ENTRY NO. XIV
MYSELF AND I
For an hour I have looked at the unsullied page of this diary. It amusedme to turn back over its pages, but when I started to write the wordswould not come.
A liar is one who by direction or indirection seeks to deceive. The manwho lies to an enemy is a diplomat; the man who lies to give harmlessplay to his imagination is an artist; the man who lies to his friendsfor the purpose of taking advantage of them is a scoundrel, and the manwho lies to himself is a fool.
After re-reading this diary I am convinced that I belong in the lastclass.
I have been lying to myself for the past three weeks. With a smile on mylips I have looked myself in the eye and told the one falsehood over andover again. I have been the ass fondly to believe I told it with suchdetail and verisimilitude as to carry conviction to myself. I told itfor the last time a few minutes ago.
My alter ego laughed in my face. I dislike to be jeered at, even bymyself. I humbly apologised. I promised to reform and confess, and hereis the confession:
I am in love. I have been in love for three weeks. It is not necessaryto say with whom, since I and myself both know, but in order that thecrimes of evasion and equivocation may no longer be charged against me,I frankly record that I am in love with Grace Harding!
There you have it, John Henry Smith! Head it over carefully. Does thatsuit you? With it goes my humble apology. Does not this constitute theamende honorable? What did you say? Ah, it does! Good Shake hands, oldfellow! Now let's sit quietly down and talk this matter over, and seehow we stand. I wish you to help me.
The situation is slightly less complicated. It is settled that I am inlove with Grace Harding. What's that? "_We_ are in love with GraceHarding," you say. Very well, old fellow, have it your own way. You arethe only one in the world with whom I shall refuse to become jealous.They say that two heads are better than one, even if one is ablockhead--meaning me, of course.
_We_ are in love with Grace Harding. Well, what if I did say itbefore? I like to keep on saying it. It's the best thing I have writtensince I started this stupid diary. _We_ are in love with GraceHarding.
When you come to think of it, John, we cannot take any great amount ofcredit for that. It is not startling, and I'm awfully afraid it is notoriginal. Now, as I look at it, it would be much more remarkable if I--Ibeg your pardon, John Henry Smith--it would be much more remarkable ifwe were _not_ in love with Grace Harding. Did you ever think of that?
Falling in love with Grace Harding was the easiest thing we ever did,Smith, and you know it. We are entitled to no more credit for it thanfor admiring one of those glorious sunsets, when the eye is ravished byblended and ever-changing tints of cloud, sky, and enchanted landscape.We do not boast, Smith, that we love the songs of the birds, or thegraceful bend of the willow as it yields to the summer's breeze; we donot call attention to our worship of the early morn, when the dewsparkles like swarming diamonds on grass and flower, and bridal veils ofmist float over the breasts of the hills.
We loved her, Smith, from the moment she dawned upon us the day herfather made that wonderful drive. We loved her while she was playingthat first game of golf--and now we can talk frankly with each other, Iwill confess I never saw a woman play worse than she did that day. Butthe fact that our admiration grew during every moment of that weird andwonderful exhibition of how not to hit a ball, proves we were in love.You never denied it, you say? I know you didn't; and it's to yourcredit.
But does she love us, Smith? You don't know? Of course you don't know,but what do you think about it? You hope, she does, you say. Smithyou're as stupid as I am! Certainly you hope she does, and so do I, buthave you any reason to believe she does? Why don't you say something?
"She is pleasant to us, smiles at us, and seems to enjoy our society,"you say. Well, what of it? What does that prove? I could say the samething of Miss Ross, Miss Dangerfield, and even of Miss Lawrence. I amnot so conceited as to imagine these charming girls are in love with usbecause they laugh, smile, and seem to be pleased at our attempts toentertain them.
Carter could make claim that Miss Harding was in love with him on thesame plea. And speaking of Carter, I should like your opinion of him.I'll tell you frankly I don't like the way he acts.
Mind you, Smith, I'm not going to say anything against Carter, and Ishall not permit you to. Carter has as much right to fall in love withGrace Harding as we have, and for that matter I'm afraid he has moreclaim in that direction. If you will recollect, it was Carter whointroduced us to Miss Harding.
I have no idea when and where he met her. Carter is a chap who attendsto his own affairs and who does not permit others to interfere in them.It is not likely he will tell us, and I shall never ask him.
Mr. Harding sometimes calls him "Jim." That goes to prove that Carterhas known the Hardings for a long time. Harding once spoke of knowingCarter's father.
That is not what worries me. It is Carter's air and whole attitude whichputs me on guard. Carter must know, John Henry Smith, that we pay anunusual amount of attention to Miss Harding, and sometimes I almostimagine he has surmised what I have confessed to you, but it does notseem to annoy or concern him in the least. It is as if he knew just howfar we can go. It strikes me as the confidence bred of assuredsupremacy, but, of course, I may be in error, and sincerely hope I am,for your sake as well as mine.
Carter and Miss Harding are much together. They take long walks, andboth seem very happy in one another's company.
I stumbled across them last evening while looking for a lost ball in theold graveyard. They were on a scat under a weeping willow tree, and weresitting very close together. Carter was reading something and she waslooking over his shoulder. They were laughing when they looked up andsaw me poking about in the grass with my club.
"Hello, Smith!" drawled Carter, looking at me through that monocle ofhis. "Lost your ball? How many times must I tell you that the proper wayto play this hole is to drive over this sacred spot and not into it?"
Miss Harding drew slightly away from him when she saw me--at least Iimagined so--and smiled and looked innocent as could be.
"Miss Harding ... smiled and looked innocent as couldbe"]
What I am getting at, John Henry Smith, is this: We would not dare askMiss Harding to sit with us in such a lonely and secluded spot, and Ithink we would have been more embarrassed than was Carter at sounexpected an interruption. It simply goes to prove that--well, I don'tknow just what it does prove.
Chilvers told me a year ago he had heard Carter was engaged to bemarried to a very pretty and immensely wealthy girl. I did not thinkmuch of it at the time, having only passing interest in whether Cartermarried or remained single. The other day I asked Chilvers if he hadheard anything more about Carter's engagement, and he looked at merather oddly and said he had not. He said his wife might know somethingabout it, and advised me to ask her or Carter.
Suppose they were engaged, John Henry Smith? That would settle it, yousay. You quit too easily. If you desert me in this extremity I shall goahead on my own account. I love her; I must have her! Let Carter fall inlove with someone else!
For some malignant reason this man Carter has persistently stood betweenme and the realisation of my cherished ambitions. He has won cup aftercup and medal after medal which would have fallen to me were it not forhis devilish combination of skill and luck. But he shall not thwart mylove! He shall not; I swear it; he shall not! Smile, John Henry Smith,you do not love her as I do.
"Why should she fall in love with me, or wish to marry me? What have Idone in the world, or what do I expect to do which will compel thatadmiration and respect which is the basis of true love?"
Those are harsh questions, John Henry Smith. I tell you I love her; isnot that sufficient? She is not the woman to weigh a man in the samescales with his money, his miles of railroad track, and such materialassets. I would love her if her father were still a section boss.
And I _am_ going to do something in this world. I
propose to showyou, John Henry Smith, that I can do something beside play golf. Am Inot doing something now? Am I not risking practically every dollar I havein the world on my business judgment? Call it gambling if you will; if so,it is big gambling. The man who wins must take chances. Mr. Harding didnot become a railway magnate by remaining a section boss. He is acommanding figure in Wall Street. I shall be that and more.
Laugh if you will, John Henry Smith; I mean every word of it!
What does Carter do? He has not done a stroke of work in five years. Hesays a man with an income of $100,000 a year has no right to work andstrive to increase it. I claim a man should do something to make a namefor himself, and leave a record of which his children and grand-childrenwill be proud. You watch me, John Henry Smith! I'll show you and MissHarding that I can do something beside play golf.
We have wandered from our subject. The question is this: what shall wedo in order to ascertain if Miss Harding entertains toward us anysentiment stronger than friendship? Ask her, you say. Suppose _you_ask her. No, my dear John Henry, that is not the proper step at this time.
I do not set myself up as an authority in matters of love, but I do holdthat no wise man ever proposed to a good and true woman without knowingin advance that she would accept him. Love has its secret code, andNature gives the key to its discerning votaries. I have that key, JohnHenry Smith.
One need not speak or write in order to send the first timid messages oflove; and by the same token the recipient need not even frown in orderto tenderly reject the proffered passion. There are as many words inthis unwritten and unspoken vocabulary of love as may be found inlexicons. Did you know that, John Henry?
The man who fails to avail himself of this silent but eloquent language,and who stupidly assaults a woman with an avowal of an alleged love,deserves to be coldly rejected. It is as much of an insult or anindiscretion as to walk unheralded and unbidden into a private room.Never do it, John Henry!
If a man becomes convinced he loves a woman he should tell her by somemessage in the code which both understand. He will know if she receivesit. It is not necessary that she answer, "yes." If she answer not at allhe has achieved a notable victory, but if she promptly signals a decided"no" he has met with irreparable defeat. That settles it, my dear Smith.
A woman may refuse a man with words, and he be justified in declining toaccept the implied rejection, but there is no appeal from the silentdecision which leaps from the heart.
So long as no message comes back unopened keep on sending them. You arejustified in assuming that they have been read and are beingentertained. The time will come, John Henry, when you will get youranswer. If it is against you, accept it with the best grace you cancommand. Do not be the fool to think her lips will veto her heart.
If, on the contrary, there comes the glad day when over the throbbingunseen wire there comes a telepagram sounding the letters "Y-E-S,"proceed with the sweet formality of a verbal avowal of your love, andyou will not be disappointed.
Smile if you will, John Henry Smith, you know I have told the truth.
We have sent a few of these messages to Miss Harding, and thus far nonehave been returned unopened. As you say, John Henry, they have been verytimid ones, and possibly are so vague she does not think them worth evena decided negative. We will send more emphatic ones; not too emphatic,mind you, but couched in symbols which cannot be misunderstood.
That is our best plan, John Henry Smith, don't you think so? I am gladwe agree at last. As yet nothing has happened of a character positivelydiscouraging.
Carter? I wish you would not mention his name. From this on we willignore Carter.
I intended to write of our automobile trip, but the hour is late and Imust postpone it until some other time. Good night, John Henry Smith!