
"Come in," said the hermit, in a tone so colorless it called addedattention to the gown. "Miss, you have the chair. You'll have to becontented with that soap-box davenport, gentlemen. Well?"
He stood facing them in the middle of his hermitage. With curious eyesthey examined its architecture. Exiled hands had built it of poles andclay and a reliable brand of roofing. In the largest room, where theysat, were chairs, a table, and a book-shelf hammered together from strayboards--furniture midway between that in a hut on a desert isle and thatof a home made happy from the back pages of a woman's magazine. On thewall were various posters that defined the hermit's taste in art asinflammatory, bold, arresting. Through one door at the rear they caughta glimpse of a tiny kitchen; through another the white covering of ahall-room cot could be seen.
"Well?" repeated Mr. Peters. "I suppose you're a delegation, so tospeak?"
"A cold unfeeling word," objected Mr. Magee.
"We have come to plead"--began Miss Norton, turning her eyes at theirfull candle-power on the hermit's bearded face.
"I beg pardon, miss," interrupted Mr. Peters, "but it ain't any use.I've thought it all out--in the night watches, as the poet says. I cameup here to be alone. I can't be a hermit and a cook, too. I can't and betrue to myself. No, you'll have to accept my resignation, to take effectat once."
He sat down on an uncertain chair and regarded them sorrowfully. Hislong well-shaped fingers clutched the cord of the purple gown.
"It isn't as though we were asking you to give up the hermit businessfor good," argued Magee. "It's just for a short time--maybe only for afew days. I should think you would welcome the diversion."
Mr. Peters shook his head vigorously. The brown curls waved flippantlyabout his shoulders.
"My instincts," he replied, "are away from the crowd. I explained thatto you when we first met, Mr. Magee."
"Any man," commented Mr. Max, "ought to be able to strangle hisinstincts for a good salary, payable in advance."
"You come here," said the hermit with annoyance, "and you bring with youthe sentiments of the outside world--the world I have foresworn. Don'tdo it. I ask you."
"I don't get you," reflected Mr. Max. "No, pal, I don't quite grab thishermit game. It ain't human nature, I say. Way up here miles from thelittle brass rail and the sporting extra, and other things that makelife worth living. It's beyond me."
"I'm not asking your approval," replied the hermit. "All I ask is to belet alone."
"Let me speak," said Miss Norton. "Mr. Peters and I have been friends,you might say, for three years. It was three years ago my awed eyesfirst fell upon him, selling his post-cards at the inn. He was to methen--the true romance--the man to whom the world means nothing withouta certain woman at his side. That is what he has meant to all the girlswho came to Baldpate. He isn't going to shatter my ideal of him--heisn't going to refuse a lady in distress. You will come for just alittle while, won't you, Mr. Peters?"
But Peters shook his head again.
"I dislike women as a sex," he said, "but I've always been gentle andeasy with isolated examples of 'em. It ain't my style to turn 'em down.But this is asking too much. I'm sorry. But I got to be true to myoath--I got to be a hermit."
"Maybe," sneered Mr. Max, "he's got good reason for being a hermit.Maybe there's brass buttons and blue uniforms mixed up in it."
"You come from the great world of suspicion," answered the hermit,turning reproving eyes upon him. "Your talk is natural--it goes with thelife you lead. But it isn't true."
"And Mr. Max is the last who should insinuate," rebuked Mr. Magee. "Why,only last night he denounced suspicion, and bemoaned the fact that thereis so much of it in the world."
"Well he might," replied the hermit. "Suspicion is the key-note ofmodern life--especially in New York." He drew the purple dressing-gowncloser about his plump form. "I remember the last time I was in the bigtown, seeing a crowd of men in the grill-room of the Hoffman House. Oneof them--long, lean, like an eel--stooped down and whispered in the earof a little fellow with a diamond horseshoe desecrating hishaberdashery, and pointing to another man near by. 'No, I won't,' saysthe man with the diamonds, 'I don't introduce nobody to nobody. Letevery man play his own game, I say.' That's New York. That's the essenceof the town. 'I introduce nobody to nobody.'"
"It seems odd," remarked Mr. Magee, "to hear you speak of the time youwalked on pavements."
"I haven't always been on Baldpate Mountain," replied the hermit. "OnceI, too, paid taxes and wore a derby hat and sat in barbers' chairs. Yes,I sat in 'em in many towns, in many corners of this little round globe.But that's all over now."
The three visitors gazed at Mr. Peters with a new interest.
"New York," said Mr. Max softly, as a better man might have spoken thename of the girl he loved. "Its a great little Christmas tree. Thecandles are always burning and the tinsel presents always look good tome."
The hermit's eyes strayed far away--down the mountain--and beyond.
"New York," said he, and his tone was that in which Max had said thewords. "A great little Christmas tree it is, with fine presents for thereaching. Sometimes, at night here, I see it as it was four years ago--Isee the candles lit on the Great White Way--I hear the elevated roar,and the newsboys shout, and Diamond Jim Brady applauding at a musicalcomedy's first night. New York!"
Mr. Max rose pompously and pointed a yellow finger at the Hermit ofBaldpate Mountain.
"I got you!" he cried in triumph. "I'm wise! You want to go back."
A half-hearted smile crossed the visible portion of the hermit's face.
"I guess I'm about the poorest liar in the world," he said. "I never gotaway with but one lie in my life, and that was only for a little while.It was a masterpiece while it lasted, too. But it was my only hit as aliar. Usually I fail, as I have failed now. I lied when I said Icouldn't cook for you because I had to be true to my hermit's oath. Thatisn't the reason. I'm afraid."
"Afraid?" echoed Mr. Magee.
"Scared," said Mr. Peters, "of temptation. Your seventh son of a seventhson friend here has read my palm O. K. I want to go back. Not in thesummer, when the inn blazes like Broadway every evening, and I can sithere and listen to the latest comic opera tunes come drifting up fromthe casino, and go down and mingle with the muslin brigade any time Iwant, and see the sympathetic look in their eyes as they buy my postals.It ain't then I want to go back. It's when fall comes, and the trees onthe mountain are bare, and Quimby locks up the inn, and there's only thewind and me on the mountain--then I get the fever. I haven't thepost-card trade to think of--so I think of Ellen, and New York.She's--my wife. New York--it's my town.
"That's why I can't come among you to cook. It'd be leading me intotemptation greater than I could stand. I'd hear your talk, and like asnot when you went away I'd shave off this beard, and burn the manuscriptof _Woman_, and go down into the marts of trade. Last night I walked thefloor till two. I can't stand such temptation."
Mr. Peters' auditors regarded him in silence. He rose and moved towardthe kitchen door.
"Now you understand how it is," he said. "Perhaps you will go and leaveme to my baking."
"One minute," objected Mr. Magee. "You spoke of one lie--yourmasterpiece. We must hear about that."
"Yes--spin the yarn, pal," requested Mr. Max.
"Well," said the hermit reluctantly, "if you're quite comfortable--itain't very short."<
br />
"Please," beamed Miss Norton.
With a sigh the Hermit of Baldpate Mountain sank upon a most unsocialseat and drew his purple splendor close.
"It was like this," he began. "Five years ago I worked for a fruitcompany, and business sent me sliding along the edges of strange seasand picture-book lands. I met little brown men, and listened to the softswish of the banana growing, and had an orchestra seat at a revolutionor two. Don't look for a magazine story about overthrown tyrants, oranything like that. It's just a quiet little lie I'm speaking of, toldon a quiet little afternoon, by the sands of a sea as blue as BaldpateInn must have been this morning when I didn't show up with breakfast.
"Sitting on those yellow sands the afternoon I speak of, wearing carpetslippers made for me by loving, so to speak, hands, I saw AlexanderMcMann come along. He was tall and straight and young and free, and Ienvied him, for even in those days my figure would never have done in aclothing advertisement, owing to the heritage of too many table d'hotesabout the middle. Well, McMann sat at my side, and little by little,with the sea washing sad-like near by, I got from him the story of hisexile, and why.
"I don't need to tell you it was woman had sent him off for the equator.This one's name was Marie, I think, and she worked at a lunch-counter inKansas City. From the young man's bill-of-fare description of her, Igathered that she had cheeks like peaches and cream, but a heart like alunch-counter doughnut, which is hard.
"'She cast you off?' I asked.
"'She threw me down,' said he.
"Well, it seems he'd bought a ticket for that loud-colored country whereI met him, and come down there to forget. 'I could buy the ticket,' hesaid, 'as soon as I learned how to pronounce the name of this town. ButI can't forget. I've tried. It's hopeless.' And he sat there lookinglike a man whose best friend has died, owing him money. I won't go intohis emotions. Mr. Bland, up at the inn, is suffering them at the presentmoment, I'm told. They're unimportant; I'll hurry on to the lie. Isimply say he was sorrowful, and it seemed to me a crime, what with thesun so bright, and the sea so blue, and the world so full of a number ofthings. Yes, it certainly was a crime, and I decided he had to becheered up at any cost. How? I thought a while, gazing up at the sky,and then it came to me--the lie--the great glorious lie--and I told it."
The hermit looked in defiance round the listening circle.
"'You're chuck full of sorrow now,' I said to McMann, 'but it won't lastlong.' He shook his head. 'Nonsense,' I told him. 'Look at me. Do yousee me doing a heart-bowed-down act under the palms? Do you findanything but joy in my face?' And he couldn't, the lie unfolding itselfin such splendor to me. 'You?' he asked. 'Me,' I said. 'Ten years ago Iwas where you are to-day. A woman had spoken to me as Mabel--orMarie--or what was it?--spoke to you.'
"I could see I had the boy interested. I unfolded my story, as itoccurred to me at the moment. 'Yes,' said I, 'ten years ago I saw herfirst. Dancing as a butterfly dances from flower to flower. Dancing onthe stage--a fairy sprite. I loved her--worshiped her. It could neverbe. There in the dark of the wings, she told me so. And she shed atear--a sweet tear of sorrow at parting.
"'I went to my room,' I told McMann, 'with a lot of time-tables andsteamship books. Bright red books--the color came off on my eager hands.I picked out a country, and sailed away. Like you, I thought I couldnever be happy, never even smile, again. Look at me.'
"He looked. I guess my face radiated bliss. The idea was so lovely. Hewas impressed--I could see it. 'I'm supremely happy,' I told him. 'I ammy own master. I wander where I will. No woman tells me my hour forgoing out, or my hour for coming in. I wander. For company I have herpicture--as I saw her last--with twinkling feet that never touchedearth. As the spirit moves, I go. You can move the memory of a woman ina flash, my boy, but it takes two months to get the real articlestarted, and then like as not she's forgot everything of importance.Ever thought of that? You should. You're going to be as happy as I am.Study me. Reflect.' I waved my carpet-slippered feet toward the palms. Ihad certainly made an impression on Alexander McMann.
"As we walked back over the sands and grass-grown streets to the hotel,his heart got away from that cupid's lunch-counter, and he was almostcheerful. I was gay to the last, but as I parted from him my own heartsank. I knew I had to go back to her, and that she would probably giveme a scolding about the carpet slippers. I parted from McMann with alast word of cheer. Then I went to the ship--to her. My wife. That wasthe lie, you understand. She traveled everywhere with me. She nevertrusted me.
"We were due to sail that night, and I was glad. For I worried some overwhat I had done. Suppose my wife and Alexander McMann should meet. Anestimable woman, but large, determined, little suggesting the butterflyof the footlights I married, long before. We had a bad session over thecarpet slippers. The boat was ready to sail, when McMann came aboard. Hecarried a bag, and his face shone.
"'She's sent for me,' he said. 'Marie wants me. I got a letter from mybrother. I'll blow into Kansas like a cyclone, and claim her.'
"I was paralyzed. At that minute a large black figure appeared on deck.It headed for me. 'Jake,' it says, 'you've sat up long enough. Go belownow.'
"McMann's face was terrible. I saw it was all up. 'I lied, McMann,' Iexplained. 'The idea just came to me, it fascinated me, and I lied. Shedid turn me down--there in the wings. And she shed that tear I spoke of,too. But, when I was looking over the railroad folders, she sent for me.I went--on the wings of love. It was two blocks--but I went on the wingsof love. We've been married twenty years. Forgive me, McMann!'
"McMann turned around. He picked up the bag. I asked where he was going.'Ashore,' he said, 'to think. I may go back to Kansas City--I may. ButI'll just think a bit first.' And he climbed into the ship's boat. Inever saw him again."
The hermit paused, and gazed dreamily into space.
"That," he said, "was my one great lie, my masterpiece. A year afterwardI came up here on the mountain to be a hermit."
"As a result of it?" asked Miss Norton.
"Yes," answered Mr. Peters, "I told the story to a friend. I thought hewas a friend--so he was, but married. My wife got to hear of it. 'So youdenied my existence,' she said. 'As a joke,' I told her. 'The joke's onyou,' she says. That was the end. She went her way, and I went mine. I'djust unanimously gone her way so long, I was a little dazed at firstwith my freedom. After fighting for a living alone for a time, I came uphere. It's cheap. I get the solitude I need for my book. Not long ago Iheard I could go back to her if I apologized."
"Stick to your guns," advised Mr. Max.
"I'm trying to," Mr. Peters replied. "But it's lonesome here--in winter.And at Christmas in particular. This dressing-gown was a Christmaspresent from Ellen. She picked it. Pretty, ain't it? You see why I can'tcome down and cook for you. I might get the fever for society, andshave, and go to Brooklyn, where she's living with her sister."
"But," said Mr. Magee, "we're in an awful fix. You've put us there. Mr.Peters, as a man of honor, I appeal to you. Your sense of fairness musttell you my appeal is just. Risk it one more day, and I'll have a cooksent up from the village. Just one day. There's no danger in that.Surely you can resist temptation one little day. A man of yourcharacter."
Miss Norton rose and stood before Mr. Peters. She fixed him with hereyes--eyes into which no man could gaze and go his way unmoved.
"Just one tiny day," she pleaded.
Mr. Peters sighed. He rose.
"I'm a fool," he said. "I can't help it. I'll take chances on anotherday. Though nobody knows where it'll lead."
"Brooklyn, maybe," whispered Lou Max to Magee in mock horror.
The hermit donned his coat, attended to a few household duties, and ledthe delegation outside. Dolefully he locked the door of his shack. Thefour started down the mountain.
"Back to Baldpate with our cook," said Mr. Magee into the girl's ear. "Iknow now how Caesar felt when he rode through Rome with his ex-foesfestooned about his chariot wheels."
Mr. Max again chose t
he rear, triumphantly escorting Mr. Peters. As Mr.Magee and the girl swung into the lead, the former was moved to recur tothe topic he had handled so amateurishly a short time before.
"I'll make you believe in me yet," he said.
She did not turn her head.
"The moment we reach the inn," he went on "I shall come to you, with thepackage of money in my hand. Then you'll believe I want to helpyou--tell me you'll believe then."
"Very likely I shall," answered the girl without interest. "If youreally do intend to give me that money--no one must know about it."
"No one shall know," he answered, "but you and me."
They walked on in silence. Then shyly the girl turned her head. Oh, mostassuredly, she was desirable. Clumsy as had been his declaration, Mr.Magee resolved to stick to it through eternity.
"I'm sorry I spoke as I did," she said. "Will you forgive me?"
"Forgive you?" he cried. "Why, I--"
"And now," she interrupted, "let us talk of other things. Of ships, andshoes, and sealing-wax--"
"All the topics in the world," he replied, "can lead to but one withme--"
"Ships?" asked the girl.
"For honeymoons," he suggested.
"Shoes?"
"In some circles of society, I believe they are flung at bridalparties."
"And sealing-wax?"
"On the license, isn't it?" he queried.
"I'll not try you on cabbage and kings," laughed the girl. "Please, oh,please, don't fail me. You won't, will you?" Her face was serious. "Yousee, it means so very much to me."
"Fail you?" cried Magee. "I'd hardly do that now. In ten minutes thatpackage will be in your hands--along with my fate, my lady."
"I shall be so relieved." She turned her face away, there was a faintflush in the cheek toward Mr. Magee. "And--happy," she whispered underher breath.
They were then at the great front door of Baldpate Inn.
Seven Keys to Baldpate Page 11
