The Memoirs of an American Citizen Part 33

What had they done to make life? What was their virtue good for? They took the dainty paths and kept their clothes from the soil of the road.

Yes, and what then? A renewed sense of irritation rose within me. Why should I be pestered like this, why should I lose my brother and May, why should Sarah be hurt, because they were too good to do as I had done?

So my brother and May went their way. They left me lonely. For the first time since the day, many years before, when I walked out of the police station alone into the city, the loneliness of life came over me.

To-morrow, in the daylight, in the fierce fight of the day, that weakness would go; but to-night there was no hand to reach, no voice to speak, from the mult.i.tude of the world. One person only of all would know, would place big and little side by side and reckon them rightly--would understand the ways I had followed to get my ends. Jane Dround would throw them all a smile of contempt, the little ones who weigh and hesitate!

There was the soul of the fighter.

CHAPTER XXIII

HAPPINESS

_I learn of Mr. Dround's intentions--A plea for myself--Despots--A woman's heart--The two in the world that are most near--Sarah's cry--Jane defends herself--To go away forever--Vows renewed_

"Henry is simply furious--thinks his name has been involved--and he means to sell every share of stock he holds as soon as the agreement expires."

"I knew that he would do just that!"

Mrs. Dround threw back her coat and looked up with a mischievous smile on her face. She was a very handsome woman these days, not a month older than when I saw her first. She had reached that point where Nature, having done her best for a woman, pauses before beginning the work of destruction.

She had come this afternoon to call on Sarah, and, having failed to find her at home, was writing a note at her desk, when I came in from the day's business, a little earlier than was my wont.

"It isn't just that matter of the injunction. You know, my friend, people here in the city--Henry's friends--say that you are engaged in dangerous enterprises--that you are a desperate man yourself! Are you?"

"You know better than most!" I answered lightly. "But I am getting tired of all this talk. I had a dose of it in the family the last time."

She nodded as I briefly related what had happened with Will and May.

"And, of course, Sarah feels pretty badly," I concluded.

"Poor child!" she murmured. "I wondered what was the matter with her these days. She will feel differently later. But your brother, that is another question."

"He and his wife will never feel differently."

She tossed aside the pen she held and rose to her feet.

"Never mind! I know you don't mind really--only it is too bad to have this annoyance just now, when you have much on your shoulders. I wish I could _do_ something! A woman's hands are always tied!"

She could say no more, and we sat for some time without further talk. I was thinking what would happen when Mr. Dround's stock was dumped on the market, to be snapped up by my enemies. Our company was very near the point of paying dividends, and with a friendly line of railroad giving us an outlet into the Southwest, the struggling venture would be in a powerful position.

"If he would wait but six months more!" I broke out at last.

She shook her head.

"Where a question of principle is involved,--"

Her lips curved ironically.

"What would _you_ do, tell me, if a parcel of scamps were holding you up for the benefit of your enemies? Suppose you had a perfect right to do the business you had in hand. Would you put tail between legs and get out and leave your bone to the other dog?"

"If I wanted to starve, yes! I should deserve to."

"You and I think surprisingly alike very often!"

"I always liked despots," she replied. "And, as a matter of fact, despots--the strong ones--have always really done things. They do to-day--only we make a fuss about it and get preachy. No, my friend, don't hesitate! The scrupulous ones will bow to you in time."

"You would have made something of a man!"

She bowed her head mockingly.

"That is man's best compliment to poor, weak woman. But I am content, when I touch the driving hand, now and then."

After a time she added:--

"You will find the way. It is not the last ditch, far from it. A man like you cannot be killed with one blow!"

She had given the warning, done what she could, and now she trusted me to do the rest. Her will, her sympathy, were strong behind me. So when this moment was over, when she went her way and I mine, out into the world of cares and struggle, I might carry with me this bit of her courage, her sureness. I felt that, and I wanted to say it to her, to let her see that it was more herself than her good will or her help that I valued. But it was an awkward thing to say.

Her hands lay upon the desk between us. They were not beautiful hands, merely strong, close-knit--hands to hold with a grip of death. I looked at them, thinking that in her hands was the sign of her character. She raised her eyes and gazed at me steadily for several moments.

"You know how I feel?"

I nodded.

"You don't need a woman's sympathy--but I want you to know how I feel--for my own sake."

"Thank you for it. In this life a man must stand pretty much alone, win or lose. I have always found it so--except when you and I have talked things over. That hasn't been often. This is a tight place I find myself in now. But there is a way out, or if there isn't--well, I have played the game better than most."

"Even that thought doesn't give happiness," she mused. "I know, because, my friend, I, too, have stood alone all my life."

She gave me this confidence simply, as a man might.

"I suppose a woman counts on happiness," I said awkwardly in response.

"But I have never counted much on that. There have always been many things to do, and I have done them, well or ill I can't say. But I have done them somehow."

It was a clumsy answer, but I could find no proper words for what I felt. Such things are not to be said. There followed another of those full silences which counted with this woman for so much more than words.

Again it was she who broke it:--

"For once, only once, I want to speak out plainly! You are younger than I, my friend,--not so much in years as in other things. Enough, so that I can look at you as--a friend. You understand?"

She spoke gently, with a little smile, as if, after all, all this must be taken between us for a joke.

"From the beginning, when you and Sarah first came into our lives, I saw the kind of man you were, and I admired you. I wanted to help you--yes, to help you."

"And that you did!"