The Main Chance

by Meredith Nicholson

  CHAPTER XXXII

  CROSSED WIRES

  A great storm came out of the north late in January and beat fiercelyupon Clarkson. It left a burden of snow on the town and was followed bya week of bitter cold. The sun shone impotently upon the great driftswhich filled the streets; it seemed curiously remote, and ashamed of itsfailure to impress the white, dazzling masses. The wires sang their songof the cold; even the confused wires of the Clarkson Traction Companylifted up their voices, somewhat to the irritation of John Saxton,receiver, as he fought the snow banks below and sought to disentanglethe twisted wires above. Upper Varney Street, beyond Porter Hill, wasreceiving his attention late one afternoon as the winter sunset burnedred in the west. The iron poles of the trolley wires had been pulled farover into the street by the blast and the weight of snow; and trolley,telephone, and electric light wires were a baffling tangle which workmenwere seeking to straighten. Saxton's men had detached their own wiresand were restoring them to the poles. Traffic on the Varney Street linewould, he concluded, be resumed on the morrow; and he gave finalinstructions to the foreman of the repair crew and turned toward hisoffice.

  Evelyn Porter, who had come out for the walk she had been taking everyafternoon since the beginning of her father's illness, stopped at thenarrow aisle which had been trampled in the snow-piled sidewalk to watchan adventurous lineman scale an icy telephone pole. There is a vintageof the North that is more stimulating than any that comes out ofSouthern vineyards. It brings a glow to the cheeks, a sparkle to theeyes, and a nimbleness to the tongue which no product of the winepressever gives. It is a wine that makes the heart leap and the blood tingle.It is distilled in the great ice-clasped seas of the North, and the pineand balsam of snowy woods add their quintessence to it; it tickles nopalate but is assimilated directly into the blood of the brave andstrong; it is the wine of youth, of perpetual youth. Evelyn felt the joyof it to-day, her heart leaped with it,--it was a delight to be abroadin the pure, cold air. Her coloring was freshly accented. The remoteScotch grandmother who conferred it upon her, across years of migration,would have rejoiced in it; where the Irish strain maintained its lightof humor in her blue eyes, the gray mist of the Scotch moors still heldits own. There are women who are dominated by their clothes; but EvelynPorter was not one of them. Her dark green skirt might have belonged toany other girl, but it would not have swayed in just the same way to anyother step; and her toque and cape of sable would have lost theirdistinction on any other head and shoulders. Her father's convalescencewas only a matter of time and care; he had withstood the fever betterthan the physicians had thought possible, and there was no question ofhis restoration to health. It was good to be free of the anxiousstrain, and the keen air was like a tonic to her happiness. Saxtonrecognized her as he jumped over the drifted snow at the curb to thepath. His face, where it was visible between his cap and collar, was redfrom the cold.

  "They say freezing to death's an easy way,--but I don't believe I'dprefer it."

  "Oh, it's you, is it? I wondered who the busy man was." She wasinterested in the lineman, the points of whose climbers were shakingdown the ice coating of the pole as he ascended.

  "Won't you order that man to come down? It isn't nice to make him riskhis life for a wire or two."

  "He's not my man," said John, beating his hands together, "he's fixingtelephone wires, and besides, he's not taking any chances."

  Evelyn half turned away to continue her walk, still with her eyes on thelineman.

  "Poor fellow; it must be very cold up there."

  "Yes, polar expeditions are usually that way."

  "Wretched man, to pun about a human life in peril!" The lineman wassitting on one of the cross beams, and Evelyn started ahead, Saxtonfollowing.

  "Is that the overcoat?" she asked, over her shoulder.

  "What overcoat?"

  "The one that's in the newspapers. Aren't you the man in the gray ulsterwho runs the trolleys?"

  "I've been too busy to read the papers, so I don't know."

  "It might pay you to join a current topics class and learn what's goingon."

  "That presupposes a little knowledge. I'd never pass the entranceexams."

  "You needn't be afraid, they probably carry a prep. department."

  "My wires are down and the trolley isn't running!"

  She laughed, and it was pleasant to hear her, John thought.

  "Is that the kind of things you say? They are making you out ahumorist."

  "There's no harder lot. Who is this enemy that's undoing me?"

  "There's a certain person called Raridan. He's always telling me of thethings you say."

  "The villain! I merely lecture him for his good; and so he thought I wasjoking!"

  They had reached the Porter grounds where the walk had been cleared, andthey stamped the snow from their shoes on the cement pavement and walkedon together. Evelyn dropped her tone of raillery, and John asked abouther father. John had followed Mr. Porter's sickness through Raridan'sreports, and had called at the house only a few times since the banker'sseizure. They entered the gate at the foot of the hill and walked up thelong slope to the door.

  "Won't you come in?" she asked.

  "I oughtn't to; there's work waiting for me down town."

  She sent the maid who let them in for hot water, and threw down her fursin the hall while it was being brought. The tea table had been movedinto the library during Mrs. Whipple's visit, and Evelyn left John torevive the fire while she went to speak to her father. Saxton had nottaken off his coat, and when she came back he stood buttoning it as ifhe meant to leave.

  "It's historic, but not exactly a handsome garment," she said, shakingthe tea caddy.

  "You shake the caddy when you can't hit the ball: new rule of golf." Hehad buttoned his ulster to the chin, and really intended to go. Shepoured the steaming water into the tea-pot, and walked to the fire withfolded arms, shivering.

  "Of course, if you prefer your uniform!" She spread her hands to theflames. Her mood was new to him; he felt suddenly that he knew herbetter than ever before; and this having occurred to him as he stoodwatching her, he accused himself instantly. He had no right to be there;no one had any right to be there but Warry Raridan! She had turnedswiftly and was smiling at him. The darkness had fallen suddenlyoutside. The maid went about closing blinds and turning on the lights.He felt, by anticipation, the loneliness that lay for him beyond thesoft glow of this room. This was, after all, only a moment's respite.

  Evelyn was back at the tea table. She held a lump of sugar poised abovea cup, and looked at him inquiringly, as though of course he was stayingand wished his tea. He unbuttoned the coat and threw it on a chair.

  "One lump, thanks!"

  "It was the sandwiches that did it, I'm sure," she said, passing him aplate of bread and butter.

  "I should like to refute your statement, but candor compels me to admitits truth," he answered. "I just happen to remember that I haven't hadluncheon yet. Excuse me if I take two."

  She went to the wall and pushed a button.

  "You're a foolish person and I'm going to punish you. Father's beef teais ready day and night, and"--she said to the Swedish maid,--"bring somemore hot water and the decanter."

  "_J'y suis; j'y reste._ I think I have died and gone to Heaven."

  "You don't deserve Heaven. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "That I wanted a sandwich? They advised me against it as a kid. We aretaught repression in Massachusetts and I try to live up to my training."

  He pronounced beef tea no such deadly drug as it was reported to be, andhe drank it until she was content. He concocted a hot toddy while shetwitted him about his use of the tea-table implements for so ignoble ause; and she made him talk of his work and of the Traction Company'saffairs.

  "Mr. Wheaton has explained about it," she said, "and Warry too. Warryseems to be very much interested in some work he is doing in connectionwith it."

  "Yes, he does his work well, too!" said John, with enthusiasm.
He had noright to be there; but being there he could praise his friend. He toldher in detail about some of Warry's work. Warry had, he said, a legalmind, and knew the philosophy of the law as only the old-time lawyersdid. He rose and replenished the fire and went on talking. Some amusingincidents had occurred in the adjustment of legal questions relating tothe receivership and he told of them in a way to reflect the greatestcredit on Warry.

  "It looks awfully complicated--the receivership and all that. Father hasbegun to ask questions, but we don't encourage him."

  "I'll have a good deal to explain and apologize for, when he is able totake a hand," said John.

  "I'm sure father will be grateful. Mr. Wheaton and Warry are veryenthusiastic about your work." She laughed out suddenly. "Warry says youhave made two cars go where none had gone before."

  "They have a joke down town in refutation of that. They illustrate theerratic service of the Varney Street line by saying that the cars arelike bananas--short, yellow, and come in bunches."

  He walked to the fireplace and took up the poker. "I have beenprodigally generous with Mr. Porter's wood. It burns awfully fast." Theflame had died down to a few uncertain embers which he touchedtentatively with the poker. "When it goes out I'll have to go with it."

  "The joke is poor, Mr. Saxton. You can hardly sustain a reputation onsayings of that sort." She put down her tea cup and went over to thefire and poked the ashes gravely.

  "One might construe those actions in two ways," he said, meditatively,as if the subject were one of weight. "One cannot tell whether the sibylis trying to encourage or to blight the dying flame. Just another pokein that corner and it will be gone."

  Evelyn menaced the ember with the iron rod but did not touch it.

  "The lady's position is one of great delicacy," continued John."Between her instinct for self defense, and her gracious hospitality,she wavers. A touch might revive the flame, or it might extinguish itutterly! She hesitates between two inclinations--"

  "Why should you intimate that I hesitate?"

  "Her seeming reluctance to apply the poker to the crucial point, speaksfor itself," continued John, solemnly, while Evelyn still hung over thefitful flame, which was growing fainter and fainter. "She's clearlyafraid of the chance of resuscitating the fire and thereby saving a poorguest from the cold, hard world."

  Evelyn administered a gentle prod; the burnt fragment of wood fellapart, the flame flared hopefully once and then passed into a wraith ofitself that curled dolorously into the chimney.

  "You see you made me do it," said Evelyn, turning on him. He looked ather very seriously and there was no mirth in his laugh.

  "Good night," he said, and came toward her. "I feel like a burntsacrifice."

  "But you brought it on yourself! I wish, though, you'd stay to dinner.Sandwiches aren't very filling."

  "In wholesale lots they are. Mine were seven; and my strength is as thestrength of ten because the punch was pure."

  He had buttoned himself into his ulster, which magnified his tall, broadfigure, and was walking toward the door. His time was now filled withcongenial work, which he was doing well, but still he did not quite losethat air of injury, of having suffered defeat, which had from the firsttouched her in him.

  When Grant, who had not returned to school after the Christmasholidays, came in, she was still standing by the fire. He had beencoasting on the hillside, and was aglow from the exercise.

  "I met Mr. Saxton outside and asked him to stay to dinner," said theboy, helping himself to sandwiches at the tea table.

  "I asked him, too," said Evelyn, "but he couldn't stay. I didn't know hewas a friend of yours, Grant."

  "Well, he's all right," continued Grant, biting into a fresh sandwich,and unconsciously adopting one of his father's phrases. "He doesn't guyme the way Warry does. He talks to me as if I had some sense, and he'sgoing to let me ride on the trolley plow the next time it snows. He's aHarvard man. I want to go to Harvard, Evelyn."

  The girl laughed.

  "You're a funny boy, Grant," she said.