Part 9
MINNIE [_impetuously_]. I've lost my key! Now isn't that aggravating! To think anything so perfectly absurd should----
HERBERT. The others haven't yet arrived apparently. Possibly we might----
MINNIE [_with surprise_]. Oh, I wouldn't have you wait for the world! It must be one o'clock! [_She glances up at a window of the second floor._] No, evidently, they haven't come. There's no light. Of course Hilda would wait. Well, we'll ring and arouse the landlady; that's all.
HERBERT [_solicitously_]. _Please_ don't think it would annoy me to wait for your room-mate and her friend--here on the porch. It wouldn't in the least, I assure you. Besides, it always puts one out to be awakened late at night, and I dare say your landlady isn't a young person.
MINNIE [_smiling_]. It's _very_ good of you. She _isn't_ young; she's quite old. Quite as old, I think, as my mother. Still I _could_ ring, you know.
HERBERT. Oh, don't, please don't; that is, don't on my account. This isn't late for me. I often study till two. Besides, to-morrow will be Sunday, and one isn't required to be about so early on Sunday.
MINNIE [_still smiling_]. I think it would be a trifle more accurate if you had said, "This is Sunday." I am positive it is after midnight. Have you a watch?
HERBERT. I am exceedingly sorry, but--but I didn't wear my watch to-day; being around the water, I thought--I thought, I might lose----
MINNIE. Yes, one does have to be careful around the water. I've lost my key, I know!
HERBERT. I can't tell you how sorry I am.
MINNIE. And the injustice of it is that you must be the one to suffer--waiting here for Hilda.
HERBERT. I shan't suffer; it will be a pleasure, believe----
MINNIE. It's very good of you, of course; but you are quite sure I hadn't better ring?
HERBERT. Quite. Don't do it, really. It's a lovely night, and----
MINNIE. Well, we'd better sit on the porch, then, it's rather damp here, don't you think? [_She moves toward the south steps._]
HERBERT [_following_]. Yes, I believe it is rather damp. There's been a heavy dew. One can't afford to get one's feet wet with so much bronchitis about.
MINNIE [_sitting on the top step_]. No indeed--I can't imagine where they can be! They were ahead of us all the way in. Why didn't we think to ask at the livery if----
HERBERT. I'm sure it wouldn't have done any good. You see they didn't get their horse where I got ours.
MINNIE. Oh, yes, to be sure. [_Anxiously._] But where in the world can they be?
HERBERT. I recall having read once--in some French book if I remember rightly--that one should never count upon an affianced couple being in a given place at a given time.
MINNIE [_smiling at him_]. I'm not sure that isn't true. Still, Hilda is usually quite discreet, and I can't----
HERBERT. Doubtless they'll be here in a moment; I shouldn't worry.
MINNIE [_suddenly_]. Why, how very impolite of me. To allow you to sit there all this time holding that basket. Won't you set it on the porch? [HERBERT _has held the basket on his knees with his hands spread out over the cover._]
HERBERT. Oh--ah--I wasn't thinking of--there, I guess that will be safe. [_He sets the basket on the porch at his side._]
MINNIE [_leaning forward and gazing past him toward the street_]. I wish they'd come! Wasn't it perfectly absurd of me to lose my key? Keeping you here! Are you quite sure you'd just as lief?
HERBERT. Yes, indeed--really--I like to sit out--really, it doesn't matter, not in the least.
MINNIE. Well while we are waiting we might as well go on where we left off. You were saying, on the way up from the livery---- [_Hardly for a moment has_ HERBERT _taken his eyes off the girl at his side._]
HERBERT [_floundering_]. Oh, yes, as I was saying--the--oh--ah--I was say--what _was_ I saying, Miss----
MINNIE. Have you forgotten so soon? I'm afraid the subject couldn't have held all your thought. You were telling me about the triliums.
HERBERT [_brightly_]. Oh, yes, to be sure; of course--the triliums. I was telling you they were to be found on the plains--of all places in the world--right in the heart of the great American desert--as I'm told.
MINNIE [_earnestly_]. Are they, indeed? Really, I never heard of such a thing. Gray says positively, I am sure, that they are to be found growing only in damp soil; near rivers, for instance, or in marshes. I've never succeeded in finding them around here anywhere except down by the Huron River or out State Street at Tamarack Swamp. And to think of them growing away out there! It is the strangest thing I ever heard of--why, there's no water for miles, is there?
HERBERT. Not a drop. I'm told they've been found in the most barren places; flowering alongside cacti and sage-brush.
MINNIE. You are quite sure they were the trilium, are you? It's possible of course----
HERBERT. That my informant might be mistaken--yes; but I don't think he was. They look precisely the same, and they analyze the same. I've seen his specimens. The leaf is identical in form. It is a trifle larger, that is all. I've never been able to distinguish any other variation, however slight.
MINNIE. Have you ever mentioned it to Professor Yarb? I'm sure----
HERBERT. Yes, I told him about them, and last summer I sent him a box. He analyzed them and is as much mystified as I. He's going to write a paper on the subject for this year's meeting of the American Society.
MINNIE. How I should love to see some! I wonder if it would be too much trouble for you to send me a few; just one or two. You have some pressed, doubtless. I'd like to take a hand in solving the riddle. I intend to keep up with my botany, no matter where or what I teach, finally.
HERBERT [_joyfully_]. Do you? Do you, really?
MINNIE [_earnestly_]. I do indeed.
HERBERT. Of course I'll send you some. I'll mail you a box as soon----
MINNIE [_with a protesting gesture_]. Oh, I wouldn't have you go to that trouble for the world. Just two or three, in an envelope. They will do quite as well. [_She leans forward again and gazes past him down the street. He does not draw back as he did before._] Why in the world don't they come? I shall have to talk to Hilda, severely.
HERBERT. Oh, don't be hard on her. They're in--that is to say, they think a very great deal of each other, and no doubt----
MINNIE. But it is so terribly late!
HERBERT. I know, but it's very pleasant--such a night--much pleasanter than it is inside. And as for sleep, why one can sleep any night, while such a moon as that, up there, one can't see often.
MINNIE [_quickly_]. I do believe you're sentimental. I'm not a bit, so we'll never get on.
HERBERT [_gazing into space_]. I don't think two people ought to be alike---- [_He catches himself, stares at the moon and whistles without whistling. Minnie regards him curiously from the end of her eye._]
MINNIE [_examining the cuff of one sleeve_]. What do you mean by that?
HERBERT [_again floundering_]. I--oh--ah--I was just thinking---- We had a lecture on some such subject in psychology the other day.
MINNIE [_with a little sigh_]. Do you enjoy psychology?
HERBERT. Very much.
MINNIE. Have you ever made any experiments?
HERBERT. Only a few, just the more common ones. I've only had one course in it, you see.
MINNIE [_making a thrilling conversational leap_]. I've no doubt it is all very fascinating, but I don't think I should care to marry a psychologist.
HERBERT [_quickly; edging nearer_]. But I'm not a psychologist! I'm a botanist.
MINNIE [_very softly; looking away_]. What do you mean--I----
HERBERT [_seemingly about to run madly into the face of the storm, but recovering himself_]. I--oh--ah--I was just defending myself, you know. But why wouldn't you care to marry one?
MINNIE [_sighing again_]. Oh, I don't know. I think I should be in mortal terror all the time that he was just analyzing me and every one of my motives.
HERBERT [_dreamily_]. I don't think you would have occasion. If he loved you he couldn't----
MINNIE [_trying to laugh lightly and succeeding in emitting a rather tame cackle_]. Love me! The idea! Who would ever love a spectacled old thing like me?
HERBERT. Oh, you don't know, you know. Besides you shouldn't talk that way about yourself.
MINNIE [_smiling full at him_]. I should tell the truth, shouldn't I?
HERBERT [_locking and unlocking his fingers_]. But it isn't the truth.
MINNIE [_looking down_]. Oh!
HERBERT [_with real courage_]. That's the truth! You see the difference, don't you?
MINNIE. Well, I'd like to know what I am if I'm not that. No one ever intimated before that I am anything else. My little brother has maintained it ever since he learned to talk.
HERBERT. Well, you're not; you're---- [_He hesitates. Thereafter he speaks quite as a locomotive puffs on a steep grade. There are two or three large, lusty puffs followed by a chain of spasmodic little puffs_.]
MINNIE [_encouragingly_]. Yes?
HERBERT. You're not! You're a--oh, don't you understand? I can't keep from telling you any longer, really--I tried to in the carriage, but the road was so bumpy, I---- It seems as though I must make you understand. Please try to--I---- Don't you see! I care for you very, very much and--I wrote my people all about it and--oh, don't you see, Miss---- I mean Minnie---- I want to ask---- Will you----
MINNIE [_they are very close. She looks up at him feelingly_]. Herbert! [_The moon, aghast, dazed, thrown into a veritable spasm of lunar consternation, darts behind a cloud. But these two do not notice. The moon is forgotten--all is forgotten--the stars, the earth, the hour--even botany! Their heads are near together; thus they remain a long time, without speaking. The katydid has ceased again her dismal song, and long since the cat slunk away behind the grape-trellis to seek new fields. The intense stillness of the hour absorbs them and makes them a part of itself. After a myriad æons a bird, somewhere, pipes a warning note, which is taken up by another bird. The couple on the further porch stir. Her head has been resting against his shoulder and for a little time she has slept. In one hand he holds a bit of angel's food, left over from the luncheon, which he from time to time has nibbled indifferently._]
JAMIE [_flinging the cake away and stretching_]. Gee whiz!
HILDA [_starting, sleepily_]. Wha--what is it?
JAMIE [_grumblingly_]. Aw, nothin', I just wish they'd come, that's all.
HILDA [_plaintively_]. Aren't you happy, dear?
JAMIE [_yawning_]. Oh, I'm happy enough, I suppose, but this porch isn't exactly downy; I feel as though I'd been sitting here a month.
HILDA [_sighing_]. Well I can't see where they are, either--for the life of me.
JAMIE [_bitterly_]. The darned fools!
HILDA [_with horror_]. Jamie!
JAMIE. Well, aren't they?
HILDA [_with some show of spirit_]. No, they're not; and if you're so sick of sitting here, why don't you go home; I can wait. I'm not afraid.
JAMIE [_yawning again_]. Don't be silly.
HILDA. It seems to me you're the silly one; just as though you couldn't----
JAMIE [_impatiently_]. Well, if you think it's fun sitting here all night waiting for two soft heads that don't know enough to ache when they're in pain, you're _mistaken_; that's all.
HILDA [_moving away from him_]. I should think you'd be ashamed!
JAMIE [_with rising impatience_]. That's right; now get _mad_!
HILDA. I'm not mad; so there! But--I---- [_She begins to sniffle suspiciously. For some time neither speaks. The moon has waned and a strange, new light, of a sickly cast, is rising in the eastern sky. A restless bird in a tree near by pipes one nervous note; then all is silence again._]
JAMIE [_stretching and again yawning_]. What are you crying about?
HILDA [_swallowing two or three times, chokingly_]. I--I--I'm not crying----
JAMIE [_indifferently and quite as though he felt he must say something_]. You are, too; what about?
HILDA. Nothing.
JAMIE. [_He mutters._]
HILDA. What did you say?
JAMIE [_doggedly_]. I didn't say anything.
HILDA [_coming a little closer_]. You did, too, and I want to know what it was.
JAMIE [_impatiently_]. I didn't say anything, I tell you!
HILDA [_choking up again_]. That's right; now be ugly; just as though it were my fault; when you yourself suggested that we sit here.
JAMIE. I didn't think it would be for all night!
HILDA [_sticking to the point_]. Well you did suggest it, didn't you?
JAMIE [_jerking his head_]. Oh, I suppose so! [_He sits with his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and gazes at the rising light._]
HILDA. I'm just as tired as you are.
JAMIE [_sneeringly_]. Yes, I've no doubt!
HILDA [_hopelessly_]. Oh, Jamie!
JAMIE [_with a fiendishly sarcastic grin that she doesn't see between her fingers_]. And you're catching cold, too.
HILDA [_recovering_]. Why, I'm not either; what makes you say that?
JAMIE [_with withering sarcasm_]. Oh, aren't you? I thought you were--by the sniffles!
HILDA [_with some return of her former spirit_]. You're a mean, horrid, old thing, just as mean and horrid as you can be; and I'll never speak to you again as long as I live!
JAMIE [_significantly_]. Oh, I guess you will.
HILDA. Well, I won't.
JAMIE [_gleefully_]. There, didn't I tell you you would?
HILDA. Well, I won't again.
JAMIE. Oh, you won't, eh?
HILDA. [_No answer._]
JAMIE. So that's it, is it?
HILDA. [_Still no answer._]
JAMIE [_shrugging his shoulders_]. Oh, very well; just as you like! [_How fortunate for the sympathetic man in the moon that he's not here to see. Now, the eastern sky shows a tinge of pale gray, shading into light violet. Here and there a bird lifts its voice; the notes are taken up and passed along as sentries pass the call for the corporal of the guard. From afar comes the jangle of metal, and the bell of an early milkman clangs. A sleepy girl issues from the back door of the two-story house across the street. A canvas-covered wagon drawn by two horses lumbers past._]
HILDA [_rising and indicating the basket with dignity_]. Hug!
JAMIE [_passing it to her_]. Where you going?
HILDA [_after a moment's hesitation_]. I'm going to wake up the girl.
JAMIE [_attempting to restrain her_]. Oh, don't do that; I'm very sorry----
HILDA [_icily_]. There's no need of your being sorry, at all.
JAMIE. But I----
HILDA [_with arctic frigidity_]. It is quite unnecessary for us to say anything further about it, I think.
JAMIE [_pleading_]. Won't you forgive me?
HILDA. [_For answer she tosses her head._]
JAMIE [_in the same tone as before_]. Won't you--Hilda?
HILDA. [_Still no reply. She stands at his side holding the basket, not deigning even to look down at him._]
JAMIE. What are you thinking, dear? Tell me!
HILDA. Oh, nothing of much consequence; only just how mean you have been and----
JAMIE [_interposing_]. But I've asked you to----
HILDA. If I'm not mistaken I've said there is no use of our talking further about it.
JAMIE [_rising as she turns_]. Then you won't say anything to me?
HILDA. I don't think there is anything to be said.
JAMIE [_with dogged resignation_]. Very well, then--Hush! [_From the other porch comes the sound of light footfalls._]
HILDA [_without attending_]. It is probably the girl. [_She proceeds to the front; he follows. As they turn the corner_, MINNIE _and_ HERBERT _turn the corner, opposite, and the couples confront each other_.]
MINNIE. Hilda!
HILDA. Minnie!
MINNIE. Hilda, where in the world have you been?
HILDA. And I should like to know where in the world you have been?
MINNIE [_severely and indicating the porch behind her_]. We've been sitting on that porch all night, waiting for you.
HILDA [_mocking her severity and indicating the porch behind her_]. And we've been sitting on that porch all night, waiting for you!
JAMIE [_to_ HILDA _coldly_]. Now that you have other company, I'll go. Good-bye! [_He rushes down the steps._]
HILDA [_running to the rail and calling after him softly_]. Jamie! Jamie! Oh, Jamie! [_He apparently does not hear her._ HERBERT _stands by fumbling his hat and looking first at one girl then at the other, wonderingly_. HILDA _turns from the rail and gazes at_ MINNIE _who returns the gaze searchingly_. HILDA _bites her lower lip and looks down_. MINNIE _leans against the casing of the front door, her hand on the knob. She anticipates a scene._]
MINNIE. Good-night--Herbert!
HERBERT. Good-night--Minnie! [_They exchange one loving look and he is off. He proceeds in a direction opposite to that taken by_ JAMIE.]
MINNIE [_regarding_ HILDA _whose eyes are upon her and filled with surprise_]. Hilda--tell me--what----
HILDA [_hiding her face against the shoulder of her room-mate, who strokes her hair caressingly_]. Oh, Minnie--Minnie--he's gone--it's broken----
MINNIE [_convulsively, her grasp upon the doorknob, tightening. The knob turns. The door swings back_]. Oh! See!
HILDA [_lifting her face_]. Oh! [_Her eyes meet_ MINNIE'S. _In the latter there is a smile which she shares weakly_.]
MINNIE. This is too absurd! Open all night!
HILDA [_trying hard not to cry_]. Oh, Minnie! I don't know what----
MINNIE [_her arm around_ HILDA]. There dear. Don't cry. It will come out all right. And to think you should have broken with Jamie while Herbert and I were---- [_They pass into the hallway._ MINNIE, _by closing the door softly behind them, renders the rest unintelligible to any one who might be passing just at this instant_.]
A MODERN MERCURY
I
On a cool morning in mid-June two little boys, very dusty and wearing very grimy waists, sat on the turfed mound of an ancient circus ring in the old fair ground enclosure, intently watching the gaunt, half-naked figure of a man in flapping white breeches who, high-stepping, sprinted back and forth along the stretch of the old race track. Their elbows on their knees, their chins in their grimy hands, they gazed fixedly at him whom they had trudged across the lots to see. For in his day he was the small boys' god, their best-loved hero, before whom it was their greatest joy to bend the knee.
"D' you think he kin do it?" Jimmy Thurston finally inquired, as the spare, ridiculous figure of the man brought up behind the tenantless judges' stand and for an instant was lost to sight.
Willie Trigger sneered. He was very superior, was Willie.
"Sure he kin!" he exclaimed. "Sure he kin!"
"I bet he can't," Jimmy replied curtly.
"He kin too--'sides----"
"'Sides what?" the challenging Jimmy asked, contemptuously.
"My father says he kin."
"Aw----"
"He does too."
"Aw, my pa says he _can't_----"
"I d'care; he kin."
"How d'you know?"
"Well"--Willie Trigger hesitated. "Well, my father says he guesses he kin beat a _nengine_!"
At that Jimmy Thurston burst into jeering laughter.
"He! he! he!" he cackled--"a _nengine_! He! He! Why, a nengine goes--a nengine goes _a mile in a minnit_!"
Willie Trigger had become very red; moreover he was choking, half with rage, half with confusion. He recognized the need of personal support. So he blurted:--
"I know he kin, 'cause I seen him--onct!"
"Aw, yeh didn't neether," Jimmy Thurston flatly contradicted.
Willie wriggled and dug his heel into the soft earth.
"I _did_----"
"Didn't _neether_!"
Willie Trigger sprang to his feet, his fists clenched. Tears were rising now.
With his eye Jimmy Thurston measured the distance across the field to the white house at the gate where he knew his mother was. Leaping forward he dashed suddenly away, and as he dodged the gurgling Willie, cried:
"_Li_-ar! _Li_-ar! _Li_-ar!"
It took Willie Trigger three seconds to perceive the situation and to act. Like a hound, then, he was off in the other's wake.
The straining Jimmy, his heart bursting with regret, heard his pursuer panting at his heels.... Nearer! Nearer!
A scream suddenly rent the air, a scream that was carried on by a willing wind to the keen appreciative ears of motherhood. As Willie Trigger was about to close upon the plunging form of Jimmie, Mrs. Thurston flung back the screen door and appeared upon the narrow back porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Jim-_mee_! _Jim_-mee Thurston!" she screamed.
"Maw!" yelled Jimmy dolorously.
At the maternal screech, Willie Trigger brought up standing. One instant he hesitated and then, showing his heels to the woman on the porch whose arms were outstretched to receive her own, he scurried off in the direction of the judges' stand, as fast as his little legs could carry him. He heard the warning cry from the back porch:--
"Willie Trigger, if you hurt Jimmy, I'll skin you alive!"
And at the corner of the judges' stand he ran full into the long, lank creature in the flapping "shorts"--and brought up, gaping.
"Well, well, who was after _you_?" asked the towering runner, gazing down at the little grimy boy whose head seemed to come somewhere about his high-set knees.
"Nobody," Willie Trigger mumbled.
"Who was that calling?"
"I dunno." Willie looked up and the runner smiled down at him.
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"On Thayer Street."
"Way down there, eh? What you doing up here, then?"
Willie Trigger again looked up into the gaunt creature's long, thin face, then down at the ground into which he proceeded to bore with the stubbed toe of one small shoe.
"Come to see you run," he mumbled, and grinned sheepishly.
Bunny laughed drily.
"Well, I'll"--he began and stopped. Then he said:--"You wait here, little chap; I'll just get into some clothes and we'll go home together; it's nearly noon. I live down your way----"
The gentleness of his voice gave Willie Trigger a new courage.
"I know it," he exclaimed proudly; "I live 'cross the street."
The runner plunged into the box-like compartment of the disused judges' stand from which he issued in an incredibly short space of time more properly and far more becomingly clad.
"How did you know I was going to practice out here?" he inquired with a show of interest. He made no effort to look down--for it would have meant an effort.
"I follered yeh," was the now prompt reply.
And into Bunny's man-heart that instant there welled a certain pride, but it was nowise to be compared to that which swelled the boy-heart of Willie Trigger, hero-worshipper.
And so, down Washtenaw Avenue they walked together, through College Street and on into the campus and across; Willie Trigger the while attempting vainly to keep step with his ill-matched companion.
At a corner they separated.
"You're going out to Field Day on Saturday, aren't you?" Bunny asked.
Willie Trigger grinned, and nodded.
"Don't buy a ticket," the giant said, "I'll give you one; you remind me; will you?"
The small but agile heart of Willie Trigger leaped into his throat. All he could say was "Whoop!" And saying that he ran, in the very excess, the richness and the wealth, of the joy that was his. A ticket! A ticket whereby he might enter through the gate with the crowd--a part of it--a proud part of it! And all this to be granted him by Bunny himself--Bunny who was to run in the hundred yards for the Western Intercollegiate championship; he, William Watts Trigger whose father was a mere night watchman, and who for a week had been examining the fair ground fence for vulnerable points! Willie Trigger found himself, of a sudden, voiceless, too full, by far, for utterance.
Surely, one day--some day--there would come an opportunity of repaying in kind the beneficence of Bunny, Willie Trigger considered. But the beneficence was very great. Little did he realize that soon, and by the very beneficence itself was he to be put in the way of paying back his benefactor by casting light upon an unforeseen occurrence of great import, that but for him, must forever remain obscure.
As it was, Bunny had made a friend, a champion, though he knew it not.
II