THE SUNDAY FICTION MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 21, 1917.
-7.
Jtjlfr JP(( By DOROTHY JEFFERSON
y - . -
m
W4
HE boy i-couta nick
named blm.
The day after
Peter Van Zandt
arrived at the camp
the captain of com
pany 4 sent Hoppy,
a freckle -nosed
scout, to deliver a
message to the new
comer. Van Zandt,
sitting dolefully on
the edge of hi cot. received lloppy cold
ly and turned his back on a cheerful
burst of gossip which was offered with
the message.
"You've got the boot captain in camp,"
Hoppy volunteered clubily; "he's in love
with the colonel's daughter, Marjory Del
mar. Ever seen Miss Marjory?" t
Peter Van Zandt knewittle or noth
ing about the habits and prejudices of
loy scouts. Accordingly he met Hoppy's
friendly green eyes with a frigid stare
and shrugged hi wide shoulders in a
manner which plainly indicated his in
difference to the captain's affairs of
heart.
"Tell Captain Summers that I 8hall
report to the sergeant at once," he or
dered briefly.
Hoppy, feeling unjustly rebuffed,
strode spitefully out of the barracks and
ent in search of his boon companion,
Lanky Jones.
"Gee, that new private lri company 4
In cocky," he declared with a contemptu
ous twist of his thumb toward Van
, Zandt. "I mean that big, light haired
fellow with tho Jack-o'-lantern face.
Ween him yet? His name's Peter
1 eter "
"Pumpkin Kater!" prompted Lanky
fclihly. "Sure, I seen him comin' in last
night. Pumpkin Pete, 1 call him."
The ridiculous name stuck. Private
Van Zandt found himself branded by the
scorn of the two most popular boy scouts
In camp, and even he, wrapped in smug
nelf -satisfaction, admitted that there was
a distant resemblance between his good
looking yellow head and a ripe pumpkin.
Ills features were large and clearly cut,
nnd his mouth, when he smiled, was a
Lroad slit in hia round face. The smile
vas, however, a rare thing, after he was
selected under the draft law and trans
ierred from an eastern college to a west
ern army camp.
Not that Peter Van Zandt was a
slacker. Ho wasn't. He was a strong,
clean limbed young American, with a
greater amount of physical courage than
the ordinary man possesses. Only one
thing stood between him and a healthy
enjoyment of the life at the post. His
red blood was diluted, weaken!, adul
terated by the blue blood of his ancestors.
His inability to forget that he was a Van
Zandt did not mean that he was a cow-"
ard. but It meant that he was something
nlmost equally despicable. A snob makes
a poor sort of soldier.
If Peter had been an officer ho would
have found comfort in Imposing menial
; tasks on the men below him In rank, but,
being a private, he rebelled silently at
the discharge of his duties.
"Van Zandt is a queer proposition."
Captain Summers said one day as Peter
rounded the barracks leading Monty, the
captain's horse. "Isnt he a specimen of
manhood for you, Marjory? He was AH- ,
American halfback last year, and yet he
was never popular at college. The boys
call him Pumpkin Pete, and, so far as I
know, he hasn't a friend In camp."
Marjory Delmar sat erect In her sad
dle and stared at Peter's approaching
figure with frank curiosity. He lowered '
his eyes after the first glance at his cap
tain and the colonel's daughter, and de
livered Monty with a respectful but ex
ceedingly brief salute. A smile crept
Into Marjory's blue eyes as she cantered
up the road beside Captain Summers.
"So Pumpkin Pete Is a mystery to
you," she said presently. "I'm surprised
at your Inability to diagnose such a com
mon malady. Mr. Van Zandt 13 suffering
from a severe case of wounded pride
nothing more, nothing, less. He, like
some other men I know,- feels that he
should be a commissioned officer because
of family prestige. The idea of taking
orders from a social Inferior Is Intoler
able to him."
Captain Summers laughed.
"Snob, eh?"
"Exactly."
The conversation turned to other
things and Peter Van Zandt, the blue
. blooded private, slipped out of Summers'
mind. The autumn air was fresh and
cold and a bright color flamed In Mar
jory's cheeks as she gave her horse the
rein. Her black hair loosened and tum
bled from under her velvet tam, and she
wound her plaid scarf tightly about her
throat.
Captain Summers halted at the foot
of a steep hill and faced her abruptly.
"Let's rest the horses a minute," he
suggested.
Marjory looked up quickly and found
confirmation for her suspicions In his
face. .
"It's getting late," she parried.
"Marjory, I won't pretend any longer.
I can't. I've been trying to tell you that
I love you for months and months.
Things can't go on this way. I want you
to be my wife."
Captain Summers was an Impressive
figure as he sat at ease on his big cavalry
horse, waiting for the girl's answer.
She studied him under lowered eye
lashes before she spoke.
"I'm not sure," she said finally. "I
like you, but It's an awfully big question.
Will you give me a month to make up my
mind?"
Summers nodded.
- "As long as you wish, dear," he said
scftly; "as long as you wish."
Marjory's blue eyes danced "with sud
den Inspiration.
"I'll tell you at the officer's ball," she
declared. "It's to be given In the gym
nasium Halloween. Spooks and witches
don't dare dance at an army post unless
invited to do so, and I made father
promise to give a regular harvest home
party that night. I'm too old to steal
gates, but I still love the Halloween le
gends. I believe I can give you my an
swer at the ball."
Silently, sullenly, Peter Van Zandt re
ceived orders from a sergeant the fol
lowing day. He recalled the curiosity on
Marjory Delmar's face as she appraised
him the afternoon before, and his soul
stormed at the thought that she intended
tb make him ridiculous.
"Curry that mare and take hex; arotmd
to the colonel's house!" the sergeant
commanded unfeelingly: "Miss Delmar
waiits to ride her."
Pumpkin Pete obeyed. He thought
savagely of the silver pins on the cap
tain's shoulders as he climbed the hill
behind the - barracks. He would have
given a large, share of the Van Zandt
fortune for a lieutenant's insignia.
"The girl's a heartless creature," he
assured himself over , and over again.
"She knows who I am and she sees an
opportunity to humiliate one of the Van
Zandts. My mother probably cut the lit
tle climber dead socially and she wants
revenge."
Marjory Delmar was sitting on the
porch knitting a khaki-colored sweater.
She smiled as Pumpkin Pete halted the
neatly curried mare at the gate and
touched his hat in salute. -
"Tie the horse, please," she called; "I
want to talk to you."
Were there no limitations to a pri
vate's duties? For a moment Van Zandt
stood rigid, defining insubordination in
his own mind.) A night In the guardhouse
was preferable to possible insult from
the girl.
"Come In," she called again; "I want
to talk to you."
Pumpkin Pete sat uncomfortably on
the porch railing and twisted his broad
brimmed hat in his work-knurled hands
whilo Marjory began the lecture she had
prepared for him. A million tiny blue
devils danced in her eyes.
"I don't know who you are," she said
calmly, "and I don't care. You're a pri
vate in company 4, and the boys call you
Pumpkin Pete. The captain says you
are incorrigible. Now, when I sent for
,you today J had just one thing in mind.
Iwant to help you."
Peter turned his yellow head toward
the girl and smiled tolerantly.
"Help me, Miss Delmar?" he queried.
"How can you help me?"
"By teaching you to forget yourself.
I'm very frank about it, Pumpkin Pete,
but I hate to think that there is a single
man in father's, regiment who will not
make a good soldier. Tou won't, so long
as you assume the attitude that you are
above your rank. I guessed right about
that attitude, didn't I?"
Peter Van Zandt scowled.
"Yes," he said shortly. "It's no secret.
I am hardly congenial with the men in
my barracks."
Marjory nodded silently.
"I was right," she said frankly. "You
may go now. Bring my horse around
every afternoon at this time, please, Mr.
Van Zandt."
She knew his name, after all. Pump
kin Pete law awake long after taps that
night and meditated o,h his odd introduc
tion to the colonel's daughter.
"She knew my name," he murmured
drowsily as he closed hi eyes. "She
knew that I was a Van Zandt."
The queer friendship grew--under dif
ficulties. Peter Van Zandt began to look
forward ' to the hour when he led the
- mare up the Mil for Marjory to ride, and
little by little he ceased to dread the rail
ery in her calm voice. Army ethics pre
vented him from calling on her, but her
very presence at the camp made life
worth living. He took an Interest in his
work an frequently exchanged jokes or
smokes with the men in his company.
"Notice how Pumpkin Pete's per kin"
up?" Hoppy demanded one day when he
observed a wide smile on the blue-blood-
ed private's face. "Looks like he'd
signed a new lease on life."
October days slipped by with increas
ing rapidity, and the raw privates found .
themselves transformed into straight
fchouldered, strong-muscled soldiers. They
no longer ached at the end of the long
hike, and the sham battles became good
sport.
Colonel Delmar viewed his regiment
with increasing pride, and Captain Sum
mers was exceedingly gratified with his
company's progress. Indeed, the two
men complimented each other whenever
they met, and it was only Marjory, who
had done her bit silently, who received
no recognition for her services.
"Nevertheless," she told herself, "I've
done something for the army. I've made
a soldier out of a snob."
. Preparations for the officers' ball be
gan a .week before Halloween. Captain
Summers had marked the date on a little
calendar in his room, and he left nothing
undone that could add to the success of
the affair. He dispatched a squad of
men to, the woods for autumn boughs
and gave his, personal supervision to the
decorating of the gymnasium. He bought
new music for the band and ordered the
refreshments. He even hired a gypsy to
tell fortunes.
Marjory's answer meant a great deal
to Captain Summers. He loved her as
much as he was capable of loving a
woman, and his good judgment told him
that a marriage with the colonel's daugh
ter would hasten the advancement he
expected and deserved. He was a bril
liant officer for his age, quick-witted,
level headed and fearless. Men liked him
and women adored him. With Marjory
for his wife he felt he might rise to any
height. . v
Halloween afternoon Pumpkin Pete
found Hoppy waiting for him when he
went to the stable to curry the mare.
The scout was perched on an inverted
barrel, his green eyes staring thought
fully into space.
"I can't understand this world,' no
how," said Hoppy wearily, "but I brought
you the note."
Pumpkin Pete took the folded piece of
paper from the boy's outstretched hand
and read, the message that was scrawled
across it.
"Hoppy," he demanded sternly,
"where did you get this?"
"From her, of course. I was walkin'
by the colonel's bungalow an' she rushed
out, all pink an' excited, an hollered out
to me. 'Hoppy.' she says; "Hoppy, dear,
will you take this letter to Mr. Van Zandt
for me?' "
Pumpkin Pete smiled.
The unbelievable had come true. Mar
jory wrote that she was going out to the
woods to gather some goldenrod, and
she had obtained permission to take Pri
vate Van Zandt as her escort. Would he
saddle two horses instead of one?
Would he? Less than five minutes
later the bewildered and disgusted Hoppy
had sidled ouf of the stable to confide In
I.anky Jones Pumpkin Pete rode up the
hill to Marjory's house mounted on a
shiny black horse. The little mare fol
lowed docilely behind.
"You see," Marjory explained as they
rode through J$.e country at a comfort- ,
able trot,, "I. wanted to apologize to you
for the things I said that first day. I said
that you would not make a good soldier,
and father says that you are the best in
your company."
Van Zandt made no reply. His eyes
were fixed on a patch of goldenrod sev
eral hundred feet from the road.
"Shall we tie the horses and go after
that?" he asked abruptly. "There's
enough In there to decorate the whole
gymnasium. Here, let me help you."
They scrambled across the field with
the enthusiasm and agility of children.
Feter drew a knife from his pocket and
cut as many flowers as they could carry,
and then sat down beside Marjory on a
fallen tree trunk to arrange the stalks in
neat bundles.
"The ball will be quite an affair, I sup
pose," he said cheerfully. "I almost envy
the officers."
Marjory caught the sarcasm and
" laughed merrily.
"You don't envy anyone," she chal
lenged. "You are absolutely contented
to do your duty, whatever that duty "may
be. You are a whole-hearted, red-blooded
American soldier."
Peter turned and looked Into her blue
eyes with sudden seriousness.
"If I am," he said softly, "it's because
you've mademe one. I've known you
such a little while that I'm afraid to tell
you all the things that I've been thinking
about you. I owe you a lot, Marjory Del
mar. You've made a man of me. I've
learned to play this soldier game, and
It's better sport than football. Freshman
year at college I was a weak-kneedsub
on the team. Sophomore year I wasAll
American halfback. I'm not bragging,,
but I bet I'll have pins on my shoulders
some of these days, and Pumpkin Pete
will do his share toward licking the
kaiser when the time comes."
Marjory tried to speak, but her voice
shook.
"I -I know, Peter."
It had come to them both all at once.
The last rays of the afternoon sun fell
softly on the field of goldenrod and
turned the world into an unexplored par
adise for these two. Peter took one of
the girl's hands in his and held it several
minutes before he spoke.
"I've got to tell you," he whispered at
I&st; "I love you, Marjory. Perhaps a
private should not ask a colonel's daugh
ter to marry him, but I'm going to take
the chance. You've made a man, little
girl. Is he to be the happiest man on
earth V
His arms were around her and his lips
had found hers ,bef ore she could answer.
For an instant she yielded to the em
brace, and then drew back with a. sharp
little cry.
"Peter, Peter," she begged, "give me
time to know myself. Captain Summers
has asked me to marry him, and I prom
ised to give him his answer tonight. You
shall have yours, too. You won't be at
the ball, but I'll send you a message,
somehow. Will you wait, Peter?"
There was nothing else to do. Pump-
Ian Pete was forced to go to his barracks
that night at the usual time end watch
the officers as they emerged from their
rooms in their dress uniforms and strolled
VP the road to the brightly lit gymna
sium. In his hand was a crumpled rlece
of goldenrod, and in his heart was Mar
jory's promise.
"You'll know tonight. I shall leave
the dance at midnight the witching
hour and go to my room. If my, win
dows are dark at 12 o'clock my" answer
h 'No.' If there. Is a light, my answer Is
Yes.' It is easy to know one's fate on
Halloween."
Taps sounded at 10 o'clock, and Peter
Van Zandt. with the other privates,
threw himself across a cot in the silent
barracks. He thought of the events of
-the afternoon, and the knowledge that
Marjory, his Marjory, was dancing with
Captain Summers began to torture him.
He wondered if, after all, she was play
ing a game at his expense.
After what seemed an eternity he
glanced at his phosphorescent wrist
watch. It was 11 oVlock. How childish
of Marjory to insist that he wait until
midnight for his answer! How absurd
for a girl of her age to believe in Hal
loween rites! Would It never be mid
night? It was only the strength of his love
that made him condemn Marjory's ro
mantic plan. The seconds dragged like
years. The silence in the barracks gave
way to a chorus of rasping snores.
Qetting out of bed and crawling
across the barracks to the window which
, faced the colonel's house was an adven
ture which seemed to Peter fully as thrill
ing as creeping over a trench into No
Man's Land. Three corporals and a ser
geant lay slumbering between him and
the spot where he should learn his fate.
At one minute to 12 he pushed back his.
Covering and slipped silently to the floor.
"She 'must say 'Yes,' " he told himself
feverishly. "She must. I w a miser
able sort of a cuss until I met that girl,
but I'll do anything in the world to make
her happy if she'll nave me. She must."
The big clock In front of the gymna
sium boomed' the hour. Peter, reaching
the window, heard it; Marjory, in her
bungalow, heard it, and Captain Sum
mers, returning from the ball, heard it.
It was the witching hour of Halloween.
Captain Summers, passing the bar
racks where company 4 slept, heard
something else. It was a queer noise,
like a muffled shout, and he entered to
discover its cause. He collided with a
man in the dark.
"Here!" said Captain Summers stern
. ly, "what does this disorder mean? Who
la th4s prowling about at midnight?"
Van Zandt's incoherent words con
vinced the captain that he was a som
nambulist. "The light! The light!" he shouted.
"Look out the window, captain. I'm the
luckiest man in the world!"
Captain Summers was in a bad hu
mor. Ho" glanced behind Peter, and
strode wrathfully out of the barracks.
"Go back to bed, Pumpkin Pete," he
flung back contemptuously; "the only
light I see Is a grinning jack-o'-lantern
in Miss Delmar's window. It looks
strangely like you!"
ICopjrlght, 1917, by J. Heeler!
TTIb. ildl 1Bf By robert barron -
' ' ;
AM a bore. My re
lations with women
In particular were,
up to my twenty
seventh year, those
of a hltching-post
to a saddle-horse.
The dears chafed
and tossed and
stamped. When
they told me I was
unendurable I at
tributed their words to natural coyness;
luitil for the first time Rose Wynne de
f.cribed me to myself.
I well remember .the day.
I was seated opposite her in her color
ful reception-room. The great lapis laz
vh clock above Vie maroon tiles of the
llreplace, the wainscoting, topped with a
design in rich maroon leather, the ciear
blue of the ceiling hover yet before my
e es. Hose was an artist of the odd,
something of a painter, and, in the wiser
Kcnse, a bohemlan. She herself had laid
out the colors and fittings of that raro
' Lut cozy spot.
It pleased me enthralled me to sit in
her chair by the window while she talked
from the sofa.
Perhaps I loved her; I had often told
her I did. Certainly I wanted her to
marry me, for she was entrancingly
pretty. I had money, too only a couple
of millions, but that would have been
enough.
On the particular day of which I am
speaking, her hand resting beside her
delicate throat, where It lay against a
Russian blue velvet pillow, she broke off
the course of what she was saying to re
mark: i " " '
"Christopher, there is only abouf one
hope left for you maybe not even one.
I" am afraid I shall have to give you up,
as all the other girls haye done un
less ",
My throat grew dry. I looked for a
I long time into her eyes without asking
her to continue. I searched all over her
refi-brown hair, the firm, though fem
inine, contour of her cheek, the vivid red
lips, without finding a single point to pin
a thought to, except the platitude that
ph was lovely past enduring. All the
while I would not ask for her alternative.
She continued of her own accord:
"Unless you can learn to talk as
though you weren't really a, bore. Why
don't you try always saying the opposite
of what you Intended to? It would be
v. lots more interesting. Honest, It would!"
I found my feet. For the first time
within my memory hot shame rushed
through my temples.
"Miss Wynne," I said hastily, "before
X see you again I will Indeed have dis
guised the fact that I am a bore."
As I made my way out she was going
to remonstrate, then thought better of it.
I drove home in deep meditation, having
more than once "to stamp on the emer
gency brake, while some cop or drayman
cursed me.
During the next few months I kept
out of the society of women yes, and of
men for the most part. Mornings I read
Mark Twain, Bill Nye, Josh Billings, and
all the old and new stand-bys; studied
joke books and magazines and cultivated
my sense of outlandishness in the news
paper comic pages.
Afternoons I took novels that ran to
conversation, in which, for the senti
ments there expressed, I substituted their
opposites. At the end of a week I could
say to myself with profuse politeness:
"Good night, Mrs. Edmonds. I have
had the devil of a slow time at this re
ception of yours"; or "I hope you won't
dance with me, Miss Osborne"; or "I
didn't play golf yesterday; and I tell you
I didn't make that long seventh hole in
four" all without relaxing that pained
expression which, I have noticed, a clever
man is expected to wear morning, noon
and night.
A nienth later I could temper my re
versals almost with taste I say almost
because neither I nor any of my family
before me have ever possessed a particle
of true sensibility. I grew more studious,,
than ever read Moliere and Shakespeare
for historic background and eventually,
to my surprise, became fond of the ex
ercise of wit.
w
One morning in the dead of winter I
awoke laughing. I seized a mirror. In
place of the merry grin I used to wear
when I laughed the glass presented to me
a long, twisted bunch of features, look
ing as sad as a man who has just salted
his coffee. And now at last I knew that
I. might pose as the thing I was not a
humorist.
That evening I attended a ball at the
Cameron-Hales, because I knew Rose
was giving an affair of her own and
would not be there. I wanted to avoid
meeting Rose; yet she persisted in send
ing me her invitations as if there had
been no split between us.
Driving down by myself, I stalked In
through the door just as the old Chris
Cudd might have done.
Mrs. Cameron-Hale was immensely
pleased to see me, she said, and asked
whether I had been abroad, to account
for my recent disappearance. I replied
that I was glad she was glad, and hoped
she would have no cause to be sorry. As
for the past few months, I had disported
myself in a quite unusual and unseemly
manner. I hoped she had done the same.
After a retreat of three steps, with
her mouth slightly open, Mrs. Cameron
Hale bowed distantly from that distance.
I walked on, laughing though, of course,
to the company my face presented an as
pect of Ironical grimness only. The in
cident, whispered around the ballroom,
was received with amazement.
After a survey of the hail, with its
border of gold candelabra, and the low
gowned ladles drifting from wall to wall,
I strolled toward a girl who had long ago
repudiated me. She stood by the blue
silk curtain of a street window and, as
she was looking below, did not notice me.
"Miss Acton?"
"Oh, I I hardly recognized you!
You're Mr. Cudd, aren't you?"
"By no means."
"Oh, but you know, there's no use de
nying It, Mr. Cudd."
"Exactly; that's why I deny it,"
"Because it's no use?"
"Yea. Like yourself, I wish to be or
namental not useful."
She looked at my face a moment, then
laughed gayly.
"Mr. Cudd, I think you were telling
the truth!' she exclaimed. "You are not
yourself at all."
It was perhaps 1 o'clock. I stood in
the middle of a group, sparring with a
lovely young thing whom I had requested '
not to make me wish to ask her to dance
with me, as I didn't like to dance. Her
reply that she was especially anxious to
dance with me for the sake of variety
had called forth a round of repartee, and
an audience.
"Madam," said I at last, "though un
doubtedly you are the bird of paradise In
this ball, and though it would be heaven
to dance with you, my desire to go to
heaven is at this moment crowded out
by a stronger desire to go to bed."
As I turned, comedianlike, and strolled
away, a burst of laughter followed, for
her acknowledged beauty exonerated my
rudeness. I went directly home. On the
evening of the day following "my butler
brought an unusually large mail. I
opened the first envelope:
Mrs. Willard Acton requests your
presence
The second:
Mrs. Henri Touronne Invites you 1
most cordially i
I was astonished. I selected carefully
those Invitations which seemed to offer
me the widest scope for self-improvement,
avoiding those at which I feared to
meet Rose Wynne. Each evening was
like the last. My friends agreed that in
one day I had changed from a bore to a
clever fellow. Little did they know.
Then one day I foolishly picked up a.
book of Emersoii'a Essays.
Thoughts for which I was totally un
prepared grew in my astonished brain as
I read. Page by page there dawned and
brightened in me a'new idea central and
searching the conviction that I was a
hypocrite. The philosopher's Ideals of
character, frankness, openness of heart,
abashed and amazed me. I was acting
against nature. I was tricking the world
and my own soul.
What was social success bought at
such a price? It was a cramped and nar
row world that I was trying to lose my
soul for. I ran over In my mind the com
panions with whom I had lately asso
ciated. They were hollow, selfish, wit
less everything unpleasing.
And where was Rose Wynne?
On my reading table lay a pile of let
ters which had remained since the morn
ing unopened. I tore the envelope of one
abstractedly, strewing it, as I afterward
noticed, in little pieces on the floor. Then
I happened to glance at the contents an
invitation to the most aggravated ball of
the season.
The highest and worst of society would
be there and Rose WTynne. She would
glisten like a pearl in the sty.
I accepted.
My face grew, if possible, longer and
knottier. I had made a new resolve. I
would be honest with myself and the
world. I would speak out, from the
depths of my weariness at long-established
hypocrisy, and tell the truth to all.
My fail from society I would take man
fully. Why had I continued to avoid
meeting Rose, even when the term of my
promise was ended,, if not that I felt
cleverness to be no part of me, but a
hypocritical assumption? I "had waited
until it should become an element of my
nature.
Rose was dressing when I arrived. I
was led upstairs to the little blue room
with the maroon wainscoting, which
clung in my memory to the last detail of
carved furniture and the designs on the
rugs. My peace of mind was gone now.
I spent the next few minutes seated in a
massive mission chair with Russian blue
satin cushions, trying to assure myself
that I was not going to lose self-control
when she entered.
Nor did I lose it
She came, all rustling silks and roses
a subduedtfgolden yellow from head to
foot. One low-hanging loop of her red
brown hair threw the neck and shoulders
into a matchless harmony of color and
line. I wondered at the artistic restraint
with which" she wore one necklace only,
and a single ring, of all her topazes for
she had hundreds. She seemed so re
moved, so high above me as she -stood
there, - that momentarily I forgot poor
Chris Cndd's existence.
"You have not been here in a long
time. Are you going to the ball?" she
asked. "
"I wondered if you wouldn't go with
me in my car," I ventured.
"I shall be delighted. Why haven't you
eome before, Chris? I expected you
months ago.".
We went down together to the street.
"Do you mind if I talk a little?" I
asked humbly.
She smiled full on me.
"Now Chris, what is it all about?"
"Well, then you see,' I've been a
hypocrite. Tve put on a lying face to the
world, made believe I was clever, and
fooled most of them. But when you come
down to it, I'm just the same bore at
heart. I have the same conceit, and the
love of . talking about uninteresting in
essentialsonly now people sit around
me and laugh at me. Do you see how it
was that I couldn't face you? I was act
ing. I was a hypocrite. ,
"Tonight I am going to be the old
Chris Cudd. I am going to brag about
my golf, and say the same stupid things
I used to say. Rose, they have mistaken
me for a clever man. That fills my prom
ise. Can you endure my company now on
the old footing?"
"Yes, Chris; but you couldn't be the
same now, no matter how hard you tried.
If you read your own character you
would understand how you have
emerged."
We went on to the ball. It seemed a
long way from the cushions of. the lim
ousine to the drawing-room. For many
minutes after that, too, I kept silence.
Then came my chance.
Mrs. Cameron-Hale was standing at
my left. She had forgotten the effrontery
of that first onslaught several months
before, and I could feel her admiration of
my new-made self, as she judged me.
Cuthbert, Hale and Claude Allen were
trying, I thought, to engage me in con
versation. . Rose was returning slowly
toward me. ,
I burst out suddenly Into bragging
about my golf, using, as nearly as I could
remember, the exact words of my old fa
vorite . story. It was the tale of how I
beat Aleck Gugginson at the last hole by
one stroke. Possibly I elaborated a little
as I went on, combined my words better,
or perhaps introduced a feature or two
that had not struck my mind In the old '
days. But essentially.it was the same"
story.
Hardly had I started telling it before
they began to laugh. Of course they ex
pected ft to be funny they did 'not un-
derstand yet. By the second hole Claude
Allen was beginning1 to collapse from a
strained side which he was holding with
all his might. I knew he would soon be
gin to wonder at himself for laughing.
A crowd gathered to listen.
,3he description of old Gugginson's-
fury when he missed the ball and hit his
bald head on a low-hanging chestnut bur, '
rendered word for word as I had told It
fifty times before, now brought copious
tears of merriment In place of the weary
sigh of six months before.
By the time I reached th ninth hoi
the outer edge of the group was too far
off to hear me; Rose was pale with ex
haustion from too,,much laughing. Mrs.
Cameron-Hale all but fainted, and Cuth
bert had to bear her away bodily.
"That story is not funny," I added as
I finished the account of how Gugginson
scared a dachshund with his wild swing;
of how the unfortunate animal, scudding
away In front, caught the ball In his ribs
and spoiled Aleck's drive. "There is
nothing in it to laugh at," I remonstrated.
Maudlin by this time, they only
laughed the harder. I tried to explain
that my days as a humorist were done;
that I was going t speak the truth
thereafter, and nothing but the truth.
Every sentence I spoke brought peals of
Insane merriment.
"Chris, Chris!" Rose objected, when
she could speak; "can't you sea. you are
breaking up the ball? Mrs. Driwle is
fussing and fuming to begin."
I gave Rose my arm and we made our
way out of the crowd; but there was no
escape for me anywhere. They could not
have enough of me. My new turn, as
they thought it. delighted them even
more than the old one had done.
So it has gone from that day to this.
At last I succeeded m bringing myself
and Rose away from the ball. After the
formal leave-taking she seemed tired and
dreamy, and her soft arm in mine was
like the extended hand of an angel to a
soul in purgatory.
I stowed her safely in among the
cushions. Not a word can I remember to
have spoken the whole way home; I
doubt if one passed my lips, or hers.
Looking at her, I half held my breath.
Her eyes wandered not restlessly, but
without purpose; her lips were full and
round and vaguely tired. I could feel
her little heart drawing me with the
leading strings df love yet who was I to
hope it?
We walked up to her little room with
the maroon wainscoting and the clear
blue ceiling. It was a picture of her soul
that room; full of rich color, strength,
beauty, harmony. Sinking upon the sofa,
she looked full In my eyes. Her first,
casual words were fraught with meaning
which did not belong to them.
"Won't you sit down, Chris?"
I did beside her.
"Rose. I undertook what you told me
to; I'd do it again If you said so. But
you see what I am a hypocrite. Now,
when I try to tell the truth, they will not
believe me.'
"You poor boy," was all she said, and
in a way that provoked me.
"You should be fair with me, Rose," I
remonstrated; "for you know, without
my telling, how deeply, I'm In love with
you." .
Then before long she had slipped Into
my arms and it was all over!