Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 1888)
THE WEST SHORE 63 " Is Roy Mason your lawful name? " I asked. " It is." " And Henry Morris is, so far as you know, the name of the man buried out there? " It is." " Then, Mason, if I understand your request, you wish to exchange identities with the dead man you wish to make it appear to the world that Roy Mason lies buried out there. Is that it? " " Yes, Blake," he answered, unhesitatingly, " that is what I wish. It is simply a harmless exchange of names; but if it need justification, I have reasons to justify.it" "And those reasons, Mason? Pardon me for wishing to know them before becoming even a pas sive participant in such a deception." He bowed his head in silence for an instant, then said, slowly " I am a married man, Blake. Have you ever suspected it? " I think I gave a start of surprise at the words. I never had thought of him as a benedict, and told him so now, in arswer to his question. " No," he answered, bitterly, " I am not of tho stuff of which husbands are made, and no wonder you never thought of me in that light. Nevertheless, there is a little woman in the far East who bears my name, and whose heart is broken in consequence. Don't look at me like that, Blake, or I can't go on." His voice broke, and I turned away to avoid see ing the mental anguish in his eyes. " I knew when I set about winning her," ho con tinued, 11 that I was not fit for her. I knew that if she could see into my past, she would shrink from me with loathing; for, as you once so aptly put it, Blake, I had kissed the dew from a hundred lips before I ever touched hers. I had, in short, lived a fast life, in the fullest sense of the words, and had imbibed views and ideas of life not calculated to make mo tho fit custodian of any pure woman's happiness. Yet I loved her, and would not give her up; but I had hard work to win her. One great obstacle stood in my way, and that was her knowledge of my previous drinking habits. That is something, you know, Blake, that we can not hide. All the other crookedness we can cover up with the darkness that lies between two days, but whisky proclaims itself every time. For more than a year she stood firm against all my plead ing, and checked me midway in all my vows. But she loved me, and at last, one evening-can I ever forget it?-sho put her tender arms about my neck the first caress she ever gave me-and said: ' Roy, you have made me promises enough, I think, to pave your way to heaven or hell. If you hold them sa cred, heaven's doors will open wide for you and me here on earth. If you break them Oh, Roy! hell is the only word to describe what I shall Buffer. I am weak enough to lovo you, dear; but nover, for ono mo ment, imagine that I will bo weak enough to forgivo you if you ever break this solemn pledge, by which you have won mo. If ever, after this hour, you lift that fatal stuff to your lips, never como into my pres ence again. Go away, thousands of miles away from me, for you will bo as dead to mo as though a mound of earth were heaped above you.' Well, Blake, in tho face of all this, I married her; even while, in tho depths of my inner consciousness, I felt that, sooner or later, I should break the promise to which she had anchored her all. Not that I admitted as much, even to myself, but I had a sort of vague idea that her no tions were far-fetched, and entirely too exalted to out live the wear and tear of every-day Ufa I even smiled a little to myself at what I mentally termed her heroics, and fondly pictured her a subdued littlo matron, a year or so hence, with a miniature edition of myself in her arms, too busy and content to let a broken promise, more or less, disturb her equanimity. Godl how little I know hcrl Wo had been married almost a year, when she came to mo ono rooming, as I was getting ready to go up town to my business, and laid her head on my shoulder in a caressing way: Roy she said, wo think our happiness icrfect now, but there is still another joy in storo for us, dear,' and lifting her lips to my ear, sho whispered a littlo secret, with shining eyes. I went away smiling at tho thought of the weo being who would, doubtless, soon rival me in tho little woman's heart-smiling rather complacently, as ono who feels tho rivets of his fit ters loosening a little, and finds his thoughts straying, in a vaeue, fragmentary way, toward somo of tho for- bidden haunts of his bachelor days. ' It is a fortun ate thing,' I thought, 'tho coming of this inofiWivo littlo rival, of whom I can not possibly bo jealous, yet who will do mo a good turn in distracting somo of tho little wifo's attention from me; in loosening some of tho clinging tendrils of her heart and fastening them to himself. She's tho sweetest, truest littlo wife im aginable, and I would not exchange her for all tho habitable globe; but pshaw 1 man is a frce-horu ani mal, and even lovo's restraints grow irksome if too long drawn out' Thus my thoughts shad them selves throughout that day, as I sat at my dk, and something that seemed to mo tho light of a dawning freedom was shining into my eyes, tho odor of for bidden fruit floating in tho atmosphere about me. " How many men are there in tho world, I wonder, who hai tho advent of their first-born with similar sensations? More than would bo willing to ro&ko penitential confession, I imagine, and far more than trusting womankind ever suspects.