The House of Toys Part 23

"I think I can understand," he said gently. "Because it seemed the best thing for others, you gave up the work you wanted to do and were fitted to do. You didn't whine and you did my little drudgeries well and patiently, as though they were the big things you would have done--"

"You don't understand. I did whine--"

"I never heard you. Miss Summers, we owe David an apology. We were sorry for him!"

"Not now," she said.

"No, not now. David, how long will it take you to finish your new plans?"

"But I'm not going to prepare plans. A few sketches for my own amus.e.m.e.nt--that's all."

"I happen to know that St. Mark's is about to build."

"I am not interested, Mr. Radbourne."

"But I am. As a member of St. Mark's and as your friend, I am deeply interested. How long will it take, David?"

David only shook his head.

"Man," cried Jonathan, "will you let one reverse--"

"Mr. Radbourne, I beg of you, don't urge that. It's all behind me.

I'm not fitted for the work as you think--drawing pretty sketches isn't all of it. I--a man told me once, I haven't the punch. I don't know how to meet compet.i.tion. And it cost me something--it wasn't easy--to get settled in other work. I don't want to get unsettled again, to face another disappointment. I--"

David stopped. And Esther, watching him too closely to be conscious of her own heart's eccentric behavior, saw in his eyes the hurt which disappointment had left, and philosophy, even a very sound philosophy as formulated by a lame duckling, had not yet fully healed. And she saw indecision there, a longing that she understood, and a fear--

Of its own accord her hand went toward him in a quick pleading little gesture. "You must!" she said softly. "Please!" . . .

Jonathan had left, beaming with joy, violin under one arm, a roll of sketches under the other. They stood on the porch in an intimate silence they saw no reason to break. A young half moon was sailing over the city, dodging in and out among lazy white cloudlets. David watched it and wondered if he and his friends had not been more than a little foolish. He shrank from the thought of another defeat. He shrank even from the thought of a victory; for, should it come now, it would not be alone through his gift or any power that dwelt in him.

"I believe you're sorry you promised him."

He turned to the girl. The disappointment in her tone reached him.

"He isn't hard to read, is he? He's planning to--to pull wires for me.

He won't trust my work to win out."

"Ah! I was hoping you wouldn't think of that."

"I can't help it. It sticks out--you've thought of it yourself. Do you think it is a foolish pride?"

"Not foolis.h.!.+" she answered quickly. "And not just pride, I think.

It's hard to realize that good work isn't always enough."

"Then you don't think me--temperamental?"

"I think you are--honest. But after all, there's no real dishonesty if you do good work. And I think"--there was a sudden return to her old shyness--"I think, if you win out, your great reward will be the good work you have done."

"How do you know that?"

"If it weren't true you wouldn't have made those sketches."

And he knew a quick stirring of grat.i.tude that he had found this girl who understood so well, who saw the verities as he saw them and had neither laugh nor sneer nor impatience for his finickiness.

"I wish," she went on, "it could come to you as you want it. But I am glad it is coming--even though some one does pull wires to bring it to you."

"But the wires may not work. I've got to remember that others may not see my work as you and he do."

"That is possible," she said. "What of that?"

"I can try again, you mean? I suppose I can do that. I think I will do that, as I can. And probably, if I turn out work that's worth while, some day my chance will come. If I don't--why, there are other things to do, and if you put your heart into them you can get happiness out of them. Do you mind if I plagiarize a bit?"

"I don't mind at all," she smiled.

"And I've got to remember that, win or lose, I owe a lot to you and him. He doesn't understand what a quitter I was when I came to his office. I'd turned sour. I thought, because things hadn't gone the way I wanted, I'd been hardly used."

"I know how that feels," she said.

"The truth was--" Moonlight loosens tongues that by day are tied fast.

"The truth was, I'd had the best luck in the world. I'd met him--and you. You went out of your way to make things pleasant for me, a stranger. And by just being yourselves you shamed me into looking at things from your point of view. It's a very good point of view. I'd rather have it now, I think, than build all the churches in Christendom."

The moonlight revealed the friendliness in her eyes. He could not fight down a new thrilling faith in his gift, in himself, in his strength to stand straight though he should fail again.

"You'd have found it by yourself," she said. "If you'd really been a quitter, if it hadn't been in you, you couldn't have found it, even through him. But I know how you feel. I feel the same way toward him.

_Isn't_ he the dear, funny little man?"

And that opened a fertile and profitable field. Jonathan's ears must have burned a long while that night.

CHAPTER VIII

CERTAIN PLOTS

Three good fairies had their heads together. One was an astute banker with a mouth delinquent borrowers hated to see, one was a woman who was known to be wise and one was a d.i.n.ky little man with red whiskers.

"The question before the house," said Jim Blaisdell, "is, are we justified in playing politics to bolster up a young man we're afraid can't stand on his merits? _I_ don't fancy pulling wires--in church matters, that is."

"The question," said Mrs. Jim, "is no such a thing. It is, whether we're to let that insufferable d.i.c.k Holden give us another St.

Christopher's?"

"Or to help make a strong fruitful life?" amended Jonathan.

"I can't quite see Davy as strong," said Jim, "though he is paying his debts. But d.i.c.k certainly is getting to be a conceited duffer. The ayes," he sighed, "seem to have it. The next question is ways and means. Old Bixby's method in St. X looks good to me. A conditional contribution--what do you say?"

"How much?" inquired the practical Mrs. Jim.

Jim took out an envelope, did sums in subtraction and division and held out the result to his wife. She took it from him, did a sum herself--in multiplication--and exhibited that result to him.