XX
CHIEFLY SCENIC
When the train drew up to the platform at Beaver Brook, Brockway askedGertrude if he should go and see if there were a message for her.
"No," she said, perversely; "let it find me, if it can."
It came, a minute later, by the hand of Conductor Halsey. She read itwith a little frown of perplexity gathering between the straight brows.
"Do we live or die?" Brockway asked, crucially anxious to know what hisfriend had been able to do for him.
"Why, I don't understand it at all; it's simply Greek, after the otherone. Papa says: 'Do not return on forenoon train. We shall wait foryou.'"
"Good; I am a true prophet, and our white day is assured."
"Y--yes, but I don't begin to understand how he came to change his mindso quickly."
"Perhaps it was the moral force of my impudence," ventured Brockway.
"Don't make any such mistake as that," she said, quickly. "Papa will notforgive or forget that, and I am sorry you did it."
"You are a bundle of inconsistencies, as you promised to be," Brockwayretorted. "But I'm not sorry, and I don't pretend to be. If I hadsmothered my little inspiration and given you your telegram at Golden,you wouldn't be enjoying this magnificent scenery now."
"No; and it is grand beyond words, isn't it? If it wasn't for the nameof it, I could rave over it like a veritable 'Cooky.' Can't we go out onthe platform?"
"Yes; but you'll get your eyes full of cinders."
"I don't care. Let's go, anyway."
They did it and, for a wonder, found the rear platform of the secondobservation-car unoccupied. Gertrude wanted to sit on the step, butBrockway objected, on the score of danger from the jutting rocks; sothey stood together, bracing themselves and clinging to the hand-rails.
"Show me the 'Old Man of the Mountain' when we come to it," she said;"of course, there _is_ an 'Old Man of the Mountain'?"
"There is, indeed, but we passed him long ago--at least, the one that isalways pointed out to the 'Cookies' as you call them. But if you willwatch the outlines of the cliffs you can find one of your own in anyhalf-mile of the canyon."
"I don't want one if they are as cheap as that. I suppose you have madethem at a pinch, haven't you? when you had forgotten to point out thereal one?"
"I'm afraid I have; just as I have been obliged to invent statistics.But that is the fault of the man with a note-book; he will have them,you know."
"Why don't you tell him the truth?"
"Because he is too numerous in my calling; and again, because I don'toften know enough of the truth to satisfy him."
"But it is wrong to invent things," she protested, dropping herirresponsible role to fight for the love of truth which was her Puritanbirthright.
"I agree with you; but ciceronic lying is almost a disease. It's aparagrapher's proverb that railwaymen can't tell the truth, though Ithink a good many of us try to confine ourselves to the scenic lie. Thatseems to be almost necessary."
Gertrude did not reply. The bounding, swaying rear platform of a movingtrain which is reeling off miles and mountain heights of a stupendousnatural panorama is not exactly the place for a dispassionate discussionof ethical principles. It hurt her to believe that her companion did notlove truth in the abstract, and she meant to have it out with him later;but for the moment she put duty aside and opened the door to enthusiasm.
"Just think!" she exclaimed; "yesterday the horizon was so far away thatit was actually invisible; and now you can almost reach out and touchit. Please don't let me miss anything that I ought to see."
"Did anyone show you 'The Mule' when you were up here last year?"
"No."
"It is just around the second curve ahead. Look well up themountain-side for a big bowlder facing the canyon; it's a picture, not afigure."
She followed his directions, grasping the hand-rails and leaning far outto get a wider view. Brockway wanted to put his arm around her and holdher, but not daring to, stood by to catch her if she should lose herbalance. Presently the great bowlder circled into view, and she got avery satisfactory sight of the pictured mule on its face before a suddenswerve of the train swept it out of range.
"How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "How did anyone ever get up there topaint it?"
"It is only a 'water-painting,' as the people up here call it; a naturaldiscoloration on the face of the rock," he answered. "Isn't itlife-like, though?"
"Indeed, it is; it is almost incredible." Then, suddenly: "That isn't ascenic fib, is it?"
"No. If you'll agree not to flog me with my own whip, I'll promise totell you the truth and nothing but the truth, all day."
"Isn't that a very large promise?"
Brockway had a fleeting glimpse into the book of prophecy and saw thatit might easily become so. None the less, he would not go back.
"Large or small, I'll keep it to the letter. But now I want to show yousomething else. Stand right here beside me and watch the outlines ofthose cliffs on the right; just the outline against the sky, I mean.Follow it steadily and tell me what you see when I give the word."
The train darted around a sharp curve and sped away up one of the fewtangents in its tortuous path. "Now!" said Brockway, as the timbers of aculvert roared under the trucks of the observation-car.
"It's the Sphynx!" she said, with a little tremor of awe in her voice;"solemn, and majestic, and grander than anything I ever imagined! And Inever even heard of it before. Do people know about it?"
"Not many; and those who do are hardened by familiarity. I have seen ita great many times, but it always gets near to me, just as it did toyou."
"I shall never forget it. Please don't show me any more wonders justnow. I shall rave like the most foolish 'Cooky' of them all if you do."
"I can't," said Brockway; "I don't know any more." A shrill whistle fromthe engine cut the sentence short, and Gertrude asked if they werecoming to a station.
"Yes, it's Forks Creek, famous for its pies. Everybody eats pie at theForks. Will you climb down from the heights of the sublime and go andeat pie with me?"
"Anything you say," she rejoined, laughing; and a few minutes later,John Burton the canny was scandalized to see the President's daughterwalking up and down the narrow platform with the passenger agent, eatingher half of an apple turnover which Brockway had bought and shared withher.