The Streets of Ascalon Part 56

"Why, that I've gone into a better business and I'm too busy to be useful and amusing any longer."

Ledwith's dead eyes stared:

"I heard you had dropped out--were never seen about. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Found the game too rotten?"

"Oh, no. It's no different from any other game--a mixture of the same old good and bad, with good predominating. But there's more to be had out of life in other games."

"Yours is slipping phony pictures to the public, with Dankmere working as side partner, isn't it?"

Quarren said pleasantly: "If you're serious, Ledwith, you're a liar."

After a silence Ledwith said: "Do you think there's enough left of me to care what anybody calls me?"

Quarren turned: "I beg your pardon, Ledwith; I had no business to make you such an answer."

"Never mind.... In that last year--when I still knew people--and when they still knew me--you were very kind to me, Quarren."

"Why not? You were always decent to me."

Ledwith was now picking at his fingers, and Quarren saw that they were dreadfully scarred and maltreated.

"You've always been kind to me," repeated Ledwith, his extinct eyes fixed on s.p.a.ce. "Other people would have halted at sight of me and gone the other way--or pa.s.sed by cutting me dead.... _You_ sat down beside me."

"Am I anybody to refuse?"

But Ledwith only blinked nervously down at his book, presently fell to twitching the uncut pages again.

"Poems," he said--"scarcely what you'd think I'd wish to read, Quarren--poems of youth and love----"

"You're young, Ledwith--if you cared to help yourself----"

"Yes, if I cared--if I cared. In this book they all seem to care; youth and happiness care; sorrow and years still care. Listen to this:

"'You who look forward through the shining tears Of April's showers Into the sunrise of the coming years Golden with unborn flowers-- I who look backward where the sunset lowers Counting November's hours!'

"But--I _don't_ care. I care no longer, Quarren."

"_That's_ losing your grip."

He raised his ashy visage: "I'm _trying_ to let go.... But it's slow--very slow--with a little pleasure--h.e.l.l's own pleasure--" He turned his shoulder, fished something out of his pocket, and pulling back his cuff, bent over. After a few moments he turned around, calmly:

"You've seen that on the stage I fancy."

"Otherwise, also."

"Quite likely. I've known a pretty woman--" He ended with a weary gesture and dropped his head between his hands.

"Quarren," he said, "there's only one hurt left in it all. I have two little children."

Quarren was silent.

"I suppose--it won't last--that hurt. They're with my mother. It was agreed that they should remain with her.... But it's the only hurt I feel at all now--except--rarely--when those d.a.m.ned June roses are in bloom.... She wore them a good deal.... Quarren, I'm glad it came early to me if it had to come.... Like yellow dogs unsuccessful men are the fastest breeders. The man in permanent hard luck is always the most prolific.... I'm glad there are no more children."

His sunken eyes fell to the book, and, thinking of his wife, he read what was not written there--

"Her loveliness with shame and with surprise Froze my swift speech; she turning on my face The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, Spoke slowly.

"'I had great beauty; ask thou not my name; No one can be more wise than destiny.

Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came I brought calamity.'"

Quarren bit his lip and looked down at the sunlit brook dancing by under the bridge in amber beauty.

Ledwith said musingly: "I don't know who it might have been if it had not been Sprowl. It would have been _somebody_!... The decree has been made absolute."

Quarren looked up.

"She's coming back here soon, now. I've had the place put in shape for her."

After a silence Quarren rose and offered his hand.

Ledwith took it: "I suppose I shall not see you again?"

"I'm going to town this afternoon. Good-bye."

Looking back at the turn of the path he saw Ledwith, bent nearly double, terribly intent on his half-bared arm.

Returning in time for luncheon he encountered Sir Charles fresh from the river, and Chrysos prettily sun-burned, just entering the house.

"We broke down," said the girl; "I thought we'd never get back, but Sir Charles is quite wonderful and he mended that very horrid machinery with the point of a file. Think of it, Ricky!--the point of a file!"

Sir Charles laughed and explained the simplicity of the repairs; and Chrysos, not a whit less impressed, stared at him out of her pretty golden eyes with a gaze perilously resembling adoration.

Afterward, by the bay-window upstairs, Quarren said lightly to Molly:

"How about the little Lacy girl and the Baronet?"

"She's an idiot," said Molly, shortly.

"I'm afraid she is."

"Of course she is. I wish I hadn't asked her. Why, she goes about like a creature in a trance when Sir Charles is away.... I don't know whether to say anything to her or whether to write to her mother. She's slated for Roger O'Hara."

"I don't suppose her parents would object to Sir Charles," said Quarren, smiling.