CHAPTER XII
ROBERT MORTON MAKES A RESOLVE
Robert Morton returned from Belleport in a mood bordering on ecstasy,his path now clear before him. He would woo Delight Hathaway and winher, and with a strong mutual love and hope they would set forth inlife together. He had, to be sure, no capital but his youth, hisstrength, and his education, but he did not shrink from hard work andfelt certain that he would be able not only to keep want in abeyancebut place happiness within the reach of the woman he loved.
Until Madam Lee, with her keen-visioned knowledge of human nature, hadranged in perspective all the tangled circumstances that had soinsidiously woven themselves about him, he had been unable to see hisway. The fetters that held him were so delicate and intangible thatwith an exaggerated sense of honor he had magnified them into bonds ofsteel, never daring to believe that they might be snapped and leave noscar. But now the facts stood lucidly forth. There was no actualengagement between himself and Cynthia, nor had there ever been anytalk of one. He simply had been thrown constantly into her society andhad drifted, at first thoughtlessly and afterward indifferently, untilthere had been created not only in the mind of the girl but also in theminds of all her family a tacit expectation that ultimately theirpermanent union would be consummated.
From the Galbraiths' point of view such a marriage would have been avery gratifying one, for although Robert Morton was without money, inhis sterling character and his potentalities for success they had everyfaith. A span of years of intimacy had tested his worth, and had thisnot been the case his friendship with Roger had proved the tough fiberof his manliness. Of all their son's college acquaintances there wasnone who had been welcomed into the Galbraith home with the cordialitythat had greeted Robert Morton. At first they had received himgraciously for their boy's sake, but later this initial sufferance hadbeen supplanted by an affectionate regard existing purely because ofhis own merits. They had loaded him with favors, pressed theirhospitality upon him, and but for a certain pride and independence thatrestrained them would have smoothed his financial difficulties with thesame lavishness they had those of their son.
Many a time Mr. Galbraith, unable to endure the sight of Bob's rigidself-denial, had delicately hinted at assistance, only to have theoffer as delicately declined. It hurt and piqued the financier to beso firmly kept at a distance and be obliged to witness privations whicha small gift of money might have alleviated; moreover he liked his ownway and did not enjoy being balked in it by a schoolboy. Yet beneathhis irritation he paid tribute to the self-respecting determinationthat had prompted the rebuff. The world in which he moved held few menof such ideals. Rather he had repeatedly been courted by the grafter,the promoter, the social climber, each beneath a thinly disguisedfriendship working for his own selfish ends. But here at last was thenovel phenomena of one who scorned pelf, who would not even allow hisgratitude to be bought. The sight was refreshing. It rejuvenated theNew Yorker's jaded belief in human nature.
Forced to withdraw his bounty, he had sat back and watched while theacademic career of the two young men wore on and at its close had seenthe roads of the classmates divide, his own boy entering the lawschool, while Robert Morton, whose mind had always been of scientifictrend, enrolled at Technology, there to take up post-graduate work innaval architecture. The choice of this subject reflected largely thecapitalist's influence, for his own great fortune had been amassed inan extensive shipbuilding enterprise in which he saw the opportunity ofplacing advantageously a young man of Robert Morton's exceptionalability. The promised position was a variety of favor that Bob, proudthough he was, saw no reason for declining. The opening, to be sure,would be his as a consequence of Mr. Galbraith's kindness, but theretention of the position would rest on his personal worth and hardwork, a very satisfactory condition to one who demanded that he remaincaptain of his soul. Hence he had deliberately trained for the postand it was understood that the following October he would assume it.It was a flattering beginning for a novice, the salary guaranteed beinggenerous and the chances for advancement alluring. Nor did the greatman who had founded the business conceal from the ambitious neophytethat later he might be called upon to fill the niche left vacant byRoger's flight into professional life.
Such was the nicety with which Robert Morton had been dovetailed intothe Galbraith plans, his welcome in every direction assured him. Andnow here he stood confronted by the probable overthrow of the wholedelicately balanced structure. If he did not marry Cynthia andselected instead another bride, he risked forfeiting the regard ofthose who had become dear to him, imperilling his friendship withRoger, and sacrificing the brilliant and gratifying future for which hehad so patiently labored. Never again, he knew beyond a question,would such an opportunity come within his grasp. He would be obligedto start out unheralded and painfully fight his way to recognition.That recognition would be his he did not doubt, for he never yet hadfailed in that to which he had set his hand. But, alas, the wearyyears before he would be able to make a hurrying universe sense that hewas alive! He knew what struggle meant when stripped of its illusions,for had he not toiled for his education in the sweat of his brow? Thetriumph of the achievement had been sweet, but for the moment thecourage to resume the weary, up-hill plodding deserted him. Why, itwould be years before he could marry a girl who was accustomed to evenas few luxuries as was Delight Hathaway!
And suppose a miracle happened and Mr. Galbraith was large-mindedenough still to hold out to him the former offer? Should he wish toaccept it? Would it not be almost charity? No, if he refusedCynthia's hand--and that was what, in bald terms, it would amountto--he must decline the other favor as well and be independent of theGalbraiths for good and all. Otherwise his position would beunendurable. It was an odious situation, the one in which he foundhimself. Only a cad cast a woman's heart back at her feet. Theunchivalrousness of the act grated upon every fiber of his sensitivelyattuned, high-minded nature. Yet, as Madam Lee had reminded him,would he not be doing Cynthia a greater injustice if he married herwithout love. Friendship and brotherly affection were all he couldhonestly bestow, and although these he gave with all sincerity, as henow examined his heart in the light of the revelations real love hadbrought, he realized that beyond their confines existed a realm intowhich Cynthia Galbraith, fair though she was, had never set foot. Nowoman had crossed that magic threshold until now, when her presencestirred all the blended emotions of his manhood. Humility, tenderness,reverence possessed him; self descended from its throne of egoism andyielded its scepter to another; the hot blood of the primitive, untamedViking raced in his veins. Soul, mind, heart, body were all awakened.He was a dolt who confused genuine passion with the milder preferencesof callow youth.
Delight Hathaway was his mate, created for him before the hills inorder stood. It was as inevitable that they should come together asthat the river should sweep out to meet the sea, or the lily open tothe kiss of the sunlight. All that this woman was in purity, ingraciousness of heart, in brilliancy of intellect he loved, adored,approved; all that she was in physical beauty he reverenced andcoveted. Her lot had been strangely cast and the scope of it limitedto a very narrow vista. Oh, for success to place at her feet theriches of the earth! With such a goal to lure one on what was toil!Faugh! He laughed aloud at the word.
Madam Lee, with her unerring intuition, had probed his heart and readhis destiny aright.
His future lay not with this pampered daughter of a great house whoseselfishness he had repeatedly excused and refused to recognize; norwould he purchase worldly prosperity at the price of his soul. Castingaside the easier way, he would follow the rough path that mountedupward to the star of his desire. Before the waning of another moonboth of these women who had come into his world should know hisintentions and have the opportunity to accept or reject that which hehad to offer them. He hoped Cynthia would understand and forgive; hewas fond of Cynthia. And he hoped, prayed, implored Heaven thatDelight Hathaway would not tur
n a deaf ear to his entreaties, forwithout the prize on which his hopes were set life's race would not beworth the running.
Well, he would not allow the thought of failure any place in his mind.Victory should be his--it would be, _must_ be! See how all the worldsmiled on the vow he registered. The sky had never stretched morecloudlessly above his head; the air had never been sweeter, the dancingripples of the bay gladder in their golden scintillations. The wholeuniverse throbbed with youth and its dauntless supremacy. Somethingtold him he would conquer and with a high heart he alighted at the doorof the dear, familiar gray cottage.
Willie came to meet him.
"Well, son," said he, reaching forth his hands, "If I ain't glad to seeyou flitting home again! I've missed you like as if the two days wastwo weeks. I reckon your aunt has, too. Anyhow, she took to her bedquick as you was out of sight an' ain't been seen since."
"Aunt Tiny ill!"
"No, not sick exactly," explained Willie, as arm in arm they proceededup the walk. "She's just struck of a heap with a lame shoulder such asshe has sometimes. She can't move a peg, poor soul!"
"Great Scott! That's hard luck! Then since you're short-handed, Ishall be more bother than I'm worth round here. I'd better have stayedwhere I was. You won't want any extra people to look out for and feednow, I fancy."
"Oh, law, I ain't doin' the cookin'!" grinned the little inventor, asif the bare notion of such a thing amused him vastly. "Why, I could nomore cook a dish that was fit to eat than a mariner could run a pinktea. I'd die of starvation if the victuals was left to me. Let alonethe cookin', we'd 'a' had to have help anyhow, 'cause Tiny's toomiserable to do much for herself. So we've got in one of theneighbors."
"It's a shame!"
"Oh, we'll pull through alive," smiled Willie, cheerfully. "We'vepiloted our way through many a worse channel. This spell of Tiny'sain't nothin' she's goin' to die of, thank the Lord! She takes coldsudden sometimes, an' it always makes straight for that shoulder ofhers, stiffenin' up every muscle in it. She'll admire to see you homeagain, I know. The sight of you will probably make her better rightaway. You can run up to her room now if you choose to. I'll be roundin the shop when you want me."
With a beaming countenance the old man turned away.
Robert Morton opened the screen door diffidently, speculating as towhom he would confront in the kitchen; then he stopped, arrested on thedoorsill.
At the wooden table near the pantry window stood Delight Hathaway, hersleeves rolled to the elbow, and her slender figure enveloped in avoluminous gingham pinafore that covered her from chin to ankle and wastied in place at the back by a pert bow. She was sifting flour into amammoth yellow bowl, and as she stirred the mixture the sweep of herround white arm brought a flood of color into her cheeks and wreathedher brow with tiny, damp ringlets.
Bob held his breath, hungrily devouring her with his eyes, but a quickbreeze brought the door to with a bang and the girl glanced over hershoulder.
"All hail!" she cried, the dimple darting out of hiding with her smile."You have a new cook, monsieur."
"My word!" was all the young man could stammer.
"Is it as bad as all that?" she laughed.
"No--but--Great Hat--this is--is awful, you know."
"What is awful?" returned she, turning to face him.
"Why, having you come here and cook for us two men."
"Oh, I'm always cooking for somebody," was the matter-of-fact retort."Why not you?"
"Well, it makes me feel like a--it doesn't seem right, somehow."
"It's as right as possible. I rather like it," said she, darting him aroguish look, then bending over the bowl before her.
"Well, you must let me help you, anyway. Can't I--I butter something?"
"Butter something!"
"Yes, things are always having to be buttered, aren't they--pans, anddishes, and cups--" he paused vaguely.
Her laugh echoed like a chime of miniature bells.
"I am sorry to say the pan is already buttered," replied she. "Whatother accomplishments have you?"
"Oh, I can do anything I am told," came eagerly from Bob.
"That's something, anyway. Then fetch me some flour, please."
"Flour?"
"It's in the barrel. No, that's the sugar bowl. The barrel under theshelf."
"The barrel! To be sure. Barrel ahoy! How could I have mistaken itssylph-like form? How much flour do you want?"
"Just a little."
She passed the sieve to him and went to inspect the oven.
Bob caught up the sifter, filled it to the brim, and came toward her,turning the handle as he approached.
"I say, this is great, isn't it?" he observed, so intent on themechanism of the device that he did not notice the track of whitenesswhich he was leaving behind him. "It is like winding up a victrola."
Whistling a random strain from _Faust_ he turned the handle faster.
"Oh, Bob!" burst out Delight. "Look what you're doing."
Obediently he looked but did not comprehend. Her slip of the tonguehad banished every other idea from his mind.
"Say it again, please."
"What?"
"Say _Bob_ again as you did just now."
"I--didn't know I did," faltered the girl. "I--I--forgot."
"Forgot."
He dropped the sifter into the bowl and his hand closed firmly over theone that now rested on its yellow rim.
"Oh, see what you've done!" cried she. "You have spilled all thatflour into the cake."
"No matter." His eyes were on hers.
"But it does matter. Willie's cake will be spoiled."
She tried vainly to draw away from the grip that imprisoned her.
"Please let me go."
He bent across the table until he could almost feel the blood beatingin her cheeks.
"Say it once more," he pleaded.
Again her hand fluttered in his strong grasp.
"Please!"
"Please what?" persisted Robert Morton.
"Please--please--Bob," she murmured.
He was at the other side of the table now, but she was no longer there.Instead she stood at the screen door, shaking the flour from her apron.
"Don't move!" she cried severely. "You've walked all through thatflour and are tracking it about every step you take. Look at thepantry! I shall have to sweep it all up."
"I'll do it," he answered with instant penitence.
"No. You sit right down there in that chair and don't you stir. Iwill go and get the dustpan and brush."
"I'm awfully sorry," called Bob, plunged into the depths of despair."I didn't realize that when you turned the handle of the darn thing thestuff went through."
"What did you think a flour-sifter was for?" asked she, dimpling.
"I wasn't thinking of flour-sifters," declared he significantly.
He saw her blush.
"Mayn't I please get up?"
"No. Not until your shoes are brushed off," she replied provokingly.
"Let me take the brush then."
"Don't you see I am using it?"
"You could let me take it a second."
"I have been taught to complete one task before I began another," wasthe tantalizing reply, as she went on with her sweeping.
"The deuce!"
"You must not swear in my presence," she commanded, attempting toconceal a smile.
"Then stop dimpling that dimple."
"Don't you like dimples?" inquired she demurely. "Now Billy Farwellthinks that my dimples--"
"Hang Billy Farwell!"
"How rude of you! Billy never consigns you to such a fate." Shewaited, then added, "All he ever says is '_Confound Morton_.'"
"I thought he had more spirit," was the ungrateful rejoinder.
"Oh, he has spirit enough," she explained. "He would say much more ifhe were allowed."
She saw Robert start forward.
"Of course," she went on in an even
tone, "I shouldn't permit him toabuse a friend of Willie's."
"Oh, that's the reason you put the check on him, is it?"
"Aren't you Willie's friend?" she questioned evasively.
"Yes, but--"
"You don't seem to appreciate your luck. Now I adore Willie andbelieve that any one who has his friendship is the most fortunateperson in the world."
He saw a grave and tender light creep into her wonderful eyes.
"I'm not arguing about Willie," said he. "You know how much I care forhim. But I can't think of him now. It's you I'm thinkingof--you--you."
She did not answer but bent her head lower over her sweeping.
"I don't believe there is any flour on my shoes, any way," grumbled theculprit presently, stooping to examine his feet with the air of aguilty child. He thought he heard her laugh.
"How much longer are you going to keep me in this infernal chair?" hefumed.
"Bob!" called a voice from upstairs.
"It's your aunt; she must have heard you come in."
He sprang up only to come into collision with the dustpan full of flourwhich lay near his chair. A second more and the fruits of the sweepingdrifted broadcast in a powdery cloud.
"Delight! Dearest!" he cried, bending over the kneeling figure.
"You must go upstairs and see your aunt--please!" she begged. "Shewill think it so strange."
"All right, sweetheart. I'm coming, Aunt Tiny."
When Willie entered a few moments later in search of his co-laborer,Delight was alone. He glanced questioningly about the room,--at thegirl's flushed cheeks, the half-made cake, the snowy floor.
"Bob--Mr. Morton spilled some flour," the young woman explained,evading his eye.
The little old man made no response. He studied the burning face, thedrooping lashes; he also looked meditatively at some footprints on thefloor. They may not have been as startling in their significance aswere the famous marks Crusoe discovered in the sand, but they werequite as illuminating.
A trail of small ones led about the room and beside them, as if echoingto their light tread, was a series of larger ones. The inventor's gazepursued them curiously to a spot before the stove where they becamevery much confused and afterward branched apart, the larger settrailing off toward the stairs, and the smaller moving back into thepantry.
The detective stroked his chin for an interval.
"U--m!" observed he thoughtfully.