Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John

  CHAPTER XIX

  "THREE TIMES"

  Softly stepping over the thick carpets, which deadened the sound ofthe crutches--now becoming scarcely necessary to her--the young girlpassed along the corridor, passing angles and turns innumerable on herway to her room. Some erratic architect certainly concocted theplan of the Hotel del Coronado. It is a very labyrinth of passagesconnecting; its nine hundred rooms, and one has to have a good bump oflocation to avoid getting lost in its mazes.

  Near one of the abrupt turns a door stood ajar, and in passing Myrtleglanced in, and then paused involuntarily. It was a small parlor,prettily furnished, and in a big chair reclined a man whose hands wereboth pressed tight against his face, thus covering it completely. ButMyrtle knew him. The thin frame, as well as the despairing attitude,marked him as the man who had come so strangely into her life andwhose personality affected her so strangely. She now stood in thedimly lighted corridor looking in upon him with infinite pity, and asshe looked her glance fell upon the table beside him, where somethingbright glittered beneath the electric lamps.

  Her heart gave a sudden thump of mingled fear and dismay. She knewintuitively what that "something" was. "Let him," Uncle John had said;but Myrtle instantly determined _not_ to let him.

  She hesitated a moment; but seeing that the man remained motionless,his eyes still covered, as if lost to all his surroundings, she softlycrept forward and entered the room. She held the crutches under herarms, but dared not use them for fear of making a noise. Step by stepshe stole forward until the table was within reach. Then she stretchedout her hand, seized the revolver, and hid it in the folds of herblouse.

  Turning for a final glance at the man she was startled to find he hadremoved his hands and was steadfastly regarding her.

  Myrtle leaned heavily on her crutches. She felt faint and miserable,like a criminal caught in the act. As her eyes fell before the intentgaze her face turned scarlet with humiliation and chagrin. Still, shedid not attempt to escape, the idea not occurring to her; so for atime the tableau was picturesque--the lame girl standing motionlesswith downcast eyes and the man fixedly staring at her.

  "Three times!" he slowly said, in a voice finally stirred by a traceof emotion. "Three times. My child, why are you so persistent?"

  Myrtle tried to be brave and meet his gaze. It was not quite sodifficult now the silent man had spoken.

  "Why do you force me to be persistent?" she asked, a tremor in hervoice. "Why are you determined to--to--"

  Words failed her, but he nodded to show he understood.

  "Because," said he, "I am tired; very tired, my child. It's a bigworld; too big, in fact; but there's nothing in it for me any more."

  There was expression enough in his voice now; expression of utterdespondency.

  "Why?" asked Myrtle, somewhat frightened to find herself so bold.

  He did not answer for a long time, but sat reading her mobile faceuntil a gentler look came into his hard blue eyes.

  "It is a story too sad for young ears," he finally replied. "Perhaps,too, you would not understand it, not knowing or understanding me. I'man odd sort of man, well along in years, and I've lived an odd sortof life. But my story, such as it is, has ended, and I'm too weary tobegin another volume."

  "Oh, no!" exclaimed Myrtle, earnestly. "Surely this cannot be thefulfillment and end of your life. If it were, why should _I_ come intoyour life just now?"

  He stared at her with a surprised--an even startled--look.

  "Have you come into my life?" he inquired, in a low, curious tone.

  "Haven't I?" she returned. "At the Grand Canyon--"

  "I know," he interrupted hastily. "That was your mistake; and mine.You should not have interfered. I should not have let you interfere."

  "But I did," said Myrtle.

  "Yes. Somehow your voice sounded like a command, and I obeyed it;perhaps because no living person has a right to command me. You--youtook me by surprise."

  He passed his hand over his eyes with that weary gesture peculiar tohim, and then fell silent.

  Myrtle had remained standing. She did not know what to do in thisemergency, or what more to say. The conversation could not be ended inthis summary fashion. The hopeless man needed her in some way; how,she did not know. Feeling weak and very incompetent to meet theimportant crisis properly, the girl crept to a chair opposite the manand sank into it. Then she leaned her chin upon her hand and lookedpleadingly at her strange acquaintance. He met her eyes frankly.The hard look in his own seemed to have disappeared, dispelled by asympathy that was new to him.

  And so they sat, regarding one another silently yet musingly, for along time.

  "I wish," said Myrtle once, in her softest, sweetest tones, "I couldhelp you. Some one helped me when I was in great trouble, so I want tohelp you."

  He did not reply, and another period of silence ensued. But his nextspeech showed he had been considering her words.

  "Because you have suffered," he said, "you have compassion for otherswho suffer. But your trouble is over now?"

  "Almost," she said, smiling brightly.

  He sighed, but questioned her no farther.

  "A while ago," she volunteered, "I had neither friends nor relatives."He gave her a queer look, then. "I had no money. I had been hurt in anaccident and was almost helpless. But I did not despair, sir--and I amonly an inexperienced girl.

  "In my darkest hour I found friends--kind, loving friends--who showedme a new world that I had not suspected was in existence. I thinkthe world is like a great mirror," she continued, meditatively, "andreflects our lives just as we ourselves look upon it. Those who turnsad faces toward the world find only sadness reflected. But a smile isreflected in the same way, and cheers and brightens our hearts. Youthink there is no pleasure to be had in life. That is because you areheartsick and--and tired, as you say. With one sad story ended you areafraid to begin another--a sequel--feeling it would be equally sad.But why should it be? Isn't the joy or sorrow equally divided inlife?"

  "No," he replied.

  "A few days ago," she continued earnestly, "we were crossing theArizona deserts. It was not pleasant, but we did not despair, forwe knew the world is not all desert and that the land of roses andsunshine lay just beyond. Now that we're in California we've forgottenthe dreary desert. But you--Why, sir, you've just crossed your desert,and you believe all the world is bitter and cruel and holds no joy foryou! Why don't you step out bravely into the roses and sunshine oflife, and find the joy that has been denied you?"

  He looked into her eyes almost fearfully, but it seemed to her thathis own held a first glimmer of hope.

  "Do you believe there can be joy for me anywhere in the world?" heasked.

  "Of course. I tell you there's just as much sweet as there is bitterin life. Don't I know it? Haven't I proved it? But happiness doesn'tchase people who try to hide from it. It will meet you halfway, butyou've got to do your share to deserve it. I'm not preaching; I'velived this all out, in my own experience, and know what I'm talkingabout. Now as for you, sir, I can see very plainly you haven't beendoing your duty. You've met sorrow and let it conquer you. You'vetaken melancholy by the hand and won't let go of it. You haven't triedto fight for your rights--the rights God gave to every man and expectshim to hold fast to and take advantage of. No, indeed!"

  "But what is the use?" he asked, timidly, yet with an eager look inhis face. "You are young, my child; I am nearly old enough to havebeen your father. There are things you have not yet learned; things Ihope you will never learn. An oak may stand alone in a field, and belonely because it cannot touch boughs with another. A flower may bloomalone in a garden, and wither and die for want of companionship. God'swisdom grouped every living thing. He gave Adam a comrade. He createdno solitary thing. But see, my child: although this world containscountless thousands, there is not one among them I may call myfriend."

  "Oh, yes; just one!" said Myrtle quickly. "I am your friend. Notbecause you want me, but because you need me. And that
's a beginning,isn't it? I can find other friends for you, among _my_ friends, andyou will be sure to like them because I like them."

  This naive suggestion did not affect him as much as the fact that thisfair young girl had confessed herself his friend. He did not look atMyrtle now; he stared straight ahead, at the wall paper, and his browwas furrowed as if he was thinking deeply.

  Perhaps any other man would have thanked the girl for her sympathy andher proffered friendship, or at the least have acknowledged it. Butnot so this queer Mr. Jones; eccentric, indeed, as the shrewd landlordhad described him. Nor did Myrtle seem to expect an acknowledgment.It was enough for her that her speech had set him thinking along newlines.

  He sat musing for so long that she finally remembered it was growinglate, and began to fear Patsy and Beth would seek their rooms, whichconnected with her own, and find her absent. That would worry them. Soat last she rose softly, took her crutches and turned to go.

  "Good night, my--friend," she said.

  "Good night, my child," he answered in a mechanical tone, withoutrousing from his abstraction.

  Myrtle went to her room and found it was not so late as she hadfeared. She opened a drawer and placed the revolver in it, not withouta little shudder.

  "At any rate," she murmured, with satisfaction, "he will not use thisto-night."