The Ragged Edge Part 38

"And I am a thief."

"You're a d.a.m.n fool, too!" exploded the trader.

"I am as G.o.d made me."

"No. G.o.d gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. You are captain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. But I see now. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Her father for fifteen years, and you now for the rest of her life! Tell her you're a thief. Get it off your soul."

"Add that to what she is now suffering? It's too late. She would not forgive me."

"And why should you care whether she forgave you or not?"

Spurlock jumped to his feet, the look of the d.a.m.ned upon his face.

"Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!"

His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. The latter began to heave himself up from the sand.

"Did I hear you ..." began McClintock.

"Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable. I might have known it. Another labyrinth in h.e.l.l!"

A smile broke over the trader's face. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly.

"Man, man! You're coming to life. There's something human about you now. Go to her and tell her. Put your arms around her and tell her you love her. Dear G.o.d, what a beautiful moment!"

The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. "I can't make you understand; I can't make you see things as I see them. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. What!--add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. So long as matters remain as they are, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. Can't I make you see?"

"But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity."

"You did not hear her when she spoke to her father; I did."

"But she would understand you; whereas she will never understand her father. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make _you_ see. Man, if you tell her you love her, and later they took you away to prison, who would sit at the prison gate until your term was up? Ruth. Why am I here--thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player.

But you! Ruth is your lawful wife. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. You're a queer lad. With your pencil you see into the hearts of all; and without your pencil you are dumb and blind. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. Have you thought of the monstrous lie you are adding to your theft?"

"Lie?" said Spurlock, astounded.

"Aye--to pretend to her that you don't care. That's a most d.a.m.nable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. She'll have this hour always with her; and you failed her. Go to her."

"I can't."

"Afraid?"

"Yes."

This simple admission disarmed McClintock. "Well, well; I have given out of my wisdom. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. There is strength in you--misguided. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. I would that you were my own."

"I, a thief?"

"Aye; thief, Roundhead and all. If a certain kink in your sense of honour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as a comrade. Talk to her of the new story; divert her; for this day her heart has been twisted sorely."

McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, pa.s.sing, heard the piano-tuning key at work.

Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. But recently he had asked G.o.d to pile it all on him; and G.o.d had added this, with a fresh portion for Ruth. One thing--he could be thankful for that--the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least.

Love ... to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; G.o.d could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. The future? He dared not speculate upon that.

He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor.

"Ruth?"

Silence for a moment. "Yes. What is it?"

"Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. Was there anything he could do!

"No, Hoddy; nothing."

"Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender that sounded!--talk!

"If you want to."

Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. He knew she had been weeping. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly.

"I am very wicked," she said. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. But all those empty years!... My heart was hot.

I'm sorry. I do forgive him; but he will never know now."

"Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech.

"He would return my letters unopened or destroy them."

That was true, thought Spurlock. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack.

"Would you rather be alone?"

"No. It's kind of comforting to have you there. You understand. I sha'n't cry any more. Tell me a story--with apple-blossoms in it--about people who are happy."

Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted--a love story. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted plat.i.tudes.

How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. But there was no sign from her. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. She had fallen asleep. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.

CHAPTER XXVI

Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. He had sold half a dozen short tales to third-rate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. If he could keep it up--style and calibre of imagination--within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. Everything in the world to live for!--fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about h.e.l.l as a future state?

By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. It was hot and dry. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise.

"Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. "I don't see how you do it, Hoddy. It's so stuffy--and all that tobacco smoke!"