CHAPTER VI
THE MARATHON
"I have seen a thing that humans call friendship. It is clearer, higher, less frequent than the thing they call love."
MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT.
At 66th street, Jim had passed the Californian and caught up with Sara.He held Sara's pace for the next block. Try as he would, the young Greekcould not throw Jim off and instinct told him that Jim had enoughreserve in him to forge ahead in the final spurt at Columbus Circle, sixblocks away.
But at 63rd street something happened. A fire alarm was turned in from astore in the middle of the block. The police tried to move the crowdaway without interfering with the race, but just as the runners reachedthe point of the fire, the crowd broke into the street. A boy darted infront of Sara and Jim, and Sara struck at the lad. It was a back-handedblow and Sara brought his elbow back into Jim's stomach with a forcethat doubled Jim up like a closing book. Sara did not look round. Apoliceman jerked Jim to his feet.
"After 'em, boy. Ye still can beat the next bunch!" cried the policeman.But Jim was all in. The blow had been a vicious one and he swayed limplyagainst the burly bluecoat.
"Dirty luck!" grunted the Irishman, and with his arm under Jim'sshoulders he walked slowly with him to the rooms at Columbus Circle,where the runners were to dress. There Uncle Denny found Jim, stillwhite and shaken, dressing slowly.
"What happened to you, me boy?" asked Uncle Denny, looking at himkeenly.
Jim sat limply on the edge of a cot and told Dennis what had happened.
"The low scoundrel!" roared Uncle Denny. "Leave me get at him!"
Jim caught the purple-faced Irishman by the arm. "You are to say nothingto anyone, Uncle Denny. How could I prove that he meant to do it? And doyou want me to be a loser that bellyaches?"
Uncle Denny looked Jim over and breathed hard for a moment before hereplied: "Very well, me boy. But I always suspected he had a yellowstreak in him and this proves it. Have you seen him do dirty tricksbefore?"
"I never had any proof," answered Jim carefully. "And it was always somemoney matter and I'm no financier, so I laid it to my own ignorance."
"A man who will do dirt in money matters can't be a clean sport," saidUncle Denny. "This ends any chance of your going into business with him,Jim, I hope."
"I gave that idea up long ago, Uncle Denny. Pen is not to hear a word ofall this, remember, won't you?"
At this moment, Saradokis burst in the door. He was dressed and his facewas vivid despite his exhaustion.
"Hey, Still! What happened to you? Everybody's looking for you.Congratulate me, old scout!"
Jim looked from Sara's outstretched hand to his beaming face. Then heput his own hand in his pocket.
"That was a rotten deal you handed me, Sara," he said in the drawl thatbit.
"What!" cried Sara.
"What's done's done," replied Jim. "I'm no snitcher, so you know you'resafe. But I'm through with you."
Sara turned to Uncle Denny, injured innocence in his face. "What is thematter with him, Mr. Dennis?" he exclaimed.
"Still Jim, me boy, go down to the machine while I talk with Sara," saidDennis.
"No, there is no use talking," insisted Jim.
"Jim," said Dennis sternly, "I ask you to obey me but seldom."
Without a word Jim picked up the suit case containing his running togsand went down to the automobile where his mother and Penelope werewaiting. To their anxious questions he merely replied that he hadfallen. This was enough for the two women folk, who tucked him inbetween them comfortably and his mother held his hand while Pen gave hima glowing account of the finish of the race.
Jim listened with a grim smile, his gray eyes steadily fixed on Pen'slovely face. Not for worlds would he have had Penelope know that Sarahad won the race on a foul. Whatever she learned about the Greek he wasdetermined she should not learn through him. He was going to win on hisown points, he told himself, and not by tattling on his rival.
It was fifteen minutes before Dennis and Sara appeared. Sara's face wasred with excitement and drawn with weariness. He walked directly to themachine and, looking up into Pen's face, exclaimed:
"If Jim has told you that I gave him a knockout to win the race, it's alie, Pen!"
Penelope looked from Jim to Uncle Denny, then back to Sara in utterbewilderment.
"Why, Sara! He never said anything of the kind! He said he had a badfall when the crowd closed in and that it put him out of the race."
"I told you to keep quiet, Sara, that Jim would never say anything!"cried Uncle Denny.
"Get in, both of you," said Jim's mother quietly. "Don't make a scene onthe street."
"If Saradokis gets in, I'll take the Elevated home," said Jim slowly.
"Don't worry!" snapped Sara. "I'm meeting my father in a moment. Pen,you believe in me, don't you?"
Pen seized his outstretched hand and gave the others an indignant look."Of course I do, though I don't know what it's all about."
Sara lifted his hat and turned away and the machine started homeward.
"Now, what on earth happened?" Pen cried.
Uncle Denny looked at Jim and Jim shook his head. "I'm not going to talkabout it," he said. "I've a right to keep silence."
Pen bounced up and down on the seat impatiently. "You haven't any suchright, Jim Manning. You've got to tell me what you said about Sara."
"Aw, let's forget it!" answered Jim wearily. "I'm sorry I ever even toldUncle Denny."
He leaned back and closed his eyes and his tired face touched Pen'sheart. "You poor dear!" she exclaimed. "It was awfully hard on you tolose the race."
Jim's mother patted her boy's hand. "You are a very blind girl,Penelope," she said. "And I'm afraid it will take long years of troubleto open your eyes. We all must just stand back and wait."
The little look of pre-knowledge that occasionally made Pen's eyes oldcame to them now as she looked at Jim's mother. "Did you learn easily,Aunt Mary?"
The older woman shook her head. "Heaven knows," she answered, "I paid aprice for what little I know, the price of experience. I guess we womenare all alike."
When they reached the brownstone front, Jim went to bed at once and thematter of the race was not mentioned among the other three at supper.Pen was offended at what she considered the lack of confidence in herand withdrew haughtily to her room. Uncle Denny went out and did notreturn until late. Jim's mother was waiting for him in their big,comfortable bedroom.
Dennis peeled off his coat and vest and wiped his forehead. "Mary," hesaid, "I've been talking to the policeman who helped Jim. He says it wasa deliberate knockout Sara gave Jim. He was standing right beside themat the time."
Jim's mother threw up her hands. "That Greek shall never come insidethis house again, Michael!"
Dennis nodded as he walked the floor. "I don't know what to do about thematter. As a lawyer, I'd say, drop it. As Jim's best friend, I feel likemaking trouble for Saradokis, though I know Jim will refuse to haveanything to do with it."
Jim's mother looked thoughtfully at the sock she was darning. "Jim hasthe right to say what shall be done. It means a lot to him in regard toits effect on Pen. But I think Pen must be told the whole story."
Uncle Denny continued to pace the floor for some time, then he sighed:"You're right, as usual, Mary. I'll tell Pen meself, and forbid Sara thehouse, then we'll drop it. I'm glad for one thing. This gives the lastblow to any hope Sara may have had of getting Jim into business withhim. Jim will take that job with the United States Reclamation Service,I hope. Though how I'm to live without me boy, Mary, its hard for me tosay."
Uncle Denny's Irish voice broke and Jim's mother suddenly rose andkissed his pink cheek.
"Michael," she said, "even if I hadn't grown so fond of you for your ownsake, I would have to love you for your love for Jim."
A sudden smile lighted the Irishman's face and he gave the slenderlittle woman a boyish hug.
"We are t
he most comfortable couple in the world, Mary!" he cried.
Uncle Denny told the story of the boys' trouble to Penelope the nextmorning. Pen flatly refused to believe it.
"I don't doubt that Jim thinks Sara meant it," she said. "But I amsurprised at Jim. And I shall have to tell you, Uncle Denny, that if youforbid Sara the house I shall meet him clandestinely. I, for one, won'tturn down an old friend."
Pen was so firm and so unreasonable that she alarmed Dennis. In spite ofhis firm resolution to the contrary, he felt obliged to tell Jim ofPenelope's obstinacy.
"I wish I'd kept my silly mouth shut," said Jim, gloomily. "Of coursethat's just the effect the story would have on Pen. She is nothing ifnot loyal. Here she comes now. Uncle Denny, I might as well have it outwith her."
The two men were standing on the library hearth rug in the old way. Pencame in with her nose in the air and fire in her eyes. Uncle Denny fledprecipitately.
Jim looked at Penelope admiringly. She was growing into a very lovelyyoung womanhood. She was not above medium height and she was slender,yet full of long, sweet curves.
"Jim!" she exclaimed, "I don't believe a word of that horrid story aboutSara."
Jim nodded. "I'm sorry it was told you. I'm not going to discuss it withyou, Pen. You were told the facts without my consent. You have a rightto your own opinion. Say, Pen, I can get my appointment to theReclamation Service and I'm going out west in a couple of weeks. I--Iwant to say something to you."
Jim moistened his lips and prayed for the right words to come. Penlooked a little bewildered. She had come in to champion Sara and was notinclined to discuss Jim's job instead. But Jim found words and spokeeagerly:
"I'm going away, Pen, to make some kind of a name to bring back to youand then, when I've made it, I'm coming for you, Penelope." He put hisstrong young hands on Pen's shoulders and looked clearly into her eyes."You belong to me, Penelope. You never can belong to Sara. You knowthat."
Pen looked up into Jim's face a little pitifully. "Still Jim, way backin my heart is a feeling for you that belongs to no one else. You--youare fine, Jim, and yet--Oh, Jim, if you want me, you'd better take menow because," this with a sudden gust of girlish confidence, "because,honestly, I'm just crazy about Sara, and I know you are better for methan he is!"
Jim gave a joyful laugh. "I'd be a mucker to try to make you marry menow, Penny. You are just a kid. And just a dear. There is an awful lotto you that Sara can never touch. You show it only to me. And it'smine."
"You'd better stay on the job, Still," said Pen, warningly.
Again Jim laughed. "Why, you sent me out west yourself."
Pen nodded. "And it will make a man of you. It will wake you up. Andwhen you wake up, you'll be a big man, Jimmy."
Pen's old look was on her face. "What do you mean, Pen?" asked Jim.
The girl shook her head. "I don't quite know. Some day, when I'velearned some of the lessons Aunt Mary says are coming to me, I'll tellyou." Then a look almost of fright came to Pen's face. "I'm afraid tolearn the lessons, Still Jim. Take me with you now, Jimmy."
The tall boy looked at her longingly, then he said:
"Dear, I mustn't. It wouldn't be treating you right." And there was asudden depth of passion in his young voice as he added, "I'm going togive you my sign and seal again, beloved."
And Jim lifted Penelope in his strong arms and laid his lips to hers ina hot young kiss that seemed to leave its impress on her very heart. Ashe set her to her feet, Penelope gave a little sob and ran from theroom.
Nothing that life brings us is so sure of itself as first love; nothingever again seems so surely to belong to life's eternal verities. Jimwent about his preparations for graduating and for leaving home withcomplete sense of security. He had arranged his future. There wasnothing more to be said on the matter. Fate had no terror for Jim. Hehad the bravery of untried youth.
The next two weeks were busy and hurried. Pen, a little wistful eyedwhenever she looked at Jim, avoided being alone with him. Saradokis didnot come to the house again. He took two weeks in the mountains aftergraduation before beginning the contracting business which his fatherhad built up for him.
As the time drew near for leaving home, Jim planned to say a number ofthings to his Uncle Denny. He wanted to tell him about his feeling forPen and he wanted to tell how much he was going to miss the fine oldIrishman's companionship. He wanted to tell him that he was not merelyJim Manning, going to work, but that he was a New Englander going forthto retrieve old Exham. But the words would not come out and Jim wentaway without realizing that Uncle Denny knew every word he would havesaid and vastly more, that only the tender Irish heart can know.
Jim's mother, Uncle Denny and Pen went to the station with him. Hekissed his mother, wrung Pen's and Dennis' hands, then climbed aboardthe train and reappeared on the observation platform. His face wasrigid. His hat was clenched in his fist. None of the watching group wasto forget the picture of him as the train pulled out. The tall, boyishfigure in the blue Norfolk suit, the thick brown hair tossed across hisdreamer's forehead, and the half sweet, half wistful smile set on hisyoung lips.
There were tears on Jim's mother's cheeks and in Pen's eyes, but UncleDenny broke down and cried.
"He's me own heart, Still Jim is!" he sobbed.