CHAPTER VI.

THE FOOL.

At noon, Mauney was too upset to eat dinner. He wanted to talk to Freda and went upstairs to wait in the alcove, until she should come up. While he sat stolidly in one of the chairs behind the little desk, he occupied himself with turning through the pages of a book whose title or contents he did not so much as notice, and in gazing through the window at the street, busy with noontide pedestrians. He had come straight home from his meeting with Freeman, sad and angry and totally impatient. He knew that only one sedative existed, that only one friend remained to hear his story of personal woe. He would wait for her.

And while he waited he tried to think, in the distracted mood of the moment, what he would do. He had been building upon a foundation, now suddenly gone. There was nothing—nothing.

Maxwell Lee came out of his room and paused at the sight of him.

“Hello, Mauney,” he said, a little more affably than had been his recent wont.

“Hello, Max.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Lee.

“I’m worried a little. I’ve got into the habit lately. Sit down and have a smoke. What the devil’s come over you, Max?”

“Why, nothing, you poor fish,” said Lee, taking the other chair. “What’s come over _you_?”

“Nothing much. Only I’m just in a mood to get this settled.”

“Get what settled?”

“Well, confound it, Max, don’t profess such ignorance. You know we haven’t been on our old terms for months and months. I’m going away soon—somewhere, and I don’t see why we should not part good friends.”

“There’s no reason in the world, Mauney.”

Neither of them thought of smoking, however.

“Yes there is, Max. Let’s be frank.”

“All right. Let’s.”

“I hate to talk this way to you, Max. I know you’re not well.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed as his glance shifted from the window to Mauney’s face, but he said nothing.

“I could never talk this way,” Mauney continued, “except that I could talk to anybody, just now. We used to be pretty good pals, but that’s apparently over. We both know why, but neither of us will admit it. There’s a woman behind it. No need to mention names. You told me you loved her.”

“Well, what about it?” asked Lee.

“Just this—that I love her, too.”

“I knew that,” he said simply, playing a tattoo on the top of the desk. “I knew that long ago. It’s no secret and, well, I suppose she knows you love her, eh?”

“Not yet. But she’s going to be told. I hate doing anything underhanded.” Mauney paused to look searchingly at the thin, wistful face of his friend. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Why, nothing at all. What did you think I would do—try to murder you?”

Lee rose slowly and put his foot on the chair to tie his shoe-string. Mauney saw his thin, white hands, thinner and whiter than a month ago, tremble as he fumbled the knot.

“Why, no,” he said, straightening himself up. “I’m not going to do anything about it. I’m the loser, that’s all. I’m not morbid about it. It’s a losing game all along the line with me. But I have no fear—none whatever. That’s what I can’t understand.”

Mauney knew that Lee was thinking of death. There was death written on his pale face, whose cheeks had become more concave than before. His eyes burned with a fire too bright for normal fuel to have kindled. And Mauney’s bosom burned with pity that he could not have mentioned for worlds, for he felt that he must treat Lee as if he were strong. He would have given anything to be delivered from the necessity.

“Well, Max, old fellow,” he made himself say. “I’m glad I told you this. I feel better now.”

For an instant the old whimsical smile played on Lee’s lips.

“That’s all right,” he said. “That’s all right, Mauney, my son, I—I guess I’ll have to be going along.”

When Lee had descended the stairs, Mauney buried his face in his hands. It hurt. He knew that life was wringing the last drop of courage from Lee’s heart. From the window he saw him walking slowly up the street—Lee, the frail body, the heroic mind.

“Am I going to win?” he asked himself. “How it will hurt to win! Is victory always to the strong?”

Presently, Freda came up the stairs, and walked quickly along the hall.

“Oh, here you are!” she exclaimed, stopping. “Did you get through with Freeman?”

“I did indeed,” he replied seriously. “I’m through with the history department.”

“What!”

“Don’t ask me to explain now. I resigned, and I’m glad I did. Please don’t hurry away. I want to talk with you.”

He pulled the chair out for her.

“You must excuse my abruptness, Freda,” he continued. “But I’ve got to talk with you.”

“What is wrong?” she enquired seriously.

“Just everything. I’m all up in arms against the universe, I think.”

Life looked dark. He had thrown over, in his rebellion, the helpfulness of Freeman’s friendship. Vaguely he knew that the solution of his troubles lay in getting down to work, some sort of helpful work. But this was not the only ray of light that began to penetrate.

He had no idea how he should broach the subject that was torturing him. He loved her dark eyes and her lips that tenderly tried to understand his mood. She had been in his deep heart for months. He was at a loss to know how to begin. He glanced at the window as if the bald light of the dull May noon were an intruder. He listened to laughter from downstairs as if it conspired to hinder him.

“Freda,” he said, pressing her hand as it lay on the desk. “I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a long time.”

Her serious face did not disappoint him. It quivered into exquisite understanding that brought fine rims of moisture to her eyes. Mauney could not continue, for the memory of Lee was making him sad.

“I’m going away somewhere, Freda,” he said presently. “I don’t know where, but I’m through with Merlton. I’ve got to find my niche. I’ve got to go away from you, too. Please, try to understand how hard it is to go.”

Her eyes softened.

“I think I understand,” she answered, quietly.

“Perhaps,” he said, with a far-away look in his eyes, “perhaps I’m a fool. You can’t know how I feel about you. But Lee—he loves you and needs you—and I can’t help caring. Why am I such a fool?”

Freda gently released her hand from Mauney’s, and, rising, walked slowly down the hall towards her room. On entering it, she closed the door and sank down upon her knees beside a big chair and deliberately rested her face upon her arms. She was not weeping or praying. Seldom did she do either. Her intense mind was engaged with Mauney Bard. He did not know that he was being pierced with arrows of shrewd analysis, that he was being tried in the fires of a woman’s relentless gauging. Nor did he see her serene face presently lifted to the warm sunlight that flooded from her window. Her features wore a new restfulness, for she had found the beautiful answer to her thoughts. Delicately the balances of her justice had tipped, to find Mauney not a fool.