Part 22 (1/2)

”Please don't,” she said. ”I'm not through.”

In his eyes, soft and full of understanding, there was a gentle, if masterful, smiling. ”Yes, you are,” he said, ”for now. I haven't watched you at work all these mornings without learning something about the way you go at it. Do you know what a blind alley is?”

”Yes,” she said petulantly, ”and I'm in one.”

”Quite so,” said Blizzard. ”And you're not taking the right way out.

First you tried to climb up the house on the right, then the house on the left, and when I interrupted you, you were making a sixth effort to s.h.i.+n up the lightning-rod of the house that blocks the alley.”

Barbara laughed. ”But,” she objected, ”I've got to get out somehow--or fake--or call the thing a fiasco, and give it up.”

”Of course you've got to get out,” said Blizzard, ”and it's very simple.”

”Simple!” she exclaimed; ”a lot you know about it.”

”Quite simple,” he repeated; ”you merely face about and walk out. In, other words, remove that lump of mud which one day is going to be more like my ear than my ear itself, and begin over.”

And it came home to Barbara that the man was right. ”Thank you,” she said simply. ”You're a great help. That is precisely what I shall do.”

”But don't do it now.”

”Why not?”

”Because you've wasted the freshness of your early-morning zeal with vain efforts. Destroy what you've done--there's always satisfaction in that; but either leave the re-doing alone for to-day, or try something else.”

”When,” said Barbara, beginning to feel soothed and confident again, ”did I put myself in your hands for guidance?”

”The moment you lost your presence of mind,” said the beggar; ”that's when a woman always puts herself in a man's hands. Put a cloth over his satanic majesty's portrait, and sit down and relax your muscles, and talk to the devil himself.”

Barbara did as he commanded with the expression of a biddable child. She flung herself into a deep chair, and drew a long, care-free breath.

”There,” she said, ”I knew I wasn't fit.”

”You can't spend the night at a Country Club, dance till 4 A.M., catch the 7 A.M. for town, and do good work--not always.”

”How did you know all that?”

Blizzard laughed. ”From a man,” said he, ”who had planned to rob the Meadowbrook Club last night. There is a fine haul of scarf-pins, and sleeve-links, and watches and money in the bachelors' quarters. He came to me in great dejection and explained what very hard luck he had had.

He said the whole place was lit up and full of people and music, and no chance for an honest man to earn a cent. I happened to ask if you were there, and he said you were. The train was a guess, and so of course was the 4 A.M. Will you take a piece of well-meant advice? Either be a society girl or a sculptor. But don't burn the candle at both ends. You even look tired, and that's nonsense at your age.”

He laughed like a boy.

”They tell me,” he said, ”that I could do the new dances. They tell me they are just like clinches in a prize-fight, and that only the novices move their feet.”

Barbara's brows contracted. ”I'm going to ask you a favor,” she said.

”If you want to talk about your misfortune, G.o.d knows I'm ready to listen. I feel some of the responsibility. But please don't joke about it. We're friends, I think. And I like to forget that you're not exactly like other people. And sometimes I do.”

”Truly?” His eyes were full of suppressed eagerness and elation.

”Yes,” she said, ”when you talk high-mindedly and generously, as you can, when you want to, I enjoy being with you, in touch with a mind so much more knowing and able than my own. But, now we've made a beginning, I'd really like to talk about--all this dreadful mess that's been made of your life, and how things can be made easier for you, and for my father.”