In return she chose to smile radiantly. Turning toward him, she said,"If you will be good now--always--perhaps I'll forgive you."
They drove home in the sombre shadows of the hills, with Stanley paddingalong under the wagon. The Worcester girls tried to induce Hollanden tosing, and in consequence there was quarrelling until the blinking lightsof the inn appeared above them as if a great lantern hung there.
Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the innto the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer.
"Yes."
"Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, andfrom thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic." Heglanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time."
Hawker waved his hand tragically. "Yes--no--I don't know."
"What's wrong with you?" asked Hollanden.
"I tell you what it is, Hollie," said the painter darkly, "whenever I'mwith that girl I'm such a blockhead. I'm not so stupid, Hollie. You knowI'm not. But when I'm with her I can't be clever to save my life."
Hollanden pulled contentedly at his pipe. "Maybe she don't notice it."
"Notice it!" muttered Hawker, scornfully; "of course she notices it. Inconversation with her, I tell you, I am as interesting as an iron dog."His voice changed as he cried, "I don't know why it is. I don't know whyit is."
Blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air, Hollanden studied itthoughtfully. "Hits some fellows that way," he said. "And, of course, itmust be deuced annoying. Strange thing, but now, under thosecircumstances, I'm very glib. Very glib, I assure you."
"I don't care what you are," answered Hawker. "All those confoundedaffairs of yours--they were not----"
"No," said Hollanden, stolidly puffing, "of course not. I understandthat. But, look here, Billie," he added, with sudden brightness, "maybeyou are not a blockhead, after all. You are on the inside, you know, andyou can't see from there. Besides, you can't tell what a woman willthink. You can't tell what a woman will think."
"No," said Hawker, grimly, "and you suppose that is my only chance?"
"Oh, don't be such a chump!" said Hollanden, in a tone of vastexasperation.
They strode for some time in silence. The mystic pines swaying over thenarrow road made talk sibilantly to the wind. Stanley, the setter, tookit upon himself to discover some menacing presence in the woods. Hewalked on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore halfunder his breath.
"And work, too," burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this seasonto work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at."
"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" askedHollanden gravely.
"No, I'm hanged if I do."
Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that apopular impression was true," he said, "but it's all right. You wouldrather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?"
"Moon--blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life."
"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly."
CHAPTER VIII.
The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silverdrops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of theshore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to thestars.
"But still, the life of the studios----" began the girl.
Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes weplayed hearts and at other times poker--on credit, you know--credit. Andwhen we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did youever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the commontomato can?"
"Yes."
"Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upontomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in mydesign. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobodywanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus----"
"Truly?"
"Yes, indeed. It is true."
"But still, the life of the studios----"
"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd couldhave money at one time. The other five lived off him and despisedthemselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we hadadmiration."
"And was this just because you had no money?"
"It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker.
"Well, after a while something happened----"
"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened."
"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. Thesympathy----"
"One's own people!" said Hawker.
"Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. Theappreciation----"
"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!"
He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floatedthrough the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like ablue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and wadedin the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawkerstood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds.The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds.
The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours."
"What?"
"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows--andthings--in the snow--and--and a haystack."
"Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it aboutmy best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhapsrecalled it to you."
"Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course."
"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to beindignant.
"Why--I just remembered it because--I liked it, and because--well, thepeople with me said--said it was about the best thing in the exhibit,and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Holliehad spoken of you, and then I--I----"
"Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picturewas no good, anyhow!"
The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Ofcourse, I don't know--I can't talk about pictures, but," she said indistress, "everybody said it was fine."
"It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head.
From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oarssplashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcestergirls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation.
"Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!"
"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?"
"Yes." She gazed off at the water.
"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and littleHelen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and theywere quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings meviolets. But I know you will like him."
"I shall expect to," said Hawker.
"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?"
"About eleven," said Hawker.
"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us."
"Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker.
The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood inthe moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from thelakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing raysfrom the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and herowed very slowly.
The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. Sheleaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddledsubconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant.
At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was notgoing to disappoint us."
Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not."
"Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children--andall of us--shall be anxious. I know you will like him."
CHAPTER IX.
"Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why,
he's that friend ofthe Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! Whatabout him?"
"Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow," answered Hawker. "Whatkind of a fellow did you say he was?"
"Deuced good fellow! What are you so---- Say, by the nine madblacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but Imust be thick-headed to-night!"
Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?"
"Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?"
"Yes. How do you know he's my rival?"
"Know it? Why, hasn't he been---- Say, this is getting thrilling!"Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into thechair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds ofsmoke.
Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deepweariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in."
"Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stareat the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when----Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you!Just at this time, too!"
"Oh," cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of anaccursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, insteadof sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?"
"By the piper----"
"Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want tohear about him. Quit all that other business!"
"Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he--why, say, he's one of the best fellows going.If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easyin your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't aman that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting thechumps!"
The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pinescould be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chairclose and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of theinn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!"
Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?"
"You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is asituation!"
A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressingcase. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bugand like to see me wriggle. But----"
"Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Underthe circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like awounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that!Especially when I'm--when I'm doing all I can for you."
"Doing all you can for me! Nobody asked you to. You talk as if I were aninfant."
"There! That's right! Blaze up like a fire balloon just because I saidthat, will you? A man in your condition--why, confound you, you are aninfant!"
Hawker seemed again overwhelmed in a great dislike of himself. "Oh,well, of course, Hollie, it----" He waved his hand. "A man feelslike--like----"
"Certainly he does," said Hollanden. "That's all right, old man."
"And look now, Hollie, here's this Oglethorpe----"
"May the devil fly away with him!"
"Well, here he is, coming along when I thought maybe--after a while, youknow--I might stand some show. And you are acquainted with him, so giveme a line on him."
"Well, I should advise you to----"
"Blow your advice! I want to hear about Oglethorpe."
"Well, in the first place, he is a rattling good fellow, as I told youbefore, and this is what makes it so----"
"Oh, hang what it makes it! Go on."
"He is a rattling good fellow and he has stacks of money. Of course, inthis case his having money doesn't affect the situation much. MissFanhall----"
"Say, can you keep to the thread of the story, you infernal literaryman!"
"Well, he's popular. He don't talk money--ever. And if he's wicked, he'snot sufficiently proud of it to be perpetually describing his sins. Andthen he is not so hideously brilliant, either. That's great credit to aman in these days. And then he--well, take it altogether, I should sayJem Oglethorpe was a smashing good fellow."
"I wonder how long he is going to stay?" murmured Hawker.
During this conversation his pipe had often died out. It was out at thistime. He lit another match. Hollanden had watched the fingers of hisfriend as the match was scratched. "You're nervous, Billie," he said.
Hawker straightened in his chair. "No, I'm not."
"I saw your fingers tremble when you lit that match."
"Oh, you lie!"
Hollanden mused again. "He's popular with women, too," he saidultimately; "and often a woman will like a man and hunt his scalp justbecause she knows other women like him and want his scalp."
"Yes, but not----"
"Hold on! You were going to say that she was not like other women,weren't you?"
"Not exactly that, but----"
"Well, we will have all that understood."
After a period of silence Hawker said, "I must be going."
As the painter walked toward the door Hollanden cried to him: "Heavens!Of all pictures of a weary pilgrim!" His voice was very compassionate.
Hawker wheeled, and an oath spun through the smoke clouds.
CHAPTER X.
"Where's Mr. Hawker this morning?" asked the younger Miss Worcester. "Ithought he was coming up to play tennis?"
"I don't know. Confound him! I don't see why he didn't come," saidHollanden, looking across the shining valley. He frowned questioninglyat the landscape. "I wonder where in the mischief he is?"
The Worcester girls began also to stare at the great gleaming stretch ofgreen and gold. "Didn't he tell you he was coming?" they demanded.
"He didn't say a word about it," answered Hollanden. "I supposed, ofcourse, he was coming. We will have to postpone the _melee_."
Later he met Miss Fanhall. "You look as if you were going for a walk?"
"I am," she said, swinging her parasol. "To meet the stage. Have youseen Mr. Hawker to-day?"
"No," he said. "He is not coming up this morning. He is in a great fretabout that field of stubble, and I suppose he is down there sketchingthe life out of it. These artists--they take such a fiendish interest intheir work. I dare say we won't see much of him until he has finishedit. Where did you say you were going to walk?"
"To meet the stage."
"Oh, well, I won't have to play tennis for an hour, and if youinsist----"
"Of course."
As they strolled slowly in the shade of the trees Hollanden began,"Isn't that Hawker an ill-bred old thing?"
"No, he is not." Then after a time she said, "Why?"
"Oh, he gets so absorbed in a beastly smudge of paint that I reallysuppose he cares nothing for anything else in the world. Men who arereally artists--I don't believe they are capable of deep humanaffections. So much of them is occupied by art. There's not much leftover, you see."
"I don't believe it at all," she exclaimed.
"You don't, eh?" cried Hollanden scornfully. "Well, let me tell you,young woman, there is a great deal of truth in it. Now, there'sHawker--as good a fellow as ever lived, too, in a way, and yet he's anartist. Why, look how he treats--look how he treats that poor setterdog!"
"Why, he's as kind to him as he can be," she declared.
"And I tell you he is not!" cried Hollanden.
"He is, Hollie. You--you are unspeakable when you get in these moods."
"There--that's just you in an argument. I'm not in a mood at all. Now,look--the dog loves him with simple, unquestioning devotion that fairlybrings tears to one's eyes----"
"Yes," she said.
"And he--why, he's as cold and stern----"
"He isn't. He isn't, Holly. You are awf'ly unfair."
"No, I'm not. I am simply a liberal observer. And Hawker, with hispeople, too," he went on darkly; "you can't tell--you don't knowanything about it--but I tell you that what I have seen proves myassertion that the artistic mind has no space left for the humanaffecti
ons. And as for the dog----"
"I thought you were his friend, Hollie?"
"Whose?"
"No, not the dog's. And yet you--really, Hollie, there is somethingunnatural in you. You are so stupidly keen in looking at people that youdo not possess common loyalty to your friends. It is because you are awriter, I suppose. That has to explain so many things. Some of yourtraits are very disagreeable."
"There! there!" plaintively cried Hollanden. "This is only about thetreatment of a dog, mind you. Goodness, what an oration!"
"It wasn't about the treatment of a dog. It was about your treatment ofyour friends."
"Well," he said sagely, "it only goes to show that there is nothingimpersonal in the mind of a woman. I undertook to discuss broadly----
"Oh, Hollie!"
"At any rate, it was rather below you to do such scoffing at me."
"Well, I didn't mean--not all of it, Hollie."
"Well, I didn't mean what I said about the dog and all that, either."
"You didn't?" She turned toward him, large-eyed.
"No. Not a single word of it."
"Well, what did you say it for, then?" she demanded indignantly.
"I said it," answered Hollanden placidly, "just to tease you." He lookedabstractedly up to the trees.
Presently she said slowly, "Just to tease me?"
At this time Hollanden wore an unmistakable air of having a desire toturn up his coat collar. "Oh, come now----" he began nervously.