The Ragged Edge Part 26

"You took that chance. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's."

He paused, and not without malice. He was human. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth.

"You begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, and nothing else. There are only a few jobs over here for a man of your type; and even these are more or less hopeless if you haven't trained mechanical ability." Then he became merciful. "But McClintock agrees to take you both--because he's as big a fool as I am. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. You will be under the eye of the best friend I have; and if you do not treat that child for what she is--an innocent angel--I promise to hunt you across the wide world and kill you with bare hands."

Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. "And on my part, I shall not lift a hand to defend myself."

"I wish I could have foreseen."

"That is to say, you wish you had let me die?"

"That was the thought."

This frankness rather subdued Spurlock. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. "Perhaps that would have been best."

"But what, in G.o.d's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked your own life and now you've wrecked hers. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. I am a physician first, which gives the man in me a secondary part. You have just pa.s.sed through rather a severe physical struggle; just as previously to your collapse you had gone through some terrific mental strain. Your mind is still subtly sick. The man in me would like to break every bone in your body, but the physician understands that you don't actually realize what you have done. But in a little while you will awake; and if there is a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day's work."

Spurlock closed his eyes. Expiation. He felt the first sting of the whip. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.

"If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on--a reason why for this madness. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you...!"

"Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twenty-four hours a day to think in, alone?... Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. I will tell you this much, because you have been kind. It is true that I do not love Ruth; but I swear to you, before the G.o.d of my fathers, that she shall never know it!"

"I'll be getting along." The doctor ran his fingers through his hair, despairingly. "A h.e.l.l of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. I'll put you aboard _The Tigress_ to-morrow after sundown. But remember my warning, and play the game!"

Spurlock closed his eyes again. The doctor turned quickly and made for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was a.s.sured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of violence. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock.

All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart.

Opals. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men.

Marriage!--and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly--and bitterly. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt.

There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. The picture might easily apply to _The Tigress_: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below. The flush deck was without wells.

The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Amids.h.i.+p there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty.

The dining saloon was done in mahogany and sandalwood, with eight cabins, four to port and four to starboard. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, _The Tigress_ was a copra carrier, sh.e.l.l and fibre.

McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. Natives brought him an equal amount from the neighbouring islands. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. Thus, McClintock carried to Copeley's press about half a million pounds of copra. There was a very substantial profit in the transaction, for he paid the natives in commodities--coloured cotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, household utensils, cutlery and gla.s.s gewgaws. It was perfectly legitimate.

Money was not necessary; indeed, it would have embarra.s.sed all concerned.. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. In the South Seas, money is the eliminated middleman.

Where the islands are grouped, men discard the use of geographical names and simply refer to "McClintock's" or "Copeley's," to the logical dictator of this or that island.

At sundown Spurlock was brought aboard and put into cabin 2, while Ruth was a.s.signed to cabin 4, adjoining. From the Sha-mien to the yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him.

Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust.

An incredible road he had elected to travel; he granted that it was incredible; and along this road somewhere would be Desire. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble.

What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she was also young and physically beautiful--his lawful wife. He had put himself before the threshold of d.a.m.nation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Here would be the true test of his strength. Upon this island whither he was bound there would be no diversions, breathing spells; the battle would be constant.

All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over this phase which was wholly suppositional. He did not love Ruth. They would be partners only in loneliness. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. He was always antic.i.p.ating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor.

"Good-bye, young man; and good luck."

"You are offering your hand to me?"

"Without reservations." The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendly pressure. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope. Play fair with her. You don't know what you have got; I do. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just."

Spurlock turned aside his head as he replied: "Words are sometimes useless things. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand."

"Probably not. The thing is done. The main idea now is of the future. You will have lots of time on your hands. Get out your pad and pencil. Go to it. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent."

"You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was eagerness in his eyes. "Rot, weren't they?"

"No. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. Go to it; and the best of luck!"

He went out. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demands physical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. He handed Ruth a letter.

"What is this?" she wanted to know.

"A hundred dollars which was left from your husband's money."

"Would you be angry if I offered it to you?"

"Very. Don't worry about me."

"You are the kindest man I have ever known," said Ruth, unashamed of her tears. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. It is useless to talk. I could never make you understand."

Almost the identical words of the boy. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?"

"Oh, yes!"

"The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. Remember, some day you and I are going to have that book." He patted her hand. "Good-bye, Mac. Don't forget to cut out all effervescent water. If you will have your peg, take it with plain water. You'll be along next spring?"

"If the old tub will float. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry. Good-bye."

The doctor went down the side to the waiting sampan, which at once set out for the Sha-mien. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. One more pa.s.ser-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.

She was quite a.s.sured that she would never see him again.

"Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. "Took a great fancy to you. Wants me to look out for you a bit. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player."

"Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?"

"No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet.

Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. I'm a bit daffy about music."

"That sounds funny ... to play it with your feet!"