“With you settin’ beside me, my first name’s `Caution.'”
She fumbled the goggles in a vain effort to lift her arms over her head to fasten them on. He sprang into the seat by her side and promptly seized them.
“Let me fix ’em.”
His slender, skillful fingers adjusted the band and brushed a stray ringlet of hair back under the furs. The thrill of his touch swept her with a sudden dizzy sense of excitement. She blushed and drew her head down into the collar of the shaggy coat.
He touched the wheel, and the gray monster leaped from the curb and shot down the street. The single impulse carried them to the crossing. He had shut off the power as the machine gracefully swung into Fourth Avenue. The turn made, another leap and the car swept up the Avenue and swung through Twenty-sixth Street into Fifth Avenue. Again the power was off as he made the turn into Fifth Avenue at a snail’s pace.
“Can’t let her out yet,” he whispered apologetically. “Had to make these turns. There’s no room for her inside of town.”
Mary had no time to answer. He touched the wheel, and the car shot up the deserted Avenue. She gasped for breath and braced her feet, her whole being tingling with the first exhilarating consciousness that she too was possessed of the devil of speed madness. It was glorious! For the first time in her life, space and distance lost their meaning. She was free as the birds in the heavens. She was flying on the wings of this gray, steel monster through space. The palaces on the Avenue whirled by in dim ghost-like flashes. They flew through Central Park into Seventy-second Street and out into the Drive. The waters of the river, broad and cool, flashing in the morning sun, rested her eyes a moment and then faded in a twinkling. They had leaped the chasm beyond Grant’s Tomb, plunged into Broadway and before she could get her bearings, swept up the hill at One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Street, slipped gracefully across the iron bridge and in a jiffy were lost in a gray cloud of dust on the Boston Turnpike.
When the first intoxicating joy of speed had spent itself, she found herself shuddering at the daring turns he made, missing a curb by a hair’s breadth– grazing a trolley by half an inch. Her fears were soon forgotten.
The hand on the wheel was made of steel, too.
The throbbing demon encased within the hood obeyed his slightest whim. She glanced at the square, massive jaw with furtive admiration.
Without turning his head he laughed.
“You like it, teacher?”
“I’m in Heaven!”
“You won’t worry about church then, will you?”
“Not today.”
They stopped at a road-house, and he put in more gasoline, lifted the casing from the engine, touched each vital part, examined his tires, and made sure that his machine was at its best.
She watched him with a growing sense of his strength of character, his poise and executive ability. He was an awkward, stammering boy in the Library yesterday. Today with this machine in his hand he was the master of Time and Space.
She yielded herself completely to the delicious sense of his protection. The extraordinary care he was giving the machine was a plain avowal of his deep regard for her comfort and happiness. She had been in one or two moderately moving cars driven by careful chauffeurs through Central Park. She had always felt on those trips with Jane Anderson like a poor relation from the country imposing on a rich friend.
This trip was all her own. The car and its master were there solely for her happiness. Her slightest whim was law for both. It was sweet, this sense of power. She began to lift her body with a touch of pride.
She laughed now at fears. What nonsense! No Knight of the Age of Chivalry could treat her with more deference. He had tried already to get her to stop for a bite of lunch.
“Don’t you want a thing to eat?” he persisted.
“Not a thing. I’ve just had my breakfast. It’s only nine o’clock—-“
“I know, but we’ve come thirty miles and the air makes you hungry. We ought to eat about six good meals a day.”
She shook her head.
“No–not yet. I’m too happy with these new wings. I want to fly some more–come on—-“
He lifted his hand in his favorite gesture of obedience.
“‘Nuff said–we’ll streak it back now by another road, hump it through town and jump over the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ll show you Coney Island and then I know you’ll want a hot dog anyhow.”
He crossed the country and darted into Broadway. Before she could realize it, the last tree and field were lost behind in a cloud of dust, and they were again in the crowded streets of the city. The deep growl of his horn rang its warnings for each crossing and Mary watched the timid women scramble to the sidewalks five and six blocks ahead.
It was delicious. She had always been the one to scramble before. Her heart went out in a wave of tenderness to the man by her side, strong, daring, masterful, her chevalier, her protector and admirer.
Yes, her admirer! There was no doubt on that point. The moment he relaxed the tension of his hand on the wheel, his deep, mysterious eyes beneath the drooping lids were fixed on hers in open, shameless admiration. Their cold fire burned into her heart and thrilled to her finger-tips.
In spite of his deference and his obedience to her whim, she felt the iron grip of his personality on her imagination. Whatever his education, his origin or his environment, he was a power to be reckoned with.
No other type of man had ever appealed to her. Her conception of a real man had always been one who did his own thinking and commanded rather than asked the respect of others.
She had thrown the spell of her beauty over this headstrong, masterful man. He was wax in her hands. A delicious sense of power filled her. She had never known what happiness meant before. She floated through space. The spinning lines of towering buildings on Broadway passed as mists in a dream.
As the velvet feet of the car touched the great bridge she lazily opened her eyes for a moment and gazed through the lace-work of steel at the broad sweep of the magnificent harbor. The dark blue hills of Staten Island framed the picture.
He was right. She had never seen New York before. Never before had its immense panorama been swept within two hours. Never before had she realized its dimensions. She had always felt stunned and crushed in the effort to conceive it. Today she had wings. The city lay at her feet, conquered. She was mistress of Time and Space.
Again her sidelong glance swept the lines of Jim Anthony’s massive jaw. She laughed softly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m just happy.”
She blushed and wondered if he had read her thoughts by some subtle power of clairvoyance. She was speculating on the effects of love at first sight on such a man. Would he hesitate, back and fill and hang on for months trying in vain to gain the courage to speak? Or would he spring with the leap of a young tiger the moment he realized what he wanted?
Her own attitude was purely one of joyous expectancy. It would, of course, be a long time before her feelings could take any definite attitude toward a man. For the moment she was supremely happy. It was enough. She made no effort to probe her feelings. She might return to earth tomorrow. Today she was in Heaven. She would make the most of it.
They skimmed the wooded cliffs of Bay Ridge, her heart beating in ecstasy at the revelation of beauty of whose existence she had not dreamed.
“I bet you never saw this drive before, now did you?” he asked with boyish enthusiasm.
“No–it’s wonderful.”
“Some view–eh?”
“Entrancing!”
“You know when I make my pile, I’d like a palace of white marble perched on this cliff with the windows on the south looking out over Sandy Hook, and the windows on the west looking over that fort on the top of Staten Island with its black eyes gazing over the sea. How would you like that?”
She turned away to mask the smile she couldn’t repress.
“That would be splendid, wouldn’t it?”
“I like the water, don’t you?”
“I love it.”
“Water and hills both right together! I reckon my father must ‘a’ been a sea-captain and my mother from the mountains—-“
He said this with a pathos that found the girl’s heart. What a pitiful, lonely life, a boy’s without even the memory of a mother or father! The mother instinct rose in a resistless flood of pity. Her eyes grew suddenly dim.
“Well,” he said briskly, “now for the dainty job! I’ve got to jump my way through that Coney Island bunch. You see my low speed’s a racing pace for an everyday car. All I can do in a crowd is to jump from one crossing to the next and cut her power off every time. You can bet I’ll make a guy or two jump with me—-“
“You won’t hurt anyone?” she pleaded.
“Lord, no! I wouldn’t dare to put her through that mob in the afternoon. I’d kill a regiment of ’em. But it’s early–just the shank of the morning. There’s nobody down here yet.”
The car suddenly leaped into the Avenue that runs through the heart of Coney Island, the deep-throated horn screaming its warning. The crowd scattered like sheep before a lion.
The girl laughed in spite of her effort at self- control.
“Watch ’em hump!” Jim grunted.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“When you’re in the car–yes. It don’t seem so funny when you’re on foot. Well, some people were made to walk and some to ride. I had to hoof it at first. I like riding better–don’t you?”
“To be perfectly honest–yes!”
The car leaped forward again, the horn screaming. The wheel passed within a foot of a fat woman’s skirt. With a cry of terror she fled to the sidewalk and shook her fist at Jim, her face purple with anger.
He waved his hand back at her:
“Never touched you, dearie! Never touched you!”
Mary lost all fear of accident and watched him handle the machine with the skill of a master. She could understand now the spirit of deviltry in a chauffeur who knows his business. It seemed a wicked, cruel thing from the ground–this swift plunge of a car as if bent on murder. But now that she felt the sure, velvet grip of the brake in a master’s hand, she saw that the danger was largely a myth.
It was fun to see people jump at the approach of an avalanche of steel that always stopped just short of harm. Of course, it took a steady nerve and muscle to do the trick. The man by her side had both. He was always smiling. Nothing rattled him.
Her trust was now implicit. She relaxed the tension of the first two hours of doubt and fear, and yielded to the spell of his strength. It seemed inseparable from the throbbing will of the giant machine. He was its incarnate spirit. She was being swept through space now on the wings of omnipotent power–but power always obedient to her whim.
With steady, even pulse they glided down the long, broad Avenue to Prospect Park, swung through its winding lanes, on through the streets of Brooklyn and once more into the open road.
“Now for Long Beach and a good lunch!” he cried. “I’ll show you something–but you’ll have to shut your eyes to see it.”
With a sudden bound, the car leaped into the air, and shot through the sky with the hiss and shriek of a demon.
The girl caught her breath and instinctively gripped his arm.
“Look out, Kiddo!” he shouted. “Don’t touch me–or we’ll both land in Kingdom Come. I ain’t ready for a harp just yet. I’d rather fool with this toy for a while down here.”
She braced her feet and gripped the sides of the car, gasping for breath, steadied herself at last and crouched low among the furs to guard her throat from the icy daggers of the wind.
The landscape whirled in a circle of trees and sky, while above the dark line of hills hung the boiling cauldron of cloud-banked heavens.
“Are you game?” he called above the roar.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—-“
Her soul had risen at last to the ecstasy of the mania for speed that fired the man’s spirit and nerved his hand. It was inconceivable until experienced–this awful joy! Her spirit sank with childish disappointment as he slowly lowered the power.
“Got to take a sharp curve down there,” he explained. “We turn to the right for the meadows and the Beach–how was that?”
“Wonderful,” she cried, with dancing eyes. “Let her go again if you want to–I’m game–now.”
Jim laughed.
“A little rattled at first?”
“Yes—-“
“Well, we can’t let her out on this road. It’s too narrow–have to take a ditch sometimes to pass. That wouldn’t do for an eighty-mile clip, you know–now would it?”
“Hardly.”
“I might risk it alone–but my first name’s `Old Man Caution’ today–you get me?”
Mary nodded and turned her head away again.
“I got you the first time, sir,” she answered playfully taking his tone.
He ran the car into the garage at the Beach, sprang out and lifted Mary to the ground with quick, firm hand. They threw off their heavy coats and left them.
“Look out for this junk now, sonny,” he cried to the attendant, tossing him a half dollar.
“Sure, Mike!”
“Fill her up to the chin by the time we get back.”
“Righto!”
Quickly they walked to the hotel and in five minutes were seated beside a window in the dining-room, watching the lazy roll of the sea sweep in on the sands at low tide.
“I’m hungry as a wolf!” he whispered.
“So am I—-“
“We’ll eat everything in sight–start at the top and come down.”
He handed her the menu card and watched her from the depths beneath the drooping eyelids.
Conscious of his gaze and rejoicing in its frank admiration, she ordered the dinner with instinctive good taste. No effort at conversation was made by either. They were both too hungry. As Jim lighted his cigarette when the coffee was served, he leaned back in his chair and watched the breakers in silence.
“That’s the best dinner I ever had in my life,” he said slowly.
“It was good. We were hungry.”
“I’ve been hungry before, many a time. It was something else, too.” He paused and rose abruptly. “Let’s walk up the Beach.”
“I’d love to,” she answered, slowly rising.
CHAPTER VI
BESIDE THE SEA
They strolled leisurely along the board-walk, found the sand, walked in the firm, dry line of the high-water mark for a mile to the east, and sat down on a clump of sea-grass on the top of a sand dune.
“I like this!” she cried joyously.
“So do I,” he answered soberly, and lapsed into silence.
The sun was warm and genial. The wind had died, and the waves of the rising tide were creeping up the long, sloping stretches of the sand with a lazy, soothing rush. A winter gull poised above their heads and soared seaward. The smoke of an ocean liner streaked the horizon as she swept toward the channel off Sandy Hook.
Jim looked at the girl by his side and tried to speak. She caught the strained expression in his strong face and lowered her eyes.
He began to trace letters in the sand.
She knew with unerring instinct that he had made his first desperate effort to speak his love and failed. Would he give it up and wait for weeks and possibly months–or would he storm the citadel in one mad rush at the beginning?
He found his voice at last. He had recovered from the panic of his first impulse.
“Well, how do you like my idea of a good day as far as you’ve gone?” he asked lightly.
She met his gaze with perfect frankness. “The happiest day I ever spent in my life,” she confessed.
“Honest?”
“Honest.”
“Oh, shucks–what’s the use!” he cried, with sudden fierce resolution. “You’ve got me, Kiddo, you’ve got me! I’ve been eatin’ out of your hand since the minute I laid my eyes on you in that big room. I’m all yours. You can do anything you want with me. For God’s sake, tell me that you like me a little.”
The blood slowly mounted to her cheeks in red waves of tremulous emotion.
“I like you very much,” she said in low tones.
He seized her hand and held it in a desperate grip.
“I love you, Kiddo,” he went on passionately. “You don’t mind me calling you Kiddo? You’re so dainty and pretty and sweet, and that dimple keeps coming in your cheek, it just seems like that’s the word–you don’t mind?”
“No—-“
“You don’t know how I’ve been starvin’ all my life for the love of a pure girl like you. You’re the first one I ever spoke to. I was scared to death yesterday when I saw you. But I’d ‘a’ spoke to you if it killed me in my tracks. I couldn’t help it. It just looked like an angel had dropped right down out of the gold clouds from that ceilin’. I was afraid I’d lose you in the crowd and never see you again. It didn’t seem you were a stranger anyhow–I didn’t seem strange to you, did I?”
Her lips quivered, and she was silent.
“Didn’t you feel like you’d known me somewhere before?” he pleaded.
“Yes.”
“I just felt you did, and that’s what give me courage. Oh, Kiddo, you’ve got to love me a little– I’ve never been loved by a human soul in all my life. The first thing I remember was hidin’ under a stoop from a brute who beat me every night. I ran away and slept in barrels and crawled into coal shutes till I was big enough to earn a livin’ sellin’ papers. For years I never knew what it meant to have enough to eat. I just scratched and fought my way through the streets like a little hungry wolf till I got in a blacksmith’s shop down on South Street and learned to handle tools. I was quick and smart, and the old man liked me and let me sleep in the shop. I had enough to eat then and got strong as an ox. I went to the night schools and learned to read and write. I don’t know anything, but I’m quick and you can teach me–you will, won’t you?”
“I’ll try,” was the low answer.
“You do like me, Kiddo? Say it again!”
She rose to her feet and looked out over the sea, her face scarlet.
“Yes, I do,” she said at last.
With a sudden resistless sweep he clasped her in his arms and kissed her lips.
Her heart leaped in mad response to the first kiss a lover had ever given. Her body quivered and relaxed in his embrace. It was sweet–it was wonderful beyond words.
He kissed her again, and she clung to him, lifting her eyes to his at last in a long, wondering gaze and then pressed her own lips to his.
“Oh, my God, Kiddo, you love me! It beats the world, don’t it? Love at first sight for both of us!
I’ve heard about it, but I didn’t think it would ever happen to me like this–did you?”
She shook her head and bit her lips as the tears slowly dimmed her eyes.
“It takes my breath,” she murmured. “I can’t realize what it all means. It seems too wonderful to be true.”
“And you won’t turn me down because I don’t know who my father and mother was?”
“No–my heart goes out to you in a great pity for your lonely, wretched boyhood.”
“I couldn’t help that–now could I?”
“Of course not. It’s wonderful that you’ve made your way alone and won the fight of life.”
He gripped her hands and held her at arms’ length, devouring her with his deep, slumbering eyes.
“Gee, but you’re a brick, little girl! I thought you were an angel when I first saw you. Now I know it. Just watch me work for you! I’ll show you a thing or two. You’ll marry me right away, won’t you?”
He bent close, his breath on her lips.
Her eyes drooped under his passionate gaze, and the tears slowly stole down her cheeks. Her hour of life had struck! So suddenly, so utterly unexpectedly, it rang a thunderbolt from the clear sky.
“You will, won’t you?” he pleaded.
She smiled at him through her tears and slowly said:
“I can’t say yes today.”
“Why–why?”
“You’ve swept me off my feet–I–I can’t think.”
“I don’t want you to think–I want you to marry me right now.”
“I must have a little time.”
His face fell in despair.
“Say, little girl, don’t turn me down–you’ll kill me.”
“I’m not turning you down,” she protested tenderly. “I only want time to see that I’m not crazy. I have to pinch myself to see if I’m awake. It all seems a dream”–she paused and lifted her radiant face to his– “a beautiful dream–the most wonderful my soul has ever seen. I must be sure it’s real!”
He drew her into his arms, and her body again relaxed in surrender as his lips touched hers.
“Isn’t that the real thing?” he laughed.
She lay very still, her eyes closed, her face a scarlet flame. She was frightened at the swift realization of its overwhelming reality. The touch of his hand thrilled to the last fiber and nerve of her body. Her own trembling fingers clung to him with desperate longing tenderness. She roused herself with an effort and drew away.
“That’s enough now. I must have a little common- sense. Let’s go—-“
He clung to her hand.
“You’ll let me come to see you, tomorrow night?”
“Yes—-“
“And the next night–and every night this week– what’s the difference? There’s nobody to say no, is there?”
“No one.”
“You’ll let me?”
“Tomorrow sure. Maybe you won’t want to come the next night.”
“Maybe I won’t! Just wait and see!”
He seized both hands again and held her at arms’ length.
“Don’t go yet–just let me look at you a minute more! The only girl I ever had in my life–and she’s the prettiest thing God ever made on this earth. Ain’t I the lucky boy?”
“We must go now,” she cried, blushing again under his burning eyes.
He dropped her hands suddenly and saluted military fashion.
“All right, teacher! I’m the little boy that does exactly what he’s told.”
They strolled leisurely along the shining sands in silence. Now and then his slender hand caught hers and crushed it. The moment he touched her a living flame flashed through her body–and through every moment of contact her nerves throbbed and quivered as if a musician were sweeping the strings of a harp. If this were not love, what could it be?
Her whole being, body and soul, responded to his. Her body moved instinctively toward his, drawn by some hidden, resistless power. Her hands went out to meet his; her lips leaped to his.
She must test it with time, of course. And yet she knew by a deep inner sense that time could only fan the flame that had been kindled into consuming fire that must melt every barrier between them.
She had asked him nothing of himself, his business or his future, and knew nothing except what he had told her in the first impetuous rush of his confession of love. No matter. The big thing today was the fact of love and the new radiance with which it was beginning to light the world. The effect was stunning. Their conversation had been the simplest of commonplace questions and answers–and yet the day was the one miracle of her life–her happiness something unthinkable until realized.
She had not asked time in order to know him better. She had only asked time to see herself more clearly in the new experience. Not for a moment did she raise the question of the worthiness of the man she loved. It was inconceivable that she should love a man not worthy of her. The only questions asked were soul-searching ones put to herself.
Through the sweet, cool drive homeward, a hundred times she asked within:
“Is this love?”
And each time the answer came from the depths:
“Yes–yes–a thousand times yes. It’s the voice of God. I feel it and I know it.”
He throttled the racer down to the lowest speed and took the longest road home.
Again and again he slipped his left hand from the wheel and pressed hers.
“You won’t let anybody knock me behind my back, now will you, little girl?”
She pressed his hand in answer.
“I ain’t got a single friend in all God’s world to stand up for me but just you.”
“You don’t need anyone,” she whispered.
“You’ll give me a chance to get back at ’em if any of your friends knock me, won’t you?”
“Why should they dislike you?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, I ain’t exactly one o’ the high-flyers now am I?”
“I’m glad you’re not.”
“Sure enough?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s me for you, Kiddo, for this world and the next.”
The car swung suddenly to the curb and Mary lifted her eyes with a start to find herself in front of her home.
Jim sprang to the ground and lifted her out.
“Keep this coat,” he whispered. “We’ll need it tomorrow. What time is your school out?”
“At three o’clock.”
“I can come at four?”
“You don’t have to work tomorrow?”
He hesitated a moment.
“No, I’m on a vacation till after Christmas. They’re putting through my new patent.”
He followed her inside the door and held her hand in the shadows of the hall.
“All right, at four,” she said.
“I’ll be here.”
He stooped and kissed her, turned and passed quickly out.
She stood for a moment in the shadows and listened to the throb of the car until it melted into the roar of the city’s life, her heart beating with a joy so new it was pain.
CHAPTER VII
A VAIN APPEAL
A week passed on the wings of magic.
Every day at four o’clock the car was waiting at her door. The drab interior of the school-room had lost its terror. No annoyance could break the spell that reigned within. Her patience was inexhaustible, her temper serene.
Walking with swift step down the Avenue to her home she wondered vaguely how she could have been lonely in all the music and the wonder of New York’s marvelous life. The windows of the stores were already crowded with Christmas cheer, and busy thousands passed through their doors. Each man or woman was a swift messenger of love. Somewhere in the shadows of the city’s labyrinth a human heart would beat with quickened joy for every step that pressed about these crowded counters. Love had given new eyes to see, new ears to hear and a new heart to feel the joys and sorrows of life.
She hadn’t given her consent yet. She was still asking her silly heart to be sure of herself. Of her lover, the depth and tenderness, the strength and madness of his love, there could be no doubt. Each day he had given new tokens.
For Saturday afternoon she had told him not to bring the car.
When they reached Fifth Avenue, across the Square, he stopped abruptly and faced her with a curious, uneasy look:
“Say, tell me why you wanted to walk?”
“I had a good reason,” she said evasively.
“Yes, but why? It’s a sin to lay that car up a day like this. Look here—-“
He stopped and tried to gulp down his fears.
“Look here–you’re not going to throw me down after leading me to the very top of the roof, are you?”
She looked up with tender assurance.
“Not today—-“
“Then why hoof it? Let me run round to the garage and shoot her out. You can wait for me at the Waldorf. I’ve always wanted to push my buzz-wagon up to that big joint and wait for my girl to trip down the steps.”
“No. I’ve a plan of my own today. Let me have my way.”
“All righto–just so you’re happy.”
“I am happy,” she answered soberly.
At the foot of the broad stairs of the Library she paused and looked up smilingly at its majestic front.
“Come in a moment,” she said softly.
He followed her wonderingly into the vaulted hall and climbed the grand staircase to the reading-room. She walked slowly to the shelf on which the Century Dictionary rested and looked laughingly at the seat in which she sat Saturday afternoon a week ago at exactly this hour.
Jim smiled, leaned close and whispered:
“I got you, Kiddo–I got you! Get out of here quick or I’ll grab you and kiss you!”
She started and blushed.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Beat it then–beat it–or I can’t help it!”
She turned quickly and they passed through the catalogue room and lightly down the stairs.
He held her soft, round arm with a grip that sent the blood tingling to the roots of her brown hair.
“You understand now?” she whispered.
“You bet! We walk the same way up the Avenue, through the Park to the little house on the laurel hill. And you’re goin’ to be sweet to me today, my Kiddo–I just feel it. I—-“
“Don’t be too sure, sir!” she interrupted, solemnly.
He laughed aloud.
“You can’t fool me now–and I’m crazy as a June bug! You know I like to walk–if I can be with you!”
At the Park entrance she stopped again and smiled roguishly.
“We’ll find a seat in one of the summer houses along the Fifty-ninth Street side.”
“All right,” he responded.
“No–we’ll go on where we started!”
With a laugh, she slipped her hand through his arm.
“You were a little scared of me last Saturday about this time, weren’t you?”
“Just a little—-“
“It hurt me, too, but I didn’t let you know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right now–it’s all right. Gee I but we’ve traveled some in a week, haven’t we?”
“I’ve known you more than a week,” she protested gayly.
“Sure–I’ve known you since I was born.”
They walked through the stately rows of elms on the Mall in joyous silence. Crowds of children and nurses, lovers and loungers, filled the seats and thronged the broad promenade.
Scarcely a word was spoken until they reached the rustic house nestling among the trees on the hill.
“Just a week by the calendar,” she murmured. “And I’ve lived a lifetime.”
“It’s all right then–little girl? You’ll marry me right away? When–tonight?”
“Hardly!”
“Tomorrow, then?”
She drew the glove from her hand and held the slender fingers up before him.
“You can get the ring—-“
“Gee! I do have to get a ring, don’t I?”
“Yes—-“
“Why didn’t you tell me? You know I never got married before.”
“I should hope not!”
He seized her hand and kissed it, drew her into his arms, held her crushed and breathless and released her with a quick, impulsive movement.
“You’ll help me get it?” he asked eagerly.
“If you like.”
“A big white sparkler?”
“No–no—-“
“No?”
“A plain little gold band.”
“Let me get you a big diamond!”
“No–a plain gold band.”
“It’s all settled then?”
“We’re engaged. You’re my fiance.”
“But for God’s sake, Kiddo–how long do I have to be a fiance?”
A ripple of laughter rang through the trees.
“Don’t you think we’ve done pretty well for seven days?”
“I could have settled it in seven minutes after we met,” he answered complainingly. “You won’t tell me the day yet?”
“Not yet—-“
“All right, we’ll just have to take blessings as they come, then.”
Through the beautiful afternoon they sat side by side with close-pressed hands and planned the future which love had given. A modest flat far up among the trees on the cliffs overlooking the Hudson, they decided on.
“We’ll begin with that,” he cried enthusiastically, “but we won’t stay there long. I’ve got big plans. I’m going to make a million. The white house down by the sea for me, a yacht out in the front yard and a half-dozen thundering autos in the garage. If this deal I’m on now goes through, I’ll make my pile in a year—-“
They rose as the shadows lengthened.
“I must go home and feed my pets,” she sighed.
“All right,” he responded heartily. “I’ll get the car and be there in a jiffy. We’ll take a spin out to a road-house for dinner.”
She lifted her eyes tenderly.
“You can come right up to my room–now that we’re engaged.”
He swept her into his arms again, and held her in unresisting happiness.
It was dark when he swung the gray car against the curb and sprang out. He didn’t blow his horn for her to come down. The privilege she had granted was too sweet and wonderful. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.
The stairs were dark. Ella was late this afternoon getting back to her work. His light footstep scarcely made a sound. He found each step with quick, instinctive touch. The building seemed deserted. The tenants were all on trips to the country and the seashore. The day was one of rare beauty and warmth. Someone was fumbling in the dark on the third floor back.
He made his way quickly to her room, and softly knocked, waited a moment and knocked again. There was no response. He couldn’t be mistaken. He had seen her lean out of that window every day the past week.
Perhaps she was busy in the kitchenette and the noise from the street made it impossible to hear.
He placed his hand on the doorknob.
From the darkness of the hall, in a quick, tiger leap, Ella threw herself on him and grappled for his throat.
“What are you doing at that door, you dirty thief?” she growled.
“Here! Here! What’ell–what’s the matter with you?” he gasped, gripping her hands and tearing them from his neck. “I’m no thief!”
“You are! You are, too!” she shrieked. “I heard you sneak in the door downstairs–heard you slippin’ like a cat upstairs! Get out of here before I call a cop!”
She was savagely pushing him back to the landing of the stairs. With a sudden lurch, Jim freed himself and gripped her hands.
“Cut it! Cut it! Or I’ll knock your block off! I’ve come to take my girl to ride—-“
He drew a match and quickly lighted the gas as Mary’s footstep echoed on the stairs below.
“Well, she’s coming now–we’ll see,” was the sullen answer.
Ella surveyed him from head to foot, her one eye gleaming in angry suspicion.
Mary sprang up the last step and saw the two confronting each other. She had heard the angry voices from below.
“Why, Ella, what’s the matter?” she gasped.
“He was trying to break into your room—-“
Jim threw up his hands in a gesture of rage, and Mary broke into a laugh.
“Why, nonsense, Ella, I asked him to come! This is Mr. Anthony,”–her voice dropped,–“my fiance.”
Ella’s figure relaxed with a look of surprise.
“Oh, ja?” she murmured, as if dazed.
“Yes–come in,” she said to Jim. “Sorry I was out. I had to run to the grocer’s for the Kitty.”
Ella glared at Jim, turned and began to light the other hall lamps without any attempt at apology.
Jim entered the room with a look of awe, took in its impression of sweet, homelike order and recovered quickly his composure.
“Gee, you’re the dandy little housekeeper! I could stay here forever.”
“You like it?”
“It’s a bird’s nest ” He glanced in the mirror and saw the print of Ella’s fingers on his collar. “Will you look at that?” he growled.
“It’s too bad,” she said, sympathetically.
“You know I thought a she-tiger had got loose from the Bronx and jumped on me.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” she apologized. “Ella’s very fond of me. She was trying to protect me. She couldn’t see who it was in the dark.”
“No; I reckon not,” Jim laughed.
“I’ve changed our plans for the evening,” she announced. “We won’t go to ride tonight. I want you to bring my best friend to dinner with us at Mouquin’s. Go after her in the car. I want to impress her—-“
“I got you, Kiddo! She’s goin’ to look me over– eh? All right, I’ll stop at the store and get a clean collar. I wouldn’t like her to see the print of that tiger’s claw on my neck.”
“There’s her address the Gainsborough Studios. Drop me at Mouquin’s and I’ll have the table set in one of the small rooms upstairs. I’ll meet you at the door.”
Jim glanced at the address, put it in his pocket and helped her draw on her heavy coat.
“You’ll be nice to Jane? I want her to like you. She’s the only real friend I’ve ever had in New York.”
“I’ll do my best for you, little girl,” he promised.
He dropped her at the wooden cottage-front on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-eighth Street, and returned in twenty minutes with Jane.
As the tall artist led the way upstairs, Jim whispered:
“Say, for God’s sake, let me out of this!”
“Why?”
“She’s a frost. If I have to sit beside her an hour I’ll catch cold and die. I swear it; save me! Save my life!”
“Sh! It’s all right. She’s fine and generous when you know her.”
They had reached the door and Mary pushed him in. There was no help for it. He’d have to make the most of it.
The dinner was a dismal failure.
Jane Anderson was polite and genial, but there was a straight look of wonder in her clear gray eyes that froze the blood in Jim’s veins.
Mary tried desperately for the first half-hour to put him at his ease. It was useless. The attack of Ella had upset his nerves, and the unexpressed hostility of Jane had completely crushed his spirits. He tried to talk once, stammered and lapsed into a sullen silence from which nothing could stir him.
The two girls at last began to discuss their own affairs and the dinner ended in a sickening failure that depressed and angered Mary.
The agony over at last, she rose and turned to Jim:
“You can go now, sir–I’ll take Jane home with me for a friendly chat.”
“Thank God!” he whispered, grinning in spite of his effort to keep a straight face.
“Tomorrow?” he asked in low tones.
“At eight o’clock.”
Jim bowed awkwardly to Jane, muttered something inarticulate and rushed to his car.
The two girls walked in silence through Twenty- eighth Street to Broadway and thence across the Square.
Seated in her room, Mary could contain her pent-up rage no longer.
“Jane Anderson, I’m furious with you! How could you be so rude–so positively insulting!”
“Insulting?”
“Yes. You stared at him in cold disdain as if he were a toad under your feet!”
“I assure you, dear—-“
“Why did you do it?”
The artist rose, walked to the window, looked out on the Square for a moment, extended her hand and laid it gently on Mary’s shoulder.
“You’ve made up your mind to marry this man, honey?”
“I certainly have,” was the emphatic answer.
Jane paused.
“And all in seven days?”
“Seven days or seven years–what does it matter? He’s my mate–we love–it’s Fate.”
“It’s incredible!”
“What’s incredible?”
“Such madness.”
“Perhaps love is madness–the madness that makes life worth the candle. I’ve never lived before the past week.”
“And you, the dainty, cultured, pious little saint, will marry this–this—-“
“Say it! I want you to be frank—-“
“Perfectly frank?”
“Absolutely.”
“This coarse, ugly, illiterate brute—-“
“Jane Anderson, how dare you!” Mary sprang to her feet, livid with rage.
“I asked if I might be frank. Shall I lie to you? Or shall I tell you what I think?”
“Say what you please; it doesn’t matter,” Mary interrupted angrily.
“I only speak at all because I love you. Your common-sense should tell you that I speak with reluctance. But now that I have spoken, let me beg of you for your father’s sake, for your dead mother’s sake, for my sake–I’m your one disinterested friend and you know that my love is real–for the sake of your own soul’s salvation in this world and the next–don’t marry that brute! Commit suicide if you will–jump off the bridge–take poison, cut your throat, blow your brains out–but, oh dear God, not this!”
“And why, may I ask?” was the cold question.
“He’s in no way your equal in culture, in character, in any of the essentials on which the companionship of marriage must be based—-“
“He’s a diamond in the rough,” Mary staunchly asserted.
“He’s in the rough, all right! The only diamond about him is the one in his red scarf–`Take it from me, Kiddo! Take it from me!'”
Her last sentence was a quotation from Jim, her imitation of his slang so perfect Mary’s cheeks flamed anew with anger.
“I’ll teach him to use good English–never fear. In a month he’ll forget his slang and his red scarf.”
“You mean that in a month you’ll forget to use good English and his style of dress will be yours. Oh, honey, can’t you see that such a man will only drag you down, down to his level? Can it be possible that you– that you really love him?”
“I adore him and I’m proud of his love!”
“Now listen! You believe in an indissoluble marriage, don’t you?”
“Yes—-“
“It’s the first article of your creed–that marriage is a holy sacrament, that no power on earth or in hell can ever dissolve its bonds? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, my dear! They always have–they always will, I suppose. This is peculiarly true of your type of woman–the dainty, clinging girl of religious enthusiasm. You’re peculiarly susceptible to the physical power of a brutal lover. Your soul glories in submission to this force. The more coarse and brutal its attraction the more abject and joyful the surrender. Your religion can’t save you because your religion is purely emotional–it is only another manifestation of your sex emotions.”
“How can you be so sacrilegious!” the girl interrupted with a look of horror.
“It may shock you, dear, but I’m telling you one of the simplest truths of Nature. You’d as well know it now as later. The moment you wake to realize that your emotions have been deceived and bankrupted, your faith will collapse. At least keep, your grip on common- sense. Down in the cowardly soul of every weak woman– perhaps of every woman–is the insane desire to be dominated by a superior brute force. The woman of the lower classes–the peasant of Russia, for example, whose sex impulses are of all races the most violent– refuses with scorn the advances of the man who will not strike her. The man who can’t beat his wife is beneath contempt–he is no man at all—-“
Mary broke into a laugh.
“Really, Jane, you cease to be serious you’re a joke. For Heaven’s sake use a little common-sense yourself. You can’t be warning me that my lover is marrying me in order to use his fists on me?”
“Perhaps not, dear,”–the artist smiled; “there might be greater depths for one of your training and character. I’m just telling you the plain truth about the haste with which you’re rushing into this marriage. There’s nothing divine in it. There’s no true romance of lofty sentiment. It’s the simplest and most elemental of all the brutal facts of animal life. That it is resistless in a woman of your culture and refinement makes it all the more pathetic—-“
The girl rose with a gesture of impatience.
“It’s no use, Jane dear; we speak a different language. I don’t in the least know what you’re talking about, and what’s more, I’m glad I don’t. I’ve a vague idea that your drift is indecent. But we’re different. I realize that. I don’t sit in judgment on you. You’re wasting your breath on me. I’m going into this marriage with my eyes wide open. It’s the fulfillment of my brightest hopes and aspirations. That I shall be happy with this man and make him supremely happy I know by an intuition deeper and truer than reason. I’m going to trust that intuition without reservation.”
“All right, honey,” the artist agreed with a smile. “I won’t say anything more, except that you’re fooling yourself about the depth of this intuitive knowledge. Your infatuation is not based on the verdict of your deepest and truest instincts.”
“On what, then?”
“The crazy ideals of the novels you’ve been reading–that’s all.”
“Ridiculous!”
“You’re absolutely sure, for instance, that God made just one man the mate of one woman, aren’t you?”
“As sure as that I live.”
“Where did you learn it?”
“So long ago I can’t remember.”
“Not in your Bible?”
“No.”
“The Sunday school?”
“No.”
“Craddock didn’t tell you that, did he?”
“Hardly—-“
“I thought not. He has too much horse-sense in spite of his emotional gymnastics. You learned it in the first dime-novel you read.”
“I never read a dime-novel in my life,” she interrupted, indignantly.
“I know–you paid a dollar and a quarter for it– but it was a dime-novel. The philosophy of this school of trash you have built into a creed of life. How can you be so blind? How can you make so tragic a blunder?”
“That’s just it, Jane: I couldn’t if your impressions of his character were true. I couldn’t make a mistake about so vital a question. I couldn’t love him if he really were a coarse, illiterate brute. What you see is only on the surface. He hasn’t had his chance yet—-“
“Who is he? What does he do? Who are his people?”
“He has no people—-“
“I thought not.”
“I love him all the more deeply,” she went on firmly, “because of his miserable childhood. I’ll do my best to make up for the years of cruelty and hunger and suffering through which he passed. What right have you to sit in judgment on him without a hearing? You’ve known him two hours—-“
Jane shrugged her shoulders.
“Two minutes was quite enough.”
“And you judge by what standard?”
“My five senses, and my sixth sense above all. One look at his square bulldog jaw, his massive neck and the deformity of his delicate hands and feet! I hear the ignorant patois of the East Side underworld. I smell the brimstone in his suppressed rage at my dislike. There’s something uncanny in the sensuous droop of his heavy eyelids and the glitter of his steel-blue eyes. There’s something incongruous in his whole personality. I was afraid of him the moment I saw him.”
Mary broke into hysterical laughter.
“And if my five senses and my intuitions contradict yours? Who is to decide? If I loved him on sight—- If I looked into his eyes and saw the soul of my mate? If their cold fires thrill me with inexpressible passion? If I see in his massive neck and jaw the strength of an irresistible manhood, the power to win success and to command the world? If I see in his slender hands and small feet lines of exquisite beauty–am I to crush my senses and strangle my love to please your idiotic prejudice?”
Jane threw up her hands in despair.
“Certainly not! If you’re blind and deaf I can’t keep you from committing suicide. I’d lock you up in an asylum for the insane if I had the power to save you from the clutches of the brute.”
Mary drew herself erect and faced her friend.
“Please don’t repeat that word in my hearing– there’s a limit to friendship. I think you’d better go—-“
Jane rose and walked quickly to the door, her lips pressed firmly.
“As you like–our lives will be far apart from tonight. It’s just as well.”
She closed the door with a bang and reached the head of the stairs before Mary threw her arms around her neck.
“Please, dear, forgive me–don’t go in anger.”
The older woman kissed her tenderly, glad of the dim light to hide her own tears.
“There, it’s all right, honey–I won’t remember it. Forgive me for my ugly words.”
“I love him, Jane–I love him! It’s Fate. Can’t you understand?”
“Yes, dear, I understand, and I’ll love you always–good-by.”
“You’ll come to my wedding?”
“Perhaps—-“
“I’ll let you know—-“
Another kiss, and Jane Anderson strode down the stairs and out into the night with a sickening, helpless fear in her heart.
CHAPTER VIII
JIM’S TRIAL
The quarrel had left Mary in a quiver of exalted rage. How dare a friend trample her most sacred feelings! She pitied Jane Anderson and her tribe–these modern feminine leaders of a senseless revolution against man–they were crazy. They had all been disappointed in some individual and for that reason set themselves up as the judges of mankind.
“Thank God my soul has not been poisoned!” she exclaimed aloud with fervor. “How strange that these women who claim such clear vision can be so stupidly blind!”
She busied herself with her little household, and made up her mind once and for all time to be done with such friendships. The friendship of such women was a vain thing. They were vicious cats at heart–not like her gentle Persian kitten whose soul was full of sleepy sunlight. These modern insurgents were wild, half- starved stray cats that had been hounded and beaten until they had lapsed into their elemental brute instincts. They were so aggravating, too, they deserved no sympathy.
Again she thanked God that she was not one of them–that her heart was still capable of romantic love–a love so sudden and so overwhelming that it could sweep life before it in one mad rush to its glorious end.
She woke next morning with a dull sense of depression. The room was damp and chilly. It was storming. The splash of rain against the window and the muffled roar from the street below meant that the wind was high and the day would be a wretched one outside.
They couldn’t take their ride.
It was a double disappointment. She had meant to have him dash down to Long Beach and place the ring on her finger seated on that same bright sand-dune overlooking the sea. Instead, they must stay indoors. Jim was not at his best indoors. She loved him behind the wheel with his hand on the pulse of that racer. The machine seemed a part of his being. He breathed his spirit into its steel heart, and together they swept her on and on over billowy clouds through the gates of Heaven.
There was no help for it. They would spend the time together in her room planning the future. It would be sweet–these intimate hours in her home with the man she loved.
Should she spend a whole day alone there with him? Was it just proper? Was it really safe? Nonsense! The vile thoughts which Jane had uttered had poisoned her, after all. She hated her self that she could remember them. And yet they filled her heart with dread in spite of every effort to laugh them off.
“How could Jane Anderson dare say such things?” she muttered angrily. “`A coarse, illiterate brute!’ It’s a lie! a lie! a lie!” She stamped her foot in rage. “He’s strong and brave and masterful–a man among men– he’s my mate and I love him!”
And yet the frankness with which her friend had spoken had in reality disturbed her beyond measure. Through every hour of the day her uneasiness increased. After all she was utterly alone and her life had been pitifully narrow. Her knowledge of men she had drawn almost exclusively from romantic fiction.
It was just a little strange that Jim persisted in living so completely in the present and the future. He had told her of his pitiful childhood. He had told her of his business. It had been definite–the simple statement he made–and she accepted it without question until Jane Anderson had dropped these ugly suspicions. She hated the meddler for it.
In the light of such suspicions the simplest, bravest man might seem a criminal. How could her friend be blind to the magnetism of this man’s powerful personality? Bah! She was jealous of their perfect happiness. Why are women so contemptible?
She began a careful study of every trait of her lover’s character, determined to weigh him by the truest standards of manhood. Certainly he was no weakling. The one abomination of her soul was the type of the city degenerate she saw simpering along Broadway and Fifth Avenue at times. Jim was brave to the point of rashness. No man with an ounce of cowardice in his being could handle a car in every crisis with such cool daring and perfect control. He was strong. He could lift her body as if it were a feather. His arms crushed her with terrible force. He could earn a living for them both. There could be no doubt about that. His faultless clothes, the ease with which he commanded unlimited credit among the automobile manufacturers and dealers–every supply store on Broadway seemed to know him–left no doubt on that score.
There was just a bit of mystery and reserve about his career as an inventor. His first success that had given him a start he had not explained. The big deal about the new carburetor she could, of course, understand. He had a workshop all his own. He had told her this the first day they met. She would ask him to take her to see it this afternoon. The storm would prevent the trip to the Beach. She would ask this, not because she doubted his honesty, but because she really wished to see the place in which he worked. It was her workshop now, as well as his.
For a moment her suspicions were sickening. Suppose he had romanced about his workshop and his room? Supposed he lived somewhere in the squalid slums of the lower East Side and his people, after all, were alive? Perhaps a drunken father and a coarse, brutal mother–and sisters—-
She stopped with a frown and clenched her fists.
She would ask Jim to show her his workshop. That would be enough. If he had told her the truth about that she would make up to him in tender abandonment of utter trust for every suspicion she harbored.
The car was standing in front of her door. He waved for her to come down.
“Jump right in!” he called gayly. “I’ve got an extra rubber blanket for you.”
“In the storm, Jim?” she faltered.
“Surest thing you know. It’s great to fly through a storm. You can just ride on its wings. Throw on your raincoat and come on quick! I’m going to run down to the Beach. Who’s afraid of an old storm with this thing under us?”
Her heart gave a bound. Her longing had reached her lover and brought him through the storm to do her bidding. It was wonderful–this oneness of soul and body.
She was happy again–supremely, divinely happy. The man by her side knew and understood. She knew and understood. She loved this daring spirit that rose to the wind–this iron will that brooked no interference with his plans, even from Nature, when it crossed his love.
The sting of the raindrops against her cheek was exhilarating. The car glided over the swimming roadway like a great gray gull skimming the beach at low tide. Her soul rose. The sun of a perfect faith and love was shining now behind the clouds.
She nestled close to his side and watched him tenderly from the corners of her half-closed eyes, her whole being content in his strength. The idea of dashing through a blinding rain to the Beach on such a day would have been to her mind an unthinkable piece of madness. She was proud of his daring. It would be hers to shield from the storms of life. She loved the rugged lines of his massive jaw in profile. How could Jane be such a fool as to call him ugly!
The weather, of course, prevented them from walking up the Beach to their sand-dune. The walk would have been all right–but it was out of the question to sit down there and give her the ring in the pouring rain. She knew this as well as he. She knew, too, that he had the ring in his pocket, though he had carefully refrained from referring to it in any way.
He led her to a secluded nook behind a pillar in the little parlor. The hotel was deserted. They had the building almost to themselves. A log fire crackled in the open fireplace, and he drew a settee close. The wind had moderated and the rain was pouring down in straight streams, rolling in soft music on the roof.
He drew the ring from his pocket.
“Well, Kiddo, I got it. The fellow said this was all right.”
He held the tiny gold band before her shining eyes.
“Slip it on!” she whispered.
“Which one?”
“This one, silly!”
She extended her third finger, as he pressed the ring slowly on.
“Seems to me a mighty little one and a mighty cheap one, but he said it was the thing.”
“It’s all right, dear,” she whispered. “Kiss me!”
He pressed his lips to hers and held them until she sank back and lifted her hand in warning.
“Be careful!”
“Whose afraid?” Jim muttered, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Now tell me what day– tomorrow?”
“Nonsense, man!” she cried. “Give me time to breathe—-“
“What for?”
“Just to realize that I’m engaged–to plan and think and dream of the wonderful day.”
“We’re losing time—-“
“We’ll never live these wonderful hours over again, dear.”
Jim’s face fell and his voice was pitiful in its funereal notes: “Lord, I thought the ring settled it.”
“And so it does, dear–it does—–“
“Not if that long-legged spider that took dinner with us the other night gets in her fine work. I’ll bet that she handed me a few when you got home?”
Mary was silent.
“Now didn’t she?”
“To the best of her ability–yes–but I didn’t mind her silly talk.”
“Gee, but I’d love to give her a bouquet of poison ivy!”
“We had an awful quarrel—-“
“And you stood up for me?”
“You know I did!”
“All right, I don’t give a tinker’s damn what anybody says if you stand by me! In all this world there’s just you–for me. There’s never been anybody else–and there never will be. I’m that kind.”
“And I love you for it!” she cried, with rapture pressing his hand in both of hers.
“What did she say about me, anyhow?”
“Nothing worth repeating. I’ve forgotten it.”
Jim held her gaze.
“It’s funny how you love anybody the minute you lay eyes on ’em–or hate ’em the same way. I wanted to choke her the minute she opened her yap to me.”
“Forget it, dear,” she broke in briskly. “I want you to take me to see your workshop tomorrow–will you?”
A flash of suspicion shot from the depths of his eyes.
“Did she tell you to ask me that?”
“Of course not! I’m just interested in everything you do. I want to see where you work.”
“It’s no place for a sweet girl to go–that part of town.”
“But I’ll be with you.”
“I don’t want you to go down there,” he sullenly maintained.
“But why, dear?”
“It’s a low, dirty place. I had to locate the shop there to get the room I needed for the rent I could pay. It’s not fit for you. I’m going to move uptown in a little while.”
“Please let me go,” she pleaded.
He shook his head emphatically.
“No.”
She turned away to hide the tears. The first real, hideous fear she had ever had about him caught her heart in spite of every effort to fight it down. His workshop might be a myth after all. He had failed in the first test to which she had put him. It was horrible. All the vile suggestions of Jane Anderson rushed now into her memory.
She struggled bravely to keep her head and not break down. It was beyond her strength. A sob strangled her, and she buried her face in her hands.
Jim looked at her in helpless anguish for a moment, started to gather her in his arms and looked around the room in terror.
He leaned over her and whispered tensely:
“For God’s sake, Kiddo–don’t–don’t do that! I didn’t mean to hurt you–honest, I didn’t. Don’t cry any more and I’ll take you right down to the black hole, and let you sleep on the floor if you want to. Gee! I’ll give you the whole place, tools, junk and all—-“
She lifted her head.
“Will you, Jim?”
“Sure I will! We start this minute if you want to go.”
She glanced over his shoulder to see that no one was looking, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again.
“It was the first time you ever said no, dear, and it hurt. I’m happy again now. If you’ll just let me see you in the shop for five minutes I’ll never ask you again.”
“All right–tomorrow when you get out of school. I’ll take you down. Holy Mike, that was a dandy kiss! Let’s quarrel again–start something else.”
She rose laughing and brushed the last trace of tears from her eyes.
“Let’s eat dinner now–I’m hungry.”
“By George, I’d forgot all about the feed!”
By eight o’clock the storm had abated; the rain suddenly stopped, and the moon peeped through the clouds.
He drove the big racer back at a steady, even stride on her lowest notch of speed–half the time with only his right hand on the wheel and his left gripping hers.
As the lights of Manhattan flashed from the hills beyond the Queensborough Bridge, he leaned close and whispered:
“Happy?”
“Perfectly.”
The car was waiting the next day at half-past three.
“It’s not far,” he said, nodding carelessly. “You needn’t put on the coat. Be there in a jiffy.”
Down Twenty-third Street to Avenue A, down the avenue to Eighteenth Street, and then he suddenly swung the machine through Eighteenth into Avenue B and stopped below a low, red brick building on the corner.
He set his brakes with a crash, leaped out and extended his hands.
“I didn’t like to take you up these stairs at the back of that saloon, little girl, but you would come. Now don’t blame me—-“
She pressed his arm tenderly.
“Of course I won’t blame you. I’m proud and happy to share your life and help you. I’m surprised to see everything so quiet down here. I thought all the East Side was packed with crowded tenements.”
“No,” he answered, in a matter-of-fact way. “About the only excitement we have in this quarter is an occasional gas explosion in the plant over there, and the noise of the second-hand material men unloading iron. The tenements haven’t been built here yet.”
He led her quickly past the back door of the saloon and up two narrow flights of stairs to the top of the building, drew from his pocket the key to a heavy padlock and slipped the crooked bolt from the double staples. He unlocked the door with a second key and pushed his way in.
“All righto,” he cried.
The straight, narrow hall inside was dark. He fumbled in his pocket and lit the gas.
“The workshop first, or my sleeping den?”
“The workshop first!” she whispered excitedly.
She had made the reality of this shop the supreme test of Jim’s word and character. She was in a fever of expectant uncertainty as to its equipment and practical use.
He unlocked the door leading to the front.
“That’s my den–we’ll come back here.”
He passed quickly to the further end of the hall and again used two keys to open the door, and held it back for her to enter.
“I’m sorry it’s so dirty–if you get your pretty dress all ruined–it’s not my fault, you know.”
Mary surveyed the room with an exclamation of delight.
“Oh, what a wonderful place! Why, Jim, you’re a magician!”
There could be no doubt about the practical use to which the shop was being put. Its one small window opened on a fire escape in the narrow court in the rear. A skylight in the middle opened with a hinge on the roof and flooded the space with perfect light. An iron ladder swung from the skylight and was hooked up against the ceiling by a hasp fastened to a staple over a work-bench. On one side of the room was a tiny blacksmith’s forge, an anvil, hammers and a complete set of tools for working in rough iron. A small gasoline engine supplied the power which turned his lathe and worked the drills, saw and plane. On the other side of the room was arranged a fairly complete chemical laboratory with several retorts, and an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe capable of developing the powerful heat used in the melting and brazing of