TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
PAULA AND CHARTER JOURNEY INTO THE WEST; ONE HEARS VOICES, BUT NOT THEWORDS OFTEN, FROM RAPTURE'S ROADWAY
Peter Stock had cabled to New York for officers and men to make up aship's company. The _Saragossa_ was overhauled, meanwhile, in the harborof Fort de France, and the owner expressed his intention of finishinghis healing at sea. On the same ship, which brought his seamen from NewYork, arrived in Fort de France a corps of newspaper correspondents, whowere not slow to discover that in the bandaged capitalist lay one of thegreat stones of the eruption from the American point of view. Thisliterally unseated Peter Stock from his chair on the veranda of thehotel at the Capital. With his guests, he put to sea within thirty-sixhours after the arrival of the steamer from New York; indeed, before the_Saragossa's_ paint was dry. His vitality was not abated, but the greatfigures of Pelee and Fontanel, enriched by M. Mondet as a sort ofclown-attendant, had strangely softened and strengthened thisrarely-flavored personality. As for his two guests, that month ofvoyaging in the Caribbean and below, is particularly their own. Thethree were on deck as the _Saragossa_ plied past Saint Pierre, five orsix miles deep in the roadstead, a last time. The brute, Pelee, layasleep in the sun before the gate of the whited sepulchre.
"Did I ever tell you about my last interview with M. Mondet?" PeterStock inquired.
Charter had witnessed it, on his way to the craters that morning, but hedid not say so, and was regaled with the story. "Bear witness," PeterStock finished, pointing toward the city, "that I forgive M. Mondet.Doubtless he was writing a paragraph on the staunchness of Pelee--whenhis desk was closed for him."
* * * * *
They reached New York the first week in July. No sooner had Peter Stockberthed the _Saragossa_ and breathed the big city, than he discoveredhow dearly he loved Pittsburg.... Paula went alone to the littleapartment Top-side o' Park, where Madame Nestor absolved her strongyoung queen; alone also first to _The States_, though there was a tableset for four over in Staten Island the following day....
Charter and Reifferscheid regarded each other a trifle nervously in thelatter's office, before they left for the ferry. Each, however, found inthe eyes of the other a sudden grip on finer matters than obviousexplanations, so that no adjustment of past affairs was required. ToCharter, this moment of meeting with the editor became a singularlybright memory, like certain moments with Father Fontanel. Reifferscheidhad put away all the flowerings of romance, and could not know thattheir imperishable lustre was in his eyes--for the deeper-seeing eyes ofthe woman. He was big enough to praise her happiness, big enough toburst into singing. It had been a hard moment for her, but he spranghigh among the nobilities of her heart, and was sustained.... What if itwere just a throat-singing? There was no discordant note. These are themen and the moments to clinch one's faith in the Great Good that Drivesthe World.
Selma Cross had left the _Zoroaster_, and, with Stephen Cabot, washappily on the wing, between the city, shores and mountains. _The Thing_was to open again in September at the _Herriot_, and the initial ventureinto the West was over. Had she wished, Paula was not given a chance todo without the old friendship.... The story of taking the Company downinto Kentucky from Cincinnati and fulfilling the old promise to CalhounKnox proved rare listening:
"I won't soon forget that night in Cincinnati, when I parted fromStephen Cabot," she said, falling with the same old readiness into herdisclosures. "'Stephen,' I told him, 'I am taking the Company down intoDanube to play to-morrow night in my home. I don't want you to go....'I had seen the real man shine out through physical pain many times. Itwas so now, and he looked the master in the deeper hurt. He's aself-fighter--the champion. He asked me if I meant to stay long, as Itook his cool, slim hand. I told him that I hoped not, but if ittranspired that I must stay for a while, I should come back toCincinnati--for one day--to tell him.... I saw he was the stronger. Iwas all woman that moment, all human, wanting nothing that crowds or artcould give. I think my talk became a little flighty, as I watched hisface, so brave and so white.
"I knew his heart, knew that his thoughts that moment would have burnedto the brute husk, coarser stuff than he was made of.... Here's aStephen who could smile up from the ground as--as they stoned.... So Ileft him, standing by the window, in the upper-room of the hotel,watching the moving river-lights down on the Ohio.
"Late the next afternoon I reached Danube, and was driven directly tothe theatre--which was new. There was a pang in this. The town seemedjust the same; the streets and buildings, the sounds and smells, eventhe sunset patch at the head of Main Street--all were just as theyshould be, except the theatre. You see, all the dreams of greatness ofthat savage, homely girl, had found their source and culmination in theold house of melodrama, parts of which, they told me, now were made overinto darkey shanties down by the river. I felt that my success wasqualified a little in that it had not come in the life of the old house.
"I joined the Company at the theatre, without seeing any of the Danubefolk. The audience was already gathering. Through an eyelet of thecurtain, I saw Calhoun Knox enter alone, and take a seat in the centre,five rows from the orchestra. He seemed smaller. The good brown tan wasgone. There was a twitch about his mouth that twitched mine. Other faceswere the same--even the lips that had spoken my doom so long ago. I hadno hate for them now....
"I looked at Calhoun Knox again, looked for the charm of cleansimplicity, and kept putting Stephen Cabot out of my heart and brain....This man before me had fought for me twice, when I had needed achampion.... They pulled me away from the eyelet, and _The Thing_ wason.
"I could feel the town's group-soul that night--responded to its everythought, as if a nerve-system of my own was installed in every mind.They were listening to the woman who had startled New York. I felt theirawe. It was not sweet, as I had dreamed the moment would be. After all,these were my people.
"I wanted their love, not their adulation. There had been nights back inthe East, when I had felt my audience, and turned loose _The Thing_ withutmost daring, knowing that enough of the throng could follow me. Butthis night I played slowly, played down, so that all could get it. Thiswas not a concession to the public, but a reconciliation. And at thelast, I moved and spoke pityingly, lest I hurt them; played to theworking face of Calhoun Knox with all its limitations--as you would tella story to a child, and hasten the happy ending to steady the quiveringlip.... And then it came to me slowly, after the last curtain hadfallen, that Danube was calling for its own, and I stepped out frombehind.
"'Once in the days of tumult and misunderstanding,' I told them, 'I wasangry because you did not love me. Now I know that I was not lovable.And now I feel your goodness and your forgiveness. I pray you not tothank me any more, lest I break down under too much joy....' Then Iwent down among them. A woman kissed me, but the moment was so big andmy eyes so clouded that I did not remember the face.... Presently thereal consciousness came. Danube had dropped back to the doors. My handwas in the hand of Calhoun Knox.
"Far out the Lone Ridge pike, we walked, to the foot of the Knobs. I wasbreathing the smell of my old mountains. You can rely, that I had keptmy voice bright. 'I have come back to you, Calhoun,' I said.
"'I shouldn't be here,' he stammered in real panic. 'You didn't write,and I married----'
"I could have hugged him in a way that would not have disturbed hiswife, but I said reproachfully, 'And you let me come 'way out here alonewith you, wicked Married Man?...' I started back for town, and thenthought better of it--waited for him to come up, and took his hand.
"'Calhoun,' I said, 'I found you a solid friend when I needed onepitifully. Selma Cross never forgets. You have always been my KentuckyGentleman. God bless your big bright heart. I wish you kinglyhappiness!'
"And then I did rush back. We separated at the edge of the town. Iwanted to run and cry aloud. The joy was so new and so vast that I couldscarcely hold it. Miles away, I heard the night-train whistle. Mybaggage was at the hotel, but
I didn't care for that, and reached thedepot-platform in time. The Company was there, but they had reserved aPullman. I went into the day-coach, because I wanted to be alone--satrigidly in the thin-backed seat. There were snoring, sprawling folks onevery hand.... After a long time, some one stirred in his seat andmuttered, 'High Bridge.' The brakeman came through at age-longintervals, calling stations that had once seemed to me the far country.Then across the aisle, a babe awoke and wailed. The mother had others--asweet sort of woman sick with weariness. I took the little one, and itliked the fresh arms and fell asleep. It fitted right in--the softhelpless warm little thing--and felt good to me. Dawn dimmed the oldmeadows before I gave it up to be fed--and begged it back again.
"And then Cincinnati from the river--brown river below and brownsmoke-clouds above. It seemed as if I had been gone ages, instead ofonly since yesterday. Unhampered by baggage, I sped out of theday-coach, far ahead of the Company in the Pullman, but the carriage tothe hotel was insufferably slow; the elevator dragged.... It was onlyeight in the morning, but I knew his ways--how little he slept.... Hisdoor was partly open, and I heard the crinkle of his paper, as heanswered my tap.
"'Aren't you pretty near ready for breakfast, Stephen?' I asked.... Hestood in the doorway--his head just to my breast. His face washallowed, but his body seemed to weaken. I crossed the threshold to helphim, and we--we're to be married before the new season opens."
Paula loved the story.
* * * * *
And at length Paula and Charter reached the house of his mother, whoseglory was about her, as she stood in the doorway. Before he kissed her,the mother-eyes had searched his heart.... Then she turned to hisgarland of victory.
"I am so glad you have brought me a daughter."
The women faced each other--the strangest moment in three lives.... Allthe ages passed between the eyes of the maid and the mother; and wisdomsfiner than words, as when two suns, sweeping past in their great cycle,shine across the darkness of the infinite deep; ages of gleaning,adoring, suffering, bearing, praying; ages of listening to littlechildren and building dreams out of pain; the weathered lustre of Naomiand the fresh radiance of Ruth; but over all, that look which passedbetween the women shone the secret of the meaning of men--God-taughtMotherhood.
To Charter, standing afar-off, came the simple but tremendousrevelation, just a glimpse into that lovely arcanum which mere man maynever know in full.... He saw that these two were closer than prophetsto the Lifting Heart of Things; that such are the handmaidens of theSpirit, to whom are intrusted God's avatars; that no prophet is greaterthan his mother.
To the man, it was new as the dream which nestled in Paula's heart; tothe women, it was old as the flocks on the mountain-sides of Lebanon.They turned to him smiling. And when he could speak, he said to Paula:
"I thought you would like to see the garret, and the window that facesthe East."
THE END
About Will Levington Comfort
_Author of "She Buildeth Her House" and "Routledge Rides Alone"_
(_Eight Editions_)
Well-known as one of the most successful short-story contributors toAmerican magazines, Will Levington Comfort awoke one morning a littleover a year ago to find himself famous as a long-story writer. Seldomhas the first novel of an author been accorded the very essence ofpraise from the conservative critics as was Mr. Comfort's "RoutledgeRides Alone," acknowledged to be the best book of 1910.
While young in years, Mr. Comfort, who is thirty-three, is old inexperience. In 1898 he enlisted in the Fifth United States Cavalry, andsaw Cuban service in the Spanish-American War. The following year herode as a war correspondent in the Philippines a rise which resultedfrom vivid letters written to newspapers from the battlefields andprisons.
Stricken with fever, wearied of service and thinking of Home, he wasnext ordered by cable up into China to watch the lid lifted from theLegations at Peking. Here he saw General Liscum killed on the TientsinWall and got his earliest glance of the Japanese in war. Another attackof fever completely prostrated him and he was sent home on the hospitalship "Relief."
In the interval between the Boxer Uprising and the Russo-Japanese War,Mr. Comfort began to dwell upon the great fundamental facts ofworld-politics. But the call of smoke and battle was too strong, and,securing a berth as war-correspondent for a leading midwesternnewspaper, he returned to the far East and the scenes of theRusso-Japanese conflict in 1904. He was present at the battle ofLiaoyang his description of which in "Routledge Rides Alone" fairlyoverwhelms the reader.
Few novels of recent years have aroused the same enthusiasm as wasevoked by this story of "Routledge." Book reviewers both in this countryand in Europe have suggested that the book should win for its author thePeace prize because it is one of the greatest and most effectivearguments against warfare that has ever been presented.
By WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT
ROUTLEDGE RIDES ALONE
COLORED FRONTISPIECE BY MARTIN JUSTICE
Here is a tale indeed--big and forceful, palpitating with interest, andwritten with the sureness of touch and the breadth of a man who ismaster of his art. Mr. Comfort has drawn upon two practically newstory-places in the world of fiction to furnish the scenes for hisnarrative--India and Manchuria at the time of the Russo-Japanese War.While the novel is distinguished by its clear and vigorous war scenes,the fine and sweet romance of the love of the hero, Routledge--a brave,strange, and talented American--for the "most beautiful woman in London"rivals these in interest.
The story opens in London, sweeps up and down Asia, and reaches its mostrousing pitch on the ghastly field of Liaoyang, in Manchuria. Theone-hundred-mile race from the field to a free cable outside the warzone, between Routledge and an English war correspondent, is as excitingand enthralling as anything that has appeared in fiction in recentyears.
"A big, vital, forceful story that towers giant-high--a romance to lure the hours away in tense interest--a book with a message for all mankind."--_Detroit Free Press._
"Three such magnificent figures as Routledge, Noreen, and Rawder never before have appeared together in fiction. Take it all in all, 'Routledge Rides Alone' is a great novel, full of sublime conception, one of the few novels that are as ladders from heaven to earth."--_San Francisco Argonaut._
"The story unfolds a vast and vivid panorama of life. The first chapters remind one strongly of the descriptive Kipling we once knew. We commend the book for its untamed interest. We recommend it for its descriptive power."--_Boston Evening Transcript._
"Here is one of the strongest novels of the year; a happy blending of romance and realism, vivid, imaginative, dramatic, and, above all, a well told story with a purpose. It is a red-blooded story of war and love, with a touch of the mysticism of India, some world politics, love of country, and hate of oppression--a tale of clean and expert workmanship, powerful and personal."--_Pittsburg Dispatch._
"Three such magnificent figures (Routledge, Noreen, and Rawder) have seldom before appeared together in fiction. For knowledge, energy, artistic conception, and literary skill, it is easily the book of the day--A GREAT NOVEL, full of a sublime conception, one of the few novels that are as ladders from heaven to earth."--_San Francisco Argonaut._
"EASILY THE BOOK OF THE DAY"--_San Francisco Argonaut._
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