The quarrel had left Mary in a quiver of exalted rage. How dare a friend trample her most sacred feelings! She pitied Jane Anderson and her tribe—these modern feminine leaders of a senseless revolution against man—they were crazy. They had all been disappointed in some individual and for that reason set themselves up as the judges of mankind.
“Thank God my soul has not been poisoned!” she exclaimed aloud with fervor. “How strange that these women who claim such clear vision can be so stupidly blind!”
She busied herself with her little household, and made up her mind once and for all time to be done with such friendships. The friendship of such women was a vain thing. They were vicious cats at heart—not like her gentle Persian kitten whose soul was full of sleepy sunlight. These modern insurgents were wild, half-starved stray cats that had been hounded and beaten until they had lapsed into their elemental brute instincts. They were so aggravating, too, they deserved no sympathy.
Again she thanked God that she was not one of them—that her heart was still capable of romantic love—a love so sudden and so overwhelming that it could sweep life before it in one mad rush to its glorious end.
She woke next morning with a dull sense of depression. The room was damp and chilly. It was storming. The splash of rain against the window and the muffled roar from the street below meant that the wind was high and the day would be a wretched one outside.
They couldn't take their ride.
It was a double disappointment. She had meant to have him dash down to Long Beach and place the ring on her finger seated on that same bright sand-dune overlooking the sea. Instead, they must stay indoors. Jim was not at his best indoors. She loved him behind the wheel with his hand on the pulse of that racer. The machine seemed a part of his being. He breathed his spirit into its steel heart, and together they swept her on and on over billowy clouds through the gates of Heaven.
There was no help for it. They would spend the time together in her room planning the future. It would be sweet—these intimate hours in her home with the man she loved.
Should she spend a whole day alone there with him? Was it just proper? Was it really safe? Nonsense! The vile thoughts which Jane had uttered had poisoned her, after all. She hated her self that she could remember them. And yet they filled her heart with dread in spite of every effort to laugh them off.
“How could Jane Anderson dare say such things?” she muttered angrily. “`A coarse, illiterate brute!' It's a lie! a lie! a lie!” She stamped her foot in rage. “He's strong and brave and masterful—a man among men—he's my mate and I love him!”
And yet the frankness with which her friend had spoken had in reality disturbed her beyond measure. Through every hour of the day her uneasiness increased. After all she was utterly alone and her life had been pitifully narrow. Her knowledge of men she had drawn almost exclusively from romantic fiction.
It was just a little strange that Jim persisted in living so completely in the present and the future. He had told her of his pitiful childhood. He had told her of his business. It had been definite—the simple statement he made—and she accepted it without question until Jane Anderson had dropped these ugly suspicions. She hated the meddler for it.
In the light of such suspicions the simplest, bravest man might seem a criminal. How could her friend be blind to the magnetism of this man's powerful personality? Bah! She was jealous of their perfect happiness. Why are women so contemptible?
She began a careful study of every trait of her lover's character, determined to weigh him by the truest standards of manhood. Certainly he was no weakling. The one abomination of her soul was the type of the city degenerate she saw simpering along Broadway and Fifth Avenue at times. Jim was brave to the point of rashness. No man with an ounce of cowardice in his being could handle a car in every crisis with such cool daring and perfect control. He was strong. He could lift her body as if it were a feather. His arms crushed her with terrible force. He could earn a living for them both. There could be no doubt about that. His faultless clothes, the ease with which he commanded unlimited credit among the automobile manufacturers and dealers—every supply store on Broadway seemed to know him—left no doubt on that score.
There was just a bit of mystery and reserve about his career as an inventor. His first success that had given him a start he had not explained. The big deal about the new carburetor she could, of course, understand. He had a workshop all his own. He had told her this the first day they met. She would ask him to take her to see it this afternoon. The storm would prevent the trip to the Beach. She would ask this, not because she doubted his honesty, but because she really wished to see the place in which he worked. It was her workshop now, as well as his.
For a moment her suspicions were sickening. Suppose he had romanced about his workshop and his room? Supposed he lived somewhere in the squalid slums of the lower East Side and his people, after all, were alive? Perhaps a drunken father and a coarse, brutal mother—and sisters——
She stopped with a frown and clenched her fists.
She would ask Jim to show her his workshop. That would be enough. If he had told her the truth about that she would make up to him in tender abandonment of utter trust for every suspicion she harbored.
The car was standing in front of her door. He waved for her to come down.
“Jump right in!” he called gayly. “I've got an extra rubber blanket for you.”
“In the storm, Jim?” she faltered.
“Surest thing you know. It's great to fly through a storm. You can just ride on its wings. Throw on your raincoat and come on quick! I'm going to run down to the Beach. Who's afraid of an old storm with this thing under us?”
Her heart gave a bound. Her longing had reached her lover and brought him through the storm to do her bidding. It was wonderful—this oneness of soul and body.
She was happy again—supremely, divinely happy. The man by her side knew and understood. She knew and understood. She loved this daring spirit that rose to the wind—this iron will that brooked no interference with his plans, even from Nature, when it crossed his love.
The sting of the raindrops against her cheek was exhilarating. The car glided over the swimming roadway like a great gray gull skimming the beach at low tide. Her soul rose. The sun of a perfect faith and love was shining now behind the clouds.
She nestled close to his side and watched him tenderly from the corners of her half-closed eyes, her whole being content in his strength. The idea of dashing through a blinding rain to the Beach on such a day would have been to her mind an unthinkable piece of madness. She was proud of his daring. It would be hers to shield from the storms of life. She loved the rugged lines of his massive jaw in profile. How could Jane be such a fool as to call him ugly!
The weather, of course, prevented them from walking up the Beach to their sand-dune. The walk would have been all right—but it was out of the question to sit down there and give her the ring in the pouring rain. She knew this as well as he. She knew, too, that he had the ring in his pocket, though he had carefully refrained from referring to it in any way.
He led her to a secluded nook behind a pillar in the little parlor. The hotel was deserted. They had the building almost to themselves. A log fire crackled in the open fireplace, and he drew a settee close. The wind had moderated and the rain was pouring down in straight streams, rolling in soft music on the roof.
He drew the ring from his pocket. “Well, Kiddo, I got it. The fellow said this was all right.”
He held the tiny gold band before her shining eyes.
“Slip it on!” she whispered.
“Which one?”
“This one, silly!”
She extended her third finger, as he pressed the ring slowly on.
“Seems to me a mighty little one and a mighty cheap one, but he said it was the thing.”
“It's all right, dear,” she whispered. “Kiss me!”
He pressed his lips to hers and held them until she sank back and lifted her hand in warning.
“Be careful!”
“Whose afraid?” Jim muttered, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Now tell me what day—tomorrow?”
“Nonsense, man!” she cried. “Give me time to breathe——”
“What for?”
“Just to realize that I'm engaged—to plan and think and dream of the wonderful day.”
“We're losing time——”
“We'll never live these wonderful hours over again, dear.”
Jim's face fell and his voice was pitiful in its funereal notes: “Lord, I thought the ring settled it.”
“And so it does, dear—it does——-”
“Not if that long-legged spider that took dinner with us the other night gets in her fine work. I'll bet that she handed me a few when you got home?”
Mary was silent.
“Now didn't she?”
“To the best of her ability—yes—but I didn't mind her silly talk.”
“Gee, but I'd love to give her a bouquet of poison ivy!”
“We had an awful quarrel——”
“And you stood up for me?”
“You know I did!”
“All right, I don't give a tinker's damn what anybody says if you stand by me! In all this world there's just you—for me. There's never been anybody else—and there never will be. I'm that kind.”
“And I love you for it!” she cried, with rapture pressing his hand in both of hers.
“What did she say about me, anyhow?”
“Nothing worth repeating. I've forgotten it.”
Jim held her gaze.
“It's funny how you love anybody the minute you lay eyes on 'em—or hate 'em the same way. I wanted to choke her the minute she opened her yap to me.”
“Forget it, dear,” she broke in briskly. “I want you to take me to see your workshop tomorrow—will you?”
A flash of suspicion shot from the depths of his eyes.
“Did she tell you to ask me that?”
“Of course not! I'm just interested in everything you do. I want to see where you work.”
“It's no place for a sweet girl to go—that part of town.”
“But I'll be with you.”
“I don't want you to go down there,” he sullenly maintained.
“But why, dear?”
“It's a low, dirty place. I had to locate the shop there to get the room I needed for the rent I could pay. It's not fit for you. I'm going to move uptown in a little while.”
“Please let me go,” she pleaded.
He shook his head emphatically.
“No.”
She turned away to hide the tears. The first real, hideous fear she had ever had about him caught her heart in spite of every effort to fight it down. His workshop might be a myth after all. He had failed in the first test to which she had put him. It was horrible. All the vile suggestions of Jane Anderson rushed now into her memory.
She struggled bravely to keep her head and not break down. It was beyond her strength. A sob strangled her, and she buried her face in her hands.
Jim looked at her in helpless anguish for a moment, started to gather her in his arms and looked around the room in terror.
He leaned over her and whispered tensely:
“For God's sake, Kiddo—don't—don't do that! I didn't mean to hurt you—honest, I didn't. Don't cry any more and I'll take you right down to the black hole, and let you sleep on the floor if you want to. Gee! I'll give you the whole place, tools, junk and all——”
She lifted her head.
“Will you, Jim?”
“Sure I will! We start this minute if you want to go.”
She glanced over his shoulder to see that no one was looking, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again.
“It was the first time you ever said no, dear, and it hurt. I'm happy again now. If you'll just let me see you in the shop for five minutes I'll never ask you again.”
“All right—tomorrow when you get out of school. I'll take you down. Holy Mike, that was a dandy kiss! Let's quarrel again—start something else.”
She rose laughing and brushed the last trace of tears from her eyes.
“Let's eat dinner now—I'm hungry.”
“By George, I'd forgot all about the feed!”
By eight o'clock the storm had abated; the rain suddenly stopped, and the moon peeped through the clouds.
He drove the big racer back at a steady, even stride on her lowest notch of speed—half the time with only his right hand on the wheel and his left gripping hers.
As the lights of Manhattan flashed from the hills beyond the Queensborough Bridge, he leaned close and whispered:
“Happy?”
“Perfectly.”
The car was waiting the next day at half-past three.
“It's not far,” he said, nodding carelessly. “You needn't put on the coat. Be there in a jiffy.”
Down Twenty-third Street to Avenue A, down the avenue to Eighteenth Street, and then he suddenly swung the machine through Eighteenth into Avenue B and stopped below a low, red brick building on the corner.
He set his brakes with a crash, leaped out and extended his hands.
“I didn't like to take you up these stairs at the back of that saloon, little girl, but you would come. Now don't blame me——”
She pressed his arm tenderly.
“Of course I won't blame you. I'm proud and happy to share your life and help you. I'm surprised to see everything so quiet down here. I thought all the East Side was packed with crowded tenements.”
“No,” he answered, in a matter-of-fact way. “About the only excitement we have in this quarter is an occasional gas explosion in the plant over there, and the noise of the second-hand material men unloading iron. The tenements haven't been built here yet.”
He led her quickly past the back door of the saloon and up two narrow flights of stairs to the top of the building, drew from his pocket the key to a heavy padlock and slipped the crooked bolt from the double staples. He unlocked the door with a second key and pushed his way in.
“All righto,” he cried.
The straight, narrow hall inside was dark. He fumbled in his pocket and lit the gas.
“The workshop first, or my sleeping den?”
“The workshop first!” she whispered excitedly.
She had made the reality of this shop the supreme test of Jim's word and character. She was in a fever of expectant uncertainty as to its equipment and practical use.
He unlocked the door leading to the front.
“That's my den—we'll come back here.”
He passed quickly to the further end of the hall and again used two keys to open the door, and held it back for her to enter.
“I'm sorry it's so dirty—if you get your pretty dress all ruined—it's not my fault, you know.”
Mary surveyed the room with an exclamation of delight.
“Oh, what a wonderful place! Why, Jim, you're a magician!”
There could be no doubt about the practical use to which the shop was being put. Its one small window opened on a fire escape in the narrow court in the rear. A skylight in the middle opened with a hinge on the roof and flooded the space with perfect light. An iron ladder swung from the skylight and was hooked up against the ceiling by a hasp fastened to a staple over a work-bench. On one side of the room was a tiny blacksmith's forge, an anvil, hammers and a complete set of tools for working in rough iron. A small gasoline engine supplied the power which turned his lathe and worked the drills, saw and plane. On the other side of the room was arranged a fairly complete chemical laboratory with several retorts, and an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe capable of developing the powerful heat used in the melting and brazing of metals. Beneath the benches were piled automobile supplies of every kind.
“You know how to use all these machines, Jim?” she asked in wonder.
“Sure, and then some!” he answered with a wave of his slender hand.
“You're a wizard——”
“Now the den?” he said briskly.
She followed him through the hall and into the large front corner room overlooking Avenue B and Eighteenth Street. The morning sun flooded the front and the afternoon sun poured into the side windows. The furniture was solid mahogany—a bed, bureau, chiffonier, couch and three chairs. The windows were fitted with wood-paneled shutters, shades and heavy draperies. A thick, soft carpet of faded red covered the floor.
“It's a nice room, Jim, but I'd like to dust it for you,” she said with a smile.
“Sure. I'm for giving you the right to dust it every morning, Kiddo, beginning now. Let's find a preacher tonight!”
She blushed and moved a step toward the door.
“Just a little while. You know it's been only ten days since we met——”
“But we've lived some in that time, haven't we?”
“An eternity, I think,” she said reverently.
“I want to marry right now, girlie!” he pleaded desperately. “If that spider gets you in her den again, I just feel like it's good night for me.”
“Nonsense. You can't believe me such a silly child. I'm a woman. I love you. Do you think the foolish prejudice of a friend could destroy my love for the man whom I have chosen for my mate?”
“No, but I want it fixed and then it's fixed—and they can say what they please. Marry me tonight! You've got the ring. You're going to in a little while, anyhow. What's the use to wait and lose these days out of our life? What's the sense of it? Don't you know me by this time? Don't you trust me by this time?”
She slipped her hand gently into his.
“I trust you utterly. And I feel that I've known you since the day I was born——”
“Then why—why wait a minute?”
“You can't understand a girl's feelings, dear—only a little while and it's all right.”
He sat down on the couch in silence, rose and walked to the window. She watched him struggling with deep emotion.
He turned suddenly.
“Look here, Kiddo, I've got to leave on that trip to the mountains of North Carolina. I've got to get down there before Christmas. I must be back here by the first of the year. Gee—I can't go without you! You don't want to stay here without me, do you?”
A sudden pallor overspread her face. For the first time she realized how their lives had become one in the sweet intimacy of the past ten days.
“You must go now?” she gasped.
“Yes. I've made my arrangements. I've business back here the first of the year that can't wait. Marry me and go with me. We'll take our honeymoon down there. By George, we'll go together in the car! Every day by each other's side over hundreds and hundreds of miles! Say, ain't you game? Come on! It's a crime to send me away without you. How can you do it?”
“I can't—I'm afraid,” she faltered.
“You'll marry me, then?”
“Yes!” she whispered. “What is the latest day you can start?”
“Next Saturday, if we go in the car——”
“All right,”—she was looking straight into the depths of his soul now—“next Saturday.”
He clasped her in his arms and held her with desperate tenderness.
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