The Camp Fire Girls Behind the Lines Part 15

She felt that she must do what Felipe had begged of her. There had been something in his manner at once imperative and beseeching.

An unaccustomed shyness, almost a sense of fear, had seized upon Gerry; nevertheless she was prepared to follow Felipe's bidding, no matter how difficult.

To eat or talk gaily to the others was hard. In a half-hearted fashion, Gerry accomplished both results.

Immediately after the supper was finished the guests began saying their farewells.

The hour was long past the one when the young officers and soldiers were required to return to the cantonment. But owing to the play and Mrs.

Burton's efforts in their behalf, they had received a special permit from the officer in command of their camp to remain away several hours later than their regulations demanded.

In the midst of the good-bys Gerry and Felipe moved swiftly toward each other.

"We must get away _now_, Felipe, while no one is thinking of us. I can only talk to you for a moment."

Even as she spoke Gerry was walking toward the beach with the young man following. In this way at least what they had to say to each other would not be overheard. There was no nearby place where they could actually escape observation.

In front of Sunrise camp the beach stretched long and level, broken only by small rocks, which afforded a shadow, not a shelter. Behind the little group of tents and Mrs. Burton's house were the level fields of a great ranch. There were no trees worthy of the name in sight.

"But I can't say what I must to you in _one_ minute, Gerry. I must have time to explain many things. Surely you will go somewhere else with me.

Here on the open beach we may be interrupted at any moment."

Gerry only moved on more rapidly. "I don't know where else to go, Felipe. We can walk along the beach until perhaps we are out of sight of the others. Then afterwards I can tell Mrs. Burton that we only intended taking a short walk."

"Very well," Felipe murmured, but Gerry could guess that he was annoyed.

"I suppose to a girl, Gerry, conventions are dearer than anything else in life. So since what I intend is to ask you to break one of them, perhaps I might as well not speak to you," he began, when they had nearly reached the water.

The ocean was not so calm as usual tonight on this particular line of coast. Great waves were rolling in, breaking and curling in white spirals of foam. If there had been a storm, it was somewhere out in the ocean, for although there was no moon the stars were everywhere a shining glory.

"I don't know what you mean, Felipe," Gerry answered quietly.

She was still wearing her lovely shepherdess costume of pale blue and white, the pointed bodice and panniers of blue satin, the skirt and sleeves of muslin and lace. Mrs. Burton had insisted on Gerry's using a long white coat which was her property, so coming back in the motor she had slipped this on over her dress. Now the wind was blowing the coat open, revealing the soft comeliness of the satin and lace costume beneath.

Her shepherdess hat she had discarded and instead had tied a blue chiffon scarf around her hair.

Nevertheless, in spite of her frivolous and charming costume, Gerry Williams' expression was entirely serious.

"No, of course you do not understand. I am sorry," Felipe apologized.

"You see, it has been such a horrible evening for me with all the foolishness of the play and my acting a clown's part, when I have been wishing every minute to get you away and tell you what has happened."

"But what _has_ happened?" Gerry inquired anxiously and yet with patience.

"The exemption board has refused my claim. I only heard the pleasant news late this afternoon," Felipe answered.

Gerry's first sensation was one of intense personal sympathy.

Simply and naturally she slipped her hand inside Felipe's.

"I don't know what to say to you. I am so grieved for you. It is too dreadful, your being forced to join the army when you so hate the whole idea. Can't something more be done? Surely you and your father must have influence out here!"

Felipe shook his head. "Influence does not count; besides, if father has any influence he would not use it in my behalf, not in this connection.

When I told him this afternoon what had occurred he merely said: 'I wish you had done your duty in the beginning, my son, without bringing the stigma of disgrace upon our name by trying to escape your responsibility. I did not suppose your claim for exemption would be considered, as your excuse was too flimsy.'"

For an instant Gerry hesitated, then she said, her voice shaking. "I do not mean to be rude, but I can not understand your father. You are his only son and are no relation to me, and yet it does not seem to me I can bear your going over to France, where you will be so unhappy, where you may be wounded. But I must not talk of these things. How soon must you begin your training, Felipe, and do you think you will be in a camp near your home?"

Until this instant Gerry had not considered herself, had not realized the failure of her dream. Now she had a little sinking sense of loneliness and disappointment. Nevertheless Felipe was still first in her thoughts.

"I wish I could do something to help you."

"You can, Gerry," Felipe returned, strengthening his hold on her hand.

"I am not going to be drafted, Gerry. I am going over the border into Mexico tomorrow to remain until the war is over. I told you that I had no difficulty in being taken for a Mexican. I can speak the language and I don't look unlike one. This isn't an entirely new idea on my part, for I have been thinking and planning what I should do if my exemption claim were refused. I tell you I can not endure a soldier's existence, the dirt and the hard work and the discipline and then worse, blood and suffering and death. For even if all this does not come to me, I must see it. Oh, I know I am not a _man_, Gerry, and you probably despise me for feeling like this. But I can not help it. I was born for beauty and happiness, for music and--well, we are not all made alike."

"No, Felipe, I don't despise you; I think I understand," Gerry replied instantly. But there was no question with her of understanding. She was thinking of Felipe's happiness, of his safety. "Isn't it pretty dangerous what you are planning to do? If you are caught won't you be imprisoned?" she asked.

Felipe nodded. "Yes, but I am going to take the chance. It is worth the danger to me."

"You are intending to say good-by to me tonight then?" Gerry questioned.

"I am glad you told me. No one in the world will ever be able to force your secret from me."

"Then you could be brave for my sake?" Felipe demanded.

But when Gerry did not answer, he began walking impatiently up and down within a few feet of her.

"I don't know what to say or do, Gerry," he continued after a moment. "I am not a rogue and I do not want to do you an injustice. But you told me once that you had no people of your own, that your father is dead and that your mother always has left you in common boarding houses, with no one to look after you, since you were a tiny girl. You told me that you had no real friend until Mrs. Burton took a fancy to you and has tried to give you some happiness. Now I can't bear the thought of your going so far away to live by yourself when I care for you so much. After tonight we may never even be able to see each other again in many years.

Still I realize that you are very young, Gerry, and the fact that I am four or five years older makes the whole thing much more my responsibility than yours. Besides there is the danger of your crossing into Mexico with me and being forced to live there, one cannot say how long."

Gerry appeared utterly bewildered and unhappy. "But what do you mean, Felipe? I don't think I understand you."

"I mean I am asking you to marry me, Gerry." Felipe answered with an entire softening of his manner and expression. "But I realize I am asking you more than that, because I want you to marry me without telling any one and then slip over the border into Mexico with me to live until the war is past. If anything happens and I am caught, why, at least you will be safe, for my father will look after you. I did not want to ask you to marry me in this way, Gerry, I do not like the idea any more than you do. I had planned to tell you I cared for you and to tell Mrs. Burton also. I was even willing to wait for a year or more if you both thought it necessary. But now this difficulty of mine alters everything, and these are war times, when one is not expected to behave in an ordinary fashion."

In order to insure his own way, Felipe was in truth a good pleader.

Besides, Gerry was already deeply under his influence.

Now Felipe's unexpected request made her both happy and unhappy, for she could not fail to be glad that he cared for her, although she knew she had no right to agree to his request.

The ethical side of the question of Felipe's intention to escape military service apparently made no impression upon Gerry one way or the other; the question seemed so entirely his to decide. Her feeling was merely that she could not bear to marry him and not tell even Mrs.

Burton until afterwards.

If she were a little older she believed the situation would have appeared less formidable, then she would have had a clearer right to decide for herself. Under the circ.u.mstances she must not consider Felipe's suggestion even for a moment.

Yet she had only to answer, "No," and things would be as before.

For Felipe himself was uncertain and frightened of what he was asking.

If he did not appreciate the full selfishness and wrong of it, nevertheless he did realize it in part. Gerry faced the alternative before replying. If she refused Felipe's offer, in a little while she must return to Chicago to take up her old existence in a common boarding house with nothing in her future except to learn to make her own living.

But these things were no longer so important, the one important fact was that she might be losing Felipe forever.

Gerry cherished few illusions. If Felipe were successful in escaping military service they could not meet again until the war was over and in that time many changes would have occurred. Would Felipe remember her, or would he be less lonely in his self-imposed exile if she were to spend it with him? Whatever trouble she and Felipe might have to face, would she not prefer to face it with him rather than have him leave her alone?