Tutors' Lane

  XII

  Mrs. Norris was pleased with Tom's account of his success in the writingof the examination paper. Certain unsatisfactory rumours had come to herears recently about his work. Henry Whitman, for example, had statedthat Tom was loafing and that unless he picked up and showed improvementhe might not receive a reappointment when his present term had expired.It is curious how everyone knows everyone else's business at Woodbridge.Each man has his grade stamped clearly upon him, for all, with thepossible exception of the man himself, to see. A young man can raisethis grade; and Mrs. Norris--who loved Tom almost as though he were herown--was hopeful for him.

  "All he needs, Julian," she said to the Dean when she told him of Tom'striumph, "is a guiding hand. I can't do it, because I'm too old, but Iknow someone who can." She was "straightening out" the library at thetime, and as she said this she gave a chair a shove with her knee, whichsent it flying into the books on the wall.

  "Mercy on us," cried the Dean, annoyed by this display of vigour, "whois it?"

  "Nancy."

  "Oh, pshaw, you're always trying to marry her off. You're the worstmatch-maker I know."

  Mrs. Norris laughed quietly. "You wait and see," was all she said; butshe had settled in her mind upon a picnic.

  Mary, when approached upon the subject, had not been at allenthusiastic. "Why, it's much too early for a picnic," she had objected.

  "It is not at all. Everything is three weeks early this year, and thatmakes it about the middle of May. We'll have a lovely moon, too. It willbe grand." And she proceeded to invite the guests, Nancy and Tom, andFurbush, for it was true that he had been most attentive to Mary oflate. Mrs. Norris at first refused to go, but Mary insisted.

  "You will have to watch the fire, Gumgum, while we are off looking forsticks and things." And so she had gone, after all.

  Mrs. Norris's ideas of a picnic were large, the heritage of a day thatknew few tins and miraculous powders that bloom into omelettes. Shescorned them and brought along a generous store of raw steak and baconand potatoes. A picnic without a fire and roasting meat was toonamby-pamby for words; and though she would not now undertake to cookthe food herself, because of a certain eccentricity of the knee joints,and since her daughter, despite her domestic science, declined to do so,she had brought along Julia the cook. Nothing but the big limousinewould do for such an undertaking, and, as it was, Furbush had to nursethe steak in his lap. Mrs. Norris would have reached the picnickingground in a procession of buggies, but at that Mary protested sovigorously that she was forced to resign.

  The picnic place was a pretty, slightly inaccessible rock overlooking acreek. Though actually not far from Woodbridge, as the road wasovergrown and the turns sharp the motor had to proceed with adeliberation which made the trip justifiably difficult. The rock itselfwas about a hundred yards from the road; and since there was scarcelyany path through the woods to it, there were made possible the prettycallings and hallooings, fallings-down and pickings-up, without which nopicnic is quite perfect. Mrs. Norris, as a matter of fact, did more thanher share of this. She had not gone more than thirty steps into the woodbefore she was completely lost; and by the time she had been safelybrought to the rock her hat was well over on one side, her hairstreaming down, and the torn fringe of her petticoat dragging alongbehind in the dirt. Julia and Horace, the chauffeur, however, had gonedirectly to the rock without the preliminary vagaries vouchsafed totheir superiors, and by the time Mrs. Norris was finally captured theyhad succeeded in getting the supper well under way.

  Upon her arrival Mrs. Norris announced her intention of roasting apotato.

  "Gumgum, please sit down," begged her daughter. "You are only upsettingeverything," and she laid an unfilial hand upon her mother's arm.

  "I am going to roast a potato," Mrs. Norris cried, shaking herself freeand seizing upon a pared potato. "Tommy, get me a stick."

  "Isn't she awful," laughed Mary. "Don't you dare give her a stick, Tom."But Tom did dare, and Mrs. Norris, with her smiling benignity, stoodwaving the stick back and forth over the fire in time with the andantemovement of her favourite Brahms sonata.

  "Well, we might as well get ready to eat that old stuff," said Nancy toFurbush. "Don't you dread it?"

  "I would not dread it, dear, so much, dreaded I not mother more," hereplied, to Mary's intense gratification. But Tom, who heard thelow-spoken words, thought them decidedly forced and disliked Furbush themore for them.

  Furbush's presence was undoubtedly a drawback to Tom's pleasure. Howcould he be natural with a person whom he disliked as much as he didFurbush and who he knew disliked him? Besides, he did not feel likebeing sprightly and picnicky with Nancy beside him. Instead, he felthomesick, or at least that is the way it seemed to him. Still, how couldit be genuine homesickness when the object of his yearning was besidehim? Nevertheless, there had been in his thoughts recently the pictureof a certain small colonial house in Tutors' Lane, a house now for rentor for sale. Possibly, however, the contrast of such a life--the housewould be furnished with highboys and gate-leg tables and oval, wovenmats--with his present one at Mrs. Ruddel's furnished him with a genuinecase of homesickness, after all. How perfect would life be in suchsurroundings! He liked to think of breakfast: He and Nancy, alone,except, of course, for the pretty, efficient maid--at their mahoganybreakfast table. Nancy, busy with the coffee things at one end and he atthe other--no, at the side--tucking away his grapefruit and bacon andhot buttered muffins and jam in the last few minutes before he dashedoff up the hill to his eight-thirty. Good heavens, what a life thatwould be! He saw Nancy with the morning light on her hair and herpleasant, lively face--the nose with only the faintest possible trace ofpowder--bending over his cup; and then he realized that he was gazing ather now in the same position, only with the sunset light in her hair,and with a white porcelain cup receiving the coffee out of a thermosbottle, instead of a china cup from a swelling-silver pot.

  "Careful Tommy, you are dribbling it all over me."

  "Oh, Nancy, I'm so sorry. I ask you, isn't that stupid. Please excuseme."

  "A little lemon or a hot iron or soap and water will fix it, probably,"said Furbush.

  Tom looked over at Furbush. He hated his liquid tones, like honeydripping on a blue plush sofa. "How the hell do you get that way?" hewanted to ask--then he rounded out the sentence with certain phraseswhich had been current among our heroes along all war fronts fromKamchatka to Trieste. Even a milder remark was happily averted, for atthis point the potato which Mrs. Norris had been steadily roasting,burst into flame and had to be plunged into the fire; a gratefulaccident, for now she was willing to sit down on the camp stool broughtfor her and to confine herself to the slicing of the bread.

  What passed until the meal was finished was of slight significance. Itwas a decidedly detached party, the two couples being brought togetherchiefly through Mrs. Norris; and when Nancy and Tom had finished abanana which they had divided in the jolly picnic way, Tom stood up. "Doyou realize," he asked Nancy, "that this is a wishing carpet we've beensitting on? Let's take it down by the creek and see where it will takeus."

  "Oh, dear," said Mrs. Norris, not at all displeased. "And now where areyou and Mary going?"

  "We're going to look for crocuses in the garden of the Queen of theFairies," replied Furbush. "They ought to be up now."

  "Well, take along this flashlight: it's getting awfully bosky-wosky inthere." And then Mrs. Norris was left alone with Julia, whom sheentertained with an animated and brilliant account of Titania andOberon.

  "Where shall we go?" asked Tom when they were seated on the magic motorrug.

  "Let's go to Libya!" said Nancy promptly.

  "Libya! Well, I suppose we might as well go there as anywhere. Yourealize, of course, that we won't go until I put my foot on thecarpet"--his left foot was straggling over the edge.

  "Perhaps you'd better keep it there for a few minutes, then, until weare sure that we really want to go. As a matter of fact, I think it israther nice right here in
Woodbridge," and she smiled up at him.

  Nancy had, of course, smiled upon a great many young men withoutprecipitating a proposal of marriage, but then, the young men hadprobably not woven her image into their future hopes and fears asthoroughly as he had. Also the hour and the place lent their potency toher smile. The soft spring evening, happily extended by Daylight Saving,the noisy little creek running by their feet, and the staunch ally ofall such projects, the great round moon, all combined to weave a spell,just as Mrs. Norris planned that they should.

  Tom had come to the picnic prepared to speak his mind, not doubting thatan opportunity would be given him. He had not memorized a speech, butwas ready to trust to the inspiration of the moment. His cause was anhonest one; he might expect the gift of tongues, but the starting gunhad now been fired, the race was on, and he was not granted the gift oftongues. A little preparation might not have been amiss, after all.

  "I agree with you about Woodbridge. In fact, I think had rather go onliving here than anywhere else in the world, provided one thing." Hehad plunged in without the gift of tongues.

  It was not so dark but that Tom could see the colour come into her face."Provided what, Tom?"

  "Provided I can have you, Nancy. Provided you can love me as I loveyou." He had come nearer her, and although he had brought both feet uponthe magic carpet, they remained stationary. "You mean more to me thananything I have ever known. I used to wonder how I could ever think moreof anyone than I thought of Woodbridge and the Star and the differentboys in college, but that was nothing compared to this." Nancy wastracing a series of geometrical patterns upon the magic carpet with abit of stick. "I wish I could do something to show you how much I carenow." Still Nancy said nothing. "And, oh, Nancy, what you could do forme! With you to help me, I think I could do anything. But I know I needyou. Nancy, will you marry me?"

  Nancy was hardly prepared for this. She had, since the social servicefiasco, acknowledged to herself that she had grown in that short spacevery fond of Tom. She looked forward to seeing him, and when he was goneshe went over with pleasure what he had said and how he had looked. Sheliked his drollery and his strength, she admired his poise andself-reliance; and she had the greatest respect for his teachingability, of which she had received direct proof. Still, she was not atall sure that she wished to marry him. After all, she had really knownhim only something over a month, and it was not the Whitman way to hurryinto anything--least of all into matrimony.

  "You mustn't ask me that, Tom."

  "Why not, Nancy?"

  "Because I cannot accept; not now."

  "You mean that perhaps you can later? For of course I shall never growtired of asking you."

  The moon had climbed a little and had turned a silvery yellow. Itflooded the rock and the people moving about on it, but Nancy and Tomremained in shadow. "Tell me, Nancy," he said, leaning over and coveringwith his own the hand upon which she was resting, "tell me that I mayask you again, for, dear Nancy, I cannot lose you." She did not draw herhand away immediately and when she did so she did it gently.

  "You're awfully good, Tom," she said and Tom's heart swelled at thesoftness of her tone. Then she climbed to her feet, and--Tom picking upthe magic carpet, which had become soaked through with the dampness ofthe creek bank--they made their way back to the rock.

  And so ended their first love scene. That Tom's behaviour will appeartepid, in these vigorous days, is to be feared. His own contemporaries,of both sexes, will almost certainly be the first to point out that hadthey been in his place nothing would have kept them from proceeding fromthe tame seizure of Nancy's hand to some bolder action. Tom, however,helping Nancy along over the rocks and sticks was happily oblivious ofhis unconventionality. The beauteous evening did, in very truth, seemcalm and free to him, though the party on the rock was making a littletoo much noise to have the holy time quiet as a nun, breathless withadoration. His mind turned to the scrap of Wordsworth he had latelymemorized, and though he was a trifle annoyed to find that he couldn't,even now, perhaps when he most wanted it, remember all, the phrase"comfort and command" stayed with him and did nicely for the whole.