Play the Game
by Ruth Comfort Mitchell
PLAY THE GAME!
RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: LONDON :: 1924
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1920, by The Crowell Publishing Company
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO MY BROTHERS
PLAY THE GAME!
There was no denying the fact that Honor Carmody liked the boys. No
one ever attempted to deny it, least of all Honor herself.
When she finished grammar school her mother and her gay young
stepfather told her they had decided to send her to Marlborough rather
than to the Los Angeles High School.
The child looked utterly aghast. Oh, she said, I wouldn't like
that at all. I don't believe I could. I couldn't bear
My dear, her mother chided, don't be silly! It's a quite
wonderful school, known all over the country. Girls are sent there from
Chicago and New York, and even Boston. You'll be with the best girls,
the very nicest
That's just it, Honor interrupted, forlornly.
What do you mean?
Girls. Just girls. Oodles and oodles of nothing but girls.
Honestly, Muzzie, I don't think I could stand it. She was a
large, substantial young creature with a broad brow and hearty coloring
and candid eyes. Her stepfather was sure she would never have her
mother's beauty, but he was almost equally sure that she would never
need it. He studied her closely and her actions and reactions intrigued
him. He laughed, now, and his wife turned mildly shocked eyes on him.
Stephen, dear! Don't encourage her in being queer. I don't like her
to be queer. Mrs. Lorimer was not in the least queer herself, unless,
indeed, it was queer to be startlingly lovely and girlish and appealing
at forty-one, with a second husband and six children. She was not an
especially motherly person except in moments of reproof and then she
always spoke in a remote third person. Honor, Mother wants you to be
more with girls. Then, as if to make it clear that she was not merely
advancing a personal whim,You need to be more with girls.
Whywhy because Mother says you do. Mrs. Lorimer did not like to
argue. She always got out of breath and warm-looking.
Her daughter dropped on the floor at her feet. Mrs. Lorimer had
small, happy-looking, lily-of-the-field hands and Honor took one of
them between her hard brown paws and squeezed it. I know, butwhy
do you say so? I don't know anything about girls. Why should I, when
I've had eight boy cousins and five boy brothers andshe gave Stephen
Lorimer a brief, friendly grinand two boy fathers! Her stepfather
was not really younger than his wife but he was incurably boyish. The
girl grew earnest. Please, pretty-please, let me go to L. A.
High! I've counted on it so! Andshe was as intent and free from
self-consciousness as a terrier at a rat holeall the boys I know are
going to L. A. High! And Jimsy's going, and he'll need
Her stepfather laughed again and lighted a cigarette. She has you
there, Mildred. He will need her.
Of course he will. Honor turned a grateful face to him. I'll have
to do all his English and Latin for him, so he can get signed up every
week and play football!
Mrs. Lorimer did not see why her daughter's finishing need be
curtailed by young James King's athletic activities and she started in
to say so with vigor and emphasis, but her husband held up his long
beautifully modeled hand rather in the manner of a traffic policeman
and stopped her.
Look here, Mildred, he said, suppose you and I convene in special
session and consider this thing from all angles and then let her know
what it comes to,shall we? Run along, Top Step!
All right, Stepper, said the child, relievedly. You
explain it to her. She went contentedly away and a moment later they
heard her robust young voice lifted on the lawn next door,Jim-zee! Oh, Jimsy! Come-mawn-out!
You see? Mrs. Lorimer wanted rather inaccurately to know. That's
what we've got to stop, Stephen.
He smiled. Butas your eldest offspring just now inquiredwhy?
Why? She lifted her hands and let them fall into her lap
again, palm upward, and regarded him in gentle exasperation. Stephen,
you know, really, sometimes I feel that you are not a bit of help to me
with the children.
Sometimes you do, I daresay, he granted her, serenely, but most
of the time you must be simply starry-eyed with gratitude over the
brilliant way I manage them. Come along over here and we'll talk it
over! He patted the place beside him on the couch.
You mean, said his wife a little sulkily, going, nevertheless,
that you'll talk me over!
That is my secret hope, said Stephen Lorimer.
It was all quite true. He did manage her children and their
childrenthere were three of eachwith astonishing ease and success.
They amused him, and adored him. He understood them utterly. Honor was
seven when her own father died and nine when her mother married again.
Stephen Lorimer would never forget her first inspection of him.
Nursemaids had done their worst on the subject of stepfathers; fairy
tales had presented the pattern. He knew exactly what was going on in
her mind, andquite as earnestly beneath his persiflage as he had set
himself to woo the widowhe set himself to win her daughter. It was a
matter of moments only before he saw the color coming back into her
square little face and the horror seeping out of her eyes. It was a
matter of days only until she sought him out and told him, in her
mother's presence, that she believed she liked him better than her
Honor, dear! Youyou mustn't, really Mildred Lorimer
insisted with herself on being shocked.
Don't you, Muzzie? Don't you like him better? the child
wanted persistently to know. He was very nice, of course; I did like
him awfully. But he was always 'way off Down Town ... at The Office. We
didn't have any fun with him. Stepper's always home. I'm glad we
married a newspaper one this time.
Stephen, that dreadful name.... What will people think?
Her new husband didn't in the least care. He and Honor had gravely
considered on that first day what they should call each other. It
seemed to Stephen Lorimer that it was hardly fair to the gentleman who
had stayed so largely at The Office to have his big little daughter and
his tiny sons calling his successor Father or Dad, and Papa with
all its shades and shifts of accent left him cold. Let's see, Honor.
'Stepfather' as a salutation sounds rather accusing, doesn't it?
'Step-pa,' now, is less austere, but
Oh, Stephen, dear! They were not consulting Mrs. Lorimer at
I've got it! It's an inspiration! 'Stepper!' Neat, crisp, brisk.
Means, if any one should ask you, 'Step-pa' and also, literally,
stepper; a stepper; one who stepsinto another's place.
Well, haven't I, my dear? He considered the three young Carmodys,
nine, seven, and five. Steps yourselves, aren't you? Honor's the top
Oh, Stepper, call me Top Step! I like that.
Right. And Billy's Bottom Step and Ted's the Tweeny! Now we're all
Yes, said Honor, contentedly. She herded her little brothers out
of the room and came back alone. Butwhat'll I tell people you are
Why, I think, he considered, you're young enough and trusting
enough to call me A Writer.
I mean, are you Muzzie's step-husband, too?
It was the first time she had seen the lightness leave his eyes.
No. No. I am your mothI am her husband. There is no step
there. He got up and walked over to where his wife was sitting and
towered over her. He was a tall man and he looked especially tall at
that moment. Her plainhusband. Extremely plain, as it happenshe
was himself again for an instantbuther husband. It seemed
to the child that he had forgotten which one of them had asked him the
question and was addressing himself to her mother by mistake. He seemed
at once angry and demanding and anxious, and she had never seen her
mother so pink. However, her question had been answered and she had
affairs of her own. She went away without a backward glance so she did
not see her stepfather drop to his knees beside the chair and gather
the quiet woman roughly into his arms, nor hear his insistent voice.
Her husband. The firsthusbandsheever had. Say it, Mildred.
And now Honor was thirteen and a half, and tardily ready for High
School, and there were three little Lorimers, twins and a six months'
old single. Stephen Lorimer, who had been a singularly footloose world
rover, had settled down securely in the old Carmody house on South
Figueroa Street. He was intensely proud of his paternity, personal and
vicarious, and took it not seriously but joyously. He was dramatic
critic and special writer for the leading newspaper of Los Angeles, and
theoretically he worked by night and slept by day, but as a matter of
puzzling fact he did not sleep at all, unless one counted his brief
morning naps. His eyes, in consequence, seemed never to be quite open,
but nothing, nevertheless, escaped them.
An outsider, looking in on them now, the erect, hot-cheeked,
imperious woman, a little insolent always of her beauty, and the
lolling, lounging man with the drooping lids, would have placed his
odds unhesitatingly on her winning of any point she might have in mind.
Even Mildred Lorimer herself, after four years and a half of being
married to him, thought she would win out over him this time. Honor was
the only daughter she had, the only daughter she would ever have, for
she had definitely decided, at forty-one, to cease her dealings with
the long-legged bird who had flapped six times to her roof, and it
seemed intolerable to her thatwith five boysher one girl should be
so robustly ungirlish.
Now, then, let's have it. You want Honor to go to Marlborough. As
she herself asked and I myself repeated,why?
And as I answered you both, said his wife, trying hard to keep the
conversation spinning lightly in the air as he did, it's because I
want her to be more like other girls.
And I, said her husband, do not. This was the place for Mildred
Lorimer to fling her own why but her husband was too quick for
her. Because she is so much finer and sounder and saner and sweeter as
she is. Mildred, I have never seen any living creature so selfless.
What was the word they coined in that play about Mars?'Otherdom?
' That's it, yes; otherdom. That's Honor Carmody. She could have
finished grammar school at twelve, but Jimsy needed her help.
That's just it! Can't you see how wrong that is?
No. I'm too much occupied with seeing how right it is. Good Lord,
my dear, in a world given over to the first person perpendicular, can't
you see the amazing beauty and rarity of your child's soul? Every day
and all day long she gives herself,to you, to me, to the kiddies, to
her friends. She is the eternal mother. Mildred Lorimer was not the
eternal mother. She was not in fact a mother at all. The physical fact
of motherhood had six times descended upon her and she was doing her
gentle, well-bred, conscientious best in six lively directions, but
under it all she was forever Helen, forever the best beloved. She was
getting rather beyond her depth but she was not giving up. Stephen, in
discussion, had an elusive way of soaring into hazy generalities. She
brought him down.
I can't see why it should make her any less unselfish to attend the
best girls' school than toto run with the boys. She brought out the
little vulgarism with a faint curl of her lovely lip.
'Run with the boys!' That has a positively Salem flavor, hasn't it?
Almost as deadly, that 'with,' as 'after,' He loved words, Stephen
Lorimer; he played with them and juggled them. Yet isn't that exactly
what the girls of to-day must and should do? Isn't it what the girls of
to-morrownaturally, unrebukedwill do? Not running after them, slyly
or brazenly; not sitting at home, crimped and primped and curled,
waiting to be run after. No, he said hotly, getting up and beginning
to swallow up the room from wall to wall with his long strides, no! With them. Running with them, chin in, chest out, sound, conditioned,
unashamed! He believed that he meant to write a tremendous book, one
day, Honor's stepfather. He often reeled off whole chapters in his
mind, warm and glowing. It was only when he got it down on paper that
it cooled and congealed. Running with them in the racefor the
race his hurtling promenade took him to the window and he paused
for an instant. Come here, Mildred. Look at her!
Mildred Lorimer came to join him. On the shabby, rusty lawn of the
King place, next door, all the rustier for its nearness to their own
emerald turf, sat Honor Carmody and Jimsy King, jointly and severally
lacing up a football.
Yes, look at her! said her mother with feeling.
Leave her alone, Mildred. Leave her alive!
The two children were utterly absorbed. The boy was half a head
taller than the girl, heavier, sturdier, of a startling beauty. There
was a stubborn, much reviled wave in his bronze hair and his eyes were
a dark hazel flecked with black. His skin was bronze, too, bronzed by
many Catalina summer and winter swims at Ocean Park. It made his teeth
seem very white and flashing.
The window was open to the soft Southern California air, and the
voices came across to the watchers.
I am holding it!
A handsome man of forty came up the tree-shaded street, not quite
steadily, and turned into the King's walk. His hat was pulled low over
his eyes and the collar of his coat was turned up in spite of the
mildness of the day. He nodded to the boy and girl as he went past them
and on into the house.
Again! said Mrs. Lorimer, tragically. That's the second
time this week!
Rough on the kid, said her husband. See him now.
Jimsy King had turned his head and was following his father's slow
progress up the steps and across the porch and into the house. Be in
in a minute, Dad! he called after him.
Loyal little beggar. I saw him steering him up Broadway one
morning, just at school time. Pluck.
Honor had looked after James King, the elder, too, and then at his
son, and then at the football in her hands again. Hurry up, she
commanded. Pull it tighter! Tighter! Do you call that pulling?
Inexorably she got his attention back to the subject in hand.
That makes it all the worse, said Mrs. Lorimer. Of course they're
only childrenbabies, reallybut I couldn't have anything.... It's
bad blood, Stephen. I couldn't have my child interested in one
of the 'Wild Kings'!
Well, you won't have, if you're wise. Let 'em alone. Let 'em lace
footballs on the front lawn ... and they won't hold hands on the side
porch! Why, woman dear, like the well-known Mr. Job, the thing you
greatly fear you'll bring to pass! Shut her up in a girls' schooleven
the best and sanestand you'll make boys suddenly into creatures of
romance, remote, desirable. Don't emphasize and underline for her.
She's as clean as a star and as unself-conscious as a puppy! Don't
hurry her into what one of those English play-writing chaps
callsGranville Barker, isn't it?Yes,Madras House'the
barnyard drama of sex.... Male and female created He them ... but men
and women are a long time in the making!'
The lacing of the football was finished. The boy lifted his head and
looked soberly at the door through which his father had entered, not
quite steadily. Then he drew a long breath, threw back his shining
bronze head, said something in a low tone to the girl, and ran into the
Honor Carmody got to her feet and stood looking after him, the odd
mothering look in her square child's face. She stood so for long
moments, without moving, and her mother and her stepfather watched her.
Suddenly Stephen Lorimer flung the window up as far as it would go
and leaned out.
It's all right, Top Step, he called, meeting the leaping gladness
of her glance. We've decided, your mother and I. You're going to L. A.
High! You're going but now he dropped his voice and spoke only for
the woman beside him, slipping a penitent and conciliatory arm about
her, his eyes impish, you're going to run with the boys!
The Wild Kings had lived in their fine old house ever since the
neighborhood could remember. The first and probably the wildest of them
had come out from Virginia when Los Angeles was still a drowsing
Spanish village, bringing with him an aged and excellent cellar and a
flock of negro servants. Honor's Carmody grandmother could remember the
picturesqueness of his entourage, of James King himself, the
hard-riding, hard-drinking, soft-spoken cavalier with his proud, pale
wife and his slim, high-stepping horses and his grinning blacks. The
general conviction was, Grandmother Carmody said, that he had comeor
been sentwest to make a fresh start. There was something rather
pathetically naïve about that theory. There could never be a fresh
start for the Wild Kings in a world of excellent cellars and playing
cards. In a surprisingly short time he had re-created his earlier
atmosphere for himselfan atmosphere of charm and cheer and color ...
and pride and shame and misery, in which his wife and children lived
and moved and had their being. In the early eighties he built the big
beautiful house on South Figueroa Street, moved the last of his negro
servitors and the last of his cellar and his young family into it and
died. Since that day Kings had come and gone in it, big, bonny
creatures, liked and sighed over, and the house was shabby now, cracked
and peeling for the want of paint, the walks grass-grown, the lawn
frowzy, lank and stringy curtains at the dim windows. There were only
three bottles of the historic cellar left now, precious, cob-webbed;
there was only one of the blacks, an ancient, crabbed crone of the
second generation, with a witch's hand at cookery and a witch's temper.
And there were only James King III and James King IV, his son, Honor's
Jimsy, left of the line in the old home. The negress fed and mended
them; an infrequent Japanese came in to make futile efforts on house
The neighbors said, How do you do, Mr. King? Like summer, really,
isn't it? and looked hastily away. One never could be sure of finding
him quite himself. Even if he walked quite steadily he might not be
able to talk quite steadily, but he was always a King, always sure of
his manner, be he ever so unsure of his feet or his tongue. He had been
worse since his wife died, when the boy was still a toddler. She was a
slim, sandy-haired Scotch girl with steady eyes and a prominent chin,
who had married him to reform him, and the neighbors were beginning to
think she was in a fair way to compass it when she died. No one had
ever been able to pity Jeanie King; she had been as proud as the pale
lady who came with the first Wild King from Virginia. There was that
about the Kings; it had to be granted that their women always stuck;
they must have had compensating traits and graces. No King wife ever
gave up or deserted save by death, and no King wife ever wept on a
And now they had all wandered back to Virginia or up to Alaska or
down to Mexico, and there was not an uncle or cousin of his tribe left
in Los Angeles for Jimsy King; only his bad, beloved father, coming
home at noon in rumpled evening dress, but wearing it better and more
handily, for all that, than any other man on the block.
It was agreed that there was no chance for Jimsy to escape the
heritage of his blood. People were kind about it, but very firm. If
his mother had lived he might have had a chance, the poor boy, Mrs.
Lorimer would sigh, but with that father, and that home life, and that
My dear, said Stephen Lorimer, can't you see what you are doing?
By you I mean the neighborhood. You are holding his heredity up
like a hoop for him to jump through!
Honor's stepfather held that there might be a generous share of the
firm-chinned Scotch mother in Jimsy. Certainly it was a fighting
chance; he was living in a day of less warmth and color than his father
and his forbears; there were more outlets for his interest and his
energy. His father, for instance, had not played football. Jimsy had
played as soon as he could walk alonefootball, baseball, basketball,
handball, water polo; life was a hard and tingling game to him. It's
an even chance, said Stephen Lorimer, and if Honor's palling with him
can swing it, can we square it with ourselves to take her away from
him? He carried his point, as usual, and the boy and the girl started
in at Los Angeles High on the same day. Honor decided on the subjects
which Jimsy could most safely takethe things he was strongest in, the
weak subjects in which she was strong. There was an inexorable rule
about being signed up by every teacher for satisfactory work on Friday
afternoon before a Saturday football game; it was as a law of the Medes
and Persians; even the teachers who adored him most needs must abide by
it. There was no cajoling any of them; even the pretty, ridiculously
young thing who taught Spanish maintained a Gibraltar-like firmness.
You'll simply have to study, Jimsy, that's all, said Honor.
Study, yes, but that's not learning, Skipper! (She had been that
ever since her first entirely seaworthy summer at Catalina.) I can
study, if I have to, but that's not saying I'll get anything into my
sconce! I'm pretty slow in the head!
I know you are, said Honor, sighing. Of course, you've been so
busy with other things. Think what you've done in athletics!
Fast on the feet and slow in the head, he grinned. Well, I'll die
trying. But you've got to stand by, Skipper.
Of course. I'll do your Latin and English and part of your
Gee, you're a brick.
It's nothing. She dismissed it briefly. It's my way of doing
something, Jimsy, that's all. It's the only way I can be on the team.
She glowed pinkly at the thought. When I sit up on the bleachers and
see you make a touchdown and hear 'em yellwhy I'm there! I'm
on the team because I've helped a little to keep you on the team! It
almost makes up for having to be a girl. Just for the moment, I'm not
sitting up high, clean and starched and safe; I'm on the field, hot and
muddy and with my nose bleeding, doing something for L. A.! I'm
Jimsy slapped her on the shoulder like a man and brother. You're
there all the time, Skipper! You're there a million!
He made the first team the first day he went out to practice. There
was no denying him. He captained the team the second year and every
year until he graduated, a year late for all his friend's unwearying
toil. As a matter of fact they did not make a special effort to get him
through on time; the team needed him, the squad needed him, L. A.
needed him. It was more like a college than a High School in those
days, with its numbers and its spirit, that strong, intangible evidence
of things not seen. There was something about it, a concentrated
essence of Jimsy King and hundreds of lesser Jimsy Kings, which made it
practically unconquerable. In the year before his final one the team
reached its shining perfection and held it to the end. It is still a
name to conjure with at the school on the hill, Jimsy King's. The old
teachers remember; the word comes down. A regular old-time L. A.
teamthe fighting spirit. Like the days of Jimsy King!
Other teams might score on them; frequently they could not, but when
they did the rooting section was not dashed. It lifted up its multiple
voice, young, insolent, unafraid, in mocking song, and Honor Carmody,
just on the edge of the section, beside her stepfather, sang with them:
You can't beat L. A. High!
You can't beat L. A. High!
Use your team to get up steam
But you can't beat L. A. High!
It rolled out over the football field and echoed away in the soft
Southern California air. It was gay, inexorable; you couldn't
beat L. A. High, field or bleachers.
Stephen Lorimer never missed a game. His wife went once and never
I suppose I am too sensitive, she said, but I can't help it. It's
the way I'm made. I simply cannot endure seeing anything so brutal. I
can't understand those young girls ... and the mothers! Two of
her own were on the second team, now, but she never saw them play, and
they came in the back way, after games and practice, sneaking up to
Honor's room with their black eyes and their gory noses for her capable
first aid. She was not one, Mildred Lorimer, into whose blood something
of the iron had entered. Her boys bewildered her as they grew and
toughened out of baby fiber. She was a little unhappy about it, but she
was more beautiful than she had ever been in her life, and freer, with
the last little Lorimer shifting sturdily for himself and his father
more in love with her than ever. She had more or less resigned her
active motherhood to him. The things she might have done for Honor, the
selection of her frocks and hats, the color scheme of her room, her
parties, the girl at seventeen did efficiently for herself. Her
childish squareness of face and figure was rounding out rather
splendidly and she had a sure and dependable sense of what to wear. Her
things were good in line and color, smartly simple. She had thick
braids of honey-colored hair wound round her head; her brow was broad
and calm, her gray eyes serene; she had a fresh and hearty color.
Stephen Lorimer believed that she had a voice. She sang like one of the
mocking birds in her garden, joyously, radiantly, riotously, and her
stepfather, who knew amazingly many great persons, persuaded a famous
artist to hear her when she gave her concert in Los Angeles.
Yes, she said, nodding her head, it is a voice. It is a voice. A
little teaching, yes; this Barrett woman who was once my pupil, she
will be safe with her. Not too much; not too much singing. Finish your
school, my little one. Then you shall come over to me for a year, yes?
We shall see what we shall see! She patted her cheek and sent her out
of the room ahead of Stephen.
Well? he wanted to know.
But yes, a voice, as I have said. Send her to me when her schooling
She has a future?
The great contralto shrugged her thick shoulders. I fear not. I
His face lengthened. Why?
Because, my friend, she will care more for living. She will not
care so greatly to get, that large child. She will only give. She has not the fine relentless selfishness to make the artist. Well,
we shall see. Life may break her. Send her to me. In two years, yes?
No, no, I will have no thanks. It is so small a thing to do.... One
grows fat and old; it is good to have youngness near. Now, go, my
friend. I shall gargle my throat and sleep. She gave him a hot, plump
hand to kiss.
Honor was not especially impressed. She rather thought, when the
time came, she should prefer to go to Stanford, but she liked her music
lessons, meanwhile. It filled up her time, the business of singing, in
that last year when she was more or less marking time and helping Jimsy
Her stepfather watched her with growing amazement. So far as any one
might judge, and to Mrs. Lorimer's tearful relief, Honor's attitude
toward the last of the Wild Kings was at seventeen what it had been
at twelve, at six.
I was right, wasn't I? Stephen wanted to know.
Well ... if you can only keep on being right about it! I'm so
thankful about her singing. That year abroad will be wonderful. She'll
meet new people ... real men.
Young Jimsy is exhibiting every known symptom of becoming a real
Yes, but he's a King.
That appears to be the universal opinion regarding him.
Stephen dear, don't be ridiculous! You've always been as
bewitched about the boy as Honor herself. Mrs. Lorimer was dressed for
a luncheon and her husband, heavy-eyed and flushed of face, had cut
short his late morning sleep to drive her. She was still for him the
Mildred, he said, quitting the battlefield for the eternal
balcony, do you know that you are lovelier this instant than you were
the day I married you?
Mrs. Lorimer knew it quite well. It was due somewhat to good
management as well as luck, and she liked having the results
appreciated. She let him kiss her, carefully, because she had her hat
The elder James King did not seem to age with the years. He is,
Stephen Lorimer said facetiously, only too well preserved! His manner
and mode of life remained the same, save that he lost more heavily at
cards. For the first time in its history the old King place was
mortgaged. In a day when every one who was any one, as Honor's mother
put it, was getting a motor car, the Kings had none. Jimsy, of course,
rode regally in every one else's. The Lorimers had two, an electric in
which Honor's mother glided softly with her little whirring bell from
clubs to luncheons and from luncheons to teas, and a rough and ready
seven-passenger affair into which the whole tribe might be piled, and
which Honor Carmody drove better than her stepfather, who was apt to
dream at the wheel. On Sundays Stephen Lorimer took them all, Jimsy,
Honor, Billy and Ted Carmody, the Lorimer twins and the last little
Lorimer, on motor picnics to the beach. They drove to Santa Monica,
down the Palisades, up the narrow, winding, wave-washed road to the
Malibou Ranch and built a fire and broiled chops and made coffee and
baked potatoes, after their swim, ate like refugees and slept like
puppies on the sand. In the afternoon, when they came back to the
gracious old house in its wide garden on South Figueroa Street Mildred
Lorimer would be waiting, in a frock he loved, to give her husband his
tea, cool, lovely, remote from the rougher fun of life.
In the eveningsSunday eveningsHonor held her joyous At Homes.
Three or four favored girls and a dozen boys came to supper, a loud,
hilarious meal. Takasugi, the cook, and Kada, the second boy, were
given their freedom. Honor, in the quaint aprons her stepfather had
picked up here and there over the world, pink, capable, with the
assistance of Jimsy and her biggest brothers, got supper.
It was a lively feast. Jimsy King, in one of Kada's white jackets,
waited on the table. They ate enormously, and when they had finished
they pronounced their ungodly gracea thunderous tattoo on the table
edge, begun with palms and finished with elbows
followed, while the cups and plates were still leaping and
shuddering, with its secular second verse
Well, Top Step, said Stephen one of those evenings, eleven boys
beside the stand-by Jimsy. Fair to middling popularity, I should say!
Popularity? She opened her candid eyes wide at him. Why, Stepper,
you know it's not that! They don't come to see me! They don't mind me,
of course, but it's the eats, and meeting each other,and mostly
Jimsy, I guess! Mercy,the chocolate's boiling over!
She clearly believed it, and it was more or less true. The Carmody
home of a Sunday night was a sort of glorified club house without rules
or dues or by-laws. It was the thing to do, if one were so lucky. It
rather placed a boy in the scheme of things to be one of the
Sunday-night bunch. Jimsy was the Committee on Membership.
Let's have that Burke boy out to supper Sunday, shan't we? Honor
would say. He's doing so well on the team.
No, Jimsy would answer, definitely. Not at the house, Skipper.
Honor accepted his judgments unquestioningly. Some way, with the deep
wisdom of boys, he knew, better than she could, that the young Burke
person was better on the field than in the drawing-room. There was
nothing snobbish in their gatherings; shabby boys came, girls who had
made their own little dimity dresses. It was the intangible, inexorable
caste of the best boyhood, and Honor knew, comfortably, that her
particular King could do no wrong.
The rooting section had a special yell for Jimsy, when he had sped
down the field to a touchdown or kicked a difficult goal. It followed
the regular High School yell, hair-lifting in its fierceness:
King! King! King!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
K-I-N-G, King! KING!
and Honor utterly agreed with them.
The house across the street from the Carmody place was suddenly
sold. People were curious and a little anxious. Every one on that block
had been there for a generation or so; there was a sense of permanence
about them alleven the Kings.
Eastern people, said Mrs. Lorimer. A mother, rather
delicate-looking, and one son, eighteen or nineteen I should say. He's
frail-looking, too, and he limps a little. I imagine they're very nice.
Everything about themher magazine reading had taken her quite
reasonably to a front window the day the newcomers' furniture was
uncrated and carried inseems very nice. She hoped, if it developed
that they really were desirable that they would be permanent. Los
Angeles was coming to have such a floating population....
Honor and Jimsy observed the boy from across the street, a slim,
modish person. Gee, said Jimsy, it must be fierce to be lame!to
have your body notnot do what you tell it to! I wonder what he does?
He can't do anything, can he? His eyes were deep with honest
Oh, I suppose he sort of fills in with other things, Honor
conceded. I expect, if people can't do the things that count most,
they go in for other things. He seems awfully keen about his two cars.
They're peaches, both of 'em, said Jimsy without envy.
And of course he has time to be a wonder at school, if he wants to
Yep. Looks as if he might be a shark at it. He grinned. Slow on
his feet but fast in the head.
Muzzie's going to call on his mother, and then we'd better ask him
to supper, hadn't we? He must be horribly lonesome.
I'll float over and see him, the last King suggested, and sort of
size him up. Give him the once-over. We don't want to start anything
unless he's O. K. Might as well go now, I guess.
All right. Come in afterward and tell me what you think of him.
He nodded and swung off across the street. It was an hour before he
came back, glowing. Gee, Skipper, I'm strong for that kid! Name's Van
Meter, Carter Van Meter. He's got a head on him, that boy! He's been
everywhere and seen everythingthree times abroadCanada, Mexico! You
ought to hear him talknot a bit up-stagy, no side at all, but
interesting! I asked him for supper, Sunday night. You'll be crazy
about himall the bunch will! Thus Jimsy King on the day Carter Van
Meter limped into his life; thus Jimsy King through the years which
followed, worshiping humbly the things he did not have in himself,
belittling his own gifts, enlarging his own lacks, glorifying his
friend. He had never had a deeply intimate boy friend before; the team
was his friend, the squad; Honor had sufficed for a nearer tie. It was
to be different, now; a sharing. She was to resent a little in the
beginning, before she, too, came under the spell of the boy from the
Mrs. Lorimer came smiling back from her call. Very nice,
she told her husband and her daughter, really charming. And her things
are quite wonderful ... rare rugs ... portraits of ancestors. A widow.
Here for her health, and the boy's health; he's never been strong. All
she has in the world ... wrapped up in him. Very Eastern!she
laughed at the memory. She said, 'And from what part of the East do
you come, Mrs. Lorimer?' When I said I was born here in Los Angeles she
almost gasped, and then she flushed and said, 'Oh, really? Is it
possible? But I met some people on shipboard, oncethe time before
last when I was crossingwho were natives, and they were quite
The word 'native' intrigues them, said Stephen, drawing off her
long, limp suede gloves and smoothing them. I daresay she'll be
looking for war whoops and tomahawks. And if it comes to that, we can
furnish the former, especially Sunday night.
Muzzie, did you meet the boy? Honor wanted to know.
Yes. He came in for tea with us. A beautifully mannered boy. Very
much at ease. We must have him here, Honor.
Yes, Jimsy's already asked him for Sunday night, Muzzie. Jimsy
Well, he may. He has a something ... I don't know what it is,
exactly, but he will be good for all of you.
We'll be good for him, too, said her daughter, calmly. It must be
fearfully dull for him, not knowing any one, and being lame.
He came to supper, a trim young glass of fashion, and it was he, the
stranger, who was entirely at his ease, and the bunch, the gay,
accustomed bunch, which was a little shy and constrained. Jimsy stood
sponsor for him and Honor was an earnest hostess. He said he enjoyed
himself; certainly he made himself gently agreeable to Mrs. Lorimer, to
the girls. Honor's stepfather observed him with his undying curiosity.
He was a plain boy with a look of past pain in his colorless face, a
shadowed bitterness in his eyes, a droop at the corners of his mouth
when he was not speaking. For all his two motor cars and his rare old
rugs and the portraits of ancestors and his idolized only sonship, life
had clearly withheld from him the things he had wanted most. There was
a baffled imperiousness about him, Stephen decided.
A clever youngster, he told his wife, watching him from across the
room. Brains. But I don't like him.
Stephen! Why not?
He shook his head. I don't know yet. But I know. I had a curious
sense, as he came limping into the room to-night, of 'Enter the
My dear,that poor, frail boy, with his lovely, gentle manners!
I know. It does sound rather piffle. Daresay I'm wrong. The kids
will size him up.
When Carter Van Meter came to tell his hostess good-by, he smiled
winningly. This has been very jolly, Mrs. Lorimer. It was good of you
to let me come. Mother asked me to say how much she appreciated it.
Buthe hesitatedMay I come in some afternoon whenjust you and
Miss Honor are here? He looked wistful, and frailer at the end of the
evening than he had at the beginning.
Of course you may, my dear boy! Mrs. Lorimer gave him the glory of
her special smile. Come soon!
He came the next day but one, and as her mother was at a bridge
afternoon it was Honor who entertained him. She had just come home from
High School and she wore a middy blouse and a short skirt and looked
less than her years. Let's sit in the garden, shan't we?I hate being
indoors a minute more than I can help! She led the way across the
green, springy lawn to the little rustic building over which the vivid
Bougainvillæa climbed and swarmed, and he followed at his halted pace.
Besides, we can see Jimsy from here when he comes by from football
practice, and call him in. I just didn't happen to go to watch practice
to-day, and nowshe smiled at him,I'm glad I didn't. There was
something intensely pitiful about this lad to her mothering young
heart, for all his poise and pride.
He waited gravely until she had established herself on a bench
before he sat. Tell me about this fellow King. Every one seems very
keen about him.
Honor leaned back and took a serge-clad knee between two tanned
hands. Well, I don't know how to begin! He'swell, he's just Jimsy
King, that's all! But it's more than any other boy in the world.
You're great friends, aren't you?
Jimsy and I? I should say we are! We've known each other ever
sincewell, before we could walk or talk! Our nurses used to take us
out together in our buggies. We were born next doorin these two
houses, on the same day. Jimsy's just about an hour older than I am!
I have never had many friends, said Carter Van Meter. I've been
moving about so much, traveling ... other things have interfered. He
never referred, directly or indirectly, to his ill health or his limp.
Well, you can have all you want now, said Honor, generously. And
Jimsy likes you! She bestowed that like a decoration. Honestly, I
never knew him to take such a fancy to any one before in all his life.
He likes every one, you know,I mean, he never dislikes anybody, but
he never gets crushes. So, it means something to have him keen about
you. If he's for you, everybody will be for you.
Why do people like him so?
Can't help it, said Honor, briefly. Even teachers. He's
not terribly clever at school, and of course he doesn't have as much
time to study as some do, but the teachers are all keen about him. They
know what he is. I expect that's what counts, don't you? Not what
people have, or do, or know; what they are. Why, one time I
happened to be in the Vice-Principal's office about something, and it
was a noontime, and there was a wild rough-house down in the yard.
Honestly, you couldn't hear yourself think! The Principalhe
was a new man, just comekept looking out of the window, and getting
more and more nervous, and finally he said, 'Shouldn't we stop that,
Mrs. Dalton?' And she looked out and laughed and said, 'Jimsy King's in
it, and he'll stop it before we need to notice it!' That's what
teachers think of him, and the boysI believe they'd cut up into inch
pieces for him.
I suppose it's a good deal on account of his football. He's on the
team, isn't he? His eyes disdained teams.
On the team? He is the team! Captain last year and
this,and next! Wait till you see him play. He's the fastest full back
we've ever had, since anybody can remember. There'll be a game
Saturday. We play Redlands. Will you come, and sit with Stepper and
Thanks. I don't care very much for he stopped, held up by the
growing amaze in her face. Yes, I'd like very much to go with you and
Mr. Lorimer. I don't care much about watching games where I don't know
the peoplehe retrieved and amended his earlier sentencebut you'll
explain everything to me.
She grinned. I'm afraid I won't be very nice about talking to you.
I get simply wild, at games. I'm right down there, in it. I've never
gotten over not being a boy! But Jimsy's wonderful about letting me
have as much share in it as I can. You'll hear all sorts of tales about
him, when you come to know people,plays he's made and games he's won,
and how he never, never loses his head or his temper, no matter
what the other team does. If we should ever have another war, I expect
he'd be a great general. Her face broke into mirth again at a memory.
Once, we were playing Pomonaimagine a high school playing a college
and beating them!and somebody was out for a minute, and Jimsy
was standing waiting, with his arms folded across his chest, and he had
on a head guard, and it was very still, and suddenly a girl's voice
piped up'Oh, doesn't he look just like Napoleon?' He's never
heard the last of it; it fusses him awfully. I never knew anybody so
modest. I suppose it's because he's always been the leader, the head of
things, ever since he started kindergarten. He's used to it; it
seems just natural to him.
The new boy shifted his position uneasily.
Honor thought perhaps he was suffering; his face looked pinched.
Shall we go in the house? Would you be more comfshe caught herself
upperhaps you're not used to being out of doors all the time?
Eastern people find this glaring sun tiresome sometimes.
It's very nice here. You go to Los Angeles High School, too? He
didn't care about changing his position but he wanted intensely to
change the subject, even if he had started it by his query. Odd, isn't
it, that you don't go to a girls' school?
Honor laughed. That's what Muzzie thinks. She did want me to go,
but I didn't want to, and Steppermy stepfather, you know,stood up
for me. I never liked girls very much when I was little. I do now, of
course. I've two or three girl friends who are wonders. I adore
them. But I still like boys best. I supposehe saw that her mind came
back like a needle to the poleit's on account of Jimsy. Wait till
you really know him! You will be just the same. Honestly, he's the
bravest, gamest person in the world. Once, a couple of years ago,
Stepper noticed that he was limping, and he made him go to see the
doctor. The doctor told us about it afterwardshe's the doctor who
took care of our mothers when we were born. Jimsy came in and said,
'Doc, I've got a kind of a sore leg.' And the doctor looked at it and
said, 'You've got a broken leg, that's what you've got! Go straight
home and I'll come out and put it in a plaster cast.' You seeshe
illustrated by putting the tips of her two forefingers togetherit
was really broken, cracked through, but it hadn't slipped by. Well, the
doctor had to stay and finish his office hours, and about an hour later
he looked up and there was Jimsy, and he said, 'Say, Doc, would you
just as soon set this leg to-morrow? You see, I've got a date to take
Skipperhe always calls me Skipperto a dance to-night. I won't
dance, but I'll just' and the doctor just roared at him and told
him to go home that instant, and Jimsy went out, but when the doctor
got to his house he wasn't there, and he had to wait about half an hour
for him, and he was furioushe's got a terrible temper but he's
the dearest old thing, really. Pretty soon Jimsy came wandering in with
his arms full of books and games and puzzles and things he'd got to
amuse himself while he was laid up! Of course the doctor expected him
to keep perfectly still in bed, but he found he could make a sort of a
raft of two table extension boards and slide downstairs to his meals.
He had an awful time getting up again, but he didn't care. The first
day he was laid up he had exactly nineteen people to see him, and he
took the bandages off the leg and all the boys and teachers wrote their
autographs and sentiments on the cast. He called it his Social Register
and his Guest Book! Honor was too happily deep in her reminiscences to
see that her new friend was a little bored.
He got suddenly to his feet. Yes. He must be an unusual fellow. But
I'd like to hear you sing. Won't you come into the house and sing
something for me?
All right, said Honor. I love to sing, but I haven't studied very
much yet, and I haven't any decent songs. Why doesn't somebody write
some?Songs about something? Not just maudling along about
'heart' and 'part' and that kind of stuff! Come on! There's Stepper at
the piano now. He'll play for me.
It was mellow in the long living-room after the brazen afternoon sun
outside, a livable, lovable room. Stephen Lorimer had an open book on
the music rack and he was thumping some rather stirring chords.
Stepper, said Honor, here's Carter Van Meter, and he wants me to
sing for him, and I was just saying how I hated all these mushy old
songs. Can't you find me something different?
I have, said her stepfather. I've got the words here and I'm
messing about for some music to go with them.
Honor looked out as she passed the window on her way to the piano.
Wait a minute! Here's Jimsy! I'll call him! She sped to the door and
hailed him, and he came swiftly in. Hello! How was practice?
Fair. Burke was better. Tried him on the end. 'Lo, Mr. Lorimer.
I've got a poem here you'll all like, said Stephen Lorimer. No,
you needn't shuffle your feet, Jimsy. It's your kind. Sit down, all of
you. I'll read it.
So long as it hasn't got any 'whate'ers' and yestereves' and
'beauteous,' the last King grinned. Shoot!
It's an English thing, by Henry Newbolt,about cricket, but that
doesn't matter. It's the thing itself. I may not have the words
exactly,I read it over there, and copied it down in my diary, from
memory. He looked at the boys and the girl; Honor was waiting eagerly,
sure of anything he might bring her; Jimsy King, fresh from the
sweating realities of the gridiron, was good-humoredly tolerant; Carter
Van Meter was courteously attentive, with his oddly mature air of
social poise. He began to read, to recite, rather, his eyes on their
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night,
Ten to make and the match to win;
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in,
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
Play up! Play up! andPlay the Game!
Jimsy King, who was lolling on the couch, sat up, his eyes kindling.
Gee.... he breathed. Honor's cheeks were scarlet and she was
breathing hard and fast. Only the new boy was unmoved, his pale face
still pale, his shadowed eyes calm. Stephen Lorimer kept that picture
of them always in his heart; it was, he came to think, symbol and
prophecy. He swung into the second verse, his voice warming:
The sand of the desert is sodden red;
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;
The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke:
The River of Death has brimmed his banks;
And England's far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks
Play up! Play up! andPlay the Game!
His own voice shook a little on the last line and he was a trifle
amused at his emotionalism. He tried to bring the moment sanely back to
the commonplace. Corking for a song, Top Step. I'll hammer out some
chords ... doesn't need much. He looked again through the strangely
charged atmosphere of the quiet room, at the three big children. Jimsy
King was on his feet, shaken out of the serene insolence of his young
stoicism, his hands opening and shutting, swallowing hard, and Honor,
the boy-girl, Jimsy's sturdy Skipper, was crying, frankly, unashamed,
unaware, the tears welling up out of her wide eyes, rolling down her
bright cheeks. Only Carter Van Meter sat as before, a little withdrawn,
a little aloof, in the shadow.
When they told Marcia Van Meter (Mrs. Horace Flack) that her little
boy would always be lame, that not one of the great surgeon-wizards on
either side of the Atlanticnot all the king's horses and all the
king's men could ever weight or wrench or force the small, thin left
leg down to the length of the right, she vowed to herself that she
would make it up to him. She was a pretty thing, transparently frail
and ethereal-looking, who had always projected herself passionately
into the lives of those about herher father's and mother'sthe young
husband's who had died soon after her son was bornand now her boy's.
While he was less than ten years old it seemed to her that she
compassed it; if he could not race and run with his contemporaries he
rode the smartest of ponies and drove clever little traps; if he might
not join in the rough sports out of doors he had a houseful of
brilliant mechanical toys; he lived like a little Princelike a little
American Prince with a magic bottomless purse at his command. But when
he left his little boyhood behind she discovered her futility; she
discovered the small, pitiful purchasing power of money, after all. She
could not buy him bodily strength and beauty; she could not buy him
fellowship in the world of boys; he was forever looking out at it,
wistfully, disdainfully, bitterly, through his plate glass window.
She spent herself untiringly for him,playmates, gifts, tutors,
journeys. Her happiest moments were those in which he said, Mother,
I'd like one of those wireless jiggers,or a new saddle-horse, or a
new roadsterand she was able to answer, Dearest, I'll get it for
you! Mother'll get it for you to-morrow!
But the days when she could spell omnipotence for him were fading
away. He wanted now, increasingly, things beyond her gift. He was a
clever boy, proud, poised. He learned early to wear a mask of
indifference about his lameness, to affect a coolness for sports which
came, eventually, to be genuine. He studied easily and well; he could
talk with a brilliancy beyond his years. He learnedastonishingly, at
his ageto get his deepest satisfactions from creature comfortshis
quietly elegant clothes, his food, his surroundings. Mrs. Van Meter had
high hopes of the move to Los Angeles; he was to be benefited, body and
brain. She was a little anxious at finding they had moved into a
neighborhood of boys and girls; Carter was happier with older people,
but he seemed to like these lively, robust creatures surprisingly.
Weeks, months, a year, went by. Carter, less than a year older than
Jimsy King but two years ahead of him in his studies, was doing some
special work at the University of Southern California, but his time was
practically his ownto spend with Honor and Jimsy. Honor and Jimsy
showed, each of them, the imprint of their association with him. They
had come to care more for the things he held high ... books ...
theaters ... dinners at the Crafts Alexandria ... Grand Opera records
on the victrola ... more careful dress.
Carter has really done a great deal for those children, Mildred
Lorimer told her husband, complacently.
Yes, Stephen admitted. It's true. He has. Andhe sighedthey
haven't done a thing for him.
Stephen dear,what could they docrude children that they are,
beside a boy with his advantages? What could they do for him?Make him
play football? What did you expect them to do?
I don't know, he said, moodily, but at any rate they haven't done
Jimsy King was goingby the grace of his own frantic eleventh hour
efforts and his teachers' clemency and Honor Carmodyto graduate.
Barring calamities, he would possess a diploma in February. Honor was
tremendously earnest about it; Carter, to whom learning came as easily
as the air he breathed, faintly amused. She thought, sometimes, for
brief, traitorous moments, that Carter wasn't always good for Jimsy.
You see, she explained to her stepfather, Carter doesn't realize
how hard Jimsy has to grind for all he gets. Even now, Stepper, after
being here a year, he actually doesn't realize the importance of
Jimsy's getting signed up to play. It's a strange thing, with all his
cleverness, but he doesn't, and he's always taking Jimsy out on parties
and rides and things, and he gets behind in everything. I think I'll
just have to speak to him about it.
He nodded. That's a good idea, Top Step. Do that.
She grew still more sober. Another thing, Stepper ... aboutabout
Mr. King'strouble. Of course, you and I have never believed that
Jimsy had to inherit it, have we?
No. Not if people let him alone. His life, his training, his
environment, are very differentmore wholesome, vital. The energy
which his grandfather and his uncles and his father had to find a vent
for in cards and drink Jimsy's sweated out in athletics.
Yes. Butjust the sameisn't it better for Jimsy to keep away
fromfrom those things?
Naturally. Better for anybody.
She sighed. Carter doesn't think so. He says the world is full of
itJimsy must learn to be near it and let it alone.
That's true, in a sense, T. S....
I know. Butsometimes I think Carter deliberately takes Jimsy
places totest him. Of course he thinks he's doing right, but it
Stephen Lorimer smoked in silence. He had his own ideas. Better
have that talk with him, he said.
Honor found the talk oddly disturbing. Carter was very sweet about
it as he always was with her, but he held stubbornly to his own
Look here, Honor, you can't follow Jimsy through the world like a
nursemaid, you know.
Carter! I don't mean
He's got to meet and face these things, to fight what somebody
calls 'the battle of his blood.' You mustn't wrap him up in cotton
wool. If he's going, to be bowled over he might as well find it out. He
must take his chancesjust as any other fellowjust as I must.
Oh, but, Carter, you know you're strong, and
Suddenly his pale face was stung with hot color. Honor, he leaned
forward, you think I'm strong, in any way? You don't consider
me anutter weakling?
She looked with comprehending tenderness at his crimson face. Why,
Carter, dear! You know I've never thought you that! There are more ways
of beingbeing strong thanthan just with muscles and bones!
He reached out and took one of her firm, tanned hands in his, and
she had never seen him so winningly wistful, so wistfully winning. I
thought, he said, very low, that was the only kind of strength that
counted with you. ThenI do count with you, Honor? I do?
She was a little startled, a little frightened, wholly
uncomfortable. There was something in Carter's voice she didn't
understand ... something she didn't want to understand. She pulled her
hand away and managed her boyish grin. Of course you do,goose! And
you'll count more if you'll help me to look after Jimsy and have him
graduate on time! She got up quickly as her stepfather came into the
room, and Carter went home, crossing the street with the rather
pathetic arrogance of his halting gait, his head held high, tilted a
little back, which gave him the expression of looking down on a world
of swift striders.
He found his mother reading before a low fire. Well, dearest? She
smiled up at him, yearningly.
He stood looking down at her, his face working. Mother, I want
I want Honor Carmody. He rode over her murmured protests. I know
I'm only nineteen. I know I'm too youngshe's too young. I'd expect to
wait, of course. ButI want her.
Marcia Van Meter's heart cried out to her to say again as she had
said all through his little-boy days, Dearest, Mother'll get her for
you! Mother'll get her for you to-morrow! But instead her gaze went
down to the page she had been reading ... the last scene in Ghosts,
where Oswald Alving says:
Mother, give me the sun! The sun!! The Sun!!! She shivered
and shut the book with emphasis and threw it on a near-by chair. She
spoke brightly, reassuringly. I'm sure she's devoted to you, dear. You
are the best of friends, and that's enough for the present, isn't it?
Dearest, you've said yourself that you realize you're too young for
anything serious, yet. Why can't you wait contentedly, until
There's some one else. There's Jimsy.
Carter, I'm sure they're like brother and sister. They have been
playmates all their lives. That sort of thing rarely merges into
Doesn't it? His voice was seeking, hungry. Honestly?
Very rarely, dear, believe me! She sped to comfort him.
Besides, her people, her mother, would never want anything of that
sort ... the taint in his blood ... the reputation of his family....
Mrs. Lorimer says they've always been called the 'Wild Kings.' Of
course Jimsy seems quite all right, so far, and I hope and pray he
always may behe's a dear boy and I'm very fond of himbut, as he
grows older and is beset by more temptations
The boy relaxed a little from his pale rigidity and sat down
opposite his mother. He held out his hands to the fire and she saw that
they were trembling. Yes, he said, I've thought of that. I've
thought of that. Perhaps, when he gets to collegeup at Stanford, away
from HonorI've thought of that! He bent his head, staring into the
His mother did not see the expression on his face. Besides, dear,
Honor's going abroad next year, for her voice. She'll meet new people,
form new ties
That doesn't cheer me up very much, Mother.
I mean, she hastened, it will break up the life-long intimacy
with Jimsy. And perhaps you and I can go over for the summer, and take
her to Switzerland with us. Wouldn't that be jolly? You know, dear,
she hesitated, delicately, while we know that money isn't everything,
you are going to have far more to offer a girl, some day, than poor
And less, said Carter Van Meter.
He found Honor a little constrained at their next meeting and he
hurried to put her at her old time ease with him. He steered the talk
on to the coming football game and Honor was herself. Los Angeles High
School, champion of Southern California, was to meet Greenmount, the
northern champion, and nothing else in the world mattered very much to
her and to Jimsy.
It's so perfect, Carter, to have it come in Jimsy's last year,to
win the State Championship for L. A. just before he leaves.
Sure of winning?
It will be pretty stiff going. They're awfully good, Greenmount.
Not as good as we are, on the whole, but they've got a
punterGridleywho's a perfect wizard! If they can get within
a mile of our goal, he can put it over! Butwe've got to win. We've
simply got toand 'You can't beat L. A. High!'
She went to watch football practice every afternoon and Carter
nearly always went with her. In the evenings Jimsy came over for her
help with his lessons. He had studied harder and better, this last
year; his fine brain was waking, catching up with his body, but he was
busier than ever, too, and his Skipper had still to be on deck. He
was discovered, that last year, to have an unsuspected talent, Jimsy
King. He could act. His class-play was an ambitious one, a late New
York success, a play of sport and youngness, and Jimsy played the lead.
No, the pretty Spanish teacher said, he didn't play that part; he
was it! It was going to be fine for him at Stanford, Honor's
mothering thought raced ahead. The more he had to do, the more things
he was interested in....
He came in grinning a few nights before the championship game. Say,
Skipper, what do you think they gave me on that essay? A B. A
measly B. Made me so sore I darn near told 'em who wrote it!
Jimsy! You wrote it yourself, really. I just smoothed it up a
Yep, just a little! Well, either they're wise, or they just figured
it couldn't be a top-notcher if I'd written it! He cast himself on the
couch. Gee, Skipper, I can't work to-night! I'm a dying man! That
dinner Carter bought me last night
Jimsy! You didn'tbreak training?
No. But I skated pretty close to the edge. You know, it's funny,
but when I'm out with Carter I feel like such a boob, not daring to eat
this or that, or smoke oror anything. Heresy this, from the three
years' captain of L. A. High who had never considered any sacrifice
worth a murmur which kept him fit for the real business of life.
Somehow, he's so keen, he makes me wish I had more in my head andand
less in my heels! You know what I mean, Skipper. He does make me look
like a simp, doesn't he?
No, said Honor, definitely. Why, Jimsy, you're a million times
bigger person than Carter. Everybody knows that. Knowing things
isn't everythingknowing what to wear and how to order meals at the
Alexandria and reading all the new books and having been to Europe.
Those things just fill in for him; they make upa littlefor the
things you've had.
Do you mean that, Skipper? Is that straight?
Of course, Jimsycross my heart! It was curious, the way she was
having to comfort Jimsy for not being Carter, and Carter for not being
It rained the day of the game. It had been sulking and threatening
for twenty-four hours, and Honor wakened to the sound of a sluicing
downpour. She ran to her window, which looked out on the garden. The
long leaves of the banana tree were flapping wetly and the
Bougainvillæa on the summerhouse looked soaked and sodden. Somewhere a
mocking bird was singing deliriously, making his tuneful fun of the
weather. Honor went down to breakfast with a sober face.
They had a house-guest, a friend of her stepfather's, an
Englishwoman, a novelist. She was a brisk, ruddy-skinned creature, with
crisp sentences and sturdy legs in thick stockings, and she was taking
a keen interest in American sport. Oh, I say, she greeted Honor,
isn't this bad for your match?
Yes, Miss Bruce-Drummond, it is. We were hoping for a dry field.
They're more used to playing in the mud than we are. But it'll be all
I'm fearfully keen about it.No, thank youmy mother was Scotch,
you see, and I don't take sugar to my porridge. Salt, please! She
turned to Stephen Lorimer. I've been meaning to ask you what you think
of Arnold Bennett over here?
Honor's stepfather flung himself zestfully into the discussion. He
liked clever women and he knew a lot of them, but he had been at some
pains not to marry one. Mildred Lorimer, beside the shining copper
coffee percolator, looked a lovely Vesta of the hearth and home.
Honor wished she might take a pleat in the fore-noon. She didn't see
how she was going to get through the hours between breakfast and the
time to start for the game. It was a relief to see Jimsy coming across
the lawn at ten o'clock. She ran out to meet him.
'Lo, Skipper. Isn't this weather the deuce?
Beastly, but it doesn't really matter. We're certain to she
broke off and looked closely at him. Jimsy, what's the matter?
Oh ... nothing.
Yes, there is! Come on in the house. There's no one home. Stepper's
driving Miss Bruce-Drummond and Muzzie's being marcelled. She did not
speak again until they were in the living room. Now, tell me.
Whyit's nothing, really. Feeling kind of seedy, that's all.
Didn't have much sleep.
Jimsy! You didn'tyou weren't out with Carter?
Just for a little while. We went to a Movie. Coach told us tokeep
our minds off the game. But I was home and in the house at nine-thirty.
It wasDad. He came in about midnight. II didn't go to bed at all.
Oh.... Her eyes yearned over him, over them both. Jimsy,
I'm so terribly sorry. Is hehow is he now?
Sleeping. I guess he'll sleep all day. GeeI wish I could! His
young face looked gray and strained.
The girl drew a long breath. Jimsy, you've got to sleep now. You've
got to put ityou've got to put your father awayout of your mind.
You don't belong to him to-day; you belong to the team; you belong to
L. A.... No matter what's happening to you, you've got to do
your bestandand be your best.
If I can, he said, haggardly.
Lie down on the couch.
Oh, I don't want to lie down, SkipperI'll just
Lie down on the couch, Jimsy! She herded him firmly to the couch,
tucked a soft, flat pillow under his head, threw a light afghan over
him. Then she opened a window wide to the wet sweet air and drew the
other shades down, and came to sit on the floor beside him, talking all
the time, softly, lazily, about the English lady novelist who didn't
take sugar to her porridge ... about the giddy mocking bird, singing
in the rain ... about a new book which Carter thought was wonderful and
which she couldn't see through at all ... until his quick, burdened
breathing yielded to a long relaxing sigh like that of a tired puppy,
and the hope of L. A. High and the last of the Wild Kings slept. She
mounted rigid guard over him for three hours, banishing the returned
stepfather and house-guest, keeping her noisy little brothers at bay.
She had ordered a strictly training-table luncheon for one o'clock for
her charge, and while the clock was striking the hour Kada brought the
tray. Jimsy was still sleeping. Honor looked at him, hesitating, then
she ran to the piano and struck her stepfather's rousing chords and
began to sing:
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night,
Ten to make and the match to win
At the first line he stirred, at the second he rubbed his eyes, and
at the third he was sitting up and listening. She swung into the
finish, and as always, it ran away with her. She had never gotten over
the first choking thrill at the words:
Play up! Play up! andPlay the Game!
Jimsy King came to stand beside her. His hair was mussed and his
face flushed, and there was a sleep-crease on one cheek, but his eyes
were clear and steady. It's O. K., Skipper, he said. I can. I'm
going to. I will.
Carter Van Meter drove Honor and Stephen Lorimer and Miss
Bruce-Drummond in his newest car and the four of them sat together on
the edge of the rooting section.
It was still raining a little, teasingly, reluctant to leave off
altogether, and the field was a batter of mud. The rooting section of
L. A. High was damp but undaunted. The yell leaders, vehement,
piercingly vocal, conducted them into thunderous challenges:
Ali beebo! Ali by-bo!
Ali beebo by-bo bum!
Catch 'em in a rat trap,
Put 'em in a cat trap,
Catch 'em in a cat trap,
Put 'em in a rat trap!
Ali beebo! Ali by-bo!
Ali beebo by-bo bum!
The bleachers rocked and creaked and swayed with the rhythm of it.
My word! said Miss Bruce-Drummond. She listened fascinatedly to their
deafening repertoire. Greenmount's supporters, a rather forlorn little
group of substitutes, with the coach and trainer and a teacher or two,
and a pert fox terrier wearing their colors on his collar, elicitated a
brief, passing pity from Honor. They looked strange and friendless,
these smart Northern prep-schoolers. The L. A. rooters conscientiously
gave their opponents' yell and received a spatter of applause. The
Northerners trotted out on the field and were hospitably cheered.
There, Stepper, said Honor, tensely, that's Gridleythe tallest
one,see? Last on the right?
So, that's the boy with the beamish boot, eh?
Yes. He mustn't get a chance. He mustn't.
Miss Bruce-Drummond looked at her friend's stepdaughter. You're
frightfully keen about it, aren't you?
Yes, said Honor, briefly.
I daresay I shall find it very different from Rugby, but I expect I
shall be able to follow it if you'll explain a bit.
Honor did not answer. She was standing up, yelling with all the
strength of her lusty young lungs, as the Southern champions came out.
Then the rooting section made everything that they had said and done
before seem like a lullaby; it seemed to the Englishwoman she had never
known there could be such noise. Her head hummed with it:
King! King! King!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
K-I-N-G, King! KING!
Honor sat down again, her fists clenched, her lower lip between her
teeth. If only it were time to begin ... time for the kick-off! This
was always the worse part, just before.... It was L. A.'s kick-off. The
whistle sounded, mercifully, and with the solid, satisfying impact of
leather against leather she relaxed. It was on. It had started. All the
weeks of waiting for the championship game were over. This was the
game, and it was just like any other game; Jimsy was therehere,
there, everywhere, and they would fight, fight. And you couldn't beat
L. A. High. The mud was horrible. It took grace and fleetness and made
a mock of them; both teams were playing raggedly. Well, of course they
would, at first; it was so frightfully important. They would shake down
into form in a moment.
I don't believe, cut in the fresh, crisp voice of Miss
Bruce-Drummond, that I quite understand what a 'down' is. Would you
mind explaining it to me?
Why, said Honor, without turning her head, they have three downs
in which to make she was on her feet again, screaming, Come on!
Come on! Comeoh
Jimsy King, with the mud-smeared ball under his arm, had made
fifteen precious yards before he was tackled. He was up in a flash,
wiping the mud off his face, grinning. The rooters split the soft air
Stephen Lorimer looked at Honor and at Carter Van Meter. He always
felt sorry for the boy at a game; he looked paler and frailer than ever
in contrast with the hearty young savages on the field, and he was
never able really to give himself to the agony and wild joy of it.
Honor forced herself to sit still, her elbows on her knees, her hot
face propped on her clenched hands. They were playing better now, all
of them, but it wasn't brilliant football; it couldn't be. It would be
a battle of dogged endurance.
I say, my dear, is that a down? the English novelist wanted
Yes, said Honor, patiently. That's a down, and now there'll be
another because they have again she cut short her explanation and
caught hold of her stepfather's arm. Stepper! Look! Gridley isn't
He stared. Really, Top Step? Why, they surely
I tell you he isn't playing. See,there he is, on the side-lines,
in the purple sweater!
Well, so much the better for L. A., said Carter, easily.
Honor shook her head. I don't understand it. She began, oddly, to
feel herself enveloped in a fog of depression, of foreboding. Again and
again her eyes left the play to rest unhappily on the silent figure in
the purple sweater. Jimsy was playing well; every man on the team was
playing well; but they were not gaining. Jimsy King, on whose heels
were always the wings of Mercury, could not get up speed in that
mud,a brief flash, no more. She began to bargain with the gods of the
gridiron; at first she had been concerned with scoring in the first
five minutes of play; then she had remodeled her petition ... to score
in the first half. Now, her throat dry, she was aching with the fear of
being scored upon ... counting the minutes yet to play, speeding them
in her heart. It was raining hard again. The rooting section, in spite
of the frantic effort of the hoarse yell leaders, was slowing down.
What was it?The rain? The mud? Was Jimsy not himself, not the King
Gink? Was his heart with his father in the darkened room in the old
Of course, I'm not up on this at all, but I'm rather afraid your
young friends are getting the worst of it, my dear! said Miss
It's the longest first half I ever saw in my life, said Honor,
between clenched teeth.
Ah, yes,I daresay it does seem so to you, but I expect they keep
the time very carefully, don't you? She looked the girl over
interestedly. The psychology of this sort of thing is ver-r-ry
entertaining, she said to Stephen Lorimer.
Less than five minutes, T. S., said her stepfather, comfortingly.
You know, I'm afraid you'll think me fearfully dull, said the
Englishwoman, conversationally, but I'm still not quite clear about a
'down.' Would you mind telling me the next time they do
one?Just when it begins, and when it ends?
One's ended now, said Honor, bitterly, and we've lost the
ball,on our twenty yard line. We've lost the ball.
Ah, well, my dear, I daresay you'll soon get it back!
Honor sprang to her feet with a cry which made people turn and look
at her. Look there! Look! See what they're doing? One of the
Greenmount players had been called out by the coach and had splashed
his way to the side-lines, to be patted wetly on the back and wrapped
in a damp blanket. That was well enough. That was the usual thing. But
the unusual, the astounding thing was that two of the Greenmount team
had slopped to the side-lines and picked up Gridley, divested now of
his purple sweater, bodily, in their arms, and carried him, dry-shod,
over the slithering mud. Honor gave a gasping moan. I knew....
There was a dead, sick silence on the bleachers. The rain sluiced down.
Somewhere in a near-by garden another giddy mocking bird sang
deliriously in the stillness. Tenderly as two nurses with a sick man,
the bearers set Gridley down. Slowly, solemnly, he stepped off the
distance to the quarter back; briskly, but with dreadful thoroughness,
the men who had carried him wiped the mud from his feet with a towel
and took their places to defend him from the wild-eyed L. A. men,
poised, breathless, menacing. There was a muttering roar from the
bleachers, hoarsely pleading, commandingBlock-that-kick!
Block-that-kick! BLOCK-THAT-KICK! The kneeling quarter back opened
his muddy hands; the muddied oval came sailing lazily into them....
There was the gentle thud of Gridley's toe against the leather, and
thenunbelievably, unbearably, it was an accomplished fact, a finished
thing. Gridley had executed his place kick. They were scored on. It
stood there on the board, glaring white letters and figures on black:
GREENMOUNT 4 L. A. HIGH 0
At first Honor's own woe engulfed her utterly. For the first instant
she wasn't even aware of Jimsy King, standing alone, his arms folded
across his chest, staring down the field; of his men, wiping the mud
out of their eyes and looking at him, looking to him; of the stunned
rooters. But at the second breath she was awake, alive again, tense,
tingling, bursting with her message for them all, keeping herself by
main force in her place. Jimsy King never saw any one in a game; he
never knew any one in a game; people ceased to exist for him while he
was on the field. But to-day, in this difficult hour, she was to see
him turn and face the bleachers and rake them with his aghast and
startled eyes until he found her. She was on her feet, in her white
jersey suit and her blue hat and scarfL. A.'s colorswaving to him,
looking down at him with all her gallant soul in her eyes. It seemed to
her as if she must be saying it aloud; as if she must be singing it:
Play up! Play up! andPlay the Game!
Then the bleachers and the players saw the Captain of the L. A. team
turn and wade briskly down the field to Gridley. They saw him hold out
his muddy hand; they heard his clear, Peach of a kick! They saw him
give the Northerner's hand a hearty shake; they saw him fling up his
head, and grin, and face the grandstand for a second, his eyes
seeking.... They saw him rally his men with a snapped-out order,and
then they were on their feet, shouting, screaming, stamping, cheering:
KING! KING! KING!
The yell leaders couldn't get hold of them; there was no need. Every
man was his own yell leader. They yelled for Gridley and for Greenmount
(why worry, when Jimsy clearly wasn't worried?) and for their own team,
man by man, and the call of time for the first half failed to make the
faintest dent in their enthusiasm.
Butsaid Miss Bruce-Drummond, her mouth close to Honor's
earyou haven't won, have you?
Not yet! Honor shouted. Wait! She began to sing with the rest:
You can't beat L. A. High!
You can't beat L. A. High!
Use your team to get up steam,
But you can't beat L. A. High!
It was gay, mocking, scatheless, inexorable. You couldn't
beat L. A. High. Honor swayed and swung to it. Use your team and your
tricks and your dry-shod men to kick, but you couldn't beat L. A. High.
And it appeared, in fact, that you couldn't, for Jimsy King's team went
into the second half like happy young tigers, against men who were a
little tired, a little overconfident, and in the first ten minutes of
play the King Gink, mud-smeared beyond recognition, grinning, went over
the line for a touchdown, and nobody minded much Burke's missing the
goal because they had won anyway:
GREENMOUNT 4 L. A. HIGH 5
and the championship, the state championship, stayed south, and it
suddenly stopped raining and the sun came out gloriously after the
reckless manner of Southern California suns, and everything was for the
best in the best of all possible worlds.
Honor, star-eyed, more utterly and completely happy and content than
she had ever been in her life, turned penitently to Miss
Bruce-Drummond. When we get home, she said, I'll explain to you
exactly what a 'down' is!
They waited to see the joyous serpentine, to watch Jimsy's struggles
to get down from the shoulders of his adorers who bore him the length
of the field and back, and then Carter drove them home and went back
for the Captain, who would be showered and dressed by that time. They
were both dining with Honor, but Jimsy looked in on his father first.
Gusty says he's slept all day, he reported to Honor. He kept
looking at her, with an odd intensity, all through the lively meal. She
had changed her wet white jersey for one of her long-lined, cleverly
simple frocks of L. A. blue, and her honey-colored braids were like a
crown above her serene forehead.
You know, Stephen, said Miss Bruce-Drummond while they were having
their coffee in the living room, of course you know that both those
lads are in love with your nice girl.
Do you see it, too?
She laughed. I may not know what a 'down' is, but I've still
reasonably sharp eyes in my head. And the odd thing is that she doesn't
Isn't it amazing? I'm watching, and wondering.
It's a pretty time o' life, Stephen, said one of the clever women
he hadn't wanted to marry.
'Youth's sweet-scented manuscript,' Ethel, said Honor's
Jimsy, will you come here a minute? Honor called from the
Yes, Skipper! He was there at a bound.
Don't you think your father would like this water-ice? I think he
couldI believe he might enjoy it.
He took the little covered tray out of her hands. I'll bet he will,
Skipper. You're a brick. Come on over with me, will youand wait on
She looked back into the roomful. Had I better? I don't suppose
they'll miss me for a minute
But Carter Van Meter was coming toward them, threading his way among
people and furniture with his slight, halting limp. He looked from one
to the other, questioningly.
Taking this over to my Dad, Jimsy explained. Back in a shake.
I see. How about a ride to the beach? Supper at the ship-hotel?
Celebrate a little?
Deuce of a lot of work for Monday, Jimsy frowned. Haven't studied
a lick this week.
Carter laughed. Oh, Monday'sMonday! Come along! We can'the
turned to Honorbe by ourselves to-night, with the celeb. here. Honor
has to stay and play-pretty with her.
Well ... if we don't make it too late
Jimsy turned and sped away with Honor's offering for James King.
Honor looked at Carter. His eyes were very bright; he looked more
excited, now, some way, than he had at the game. Poor old Carter. He
wanted, she supposed, to do something for Jimsy ... to give him a
wonderful party ... to spend money on him ... to excel and to shine in
his way. Butthe ship-hoteland his father over there all day in
the darkened roomFor the first time in her honest life she stooped to
guile. I'll be down in a minute, Carter, she said and ran upstairs,
through the hall, down the backstairs, cut through the kitchen and
across the wet and springy lawn to the King place.
She waited in the shadow of the house until he came out.
I slipped outsh ... Jimsy, Iplease don't go with Carter
to-night! I don't mean to interfere oror nag, Jimsy,you know that,
don't you? She slipped a little on the wet grass in her thin slippers,
and laid hold of his arm to steady herself. Butit worries me. You're
the finest, the most wonderful person in the world, and I trust you
more than I trust myself, butI know how boys are
aboutthingsand she turned her face to the dark house where so
many Wild Kings had lived and moved and had their unhappy beingI
couldn't bear it if
It began to rain again, softly, and they moved unconsciously toward
the shelter of the porch.
You were so splendid to-day! I haven't had a chance to tell you ...
shaking hands with him, being so
You made me, said Jimsy King. Then, at her murmured protest. You
did. You made me, just as you've made me do every decent thing I've
ever done. I'm just beginning to see it. I guess I'm the blindest bat
that ever lived. Of course I won't go with Cart' to-night. I won't do
anything you don't
Honor had mounted two steps, to be under the roof of the porch, and
now, turning sharply in her gladness, the wet slipper slipped again,
and she would have fallen if he had not caught her.
It'sit's all right! said Honor in a breathless whisper. I'm all
right, Jimsy. Let me
But Jimsy King would not let her go. He held her fast with all his
football strength and all his eighteen years of living and loving, and
he said over and over in the new, strange voice she had never heard
before, Skipper! Skipper! Skipper!
Jimsy ... whatwhat is happening to us? Jimsy, dear, we never
beforeJimsy, are weare weIs this beingin love?
And the mocking-bird of the morning, mounted on the wet
Bougainvillæa on the summerhouse in Honor's garden, explained to them
in a mad, exultant, thrilling burst of song.
At least, Mildred Lorimer wept, at least, Stephen, make
them keep it a secret! Make them promise not to tell a living souland
not to act in such a way as to let people suspect! I thinkshe lifted
tragic, reproachful eyes to himyou ought to do what you can, now,
considering that it's all your fault.
Some day, said her husband, sturdily, it will be all my
cleverness ... all my glory. I did honestly believe it was a cradle
chumship which wouldn't last, Mildred. I thought it would break of its
own length. But I'm glad it hasn't.
Stephen, how can you? One of the 'Wild Kings'I cannot bear
it. I simply cannot bear it. She clutched at her hope. She must go
abroad even sooner than we plannedand stay abroad. Stephen,
you will make them keep it a secret from every one?
They've already told Carter. Told him just after they'd told me.
Oh, poor, poor Carter! There was a note of fresh woe in her voice.
He turned sharply to look at her. So, that's where the pointed
patent leather pinches, Mildred?
What do you mean?
You've been hoping it would be Carter?
Dearest, I've looked upon them all as children.... It was the
merest ... idea ... thought. Mrs. Van Meter is devoted to Honor, Carter
is an unusual boy, and they're exceptional people. And heof course, I
mean in his boyish wayadores Honor. This will be a cruel blow
for him. She grieved. Poor, frail boy....
Stephen Lorimer smoked in silence for a moment. I fancy Carter will
not give up hope. There's nothing frail about his disposition. His will
Well, I certainly hope he doesn't consider it final. I don't. I
consider it a silly boy-and-girl piece of sentimental nonsense, and I
shall do everything in my power to break it up. I consider that my
child's happiness is at stake.
Yes, said her husband, so do I. He got up and went round to his
wife's chair and put penitent arms about her and comforted her. After
all, he could afford to be magnanimous. He was going to win his point
in the end, and meanwhile it would be an excellent thing for the
youngsters to have Mildred doing everything in her pretty power to
break it up. She might just as well, he believed, try to put out the
hearth fire with the bellows.
With her daughter she became motherly and admonitory in her official
third person. Mother wants only your happiness; you know that, dear.
Well, then, there's nothing to worry about, said Honor,
comfortably, for you want me to be happy and I can't be happy unless
it's with Jimsy, so you'll have to want me to have Jimsy, Muzzie!
Mother wants real happiness for you, Honor, genuine, lasting
happiness. That's why she wants you to be sure. And you cannot possibly
be sure at your age.
Yes, I can, Muzzie, said Honor, patiently. Surer than sure.
Why,haven't I always had Jimsy,ever since I can remember? Before
I can remember? He's part of everything that's ever happened to me. I
can't imagine what things would be like without him. I won't imagine
it! Her eyes darkened and her mouth grew taut.
But you'll promise Mother to keep it a secret? You'll promise me
Of course, Muzzie, if you want me to, but I can't see what
difference it makes. I'll never be any surer than I am now,and I
can't ever know Jimsy any better than I do now. Whyshe laughedit
isn't as if I had fallen in love at eighteen, with a new person, some
one I'd just met, or some one I'd known only a little while, like
Carter! If I felt like this about Carter I'd think it was reasonable to
'wait' and be 'sure.' She was aware of a new expression on her
mother's lovely face and interpreted it in her own fashion. I'm sorry
if you don't like our telling Carter, Muzzie. We did it before you
asked us not to, you know. He's always with us and I'm sure he'd have
found out, anyway. She smiled. Carter's funny about it. He
actsamusedas if he were years and years older, and we were babies
playing in a sand box or making mud pies. It was clear that his
amusement amused her, just as her mother's admonition amused her:
nothing annoyed or disturbed her,her serenity was too deep for that.
Her fine placidity was lighted now with an inner flame, but she was
very quiet about her happiness; she was not very articulate in her joy.
Mother cannot let you go about unchaperoned with Jimsy, Honor.
People would very soon suspect
I don't think they would, Muzzie, said Honor, calmly. None of the
other mothers are so particular, you know. Most of the girls go on
walks and rides alone. But we won't, if you'd rather not. Stepper will
go with us, or Billy, or Ted.
Mrs. Lorimer sighed. She could envisage just how much efficient,
deterrent chaperonage her husband would supply.
She watched them set off for the Malibou Ranch the next Sunday
morning rather complacently, however. She had seen to it that Carter
was of the party. To be sure, he was in the tonneau with Stephen
Lorimer and the young Carmodys and Lorimers and the heroic-sized lunch
box and the thermos case, while Jimsy and Honor sat in front, but at
least he was there. There would be no ignoring Carter, as they might
well ignore her husband and sons.
Carter, talking easily and intelligently to his host about the
growing problem of Mexico, quietly watched the two in front. They were
not talking very much. Jimsy was driving and he kept his eyes on the
road for the most part, and Honor sat very straight, her hands in her
lap. Only once Carter saw, from the line of his arm, that Jimsy had put
his left hand over hers, and when it happened he stopped short in the
middle of his neat sentence and an instant later he said, coloring
faintly,I beg your pardon, Mr. Lorimer,you were saying?
Stephen Lorimer felt an intense pity for him but he did not see any
present or future help for his misery. Therefore, when they had
finished their gypsy luncheon and the younger boys were settling it by
a wild rough-house before their swim and Jimsy rose and said, Want to
walk up the coast, Skipper? and Honor said, Yes,just as soon as
I've put these things away, he went deliberately and seated himself
beside Carter and began to read aloud to him from the Sunday paper.
He looked up from the sheet to watch the boy's face as the others
set off. Carter pulled himself to his feet. He ran his tongue over his
lips in rare embarrassment. Idon't you feel like a stroll, too, Mr.
Lorimer? After that enormous lunch, I
Honor's stepfather grinned. Well, I don't feel like a stroll in
that direction, Carter. Let 'em alone,shan't we? He included him in
the attitude of affectionate indulgence. I've been there myself, and
you will be thereif you haven't been already. He patted the sand
beside him. Sit down, old man. This editorial sounds promising.
But Carter would not be denied. Mr. Lorimer, you don't consider
itserious, do you?
About the most serious matter in the world, I should say, Carter.
The boy refused the generalization. I mean, between Honor and
Jimsy? He was visibly expecting a negative answer. I know that Mrs.
Well, I disagree with her. I should say, with average youngsters of
their age that it was as transient asas the measles. But they aren't
I know that. At least, Honor isn't.
Nor Jimsy. I sometimes think, Carter, that fellows of our type,
yours and mine, he was not looking at him now, he was running his long
fingers lazily through the hot and shining sand, are apt to be a
little contemptuous in our minds of his sort. Being rather long on
brain, we fancy, we allow ourselves a scorn of the more or less
unadorned brawn. And yet,they're the salt of the earth, Carter;
they're the cities set on hills. They do the world's red-blooded vital
jobs while wethink. And Honor's not clever either; you know that,
Carter. All the sense and balance and character in the world, Top Step,
God love her, but not a flash of brilliancy. They're capitally suited.
Sane, sound, sweet; gloriously fit and healthy young animals this
was calculated cruelty; Carter might as well face things; there would
be a girl, waiting now somewhere, no doubt, who wouldn't mind his limp,
but Honor must have a mate of her own vigorous breed,Honor who had
always and would always run with the boys,who will produce their
own sort again.
The boy's mouth was twisted. Andand how about his bloodhis
heredity? Isn't he one of the 'Wild Kings'?
You know, Stephen lighted a cigarette, I don't believe he is!
He's got their looks and their charm, but I'm convinced he's two-thirds
Scotch mother,that sturdy soul who would have saved his father if
death hadn't tricked her. And I'm rather a radical about heredity,
anyway, Carter. It's gruesomely overrated, I think. What is it?Clammy
hands reaching out from the grave to clutch at warm young fleshand
pollute it? Not while there are living hands to beat them off! He
began to get vehement and warm. There was to be a chapter on heredity
in that book of his, one day. It's a bogy. It goes down before
environment as the dark before the dawn. Why, environment's a vital,
flesh and blood thing, fighting with and for us every instant! I could
take the offspring of Philip the Second and Great Catherine and make
aa Frances Willard or a Jane Addams of her,if people didn't
sit about like crows, cawing about her parents and her blood and her
heritage. Even dry, statistical scientists are beginning
And while like the Ancient Mariner he held Carter Van Meter on the
sunny sand Honor and Jimsy walked sedately up the shore. They were a
little ill at ease, both of them. It was the first time sinceas Honor
put it to herselfit had happened that they had been quite alone
with each other in the hard, bright daylight. There had been delectable
moments on the stairs, on the porch, stolen seconds in the summerhouse,
but here they were on a blazing Sunday afternoon under a turquoise sky,
with a salt and hearty wind stinging their faces, all by themselves.
They would not be quite out of sight of the rest, though, until they
rounded the next turn in the curving road. Jimsy looked back over his
shoulder, obviously taking note of the fact. He knew that Honor knew
it, too, and the sight of her hot cheeks, her resolute avoidance of his
eyes put him suddenly at ease.
I guess, he said, casually, this is kind of like Italy. Fair
enough, isn't it?
Heavenly, said Honor, a little breathlessly. Italy! Just think,
Jimsy,next year at this time I'll be in Italy!
Gee, he said, solemn and aghast, gee! They had passed the
turn and instantly he had her in a tense, vise-like hug. No, you
won't. No, you won't. I won't let you. I won't let you go 'way
off there, alone, without me. I won't let you, Skipper, do you hear?
Suddenly he stopped talking and began to kiss her. Presently he
laughed. I've always known I was a poor nut, Skipper, but to think it
took me eighteen years to discover what it would be like to kiss you!
He took up his task again.
Oh, said Honor, gasping, pushing him away with her hands against
his chestyou wouldn't have had time!
I could have dropped Spanish or Math', he grinned. Come
on,let's go further up the coast. Some of those kids will be tagging
after us, or Carter.
Not Carter. Stepper's reading to him. He won't let him come.
One peach of a scout, Stephen Lorimer is, said the boy, warmly.
Best scout in the world.
He's the best friend we've got in the world, Jimsy, she said
I know it. Your mother's pretty much peeved about it, Skipper.
Yes, she is, just now. Poor Muzzie! I'm afraid I've never pleased
her very much. But she gets over things. She'll get over it whenwhen
she finds that we don't get over it! She held out her hand to
him and he took it in a hard grip, and they swung along at a fine
stride, up the twisting shore road. They came at last to the great gate
which led into the Malibou Ranch and they halted there and went down
into a little pocket of rocks and sand and sun and sat down with their
faces to the shining sea.
He kissed her again. No; you can't go to Italy, Skipper. That's
Thenwhat are we going to do, Jimsy dear?
Why, we'll just get his bright face clouded over. Good Lord,
I'm talking like a nit-wit. We've got to wait, that's all. What could I
do now? Run up alleys with groceries? Take care of gardens?
Not my garden! You don't know a tulip from a cauliflower!
No, I'll have to learn to do something with my head and my
hands,not just my legs! I guess life isn't all football, Skipper.
But I guess it's all a sort of game, Jimsy, and we have to 'play'
it! And it wouldn't be playing the game for our people or for ourselves
to do something silly and reckless. This thingcaring for each
otheris the wisest, biggest thing in our lives, and we've got to keep
it that, haven't we?
He nodded solemnly. That's right, Skipper. We have. I guess we'll
just have to grit our teeth and waitgeethree years, anyway,
till I'm twenty-one! That's the deuce of a long time, isn't it? Lord,
why wasn't I born five years before you? Then it would be O. K. Loads
of girls are married at eighteen.
You weren't born five years before me because then it would have
spoiled everything, said Honor, securely confident of the eternal
rightness of the scheme of things. You would have been marching around
in overalls when I was born, and when I was ten you would have been
fifteen, and you wouldn't have looked at me,and now you'd be
through college and engaged to some wonderful Stanford girl! No, it's
perfectly all right as it is, Jimsy. Only, we've just got to be
Well, I'll tell you one thing right now, Skipper, I'm not going to
wait five or six years. I'm going to go two years to college, enough to
bat a little more knowledge into my poor bean, and then I'm coming out
and get a job,and get you! He illustrated the final achievement by
catching her in his arms again.
When she could get her breath Honor said, But we needn't worry
about all of it now, dear. We haven't got to wait the fouror six
yearsall at once! Just a month, a week, a day at a time. And the time
will fly,you'll see! You'll have to work like a demon
And you won't be there to help me!
And there'll be football all fall and baseball all spring, and
theatricals, and we'll write to each other every day, won't we?
Of course. But I write such bone-headed boob letters, Skipper.
I won't care what they're like, Jimsy, so long as you tell me
Gee ... I'm going to be lost up there without you, Skipper.
You'll have Carter, dear.
I know. That'll help a lot. Honestly, I don't know how a fellow
with a head like his puts up with me. He forgets more every night when
he goes to sleep than I'll ever know. He's a wonder. Yes, it surewill
help a lot to have Carter. But it won't be you.
Jimsy, have you toldyour father?
He nodded. Last night. He washe's been feeling great these last
few days. He was sitting at his desk, looking over some old letters and
papers, and I went in andand told him.
What did he say?
He didn't say anything at first. He just sat still for a long time,
staring at the things he'd been reading. And then he got out a little
old leather box that he said was my mother's and unlocked it and took
out a ring. Jimsy thrust a hand deep into a trouser pocket and brought
out a twist of tissue paper, yellowed and broken with age. He unwrapped
it and laid a slender gold ring on Honor's palm.
Jimsy! It was an exquisite bit of workmanship, cunningly
carved and chased, with a look of mellow age. There were two clasped
hands,not the meaningless models for wedding cakes, slim, tapering,
faultless, but two cleverly vital looking hands, a man's and a woman's,
the one rugged and strong, the other slender and firm, and the wrists,
masculine and feminine, merging at the opposite side of the circle into
one. Oh ... Honor breathed, it's wonderful....
Yes. It's a very old Italian ring. It was my great-grandmother's,
first. It always goes to the wife of the eldest son. My Dad says it's
supposed to mean love and marriage andand everything'the endless
circle of creation,' he said, when I asked him what it meant, but first
he just said, 'Give this to your girl and tell her to hold hard.
Tell her we're a bad lot, but no King woman ever let go.'
Suddenly and without warning, as on the day when Stephen Lorimer had
first read the Newbolt poem to them, Honor began to cry.
Skipper! Skipper, dearest she was in the young iron clasp
of his arms and his cheek was pressed down on her hair. What is it?
Skipper, tell me!
Oh, she sobbed, clinging to him, I can't bear it, Jimsy! All the
yearsall those splendid men, all those faithful women, 'holding hard'
He gathered her closer. My Dad's the last of 'em, Skipper. He's the
last 'Wild King.' It stops with him. I told him that, and he believes
me. Do you believe me, Skipper?
She stopped sobbing and looked up at him for a long moment, her wet
eyes solemn, her breath coming in little gasps. ThenI do believe
you, Jimsy, she said. I'll never stop believing you.
He kissed her gravely. And now I'll show you the secret of the
ring. He took it from her and pressed a hidden spring. The clasped
hands slowly parted, revealing a small intensely blue sapphire. That's
for 'constancy,' my Dad says. He put it on her finger. It just fits!
Yes. And it just fitsus, too, Jimsy. The jewel hidden ... the way
we must keep our secret. Muzzie won't let me wear it here, but I'll
wear it the minute I leave here,and every minute of my life. It was
wonderful for your father to let us have itwhen we're so young and
have so long to wait!
He saidyou know, he was different from anything he's ever been
before, Skipper, moremore like his old self, I guesshe said it
would help us to wait.
It will, said Honor, contentedly, tucking her hand into his again.
They sat silently then, looking out at the bright sea.
Honor was surprised and pleased to find how little she minded living
abroad, after all. They had arrived, the boy and herself, in the months
between their secret understanding and their separation, at the amazed
conclusion that it was going to be easier to be apart until that bright
day when they might be entirely and forever together. At the best,
three interminable years stretched bleakly between them and marriage;
they had to mark time as best they could. She liked Florence, she liked
the mountainous Signorina, her stepfather's friend, and she
liked her work. If it had not been for Jimsy King she would without
doubt have loved it, but there was room in her simple and single-track
consciousness for only one engrossing and absorbing affection. She
wrote to him every day, bits of her daily living, and mailed a fat
letter every week, and every week or oftener came his happy scrawl from
Stanford. Things went with him there as they had gone at L. A.
High,something less, naturally, of hero worship and sovereignty, but
a steadily rising tide of triumph. He chronicled these happenings
briefly and without emphasis. Skipper dear, he would write in his
crude and hybrid hand, I've made the Freshman team all right and it's
a pretty fair to middling bunch and I guess we'll stack up pretty well
against the Berkeley babes from what I hear, and they made me captain.
It seems kind of natural, and I have three fellows from the L. A.
team,Burke and Estrada and Finley.
He was madly rushed by the best fraternities and chose naturally the
same one as Carter Van Meter,one of the best and oldest and most
powerful. He made the baseball team in the spring, and the second fall
the San Francisco papers' sporting pages ran his picture often and
hailed him as the Cardinal's big man. Honor read hungrily every scrap
of print which came to her,her stepfather taking care that every
mention of Jimsy King reached her. It was in his Sophomore year that he
played the lead in the college play and Honor read the newspapers limp
and limberJames King in the lead did a remarkable piece of work.
King, Stanford's football star, surprised his large following by his
really brilliant performance. Well-known college athlete demonstrates
his ability to act. Honor knew the play and she could shut her eyes
and see him and hear him in the hero's part, and her love and pride
warmed her like a fire.
She had not gone home that first summer. Mildred Lorimer and
Carter's mother managed that, between them, in spite of Stephen's best
efforts, and, that decided, Jimsy King went with his father to visit
one of the uncles at his great hacienda in old Mexico. Mrs. Van
Meter and her son spent his vacation on the Continent and had Honor
with them the greater part of the time. She met their steamer at Naples
and Carter could see the shining gladness of her face long before he
could reach her and speak to her, and he glowed so that his mother's
eyes were wet.
Honor! He had no words for that first moment, the fluent Carter.
He could only hold both her hands and look at her.
But Honor had words. She gave back the grip of his hands and beamed
on him. Carter! Carter, dear! Oh, but it's wonderful to see
you! It's next best to having Jimsy himself!
Marcia Van Meter winced with sympathy, but her son managed himself
very commendably. They went to Sorrento first, and stayed a week in a
mellow old hotel above the pink cliffs, and the boy and girl sat in the
garden which looked like a Maxfield Parrish drawing and drove up to the
old monastery at Deserto and wandered through the silk and coral shops
and took the little steamer across to Capri for the day while Mrs. Van
Meter rested from the crossing. She was happier that summer than she
had been since Carter's little-boy days, for she was giving him, in so
far as she might, what he wanted most in all the world, and she saw his
courage and confidence growing daily. She was a little nervous about
Roman fever, so they left Italy for Paris, and then went on to
Switzerland, and for the first few days she was supremely content with
her choice,Carter gained color and vigor in the sun and snow, and
Honor glowed and bloomed, but she presently saw her mistake.
Switzerland was not the place to throw Honor and Carter
together,Switzerland filled to overflowing with knickerbockered, hard
muscled, mountain climbing men and women; Honor who should have been
climbing with the best of them; who would be, if Jimsy King were with
them; and her son, in the smart incongruities of his sport clothes ...
limping, his proud young head held high.
They found Miss Bruce-Drummond at Zermatt, brown as a berry and hard
as nails with her season's work, and she was heartily glad to see
Well, my dear,fancy finding you here! Your stepfather wrote me
you were studying in Florence and I've been meaning to write you. What
luck, your turning up now! The friend who came on with me has been
called home, and you shall do some climbs with me!
Shall I? Honor wanted to know of her hostess, but it was Carter
Of course! Don't bother about us,we'll amuse ourselves well
enough while you're hiking,won't we, Mater? He was charming about it
and yet Honor felt his keen displeasure.
Yes, do go, dear, said Mrs. Van Meter, quickly. Make the most of
it, for I think we'll be moving on in a very few days. II haven't
said anything about it because you and Carter have been so happy here,
but the altitude troubles me.... I've been really very wretched.
Oh, said Honor penitently, we'll go down right away, Mrs. Van
Meter,to-day! Why didn't you tell us?
It hasn't been serious, said Carter's mother, conscientiously,
it's just that I know I will be more comfortable at sea level. It was
entirely true; she would be more comfortable at sea level or anywhere
else, so long as she took Carter out of that picture and framed him
suitably again. But we needn't hurry so madly, dear. Suppose we go on
Friday? That will give you a day with your friend. She sent Carter for
her cloak and Honor and the Englishwoman strolled to the end of the
I don't believe we ought to wait even a day, if she feels the
altitude so, said Honor, troubled. She's really very frail.
I expect she can stick it a day, said Miss Bruce-Drummond, calmly.
She looks fit enough. ButI saywhere's the other one? Where's your
The warm and happy color flooded the girl's face. Jimsy is in
Mexico with his father, visiting their relatives there on a big ranch.
You haven't thrown him over, have you?
Thrown Jimsy over? Thrown she stopped and drew a long breath. I
could just as easily throw myself over. Why, webelong!
We're part of each other. I justcan't think of myself without
thinking of Jimsyor of Jimsy without thinking of me. She said it
quite simply and steadily and smiled when she finished.
I see, said the novelist. Yes. I see. But you're both frightfully
young, aren't you? I expect your people will make you wait a long time,
Well, said Honor, earnestly, we're going to try our very best to
wait three years,three from the time when we found out we were in
love with each other, you know,two years longer now. Then we'll be
twenty-one. She spoke as if every one should be satisfied then, if
they dragged out separate existences until they had attained that hoary
age, and Miss Bruce-Drummond, hard on forty-one, grinned with entire
And I daresay they'll keep you over here all the while,not let
you go home for holidays, for fear you might lose your heads and bolt
for Gretna Green?
Mercy, no! Her eyes widened, startled. I shall go home for all
summer next year! I meant to go this year, but Muzzie thought I ought
to stay, to be with Carter and Mrs. Van Meter, when they'd made such
lovely plans for me,and it was really all right, this time, because
Jimsy ought to be with his father on the Mexican trip. Her smooth brow
registered a fleeting worry over James King the elder. But next summer
it'll be home, and Catalina Island, and Jimsy!
But it wasn't home for her next summer, after all. Mildred Lorimer
decided that she wanted three months on the Continent with her husband
and her daughter.
Right, said Stephen Lorimer, amiably, so long as we take the boy
You mean Rodney? she wanted to know, not looking at him. (Rodney
was the youngest Lorimer.)
I mean Jimsy King, naturally, as you quite well know, Sapphira, he
answered, pulling her down beside him on the couch and making her face
Stephen, I don't think Mr. King can afford to send him.
Then we'll take him.
Jimsy wouldn't let us. He is very proud,I admire it in him.
Do you, my dear? Then, can't you manage to admire some of his other
nice young virtues and graces?
I do, Stephen. I give the boy credit for all he is, but
But you don't intend to let him marry your daughter if by the
hookiest hook and crookedest crook you can prevent it. I observed your
Star Chamber sessions with Mrs. Van Meter last year; I saw you wave her
and her son hopefully away; I observed, smiling with intense internal
glee, that you welcomed them back with deep if skillfully dissembled
disappointment. Top Step, God love her, sat tight. Don't you know your
own child yet, Mildred? Don't you know the well and favorably known
chemical action of absence on young and juicy hearts? Don't you
knowhe broke off to stare at her, flushed and a little breathless as
she always was in discussions and unbelievably youthful and beautiful
still, and finished in quite another keythat you're getting
positively lovelier with each ridiculous birthdayand your aged and
infirm spouse more and more besottedly in love with you?
She did not melt because she was tremendously in earnest. She was
pledged in her deepest heart to break up what she felt was Honor's
silly sentimentalitysentimentality with a dark and sinister
background of mortgages and young widows and Wild Kings and shabby,
down-at-the-heel houses and lawns.
Woman, said Stephen Lorimer, did you hear what I said? It was a
rather neat speech, I thought. However, as you did not give it the rapt
attention it merited I will now repeat it, with appropriate gestures.
He caught her in his arms as youthfully as Jimsy might have done with
Honor, and told her again, between kisses. You lovely, silly, stubborn
thing, kiss your wise husband once more in a manner expressive of your
admiration for his unfailing sapience, and he will then, with
surprising agility for one of his years, lope across the intervening
lawn and tell James King that his son goes to Europe with us in June.
He grinned back at her from the door. You'll do your little worst to
prevent it, my dear, that I know, but Jimsy King goes with us!
Honor and Jimsy wrote each other rapturously on receipt of the news,
but they were not fluent or expressive, either of them, and they could
only underline and put in a reckless number of exclamation points.
Gee, wrote Jimsy King, isn't it immense? Skipper, I can't tell you
how I feelbut, by golly, I can show you when I get there!
And Honor, reading that line, grew rosily pink to the roots of her
honey-colored hair and flung herself into an hour of practice with such
fire and fervor that the Signorina came and beamed in the
So, she nodded. News? Good or bad?
Good, said Honor, swinging round on the piano stool. The best in
So? Well, it does not greatly matter which, my small one. It does
not signify so much whether one feels joy or grief, so long as one
feels. To feel ... that is to live, and to live is to sing!
Honor sprang up and ran to her and put her arm as far around her as
it would go. She was a delicious person to hug, the Signorina,
warm and soft and smelling faintly of rare and costly scents.
So? said the great singer again. It is of some comfort,
then, to embrace so much of fatness, when your arms ache to feel
muscles and hard flesh? There, there, my good small one, she patted
her with a puffy and jeweled hand, I jest, but I rejoice. It is all
good for the voice, this.
Signorina, said Honor, honestly, I've told you and told
you, but you don't seem to believe me, that I'm only studying to fill
up the time until they'll let me marry Jimsy. I love it, of course, and
I'll always keep it up, as much as I can without neglecting more
important things, but
Mother of our Lord, said the Italian, lifting her hands to heaven,
'more important things' says this babe with the voice of gold, who, by
the grace of God and my training might one day wake the world!
More important to me, said Honor, firmly. I know it must
seem silly to you, Signorina, dear, but if you were in love
Mothers of all the holy saints, said the fat woman, lifting her
hands again, when have I not been in love? Have I not had three
husbands already, and another even now dawning on the horizon, not to
mentionbut there, that is not for pink young ears. I will say this to
you, small one. Every woman should marry. Every artist must
marry. Run home, then, in another year, and wed the young savage, and
have done with it. Stay a year with himtwo if you likeuntil there
is an infant savage. Then you shall come back and give yourself in
earnest to the business of singing.
But Honor, scarlet-cheeked, shook her head. I can't imagine coming
back fromfrom that, Signorina! Her eyes envisaged it
and the happy color rose and rose in her face. But I've got a good
lesson for you to-day! Shall I begin?
Begin, then, my good small one, said her teacher indulgently, and
for the rest, we shall see what we shall see!
Honor flung herself into her work as never before, and counted the
weeks and days and hours until the time when Jimsy should come to her,
and Jimsy, finishing up a sound, triumphant Sophomore year, saw
everything through a hazy front drop of his Skipper on the pier at
But Jimsy King did not go abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer, after
all, and Honor did not see him through the whole dragging summer.
Stephen Lorimer, sick with disappointment for his stepdaughter, would
have found relief in fixing the blame on his wife, for her lovely and
complacent face mirrored her satisfaction at the turn of events, but he
could hardly hold her responsible. James King was taken suddenly,
alarmingly ill with pneumonia two days before they left Los Angeles to
catch their steamer at New York, and it was manifestly impossible for
his son to leave him. The doctors gave scant hope of his recovery.
Therefore, it was Carter Van Meter who took Jimsy's ticket off his
hands and Jimsy's place in the party and the summer plans, leaving his
happy mother to spend three flutteringly hopeful months alone.
James King, greatly to the surprise of his physicians, did not die,
but he hovered on the brink of it for many thin weeks and his son gave
up his entire vacation to be with him. The letters he sent Honor were
brief bulletins of his father's condition, explosive regrets at having
to give up his summer with her, but Jimsy was not a letter writer. In
order properly to fill up more than a page it was necessary for him to
be able to say, Had a bully practice to-day, or, Saw old Duffy last
night and he told me all about He was not good at producing
epistolary bulk out of empty and idle days. Stephen Lorimer, often
beside Honor when she opened and read these messages in English
Cathedral towns or beside Scotch lakes, ached with sympathy for these
young lovers under his benevolent wing because of their inability to
set themselves down on paper. He knew that his stepdaughter was very
nearly as limited as the boy.
Ethel, he said to Miss Bruce-Drummond who had met up with them for
a week-end at Stirling, those poor children are so pitifully what
Gelett Burgess calls 'the gagged and wordless folk'; it would be so
much easierand saferfor them if they belonged to his 'caste of the
She nodded. Yes. It's rather frightful, really, to separate people
who have no means of communication. Especially when she broke off,
looking at Carter who was pointing out to Honor what he believed to be
the Field of Bannockburn.
Stephen Lorimer shook his head. No danger there, he said
comfortably. Top Step is sorry for hima creature of another, paler
world ... infinitely beneath her bright and beamish boy's. No, I feel a
lot safer to have Carter with her than with Jimsy King.
The Englishwoman stared. Really?
Yes. I daresay I exaggerate, but I've always seen something
sinister about that youth.
Miss Bruce-Drummond looked at Carter Van Meter and observed the way
in which he was looking at Honor. He wants her frightfully, doesn't
he, poor thing?
He wants her frightfully but he isn't a poor thing in the very
least. He is an almost uncannily clever and subtle young person for his
years, with a very large income and a fanatically devoted mother behind
him, and he's had everything he ever wanted all his life except
physical perfection,and my good Top Step.
Ah, yes, but what can he do, after all?
Honor's stepfather shrugged. He knows that she would not be allowed
to marry the lad if he went the way of the other 'Wild Kings,'that
she is too sound and sane to insist on it. And I thinkI thought even
in their High School daysthat he deliberately steers Jimsy into
My word! said the novelist, hotly. What are you going to do about
Watch. Wait. Stand ready. I shall make it my business to drop in at
the fraternity house once or twice next season, when I go north to San
Francisco,and into other fraternity houses, and put my ear to the
ground. And if I find what I fear to find I'll take it up with both the
lads, face to face, and then I'll send for Honor.
Right! said Miss Bruce-Drummond, her fine, fresh-colored face
glowing. And I'll run down to Florence at the Christmas holidays and
take her to Rome with me, shall I?
It will be corking of you, Ethel.
I shall love doing it.
He looked at her appreciatively. She would love doing it; she loved
life and people, Ethel Bruce-Drummond, and she was able therefore to
put life and people, warm and living, on to her pages. She was as fit
and hardy as a splendid boy, her cheeks round and ruddy, her eyes
bright, her fine bare hands brown and strong, her sturdy ankles
sturdier than ever in her heavy knitted woolen hose and her stout
Scotch brogues. He had known and counted on her for almost twenty
yearsand he had married Mildred Carmody. Ethel, he said, suddenly,
in that book of mine I mean to have
Ah, yes, that book of yours, Stephen! Slothful creature! You know
quite well you'll never do it.
Never do it! Why,he was indignantI've got tons of it done
already, in my head! It only wants writing down.
Yes, yes, said his friend, penitently, I make no doubt. It only
wants writing down. Well?
I'm going to have a chapter on friendship, and insert a really
novel idea. Friendship has never been properly praised,begging pardon
in passing of Mr. Emerson and his ilk. I'm going to suggest that it be
given dignity and weight by having licenses and ceremonies, just as
marriage has. It has a better right, you know, really. It's a much
saner and more probable vowto remain friends all one's life, than in
love. In genuine friendship there is indeed no variableness, neither
shadow or turning. You and I, now, might quite safely have taken out
our friendship license and plighted our troth,twenty years, isn't
Yes, said Miss Bruce-Drummond, gently, it's twenty years,
Stephen, and that's a quite beautiful idea. You must surely put it in
your book, old dear. Her keen eyes, looking away across the ancient
battlefields were a little less keen than usual, but Stephen Lorimer
did not notice that because he was looking at his watch.
Do you know it's nearly five, woman, and Mildred waiting tea for us
at the Stirling Arms? So he called to the boy and girl and fell into
step beside his friend and swung down the hill to his tea and his wife,
a little thrilled still, as he always would be to the day of his death,
at being with her again after even the least considerable absence.
It seemed to Honor Carmody that three solid summers had been welded
together for her soul's discipline that year; there were assuredly
ninety-three endless days in July. She was not quite sure whether
having Carter with them made it harder for her or easier. He was an
accomplished traveler; things moved more smoothly for his presence,
andas she wrote Jimsyhe knew everything about everywhere. On the
whole, it was pleasanter, more like home, more like the good days on
South Figueroa Street, to have him about; she could sometimes almost
cajole herself into thinking Jimsy must be there, too, in the next
room, hurrying up the street, a little late for dinner, but there, near
them. It was only when Carter talked to her of Jimsy that she grew
anxious, even acutely unhappy. It wasn't, she would decide, thinking it
over later, lying awake in the dark, so much what Carter had saidit
was what he hadn't said in words. It was the thing that sounded in his
voice, that was far back in his eyes.
Yes, he would say, smiling in reminiscence, that was a party!
Nothing ever like it at Stanford before in the memory of the oldest
inhabitant, they say. And old JimsyI wish you could have seen him!
No, I don't really, for you wouldn't have approved and the poor old
scout would have been in for a lecture, but it was
Carter, Honor would interrupt, do you mean, can you possibly mean
that Jimsythat he's She found she couldn't say it after all; she
couldn't put it into the ugly definite words.
Oh, nothing serious, Honor! Nothing for you to worry about! He has
to do more or less as others do, a man of his prominence in college.
It's unavoidable. Of course, it might be better if he could steer clear
of that sort of thing altogether he would stop at a point like that
and frown into space for a moment, as if remembering, weighing,
considering, and Honor's heart would sink coldly. Then he would
brighten again and lay a reassuring hand on her sleeve. But you
mustn't worry. Jimsy's got a level head on his shoulders, and he has
too much at stake to go too far. He'll be all right in the end, Honor,
I'm sure of that. And you know I'll always keep an eye on him!.
And Honor twisting on her finger the ring with the clasped hands and
the hidden blue stone of constancy which she always wore except when
her mother was with her, would manage a smile and say, I know how
devoted you are to him, Carter. You couldn't help it, could you?Every
one is. And you mean to help him; I know that. I am grateful.
It's next best to being with him myself. Then, because she couldn't
trust herself to talk very much about Jimsy, she would resolutely
change the subject and Carter would write home to his hoping mother
that Honor really seemed to be having a happy summer and to enjoy
everything, and that she was not very keen to talk much about Jimsy.
He did not hear the talk she had with her stepfather the night
before they were to sail for home. It came after her hour of fruitless
pleading with her mother to be allowed to go back with them. Mildred
Lorimer had stood firm, and Stephen had been silent and Carter had
sided with Honor's mother.
It really would be rather a shame, Honor,much as we'd love having
you with us on the trip home. You're coming on so wonderfully with your
work, the Signorina says. She intends to have you in concert
this winter, and coming home would spoil that, wouldn't it? He was
very sensible about it.
Honor had managed to ask Stephen to see her alone, after the rest
had gone to their rooms. They were sailing from Genoa because they had
wanted to bring Honor back to Italy and the Signorina had joined
them at the port and would take the girl back to Florence with her.
Honor went upstairs and came down again in fifteen minutes and found
him waiting for her in the lounge.
He got up and came to meet her and took her hands into his solid and
reassuring clasp. This is pretty rough, Top Step. You don't have to
She did not, indeed. Her young face was drained of all its color
that night and her eyes looked strained. It was mildly warm and the
windows were open, but she was shivering a little. Stepper, dear, I
don't want to be a goose
You're not, Top Step.
But I'm anxious. When Jimsy gave me this ring, and told me what he
had told his fatherthat he was not going to be another 'Wild King'
and asked me if I believed him, I told him I'd never stop believing
him, and I won't, Skipper. I won't!
Right, T. S.
Butthings Carter says,things he doesn't sayStepper, I think
Jimsy needs me now.
The man was silent for a long moment. He could, of course, assert
his authority or at least his power, since the girl was Mildred's child
and not his, break with his good friend, the Signorina, and take
Honor home. But, after all, what would that accomplish, unless she went
to Stanford? He began to think aloud. Even if you came home with us,
Top Step, you wouldn't be near him, would you, unless you went to
college? And you'd hardly care to do that nowto enter your Freshman
year two years behind the boys.
And if you stayed in Los Angelesyou might almost as well be here.
The number of miles doesn't matter.
Butperhaps Jimsy wouldn't stay at Stanford then. Oh, Stepper,
dear, haven't we waited long enough?
He's only twenty, T. S.
She sighed. Being young is the cruelest thing in the world!
You are blaspheming! said her stepfather, sternly. T. S., that's
the only stupid and wicked thing you've ever said in the years I've
known you! Don't ever dare to say itor think itagain! Being young
is the most golden and glorious thing in the world! Being young he
ran a worried hand over his thinning hair and sighed. Ah, well, you'll
know, some day. Meanwhile, girl, it looks as if you'd have to stick.
That's your part in 'playing the game!' But I promise you this. I shall
keep an eye on things for you; keep in touch with the boy, see him,
hear from him, hear of him, and if the time comes when I believe
that his need of you is instant and vital, I'll writeno, I'll cable
you to come.
Stepper! The comfort in her eyes warmed him.
It's a promise, Top Stephe grinned,as you used to say when I
first knew you'cross-my-heart,
hope-never-to-see-the-back-of-my-neck!' Now, hop along to bed,and
The lift in the little hotel put its head under its wing at
ten-thirty and it was now almost eleven, so Honor set out on foot to do
the three flights between her and her room. She ran lightly because she
felt suddenly eased of a crushing burden; Stepper, good old Stepper,
was on guard; Stepper was standing watch for her. There was a little
writing-room and sun parlor on the second floor, dim now, with only one
shaded light still burning, and as she crossed it a figure rose so
startlingly from a deep chair that she smothered a small cry.
It's I, said Carter. He stepped between her and the stairway.
Cartie! You did make me jump! Honor smiled at him; she was so
cozily at peace for the moment that she had an increased tenderness for
their frail friend. It was so still in the hotel it might be the
'night before Christmas,''not a creature was stirring, not even a
mouse.' You'd better go to bed, she added, maternally. You look pale
I'm not tired, he said shortly. He continued to stand between her
and the stairs.
WellI'm sleepy, she said, moving to pass him. Good
But Carter was quicker. He caught hold of her by her arms and held
her in a tense grip. Honor, Honor, Honor! he said, choking.
Why,Cartie! Youplease She tried to free herself.
Honor, I can't help it. I've got to speak. I've got to know. Don't
youcouldn't youcare at all for me, Honor?
Carter! Notnot the way you mean! Of course I'm fond of you,
I don't want that! He shook her, roughly, and his voice was harsh.
I want you to care the way I care. And I'm going to make you!
Carter, she was not angry with him, only unhappy, do you think
this is fair? Do you think you're being square with Jimsy?
No, he said, hotly, and I don't care. I don't care for anything
but you. Honor, you don't love Jimsy King. I know it. It's just a
silly, boy-and-girl thingyou must realize that, now you're away from
him! Your mother doesn't want you to marry him. What can he give you or
do for you? And he'll go the way of his father and all his familyI've
tried to lie to you, but I'm telling you the truth now, Honor. He's
drinking already, and he'll grow worse and worse. Give him up, Honor!
Give him up before he spoils your life, and let me with all his
strength, far more than she would have thought it possible for him to
have, he tried to pull her into his arms, to reach her lips.
But Jimsy's Skipper, for all her two soft years in Europe, had not
lost her swimming, hiking, driving, out-of-door vigor, and her muscles
were better than his.
I'm going to kiss you, said Carter, huskily. I've wanted to kiss
you for years ... always ... and I'm going to kiss you now!
No, you're not, Carter, said Honor. She got her arms out of his
grasp and caught his wrists in her hands. She was very white and her
eyes were cold. You see? You're weak. You're weak in your arms,
Carter, just as you're weak in yourin your character, in your
friendship! And I despise weakness. She dropped his wrists and saw him
sit down, limply, in the nearest chair and cover his face with his
hands. Then she walked to the stairs and went up without a backward
He was pallid and silent at breakfast next morning and Honor was
careful not to look at him. It was beginning to seem, in the eight
o'clock sunlight, as if the happening of the night before must have
been a horrid dream, and her sense of anger and scorn gradually gave
way to pity. After all ... poor old Carter, who had so little ...
Jimsy, who had so much! What Carter had said in his tirade about
Jimsy's drinking she did not believe; it was simply temper; angry
exaggeration. Mildred Lorimer, looking at Carter's white face and the
gray shadows under his eyes and observing Honor's manner toward him,
sighed audibly and was a little distant when she bade her daughter
farewell. She loved her eldest born devotedly, but there were moments
when she couldn't help but feel that Honor was not very much of a
comfort to her....
Stephen held the girl's hands hard and looked deep into her eyes.
Remember what I said, Top Step, 'Cross-my-heart!'
I'll remember, Stepper, dear! Thanks! She turned to Carter
and held out a steady hand. My love to your mother, Carter, and I do
hope you'll have a jolly crossing.
Will you read this, please? He lifted his heavy eyes to her face
and slipped a note into her hand. She nodded and tucked it into her
blouse. Then she stood with the Signorina, on the pier, waving,
and with misty eyes watching the steamer melting away and away into the
blue water. When she was alone she read the little letter.
Dear Honor Carter had written in a ragged scrawl unlike his
usual firm handWill you try to forgive me? You are the
and least bitter person in the world; I know you can forgive
Butand this will be hardercan you forget last night? I
to deserve it, if you will. Will you pretend to yourself that
never happened, and just remember the good days we've had this
summer, and thatin spite of my losing my headI'm your
and Jimsy's friend? Will you, Honor?
And Honor Carmody, looking with blurred eyes at the sea, wished she
might wave again and reassuringly to the boy on the steamer, facing the
long voyage so drearily. Then she realized that she still could, in a
sense, wave to him. The steamer stopped at Naples and she could send a
telegram to him there, and he would not have to cross the wide ocean
under that guilty weight. She put on her hat and sped to the telegraph
office, and there, because his note had ended with a questionhad been
indeed all a questionand because she was the briefest of feminine
creatures, and because the Signorina was waiting luncheon for
her and did not enjoy waiting, she wired the one word, Yes, and
signed her name.
Carter got a telegram, said Mildred Lorimer to her husband. I
wonder what it could have been. Did he say?
He didn't mention it, said Stephen. About those silk shirts which
weren't finished, I daresay. Certainly not bad news, by the look of
When Carter Van Meter reached Los Angeles and his tearfully happy
mother he drew her into the library and closed the door. Mater, he
said with an odd air of intense repressed excitement, I'm going to
show you something, but you must promise me on your honor not to
breathe it to a living soul, least of all, Mrs. Lorimer.
Oh, dearest, gasped his mother, I promise faithfully
He took Honor's telegram out of his wallet and unfolded it and
smoothed it out for her to read the single word it contained. Then, at
her glad cry, Sh ... Mater! It isn'texactlywhat you think. I can't
explain now. But it's a hope; it mayI believe it will, one daylead
to the thing we both want! He folded it again carefully into its
creases and put it back into his wallet and he was breathing hard.
Ethel Bruce-Drummond was better than her word. She did not wait for
the Christmas holidays but went down to Florence early in December for
Honor's first concert, and she wrote many pages to Stephen Lorimer.
Of course you know by this time that the concert was a
successyou'll have had Honor's modest cable and the
expensive one from the fat lark! They are sending you
from the Italian papers, and clippings in English, and copies
some of the notes she's had from the more important musical
and I really can't add anything to that side of it. You know,
dear Stephen, when it comes to music I'm confessedly
quite, perhaps, like that fabled countryman of mine who said
could not tell whether the band were playing God Save the
or Pop Goes the Queen, but bad enough in all truth.
keep cannily out of all discussion of Honor's voice. I gather,
however, that it has surprised every one, even the
that there is no doubt at all about her making a genuine
if she wants to hew to the line. She has had, I hear, several
rather unusual offers already. But of course she hasn't the
faintest intention of doing anything in the world but the
heart is set upon. It's rather pathetic, really. There's
a little like Trilby about her; she does seem to be singing
enchantment. What she really is like, though, is a
young Botticelli Madonna. She's lost a goodish bit of flesh, I
should say, and her color's not so high, and she might easily
walked out of one of the canvases in the Pitti or the Ufizzi,
the Belli Arti. Her hair is Botticelli hair, and that
the flesh of which one of your American novelists
speaksHarrison, isn't it?and that faint austerity.
She sang quantities of arias and groups of songs of all
and at the end she did some American Indian things,the
melodies themselves arranged in modern fashion. I expect you
them. The words are very simple and touching and the Italian
translations are sufficiently funny. Well, the very last of
something about a captive Indian maid, and a young chap here
clearly adores her and whom she hasn't even taken in upon her
retina played a wailing, haunting accompaniment on the flute.
nearly as I can remember it went something like:
From the Land of the Sky Blue Water
They brought a captive maid.
Her eyes were deep as the(I can't remember what,
But she was not afraid.
I go to her tent in the evening
And woo her with my flute,
But she dreams of the Sky Blue Water,
And the captive maid is mute.
My dear Stephen, I give you my word that I very nearly put my
in the air and howled. She is a captive maidcaptive
talent and the fat song-bird and her mother's ambition and
and her mother's determination not to let her marry her lad,
that Carter chap, and the boy playing the flutethe whole
of you,but she's dreaming of the Sky Blue Water, and
doing with that child. You'd best make up your minds to it,
settle some money on them and marry them off. My word,
there so much of it lying about in the world that you can
be reckless with it? I arrived too late to see her before the
concert, and I went behindtogether with the bulk of the
and English coloniesdirectly it was over. She was
glad to see me; I was a sort of link, you know. When I started
to tell her how splendidly she'd sung and how every one was
rejoicing she said, Yes,thanksisn't every one sweet? But
Stepper write you that Jimsy was 'Varsity Captain this year,
that they beat Berkeley twelve to five? And that Jimsy made
touchdowns? Do you remember that game you saw with usand how
Jimsy ran down the field and shook hands with the boy who'd
on us? And how that gave every one confidence again, and we
always won!and standing there with her arms full of
and all sorts of really important people waiting to pat her on
head, she hummed that old battle song:
You can't beat L. A. High!
You can't beat L. A. High!
and her eyes filled up with tears and she gave me her jolly
grin and said, Oh, Miss Bruce-Drummond, I can hardly wait to
back to real living again!
Honor was honestly happy over her success. It was good to
satisfyand more than satisfythe kind Signorina and all the
genial and interested people she had come to know there; to send her
program and her clippings home to her mother; it was jolly to be asked
out to luncheon and dinner and tea and to be made much of; it was best
of all to have something tangible to give up for Jimsy. If she had
failed, going back to him and settling quietly down with him would have
seemed like running to sanctuary; nowwith definite promises and hard
figures offered herit was more than a gesture of renunciation. She
could understand adoring a life of that sort if she hadn't Jimsy; as it
was she listened sedately to the Signorina's happy burblings and
said at intervals:
But you know, Signorina dear, that I'm going to give it up
and be married next year?
You cannot give it up, my poor small one. It will not give you up.
It has you, one may truly say, by the throat!
There was no use in arguing with her. The interim had to be filled
until summer and home. She would do, docilely, whatever the
Jimsy was happy and congratulatory about her concert but he took it
no more seriously than Honor herself. His letters were full, in those
days, of the unrest at Stanford. Certain professors had taken a
determined stand against drinking; there was much agitation and
bitterness on both sides. Jimsy was all for freedom; he resented
dictation; he could hoe his own row and so could other fellows; the
faculty had no right to treat them like a kindergarten. Honor answered
calmly and soothingly; she managed to convey without actually setting
it down on the page that Jimsy King of all people in the world should
take care not to ally himself with the wets, and he wrote back that
he was keeping out of the whole mess.
It came, therefore, as a fearful shock, the letters and newspapers'
account of the expelling of James King of Los Angeles, 'Varsity Captain
and prominent in college theatricals, from Stanford University for
marching in a parade of protest against the curtailing of drinking! She
was alone in her room when she opened her mail and she sat very still
for minutes with her eyes shut, her fingers gripping the tiny clasped
hands on her ring. At last, I'll never stop believing in you,
she said, almost aloud.
Then she read Jimsy's own version of it. She always kept his letter
for the last, childishly, on the nursery theorem of First the worst,
second the same, last the best of all the game.
Skipper dearest, he wrote, in a hasty and stumbling scrawl,
so mad I can hardly see to write. I'd have killed that prof if
hadn't been for Carter. This is how it happened. I'd been
out of the whole mess as I told you I would. That night I was
digging out something at the Library and on my way back to the
House I saw a gang of fellows in a sort of parade, and some
the end caught hold of me and dragged me in. I asked him what
big idea was and he said he didn't know, and I was sleepy and
we came to the House I dropped out and went in. I wasn't in it
minutes and I didn't even know what it was about. But when
called for every one who was in the parade next day I had to
up, of course. Well, they asked me about it and I told them
how it happened, and they said all right, then, I could go. I
surprised and thankful, I can tell you, because they'd been
chopping off heads right and left, some of the best men in
Well, just as I was going out through the door the old prof
me back and said he had one more thing to ask me. Did I
that his committee was absolutely right and justified in
they'd done? Well, Skipper, what could I say? I said just what
you'd have said and what you'd have wanted me to saythat I
think they had been too severe and in some cases unjust and
canned me for it.
There was a letter from Stephen Lorimer, grave and distressed,
substantiating everything that Jimsy had written. (He had taken the
first train north and gone into the matter thoroughly with the men at
the fraternity house, simmering with red rage, and the committee,
regretful but adamant.) The college career, the gay, brilliant, adored
college career of Jimsy King was at an end. Honor's stepfather had
taken great care to have the real facts in Jimsy's case printedhe
sent the clipping from the Los Angeles paperand he had spent an
evening with James King, setting forth the truth of the case. But the
fact remained for the majority of people, gaining in sinister weight
with every repetition, that the last of the Wild Kings had been
expelled from Stanford University for drinking.
Top Step, her stepfather wrote, I'm sick with rage and
indignation. Your mother is taking it very hardas is most
one else. 'Expelled' is not a pretty word. I'm doing my level
to put the truth before the public, to show that your boy is
something of a hero in this matter, in that he might be snugly
at this moment if he had been willing to tell a politic lie.
be unhappy over this, T. S., that's inevitable, butI give
wordyou need not hang your head. Jimsy played the game.
Carter, who had written seldom since the happening of the summer in
spite of her kind and casual replies to his letters, sent her now six
reassuring pages. She was not to worry. Jimsy was really doing very
well, as far as the drinking went, and heCarterwould not let him do
anything foolish or desperate in his indignation. Three times he
repeated that she must not be anxious. A dozen times in the letter he
showed her where she might well be anxious. The word beat itself in
upon her brain until she could endure it no longer, and she went out
through the pretty streets of Florence to the cable office and sent
Stephen Lorimer one of her brief and urgent messages, Anxious.
Two days later she had his answer and it was as short as her own had
There was a stormy scene with the Signorina. The waves of her
fury rolled up and up and broke, crashing, over Honor's rocklike calm.
At last, breathless, her fat face mottled with temper, Go, then, said
the singer, and went out of the room with heavy speed and slammed the
door resoundingly. But she went with Honor to her steamer at Naples and
embraced her forgivingly. Go with God, she wept. Live a little; it
is best, perhaps. Then, my good small one, come back to me.
Like all simple and direct persons Honor found relief in action. The
packing of her trunks and bags, the securing of tickets, cabling, had
all given her a sense of comfort. They were tangible evidences of her
progress toward Jimsy. The ocean trip was difficult; there was nothing
to do. Nevertheless the sea's large calm communicated itself to
her; for the greater portion of the voyage she was at peace. The
situation with Jimsy must have been grave for her stepfather to think
it necessary to send for her, but nothing could be so bad that she
could not right it when she was actually with Jimsy. She would never
leave him again, she told herself.
Feyther an' mither may a' gey mad,
But whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad!
Her mother, her poor, lovely mother, to whom she had been always
such a disappointment, would be mad enough in all conscience, but
Stepper would stand by. And nothingno thing, no person, mattered
beside Jimsy. Friends of her mother met her steamer in New York and put
her on her train, and friends of Stephen Lorimer met her in Chicago and
drove and dined her and saw her off on the Santa Fe. She began to have
at once a warm sense of the West and home. The California poppies on
the china in the dining-car made her happy out of all proportion. When
they picked up the desert she relaxed and settled back in her seat with
a sigh and a smile. The blessed brown, the delicious dryness! The
little jig-saw hills standing pertly up against the sky; the tiny,
low-growing desert flowers; the Indian villages in the distance, the
track workers' camps close by with Mexican women and babies waving in
the doorways; even a lean gray coyote, loping homeward, looking back
over his shoulder at the train, helped to make up the sum of her joy.
The West! How had she endured being away from it so long?From its
breadth and bigness, its sweep and space and freedom? She would never
go away again. She and Jimsy would live here always, a part of it,
She stopped worrying. She was home, and Jimsy was waiting for her,
and everything would come right.
At San Bernardino her mother and stepfather and her brothers came on
board, surprising her. She had had a definite picture of them at the
Santa Fe station in Los Angeles and their sudden appearance almost
bewildered her. Her mother was a trifle tearful and reproachful but she
was radiantly beautiful in her winter plumage. Stephen's handclasp was
solid and comforting. Her little brothers had grown out of all belief,
and her big brothers were heroic size, and they were all a little shy
with her after the excitement of the first greetings. She wondered why
Jimsy had not come out with them but at once she told herself that it
was better so; it would have been hard for them to have their first
hour together under so many eyes,her mother's especially. Jimsy would
be waiting at the station. But he was not. There were three or four of
her girl friends with their arms full of flowers and one or two older
boys who had finished college and were in business. They made much of
her and she greeted them warmly for all the cold fear which had laid
hold of her heart.
Then came the drive home, the surprising number of new business
buildings, the amazing growth of the city toward Seventh Street, the
lamentable intrusion of apartment houses and utilitarian edifices on
beautiful old Figueroa. Honor looked and listened and commented
intelligently, butwhere was Jimsy?
The old house looked mellow and beautiful; the Japanese garden was a
symphony of green plush sod and brilliant colorthe Bougainvillæa
almost smothering the little summerhouse and a mocking-bird who must be
a grandson of the one of her betrothal night was singing his giddy
heart out. Kada was waiting in the doorway, bowing stiffly, sucking in
his breath, beaming; the cook just behind him, following him in sound
and gesture, and the Japanese gardener, hat in hand, stood at the foot
of the steps as she passed to say, How-do? Veree glod! Veree glod!
Tha's nize you coming home! Veree glod!
Honor shook hands with them all. Then she turned to look at her
stepfather and he followed her into his study.
And we've got three new dogs, Honor, and two cats, and the
smallest Lorimer besieged her at the door but she did not turn. She was
very white now and trembling.
Stepper, where is Jimsy?
Top Step, Iit's like Evangeline, rather, isn't it? He went
straight through from the north without even stopping over here. He's
gone to Mexico, to his uncle's ranch. And Carter got a leave of absence
and went with him. Iyou want the truth, don't you, Top Step?
Yes, said Honor.
I'm afraid Jimsy rather ran amuck, in the bitterness of it all. His
father took it very hard, in spite of my explanations to him, and wrote
the boy a harsh letter; that started things, I fancy. That's when I
cabled you. Carter telephoned his mother from the station here as they
went throughthey were on that special from San Francisco to Mexico
Cityand she told your mother that Jimsy was pretty well shot to
pieces and that Carter didn't dare leave him alone.
Didn't he write me?
He may have, of course, T. S., but there's nothing here for you.
Mrs. Van Meter told Carter that I had cabled for you, so Jimsy knows.
Yes. She stood still, her hat and cloak on, deliberating. Do the
trains go to Mexico every day, Stepper?
Why, yes, I believe they do, but you needn't wait to write, T. S.
You can telegraph, and let
I didn't mean about writing, said Honor, quietly. I meant about
going. Will you see if I can leave to-day, Stepper? Then I won't unpack
at all, you see, and that will save time.
Top Step, I know what this means to you, butyour mother.... Do
you think you'd better?
I am going to Mexico, said Honor. I am going to Jimsy.
I'll find out about trains and reservations, said her stepfather.
For a few moments it moved and concerned Honor to see that she was
the cause of the first serious quarrel between her mother and her
stepfather. She was shocked to see her mother's wild weeping and
Stephen Lorimer's grim jaw and to hear the words between them, but
nothing could really count with her in those hours.
She took her mother in her arms and kissed her and spoke to her as
she had to her little brothers in the years gone by, when they were
hurt or sorry. There, there, Muzzie dear! You can't help it.
You must just stop caring so. It isn't your fault.
People will thinkpeople will say sobbed Mildred Lorimer.
No one will blame you, dear. Every one knows what a trial I've
always been to you.
You have, Honor! You have! You've never been a comfort to menot
since you were a tiny child. And even then you were tomboyish and rough
I know, Muzzie.
I never heard of anything so brazen in all my liferunning after
him to Mexicoto visit people you never laid eyes on in all your days,
utter strangers to you
Jimsy's aunt and uncle, Muzzie.
Utter strangers to you, forcing yourself upon them, without
even telegraphing to know if they can have you
No. I don't want Jimsy to know I'm coming.
Where's your pride, Honor Carmody? When he's done such dreadful
things and got himself expelled from collegea young man never lives
that down as long as he lives!and gone the way of all the 'Wild
Kings,' and hasn't even written to you! That's the thing I can't
understandyour running after him when he's dropped yougone without
a word or a line to you.
He may have written, Muzzie. Letters are lost, you know,
Very seldom. Very seldom! Mrs. Lorimer hotly proclaimed her
faith in her government's efficiency. I haven't lost three letters in
forty years. No. He's jilted you, Honor. That's the ugly, shameful
truth, and you're too blind to see it. If you knew the things Carter
told his mother
I don't want to know them, Muzzie.
Of course you don't. That's just it! Blind! Blind and
stubborn,determined to wreck and ruin your whole life. And I must
stand by, helpless, and see you do it. And the danger of the
thing! With Diaz out of the country it's in the hands of the brigands.
You'll be murdered ... or worse! WellI know whose head your blood
will be on. Not mine, thank Heaven! There was very little that day,
Mildred Lorimer felt, that she could thank Heaven for. It was not using
You know that Stepper will give me letters and telegraph ahead to
the train people, said Honor. And you mustn't believe all the
hysterical tales in the newspapers, Muzzie dear. Here's Stepper now.
Stephen Lorimer was turning the car in at the driveway and a moment
later he came into the house. He looked very tired but he smiled at his
stepdaughter. You're in luck, Top Step! I've just come from the
Mexican Consulate. Met some corking people there, Mexicans, starting
home to-morrow. They'll be with you until the last day of your trip!
Mother and father and daughter,Menéndez is the name. Fascinating
creatures. I've got your reservations, in the same car with them!
Mildred, he turned to his wife, still speaking cheerily but begging
for absolution with his tired eyes, Señora MenéndezMenéndez y García
is the whole namesent her compliments and said to tell you she would
'guard your daughter as her own.' Doesn't that make you feel better
She can defend her from bandits, I suppose?
My dear, there will be Señor Menéndez, and they tell me the tales
of violence are largely newspaper stuff,as I've told you repeatedly.
They will not only look after Honor all the way but they will telegraph
to friends to meet her at Córdoba and drive her out to the Kings'
ranchoI explained that she wished to surprise her friends. I
don't mind telling you now that I should have gone with her myself if
these people hadn't turned up.
And I'll go now, T. S., if you like.
No, Stepper. I'd rather go alone, reallyas long as I'm going to
be so well looked after, and Muzzie needn't worry.
'Needn't worry!' said Mildred Lorimer, lifting her hands and
letting them fall into her lap.
Honestly, Muzzie, you needn't. If you do, it's because you let
yourself. You must know that I'll be safe with these people.
Your bodily safety isn't all, her mother, driven from that corner,
veered swiftly. The thing itself is the worst. The idea of
itwhen I thinkafter all that was in the paper, and every one
talking about it and pitying youpitying you, Honor!
Her daughter got up suddenly and crossed over to her mother. Every
one but you, Muzzie? Can't you manage topity mea little? I think I
could stand being pitied, just now. It was indeed a day for being
mothered. There was a need which even the best and most understanding
of stepfathers could not fill, and Mildred Lorimer, looking into her
white face and her mourning eyes melted suddenly and allowed herself to
be cuddled and somewhat comforted but the heights of comforting Honor
she could not scale.
I think, said the girl at length, I'd like to go up to my room
and rest for a little while, if you don't mind, Muzzie,and Stepper.
Right, T. S. You'll want to be fresh for to-morrow.
Do, dearand I'll have Kada bring you up some tea. Rest until
dinner time, because Mrs. Van Meter's dining with us, she broke off as
she saw the small quiver which passed over her daughter's face and
defended herself. I had to ask her, Honor. I couldn'tin common
decencyavoid it. She's so devoted to you, and think what she's done
for you, Honor!
Honor sighed. Very well. But will you make her promise not to let
Carter know I am coming?
My dear, how could she? You'll be there yourself as soon as a
She might telegraph. She turned to her stepfather. Will you make
her promise, Stepper?
I will, Top Step. Run along and rest. I daresay there will be some
of the Old Guard in to see you this evening. He walked with her to the
door and opened it for her. The small amenities of life had always his
devoted attention. He smiled down at her. Rest! he said.
I can rest, now, Stepper. It was true. When she reached the haven
of her big blue room she found herself relaxed and relieved. Again the
direct simplicity of her nature upheld her; she had not found Jimsy,
but she would find him; she was going to him without a day's delay; she
could rest in action.
The soft-footed, soft-voiced Kada brought her a tea tray and
arranged it deftly on a small table by the window. He smiled
incessantly and kept sucking in his breath in his shy and respectful
pleasure. Veree glod, he said as the gardener had said before him,
Veree glod! I lige veree moach you comin' home! Now when thad
Meestair Jeemsie comin' home too, happy days all those days! He had
brought her two kinds of tiny sandwiches which she had favored in the
old tea times, chopped olives and nuts in one, cream cheese and dates
in the other, and there was a plate of paper-thin cookies and some
salted almonds and he had put a half blown red rose on the shining
Kada, you are very kind. You always do everything so beautifully!
How are you coming on with your painting?
Veree glod, thank-you-veree-moach! He bowed in still delight.
You must show me your pictures in the morning, Kada.
Thank-you-veree-moach! Soon I have one thousand dollar save', can
go study Art School.
That's fine, Kada!
Budhis serene face clouded oververee sod leavin'
theeze house! When you stayin' home an' thad Meestair Jeemsie here I
enjoy to work theeze house; is merry from moach comedy!'
He bowed himself out, still drawing in his breath and Honor smiled.
Merry from much comedy the house had been in the old gay days; dark
from much tragedy it seemed to-day. What would it be to her when she
came back again? But, little by little, the old room soothed and
stilled her. There were the sedate four-poster bed and the demure
dresser and the little writing desk, good mahogany all of them; come by
devious paths from a Virginia plantation; the cool blue of walls and
rugs and hangings; the few pictures she had loved; three framed
photographs of the Los Angeles football squad; a framed photograph of
Jimsy in his class play; a bowl of dull blue pottery filled now with
lavish winter roses. It was like a steadying hand on her shoulder, that
sane and simple girlhood room.
The window gave on the garden and the King house beyond it. She
wondered whether she should see James King before she went to Mexico.
She felt she could hardly face him gently,Jimsy's father who had
failed him in his dark hour. In view of what his own life had been! She
leaned forward and watched intently. It was the doctor's motor, the
same seasoned old car, which was stopping before the house of the Wild
Kings, and she saw the physician hurry up the untidy path and
disappear into the house. James King was ill again. She would have to
see him, then. Perhaps he would have a good message for Jimsy. She
finished her tea and slipped into her old blue kimono, still hanging in
the closet, turned back the embroidered spread and laid herself down
upon the bed. She took Jimsy's ring out of the little jewel pocket
where she carried it and put it on her finger. I will never take it
off again, she said to herself. Then she fell asleep.
Fresh as paint, T. S., said her stepfather when she came down.
My dear, what an adorable frock, said her mother. You never got
that in Italy!
But I did, Muzzie! Honor was penitently glad of the sign of
fellowship. There's a really lovely little shop in the Via
Tournabouni. Wait till my big trunk comes and you see what I found for
you there! Oh, here's Mrs. Van Meter!
She hurried to the door to greet Carter's mother. Marcia Van Meter
kissed her warmly and exclaimed over her. She was thinner but it was
becoming, and her gown suited her perfectly, andthey were seated at
dinner nowwas that an Italian ring?
Yes, said Honor, slowly, looking first at her mother, it is an
Italian ring, a very old one. Jimsy gave it to me. It has been in the
King family for generations. Isn't it lovely?
Lovely, said Mrs. Van Meter, coloring. She changed the
subject swiftly but she did not really seem disconcerted. Indeed, her
manner toward Honor during the meal and the hour that followed was
affectionate to the point, almost, of seeming proprietary and maternal.
Some boys and girls came in later and Mrs. Van Meter rose to go. I'll
run home, now, my dear, and leave you with your young friends.
I'll go across the street with you, Mrs. Van Meter, said Stephen
Lorimer, flinging his cigarette into the fire. He had already extracted
her promise not to telegraph Carter but he meant to hear it again.
Thanks, Mr. Lorimer, but I'm going to ask Honor to step over with
me. I have a tiny parcel for Carter and a message. Will you come,
She slipped her arm through the girl's and gave it a little squeeze
as they crossed the wide street. Hasn't the city changed and grown, my
dear? Look at the number of motors in sight at this moment! One hardly
dares cross the street. I declare, it makes me feel almost as if I were
in the East again. She gave her a small, tissue wrapped parcel for her
son and came out on to the steps again with her. Be careful about
Yes, said Honor, lightly. That would hardly do,to come alone
from Italy and then get myself run over on my own street. What's that
Kipling thing Stepper quotes:
To sail unscathed from a heathen land
And be robbed on a Christian coast!
Well, good-night, Mrs. Van Meter, and good-by, and I'll write you
how Carter is!
The older woman put her arms about her and held her close. Dearest
girl, Carter told me not to breathe to any one, not even to your
mother, aboutabout what happened last summerandand what he asked
you, and I haven't, but I must tell you how glad.... then, at
the bewilderment in Honor's face in the light of the porch lamp,he
showed me the telegram you sent him to the steamer.
Oh,I remember! Her brief wire to him, promising to forgive and
forget his wild words of the evening before. She had quite forgiven,
and she had so nearly forgotten that she could not imagine, at first,
what his mother meant. And now, because the older woman was trembling,
and because Carter must have told her of how he had lost control of
himself and been for a moment false to his friend, she gave back the
warm embrace and kissed the pale cheek. Yes. And I meant it,
Mrs. Van Meter!
You blessed child! Marcia Van Meter wiped her eyes. You've
made me very happy.
Honor ran across Figueroa Street between flashing headlights on
automobiles, and her heart was soft within her. Poor old Cartie!
How he must have grieved and reproached himself, and how seriously he
must have taken it, to tell his mother! Fancy not forgiving people! Her
stepfather had marked a passage for her in her pocket R. L. S....
The man who cannot forgive any mortal thing is a green hand in life,
Stevenson had said. Honor believed him. She could even forgive James
King, poor, proud, miserable James King, for failing Jimsy. It was
because he cared so much. As she started up her own walk some one
called to her from the steps of the King house.
That you, Honor?
Yes, Doctor! I just came home to-day. How are you? She ran over to
shake hands with him. Is Mr. King very sick?
Oh, Doctor Deering!
Yes. No mistake about it this time. Wants to see you. Old nigger
woman told him you were home. Will you come now?
Of course. She followed him into the house and up the long,
shabbily carpeted stairs. She had never seen a dying person and she
began to shiver.
As if he read her thought the doctor spoke. Isn't going to die
while you're here. Not for a weekperhaps two weeks. But he'll never
be up again. His voice was gruff and his brow was furrowed. He had
been with Jeanie King when Jimsy was born and when she died, and he had
cherished and scorned James King for long years.
There was a chair beside the bed and Honor seated herself there in
silence. Presently the sick man opened his eyes and his worn and
ravaged look of his son caught at her heart.
So, he said somberly, you came home.
Yes, Mr. King. I came because Jimsy was in trouble, and to-morrow
I'm going to him.
His eyes widened and slow, difficult color came into his sharply
boned face. You're going ... to Mexico?
The color crept up and up until it reached the graying hair, crisply
waved, like Jimsy's. No King woman ever ... held harder ... than
that! he gasped. You're a good girl, Honor Carmody. They knew ...
what to ... name you, didn't they?
She leaned nearer, holding her hand so that the rays of the night
light fell on the ring. Didn't you know I'd 'hold hard' when you let
Jimsy give me this?
He hauled himself up on an elbow and stared at it with tragic eyes.
Jeanie wore it five years.... My mother wore it thirty.... Honor
Carmody, you're a good girl.... You make me ... ashamed.... Tell the
boy that ... I'm sorry ... that letter. Bring him back ... in time....
He fell back, limp, gasping, and the doctor signaled to the girl to go.
As she was slipping through the door the sick man spoke again,
querulously. Damn that mocking-bird ... make somebody shoot him!...
There was one singing when Jimsy was born ... and when Jeanie went ...
and this one now, mocking, mocking....
She ran back to him. Oh, Mr. King, she said, with shy fervor, he
isn't making fun of us!Only of the bad, hard things! One sang
out near Fiesta Park the day we thought Greenmount would win the
championship, and one was singing the night Jimsy and I found out that
we loved each other,and this one was singing when I came home
to-day! It was a long speech for Honor and she was a little shy and
breathless. I know he doesn't mean it the way you think! He's
telling us that the sad, hard, terrible things are not the real
things! Suddenly she bent and kissed his cold forehead. Oh, Mr. King,
if you listen to him withwith your heartyou'll hear it! He's
mocking at trouble and disgrace,and misunderstanding and silly pride!
He'shear him now!he's mocking at pain and sorrow andand
Then she ran out of the room and down the long stairs and across the
lawn to her own house, where a noisy and jubilant section of the Old
It was happily clear at breakfast that Stephen Lorimer had more or
less made his peaceand Honor's peacewith his wife. Like his beloved
Job, whom he knew almost by heart, he had ordered his cause and filled
his mouth with arguments, and Mildred Lorimer had come to see something
rather splendidly romantic in her daughter's quest for her true love.
Stephen, who never appeared at breakfast, was down on time, heavy-eyed
and flushed, and Honor saw with a pang, in the stern morning light,
that he was middle-aged. Her gay young stepfather! His spirit had put a
period at nineteen, but his tired body was settling back into the slack
lines of the late fifties. Her mother had changed but little, thanks to
the unruffled serenity of her spirit and the skillful hands which cared
Muzzie, Honor had said, meeting her alone in the morning, you are
a marvel! Why, you haven't a single gray hair!
It'swell, I suppose it's because I have it taken care of, said
Mrs. Lorimer, flushing faintly. It's not a dye. It's not in the least
a dyeit simply keeps the original color in the hair, that's
all. I wouldn't think of using a dye. In the first place, they say it's
really dangerous,it seeps into the brain and affects your mind, and
in the second place it gives your face a hard look, always,and
besides, I don't approve of it. But this thing Madame uses for me is
perfectly harmless, Honor.
It's perfectly charming, Muzzie, said her daughter, giving her a
hearty hug. It was a good world this morning. The breakfast table was
gay, and Kada beamed. Takasugi had made countless pop-oversHonor's
favoritesand Kada was slipping in and out with heaping plates of
them. Pop-all-overs the littlest Lorimer called them, steaming,
golden-hearted. Honor had sung for them and the Old Guard the night
before and even the smallest of the boys was impressed and was treating
her this morning with an added deference which flowered in many
passings of the marmalade and much brotherly banter. The girl herself
was radiant. Nothing could be very wrong in a world like this. Suppose
Jimsy had slipped oncetwicehalf a dozen times, when she was far
away across the water? One swallow didn't make a spring and one slip
(or several) didn't make a Wild King out of Jimsy. She was going to
find him and talk it over and straighten it out and bring him back here
where he belonged, where they both belonged, where they would stay. His
expulsion from Stanford really simplified matters, when you came to
think of it; now there need be no tiresome talk of waiting until he
graduated from college. And she had not the faintest intention of going
back to Italy. Just as soon as Jimsy could find something to do (and
her good Stepper would see to that) they would be married and move into
the old King house, and how she would love opening it up to the
sun and air and making it gay with new colors! All this in her quiet
mind while she breakfasted sturdily with her noisy tribe. Good to be
with them again, better still to be coming back to them, to stay with
them, to live beside them, always.
Her train went at ten and the boys would be in school and her mother
had an appointment with the lady whose ministrations kept her hair at
its natural tint and Honor would not hear of her breaking it, so it was
her stepfather only who took her to the station. She was rather glad of
that and it made her put an unconscious extra fervor, remorsefully,
into her farewells to the rest. Just as she was leaving her room there
was a thump on her door and a simultaneous opening of it. Ted, her
eldest Carmody brother, came in and closed the door behind him. He was
a Senior at L. A. High, a football star of the second magnitude and a
personable youth in all ways, and her heart warmed to him.
Ted,dear! I thought you'd gone to school!
I'm just going. Sis,Ihe came close to her, his bonny young
face suddenly scarletI just wanted to sayI know why you're going
down there, andand I'm for you a million! He's all right, old Jimsy.
Don't you let anybody tell you he isn't. Iyou're a sport to pike down
there all by yourself. You're all right, Sis! I'm strong for
Ted! The distance between them melted; she felt the hug of his
hard young arms and there was a lump in her throat and tears in her
eyes, but she fought them back. He would be aghast at her if she cried.
He wouldn't be for her a million any longer. She must not break down
though she felt more like it than at any time since her arrival. She
kept silent and let him pat her clumsily and heavily till she could
command her voice. I'm glad you want me to go, Teddy.
You bet I do. You stick, Sis! And don't you let Carter spill the
Why, Ted, he
You keep an eye on that bird, said the boy, grimly. You keep your
She repeated his words to her stepfather as they drove to the
station. Why do you suppose he said that, Stepper?
Stephen Lorimer shrugged. I don't think he meant anything specific,
T. S., but you know the kids have never cared for Carter.
I know; it's that he isn't their type. They haven't understood
Orit's that they have.
Stepper! You, too? Honor was driving and she did not turn her head
to look at him, but he knew the expression of her face from the tone of
her voice. Do you mean that, seriously?
I think I do, T. S. Look here,we might as well talk things over
straight from the shoulder this morning. Shall we?
Please do, Stepper. She turned into a quieter street and drove
more slowly, so that she was able to face him for an instant, her face
Want me to drive?
No,I like the feel of the wheel again, after so long. You talk,
Well, T. S., I've no tangible charge to make against Carter, save
that his influence has been consistently bad for Jimsy since the first
day he limped into our ken. Consistently andpersistently bad,
T. S. You knowsince we're not dealing in persiflage this
morningthat Carter is quite madly, crazily, desperately in love with
Iyes, I suppose that's what you'd call it, Stepper. Herather
lost his head last summer,the night before you sailed.
But the night before we sailed, said her stepfather, drawing from
his neatly card-indexed memory, it was with me that you held a little
Yes,but on my way upstairs. The lift had stopped, you know. I was
frightfully angry at him and said something cruel, but the next morning
he looked so white and wretched and wrote me such a pathetic letter,
asking me to forgive and forget and all that sort of thing, and I sent
him a wire to the steamer, saying I would.
Ah! That was his telegram. We wondered.
And he's been very nice since, in the few letters I've had from
I daresay. But Ted's right, Top Step. In the parlance of the saints
you do 'want to keep your lamps lit.' Carter, denied health and
strength and physical glory, has had everything else he's ever wanted
except you,and he hasn't given you up yet.
Honor nodded, her face flushed, her eyes straight ahead.
And nowmore plain talk, T. S. This is a fine, sporting, rather
spectacular thing you're doing, going down to Mexico after Jimsy, and
I'm absolutely with you, butif the worst should be trueif the boy
really has gone to piecesyou won't marry him?
No, said the girl steadily, after an instant's pause. If Jimsy
should belike his fatherI wouldn't marry him, Stepper. There
shouldn't beany more 'Wild Kings.' But I'd never marry any one
else, andoh, but it would be a long time to live, Stepper, dear!
I'm betting you'll find him in good shape,and keep him so, Top
Step. At any rate, however it comes out, you'll always be glad you
I know I will.
Yes; you're that sort of woman, T. S.,the 'whither thou goest'
kind. I believe women may roughly be divided into two classes; those
who passively let themselves be loved; those who actively love. The
former have the easier time of it, my dear. His tired eyes visioned
his wife, now closeted with Madame. He sighed once and then he smiled.
And they get just as much in return, let me tell you,more, I really
believe. But I want you to promise me one thing.
That you'll never give up your singing. Keep it always, T. S.
There'll be times when you need itto run away toto hide in.
She nodded, soberly.
His eyes began to kindle. Every woman ought to have something! Men
have. It should be with women as with menlove a thing apart in their
lives, not their whole existence! Then they wouldn't agonize and wear
on each other so! I believe there's a chapter in that, for my book, Top
I'm sure there is, said Honor, warmly. They had reached the
station now and a red cap came bounding for her bags. And I won't even
try to thank you, Stepper, dear, for all
Don't be a goose, T. S.,look! There are your Mexicans!
Honor followed his eyes. Aren't they delicious? They
hurried toward them. The girl's adorable!
They all are. Stephen Lorimer performed the introductions with
proper grace and seriousness and they all stood about in strained
silence until the Señora was nervously sure they ought to be getting on
board. Might as well, T. S., her stepfather said. She was looking
rather white, he thought, and they might as well have the parting over.
Honor was very steady about it. Good-by, Stepper. I'll write you at
once, and you'll keep us posted about Mr. King? She stood on the
observation platform, waving to him, gallantly smiling, and he managed
his own whimsical grin until her train curved out of sight. One in a
thousand, his Top Step. How she had added to the livableness of life
for him since the day she had gravely informed her mother that she
believed she liked him better than her own father, that busy gentleman
who had stayed so largely Down Town at The Office! Stephen Lorimer was
too intensely and healthily interested in the world he was living in to
indulge in pallid curiosity about the one beyond, but now his mind
entertained a brief wonder ... did he know, that long dead father of
Honor Carmody, about this glorious girl of his? Did he see her now,
setting forth on this quest; this pilgrimage to her True Love, as
frankly and freely as she would have gone to nurse him in sickness? He
grinned and gave himself a shake as he went back to the machine,he
had lost too much sleep lately. He would turn in for a nap before
luncheon; Mildred would not be out of her Madame's deft hands until
The family of Menéndez y García beamed upon Honor with shy
cordiality. Señor Menéndez was a dapper little gentleman, got up with
exquisite care from the perfect flower on his lapel to his small
cloth-topped patent leather shoes, but his wife was older and larger
and had a tiny, stern mustache which made her seem the more male and
dominant figure of the two. Mariquita, the girl, was all father, and
she had been a year in a Los Angeles convent. The mother wore rich but
dowdy black and an impossible headgear, a rather hawklike affair which
appeared to have alighted by mistake on the piles of dusky hair where
it was shakily balancing itself, but Mariquita's narrow blue serge was
entirely modish, and her tan pumps, and sheer amber silk hose, and her
impudent hat. The Señor spent a large portion of his time in the smoker
and the Señora bent over a worn prayer book or murmured under her
breath as her fingers slipped over the beads in her lap, but the girl
chattered unceasingly. Her English was fluent but she had kept an
Ees he not beautiful, Mees Carmody, my Pápa? She pushed the accent
forward to the first syllable. And my poor Madrecita of a
homely to chill the blood? But a saint, my mawther. Me, I am not
so good. Also gracias a Dios, I am not so she leaned
forward to regard herself in the narrow strip of mirror between the
windows anda wary eye on the Señoraapplied a lip stick to her ripe
little mouth. She wanted at once to know about Honor's sweethearts.
A fe miain all your life but one novio? Me, I have now
seex. So many have I since I am twelve years I can no longer count for
you! She shrugged her perilously plump little shoulders. One! Jus'
like I mus' have a new hat, I mus' have a new novio!
They were all a little formal with her until after they had left El
Paso and crossed the Mexican border at Juarez, when their manner became
at once easy, hospitable, proprietary. They pointed out the features of
the landscape and the stations where they paused, they plied her
unceasingly with the things they purchased every time the train
hesitated long enough for vendadors to hold up their wares at
the windows,fresas (the famous strawberries in little leaf
baskets), higos (fat figs), helado (a thin and over-sweet
ice cream), and the delectable Cajeta de Celaya, the candy made
of milk and fruit paste and magic. They were behind time and the train
seemed to loiter in serenest unconcern. Señor Menéndez came back from
the smoker with a graver face every day. The men who came on board from
the various towns brought tales of unrest and feverish excitement, of
violence, even, in some localities.
If his friends could not be sure of meeting Honor at Córdoba and
driving her to the Kings' hacienda the Señor himself would
escort her, after seeing his wife and daughter home. Honor assured him
that she was not afraid, that she would be quite safe, and she was
thoroughly convinced of it herself; nothing would be allowed to happen
to her on her way to Jimsy.
Your father is so good, she said gratefully to Mariquita.
Yes, she smiled. My Pápa ees of a deeferent good; he ees
glad-good, an' my Madrecita ees sad-good. MeI am bad
-good! You know, I mus' go to church wiz my mawther, but my Pápa, he
weel not go. He nevair say 'No' to my mawther; he ees too kind.
Jus' always on the church day he is seek. So seek ees my poor
Pápa on the church day! She flung back her head and laughed and showed
her short little white teeth.
But Señor Menéndez had an answer to his telegram on the morning of
the day on which they were to part; his friend, the eminent Profesor, Hidalgo Morales, accompanied by his daughter, Señorita Refugio, would
without fail be waiting for Miss Carmody when her train reached Córdoba
and would see her safely into the hands of her friends. Honor said
good-by reluctantly to the family of Menéndez y García; the beautiful
little father kissed her hand and the grave mother gave her a blessing
and Mariquita embraced her passionately and kissed her on both cheeks
and produced several entirely genuine tears. She saw them greeted by a
flock of relatives and friends on the platform but they waved devotedly
to her as long as she could see them. Then she had a quiet and solitary
day and in the silence the old anxieties thrust out their heads again,
but she drove them sturdily back, forcing herself to pay attention to
the picture slipping by the car window,the lovely languid tierra
caliente which was coming to meet her. The old Profesor and
his daughter were waiting for her; shy, kindly, earnest, less traveled
than the Menéndez', with a covered carriage which looked as if it might
be a relic of the days of Maximilian. Conversation drowsed on the long
drive to the Kings' coffee plantation; the Señorita spoke no English
and Honor's High School Spanish got itself annoyingly mixed with
Italian, and the old gentleman, after minute inquiries as to her
journey and the state of health of his cherished friend, Señor Felipe
Hilario Menéndez y García, sank into placid thought. It was a
ridiculous day for winter, even to a Southern Californian, and the tiny
villages through which they passed looked like gay and shabby stage
The Profesor roused at last. We arrive, Señorita, he
announced, with a wave of his hand. They turned in at a tall gateway of
lacy ironwork and Honor's heart leapedEl Pozo. Richard King.
The name is given because of the old well, the Mexican explained.
It is very ancient, very deepwithout bottom, the peóns
believe. They drew up before a charming house of creamy pink plaster
and red tiles, rioted over by flowering vines. I wait but to make sure
that Señor or Señora King is at home. A soft-eyed Mexican woman came
to the door and smiled at them, and there was a rapid exchange of
liquid sentence. They are both at home, Señorita. We bid you
The servant, wide-eyed and curious, had come at his command to take
Ohbutsurely you'll wait? Won't you come in and rest? It was
such a long, warm drive, and you must be tired.
He bowed, hat in hand, shaking his handsome silver head. We leave
you to the embraces of your friends, Señorita. One day we will do
ourselves the honor to call upon you, and Señor and Señora King, whom
it is our privilege to know very slightly. For the present, we are
content to have served you.
Oh, said Honor in her hearty and honest voice, holding out a frank
hand, this is the kindest country! Every one has been so
good to me! I wish I could thank you enough!
The old gentleman stood very straight and a dark color surged up in
his swarthy face. Then, dear young lady, you will perhaps have the
graciousness to say a pleasant word for us in that country of yours
which does not love us too well! You will perhaps say we are not all
barbarians. He gave an order to his coachman and the quaint old
carriage turned slowly and precisely and started on its long return
trip, the Profesor, still bareheaded, bowing, his daughter
beaming and kissing her hand. Honor held herself rigidly to the task of
seeing them off. ThenJimsy! Where was he? She had had a
childish feeling that he would be instantly visible when she got there;
she had come from Italy to Mexico,from Florence to a coffee
plantation beyond Córdoba in the tierra caliente to find
him,and journeys ended in lovers' meeting, every wise man's sonand
daughterknew. The nods and becks and wreathed smiles of the serving
woman brought her back to earth.
Señora King? She asked, dutifully, for her hostessher
Si Señorita! Pronto! The servant beckoned her into a dim,
cool sala and disappeared. Well, I know what that means, Honor
told herself. 'Right away.' Oh, I hope it's right away!
But it was not. The Kings, like all sensible people, were at their
siesta; twenty racking moments went by before they came in. Richard
King was older than Jimsy's father but he had the same look of race and
pride, and his wife was a plain, rather tired-looking Englishwoman with
very white teeth and broodingly tender blue eyes which belied the
briskness of her manner.
I am Honor Carmody.
You are Mrs. King came forward, frowning a little.
II am engaged to your nephewto Jimsy King. I think you must
have heard of me.
My dear, of course we have! How very nice to see you! Buthowand
where did you
The girl interrupted breathlessly. Oh, please,I'll tell you
everything, in a minute. But I must know about him! I came from Italy
becausebecause of his trouble at college. Is heis he she kept
telling herself that she was Honor Carmody, the tomboy-girl who never
cried or made scenesJimsy's Skipperher dear Stepper's Top Step; she
was not a silly creature in a novel; she would not scream and beg them
to tell hertell hereven if they stood there staring at her
for hours longer. And then she heard Richard King saying in a voice
very like his brother's, a little like Jimsy's:
Why, the boy's all right! Ab-so-lutely all right! Isn't he,
Madeline? Steady as a clock. That college nonsense
And then Honor found herself leaning back in a marvelously
comfortable chair by an open window and Mr. King was fanning her slowly
and strongly and Mrs. King was making her drink something cool and
pungent, and telling her it was the long, hot drive out from Córdoba in
the heat of the day and that she mustn't try to talk for a little
while. Honor obeyed them docilely for what she was sure was half an
hour and which was in fact five minutes and then she sat up straight
and decisively. I'm perfectly all right now, thank you. Will
you tell me where I can find Jimsy?
I expect he's taking his nap down at the old well. I'll send for
him. You must be quiet, my dear.
She got to her feet and let them see how steady she was. Please
let me go to him!
But Josita will fetch him in less time, my dear, and we'll have
Carter called, too, and Mrs. King stopped abruptly at the look in
the girl's eyes. Josita will show you the way, she said in quite
another tone. You must carry my sunshade and not walk too quickly.
Honor tried not to walk too quickly but she kept catching up with
the Mexican serving woman and passing her on the path, and falling back
again with a smile of apology, and the woman smiled in return, showing
white, even teeth. It was not as long a walk as it seemed, but their
pace made it consume ten interminable minutes. At length the twisting
walk twisted once more and gave on a cleared space, meltingly green,
breathlessly still, an ancient stone well in its center.
Josita gestured with a brown hand. Alla esta Señorito Don Diego!
Gracias! Honor managed.
Te nada! She smiled and turned back along the way they had
come. It is nothing! she had said. Nothing to have brought her on the
last stage of her long quest! Jimsy was asleep in the deep grass in the
shade. She went nearer to him, stepping softly, hardly breathing. He
was stretched at ease, his sleeves rolled high on his tanned arms, his
tanned throat bare, his crisp hair rolling back from his brow in the
old stubborn wave, his thick lashes on his cheek. His skin was as clean
and clear as a little boy's; he looked a little boy, sleeping there.
She leaned over him and he stirred and sighed happily, as if dimly
aware of her nearness. She tried to speak to him, to sayJimsy! but
she found she could not manage it, even in a whisper. So she sat down
beside him and gathered him into her arms.
They had a whole hour entirely to themselves and it went far toward
restoring the years that the locusts had eaten. It was characteristic
of them both that they talked little, even after the long ache of
silence. For Jimsy, it was enough to have her there, in his arms,
utterly histo know that she had come to him alone and unafraid across
land and sea; and for Honor the journey's end was to find him
clear-eyed and clean-skinned and steady. Stephen Lorimer was right when
he applied Gelett Burgess' caste of the articulate against them; they
were very nearly of the gagged and wordless folk. Yet their silence
was a rather fine thing in its way; it expressed themtheir
simplicity, their large faith. It was not in them to make reproaches.
It did not occur to Jimsy to sayBut why didn't you let me know you
were coming?At least you might have let me have the comfort of
knowing you were on this side of the ocean! And Honor never dreamed of
saying But Jimsy,to rush from Stanford down here without sending me
Therefore it was somewhat remarkable that it came out, in the brief
speeches between the long stillnesses, that Honor knew that Carter had
telephoned to his mother as they passed through Los Angeles, and that
Mrs. Van Meter had spoken of Honor's return, and she had naturally
supposed he would tell Jimsy; and that Jimsy had written her a ten page
letter, telling with merciless detail of the one wild party of protest
in which he had taken part, of his horror and remorse, of his
determination to go to his people in Mexico and stay until he was
certain he had himself absolutely in hand and had made up his mind
about his future.
Well, it will be sent back to me from Florence, said Honor,
Funny it wasn't there almost as soon as you wereI sent it so long
ago!The night after that party, and I didn't leave for over two
weeks, and that makes itwell, anyhow, it's had time to be back. But
it doesn't matter now.
No, it doesn't matter, now, Jimsy. I won't read it when it does
come, because it's all ancient historyancient history thatthat
never really happened at all! But I'm glad you wrote me, dear! She
rubbed her cheek against his bronzed face.
Of course I'd tell you everything about it, Skipper.
Of course you would, Jimsy.
They were just beginning to talk about the futurebeyond hurrying
back to Jimsy's fatherwhen Carter came for them. He called to them
before he came limping into the little cleared space, which was partly
his tact in not wanting to come upon them unannounced, and partly
because he didn't want, for his own sake, to find them as he knew he
would find them, without warning. As a matter of fact, while Honor
lifted her head with its ruffled honey-colored braids from Jimsy's
shoulder, he kept his arm about her in brazen serenity.
Carter's eyes contracted for an instant, but he came close to them
and held out his hand. Honor! This is glorious! But why didn't you
wire and let us meet you? We never dreamed of your coming! Of course,
the mater told me you were on your way home, but I didn't tell old
Jimsy here, as long as you hadn't. I knew you meant some sort of
surprise. I thought he'd hear from you from L. A. by any mail, now.
Say, Cart', remember that long letter I wrote Skipper, the night
after the big smear?
Surely I do, Carter nodded.
Well, she never got it.
It passed her, of course. It will come back,probably follow her
Oh, it'll show up sometime. I gave it to you to mail, didn't I?
Yes, I remember it distinctly, because it was the fattest one of
yours I ever handled.
He grinned ruefully. Yep. Had a lot on my chest that night.
Mrs. King thought you ought to rest before dinner, Honor.
At least I ought to make myself decent! She smoothed the collar
Jimsy's arms had crumpled, the hair his shoulder had rubbed from its
smooth plaits. She must think I'm weird enough as it is!
But the Richard Kings had lived long enough in the turbulent
tierra caliente to take startling things pretty much for granted.
Honor's coming was now a happily accepted fact. A cool, dim room had
been made ready for her,a smooth floor of dull red tiles, some
astonishingly good pieces of furniture which had come, Mrs. King told
her when she took her up, from the Government pawnshop in Mexico City
and dated back to the brief glories of Maximilian's period, and a cool
bath in a tin tub.
You are so good, said Honor. Taking me in like this! It was a
dreadful thing to do, butI had to come to him.
The Englishwoman put her hand on her shoulder. My dear, it was a
topping thing to do. I her very blue eyes were pools of
understanding. I should have done it. And we're no end pleased to have
you! We get fearfully dull, and three young people are a feast! We'll
have a lot of parties and divide you generously with our friends and
neighborsneighbors twenty miles away, my dear! We'll do some
theatricals,Carter says your boy is quite marvelous at that sort of
Oh, he is, said Honor, warmly, but I'm afraid we ought to
hurry back to his father!
I'll have Richard telegraph. Of course, if he's really bad, you'll
have to go, but we do want you to stay on! She was moving about the
big room, giving a brisk touch here and there. Have your cold dip and
rest an hour, my dear. Dinner's at eight. Josita will come to help
you. She opened the door and stood an instant on the threshold. Then
she came back and took Honor's face between her hands and looked long
at her. You'll do, she said. You'll do, my girl! There's nono
royal road with these Kings of oursbut they're worth it! She dropped
a brisk kiss on the smooth young brow and went swiftly out of the room.
To the keen delight of the hosts there was a fourth guest at dinner,
a man who was stopping at another hacienda and had come in to
tea and been cajoled into staying for dinner and the night. He was a
personage from Los Angeles, an Easterner who had brought an invalid
wife there fifteen years earlier, had watched her miraculous return to
pink plump health and become the typical California-convert. He had
established a branch of his gigantic business there and himself rolled
semiannually from coast to coast in his private car. Honor and Jimsy
were a little awed by touching elbows with greatness but he didn't
really bother them very much, for they were too entirely absorbed in
each other. He seemed, however, considerably interested in them and
looked at them and listened to them genially. The Kings were thirstily
eager for news of the northern world; books, plays, games, peoplethey
drank up names and dates and details.
We must take a run up to the States this year, said Richard King.
It would be jolly, old dear, said his wife, levelly, her wise eyes
on his steady hands. If the coffee crop runs to it!
There you have it, he growled. If the coffee crop is bad we can't
afford to go,and if it's good we can't afford to leave it!
But we needn't mind when we've house parties like this! My word,
Rich'fancy having four house guests at one and the same blessed
time! She led the way into the long sala for coffee.
Yes,isn't it great? Drink? Richard King held up a half filled
decanter toward his guest.
The personage shook his head. Not this weather, thanks. That
enchanted well of yours does me better. Wonderful water, isn't it?
Water's all right, but it's a deuce of a nuisance having to carry
every drop of it up to the house.
Really? Isn't it piped?
Ah, but it will be one day, Rich'! I expect the first big coffee
crop will go there, rather than in a trip to the States. But it is
rather a bother, meanwhile.
But you have no labor question here.
Haven't we though? With old Diaz gone the old order is changed.
This bunch I have here now are bad ones, King shook his head. They
may revolute any minute.
Oh, Rich'not really?
I daresay they'll lack the energy when it comes to a show-down,
Madeline. But this man Villa is a picturesque figure, you know. He
appeals to the peón imagination.
The guest was interested. Yes. Isn't it true that there's a sort of
Robin Hood quality about himsteals from the rich to give to the
poorthat sort of thing?
That's more or less true, but the herd believes it utterly. He
sighed. It was a black day for us when Diaz sailed.
Jimsy King had been listening. But, Uncle Rich', they have
had a rotten deal, haven't they?
His uncle shrugged. Got to treat 'em like cattle, boy. It's what
Well, it's what they'll always be if you keep on treating 'em that
way! Jimsy spoke hotly and his uncle turned amused eyes on him.
Don't let that Yaqui fill you up with his red tales!
But you'll admit the Yaquis have been abused?
Well, I believe they have. They're a cut above the peón in
intelligence and spirit. Butcan't have omelette without breaking
eggs. He turned again to his elder guest. This boy here has been
palling about with a Yaqui Indian he made me take in when he was here
The great man nodded. Yes,I've seen them together. Magnificent
specimen, isn't he?
They are wonderfully built, most of them. This chap was pretty
badly used by his masterthey are virtually slaves, you know,and
bolted, and Jimsy found him one night
The boy got up and came over to them. Starving, and almost dead
with weakness and his wounds,beaten almost to death and one of his
ears hacked off! And Uncle Rich' took him in and kept him for me.
His uncle grinned and flung an arm across his shoulder. And had the
deviland many pesos to pay to the local jefe and the
naturally peevish gentleman who lost him. But at that I'll have to
admit he's the best man on the rancho to-day. He threw a
teasing look at Honor, glowing and misty-eyed over Jimsy's championing
of the oppressed. The only trouble is, I suppose Jimsy will take him
with him when he sets up housekeeping for himself. What do you think,
Maddy? Could Yaqui Juan be taught to buttle?
No butlers for us, Uncle Rich'! Jimsy was red but unabashed. We
might rent him for a movie star and live on his earnings. We aren't
very clear yet as to what we will live on!
The personage looked at him gravely. You are going to settle in Los
Yes! said Jimsy and Honor in a breath. The good new life
coming which would be the good old life over again, only better!
Oh, said Mrs. King, I forgot,I asked them to come up from the
quarters and make music for you! They're here now! Look! She went to
the window and the others followed. The garden was filled with vaguely
seen figures, massed in groups, and there was a soft murmur of voices
and the tentative strumming of guitars. Shall we come out on the
veranda? You'll want a rebozo, Honor,the nights are sharp.
She called back to the serving woman. Put out the lights, Josita.
They sat in the dusk and looked out into the veiled and shadowy
spaces and the dim singers lifted up their voices. The moon would rise
late; there was no light save the tiny pin points of the cigarettes; it
gave the music an elfin, eerie quality.
Pretty crude after Italy, eh, Honor? Richard King wanted to know.
Oh, it's delicious, Mr. King! Please ask them to sing another!
May we have the Golondrina? the eldest guest wanted to
Wellhow about it, Maddy? Think we're all cheerful enough? We know
that two of us are! All right! He called down the request and it
seemed to Honor that a little quiver went through the singers in the
shadow. The guitars broke into a poignant, sobbing melody.
I don't know what the words mean, said the personage under his
breath. I don't believe I want to know. I fancy every one fits his own
words to it.
Or his own need, said Richard King's wife. She slipped her hand
into her husband's. The melody rose and fell, sobbed and soared. Honor
drew closer to Jimsy and he put his arm about her and held her hard.
Yes, he whispered. I know. The man who had asked for Golondrina
sat with bent head and his cigar went out. Only Carter Van Meter, as
once long ago in Los Angeles, seemed unmoved, unstirred, scatheless.
There was a little silence after the music. Then the personage said,
You know, I fancy that's Mexico, that song!
Jimsy King wheeled to face him through the dusk. Yes, sir! It's
true! That is Mexico,everything that's been done to her,and
everything she'll do, some day!
It'sbeautiful and terrible, said Honor. I had to keep telling
myself that we are all safe and happy, and that nothing is going to
happen to us!
Carter laughed and got quickly to his feet. I suggest indoors and
lightsand Honor! Honor must sing for us!
She never needed urging; she sang as gladly as a bird on a bush. The
Kings were parched for music; they begged for another and another. She
had almost to reproduce her recital in Florence. Jimsy listened, rapt
and proud, and at the end he saidNot too tired for one more,
Skipper? Our song?
Never too tired for that, Jimsy! She sat down again and struck her
stepfather's ringing, rousing chords. Instantly it ceased, there in the
room, to be Mexico; it was as if a wind off the sea blew past them. The
first verse had them all erect in their chairs. She swung into the
second, holding a taut rein on herself:
The sand of the desert is sodden red;
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;
The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke:
The River of Death has brimmed his banks;
And England's far and Honor's a name,
But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks
Play up! Play up! andPlay the Game!
Honor sat still at the piano. She did not mean to lift her eyes
until she could be sure they would not run over. Why did that song
always sweep her away so?from the first moment Stepper had read her
the words in the old house on South Figueroa Street, all those years
ago? Why had she always the feeling that it had a special meaning for
her and for Jimsya warning, a challenge? Jimsy came over to stand
beside her, comfortably silent, and then, surprisingly, the personage
came to stand beside Jimsy.
I've been wondering, he said, if you hadn't better come in to see
me one day, when we're all back in Los Angeles? You haven't any
definite plans for your future, have you?
No, sir, said Jimsy. Only that I've got to get somethingquick!
He looked at Honor, listening star-eyed.
The great man smiled. I see. Well, I think I can interest you. I've
watched you play football, King. I played football, forty years ago. I
like the breed. My boys are all girls, worse luckthough they're the
finest in the world
Oh, yes, said Honor, warmly.
But I like boys. And I like you, Jimsy King. He held out his hand.
You come to me, and if you're the lad I think you are, you'll stay.
Oh, I'll come! Jimsy stammered, flushed and incoherent. I'll
come! I'llI'll sweep out or scrub floorsoror anything! ButI'm
afraid you don't he looked unhappily at Honor.
Yes, Jimsy. He's got to know.
Jimsy King stood up very straight and tall. You've got to know that
I was kicked out of college two months ago, for marching in a parade
For telling the truth, cried Honor, hot cheeked, when a cowardly
lie would have saved him!
But just the same, I was kicked out of college, and
Lord bless you, boy, said the personage, and it was the first time
they had heard him laugh aloud, I know you were! And that's one reason
why I want you. So was I!
There were telegrams from Stephen Lorimer and the doctor; James
King's condition remained unchanged. Honor and Jimsy decided to return
at once, but Richard King flatly refused to let them go. The next train
after Honor's had been held up just beyond Córdoba by a band of
brigands, supposed to be a section of Villistas, the passengers robbed
and mistreated and three of the train men killed.
Not a step without an escort, said Jimsy's uncle.
Then Jimsy's new friend came to the rescue. He was eager to get home
but cannily aware of his own especial risk,two wealthy Americans
having been recently taken and held for ransom. He had influence at the
Capital; he wrote and telegraphed and the replies were suave and
reassuring; reliable escort would be furnished as soon as
possible,within the week, it was hoped. Meanwhile, there was nothing
for it but to wait. He went back to the hacienda where he had
been visiting, and lifethe merry, lyrical life of El Pozo,
moved forward. Jimsy's only woe was that he was condemned by her own
decision to share Honor lavishly with his uncle and aunt and their
friends and Carter. Skipper, after all these years, leaving me for a
Jimsy, dear, she scolded him, you know that it's the very least I
can do, now isn't ithonestly? Think how lovely she's been to us, and
how much it means to her, having people here. And we've got all our
lives ahead of us, Jimsy! Be good! And besidesshe colored a little
and hesitatedit'snot kind to Cartie. Then, at the sobering of his
face, You know hecares for me, Jimsy, and I don't believe it's just
cricket for us toto sort of wave our happiness in his face all the
He sighed crossly. Butgood Lord, Skipper,he's got to get used
Of course,but need werub it in, just now? The fact was that
Honor was anxious. Carter was pallid, haggard, morose. The brief flare
of composure with which he had greeted her was gone; he showed visibly
and unpleasantly what he was suffering at the sight of their vivid and
hearty happiness. Mrs. King had commented pityingly on it to Honor and
it was simply not in the girl to go on adding to his misery. She began
to be very firm with Jimsy about their long walks or rides alone; she
accepted all Mrs. King's invitations and plans for them; she included
Carter whenever it was possible. These restrictions had naturally the
result of making Jimsy the more ardent in their scant privacy, and
Honor, amazingly free from coquetry though she was, must have sensed
it. Perhaps the truth was that she had in her, after all, something of
Mildred Lorimer's feeling for values and conventions; having flown from
Florence to Córdoba to her lover she was reclaiming a little of her
aloofness and cool ladyhood by this discipline. But she was entirely
honest in her wish to spare Carter so far as possible. Once, when Jimsy
was briefly away with his Yaqui henchman she asked Carter to walk with
her, but he decided for the dim sala; the heat which seemed to
invigorate and vitalize Jimsy left him limp and spent.
He brushed her generalities roughly aside. Are you happy, Honor?
She lifted her candid eyes to his bleak young face. Yes, Cartie.
Happier than ever beforeand I've been happy all my life.
He was silent for a moment as if sorting out and considering the
things he might say to her. Well, you have a marvelous effect on
Jimsy. I don't believe he's taken a drop since you've been here.
He hasn't touched a drop since he came to Mexico, Carter,Mr. King
told me that, and Jimsy told me himself! Honor was a little
declamatory in her pride and he raised his eyebrows.
Really? He limped over to the table where the smoking things were
and the decanter of whiskey and siphon of soda. Let me have a
look.... He picked up the decanter and held it to the light. The last
time I looked at it, it came just to the top of the design here,and
it does yet. Yes, it's just where it was.
Carter! I call that spying!
He turned back to her without temper. I call it looking after my
friend, he said gently. I don't suppose you've let him tell you very
much about what happened at college?
No, Carter. What's the use of it, now? He wrote it all to me, but
the letter must have passed me. It's a closed chapter now.
I hope to God it will stay closed, he said, haggardly. But I'm
afraid, Honor; I'm horribly afraid for you.
I'm not afraid, Carter,for myself or for Jimsy. She got up and
walked to the window; she was aware that she hated the dimness of the
sala; she wanted the honest heat of the sun. Look! she said,
gladly. Carter limped slowly to join her. Jimsy King was swinging
toward them through the brazen three o'clock glare, his Yaqui Juan by
his side. They were a sightly and eye-filling pair. They might have
been done in bronze for studies of Yesterday and To-day. Look!
said Honor again. Oh, Carter, do you think anyany horrible dead
traitany clammy dead handcan reach up out of the grave to pull him
Carter was silent.
A high and cleanly anger rose in the girl. Carter, I don't want to
hurt you,oh, I know I hurt you all the time, in one way, and I can't
help that,I don't want to be unkind, butare you sure it isn't
because youcarefor me that you have this hopeless feeling about
Jimsy? She faced him squarely and made him meet her eyes. Carter!
His unhappy gaze struggled with her level look and slipped away. Of
course I want you myself, Honor. I want youhorribly, unbearably, but
I do honestly feel it's wrong for you to marry Jimsy King.
But, Cartersee how nearly his father won out! Every one says that
if his mother had livedAnd his Uncle Richard! He's absolutely free
from it, now. And the very look of Jimsy is enough to show you
But Carter had turned and was staring moodily at the decanter. It
comes so suddenly, Honor ... with such frightful unexpectedness.
Remember, when we were youngsters, the World's Biggest Snake,
'Samson,'exhibited in a vacant store on Main Street, and how keen we
all were about him?
Honor kindled to the memory. I adored him. He had a head like a
nice setter's and he wasn't cold or slimy a bit!
Remember what the man told us about his hunger? How he'd go three
months without anything, and then devour twenty live rabbits and
chickens and cats?
She nodded, frowning. I know. It was awful.
But the point was the suddenness. They never knew when the hunger
would seize him. The fellow said that it came like a flash. He was
gentle as a lamb for weeks on endand then it came. He'd pounce on the
keeper's pet rabbithis dogthe man himself if he were within reach.
He was an utterly changed creature; he was justan appetite.
He stood staring somberly at the decanter. That's the way it comes,
It seemed to be getting dimmer and dimmer in the sala. Honor
found herself wishing with all her heart for her stepfather. Stephen
Lorimer would know how to answer; how to parry,to combat this thing.
She felt her own weapons clumsy and blunt, but such as they were she
would use them.
But it isn't coming ever again, Carter! I tell you it isn't coming!
And I want you to stop saying and thinking that it is! Now I'm going to
In the wide out-of-doors, under the unbelievably blue sky and the
stinging sun, with Jimsy and Yaqui Juan, life was sound and whole
again. The Indian, tall as a pine, looked at her with eyes of
respectful adoration and smiled his slow, melancholy smile, as she
swung off with the boy, down the path which led to the old well.
Juan approves of me, doesn't he? said Honor, contentedly.
Of course; you're my woman! She loved his happy impudence. Aren't
you, Skipper? They had passed the twist in the paththe path which
was like a moist green tunnel through the tropic junglewhich hid them
from the house and she halted and went swiftly into his arms.
Yes, Jimsy! Yes! AndI've been stingy and mean to you but I
won't be, any more. Carter must juststand things.
Skipper! He wasn't facile with words, Jimsy King, but he
was able to make himself clear.
Jimsy, isn't it wonderfulthe all-rightness of everything? Being
together again, and
Going to be together always! And my job waiting! Isn't the old boy
a wonder? I saw him, just now. He says he's heard from Mexico City and
it's O. K. to start Thursday. They're going to send the escort.
In two days, said Honor, blissfully, we'll be on our way home!
Jimsy, in two days!
But in two days dizzyingly, terrifyingly much had happened. The
pleasant little comedy of life at El Pozo had changed to
melodrama, crude and strident. They had been attacked by a band of
insurrectos, a wing of Villa's hectic army, presumably; the
peóns, with the exception of the house servants and Yaqui Juan, had
gone gleefully over to the enemy; Richard King had been wounded in his
hot-headed defense of his hacienda, shot through the shoulder,
and was running a temperature; the telephone wires were cut; infinitely
worse than all, the besiegers had taken possession of the well and they
were entirely without water.
There had been, of course, the usual supply in the house at the time
of the attack and it had been made to last as long as was humanly
possible, the lion's share going to the wounded man, but they had
arrived, now, at the point of actual suffering. His rôle of helpless
inaction was an intolerable one for Jimsy King to play. To know
thatless than a quarter of a mile away, down the moist green path
through the tropic verdurewas the well; to see Honor's dry lips and
strained eyes, Carter's deathly pallor, to hear his uncle, out of his
head, mercifully, most of the time, begging for water, meant a constant
battle with himself not to rush out, to make one frantic try at least,
but he knew that the deeper courage of patient waiting was required of
him. They could only conjecture what the invaders meant to do,whether
they intended to have them die of thirst, whether they meant to rush
the house when it suited their pleasureraggedly fortified and guarded
by Jimsy and Carter and the half dozen of the faithful. Jimsy had
talked the latter probability over steadily with Honor and she
Jimsy, she managed not to let her teeth chatter, it's like a play
oror a Wild West tale, isn't it? Like a 'Frank Merriwell'remember
when you used to adore those things?
No, Skipper, it's not like a 'Frank Merriwell'; he could always
do something.... Jimsy's strong teeth ground together.
Yes'Blooey, blooey! Fifteen more redskins bit the dust!'
Skipper, you wonder! You brick!
Jimsy, Ithere's no use talking about things that may never
happen, because of course help will get here, but if it should
notif they should rush us, and we couldn't keep them outher hoarse
voice faltered but her eyes held hisyou won'tyou wouldn't let
themtake me, Jimsy?
Promise, Skipper. 'Cross my heart!' The old good foolish words of
the old safe days, here, now, in this hideous and garish present!
With that pledge she was visibly able to give herself to a livelier
hope. But of course Yaqui Juan got through to the Grants' hacienda! Can you imagine him failing us, Jimsy?
He shook his head. He'll make it if any man living could. The
Indian had slipped through the insurrectos in the first hour, as
soon as it had been known that the wires were cut. Unless the Grants,
too, were besieged, they would be able to telephone for help for El
Pozo, and if they were likewise in duress, Yaqui Juan would go on
to the next rancho,on and on until he could set the wheels of
rescue in motion. I wish to God I had his job. Doing something
Carter came into the sala. He was terrifyingly white but with
an admirable composure. Steady, old boy, he said, putting his frail
hand on Jimsy's shoulder. Sit tight! We depend on you. And you're
doinghe looked at the decanter, as if measuring its contents with
his eyegloriously, splendidly, old son! I know the strain you're
under. You're a bigger man even than I thought you were, Jimsy.
Honor went away to sit with Mrs. King and the sick man and both boys
stared unhappily after her. If Skipper were only out of this
And whose fault is it that she's in it? Carter snarled. Two red
spots sprang into his white cheeks.
WhyCart'! Jimsy backed away from him, staring.
Whose fault is it, I say? Carter followed him. If she hadn't been
terrified over you, if she hadn't the insane idea of duty and loyalty
to you, would she have come? Would she?
Jimsy King sat down and looked at him, aghast. Good Lord,
Cart'that's the truth! That shows what a mutt I am. It hasn't struck
me before. It's all my fault.
Whatever happens to Honorwhatever happens to herand
death wouldn't be the worst thing, would it?it's your fault. Do you
hear what I say? It's all your fault! In all the years since he had
known him Jimsy had never seen Carter Van Meter like this,cool
Carter, with his little elegancies of dress and manner, his studied
detachment. This was a different person altogether,hot-eyed,
white-lipped, snarling. Your fault if she dies here, dies of thirst;
your fault if they get in here and carry her off, those filthy brutes
They'll never ... get her, said Jimsy King. His face was scarlet
and he was breathing hard and clenching and unclenching his hands.
Yes, Carter sneered, yes! I know what you mean! You feel very
heroic about it. You feel like a hero in a movie, don't you? Noble of
you, isn't it? Slay the heroine with your own hands rather than let
Oh, for God's sake, Cart'! Jimsy got up and came toward him. Cut
it out! What's the good of talking like that? We're in it now, all of
us, and we've got to stick it out. I know it's harder on you because
you're not strong, but
Damn you! 'Not strong' Not built like an oxmuscles in my brain
instead of my legs! Because I cared for something else besides rolling
around in the mud with a leather ball in my arms
Key down, old boy. Jimsy was cool now, unresentful; he understood.
Poor old Cart' ... he couldn't stand much suffering.
That's how you got Honor, when she was a child, with no sense of
values, but you haven't held her! You can't hold her.
Cart', I'm not going to get sore at you. I know you're about all
in. You don't know what you're saying.
Don't I? Don't I? You listen to me. Honor Carmody never really
loved you; it was a silly boy-and-girl, calf love affair, and when she
realized it she stood by, of course,she's that sort. She kept the
letter of her promise, but she couldn't keep the spirit.
Key down, old top, said Jimsy King again, grinning. I'm not going
to get sore, but I don't want to use up my breath laughing at you.
Skippergoing back on me! He did laugh, ringingly.
She hasn't gone back on you; except in her heart. Good God, Jimsy
King, what do you think you are to hold a girl like thatwith her
talent and her success and her future? She's only stuck by you because
it was her creed, that's all.
Look here, Cart', I'm not going to argue with you. It's not on the
square to Skipper even to talk about it, but don't be a crazy fool.
Would she have come to me herefrom Italy, if she didn't
Yes. Yes, she would! She's pledged to see it throughto stand by
you as all the other miserable women have stood by the men of your
family,if you're cad enough to let her.
That caught and stuck. If I'mcad enough to let her, said Jimsy
in a curiously flat voice. But the mood passed in a flash. It's no use
talking like that, Carter. Of course I know I'm not good enough or
brainy enoughor anything enough for Skipper, but she thinks I
You poor fool, she doesn't think so. I tell you she's only standing
by because she said she would. I tell you she cares for some one else.
That's a lie, said Jimsy King with emphasis but without passion.
The statement was too grotesque for any feeling over it.
Carter stopped raving and snarling and became very cool and
coherent. I think I can prove it to you, he said, quietly.
You can't, said Jimsy, turning and walking toward the door.
Are you afraid to listen? He asked it very quietly.
No, said Jimsy King, wheeling. I'm not afraid. Go ahead. Get it
off your chest.
Well, in the first place,hasn't she kept you at arm's length
here? Hasn't she insisted on being with other people all the time,on
having me with you?
Cart', I hate to say it, but that's because she's sorry for you.
And for herself.
The murky dimness of the sala was pressing in on Jimsy as it
had on the girl, that other day. He was worn with vigil and torn with
thirst, sick with dread of what might any moment come to them,with
remorse for bringing Honor there, tormented with his helplessness to
save her. Even at his best he was no match for the other's cleverness
and now he was in the dust, blaming and hating himself. He stood there
in silence, listening, and Carter's hoarse voice, Carter's plausible
words, went on and on. But I don't believe it, Jimsy would say at
intervals. She doesn't care for you, Cart'. She's all mine, Skipper
is. She doesn't care for you.
Wait! Carter took out his wallet of limp leather with his initials
on it in delicately wrought gold letters and opened it. I didn't mean
to show you this, but I see that I must. It was last summer. II lost
my head the night before we sailed, and let Honor see.... Then I asked
her.... I didn't say, 'Will you marry me?' because I knew there was no
hope of that so long as she thought there was a chance of saving you by
standing by you. I asked hersomething else. And she sent me this wire
to the boat at Naples.
Jimsy did not put out his hand to take the slip of paper which
Carter unfolded and smoothed and held toward him. It was utterly still
in the sala but from an upper room came the sound of Richard
King's voice, faint, thick, begging for water, and from somewhere in
the distance a muffled shot ... three shots.
Carter held the message up before Jimsy's eyes:
Carter Van Meter care Purser S. S. Canopic Naples
If Stephen Lorimer, far to the north in the safe serenity of the old
house of South Figueroa Street, could have envisaged the three of them
that day his chief concern would not have been for their bodily danger.
It would have seemed to him that the intangible cloud settling down
over them was a more tragic and sinister thing than the insurrectos
besieging them, than the thirst which was cracking their lips and
swelling and blackening their tongues.
He was to remember and marvel, long afterward, that his thought on
that date had tugged uneasily toward them all day and evening.
Conditions, so far as he knew, were favorable; the escort for the
personage would be a stout one and under his wing the boy and girl
would be safe, and James King was waiting for them, spinning out his
thread of life until they should come to him. Nevertheless, he found
himself acutely unhappy regarding them, aware of an urgent and instant
need of being with them.
They had never, in all their blithe young lives, needed him so
cruelly. He could not have driven back the bandits, but he could have
driven back the clouds of doubt and misery and misunderstanding; he
could not have given them water for their parched throats but he could
have given them to drink of the waters of understanding; he could have
relieved the drought in their wrung young hearts. He would have seen,
as only a looker-on could see, what was happening to them. He would
have yearned over Honor, fronting the bright face of danger so
gallantly but stunned and crushed by the change in Jimsy, over Jimsy
himself, setting out to do an incredibly stupid, incredibly noble deed,
absolutely convinced by the sight of her one-word telegram that she
loved Carter (and humbly realizing that she might well love Carter, the
brilliant Carter, better than his unilluminated self), seeing the thing
simply and objectively as he would be sure to do, deciding on his
course and pursuing it as definitely as he would take a football over
the line for a touchdown. He would even have yearned over Carter, at
the very moment when the youth fulfilled his ancient distrust of him.
He would have understood as even Carter himself did not, by what
gradual and destructive processes he had arrived at the point of his
outbreak to Jimsy; would have realized in how far his physical
sufferinginfinitely harder for him than for the othershad broken
down his moral fiber; how utterly his very real love for Honor had
engulfed every other thought and feeling. And he would have seen, in
the last analysis, that Carter was sincere; he had come at last to
believe his own fabrications; he honestly believed that Honor's
betrothed would go the way of all the Wild Kings; that Honor would be
ruining her life in marrying him.
But Stephen Lorimer was hundreds and thousands of miles away from
them that day of their bitter need, making tentative notes for a
chapter on young love for his unborn book, listening to the inevitable
mocking-bird in the Japanese garden, waiting for Mildred Lorimer to
give him his tea ... wearing the latest of his favorites among her
Madeline King was spent with her vigil and Honor had coaxed her to
lie down for an hour and let her take the chair beside Richard King's
Very well, my dear. I'll rest for an hour. I'll do it because I
know I may want my strength more, later on. She seemed to have aged
ten years since the day Honor had come to El Pozo, but she came
of fighting blood, this English wife of Jimsy's uncle. I'm frightfully
sorry you're let in for this, Honor, but it's no end of a comfort,
having you. Call me if he rouses. I daresay I shan't really sleep.
Honor sat on beside him, fanning him until her arm ached, resting it
until he stirred again, trying to wet her dry lips with her thickened
tongue. She wasn't thinking; she was merely waiting, standing it. It
was a relief not to talk, but she must talk when she was with the boys
again; it helped to keep them up, to keep an air of normality about
Jimsy King had read the message Carter held up to him and gone away
without comment, and Carter had stayed on in the sala. It was
almost an hour before Jimsy came back. Honor's stepfather would have
marked and marveled at the change so brief a little space of time had
been able to register in the bonny boy's face. The flesh seemed to have
paled and receded and the bones seemed more sharply modeled; more
insistent; and the eyes looked very old and at the same time pitifully
young. He was very quiet and sure of himself.
Jimsy, said Carter, I shouldn't have told you, now, but I
went off my head.
Jimsy nodded. The time doesn't matter, Cart'. I just want to ask
you one thing, straight from the shoulder. I've been thinking and
thinking ... trying to take it in. Sometimes I seem to get it for a
minute, that Skipper cares for you instead of me, and then it's gone
again. All I can seem to hang on to is that telegram. The painful calm
of his face flickered and broke up for an instant and there was an
answering disturbance in Carter's own. I keep seeing that ... all the
time. But there's no use talking about it. What I want to ask you is
this, Cart'he went on slowly in his hoarse and roughened voiceyou
honestly think Skipper is sticking to me only because she thinks it's
the thing to do? Because she thinks she must keep her word?
Carter swallowed hard and tried to moisten his aching throat, and he
did not look at his friend.
Is that what you honestly believe, Cart'?
Carter brought his eyes back with an effort and his heart
contracted. Jimsy KingJimsy Kingthe boy he had envied and
hated and loved by turns all these years; Jimsy King, idolized, adored
in the old safe daysthe old story book days
King! King! King!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
K-I-N-G, King! KING!
The Jimsy King, the young prince who had had everything that all the
wealth of Ali Baba's cave couldn't compass for Carter Van Meter ...
standing here before him now, his face drained of its color and joy,
begging him for a hope. There was a long moment when he hesitated, when
the forces within him fought breathlessly and without quarter,
butlong ago Stephen Lorimer had said of himthere's nothing
frail about his disposition ... his will doesn't limp. He wrenched
his gaze away before he answered, but he answered steadily.
That is what I believe.
Jimsy was visibly and laboriously working it out. Then, she's only
sticking to me because she thinks I'm worth saving. If she thought I
was a regular 'Wild King,' if she believed what her mother and a lot of
other people have always believed, she'd let go of me.
I believe she would, said Carter.
Then, said Jimsy King, it's really pretty simple. She's only got
to realizeto seethat I'm not worth hanging on to; that it's
too late. That's all.
What do you mean?
He walked over to the little table and picked up the decanter of
whisky and looked at it, and the scorn and loathing in his ravaged
young face were things to marvel at, but Honor Carmody, coming into the
room at that moment, could not see his expression. His back was toward
her and she saw the decanter in his hand.
Jimsy! She said it very low, catching her breath.
His first motion was to put it down but instead he held it up to the
fast fading light at the window and grinned. It's makin' faces at me,
Jimsy, she said again, and this time he put it down.
Honor began hastily to talk. Do you think Juan will try to come
back, or will he wait and come with the soldiers?
He'll come back, said Jimsy with conviction. He must have found
the wires down at the first place he tried, or he'd have been here
before this. Yesas soon as he's got his message through, he'll come
back to us. I hope to God he brings water.
But did he realize about the well? He got away at the very first,
you know, and they weren't holding the well, then.
He'll have his own canteen, won't he? said Jimsy crossly.
Honor's eyes mothered him. Mrs. King really slept, she said
cheerfully. She said she had a good nap, and dreamed! She sat down in
a low chair and made herself relax comfortably; only her eyes were
tense. She never did fussy things with her hands, Honor Carmody; no one
had ever seen her with a needle or a crochet hook. She was either doing
things, vital, definite things which required motion, or she was still,
and she rested people who were near her. Well, he'll be here soon
then, she said contentedly. And so will the soldiers. Our Big Boss
will have us on his mind, Jimsy. He'll figure out some way to help us.
Just thinkin another dayperhaps in another hour, this will all be
over, like a nightmare, and we'll be back to regular living again. And
won't we be glad that we all stood it so decently? It was a stiff,
small smile with her cracked lips but a stout one. You know, I'm
pretty proud of all of us! And won't Stepper be proud of us? And your
dad, Jimsy, and your mother, Cartie! Her kind eyes warmed. I'm glad
she hasn't had to know about it until we're all safe again. She was so
hoarse that she had to stop and rest and she looked hopefully from one
to the other, clearly expecting them to take up the burden of talk. But
they were silent and presently she went on again. You know, boys, it's
like being in a book or a play, isn't it? We'recharacters
now, not just plain people! I suppose I'm the leading lady (though
Mrs. King's the real heroine) and we've got two heroes and no
villain. The insurrectos are the villainthe villain in
bunches. Suddenly she sat forward in her chair, her eyes brightening
and a little color flooding her face. Boys, it's our song come true!
Now I know why I always got so thrilled over that second verse,even
the first time Stepper read it to us,remember how it just bowled me
over? And it seemed so remote from anything that could touch our
lives,yet here we are, in just such a tight place. They were
listening now. There isn't any desert or regiment or gatling, and Mr.
King isn't dead, only dreadfully hurt, but it fits, just the same!
We've got this thirst to stand ... and it's a good deal, isn't it?
Those insurrectos down there,planning we don't know what,
perhaps to rush the house any moment
The River of Death has brimmed his banks;
And England's far, and Honor's a name
That means to us that L. A. is far, and South Figueroa Street ...
all the safe happy things that didn't seem wonderful then....
'Honor's a name,' said Jimsy under his breath.
Oh, said the girl, I never noticed that before! Isn't that funny?
The voice of a school boy rallies the ranks!
That fits! And won't we be thankful all our livesall our snug,
safe, prosy livesthat we were sporting now?That we all played the
game? Her eyes were on Jimsy, reassuring him, staying him. When this
is all over
He cut roughly into her sentence. Oh, for God's sake, Skipper,
let's not talk!
Again he had to bear the mothering of her understanding eyes. All
right, Jimsy. We won't talk, then. We'll sit here togethershe
changed to the chair nearest his and put her hand on his armand wait
for Juan and
He sprang to his feet. I wish you'd leave me alone! he said. I
wish you'd go upstairs and stay with Aunt Maddy and Uncle Rich'. I want
to be by myself.
She did not stir. I think I'll stay with you, Jimsy.
His voice was ugly now. When I don't want you? When I tell you I'd
rather be alone?
Honor was still for a long moment. She rose and went to the door but
she turned to look at him, a steady, intent scrutiny. All right,
Jimsy. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. I'll leave you alone becauseI
know I can leave you alone. She seemed to have forgotten
Carter's presence. She held up the hand which wore the old Italian ring
with the hidden blue stone of constancy. I'm 'holding hard,' Jimsy.
Soon after dark Yaqui Juan came. He had been waiting for three
hours, trying to get past the sentries; it had been impossible while
there was any light. He was footsore and weary and had only a little
water in his canteen, but he had found the telephone wires still up at
the second hacienda, the owner had got the message off for him,
and help was assuredly on the way to them. There was the off chance, of
course, that the soldiers might be held up by another wing of the
insurrectos, but there was every reason to hope for their arrival
next day. Jimsy King sent the Yaqui up to Honor with the canteen, and
the Indian returned to say that the Señorita had not touched one drop
but had given it to the master.
Carter dragged himself away to his room and Jimsy and Yaqui Juan
talked long together in the quiet sala. It was a cramped and
halting conversation with the Indian's scant English and the American's
halting Spanish; sometimes they were unable to understand each other,
but they came at last to some sort of agreement, though Juan shook his
head mutinously again and again, murmuringNo, no! Señor Don
It was almost midnight when Jimsy called them all down into the
sala. They came, wondering, one by one, Carter, Mrs. King,Richard
King had fallen asleep after his half dozen swallows of waterand
Honor, and Josita, her head muffled in her rebozo, her brown
fingers busy with her beads.
Jimsy King was standing in the middle of the room, standing
insecurely, his legs far apart, the decanter in his hand, the decanter
which had been more than half full when Honor left the room and had now
less than an inch of liquor in it. Yaqui Juan, his face sullen, his
eyes black and bitter, crouched on the floor, his arms about his knees.
Honor did not speak at all. She just stood still, looking at Jimsy
until it seemed as if she were all eyes. It comes so suddenly,Carter had told herlike the boa constrictor's hunger ... and
then he was justan appetite.
Ladies'n gem'mum, said Jimsy, thickly, goin' shing you lil'
song! Then, in his hoarse and baffled voice he sang Stanford's giddy
old saga, The Son of a Gambolier.
They all stiffened with horror and disgust. Mrs. King wept and
Josita mumbled a frightened prayer, and Carter, red and vehement, went
to him and tried to take the decanter away from him. Only Honor Carmody
made no sign.
I'm a son of a son of a son of a gun of a son of a Gambolier,
sang Jimsy King. He looked at every one but Honor.
Like every honest fellow, I love my lager beer
And my 'skee! he patted the decanter.
Madeline King put her arms about Honor. Come away, my dear, she
said. Come upstairs.
No, Jimsy protested. Don' go 'way. Got somep'n tell you. Shee
this fool Injun here? Know wha' he's goin' do? Goin' slide out'n creep
down to ol' well. Says insurinsur-rectos all pretty
drunk now ... pretty sleepy.... Fool Injun's goin' take
threefour'leven canteens ... bring water back for you. Not f' me!
I got somep'n better. 'Sides, he'll get killed ... nice'n dead ...
fancy dead ... cut ears off ... cut tongue out firs'! Not f' me!
I'm goin' sleep pret' soon. Firs' I'll shing you lil' more! Again
the rasping travesty of melody:
Some die of drinkin' whisky,
Some die of drinkin' beer!
Some die of diabetes,
Shut up, you drunken fool! said Carter, furiously.
Oh, said Jimsy, blinking his eyes rapidly, bowing deeply. Ladies
present. I shee. My mishtake. My mishtake, ladies! Well, guesh I go
sleep now. Come on. Yac', put me to bed 'fore you go. Give you lil'
treat. All work'n no play makes Yac' a dull boy! He roared over his
own wit. The Indian, his face impassive, had risen to his feet and now
Jimsy cast himself into his arms and insisted on kissing him
good-night, clinging all the while to the decanter with its half inch
Carter wrenched it away from him. You'll kill yourself, he said,
in cold disgust.
Well, said his friend, reasonably, ishn't that the big idea?
Wouldn' you razzer drink yourself to death'n die of thirst?
They were making for the door now in a zigzag course, and when they
passed Honor, Jimsy stayed their progress. He held out his hand and
spoke to her, but he did not meet her eyes. Gimme ring, he said,
What do you mean? said Honor.
Gimme back ring ... busted word ... busted engagement ... want ring
anyway ... maybe nozzer girl ... you can't tell! His hoarse
voice rose querulously. Gimme ring, I shay!
Honor shrank back from him against Mrs. King. Jimsy, she said,
when the boy that gave me this ring comes and asks me for it, he can
have it. You can't!
His legs seemed to give way beneath him, at that, and Yaqui Juan
half led, half dragged him out of the room.
Mrs. King wept again but Honor's eyes were dry. Carter started to
speak to her but she stopped him. Please, Carter ... I can't ... talk.
I think I'd like to be alone.
Oh, my dear, please come up with me, Mrs. King begged, it's so
cold here, and
I have to be alone, said Honor in her worn voice.
Then you must have this, said the older woman, finding comfort in
wrapping her in her own serape. It was a gay thing, striped in
red and white and green, the Mexican colors; it looked as if it had
been made to wear in happy days.
They went away and left her alone in the sala. She didn't
know how long she had sat there when she saw a muffled figure crawling
across the veranda. She opened the door and stepped out, nodding to the
peón on guard there, leaning on his gun. Juan? she called softly.
The crouching, cringing figure hesitated. Si, came the soft
whisper. He kept his head shrouded. She knew that he was sick with
shame for the lad he had worshiped; he did not want to meet her gaze.
She could understand that. It did not seem to her that she could ever
meet any one's eyes againkind Mrs. King's, Carter'sher dear
Stepper's. Suddenly it came to her with a positive sense of relief and
escape that perhaps there would be no need for facing any one after
to-night.... Perhaps this was to be the last night of all nights. It
might well be, when Jimsy King slept in a drunken stupor and a Yaqui
Indian slave went out with his life in his hands to help them. She
crossed the veranda and leaned down and laid her hand on the covered
head. Her throat was so swollen now that she could hardly make herself
heard. Tu es amigo leal, Juan, she said. Good friend; good
friend! Then in her careful SpanishGo with God!
He had been always an impassive creature, Yaqui Juan, his own
personal sufferings added to the native stoicism of his race, but he
made an odd, smothered sound now, and caught up the trailing end of her
bright serape and pressed his face against it for an instant.
Then he crept away into the soft blackness of the tropic night and
Honor went back into the empty sala. She wished that she had
seen his face; she was mournfully sure she would never see it again. It
did not seem humanly possible for any one to go into the very midst of
their besiegers encamped about the well, fill the canteens and return
alive, but it was a gallant and splendid try, and she would have liked
a memory of his grave face. It would have blotted out the look of Jimsy
King's face, singing his tipsy song. She thought she would keep on
seeing that as long as she lived, and that made it less terrible to
think that she might not live many more hours.
They would not leave her alone. Carter came to stay with her and she
sent him away, and then Madeline King came, her very blue eyes red
rimmed and deep with understanding, but Honor could not talk with her
nor listen to her. She went away, shaking her head, and Josita came in
her place. Honor did not mind the little Mexican serving woman. She did
not try to talk to her. She just crouched on the floor at her feet and
prayers slipped from her tongue and her fingers:
Padre Nuestra qui estás en los cielos
Honor found herself listening a little scornfully. Was there indeed
a Father in the heavens or anywhere else who concerned Himself about
things like this? Josita seemed to think so. She was in terror, but she
was clinging to something ... somewhere.... Honor decided that she did
not mind the murmur of her voice; she could go on with her thinking
just the same. Jimsy. Jimsy KingJimsyWildKing.
What was she going to do? What had she promised Stepper that day on the
way to the train? It all came back to her like a scene on the
screenthe busy streetsthe feel of the wheel in her hands
againStepper's slow voiceBut, if the worst should be true, if the
boy really has gone to pieces, you won't marry him? And her own
wordsNo; if Jimsy should belike his fatherI wouldn't marry him,
Stepper. There shouldn't be any more 'Wild Kings.'
That was her promise to her stepfather, her best friend. But what
had been her promise to Jimsy, that day on the shore below the Malibou
Ranch when they sat in the little pocket of rocks and sand and sun, and
he had given her the ring with the clasped hands? Hadn't she saidI
do believe you, Jimsy. I'll never stop believing you! Yes, but how was
she to go on believing that he would not do the thing she saw him do?
How compass that? Her love and loyalty began to fling themselves
against that solid wall of ugly fact and to fall back, bruised,
Jimsy King of the hard muscles and wingèd heels, the essence of
strength and sunny power; Jimsy King, collapsed in the arms of Yaqui
Juan, failing her in the hour of her direst need. Jimsy, her lover, who
had promised her she should never go alive into those dark and terrible
hands ... Jimsy, who could not lift a finger now to defend her, or to
put her beyond their grasp. It became intolerable to sit still. She
sprang up and began to walk swiftly from wall to wall of the big room,
her heels tapping sharply on the smooth red tiles. Josita lifted
mournful eyes to stare at her for an instant and then returned to her
beads. Honor paused and looked out of the window. She could see nothing
through the inky blackness. Perhaps Yaqui Juan was creeping back to
them now, the canteens of precious water hung about his neck,and
perhaps he was dead. There had been no shots, but they would not
necessarily shoot him. There were other ... awfuller ways. And Jimsy
King was asleep. What would he be like when he wakened, when he came to
himself again? Could he ever face her? Would he live?... And
suppose she cast him off,then, what? She would go back to Italy, to
the mountainous Signorina. She would embrace her warmly and
there would emanate from her the faint odor of expensive soap and rare
and costly scents, and she would pat her with a puffy hand and
saySo, my good small one? The sun has set, no? Ah, then, it does not
signify whether one feel joy or sorrow, so long as one feels. To feel
... that is to live, and to live is to sing! And she would go to work
again, and sing in concert, and take the place offered to her in the
opera. And some day, when she went for a holiday to Switzerland (she
supposed she would still go on holidays; people did, no matter what had
happened to them) she would meet Ethel Bruce-Drummond, hale and frank
as the wind off the snow, and she would sayBut where's your boy? I
say, you haven't thrown him over, have you?
Well, could you throw over what fell away from you? Could you? She
realized that she was gripping the old ring with the thumb and fingers
of her right hand, literally holding hard. Was this what James King
had meant? Had Jeanie King, Jimsy's firm-chinned Scotch mother who so
nearly saved her man, had she held on in times like this? Surely no
Wild King had ever failed his woman as Jimsy had failed her, in the
face of such hideous danger. But did that absolve her? After all (her
love and loyalty flung themselves again against the wall and it seemed
to give, to sway) was it Jimsy who had failed her? Wasn't it the
taint in his blood, the dead hands reaching up out of the grave, the
cruel certainty that had hemmed him in all his days,the bitter
man-made law that he must follow in the unsteady footsteps of his
It wasn't Jimsy! Not himself; not the real boy, not the real
man. It was the pitiful counterpart of him. The real Jimsy was there,
underneath, buried for the moment,buried forever unless she stood by!
(The wall was swaying now, giving way, crumbling.) Her pride in him was
gone, perhaps, and something of her triumphant faith, but her loyalty
was there and her love was there, bruised and battered and breathless;
not the rosy, untried, laughing love of that far-away day in the sand
and sun; a grave love, scarred, weary, argus-eyed. (The wall was down
now, a heap of stones and mortar.) She went upstairs to Jimsy's room
and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again, and
after an instant she tried to open it. It was locked, and she could not
rouse him, and a sense of bodily sickness overcame her for the moment.
Madeline King came out of her husband's room and hurried to her.
Ah, I wouldn't, my dear, she said. Wait until hewait a little
while. She put her arm about her and pulled her gently away.
I'll wait, said Honor in her rasping whisper. I'll wait for him,
no matter how long it is.
The Englishwoman's eyes filled. My dear! she said. Do you mind
sitting with Richard a few moments? I find it steadies me to move about
Of course I'll sit with him, said Honor, docilely, but I'll
always be waiting for Jimsy. She sat down beside Richard King and took
up the fan.
He's been better ever since that bit of water, said his wife,
thankfully. And Juan will fetch us more! Good soul! If ever we come
out of this, Rich' must do something very splendid for him.
Carter went down into the sala. Honor had asked him to leave
her, but he found that he could not stay away from her; the remembrance
of her eyes when she looked at Jimsy was intolerable in the loneliness
of his own room. The big living room was empty but he supposed Honor
would be back presently, and he sat down in an easy chair and leaned
his head back and stared at the ceiling. He had arrived, very nearly,
at the end of his endurance. He knew it himself and he was husbanding
his failing strength as best he could. All his life, at times of
illness or stress, he had been subject to fainting fits; miraculously,
in these dreadful days, he had not fainted once, but now waves were
rising about him, almost submerging him. If the Indian came soon with
the water ... if he could once drink his fill ... if he could drink
even a few drops ... he could hold out. But the Indian had been gone
for more than an hour, and there was grave doubt of his ever coming
His eyes, skimming the ceiling, dropped to the shelves of books
which ran about the room and rose almost to meet it. They came to a
startled halt on a vase of ferns on a high shelf. A vase of ferns.
There must have been water in it. Perhaps there was water in it now!
He was so weak that it was a tremendous effort for him to drag himself
out of his chair and across the room, to climb up on the book ladder
and reach for it. He grew so dizzy that it seemed as if he must drop
it. He shook it. Water! He lifted out the ferns and looked. It
was almost full. He stood there with it in his hand, his eyes on the
doors. He wanted with all his heart to call Honor, to share it. His
heart and his mind wanted to call her, but his hands lifted the vase to
his dry lips and he drank in great gulps. He stopped himself before he
was half satisfied. He was equal to that. Then he put the ferns back in
the vase and the vase back on the shelf and went into the hall and
called upstairs to her.
Honor came at once. Oh, Carter, has Juan come?
No, not yet! But I thinkI hopeI've made a discovery! Look! He
pointed to the vase.
She caught her breath. There might be water in it?
Yes, I'm sure there is. Again, more steadily this time, he mounted
the little sliding book ladder and reached for the vase, and Honor
stood watching him with wide eyes, her cracked lips parted.
Water? she whispered.
He nodded solemnly, shaking the tall vase for her to hear the
heartening sound of it. When he stood on the floor he held it toward
her. You first, Honor.
No. She was trembling. We'll pour it out into a pitcher. If
there's enough to divide, we'll all have some. If there's just a
little, we'll give it to Mr. King. She went away, walking a little
unsteadily, putting out a hand here and there against the wall or the
back of a chair, and in a moment she came back with a tall glass
pitcher. Careful, Cartie ... mustn't spill a drop....
There was less than a cupful of dark, stale water, with bits of fern
fronds floating in it.
Only enough for him, said Honor, her chin quivering. Oh, Cartie,
I'm so thirsty ... so crazy thirsty....
You must take it yourself, said Carter, sternly. Every drop. He
held the pitcher up to her.
Honor hesitated. Cartie, I couldn't trust myself to drink it out of
the pitcher ... I'm afraid ... but I'll pour out about two teaspoonfuls
for each of us.... She poured an inch of water into a tiny glass. You
No, said Carter, I'm not going to touch it. It's for you and the
Carter! You're wonderful! She drank her pitiful portion in three
sips. There ... now you, please, Cartie! Just one swallow!
But Carter shook his head. No; I don't need it. Shall I take this
to Mrs. King?
Yes. Her sad eyes knighted him.
Carter took the pitcher of water to Mrs. King without touching a
drop of it and helped her to strain the fern bits out of it through a
handkerchief before she began to give it to her husband in spoonfuls.
With the first sip he ceased his uneasy murmuring and she smiled up at
the boy. Thank you, Carter. It's very splendid of you. Won't you take
a sip for yourself?
Carter said he did not need it.
You do look fresher, really. You've stood this thing
extraordinarily well. Did you give Honor some?
She would take only a taste.
Madeline King's eyes filled. This is a black night for her, Carter.
The thirstand the insurrectosare the least of it for Honor.
Carter's eyes were bleak. But she had to know it some time. She had
to find it out, sooner or later. She couldn't have gone on with it,
She sighed. I never was so astounded, so disappointed in all my
life. One simply cannot take it in. He has been so absolutely steady
ever since he came down,and so fine all through this trouble! And to
fail us now, when we need him so,with Honor in such danger She
gave her husband the last of the water and then laid on his forehead
the damp handkerchief through which she had strained it. It will break
his uncle's heart. He was no end proud of him.
She had to know it some time, said Carter, stubbornly. Is there
anything I can do, Mrs. King?
Then I'll go back to Honor.
Something in his expression, in the way his dry lips said it, made
the woman smile pityingly. Carter, II'm frightfully sorry for you,
He drew himself up with something of the old concealing pride. I'm
quite all right, thank you.
She was not rebuffed. You are quite all wretched, she said, you
poor lad, and I'm no end sorry, butCarter, don't think this ill wind
of Jimsy's will blow you any good.
He flushed hotly through his strained pallor.
Ah, said the Englishwoman, gently, you were counting on it. It's
no good, Carter. It's no good. Not with Honor Carmody.
Carter did not answer her in words but there was angry denial in the
tilt of his head as he limped away, and she looked after him sadly.
He found Honor limply relaxed in a long wicker chair. Carter, she
whispered, I wish I'd asked you to give Jimsy a taste of that water.
You think he deserves it? He couldn't keep the sneer out of his
No, she answered him honestly. I don't think he deserves it ...
but he needs it.
The words repeated themselves over and over in the other's mind. He
didn't deserve it, but he needed it. That was the waythe weak,
sentimental, womanish way in which she would reason it out about
herself, he supposed ... Jimsy King didn't deserve her, but he needed
her. He was deep in his bitter reflections when he realized that she
was speaking to him.
Cartie, I must tell you how fine I think you are! You were splendid
... about the water ... not taking any ... when I know how you're
suffering. She had to speak slowly, and if Stephen Lorimer had stood
out in the hall he would never have recognized his Top Step's voice.
Of course we believe help is coming ... that we'll be safe in a few
hours ... but because we may not be ... this is the time for telling
the truth, isn't it, Carter? I want to tell you ... how I respect
you.... Once I said you were weak, when I was angry at you.... But now
I know you're strong ... stronger thanJimsy ... with the best kind of
strength. I want you to know that I know that, Carty.
Honor! The truth and the lie spun round and round in his
aching head; he was stronger than Jimsy King; he hadn't made a
drunken beast of himself; suppose he had taken the first sip of the
water?He hadn't taken it all. He was a better man than Jimsy King. He
made a swift motion toward her, saying her name brokenly in his choked
voice, but he crumpled suddenly and slid from his chair to the floor
and was still.
Honor flew to the foot of the stairs and called Mrs. King. Carter
has fainted! Will you help me?
Mrs. King called the Mexican guard in from the porch to lift him to
the couch, and she and the girl fanned him and chafed his thin wrists.
When he came to himself he was intensely chagrined. I'm all right, he
said impatiently, sitting up. I wish you wouldn't bother.
Lie still for a bit, said Mrs. King. You've had a nasty faint.
Honor saw his painful flush. Cartie, it's no wonder you fainted,I
feel as if I might, any minute. And I did nearly faint once, didn't I,
Mrs. King? The day I arrived hereremember? She remembered all too
keenly herself ... the instant of relaxed blackness that followed on
the sound of Richard King's hearty voiceWhy, the boy's all right!
Ab-so-lutely all right! Isn't he, Madeline? Steady as a clock. That
college nonsense And the contrast between that day of faith
triumphant and this dark night was so sharp and cruel that she could
not talk any more, even to comfort Carter. They were all silent, so
that they clearly heard the unlocking, the opening, the closing of the
door of Jimsy's room, and then a stepa swift, sure step upon the
Then Yaqui Juan walked into the sala.
Juan! They sprang at him, galvanized into life and vigor at
the sight of him. But he stood still, staring at them with a look of
scorn and dislike, his arms folded across his chest.
Juan, Mrs. King faltered,no agua? It was
incredible. He was back, safely back, untouched, not even breathing
hard. Where was the water he had risked his life to bring them? The
Englishwoman began to cry, childishly, whimpering. I can't bear it ...
I can't bear it ... I wanted it for Rich' ... for Rich'!
The Indian did not speak, but his scornful, accusing eyes, raking
them all, came to rest on Honor, fixing her with pitiless intensity.
The girl was shaking so that she could hardly stand; she caught hold
of the back of a tall chair to steady herself. Juan,you came out of
Señor Don Diego's room? she whispered.
Si, Señorita. He was watching the dawning light in her
face, but the sternness of his own did not soften.
You didn't go at all, wept Mrs. King, rocking to and fro and
wringing her hands. You didn't go at all!
Honor Carmody screamed, a hoarse, exultant shout. It was as she had
screamed in the old good days when Jimsy King, the ball clutched to his
side, tore down the field and went over the line for a touchdown.
Jimsy went! Jimsy went! Jimsy went! It was Jimsy! Jimsy!
She flung her arms over her head, swaying unsteadily on her feet.
Tears streamed from her eyes and ran down over her white cheeks and
into her parched mouth. In that instant there was room for no fear, no
terror; they would come later, frantic, unbearable. Now there was only
pride, pride and faith and clean joy. Jimsy! Jimsy! Her legs
gave way beneath her and she slipped to the floor, but she did not
cease her hoarse and pitiful shouting.
How could he? said Carter Van Meter. It was impossiblein that
condition! Honor, he couldn't
But Yaqui Juan strode to the little table where the empty decanter
stood, stooped, picked up a rough jug of decorative Mexican pottery
from an under shelf. Then, pausing until he saw that all their eyes
were upon him, he slowly poured its contents back into the decanter.
The liquor rose and rose until it reached the exact spot which Carter
had pointed out to Honorthe top of the design engraved on the glass.
Mira! said the Indian, sternly.
God, said Carter Van Meter.
He was acting! He was acting! wept Mrs. King.
But Jimsy's Skipper sat on the floor, waving her arms, swaying her
body like a yell leader, still shouting his name in her cracked voice,
and then, crazily, her eyes wide as if she visualized a field, far
away, a game, a gallant figure speeding to victory, she sang:
You can't beat L. A. High!
You can't beat L. A. High!
Use your team to get up steam
But you cant beat L. A. High!
The Indian looked at Honor and the bitterness in his eyes melted a
little. Esta una loca, he said.
It was quite true. She was a madwoman for the moment. They tried to
control her, to calm her, but she did not see or hear them. Let her
alone, said Mrs. King. At least she is happy, Carter. She'll realize
his danger in a minute, poor thing. She turned to Yaqui Juan at the
sound of his voice. He told her that he was going out after his young
lord. He was going to find Señor Don Diego, alive or dead. He had
promised him not to leave the locked room for two hours; he had kept
his word as long as he could endure it. Señor Don Diego had had time to
come back unless he had been captured. Now he, Yaqui Juan, whom the
young master had once saved, would go to him, to bring him back, or to
die with him. The solemn, grandiloquent words had nothing of melodrama
in them, falling from his grave lips. He took no pains to conceal his
deep scorn for them all.
Madeline King thought of her husband, wounded, helpless. Oh,
Juanmust you leave us? Ifif something has happened to him it only
means your life, too!
Voy! said the Indian, I go! He turned and looked
again at Honor, this time with a warming pity in his bronze face. I
will bring back your man, Señorita, he said in Spanish. And this
great strong onehe pierced Carter through with his black
gazeshall guard you till I come again. Then he smiled and flung at
him that stinging Spanish proverb which runs, In the country of the
blind the one-eyed man is king! Then he went out of the house,
dropping to his hands and knees, hugging the shadows, creeping along
the tunnel of tropic green which led to the ancient well.
Honor stopped her wild singing and shouting then, but she still sat
on the floor, striking her hands softly together, her dry lips parted
in a smile of utter peace.
Come, Honor, take this chair! Carter urged her, bending over her.
I don't want a chair, Cartie, she said, gently. I'm just waiting
for Jimsy. She looked up and caught the expression on Madeline King's
face. Oh, you mustn't worry, she said, contentedly. He'll bring him
back. Yaqui Juan will. He'll bring him back safe. Why, what kind
of a God would that be?To let anything happen to him, now?
Her defense was impregnable.
Let her alone, said Mrs. King again. She'll realize, soon enough,
poor child. Stay with her, Carter. I must go back to my husband. She
went away with a backward, pitying glance which yet held understanding.
She knew that danger and death and thirst were smaller things than
shame, this wife of a King who had held hard in her day.
Carter sat down and watched her drearily. He wasn't thinking now. He
was nothing at all but one burning, choking thirst, one aching
resentment ... Jimsy King, who had won, after all ... who had won alive
Honor was silent for the most part but she was wholly serene.
Sometimes she spoke and her speech was harder to hear than her happy
stillness. You know, Cartie, I can be glad it happened. She seemed to
speak more easily now, almost as if her thirst had been slaked; her
voice was clearer, steadier. I should never have known how much I
cared. It was easy enough, wasn't it, to look at my ring and talk about
'holding hard' when there wasn't really anything to hold for? I
really found out about caring to-night ... what it means. I guess I
never really loved him before to-night, Carter. She was not looking at
him, hardly talking to him; she seemed rather to be thinking aloud.
Even if she had looked him full in the face she would not have realized
what she was doing to him; there was only one realization for her now.
I guess I just loved what he washis glorious body and his
eyes and the way his hair will waveand what he could do
the winning, the people cheering him. But to-night, when I
thoughtwhen I believed the very worst thing in the world of himwhen
I thought he had failed methen I found out. Then I knew I loved
him. She leaned her head back against the arm of the chair, and her
hands rested, palm upward, in her lap. It's worth everything that's
happened, to know that. She was mercifully still again. Carter thought
once that she must be asleep, she was breathing so softly and evenly,
but after a long pause she asked, with a shade of difference in her
tone, How long has Juan been gone, Carter?
He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes. Perhaps half an hour.
Honor rose to her feet. Well, then, she said with conviction,
they'll be here soon! Any minute, now.
They may not come. He could not help saying it.
Oh, they'll come! They'll come very she stopped short at the
sound of a shot. What was that? she asked, childishly.
That was a shot, said Carter, watching her face.
But it wouldn't hurt Jimsy or Juan. They're nearly here! That was
far away, wasn't it, Carter? Still her bright serenity held fear at
Not very far, Honor. He wanted to see that calm of hers broken up;
he wanted cruelly to make her sense the danger.
But, Cartie, she explained to him, patiently, you know nothing is
going to happen to Jimsy now, when I've just begun really to care for
him! She opened the door and stepped out on the veranda, and he
followed her. Seeit's almost morning! The east was gray and there
was a drowsy twittering of birds.
It's the false dawn, said Carter stubbornly. Listen another
shot rang out, then three in quick succession. I believe they're
The Mexican who was on guard held up a hand, commanding them to
listen. They held their breath. Through the soft silence they began to
get the sound of running feet, stumbling feet, running with difficulty,
and in another moment, up the green lane came Yaqui Juan, bent almost
double with the weight of Jimsy King across his back.
Honor! Carter tried to catch her. Come back! You mustn'tAre you
But Honor and the Mexican who had been on guard at the steps were
running, side by side, to meet them. Yaqui Juan flung a word to the
peón and he stood with his gun leveled, covering the path.
Mira! said the Indian, proudly. Señorita, I have
brought back your man!
Skipper, cried Jimsy King in a strong voice, get in the house!
Get in! I'm all right!
Then, unaccountably, inconsistently, all the terror she had not
suffered before laid hold on her. Jimsy! You're hurt! You're wounded!
Just a cut on the leg, Skipper! That's why I was so slow. It's
nothing, I tell you,get in the house!
But Honor, running beside them, trying to carry a part of him, kept
pace beside them until Yaqui Juan had carried Jimsy into the house and
up the stairs and laid him on his own bed.
There are five canteens, said Jimsy. Hereone's for you,
Skipper. Take the rest to Mrs. King, Juan. Skipper, drink it. Just a
little at first, you knowcareful! Don't you hear what I'm saying to
you? Drinkthe waterout of this canteen!
Mechanically, her eyes always on his face, Honor loosened the cap
and opened the canteen and drank.
There,that's enough! said Jimsy, sharply. Now, wait five
minutes before you take any more. He took the canteen away from her.
Sit down! He was not meeting her eyes.
Did you have any, Jimsy?
Gallons. I didn't have any trouble to speak of, really. Only one
fellow actually on guard. We had a little rough-house. He struck me in
the leg, and it bled a lot. That's what kept me. And it tooksome
Jimsy, is it bad? Is it still bleeding? Let me see!
He pushed her away, almost roughly. It's all right. Juan tied it
up. It'll do. I guess you can have a little more water, now,but take
it slowly.... There! Now you'd better go and see about the rest. Don't
let them take too much at first.
I'm not going away, said Honor, quietly. I'm not going to leave
you again, ever. She pulled her chair close beside the bed and took
his hand in both of hers. Jimsy, I know. I know everything.
That darn' Indian, said Jimsy, crossly. If he'd stayed in here,
with the door locked! I'd have been back in half an hour longer.
And he poured the whisky back into the decanter. Oh, Jimsy
Well, I suppose it was a fool stunt, but I knew I could put it
over. I did a booze-fighter in the Junior play,and I guess it comes
pretty easy! He turned away from her, his face to the wall. I'd like
to be alone, now, Skipper. You'd better look after Cart'. Watch him on
the water. He'll kill himself if he takes too much.
Jimsy, I'm not going to leave you.
He lifted himself on his elbow. Skipper, dear, he said gently,
what's the use? I suppose I took a crazy kid way to show you I wasn't
worth your sticking to, and I guess I'm not, if it comes to that, but
the fact remains, and we can't get away from it.
What fact, Jimsy?
That youcarefor Carter.
Jimsy, have you lost your senses? Icare for Carter?
He told me.
Then, said Honor, her eyes darkening, he told you a lie.
He dropped back on the pillow. He had lost a lot of blood before
Yaqui Juan found him and tied up his cut, and he looked white and
spent. Oh, Skipper, please.... Let's not drag it out. I saw your
message to him.
The one you sent to the steamer, after he'd lost his head and told
you he loved you,andand asked you if you loved him. Difficult
words; grotesque and meaningless, but he must manage with them. I'm
not blaming you, Skipper. I know I'm slow in the head beside Cart' and
he can give you a lot that I can't. And nothinghanging over him.
You'd have played the game through to the last gun; I know that. But it
wouldn't have been right for any of us. I'm glad Cart' blew up and told
Honor laid his hand gently back on the bedspread of exquisite
Mexican drawnwork and stood up. Carter showed you the telegram I sent
him from Genoa?
Yes. He carries it always in his wallet.
He told you it meant that I loved him?
Skipper, don't feel like that about it. It had to come out, some
time. His voice sounded weary and weak.
She bent over him, speaking gently. Be quiet, Jimsy; lie still. I'm
going to bring Carter up here.
Oh, Skipper, what's the use? Youyou make me wish that greaser had
finished me, down at the well. Please
He heard her feet in the hall, flying down the stairs, and he turned
his face to the wall again, his young mouth quivering.
She found Carter lying on the wide couch, one arm trailing limply
over the side of it, the emptied canteen dangling from his hand, and he
was breathing with difficulty. His face was darkly mottled and
congested but Honor did not notice it. Carter, she said, I want you
to come with me and tell Jimsy how you lied to him. I want you to tell
him what my message really meant.
Ican't comenow, he gasped. I can't he tried to raise
himself but he fell back on the pillows.
Then give me your wallet, she said, implacably, bending over him.
No, no! It isn't therewait! By and by I'll but his
eyes betrayed him.
Roughly, with fierce haste, she thrust her hand into his coat pocket
and pulled out his wallet of limp leather with the initials in slimly
wrought gold letters.
Please, Honor! Please,let meI'll give youI'll find it he
clutched at her dress but she stepped back from the couch and he lost
his balance and fell heavily to the floor.
When she pulled out the bit of closely folded paper with a sharp
sound of triumph there came with it a thick letter which dropped on the
red tiles. He snatched at it but Honor's downward swoop was swifter.
She stood staring at it, her eyes opening wider and wider, turning the
plump letter in her hands.
Jimsy's letter to me, she said at last in a flat, curious tone.
The one he gave you to mail. She was not exclamatory. She was too
utterly stunned for that. She seemed to be considering a course of
action, her brows drawn. I won't tell Jimsy; I'mafraid of what he'd
do. I'll let him go on believing in you, if you go away.
He looked up at her from his horrid huddle on the floor, through his
bloodshot eyes, the boy who had taught her so much about books and
plays and dinners in restaurants and the right sort of music to admire,
and it seemed to him that her long known, long loved face was a wholly
strange one, sharply chiseled from cold stone.
If you'll go away, she went on, I won't tell him about the
letter. She was looking at him curiously, as if she had never seen him
before. All these years I've been sorry for you because you limped.
But I haven't been sorry enough. I see now; it'syour soul that limps.
Well, you must limp away, out of our lives. I won't have you near us.
You've tried and tried to drag him down but somethingsomewherehas
held him up! As soon as help comes-to-morrowto-dayI'm going to
marry him, here, in Mexico, and I'll never leave him again as long as
we live. Do you hear?
She turned to go, but he made a smothered, inarticulate sound and
she looked down at him, and down and down, to the depths where he lay.
You poorthing, she said, gently. Oh, you poor thing!
She ran up to Jimsy and sat down on the edge of his bed and gathered
him into her arms, so that his head rested on her breast. Carterpoor
Carter, she said, is too weak to come upstairs now, but I am going to
tell you the whole truth, and you are going to believe me. Listen,
They were still like that, still talking, when Madeline King rushed
into the room. Children, she cried, oh, my dearshaven't you heard
them? Don't you know?
No, they told her, smiling with courteous young attention.
They're herethe soldiers! It's all right! She was crying
contentedly. Rich' is conscious,he understands. My dears, we're
saved! I tell you we're saved!
Oh, we knew that, said Honor, gravely.