Part 23 (1/2)
She then gave the details of the scene with Williams, dwelling proudly upon the fact of her successful retreat to bed, and meekly telling of what she called her jealousy and wickedness. She had asked forgiveness of G.o.d, and now she would ask it of Dic, evidently believing that if G.o.d and Dic would forgive her wicked jealousy, no one else had any right to complain. She was justly proud of the manner in which she had accomplished the retreat movement, and really felt that she was becoming dare-devilish to a degree seldom, if ever, equalled by an undutiful daughter.
”You don't know how wicked I can be,” she said, in great earnestness.
”I know how good and beautiful you are,” answered Dic. ”I know you are the one perfect human being in all the world--and it is useless for me to try to tell you how much you are to me. When I am alone, I am better able to realize what I feel, but I cannot speak it.”
”Oh, Dic, is it really true?” asked the girl. ”Neither can I tell how--how--” but those emotions which cannot be spoken in words, owing to the poverty of our language, must be expressed otherwise. G.o.d or Satan taught the proper method to Adam and Eve, and it has come down to us by patristic succession, so that we have it to-day in all its pristine glory and expressiveness. Some have spoken against the time-honored custom, and claim to mark its decadence. Connecticut forbade it by law on Sundays, and frowned upon it ”Fridays, Sat.u.r.days, and all”; but when it dies, the Lord will whitewash this old earth and let it out as a moon to s.h.i.+ne upon happier worlds where the custom still lives.
Rita and Dic did not disturb Mrs. Bays, and she, unconscious of his presence, did not disturb them until Mr. Bays returned.
When Mrs. Bays learned that Dic had been in the kitchen an hour, she felt that the highest attribute of the human mind had been grossly outraged. But her husband was about to ask a favor of Dic, and she limited her expression of dissent to an exhibition of frigid, virtuous dignity, worthy of the king's bench, or Judge Anselm Fisher himself.
When Bays came home, Dic and Rita went into the front room and took their old places on the ciphering log. Mr. and Mrs. Bays sat on the hearth before the fire. Mrs. Bays brought a chair and indicated by a gesture that Rita should occupy it; but with Dic by her side that young lady was brave and did not observe her mother's mute commands. Amid the press of other matters in the kitchen, Rita had not remembered to warn Dic not to lend her father the money. When that fluttering heart of hers was in great trouble or joy, it was apt to be a forgetful little organ, and regret in this instance followed forgetfulness. The regret came after she was seated with Dic on the hearth log, and, being in her mother's presence, dared not speak.
Mr. Bays was genuinely glad to see Dic, and listened with delight to the narrative of his trip. When an opportunity arose, Tom, Sr., said:--
”I have a fine opportunity to go into business with Jim Fisher. I want to borrow three thousand dollars, and I wonder if you will be willing to lend me your money?”
”Yes,” answered Dic, eagerly, ”I am glad to lend it to you.” He welcomed the proposition as a blind man would welcome light. He was glad to help his lifelong friend; but over and above that motive Mr. Bays's request for money seemed to mean Rita. It certainly could mean nothing else; and if the family moved to Indianapolis, it would mean Rita in the cosey log-cabin up the river at once. Dic and his mother lived together, and, even without Rita, the log house was a delightful home, warm in winter and cool in summer; but the beautiful girl would trans.m.u.te the log walls to jasper, the hewed floors to beaten gold, and would create a paradise on the banks of Blue. The thought almost made him dizzy. He had never before felt so near to possessing her.
”Indeed I will,” he repeated.
”I will pay you the highest rate of interest,” said Mr. Bays.
”I want no interest, and you may repay the loan in one or ten years, as you choose.”
Rita, unable to repress her desire to speak, exclaimed: ”Oh, Dic, please don't,” but Mrs. Bays gazed sternly over her gla.s.ses at her daughter and suppressed the presumptuous, forward girl. The old lady, seeing Dic's eagerness to lend the money, seized the opportunity to lessen her obligation in the transaction and to make it appear that she was conferring a favor upon Dic. If she and Mr. Bays would condescend to borrow his money, she determined that Dic should fully appreciate the honor they were doing him. Therefore, after a formulative pause, she spoke to her daughter:--
”Mind your own affairs. Girls should be seen and not heard. Some girls are seen altogether too much. Your father and Dic will arrange this affair between themselves without your help. It is purely an affair of business. Dic, of course, wishes to invest his money; and if your father, after due consideration, is willing to help him, I am sure he should feel obliged to us, and no doubt he will. He would be an ungrateful person indeed if he did not. I am sure your father's note is as good as the bank. He pays his just debts. He is my husband and could not do otherwise. No man lives who has not at all times received his dues from us to the last penny. If a penny is coming to us, we want it.
If we owe one, we pay it. My father, Judge Anselm Fisher, was the same way. His maxim was, 'Justice to all and confusion to sinners.' He died beholden to no man. Neither have I ever been beholden to any one. Dic is fortunate, indeed, in finding so good an investment for his money, at interest; very fortunate indeed.”
”I don't want interest,” said the too eager Dic.
”Indeed, that is generous in you,” returned Mrs. Bays, though she was determined that Dic should not succeed in casting the burden of an obligation upon her shoulders. ”But of course you know your money will be safe, and that is a great deal in these days of weak banks and robbers. If I were in Mr. Bays's place, I should pause and consider the matter carefully and prayerfully before a.s.suming responsibility for anybody's money. If it should be stolen from him, he, and not you, would lose it. I think it is very kind in him to undertake the responsibility.”
That phase of the question slightly dimmed its rosiness; but Dic still hoped that lending the money would make smoother his path to Rita. At first he had not foreseen that he, and not the Bayses, would rest under an obligation. To the girl the lending of this money meant Indianapolis, Williams, and separation from Dic.
THE TOURNAMENT
CHAPTER X
THE TOURNAMENT
Mr. Bays, rash man that he was, without care or prayer, accepted Dic's loan and was thankful, despite the good wife's effort to convince him he was conferring a favor. Her remarks had been much more convincing to Dic than to her husband. The latter could not entirely throw off the feeling that Dic was doing him a favor.
The money was to be delivered and the note executed in ten days, Mrs.
Margarita insisting that Dic should be responsible for his own money until it was needed by her husband.
”He certainly would not ask us to be responsible for his money till we can use it,” she observed, in an injured tone, to her daughter. One would have supposed from her att.i.tude that an imposition was being put upon her, though she, herself, being accustomed to bear the burdens of others, would bow her neck beneath this yoke and accept the responsibility of Dic's money. She not only convinced herself that such was the proper view to take of the transaction, but succeeded fairly well in impressing even Rita with that belief. Such an achievement required generals.h.i.+p of the highest order; but Mrs. Bays possessed that rare quality to a degree seldom, if ever, equalled.