Books: The Lion and the Mouse
C >>
Charles Klein >> The Lion and the Mouse
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19
"Isn't it delightful here?" said Shirley. "I could stay here
forever, couldn't you?"
"With you--yes," answered Jefferson, with a significant smile.
Shirley tried to look angry. She strictly discouraged these
conventional, sentimental speeches which constantly flung her sex
in her face.
"Now, you know I don't like you to talk that way, Mr. Ryder. It's
most undignified. Please be sensible."
Quite subdued, Jefferson relapsed into a sulky silence. Presently
he said:
"I wish you wouldn't call me Mr. Ryder. I meant to ask you this
before. You know very well that you've no great love for the name,
and if you persist you'll end by including me in your hatred of
the hero of your book."
Shirley looked at him with amused curiosity.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you want me to call you?"
"Oh, I don't know," he stammered, rather intimidated by this self-
possessed young woman who looked him calmly through and through.
"Why not call me Jefferson? Mr. Ryder is so formal."
Shirley laughed outright, a merry, unrestrained peal of honest
laughter, which made the passers-by turn their heads and smile,
too, commenting the while on the stylish appearance of the two
Americans whom they took for sweethearts. After all, reasoned
Shirley, he was right. They had been together now nearly every
hour in the day for over a month. It was absurd to call him Mr.
Ryder. So, addressing him with mock gravity, she said:
"You're right, Mr. Ryder--I mean Jefferson. You're quite right.
You are Jefferson from this time on, only remember"--here she
shook her gloved finger at him warningly--"mind you behave
yourself! No more such sentimental speeches as you made just now."
Jefferson beamed. He felt at least two inches taller, and at that
moment he would not have changed places with any one in the world.
To hide the embarrassment his gratification caused him he pulled
out his watch and exclaimed:
"Why, it's a quarter past six. We shall have all we can do to get
back to the hotel and dress for dinner."
Shirley rose at once, although loath to leave.
"I had no idea it was so late," she said. "How the time flies!"
Then mockingly she added: "Come, Jefferson--be a good boy and find
a cab."
They passed out of the Gardens by the gate facing the Theatre de
l'Odeon, where there was a long string of fiacres for hire. They
got into one and in fifteen minutes they were back at the Grand
Hotel.
At the office they told Shirley that her aunt had already come in
and gone to her room, so she hurried upstairs to dress for dinner
while Jefferson proceeded to the Hotel de l'Athenee on the same
mission. He. had still twenty-five minutes before dinner time, and
he needed only ten minutes for a wash and to jump into his dress
suit, so, instead of going directly to his hotel, he sat down at
the Cafe de la Paix. He was thirsty, and calling for a vermouth
frappe he told the garcon to bring him also the American papers.
The crowd on the boulevard was denser than ever. The business
offices and some of the shops were closing, and a vast army of
employes, homeward bound, helped to swell the sea of humanity that
pushed this way and that.
But Jefferson had no eyes for the crowd. He was thinking of
Shirley. What singular, mysterious power had this girl acquired
over him? He, who had scoffed at the very idea of marriage only a
few months before, now desired it ardently, anxiously! Yes, that
was what his life lacked--such a woman to be his companion and
helpmate! He loved her--there was no doubt of that. His every
thought, waking and sleeping, was of her, all his plans for the
future included her. He would win her if any man could. But did
she care for him? Ah, that was the cruel, torturing uncertainty!
She appeared cold and indifferent, but perhaps she was only trying
him. Certainly she did not seem to dislike him.
The waiter returned with the vermouth and the newspapers. All he
could find were the London Times, which he pronounced T-e-e-m-s,
and some issues of the New York Herald. The papers were nearly a
month old, but he did not care for that. Jefferson idly turned
over the pages of the Herald. His thoughts were still running on
Shirley, and he was paying little attention to what he was
reading. Suddenly, however, his eyes rested on a headline which
made him sit up with a start. It read as follows:
JUDGE ROSSMORE IMPEACHED
JUSTICE OF THE SUPREME COURT TO BE TRIED ON BRIBERY CHARGES
The despatch, which was dated Washington two weeks back, went on
to say that serious charges affecting the integrity of Judge
Rossmore had been made the subject of Congressional inquiry, and
that the result of the inquiry was so grave that a demand for
impeachment would be at once sent to the Senate. It added that the
charges grew out of the recent decision in the Great Northwestern
Mining Company case, it being alleged that Judge Rossmore had
accepted a large sum of money on condition of his handing down a
decision favourable to the company.
Jefferson was thunderstruck. He read the despatch over again to
make sure there was no mistake. No, it was very plain--Judge
Rossmore of Madison Avenue. But how preposterous, what a calumny!
The one judge on the bench at whom one could point and say with
absolute conviction: "There goes an honest man!" And this judge
was to be tried on a charge of bribery! What could be the meaning
of it? Something terrible must have happened since Shirley's
departure from home, that was certain. It meant her immediate
return to the States and, of course, his own. He would see what
could be done. He would make his father use his great influence.
But how could he tell Shirley? Impossible, he could not! She would
not believe him if he did. She would probably hear from home in
some other way. They might cable. In any case he would say nothing
yet. He paid for his vermouth and hurried away to his hotel to
dress.
It was just striking seven when he re-entered the courtyard of the
Grand Hotel. Shirley and Mrs. Blake were waiting for him.
Jefferson suggested having dinner at the Cafe de Paris, but
Shirley objected that as the weather was warm it would be more
pleasant to dine in the open air, so they finally decided on the
Pavilion d'Armonville where there was music and where they could
have a little table to themselves in the garden.
They drove up the stately Champs Elysees, past the monumental Arc
de Triomphe, and from there down to the Bois. All were singularly
quiet. Mrs. Blake was worrying about her new gown, Shirley was
tired, and Jefferson could not banish from his mind the terrible
news he had just read. He avoided looking at Shirley until the
latter noticed it and thought she must have offended him in some
way. She was more sorry than she would have him know, for, with
all her apparent coldness, Jefferson was rapidly becoming very
indispensable to her happiness.
They dined sumptuously and delightfully with all the luxury of
surroundings and all the delights of cooking that the French
culinary art can perfect. A single glass of champagne had put
Shirley in high spirits and she had tried hard to communicate some
of her good humour to Jefferson who, despite all her efforts,
remained quiet and preoccupied. Finally losing patience she asked
him bluntly:
"Jefferson, what's the matter with you to-night? You've been sulky
as a bear all evening."
Pleased to see she had not forgotten their compact of the
afternoon in regard to his name, Jefferson relaxed somewhat and
said apologetically:
"Excuse me, I've been feeling a bit seedy lately. I think I need
another sea voyage. That's the only time when I feel really first-
class--when I'm on the water."
The mention of the sea started Shirley to talk about her future
plans. She wasn't going back to America until September. She had
arranged to make a stay of three weeks in London and then she
would be free. Some friends of hers from home, a man and his wife
who owned a steam yacht, were arranging a trip to the
Mediterranean, including a run over to Cairo. They had asked her
and Mrs. Blake to go and she was sure they would ask Jefferson,
too. Would he go?
There was no way out of it. Jefferson tried to work up some
enthusiasm for this yachting trip, which he knew very well could
never come off, and it cut him to the heart to see this poor girl
joyously making all these preparations and plans, little dreaming
of the domestic calamity which at that very moment was hanging
over her head.
It was nearly ten o'clock when they had finished. They sat a
little longer listening to the gipsy music, weird and barbaric.
Very pointedly, Shirley remarked:
"I for one preferred the music this afternoon."
"Why?" inquired Jefferson, ignoring the petulant note in her
voice.
"Because you were more amiable!" she retorted rather crossly.
This was their first misunderstanding, but Jefferson said nothing.
He could not tell her the thoughts and fears that had been
haunting him all night. Soon afterward they re-entered their cab
and returned to the boulevards which were ablaze with light and
gaiety. Jefferson suggested going somewhere else, but Mrs. Blake
was tired and Shirley, now quite irritated at what she considered
Jefferson's unaccountable unsociability, declined somewhat
abruptly. But she could never remain angry long, and when they
said good-night she whispered demurely:
"Are you cross with me, Jeff?"
He turned his head away and she saw that his face was singularly
drawn and grave.
"Cross--no. Good-night. God bless you!" he said, hoarsely gulping
down a lump that rose in his throat. Then grasping her hand he
hurried away.
Completely mystified, Shirley and her companion turned to the
office to get the key of their room. As the man handed it to
Shirley he passed her also a cablegram which had just come. She
changed colour. She did not like telegrams. She always had a dread
of them, for with her sudden news was usually bad news. Could
this, she thought, explain Jefferson's strange behaviour?
Trembling, she tore open the envelope and read:
Come home at once,
Mother.
CHAPTER V.
Rolling, tumbling, splashing, foaming water as far as the eye
could reach in every direction. A desolate waste, full of life,
movement and colour, extending to the bleak horizon and like a
vast ploughed field cut up into long and high liquid ridges, all
scurrying in one direction in serried ranks and with incredible
speed as if pursued by a fearful and unseen enemy. Serenely yet
boisterously, gracefully yet resistlessly, the endless waves
passed on--some small, others monstrous, with fleecy white combs
rushing down their green sides like toy Niagaras and with a
seething, boiling sound as when flame touches water. They went by
in a stately, never ending procession, going nowhere, coming from
nowhere, but full of dignity and importance, their breasts heaving
with suppressed rage because there was nothing in their path that
they might destroy. The dancing, leaping water reflected every
shade and tint--now a rich green, then a deep blue and again a
dirty gray as the sun hid for a moment behind a cloud, and as a
gust of wind caught the top of the combers decapitating them at
one mad rush, the spray was dashed high in the air, flashing out
all the prismatic colours. Here and yonder, the white caps rose,
disappeared and came again, and the waves grew and then diminished
in size. Then others rose, towering, became larger, majestic,
terrible; the milk-like comb rose proudly, soared a brief moment,
then fell ignominiously, and the wave diminished passed on
humiliated. Over head, a few scattered cirrus clouds flitted
lazily across the blue dome of heaven, while a dozen Mother Carey
chickens screamed hoarsely as they circled in the air. The strong
and steady western breeze bore on its powerful pinions the sweet
and eternal music of the wind and sea.
Shirley stood at the rail under the bridge of the ocean greyhound
that was carrying her back to America with all the speed of which
her mighty engines were capable. All day and all night, half naked
stokers, so grimed with oil and coal dust as to lose the slightest
semblance to human beings, feverishly shovelled coal, throwing it
rapidly and evenly over roaring furnaces kept at a fierce white
heat. The vast boilers, shaken by the titanic forces generating in
their cavern-like depths, sent streams of scalding, hissing steam
through a thousand valves, cylinders and pistons, turning wheels
and cranks as it distributed the tremendous power which was
driving the steel monster through the seas at the prodigious speed
of four hundred miles in the twenty-four hours. Like a pulsating
heart in some living thing, the mammoth engines throbbed and
panted, and the great vessel groaned and creaked as she rose and
fell to the heavy swell, and again lurched forward in obedience to
each fresh propulsion from her fast spinning screws. Out on deck,
volumes of dense black smoke were pouring from four gigantic smoke
stacks and spread out in the sky like some endless cinder path
leading back over the course the ship had taken.
They were four days out from port. Two days more and they would
sight Sandy Hook, and Shirley would know the worst. She had caught
the North German Lloyd boat at Cherbourg two days after receiving
the cablegram from New York. Mrs. Blake had insisted on coming
along in spite of her niece's protests. Shirley argued that she
had crossed alone when coming; she could go back the same way.
Besides, was not Mr. Ryder returning home on the same ship? He
would be company and protection both. But Mrs. Blake was bent on
making the voyage. She had not seen her sister for many years and,
moreover, this sudden return to America had upset her own plans.
She was a poor sailor, yet she loved the ocean and this was a good
excuse for a long trip. Shirley was too exhausted with worry to
offer further resistance and by great good luck the two women had
been able to secure at the last moment a cabin to themselves
amidships. Jefferson, less fortunate, was compelled, to his
disgust, to share a stateroom with another passenger, a fat German
brewer who was returning to Cincinnati, and who snored so loud at
night that even the thumping of the engines was completely drowned
by his eccentric nasal sounds.
The alarming summons home and the terrible shock she had
experienced the following morning when Jefferson showed her the
newspaper article with its astounding and heart rending news about
her father had almost prostrated Shirley. The blow was all the
greater for being so entirely unlooked for. That the story was
true she could not doubt. Her mother would not have cabled except
under the gravest circumstances. What alarmed Shirley still more
was that she had no direct news of her father. For a moment her
heart stood still--suppose the shock of this shameful accusation
had killed him? Her blood froze in her veins, she clenched her
fists and dug her nails into her flesh as she thought of the dread
possibility that she had looked upon him in life for the last
time. She remembered his last kind words when he came to the
steamer to see her off, and his kiss when he said good-bye and she
had noticed a tear of which he appeared to be ashamed. The hot
tears welled up in her own eyes and coursed unhindered down her
cheeks.
What could these preposterous and abominable charges mean? What
was this lie they had invented to ruin her father? That he had
enemies she well knew. What strong man had not? Indeed, his
proverbial honesty had made him feared by all evil-doers and on
one occasion they had gone so far as to threaten his life. This
new attack was more deadly than all--to sap and destroy his
character, to deliberately fabricate lies and calumnies which had
no foundation whatever. Of course, the accusation was absurd, the
Senate would refuse to convict him, the entire press would espouse
the cause of so worthy a public servant. Certainly, everything
would be done to clear his character. But what was being done? She
could do nothing but wait and wait. The suspense and anxiety were
awful.
Suddenly she heard a familiar step behind her, and Jefferson
joined her at the rail. The wind was due West and blowing half a
gale, so where they were standing--one of the most exposed parts
of the ship--it was difficult to keep one's feet, to say nothing
of hearing anyone speak. There was a heavy sea running, and each
approaching wave looked big enough to engulf the vessel, but as
the mass of moving water reached the bow, the ship rose on it,
light and graceful as a bird, shook off the flying spray as a cat
shakes her fur after an unwelcome bath, and again drove forward as
steady and with as little perceptible motion as a railway train.
Shirley was a fairly good sailor and this kind of weather did not
bother her in the least, but when it got very rough she could not
bear the rolling and pitching and then all she was good for was to
lie still in her steamer chair with her eyes closed until the
water was calmer and the pitching ceased.
"It's pretty windy here, Shirley," shouted Jefferson, steadying
himself against a stanchion. "Don't you want to walk a little?"
He had begun to call her by her first name quite naturally, as if
it were a matter of course. Indeed their relations had come to be
more like those of brother and sister than anything else. Shirley
was too much troubled over the news from home to have a mind for
other things, and in her distress she had turned to Jefferson for
advice and help as she would have looked to an elder brother. He
had felt this impulse to confide in him and consult his opinion
and it had pleased him more than he dared betray. He had shown her
all the sympathy of which his warm, generous nature was capable,
yet secretly he did not regret that events had necessitated this
sudden return home together on the same ship. He was sorry for
Judge Rossmore, of course, and there was nothing he would not do
on his return to secure a withdrawal of the charges. That his
father would use his influence he had no doubt. But meantime he
was selfish enough to be glad for the opportunity it gave him to
be a whole week alone with Shirley. No matter how much one may be
with people in city or country or even when stopping at the same
hotel or house, there is no place in the world where two persons,
especially when they are of the opposite sex, can become so
intimate as on shipboard. The reason is obvious. The days are long
and monotonous. There is nowhere to go, nothing to see but the
ocean, nothing to do but read, talk or promenade. Seclusion in
one's stuffy cabin is out of the question, the public sitting
rooms are noisy and impossible, only a steamer chair on deck is
comfortable and once there snugly wrapped up in a rug it is
surprising how quickly another chair makes its appearance
alongside and how welcome one is apt to make the intruder.
Thus events combined with the weather conspired to bring Shirley
and Jefferson more closely together. The sea had been rough ever
since they sailed, keeping Mrs. Blake confined to her stateroom
almost continuously. They were, therefore, constantly in one
another's company, and slowly, unconsciously, there was taking
root in their hearts the germ of the only real and lasting love--
the love born of something higher than mere physical attraction,
the nobler, more enduring affection that is born of mutual
sympathy, association and companionship.
"Isn't it beautiful?" exclaimed Shirley ecstatically. "Look at
those great waves out there! See how majestically they soar and
how gracefully they fall!"
"Glorious!" assented Jefferson sharing her enthusiasm. "There's
nothing to compare with it. It's Nature's grandest spectacle. The
ocean is the only place on earth that man has not defiled and
spoiled. Those waves are the same now as they were on the day of
creation."
"Not the day of creation. You mean during the aeons of time
creation was evolving," corrected Shirley.
"I meant that of course," assented Jefferson. "When one says 'day'
that is only a form of speech."
"Why not be accurate?" persisted Shirley. "It was the use of that
little word 'day' which has given the theologians so many
sleepless nights."
There was a roguish twinkle in her eye. She well knew that he
thought as she did on metaphysical questions, but she could not
resist teasing him.
Like Jefferson, she was not a member of any church, although her
nature was deeply religious. Hers was the religion the soul
inculcates, not that which is learned by rote in the temple. She
was a Christian because she thought Christ the greatest figure in
world history, and also because her own conduct of life was
modelled upon Christian principles and virtues. She was religious
for religion's sake and not for public ostentation. The mystery of
life awed her and while her intelligence could not accept all the
doctrines of dogmatic religion she did not go so far as Jefferson,
who was a frank agnostic. She would not admit that we do not know.
The longings and aspirations of her own soul convinced her of the
existence of a Supreme Being, First Cause, Divine Intelligence--
call it what you will--which had brought out of chaos the
wonderful order of the universe. The human mind was, indeed,
helpless to conceive such a First Cause in any form and lay
prostrate before the Unknown, yet she herself was an enthusiastic
delver into scientific hypothesis and the teachings of Darwin,
Spencer, Haeckel had satisfied her intellect if they had failed to
content her soul. The theory of evolution as applied to life on
her own little planet appealed strongly to her because it
accounted plausibly for the presence of man on earth. The process
through which we had passed could be understood by every
intelligence. The blazing satellite, violently detached from the
parent sun starting on its circumscribed orbit--that was the first
stage, the gradual subsidence of the flames and the cooling of the
crust--the second stage: the gases mingling and forming water
which covered the earth--the third stage; the retreating of the
waters and the appearance of the land--the fourth stage; the
appearance of vegetation and animal life--the fifth stage; then,
after a long interval and through constant evolution and change
the appearance of man, which was the sixth stage. What stages
still to come, who knows? This simple account given by science
was, after all, practically identical with the biblical legend!
It was when Shirley was face to face with Nature in her wildest
and most primitive aspects that this deep rooted religious feeling
moved her most strongly. At these times she felt herself another
being, exalted, sublimated, lifted from this little world with its
petty affairs and vanities up to dizzy heights. She had felt the
same sensation when for the first time she had viewed the glories
of the snow clad Matterhorn, she had felt it when on a summer's
night at sea she had sat on deck and watched with fascinated awe
the resplendent radiance of the countless stars, she felt it now
as she looked at the foaming, tumbling waves.
"It is so beautiful," she murmured as she turned to walk. The ship
was rolling a little and she took Jefferson's arm to steady
herself. Shirley was an athletic girl and had all the ease and
grace of carriage that comes of much tennis and golf playing.
Barely twenty-four years old, she was still in the first flush of
youth and health, and there was nothing she loved so much as
exercise and fresh air. After a few turns on deck, there was a
ruddy glow in her cheeks that was good to see and many an admiring
glance was cast at the young couple as they strode briskly up and
down past the double rows of elongated steamer chairs.
They had the deck pretty much to themselves. It was only four
o'clock, too early for the appetite-stimulating walk before
dinner, and their fellow passengers were basking in the sunshine,
stretched out on their chairs in two even rows like so many
mummies on exhibition. Some were reading, some were dozing. Two or
three were under the weather, completely prostrated, their bilious
complexion of a deathly greenish hue. At each new roll of the
ship, they closed their eyes as if resigned to the worst that
might happen and their immediate neighbours furtively eyed each of
their movements as if apprehensive of what any moment might bring
forth. A few couples were flirting to their heart's content under
the friendly cover of the life-boats which, as on most of the
transatlantic liners, were more useful in saving reputations than
in saving life. The deck steward was passing round tea and
biscuits, much to the disgust of the ill ones, but to the keen
satisfaction of the stronger stomached passengers who on shipboard
never seem to be able to get enough to eat and drink. On the
bridge, the second officer, a tall, handsome man with the points
of his moustache trained upwards a la Kaiser Wilhelm, was striding
back and forth, every now and then sweeping the horizon with his
glass and relieving the monotony of his duties by ogling the
better looking women passengers.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19