Red Fleece Part 4

"I was in a little village of the Punjab two years ago," Fallows replied, "and there was a lad of sixteen there, wonderful in promise-- a mind, a spirit. They could not raise in the village enough money to send him across the seas steerage for his education. A single rifle costs nearly three pounds. It is hard for us to realize how poor India is."

Peter stood fast against this in his mind; his intellect would not accept.... "Are you going to take the field again, Mr. Fallows?"

"Not in a newspaper way. I shall nurse wounded soldiers. At least they have accepted me.... These are fearful and amazing days. We have all been in a kind of long feeding dream, like the insects, acc.u.mulating energy and terrible power for these days. Such death as we shall see!"

There was silence.

"I wonder how they are taking it in America?" Fallows mused.

"Doubtless as an opportunity for world-trade," said Peter.

"Oh, I hope not!" the exile said pa.s.sionately. "There must be another America."

Fallows placed his hands on Berthe's shoulders, looking down: "You make me think of a young woman I once knew," he said. "Not that you look like her--but that you have the same zeal _for something_....

You are a very true daughter of your father--"

"You knew him?" she said huskily.

"We all knew him--we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, his courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a pure and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is wonderful for me to be here with you. And this man loves you."

It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment.

Fallows said it as a man who has pa.s.sed on, and yet loves to study the lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for an instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave themselves.

"I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name," Berthe said. "But I am going to tell him--before he goes."

"He is safe," said Fallows. "I felt free with him--almost immediately --and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for _The States_. You will see great things--best of all with the Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of brotherhood is faring? G.o.d, how he took to that dream! He will be a Voice--"

They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. "I'll go out with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night."

Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had already said too much.

"He seems to be burning up," said Peter.

Berthe did not answer.

"He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly full of power," Peter added. "And yet he said so little of his own part."

"He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh, Peter, where do you keep your pa.s.sion?"

"You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?"

"Yes."

"I haven't it. I haven't that pa.s.sion. I think I am just a reporter.

But you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must have loved the world--"

"But you love the world--"

"No, I love you."

"Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!"

Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows'

mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She had always talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk.

Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows personally was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel martyrdoms for others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not strictly a conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for another, it was not good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to be just, by thinking of Fallows' life.

Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not come to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up everything in life to make the world better as he saw it. He had written and traveled and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to poverty, all for the good of the under-dog.

"It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it," Peter mused. "He sees it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He isn't afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I take things as I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought otherwise, except for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked."

Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main issue that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, stuffing her ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He braced himself now and faced it. "If it happened to another pair, I should say it was the finish," he thought. "I should say that no man and woman could pa.s.s a rock like that.... I can't get to her point of view by thinking myself there. I'm cold--that's the word. And she's superb. I'd rather be her friend than lord of any other woman. That won't change. And she has spoiled everything I thought I knew.

Altogether--it's a game, bright little story--and deep."

Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily.

"I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going with him?"

"I'm ready," said Peter.

"Did you have a big time?"

"Yes."

"What do you think of Fallows now?"

"I'm strong for him."

"Peter--you look bushed."

"It drains a man to spend an evening in that company. A fellow has to have a heavy lid--not to waste fire."

Lonegan was worried. "You don't mean to say you're getting fevers and emotions."

"I'm threatened."

"Mowbray--you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your fires--not even how well you bank 'em. It isn't in you."

"I wish it were," said Peter.

For a long time after Lonegan left he plunged into his work, but there was no sleep for him afterward. He lay very still, breathing easily, as the f.a.g-end of the night crawled by. At dawn he arose, dressed noiselessly, and went out into the city.

Chapter 7