Chapter XX: The Little Great World

Mr. Malcolm Piers stood before the mirror tying a white bow at the top of an effulgent shirt bosom. It was a room in Prince George's best hotel, and it had been his room for six weeks. His brown ruddiness had paled a little, and his face looked harder and older than the wear of only two months warranted. Unhappiness or perplexity, or indeed any emotion, caused Jack to look like a hardy young villain. Only the eyes told a tale; a profound discontent lurked in their blue depths.

He finished dressing and took down his overcoat and topper. Evening dress became him well, and he knew it, and took a certain satisfaction in the fact, for all that the world was going badly. His abounding health and his hardness marked him out from the usual dancing man. Hunching into his overcoat, he put out the light, and with the act the night out-of-doors leaped into being. Struck by it, he went to the window and flung it up.

The stars were like old friends suddenly brought to mind. So they shone over his own country where there were no grosser lights to outface them impudently; so they shone nights he had lain well-wrapped on the prairie, counting them while he waited for sleep; so they shone through the spruce branches in the valleys. The town of Prince George is built on top of the bench, and his window looked into the deep valley of the river. It brought to mind his own river, the serene Spirit; his and Mary's; Mary's whose eyes were as deep and quiet and healing as the stars.

Leaning against the window-frame, he lost count of time. He thought of the nights he had careered over the prairie on horseback under the stars. He had called his new horse Starlight, a thoroughbred. How the beast would love the prairie! How his knees ached for him this minute, to bear him away from all this back to _her_! How her eyes would shine at the sight of Starlight! Never had such a horse been seen north of the Landing. How he would love to give him to her! How fine she would look on Starlight! He fell to picturing her under all the different circumstances he remembered. Sweetest and most painful was the recollection of how he had kissed her sleeping in the light of the fire, and how her soft, warm lips had smiled enchantingly under the touch of his.

He was brought back to earth by the ringing of the telephone bell in the room behind him, and a summons from below. He went down stairs cursing himself. "You fool! To let yourself get out of hand! What good does it do?"

It was the night of the hospital ball in Prince George. The provincial parliament had reassembled, the courts were sitting, and the little western capital was thronged with visitors more or less distinguished. The ball was held under the largest roof in town, that of the armory; the band had been imported all the way from Winnipeg, and the decorations and the gowns of the women would have done credit to Montreal itself. To the women the particular attraction of the occasion was the presence of an undoubted aristocrat, Lord Richard Spurling, seeing Canada on his grand tour.

Linda was radiant, the greatest little lady there! There was nothing here to suggest the frightened child who had left such a desperate note for Jack. Her world had not turned its back on her; on the contrary, she had made a grand reéntrée with the halo of adventure around her pretty head. She was wearing a dress of rose-madder satin straight from Paris, a marvel of graceful unexpectedness, hanging from her thin, alluring shoulders by a hair, and clinging about her delicate ankles. She was wearing all the pearls that had shared her adventures, besides some new ones, and a jewelled aigrette in her dark hair. A whole company of cavaliers dogged her footsteps, including the lordling himself, a handsome and manly youngster, irrespective of the handle to his name.

Jack was not one of the company that surrounded her. Jack and Linda had been leading a kind of cat and dog life the past few weeks. Their engagement was admitted, but had not been announced. Jack did not shine in Linda's world; glumness is the unpardonable sin there. Moreover, Jack was a perpetual reminder of things she was ashamed of now. And there were so many other men! At the same time she kept a tight hold on him by the means that such little ladies know so well how to employ.

Jack kept out of her way until it was time for the first of the two dances she had vouchsafed him. As he approached her she could not but acknowledge his good looks, she was a connoisseur, but a good-looking thundercloud! The dance was not a success; they were out of harmony; they stepped on each other's toes!

"Let's stop," said Linda fretfully.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the crowd she opened on him: "You haven't been near me all evening!"

"You know I'm at your disposal," Jack said stiffly. "But I will not make one of that train of young asses that follow you around."

"You don't have to," retorted Linda. "And you needn't be rude. Follow whoever you please around, but for heaven's sake don't stand against the walls with a face like a hired mute!"

This stung. Nevertheless, Jack doggedly admitted the justice of it to himself, and "took a brace," as he would have said. "I'm sorry, Linda," he said manfully; "I'm a bit off my feed to-night. You know I'm no good at this sort of thing."

She was merciless. "It's not only to-night. It's all the time; ever since you've been here. It's not very flattering to me to have you go round with me as if you were dragged against your will."

Jack pulled in his lip obstinately. He had made his apology; she had rebuffed him; very well. Linda, glancing sideways under her lashes, saw that she would get no more out of him in this connection. She made another lead.

"Take me to the north end of the gallery," she drawled. "I promised to meet Lord Richard there at the end of this dance."

Jack obeyed without comment.

"He's an awfully good sort, isn't he?" she went on, with another sidelong glance at Jack. "I was surprised to find out how well he dances. Englishman, you know! He likes Canada better every day, he says. He's going to stay over for the golf tournament if I will let him. He is looking for a ranche somewhere near town."

Jack woke up. "First-rate head," he said heartily. "We've talked a lot about the North. He wants to make a trip with me."

Linda bit her lip.

Later Jack sought out Kate Worsley, with whom he had a dance. These two had made great progress in intimacy.

"Shall we dance?" she said.

"No, please," said Jack. "Linda says I dance like her grandfather. One gets rusty in five years!"

"To sit out then," said Kate. "Let's get in the first row of the gallery, where we can hang over and watch the giddy young things!"

Their conversation did not flourish. The night outside still had Jack by the heartstrings; loping over the prairie under the stars, the far-off ululation of a wolf, a ruddy campfire in the dark, and beside it, Mary!

"You're not exactly garrulous to-night," remarked Kate.

Jack turned a contrite face to her. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't be rude to you, Kate!"

"Bless your heart! you don't have to talk unless you are moved to it. I don't like to see a pal looking so down, that's all."

"Down?" said Jack with a laugh. "I'm living in hell, Kate!"

"Tell me about it, old man. You can, you know."

He shook his head. "I can't talk about it. I only sound like a fool. It only makes matters worse to talk about it."

Kate knew her men. "Change the subject then," she said cheerfully. "How are business matters going?"

"All right," said Jack. "I have sold my claim and the other one to Sir Bryson's company for twenty-five thousand--a fair price."

"Cash or stock?" asked Kate.

"Cash. I have no talent for business. I don't want to be in the company."

"The other claim?" she asked.

"Miss Cranston's?" he said self-consciously:

"I thought there were three."

"The third belongs to Linda."

"Well, what are you going to do now?" she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You're too good a man to hang on here in town," she said off-hand.

"Do you think I'm staying because I want to?" he burst out. "Good heavens, I'm mad to get away! I hate all this! I'm fighting myself every minute!"

She looked at him inscrutably. "My young friend, you're blind!"

"You don't understand," muttered Jack miserably.

"Don't I?" she said, wistful and smiling. "I've thought quite a lot about your case, but I wasn't sure that I had the right to speak."

"Oh, Kate!" he said turning to her quickly; "you know I'd take anything from you!"

She smiled at the way he put it. "I'm not going to abuse you. My advice to you is simply--to go!"

Jack stared at her.

"Go!" she repeated. "Ride away! Ride back to your own work in your own country, the place you suit, and that suits you. You'd never be any good here. Look at Linda in her finery! This is the breath of her nostrils. She has her eye on Montreal--London eventually. How could you two ever hope to pull together? Mind you, I'm her friend too, and I believe that I'm doing her a service in advising you to ride. Girls get carried away temporarily like men, though they're not supposed to. Girls often get hysterical, and write much more than they mean. Letter-writing between the sexes ought to be made a felony."

"She has my word," muttered Jack.

Kate shrugged. "There's the man of it! It is a fetich! Would you spoil Linda's life for the sake of keeping your word, not to speak of your own life and--perhaps a third!"

Jack's face was obstinate. "I'll see Linda and put it straight to her," he conceded.

Kate's eyebrows went up. "These men!" she said helplessly. "You ought to know her a little by this time. That will do no good. Much better go without. It's a thing that ought to be broken off. What matter who does it, or how it's done? The result will be good."

"I couldn't go unless she releases me," Jack said.

Kate got up smiling. "We must go back," she said. "A man must do as he will. You are an awfully nice boy, Jack. I believe I love you for your very mulishness. Write to me sometimes out of the North."

"I haven't gone yet," he said grimly. "You must promise to forget every word that has been said if I ask you to."

"I promise, dear old man."

For Jack to think of a thing was to put it into instant execution. He set off in search of Linda. One of the likeliest places to find her was on the balconies. There was a suite of rooms across the front of the armory, the officers' club, with a long narrow balcony overhanging the street. For the occasion of the ball, potted palms had been placed at intervals down the balcony, making a series of little nooks, each with two chairs, and each reached through its own window. The largest of the rooms with the balconies outside had been set apart for Sir Bryson and his party.

Dancing was in full swing below, and Jack found the room empty. None of the little nooks outside were occupied. In one of them Jack sat down to wait for the end of the dance. Almost immediately two people entered the next bower to his. Their voices were pitched low, and at first he did not recognize them.

"Now for a cigarette," said the man.

"Lucky man," said the girl. "I'm dying for a puff!"

"Have one," he said. "I'll take it from you, if any one comes."

There was a silence, and the striking of a match. Then a long-drawn feminine "Ah-h!" which was undoubtedly Linda's. Jack stood up to speak to her over the dividing palms. It was not a thing to do, but Jack was a man of one idea at a time; he had to speak to her, and his other dance was at the tail of the evening. He wished merely to make an appointment to speak with her later.

As his head rose over the palms he was just in time to see the blond head of the English boy and Linda's darker, bejewelled head draw close together, and their lips meet and linger. They did not see him.

Jack dropped back as if he had been shot, blushing and furious with himself. To be a peeping Tom! a thing he loathed. He silently cut across the room within the balconies, praying that they might not hear him. Wild horses would never have dragged any admission from him of what he had seen.

But when he got his breath again, as one might say, oh! but he found his heart was beating blithely! He felt as if he had burst out of a hateful chrysalis. Life was full of joy after all! A little song rang in his ear: "It's all right! It's all right!" Laughter trembled in his throat.

He waited about on the stairs for Linda to come down. She finally appeared, cool and scornful, her heels tapping on the stairs, the thing in her hair nodding and sparkling. Who would ever guess that her little Mightiness had just been kissed! The spring of laughter bubbled up inside Jack. He presented a bland face to her, but he could not hide the shine in his eyes, nor the smirk about the corners of his lip.

"What is it?" asked Linda, staring at the change in him.

"Whom have you the next dance with?"

She named a name.

"I know him," said Jack. "Wait for me upstairs, and I'll see if I can't make an exchange. I want to talk to you."

Linda's curiosity was aroused, and she went back upstairs with Lord Spurling. In five minutes Jack had rejoined her, and the two of them went out on the balcony again, in the same nook Linda had shared with the Englishman.

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"Linda," he said, "we've done nothing but quarrel since I came. Let's cry quits!"

"It hasn't been my fault," she said, all ready for another.

"Never mind whose fault," he said. "Let's cut it out!"

"What's come over you?" she asked curiously.

"Look here," he said, "up North I promised that I'd come and claim you as soon as I cleared myself. Well, I came, and I've been here long enough to show us both that it's no go. We're not suited to each other. We only get on each other's nerves. Give me my word back again, Linda. Let's shake hands on it, and say good-bye!"

Linda started, and looked at him with big eyes. "Jack!" she murmured. "You'd desert me? You can't mean it? What would I do?"

She got no further. The great eyes, the plaintive tremulo, the threatened tears, all the old tricks after what he had just seen, struck Jack as too funny! His laughter broke its bonds. He threw back his head, and gave it way. There was nothing mocking or bitter in it; it was pure laughter from the relief of his heart. He laughed and laughed. He had had no laughter in weeks. He was obliged to lean against the window-frame and hold his ribs as at a vulgar farce.

Linda's expression graduated from amazement to pale fury. She sprang up. The jewelled aigrette fairly bristled with rage. "How dare you!" she cried. "Shut up! I hate you! You make me feel like a perfect fiend! I'd like to scratch your eyes out! Go back to your squaw! It's all you're fit for. I was going to speak to you myself. Understand, I'm throwing you over! I despise you!" She stamped her foot. "Go back to her, and be damned to you both!"

She vanished. Such was the end of that affair.

Jack went in search of Kate, and found her on a man's arm bound supperward. "Could I have a word with you urgent and private?" he whispered.

Kate looked at his happy eyes and nodded. "Front balcony, five minutes," she murmured back.

The balcony again.

"Kate, I'm off!" he cried. "This very night. In an hour I'll be pounding the North trail on Starlight. I'm so happy I can't keep the ground. If the boats have stopped running, I'll ride the whole way through. Kate, dear, you've been a powerful good friend to me. I'd like to kiss you good-bye."

"You may," she said, smiling and lifting her face.

"There!" he said. "There! and there! and there!"

"Mercy!" said Kate. "I'll have to retire to the dressing room for repairs! Good-bye, and God bless you!"

After the family had gone to bed, Mary and Davy Cranston stole back into the living-room, and quietly blowing up the fire, put on fresh sticks. They sat down before it, nursing their knees. Nowadays there was a stronger bond than ever between Mary and Davy. In that disorganized household in the winter this was the only chance they had to talk together.

"What do you suppose he's doing to-night?" said Davy.

"Who knows?" said Mary. "A party of some kind, or the theatre."

"If father had let me go out with him," said Davy, "I could have written and told you everything he did."

"Father was right," said Mary. "He'll let you go when the time comes. But that sort of thing would only unsettle you. We're not society people."

"I don't see why you're not," said Davy stoutly.

"It's too complicated to explain," she said in a level voice. "Anyway, I wouldn't like it."

"Whatever Jack does is all right, isn't it?" demanded Davy.

"He was born to it," said Mary. "That makes the difference. Besides----"

"Well?"

"I don't think he likes it either. But it's necessary for him just at present."

"I wish I could see him!" cried Davy.

Mary was silent.

"I mean to be just like him," Davy went on. "Do you think I'll ever be as strong as that?" he asked anxiously.

"It doesn't matter," said Mary, staring into the fire. "You can be as brave and honourable."

There was a knock at the front door. Brother and sister looked at each other in surprise.

"A sick Indian," said Mary.

Davy went to see. He closed the door of the room after him. Presently Mary heard a little cry, quickly smothered. Davy came in again breathless, and with shining eyes.

"There's--there's some one wants to see you!" he said shakily. "Oh, Mary!"

She ran out into the hall. The front door was open, and he stood there, broad-shouldered and bulky with much clothing, dark against the field of snow. He was bareheaded, and the moonshine was making a little halo around the edges of his curly pate. He held out his arms, and in a twinkling she was in them.

"Mary! My love!" he murmured. "I nearly went out of my mind wanting you. I've come back for you! Never to leave you again!"

Their lips met, and their tears ran together. Mary was the only woman who ever saw those hard blue eyes fill and overflow.

THE END

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N.Y.