CHAPTER XLIX
That evening when Natalie was driving him home Lewis told her thatto-morrow was good-by. Gip, as usual, was holding Natalie's attention sothat she could scarcely pay heed to what Lewis was saying. But thecentral fact that he and Leighton were going hung in her mind and sankin slowly, so that when they got to the homestead she could say quiteevenly:
"Shall we see you again?"
"Of course," said Lewis, "Dad and I will come over to say good-by."
"Come for supper," said Natalie. "I won't be home in the morning. Goodnight."
Lewis walked slowly to the house, Natalie had not given him time to askwhy she would not be at home in the morning. He grudged giving thatmorning to any foreign interest. He wondered what he could do to killall that time alone.
The next afternoon he and Leighton drove over to Aunt Jed's in state.Leighton was still held by his mood--a mood that was not morose so muchas distant. Lewis himself was in no good humor. The morning had palledon him even more than he had feared. Now he felt himself chilled when helonged to be warmed. Where his spirit cried out for sunshine, hisfather's mood threw only shadow. How tangible and real a thing was thatshadow he never realized until they reached Aunt Jed's and found that ithad got there before them.
Despite mammy's art, the supper was a sad affair. It was not the sadnessof close-knitted hearts about to part that seized upon the company. Lovecan thrive on the bitter-sweet of that pain. It was a deepersadness--the sadness that in evil hours seizes upon the individual souland says: "You stand alone. From this desert place of the mind you canflee by the road of any trifling distraction, but into it no companionever enters. You stand alone." "I myself," cries the soul of man, andrecoils from that brink of infinite distance. Such was the mood thatLeighton had imposed on those he touched that day, for, while he couldtake no company into his desert place, by simply going there he coulddrive the rest each to his far wilderness.
After supper they sat long in a silence without communion. It becameunbearable. In such an hour bodily nearness becomes a repulsion. Lewisrebelled. He looked indignantly at Natalie. She too was young. Why didnot her youth revolt? But Natalie wasn't feeling young that night. Shedid not answer his look.
"Dad," said Lewis, "I think we'd better go. We have to make an earlystart."
"All right," said Leighton, listlessly. "Tell Silas."
Lewis rose and turned to Natalie.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked.
Natalie got up slowly, and drew a filmy white scarf--a cloud, she calledit--about her shoulders. There seemed an alien chill in the air.
As they walked toward the barn, a memory that had been playinghide-and-seek with Lewis's mind throughout the evening suddenly met himfull in the face of thought. He stopped and stared at Natalie. She wasdressed in red. What was it they had called that birthday dress of longago? Accordion silk. The breeze caught Natalie's skirt and played withit, opening out the soft pleats and closing them again. The breezeseized upon the ends of the cloud and lifted them fitfully as thoughthey were wings too tired for full flight.
"Nat," whispered Lewis, "You remember the night I left Nadir. Is it thesame dress?"
"Silly," said Natalie, smiling faintly. "I've grown ten inches sincethen."
Lewis reached out slowly and took her hands. How he remembered thatgood-by, every bit of it! Natalie's hands gripping his shoulders, hisarms about her twitching, warm body, his face buried in her fragranthair! But to-night her hands were cold and trembling to withdrawal. Hefelt withdrawal in her whole body, so close to him, so far away. Why wasshe so far away? Suddenly he remembered yesterday--the moment when thestranger woman had looked out at him from Natalie's eyes. She was faraway because they two had traveled far from childhood.
His own hands were hot. They were eager to seize Natalie, to draghimself back, and her with him, into childhood's land of faith. But heknew he had not the strength for that. He had only the strength to dropher cold hands and to turn and shout for Silas.
On the way home Lewis plunged rebelliously against his father's mood.
"Dad," he said, "do you think Natalie belongs to the Old Guard?"
"The Old Guard?" repeated Leighton, vacantly. Then a gleam of-lightdawned in his eyes. "Your little pal--the Old Guard. No, she doesn'tbelong in the way of a recruit; she hasn't joined the ranks. Do you wantto know why? Because, boy, your little pal and women like her are thefoundation, the life's blood, of the Old Guard. She doesn't have tojoin. She is, was, and always will be the Old Guard itself. In hersingle heart she holds the seven worlds of women."
"But, Dad," said Lewis, half turning in his seat, "you don't knowNatalie. You've never once talked to her."
Leighton shrugged his shoulders.
"I've met lots of men that know God; I've never seen one that couldprove him. I know Natalie better--better----" Then suddenly his mindtrailed off to its desert place. He would speak no more that night.
The next day they were off. Action and movement brought a measure ofrelief from the very start. Leighton glanced almost eagerly from thewindows of the hurrying train, watching for the sudden turn and the newview. There remained in his eyes, however, a desperate question. Was"going away" still the sovereign cure?
At New York a cable awaited him. He opened it, read it, and turnedbruskly to Lewis.
"I'm not going to London," he said. "I'm going to Naples direct. OldIvory will wait for me there. You'll be going to London, I suppose."
For the first time Lewis felt far away from his father. He flushed. Hefelt like crying, because it came upon him suddenly that he was far awayfrom his father, that they had been traveling different roads for manydays. Pride came to his aid.
"Yes," he said, steadily, "I shall go to London."
Leighton nodded and turned to Nelton. He gave him a string of rapidorders, to which Nelton answered with his frequent and unfailing: "Yes,sir. Thank you, sir."
"Wait here," said Leighton. "I'm going to answer this."
He hurried away, and Lewis, feeling unaccountably tired, sat down on adivan. Nelton remained on guard beside the bags, repulsing the attacksof too anxious bell-boys. To him came a large, heavy-faced person,pensively plying a toothpick.
"Say, young feller," he said, "how much do you get?"
Nelton stared, dumfounded, at the stranger.
"How much do I get?" he stammered.
"Yep, just that," said the stranger. "What's your pay?"
Helton's face turned a brick red. He glared steadily into the stranger'seyes, but said nothing.
"Well, well, never mind the figure if you're ashamed of it," said thestranger, calmly. "This is my offer. If you'll shake your boss and cometo me, I'll double your pay every year so long as you stick to that'Yes, sir, thank you, sir,' talk and manner. What do you say? Is it adeal?"
"What do I s'y?" repeated Nelton, licking his lips. Lewis, grinning onthe lounge, was eavesdropping with all his ears.
"H--m--m," said the stranger, "double your pay every year _if you keepit up_."
"I s'y this," said Nelton, a slight tremble in his voice, "I've beenserving gentlemen so long that I don't think we'd hit it off together,thank you."
The stranger's shrewd eyes twinkled, but he was otherwise unmoved.
"Perhaps you're right," he mumbled, still plying his toothpick. "Anyway,I'm glad you're not a worm." He drew a large business card from hispocket and held it out. "Come to me if you ever want a man's job."
Nelton took the card and held it out as though he had been petrified inthe act. His bulging eyes watched the stranger as he sauntered leisurelyback to his seat, then they turned to Lewis.
"What do you think of that?" they asked.
Lewis held out his hand for the card and glanced at the name.
"Nelton," he said, "you've made a mistake. Better go over and tell theold boy you've reconsidered his proposition. I'll fix it up with dad.You'll be able to retire in three years."
"Master Lewis," said Nelton, gravely, "there's lots of people besid
esyou and the governor that thinks we serving-men says 'Yes, sir, thankyou, sir,' to any one for the syke of a guinea a week and keep. Now youand the stout party eating the toothpick over yonder knows better."