The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig: A Novel

  CHAPTER XXIV

  "OUR HOUSE IS AFIRE"

  Next morning she was up and in her dressing-room and had almost finishedher toilette before he awakened. For the first time in years--perhapsthe first time since the end of her happy girlhood and the beginning ofher first season in Washington society--she felt like singing. Was thereever such a dawn? Did ever song of birds sound so like the voice ofeternal youth? Whence had come this air like the fumes from thewinepresses of the gods? And the light! What colors, what tints, uponmountain and valley and halcyon lake! And the man asleep in the nextroom--yes, there WAS a Joshua Craig whom she found extremely trying attimes; but that Joshua Craig had somehow resigned the tenancy of thestrong, straight form there, had resigned it to a man who was the livingexpression of all that bewitched her in these wilds.

  She laughed softly at her own ecstasy of exaggeration. "The other Joshwill come back," she reminded herself, "and I must not forget to bepractical. THIS is episodic." These happy, superhuman episodes wouldcome, would pass, would recur at intervals; but the routine of her lifemust be lived. And if these episodes were to recur the practical mustnot be neglected. "It's by neglecting the practical that so many wivescome to grief," reflected she. And the first mandate of the practicalwas that he must be rescued from that vulgar political game, which meantpoverty and low associations and tormenting uncertainties. He must begot where his talents would have their due, their reward. But subtlyguiding him into the way that would be best for him was a far differentmatter from what she had been planning up to last night's moonrise--wasas abysmally separated from its selfish hypocrisy as love from hate. Shewould persist in her purpose, but how changed the motive!

  She heard him stirring in her--no, THEIR room. Her face lighted up, hereyes sparkled. She ran to the mirror for a final primp before he shouldsee her. She was more than pleased with the image she saw reflectedthere. "I never looked better in my life--never so well. I'm glad I keptback this particular dress. He's sure to like it, and it certainly isbecoming to me--the best-fitting skirt I ever had--what good lines ithas about the hips." She startled at a knock upon the door. She rushedaway from the mirror. He had small physical vanity himself--she hadnever known any one with so little. He had shown that he thought she hadno vanity of that kind, either, and he would doubtless misunderstand hersolicitude about her personal appearance. Anyhow, of all mornings thiswould be the worst for him to catch her at the glass.

  "Yes?" she called.

  "Margaret," came in his voice. And, oh, the difference in it!--the noteof tenderness--no, it was not imagination, it was really there! Her eyesfilled and her bosom heaved.

  "Are you joining me at breakfast?"

  "Come in," cried she.

  When the door did not open she went and opened it. There stood HE! If hehad greeted her with a triumphant, proprietorial expression she wouldhave been--well, it would have given her a lowered opinion of hissensibility. But his look was just right--dazzled, shy, happy. Nor didhe make one of his impetuous rushes. He almost timidly took her hand,kissed it; and it was she who sought his shoulder--gladly, eagerly, witha sudden, real shyness. "Margaret," he said. "Mine--aren't you?"

  Here was the Joshua she was to know thenceforth, she felt. This Joshuawould enable her to understand, or, rather, to disregard, so far as shepersonally was concerned, the Josh, tempestuous, abrupt, often absurd,whom the world knew. But--As soon as they went where the guides were,the familiar Josh returned--boyish, boisterous, rather foolish in tryingto be frivolous and light. Still--what did it matter? As soon as theyshould be alone again--

  When they set out after breakfast her Joshua still did not return, asshe had confidently expected. The obstreperous one remained, the onethat was the shrewdly-developed cover for his everlasting scheming mind."What an unending ass I've been making of myself," he burst out, "withmy silly notions." He drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to her."And this infernal thing of Grant's has been encouraging me in idiocy."

  She read the Arkwright gentleman's gazette and complete guide to dressand conduct in the society of a refined gentlewoman. Her impulse was tolaugh, an impulse hard indeed to restrain when she came to the last lineof the document and read in Grant's neat, careful-man's handwriting withheavy underscorings: "Above all, never forget that you are a mightystiff dose for anybody, and could easily become an overdose for arefined, sensitive lady." But prudent foresight made her keep hercountenance. "This is all very sensible," said she.

  "Sensible enough," assented he. "I've learned a lot from it.... Did youread that last sentence?"

  She turned her face away. "Yes," she said.

  "That, taken with everything else, all but got me down," said hesomberly. "God, what I've been through! It came near preventing us fromdiscovering that you're not a grand lady but a human being." His moodveered, and it was he that was gay and she glum; for he suddenly seizedher and subjected her to one of those tumultuous ordeals so disastrousto toilette and to dignity and to her sense of personal rights. Not thatshe altogether disliked; she never had altogether disliked, had found acertain thrill in his rude riotousness. Still, she preferred the otherJoshua Craig, HER Joshua, who wished to receive as well as to give. Andshe wished that Joshua, her Joshua, would return. She herself hadthought that, so far as she was concerned, those periods of tender andgentle sentiment would be episodic; but it was another thing for him tothink so--and to show it frankly. "I feel as if I'd had an adventurewith a bear," said she, half-laughing, half-resentful.

  "So you did," declared he; "I'm a bear--and every other sort ofanimal--except rabbit. There's no rabbit in me. Now, your men--the GrantArkwrights--are all rabbit."

  "At least," said she, "do refrain from tearing my hair down. A woman whodoes her hair well hates to have it mussed."

  "I'll try to remember," was his careless answer. "As I was about to say,our discovery that you are not a lady out of a story-book, but a humanbeing and a very sweet one--it came just in the nick of time. We'releaving here to-night."

  Now she saw the reason for the persistence of the Craig of noise andbluster--and craft. "To-night?" she exclaimed. "It's impossible."

  "Yes--we go at five o'clock. Tickets are bought--sleeper sectionengaged--everything arranged."

  "But Uncle Dan doesn't expect us for four days yet."

  "I've sent him a telegram."

  "But I can't pack."

  "Selina can."

  "Impossible in such a little time."

  "Then I'll do it," said Craig jovially. "I can pack a trunk twice asquick as any man you ever saw. I pack with my feet as well as with myhands."

  "It's impossible," repeated she angrily. "I detest being hurried."

  "Hurried? Why, you've got nine hours to get used to the idea. Ninehours' warning for anything isn't haste."

  "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" demanded she, coming to a fullstop and expecting thus to compel him to face her. But he marched on.

  "It has been my lifelong habit," declared he over his shoulder, "toarrange everything before disclosing my plans. You'll find, as we geton, that it will save you a lot of fretting and debating."

  Reluctantly and with the humiliating sense of helpless second fiddle shefollowed him along the rough path. "I loathe surprises," she said.

  "Then adjust your mind to not being surprised at anything from me."

  He laughed noisily at his own humor. She was almost hating him again. Heseemed to have eyes in the back of his head; for as she shot a fieryglance at him he whirled round, shook his forefinger maddeningly at her:"Now listen to me, my dear," said he, in his very worst manner, mostaggressive, most dictatorial; "if you had wanted an ordinary sort of manyou should have married one and not me."

  "Don't you think common courtesy required you at least to consult meabout such a matter?"

  "I do not. If I had I should have done so. I found it was necessary thatwe go. I went ahead and arranged it. If you saw the house on fire wouldyou wait till you had consulted me before putting it out?"
br />   "But this is entirely different."

  "Not at all. Entirely the same, on the contrary. The talk we had daybefore yesterday convinced me that our house is afire. I'm going to putit out." He shut his teeth together with a snap, compressed his lips,gave her one of those quick, positive nods of his Viking head. Then hecaught her by the arm. "Now," said he jocosely, "let's go back to camp.You want to do your packing. I've got to go over to the station andtelegraph some more."

  She wrenched her arm away pettishly and, with sullen face, accompaniedhim to the camp. It was all she could do to hide her anger when, in fullsight of the guides, he swept her up into his arms and kissed herseveral times. Possibly she would have been really angered, deeplyangered, had she realized that these cyclones were due, as a rule, notso much to appreciation of her as to the necessity of a strongcounter-irritant to a sudden attack of awe of her as a fine lady anddoubt of his own ability to cope with her. "Good-by, Rita," cried he,releasing her as suddenly as he had seized her and rushing toward thelanding. "If I don't get back till the last minute be sure you're ready.Anything that isn't ready will be left behind--anything or anybody!"

  The idea of revolt, of refusing to go, appealed to her first angerstrongly. But, on consideration, she saw that merely asserting herrights would not be enough--that she must train him to respect them. Ifshe refused to go he would simply leave her; yes, he was just the man,the wild man, to do precisely that disgraceful thing. And she would behorribly afraid to spend the night alone in those woods with only theguides and Selina, not to speak of facing the morrow--for he mightrefuse to take her back! Where would she turn in that case? What wouldher grandmother say? Who would support her in making such a scandal andgiving up a husband for reasons that could not be made impressive inwords though they were the best of all reasons in terms of feeling? No,if she gave him up she would be absolutely alone, condemned on everyhand, in the worst possible position. Then, too, the break wasunattractive for another reason. Though she despised herself for herweakness, she did not wish to give up the man who had given her thatbrief glimpse of happiness she had dreamed as one dreams animpossibility. Did not wish? Could not--would not--give him up. "Ibelong to him!" she thought with a thrill of ecstasy and of despair.

  "But he'd better be careful!" she grumbled. "If I should begin todislike him there'd be no going back." And then it recurred to her thatthis would be as great a calamity of loss for her as for him--and shewent at her packing in a better humor. "I'll explain to him that I yieldthis once, but--" There she stopped herself with a laugh. Of what use toexplain to him?--him who never listened to explanations, who did notcare a fig why people did as he wished, but was content that they did.As for warning him about "next time"--how ridiculous! She could hear hispenetrating, rousing voice saying: "We'll deal with 'next time' when itcomes."