Part 51 (1/2)

You were afraid for the man you loved. It isn't fear with Alma.”

But the thought of Alma did not trouble them long. There was too much else in their world today. As they walked through the historic halls, they had with them all the romance of the past--and so Robert Fulton with his boats, Pere Marquette with his cross and beads, Frances Willard in her strange old-fas.h.i.+oned dress spoke to them of the dreams which certain inspired men and women have translated into action.

They talked of these things while they ate their lunch. The black waiter, who knew Derry, hovered about them. His freedom, too, had been the culmination of a dream.

”Men laugh at the dreamers,” Derry said, ”then honor them after they are dead.”

”That's the cruelty, the sadness of it, isn't it?”

”Not to the dreamer. Do you think that Pere Marquette cared for what smaller minds might think, or Frances Willard? They had their vision backed by a great faith in the rightness of things, and so Marquette followed the river and planted the cross, and Frances Willard blazed the way for the thing which has come to pa.s.s.”

After lunch they motored to Drusilla's. They used one of Dr.

McKenzie's cars. Derry had ceased to draw upon his father's establishment for anything. He lived at the club, and met his expenses with the small balance which remained to his credit in the bank.

”You can give Jean whatever you think best,” he told the Doctor, ”but I shall try to live on what I have until I go, and then on my pay.”

”Your pay, my dear boy, will just about equal what you now spend in tips.”

”I think I shall like it. It's an adventure for rich men when they have to be poor. That's why a lot of fellows have gone into it. They are tired of being the last word in civilization. They want to get down to primitive things.”

”Mrs. Witherspoon can't imagine Derry Drake without two baths a day.”

”Can't she? Well, Mrs. Witherspoon may find that Derry Drake is about like the rest of the fellows. No better and no worse. There is no disgrace in liking to be clean. The disgrace comes when one kicks against a thing that can't be helped.”

In the Doctor's car, therefore, they arrived at Drusilla's.

”We have come to tell you that we are going to be married.”

”You Babes in the Wood!”

”Will you come to the wedding?

”Of course I'll come. Marion, do you hear? They are going to be married.”

”And after that, Drusilla,”--he smiled as he phrased it--”your Tin Soldier will go to the wars.”

Jean glanced from one to the other. ”Is that what she called you--a Tin Soldier?”

”It is what I called myself.”

Marion having come forward to say the proper thing, added, ”Drusilla's going, too.”

”Drusilla?”

”Yes, with my college unit--to run errands in a flivver.”

The next day, encountering Derry on the street, Drusilla opened her knitting bag and brought out a tiny parcel. ”It's my wedding gift to you. I found it in Emily's toy shop.”

It was a gay little French tin soldier. ”For a mascot;” she told him, seriously. ”Derry, dear, I shall not try to tell you how I feel about your marriage to Jean. About your going. If I could sing it, you'd know. But I haven't any words. It--it seems so--perfect that the Tin Soldier should go--to the wars--and that the girl he leaves behind him should be a little white maid like--Jean.”