Part 9 (1/2)
”Where have you been?” I asked, as he joined me and took a seat.
”None of your business. In town.”
”Is Miss Van well?” I asked mischievously.
”How should I know?”
”Come, George, you don't play the part of Innocence over well. Suppose you try Candor, and tell me where you have been.”
”You mistake my ident.i.ty. I'm not your baby. You will find the youthful Charlie entertaining his mother up stairs.”
A long-drawn-out, agonized wail, proceeding from the regions above, showed how Bessie was being entertained.
”No opening yet?” I ventured to ask, changing the subject.
”Not the slightest prospect. If some of these doctors could only be inveigled into taking some of their own prescriptions! But no; they are too wise.”
”The bitterness of your tone would seem to indicate that you have not enjoyed your visit to the town.”
”The town be hanged, and the country too! Let's take a walk down the street. Give me a cigar, confound you! How hot it is!”
We strolled down the street.
”This is a terrible vale of tears, this world,” said I. ”The world is hollow, and my doll is stuffed with sawdust, which accounts for his howling.”
George was silent. He pulled at his cigar ferociously, smoked it half up, threw it away, and replaced it by a cigarette.
”When a man throws away the best part of a Reina Victoria he is either flush or badly in love,” said I to myself. I waited patiently for him to speak, as I was perfectly willing to receive his confidence, but I didn't have the chance. He maintained a loud silence all the way, and we walked back home as we had gone out.
”Something's up-something serious,” I informed Bessie that night, ”but George does not confide in me worth a cent, which I think is a little unbrotherly.”
The following day George was absent from an early hour in the afternoon till long after all the household were fast asleep at night. I was awakened at about midnight by a light tapping at the door of our room, and slipped out of bed without disturbing Bessie or the baby.
”Come up to my den!” whispered George, as I opened the door. ”Don't wake the others.”
I quietly got into my clothes and crawled noiselessly up to George's ”den,” devoured by curiosity. The moment I caught sight of his handsome face I saw that it was all right with him, and that he had nothing but good news to tell me. We sat down, hoisted our heels to a comfortable alt.i.tude, and George told his story. I let him tell it himself here:-
”I was feeling terribly blue yesterday, when you saw me,” he began, ”as you could see. In the afternoon I went into town, and, according to a previous arrangement, hired a horse and buggy and called to take her out riding.”
(Of course ”her” was Miss Van.)
”We had agreed to take the old Linwood road, and follow it to the village, returning through the Maplewood Park and so getting back to the city at about six. We left the town and pa.s.sed through the suburbs rapidly, until we struck into the country, and there I let the horse go his own pace, which was slow. So much the better. Miss Van Duzen was never more charming. We had the most agreeable bit of talk, and she drew me out till I amazed myself. She always does. It's no use my telling you, Charlie, but I have been a fool in my love for her ever since the night she came into this cottage like a stray beam of suns.h.i.+ne on a cloudy day. My heart went out of my keeping the night she called here with the old gentleman. I believe it was her freshness, her moral purity, that acted on my morbid, half _blase_ spirit, like a tonic, and brought me on my feet. I'm talking random nonsense, you say, but why shouldn't I? I'm drunk with love. Don't laugh at me. I'll be all right by daylight, except a headache. We got to talking about ourselves.
Lovers always do, don't they? You ought to know. There doesn't seem to be much else in the world worth talking about. I told her all about myself,-my past, with its good and bad points, and my present hopes and purposes. It all popped out as naturally as possible. I suppose it would sound like drivel if I were to repeat it. Finally she began to laugh.
”'It is dangerous to make a woman your confidant,' she said. 'How do you know that I can keep a secret better than any other of my s.e.x?'
”'I am not afraid on that score,' said I. 'This is my confessional. It is as sacred as any. Am I to receive absolution?'
”She could not fully promise that. She read me a neat little lecture. It was fascinating to thus receive correction at her hands. I pledged myself, when it was done, to follow the course laid out for me. Then I made bold to exchange _roles_. With some maidenly hesitation, which soon vanished, she in turn laid before me the inner history of her life. Ah, my boy, how little there was in it to gloss over! how much to humiliate the best and n.o.blest of us men! It was a revelation that made me prostrate myself before her. I was not worthy to hear it.”