The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 34

"No."

"No? Then let me tell you, that you may know henceforward. The first...?"

"I--I don't know."

"You know well enough. Bright eyes--that is the first."

He flinched involuntarily as under the lash. And now the strokes followed sharply one on another.

"A fine figure and curling hair ... tears and empty promises ... a thirst for beauty ... false brotherhood ... selfishness and the desire for conquest ... dying voices of childhood ... dreams and self-deceit...."

"Enough!"

"Not yet. There are little extras that you have not called to mind."

"Leave me in peace!" cried Olof almost threateningly.

"You could not leave yourself in peace. Look again--what more--what more?"

"Go!" Olof sprang up with a cry like that of a wounded beast, took the mirror and flung it against the stove, the pieces scattering with a crash about the floor. His blood boiled, his eyes burned with a dark, boding gleam.

"And what then?" he cried defiantly. "My mark? Why, then, let it be.

I'll go my own way, mark or no mark."

He picked up his hat and hurried out.

TO THE DREGS

"And now--I'll drink it to the dregs!

"Why not? I've tasted the rarest wine in cups of purest crystal--why not swallow the lees of a baser drink from a tavern stoup? 'Tis the last that drowns regret. Others have done so--why not I?

"Once we have tasted, we must drink--we must dip down into the murky depths of life if we are to know it to the full--ay, drink with a laugh, and go on our way with lifted head!

"Drink to the dregs--and laugh at life! Life does not waste tears over us!"

Olof strode briskly out toward a certain quarter of the town, a complex of narrow streets and little houses with stuffy rooms, where gla.s.ses are filled and emptied freely, and men sit with half-intoxicated women on their knees, sacrificing to insatiable idols.

It was a summer evening, bright and clear. The noise of day had ceased, and few were abroad. It seemed like a Sunday, just before evening service, when all were preparing for devotion, and he alone walked with workaday thoughts in his mind.

A narrow door with a grating in the centre. Olof stood a moment, evidently in doubt, and walked on--his heart was thumping in his breast. The consciousness of it irritated him, and turning back impatiently, he knocked loudly at the door.

No sound from within. He felt as if thousands of eyes were watching him scornfully, and for a moment he thought of flight. He knocked again, hurriedly, nervously.

A pause, that seemed unendurably long, then a sound of movement and steps approaching the door--the panel was moved aside.

"What's all the noise about?" cried a woman's shrill voice. "In a hurry, aren't you? Get along, and that quick--off with you!" The panel closed with a slam.

The blood rushed to Olof's cheeks; for a moment he felt like breaking down the door and flinging it into the street--he would gladly have pulled the house down in his fury.

Wondering faces appeared here and there at the windows. They were looking at him as if he were a criminal--a burglar trying to force an entry in broad daylight. Half-running, he hastened back to the main streets of the town. Then the fury seized him again--a pa.s.sion of wounded pride and defiance. "Am I to be taken for a boy?" he said to himself angrily.

He pa.s.sed a row of waiting cabs. One of the men touched his cap inquiringly, but Olof shook his head--the fellow had an honest face.

The last in the row gave him what he sought--a sly red face with s.h.i.+fty eyes.

"Eh? Take you?... That's easy enough! I know the very house.

First-rate girls, all of them, and no trouble. 'Tis the best sort you'll be wanting, I take it?"

"Yes."

"That's the style. Just step in, now, and we'll be there...."

The cab rumbles away; Olof leans back, feeling himself again.

Through a gateway into a cobbled yard. The driver gets down, and Olof follows suit. The man knocks with the handle of his whip at a door.

"'Tis no good coming at this time--the girls aren't here yet." And the door is slammed in his face.

"Drive on, then! Drive to the devil, only let's get out of this,"

cries Olof.

"Nay, nay, no call to give up now we're on the way." The driver swings out into the street again, and tries another entrance of the same sort farther on.

Olof stood half-dazed, waiting.

This time the knock was answered by a girl's voice, bright and pleasant. The driver and the girl exchanged whispers through the door.

"Sober? Ay, he's sober enough. Young chap, and plenty of money--wants the best sort."

Olof's blood boiled. Was he to be bargained for like a beast in the cattle market? He was on the point of calling the man away, when the door opened a little. "Right you are, then," said the man, with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"Good evening--won't you come in?" A young girl, neatly dressed, held the door open for Olof with a smile.

He went through the pa.s.sage into a little parlour. The heavy-scented air of the place was at once soothing and exciting to his senses.

"Sit down, won't you? But what are you looking so serious about? Has your girl thrown you over--or what?"

"Now, how on earth did you guess that?" cried Olof in sudden relief, thankful that the girl was so bright and talkative. He felt all at once that he too must talk--of anything, nothing, or he could not stay in the place a minute.

"Guess? Why, that's easy enough. They always come here when there's anything wrong with--the others. And there's always something wrong with some of them. Was she pretty?" The girl looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Pretty?--yes, that she was, pretty as you, nearly."

"Puh!" laughed the girl. "And she kissed you, I suppose?"