Part 19 (1/2)

”Nellie,” he said, ”things are picking up.”

Nellie laid her nose on his knee and looked up at him. It had been a long ride, and she was glad they were on the homeward stretch. But she wagged her tail. Nellie knew when things were going well with her master. And when his world went wrong, her sky darkened.

III

The sale of one car, however, does not make a fortune. Randy realized as the days went on that if he sold them and sold them and sold them, Dalton would still outdistance him financially.

There remained, therefore, fame, and the story in the back of his mind.

If he could lay a thing like that at Becky's feet! He had the lover's urge towards some heaven-kissing act which should exalt his mistress---- A book for all the world to read--a picture painted with a flaming brush, a statue carved with a magic instrument. It was for Becky that Randy would work and strive hoping that by some divine chance he might draw her to him.

He worked at night until the Major finally remonstrated.

”Do you ever go to bed?”

Randy laughed. ”Sometimes.”

”Are you writing?”

”Trying to.”

”Hard work?”

”I like it,”--succinctly.

The Major smoked for a while in silence. Then he said, ”I suppose you don't want to talk about it.”

It was a starry night and a still one. The younger boarders had gone for a ride. The older boarders were in bed. The Major was stretched in his long chair. Randy sat as usual on the steps.

”Yes,” he said, ”I'd like to talk about it. I have a big idea, and I can't put it on paper.”

He hugged his knees and talked. His young voice thrilled with the majesty of his conception. Here, he said, was the idea. Once upon a time there had been a race of wonderful swans, with plumage so white that when they rested in flocks on the river banks they made a blanket of snow. Their night was a marvellous thing--they flew so high that the eye of man could not see them--but the sound of their trumpets could be heard. The years pa.s.sed and the swans came no more to their old haunts. Men had hunted them and killed them--but there were those who held that on still nights they could be heard--sounding their trumpets----

”I want to link that up with the A. E. F. We were like the swans--a white company which flew to France---- Our idealism was the song which we sounded high up. And the world listened--and caught the sound---- And now, as a body we are extinct, but if men will listen, they may still hear our trumpets--sounding----!”

As he spoke the air seemed to throb with the pa.s.sion of his phrases.

His face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the corridor of the Library of Congress--the Boy of Winander---- Oh, the boys of the world--those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the fate of nations!

”It is epic,” he said, slowly. ”Take your time for it.”

”It's too big,” said Randy slowly, ”and I am not a genius---- But it is my idea, all right, and some day, perhaps, I shall make it go.”

”You must make it clear to yourself. Then you can make it clear to others.”

”Yes,” Randy agreed, ”and now you can see why I am sitting up nights.”

”Yes. How did you happen to think of it, Paine?”

”I've been turning a lot of things over in my mind----; what the other fellows are doing about their jobs. There's that boy at the butcher's, and a lot of us went over to do big things. And now we have come back to the little things. Why, there's Dalton's valet--Kemp--taking orders from that--cad.”

His scorn seemed to cut into the night. ”And I am selling cars---- I sold one to-day to an old darkey, and I felt my grandsires turn in their graves. But I like it.”