The Best Short Stories of 1918 Part 17

Esme was nowhere about, but I didn't think of looking for him then, for I thought he'd probably joined one of the other men. Later I got worried, and we started a search. He wasn't in our camp. No one had seen him.

"We waited and wondered. I prayed. Then I found a little scribbled note knocking about among my things.

"We never found any trace even of him or the smallest clue, just the note; that's all I have left of Esme. Here it is:

'You've tried to tell me your opinion of the trick I played on an enemy. In any other arm of the service what I did would have gone, been all right, been smart. Isn't that what you meant, Marston? But with our boys, because we've chosen to have a different, a higher standard, because we fight cleanly, what I did was-dirty. Well, I understand. You and the other men _are_ different; I'm not, but I can pay. I'm going back. Don't try to stop me before I reach their lines. You can't. I go to render unto Caesar. A life for a life. To give them at least my death, since I can no longer offer even that proudly to France.'

"There has been bravery and heroism in the war, but Esme went back; he knew to what-yet he went.

"G.o.d grant he is dead! I tried to make words express an inexpressible thing. All my life to live out-remembering, knowing I killed my friend!"

Perhaps Marston went on speaking; I don't know. I only remember the broken stem of his gla.s.s, the stain that was spreading slowly over the white cloth, and the dripping, dripping red of his hands.

IMAGINATION

_By_ GORDON HALL GEROULD From _Scribner's Magazine_ _Copyright, 1918, by Charles Scribner's Sons._ _Copyright, 1919, by Gordon Hall Gerould._

As I gave my coat and hat to the boy, I caught sight of Orrington, waddling into the farther reaches of the club just ahead of me. "Here's luck!" I thought to myself, and with a few hasty strides overtook him.

It is always good luck to run upon Harvey Orrington during the hour when he is loafing before dinner. In motion he resembles a hippopotamus, and in repose he produces the impression that the day is very hot, even in midwinter. But one forgets his red and raw corpulency when he has settled at ease in a big chair and begun to talk. Then the qualities that make him the valuable man he is, as the literary adviser of the Speedwell Company, come to the surface, and with them those perhaps finer attributes that have given him his reputation as a critic.

Possibly the contrast between his Falstaffian body and his nicely discriminating mind gives savor to his comment on art and life; but in any case his talk is as good in its way as his essays are in theirs.

Read his "Retrospective Impressions" if you wish to know what I mean-only don't think that his colloquial diction is like the fine-spun phrasing of his essays. He inclines to be slangy in conversation.

I overtook Orrington, as I say, before he had reached his accustomed corner, and I greeted him with a becoming deference. He is fifteen years my senior, after all.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, turning his rather dull eyes full upon me. "Chasing will-o'-the-wisps this afternoon?"

"I've been pursuing you. If you call that-"

"Precision forbids! It can't have been will-o'-the-wisps." Orrington shook his head with utter solemnity. "I don't know just what their figure is, but I'm sure it's not like mine. Come along and save my life, won't you?"

"With pleasure. I hoped you might be free."

"Free as the air of a department-store elevator-yes. I've got to meet Reynolds here. He's waiting for me yonder. You know Reynolds?"

"Yes, I know him."

Every one knows Reynolds, I need hardly say-every one who can compa.s.s it. The rest of the world knows his books. Reynolds makes books with divine unconcern and profuseness: almost as a steel magnate makes steel.

He makes them in every kind, and puts them out with a fine flourish, so that he is generally regarded as master of all the literary arts. People buy his output, too, which is lucky for Reynolds but perhaps less fortunate for literature; they buy his output-that is the only word to use-by the boxful, apparently. An edition in his sight is but as the twinkling of an eye before it is sold out. One can't wonder that Reynolds is a little spoiled by all this, though he must have been a good fellow to begin with. He's really a kind-hearted and brave man now, but he takes himself too seriously. He is sometimes a bore. Only that he would never recognize the portrait I am making of him, I should hardly dare to say what I am saying. Physically, he is undistinguished: he looks like a successful lawyer of a dark athletic type who has kept himself fit with much golf and who has got the habit of wearing his golfing-clothes to town. It is his manner that sets him apart from his fellows.

"I'm glad you know him." Orrington chuckled as we drew near the corner where Reynolds was already seated. "I'd hate to be the innocent cause of your introduction."

Reynolds rose and extended gracious hands to the two of us. "You add to my pleasure by bringing our friend," he said to Orrington.

I fear that I acknowledged the compliment by looking foolish. It was Orrington's corner that we were invading, if it was any one's, and, in any case, Reynolds doesn't own the club.

"I need tea to support my anaemia," said Orrington gruffly. "If the rest of you wish strong drink, however, I'm not unwilling to order it.

They've got a new lot of extremely old Bourbon, I am informed, that had to be smuggled out of Kentucky at dead of night for fear of a popular uprising. I should like to watch the effect of it on one or both of you."

"I'm willing to be the subject of the experiment," I said. "What about you, Reynolds?"

Reynolds c.o.c.ked his head slightly to one side. "Though I dislike to deprive our good friend of any aesthetic pleasure, I think I will stick to my own special Scotch. I do not crave the dizzy heights of inebriety."

"First time I ever knew you to be afraid of soaring, Reynolds,"

commented Orrington. "I trust you won't let caution affect your literary labors. It is one of the biggest things about you, you know, that you aren't afraid to tackle any job you please. Most of us wait about, wondering whether we could ever learn to manage the Pegasus biplane, but you fly in whatever machine is handy."

"Perhaps you think I adventure rashly." It was neither question nor positive statement on the part of Reynolds, but a little compounded of both. He seemed hurt.

"Not at all." Orrington's tone was heartily rea.s.suring. "You get away with it, and the rest of us get nowhere in comparison."

"I have always believed," said Reynolds, "that a proper self-confidence is a prime requisite for literary success. In all seriousness, I am sure both of you will agree with me that none of us could have reached his present position in the world without some degree of boldness. We have seized the main chance."

"Then it got away from me," I felt impelled to say. I could see no reason for accepting the flattery that Reynolds intended.

"You may believe it or not, as you please, Reynolds, but I'm incapable of seizing anything." Orrington paused to direct the waiter, but went on after a moment, with a teacup in his fat hand. "As a matter of fact, I've never collared anything in my life except a few good ma.n.u.scripts.

Some mighty bad ones, too." He chuckled.

"Ah! You know the difference between the good and the bad better than any one else in the country, I fancy. I always feel diffident when I send copy to you." Reynolds somehow conveyed the impression, rather by his manner than by his words, of insufferable conceit. He made you certain that he was ready to challenge the a.s.sembly of the Immortals in behalf of anything he wrote.

"Oh, you're in a position to dictate. It's not for us to criticise,"

Orrington answered very quietly. "By the way, I ventured to suggest our meeting here partly because I wished to know when your new book would be ready. Speedwell's been worrying, and I told him I'd see you. Thought it would bother you less than a letter or coming round to the office."

"My book!" Reynolds struck an att.i.tude and wrinkled his forehead. "My dear fellow, I wish I knew."

Orrington set down his cup and looked at Reynolds quizzically. "You must know better than anybody else."

"It's a question of the possibilities only." Reynolds lifted his head proudly. "I will not fail you, Orrington. I have never yet left any one in the lurch, but I have been exceedingly busy of late. You can't realize the pressure I am under from every side. So many calls-my time, my presence, my words! I must have a fortnight's clear s.p.a.ce to get my copy ready for you. Within the month, I feel sure, you shall have it."

"That'll do perfectly well. We don't wish to bother you," said Orrington briefly, "but you know as well as I do that the public cries for you.

Speedwell gets restive if he can't administer a dose once in so often."

"What is the book to be?" I ventured to ask.

Reynolds bridled coquettishly. It was too absurd of a fellow with his physique and general appearance: I had difficulty in maintaining a decent gravity. "My book!" he said again. "It isn't precisely a novel, and it isn't precisely anything else. It is a simple story with perhaps a cosmic significance."

"I see." I didn't, of course, but I couldn't well say less. I knew, besides, pretty well what the book would be like. I had read two or three of Reynolds's things. The mark of the beast was on them all, though variously imprinted.

"By the way of nothing," said Orrington suddenly, "I had an odd experience to-day."

"Ah! do tell us," urged Reynolds. "Your experiences are always worth hearing. I suppose it is because your impressions are more vivid than those of most men."

Orrington pursed his mouth deprecatingly and lighted a cigarette.

"There's no stuff for you fellows in this. You couldn't make a story out of it if you tried. But it gave me a twinge and brought back something that happened twenty years ago."

"What happened to-day?" I asked, to get the story properly begun.