Part 6 (2/2)
”Good day, Mr. Bancroft, good day. I was just tryin' to persuade Miss Conklin to come for another drive this evenin' in order to get this business of ours settled as soon as possible.”
”Another drive.” Bancroft repeated the words to himself, and then steadying his voice answered coolly: ”You'll have no difficulty, lawyer.
I was just telling Miss Conklin that you talked splendidly--the result of constant practice, I presume.”
”That's it, sir,” replied the lawyer seriously; ”it's chiefly a matter of practice added to gift--natural gift,” but here Barkman's conceit died out as he caught an uneasy, impatient movement of Miss Conklin, and he went on quietly with the knowledge of life and the adaptability gained by long experience: ”But anyway, I'm glad you agree with me, for Miss Conklin may take your advice after rejectin' mine.”
Bancroft saw the trap, but could not restrain himself. With a contemptuous smile he said:
”I'm sure no advice of mine is needed; Miss Conklin has already made up her mind to gratify you. She likes to show the country to strangers,” he added bitterly.
The girl flushed at the sarcasm, but her spirit was not subdued.
”Wall, Mr. Barkman,” she retorted, with a smiling glance at the lawyer, ”I guess I must give in; if Mr. Bancroft thinks I ought ter, there's no more to be said. I'm willin'.”
An evening or two later, Barkman having gone into Wichita, Bancroft asked Loo to go out with him upon the stoop. For several minutes he stood in silence admiring the moonlit landscape; then he spoke as if to himself:
”Not a cloud in the purple depths, no breath of air, no sound nor stir of life--peace absolute that mocks at man's cares and restlessness.
Look, Loo, how the ivory light bathes the prairie and s.h.i.+mmers on the sea of corn, and makes of the little creek a ribband of silver....
”Yet you seem to prefer a great diamond gleaming in a white s.h.i.+rt-front, and a coa.r.s.e, common face, and vulgar talk.
”You,” and he turned to her, ”whose beauty is like the beauty of nature itself, perfect and ineffable. When I think of you and that coa.r.s.e brute together, I shall always remember this moonlight and the hateful zig-zagging snake-fence there that disfigures and defiles its beauty.”
The girl looked up at him, only half understanding his rhapsody, but glowing with the hope called to life by his extravagant praise of her.
”Why, George,” she said shyly, because wholly won, ”I don't think no more of Lawyer Barkman than the moon thinks of the fence--an' I guess that's not much,” she added, with a little laugh of complete content.
The common phrases of uneducated speech and the vulgar accent of what he thought her attempt at smart rejoinder offended him. Misunderstanding her literalness of mind, he moved away, and shortly afterwards re-entered the house.
Of course Loo was dissatisfied with such incidents as these. When she saw Bancroft trying to draw Barkman out and throw contempt upon him, she never dreamed of objecting. But when he attacked her, she flew to her weapons. What had she done, what was she doing, to deserve his sneers?
She only wished him to love her, and she felt indignantly that every time she teased him by going with Barkman, he was merciless, and whenever she abandoned herself to him, he drew back. She couldn't bear that; it was cruel of him. She loved him, yes; no one, she knew, would ever make him so good a wife as she would. No one ever could. Why, there was nothin' she wouldn't do for him willingly. She'd see after his comforts an' everythin'. She'd tidy all his papers an' fix up his things. And if he ever got ill, she'd jest wait on him day and night--so she would. She'd be the best wife to him that ever was.
Oh, why couldn't he be good to her always? That was all she wanted, to feel he loved her; then she'd show him how she loved him. He'd be happy, as happy as the day was long. How foolish men were! they saw nothin'
that was under their noses.
”P'r'aps he does love me,” she said to herself; ”he talked the other evenin' beautiful; I guess he don't talk like that to every one, and yet he won't give in to me an' jest be content--once for all. It's their pride makes 'em like that; their silly, stupid pride. Nothin' else. Men air foolish things. I've no pride at all when I think of him, except I know that no one else could make him as happy as I could. Oh my!” and she sighed with a sense of the mysterious unnecessary suffering in life.
”An' he goes on bein' mad with Lawyer Bark-man. Fancy, that fat old man.
He warn't jealous of Seth Stevens or the officer, no; but of him. Why, it's silly. Barkman don't count anyway. He talks well, yes, an' he's always pleasant, always; but he's jest not in it Men air foolish anyway.” She was beginning to acknowledge that all her efforts to gain her end might prove unsuccessful.
Barkman, with his varied experience and the cooler blood of forty, saw more of the game than either Bancroft or Loo. He had learnt that compliments and attention count for much with women, and having studied Miss Conklin he was sure that persistent flattery would go a long way towards winning her. ”I've gained harder cases by studying the jury,”
he thought, ”and I'll get her because I know her. That schoolmaster irritates her; I won't. He says unpleasant things to her; I'll say pleasant things and she'll turn to me. She likes to be admired; I guess that means dresses and diamonds. Well, she shall have them, have all she wants.... The mother ain't a factor, that's plain, and the father's sittin' on the fence; he'll just do anythin' for the girl, and if he ain't well off--what does that matter? I don't want money;” and his chest expanded with a proud sense of disinterestedness.
”Why does the schoolmaster run after her? what would he do with such a woman? He couldn't even keep her properly if he got her. It's a duty to save the girl from throwin' herself away on a young, untried man like that.” He felt again that his virtue ought to help him to succeed.
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