Part 21 (2/2)
”I! You're being humorous again.”
”Never less so in my life. Listen, Fan. That cowardly, sickly little boy you fought for in the street, that day in Winnebago, showed every sign of growing up a cowardly, sickly man. You're the real reason for his not doing so. Now, wait a minute. I was an impressionable little kid, I guess. Sickly ones are apt to be. I wors.h.i.+ped you and hated you from that day. Wors.h.i.+ped you for the blazing, generous, whole-souled little devil of a spitfire that you were. Hated you because--well, what boy wouldn't hate a girl who had to fight for him. Gos.h.!.+ It makes me sick to think of it, even now. Pasty-faced rat!”
”What nonsense! I'd forgotten all about it.”
”No you hadn't. Tell me, what flashed into your mind when you saw me in Temple that night before you left Winnebago? The truth, now.”
She learned, later, that people did not lie to him. She tried it now, and found herself saying, rather shamefacedly, ”I thought 'Why, it's Clarence Heyl, the Cowardy-Cat!'”
”There! That's why I'm here to-day. I knew you were thinking that. I knew it all the time I was in Colorado, growing up from a sickly kid, with a b.u.m lung, to a heap big strong man. It forced me to do things I was afraid to do. It goaded me on to stunts at the very thought of which I'd break out in a clammy sweat. Don't you see how I'll have to turn handsprings in front of you, like the school-boy in the McCutcheon cartoon? Don't you see how I'll have to flex my muscles--like this--to show you how strong I am? I may even have to beat you, eventually. Why, child, I've chummed with lions, and bears, and wolves, and everything, because of you, you little devil in the red cap! I've climbed unclimbable mountains. I've frozen my feet in blizzards. I've wandered for days on a mountain top, lost, living on dried currants and milk chocolate,--and Lord! how I hate milk chocolate! I've dodged snowslides, and slept in trees; I've endured cold, and hunger and thirst, through you. It took me years to get used to the idea of pa.s.sing a timber wolf without looking around, but I learned to do it--because of you. You made me. They sent me to Colorado, a lonely kid, with a pretty fair chance of dying, and I would have, if it hadn't been for you. There! How's that for a burst of speech, young woman! And wait a minute. Remember, too, my name was Clarence. I had that to live down.”
f.a.n.n.y was staring at him eyes round, lips parted. ”But why?” she said, faintly. ”Why?”
Heyl smiled that singularly winning smile of his. ”Since you force me to it, I think I'm in love with that little, warm-hearted spitfire in the red cap. That's why.”
f.a.n.n.y sat forward now. She had been leaning back in her chair, her hands grasping its arms, her face a lovely, mobile thing, across which laughter, and pity, and sympathy and surprise rippled and played. It hardened now, and set. She looked down at her hands, and clasped them in her lap, then up at him. ”In that case, you can forsake the strenuous life with a free conscience. You need never climb another mountain, or wrestle with another--er--hippopotamus. That little girl in the red cap is dead.”
”Dead?”
”Yes. She died a year ago. If the one who has taken her place were to pa.s.s you on the street today, and see you beset by forty thieves, she'd not even stop. Not she. She'd say, 'Let him fight it out alone. It's none of your business. You've got your own fights to handle.'”
”Why--f.a.n.n.y. You don't mean that, do you? What could have made her like that?”
”She just discovered that fighting for others didn't pay. She just happened to know some one else who had done that all her life and--it killed her.”
”Her mother?”
”Yes.”
A little silence. ”f.a.n.n.y, let's play outdoors tomorrow, will you? All day.”
Involuntarily f.a.n.n.y glanced around the room. Papers, catalogues, files, desk, chair, typewriter. ”I'm afraid I've forgotten how.”
”I'll teach you. You look as if you could stand a little of it.”
”I must be a pretty sight. You're the second man to tell me that in two days.”
Heyl leaned forward a little. ”That so? Who's the other one?”
”Fenger, the General Manager.”
”Oh! Paternal old chap, I suppose. No? Well, anyway, I don't know what he had in mind, but you're going to spend Sunday at the dunes of Indiana with me.”
”Dunes? Of Indiana?”
”There's nothing like them in the world. Literally. In September that combination of yellow sand, and blue lake, and the woods beyond is--well, you'll see what it is. It's only a little more than an hour's ride by train. And it will just wipe that tired look out of your face, Fan.” He stood up. ”I'll call for you tomorrow morning at eight, or thereabouts. That's early for Sunday, but it's going to be worth it.”
”I can't. Really. Besides, I don't think I even want to. I----”
<script>