Fairfax and His Pride Part 29

CHAPTER XXIV

Death does not always make the deepest graves. His art was buried deepest of all, and there was just one interest in his life, and that was not his wife. He was kind to her, but if he had beaten her she would have kissed his hand; she could not have loved him better. Her life was "just wrapped round him." He treated her as a lady, and he was a gentleman. Her manners were always soft and gentle, coming from a sweet good heart. She grew thinner, and her pride in him and her love for him and her humility made Molly Fairfax beautiful. There was a great deal of cruelty in the marriage and in their mating. It was no one's fault, and the woman suffered the most. Their rooms were in a white frame building with green blinds, one of the old wooden houses that remained long in Albany. It did not overlook the yards, for Fairfax wanted a new horizon.

From her window, Molly could see the docks, the river, the night and day boats as they anch.o.r.ed, and she had time to watch and know them all.

Nothing in his working life or in his a.s.sociations coa.r.s.ened Antony Fairfax; it would have been better for him had it done so. She was not married to an engineer, but to a gentleman, and he was as chivalrous to her as though she had been the woman of his dreams; but she spent much of the time weeping and hiding the traces from him, and in the evenings, when he came home to the meal that she prepared each day with a greater skill and care, sometimes after greeting her he would not break the silence throughout the evening, and he did not dream that he had forgotten her. His new express engine became his life. He drove her, cared for her, oiled and tended her with art and pa.s.sion. There were no bad notes against him at the office. His records were excellent, and Rainsford had the satisfaction of knowing that the man whom he had recommended was in the right place. The irony of it all was that his marrying Molly Shannon did not bring him peace, although it tranquillized him, and kept part of his nature silent. He had meditated as he drove his engine, facing the miles before him as the machine ate them up, and these miles began to take him into other countries. There was a far-awayness in the heavens to him now, and as he used to glance up at the telegraph wires and poles they became to him masts and riggings of vessels putting out to sea, and from his own window of his little tenement apartment of two bedrooms and a kitchen, he watched the old river boats and the scows and the turtle-like ca.n.a.l boats that hugged the sh.o.r.e, and they became vessels whose bows had kissed ports whose names were thrilling, and in the nest he had made his own, thinking to rest there, his growing wings began to unprison and the nest to be too small. There was no intoxication in the speed of his locomotive to him, and he felt a grave sense of power as he regulated and slowed and accelerated, and the smooth response of his locomotive delighted him. She flew to his hand, and the speed gave him joy.

At lunch time Falutini had told him of Italy, and the glow and the glamour, the cypress and the pines, the azure skies, olive and grape vines brought their enchantment around Fairfax, until No. 111 stood in an enchanted country, and not under the shed with whirling snows or blinding American glare without. He exchanged ideas with Rainsford. The agent became his friend, and one Sunday Fairfax led him into the Delavan House, and George Washington nearly broke his neck and spilled the soup on the shoulder of the uninteresting patron he was at the moment serving, in his endeavour to get across the floor to Antony.

"Yas, _sah_, Mistah Kunnell Fairfax, sah! Mighty glad to see yo', and the Capting?--Hyah in de window?"

"Rainsford," said the young man, "isn't it queer? I feel at home here.

This dingy hotel and this smiling old n.i.g.g.e.r, they are joys to me--joys.

To this very table I have brought my own bitter food to eat and bitter water to drink, and half forgotten their tastes as I have eaten the Delavan fare, and been cheered by this faithful old darkey. Perhaps all the chaps round here aren't millionaires or Depuysters, but there are no railroad men such as I am lunching here, and I breathe again."

The two ate their tomato soup with relish. Poor Molly was an indifferent cook, and the food at Rainsford's hash-house was horrible.

"Don't come here often now, Fairfax, do you?"

"Every Sunday."

"_Really?_ And do you bring Mrs. Fairfax?"

"No," frowned the young man, "and I wonder you ask. Don't you understand that this is my holiday? G.o.d knows I earn it."

Rainsford finished his soup. The plate was whisked away, was briskly replaced by a quant.i.ty of small dishes containing everything on the bill of fare from chicken to pot-pie, and as Rainsford meditated upon the outlay, he said--

"She's a gentle, lovely creature, Fairfax. I don't wonder you were charmed by her. She has a heart and a soul."

Fairfax stared. "Why when did you see her?"

He had never referred to his wife since the day he had announced his marriage to his chief.

"She came on the day of the blizzard to the office to bring a parcel for you. She wanted me to send it up the line by the Limited to catch you at Utica."

"My knit waistcoat," nodded Fairfax. "I remember. It saved my getting a chill. I had clean forgotten it. She's a good girl."

Rainsford chose amongst the specimens of food.

"She is a sweet woman."

Here George Washington brought Fairfax the Sunday morning _Tribune_, and folded it before his gentleman and presented it almost on his knees.

"Let me git ye a teenty weenty bit mo' salid, Kunnell?"

Fairfax unfolded the _Tribune_ leisurely. "Bring some ice-cream, George, and some good cigars, and a little old brandy. Yes, Rainsford, it isn't poison."

Fairfax read attentively, and his companion watched him patiently, his own face lightened by the companionship of the younger man. Fairfax glanced at the headlines of the _Tribune_, said "By George!" under his breath, and bent over the paper. His face underwent a transformation; he grew pale, read fixedly, then laughed, said "By George!" again, folded the paper up and put it in his pocket.

The ice-cream was brought and described as "_Panillapolitan_ cream, sah," and Fairfax lit a cigar and puffed it fast and then said suddenly--

"Do you know what hate is, Rainsford? I reckon you don't. Your face doesn't bear any traces of it."

"Yes, Fairfax," said the other, "I know what it is--it's a disease which means battle, murder, and sudden death."

The young man took the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, and Rainsford was surprised to see his hands tremble, the beautiful clever hands with the stained finger ends and the clean, beautiful palm.

Falutini did more work than Fairfax now. He slaved for his master.

"Read that, Rainsford." He tapped a headline with his forefinger. "It sounds like an event."

THE UNVEILING OF THE ABYDOS SPHINX IN CENTRAL PARK CEDERSHOLM'S WONDERFUL PEDESTAL.

THE DIFFICULT TRANSPORTATION OF THE EGYPTIAN MONUMENT FROM THE PORT TO THE PARK.

UNVEILING TO TAKE PLACE NEXT SAt.u.r.dAY.

The article went on to speak of the dignified marble support, and hinted at four prehistoric creatures in bronze which were supposed to be the masterpieces of modern sculpture.

Rainsford read it through. "Very interesting. An event, as you say, Tony. Cedersholm has made himself a great reputation."

"_d.a.m.n him!_" breathed the engineer. His heart was beating wildly, he felt a suffocation in his breast. A torrent of feeling swept up in him.

No words could say what a storm and a tempest the notice caused.

"Jealous," Rainsford thought. "Cedersholm has all that poor Fairfax desires."

Overcome by the memories the headlines recalled, overcome by his anger and the injustice, Fairfax's face grew white.

"Take a little more coffee, Kunnell," said George Washington at his elbow.

"No." Antony repulsed him rudely. "Did you read it all, Rainsford?"

"I think so. I dare say this will bring Cedersholm close on a hundred thousand dollars."

"It will pave his way to h.e.l.l one day, Rainsford," said the engineer, leaning across the table. "It will indeed! Why, it is a monument of injustice and dishonour. Do you know what that Sphinx rests on, Rainsford, do you know?"

For a moment the railroad agent thought his friend had lost his senses brooding over his discarded art, his spoiled life.

"Four huge prehistoric creatures," Rainsford read mildly.

Fairfax's lips trembled. "It rests on a man's heart and soul, on his flesh and blood, on his bleeding wounds, Rainsford. I worked in Cedersholm's studio, I slaved for him night and day for eighteen months.

I spilled my youth and heart's blood there, I did indeed." His face working, he tapped his friend's arm with his hand. "I made the moulds for those beasts. I cast them in bronze, right there in his studio.

Every inch of them is mine, Rainsford, mine. By ... you can't take it in, of course, you don't believe me, n.o.body would believe me, that's why I can do nothing, can't say anything, or I'd be arrested as a lunatic.

But Cedersholm's fame in this instance is mine, and he has stolen it from me and shut me out like a whipped dog. He thinks I am poor and unbefriended, and he knows that I have no case. Why, he's a _hound_, Rainsford, the meanest hound on the face of the earth."

Rainsford soothed his friend, but Fairfax's voice was low with pa.s.sion, no one could overhear its intense tone.

"Don't for a moment think I have lost my senses. If you don't believe me, give me a pencil and paper and I'll sketch you what I mean."

Rainsford was very much impressed and startled. "If what you say is true," he murmured.

And Fairfax, who had regained some of his control--he knew better than any one the futility of his miserable adventure--exclaimed--