The Whirligig of Time Part 38

"Righto," answered Harry, and laughed to think how well he said it.

That was the beginning of a long month of gaiety for Harry, a month of theaters and operas, of morning rides in the Row, of endless chains of introductions, of showering invitations, of b.a.l.l.s, dinners, parties of all kinds, of lazy week-ends in the Surrey hills or beside the Thames, of sitting, on one occasion at least, enthroned at Aunt Miriam's right hand and gazing down a long table of people who were not only all asked there to meet him but had actually jumped at the invitation; of tasting, in short, the first fruits of success among the most congenial possible surroundings.

And as his relish outlasted the season he saw no reason for not accepting an invitation to a yachting party over Cowes week and another to one of Tommy's ancestral seats in Rosshire over the twelfth; the more so as Uncle Giles and Aunt Miriam decamped for Marienbad early in August. So he became in turn one of the white-flanneled army of pleasure-seekers of the south and one of the brown-tweeded cohorts of the north. His month in Tommydom ran into five, into six, into seven weeks almost before he knew it; it threatened shortly to become two months. And then, instantaneously, the revulsion seized him, even as it had seized him in June at Manresa.

It happened one morning when the whole party were in the b.u.t.ts. Harry was ordinarily a tolerable shot, but to-day he shot execrably. After he had missed every bird in the first drive he cursed softly and broke his shooting-stick; after he had missed every bird in the second he silently handed his gun to his loader and walked down to his host, who had the next b.u.t.t to his.

"Good-by, Tommy," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm going."

"Oh, don't do that," said Tommy. "Birds flying rotten high to-day."

"It's not that. I'm going home."

"Righto. See you at tea time, then."

"No, you won't see me again. I'm going to catch the three-eighteen for Glasgow, if I can make it. Sail from Liverpool Sat.u.r.day."

Tommy's face, like his mind, became a blank, but he lived up to the traditions of his race and cla.s.s. "Well, so long, old thing," he said, shaking Harry's hand. "Call on me if I can ever be any use. You'll find the motor down at the crossroads, and do look alive and get off before the next drive, there's a dear, or birds won't fly within a mile of the first b.u.t.t."

Harry reached Liverpool next day and succeeded in getting a berth on a steamer sailing the day after. He landed in New York late one afternoon and took a night train for Bar Harbor, arriving there next morning. He telegraphed ahead the hour of his arrival, and James and Beatrice met him at the dock. They both seemed glad to see him, and he supposed he was glad to see them, but he found it strangely difficult to carry on conversation with them as they all drove up to the house together.

Aunt Selina kissed Harry affectionately and wholly refrained, he could not help noticing, from anything like knowing smiles or sly little asides. Aunt Selina could always be depended on.

The Gilsons were New Haven people whom Harry had always known, though never very well. He rather liked Mrs. Gilson, who was a plump, chirpy, festive little person, but as he drove over the two miles that lay between her house and Aunt Selina's he prayed with all his might that both she and her husband might be from home that afternoon. Half his prayer was granted, but not the most important half. Mr. Gilson was away, but Mrs. Gilson, not content with being merely in, came bounding to the door to meet him and was whirling him down a broad green lawn to the tennis court before he knew which end he was standing on.

"I do so want you to meet my cousin Dorothy Fitzgerald," she said. "Such a sweet girl, and it's so hard to get hold of men in Bar Harbor--you've no idea! She plays such a good game of tennis. I'm so glad to see you've got tennis shoes on--we were just trying to get up a four when you came.

And how was your trip--do tell me all about it! Spain? Oh, I've always longed so to go to Spain! Young Mrs. Dimmock is here too--you know her?

And a Mr. McLean--I'll introduce you. Portugal, too? Oh, how delightful; I do so want to hear all about Portugal. We've just got a new tennis net--I do hope it will work properly...."

She buzzed pleasantly along by his side, neither asking nor requiring attention. Harry's glance wandered back to the house; he caught a glimpse of two little figures bent over a table on a verandah; Madge and that confounded child, of course.

"Where is your little girl?" he asked.

"Oh, Lily--she's having her French lesson, I suppose. We find it works better that way, to leave the morning free for golf and bathing and use this first stupid part of the afternoon for lessons. She's doing so well, too, with dear Madge Elliston...."

"I want to see Lily before I go," said Harry firmly; "I don't think I have ever made her acquaintance. Madge Elliston, too," he added, trying to make this seem like a polite afterthought.

"Oh, yes, indeed; I'll tell them both to come down to the court after the lesson," replied his hostess.

By this time they were at the tennis court and introductions flew fast.

Tennis ensued immediately and continued, quietly but absorbingly, through set after set till the afternoon was well-nigh gone. Presently they stopped playing and sat about sipping soft drinks, it seemed, for hours, and still Madge did not show up. At length he found himself being dragged into a single with Miss Fitzgerald. He played violently and n.o.bly for a time, but when at last Madge with her small charge joined the group at the side of the court it was more than flesh or blood could stand. He left Miss Fitzgerald to serve into the backstop and walked across the court to where Madge stood.

"How do you do?" he said, holding out his perspiring hand.

"How do you do?" she answered, politely shaking it. It was the flattest meeting imaginable; nothing could have been more unlike the vision he had formed of it.

Lily was introduced and he stood making commonplace remarks to both of them until he became aware that he had been rude to Miss Fitzgerald. He went off to make his apologies to her, and found her willing to receive them and also to discontinue their game. But if he hoped that general conversation would give him a chance for a private word with Madge he was bound to be disappointed. Mrs. Gilson had other plans.

"Oh, Mr. Wimbourne, we're all going off on a picnic and we do so want you to join us! You will, won't you? Mrs. Dimmock knows such a sweet place on the Somesville road, and we're going to start right away. I'm not at all sure there's enough to eat, but that doesn't matter on a picnic, does it? Especially an evening picnic, when no one can see just how little there is! I do think it's so nice to get up things just on the spur of the moment like this, don't you? So much nicer than planning it all out ahead and then having it rain. Let's see, two, four, six--we shall all be able to pile in somehow...."

"But I'm afraid I shall have to change," objected Harry. "I don't quite see how I can manage."

"We shall see the moon rise over McFarland," observed young Mrs. Dimmock in a rapt manner, as though that immediately solved the problem.

Harry was at first determined not to go on any account; then he gathered that Madge was to be included in the expedition, and straightway became amenable. A picnic, an evening picnic, would surely give him the best possible opportunity....

The plan as at last perfected was that Harry should be driven home where he would change and pick up James and Beatrice, if possible, and with them drive out in the Wimbournes' buckboard to the hallowed spot on the Somesville road in plenty of time to see the moon rise over McFarland.

This was substantially what occurred, except that Beatrice elected to remain at home with Aunt Selina. James and Harry took the buckboard and drove alone to the meeting place. They found the others already there and busy preparing supper. A fire crackled pleasantly; the smell of frying bacon was in the air. Harry, refreshed by a bath and the prospect of presently taking Madge off into some shadowy thicket, was in higher spirits than he had been all day. He bustled and chattered about with Mrs. Gilson and Mrs. Dimmock and joined heartily with them in lamenting that the clouds were going to cheat them of the much-advertised moonrise. He engaged in spirited toasting races with Miss Fitzgerald and sardine-opening contests with members of the strong-wristed s.e.x. He vied with Mrs. Gilson herself in imparting a festive air to the occasion.

Then suddenly he realized that Madge was not there. He had been vaguely aware of something lacking even before he overheard something about "headache" and "poor little Lily," from which it became clear to him that Madge's professional duties had again dealt him a felling blow. He made some excuse about gathering firewood and darted off in a bee-line to the place where the horses were tethered.

He caught sight of James on the way and dragged him out of the others'

hearing.

"James!" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "you'll have to get home as you can. I'm going to take the buckboard--now--right off! Something very pressing--tell you about it later. Say I've got a stomach ache or something."

He jumped into the buckboard and started off at a fast clip. The night air rushing by him fanned his fevered senses and before the village was reached he was calm and deliberate. He drove straight to the Gilsons'

house, tied his horse at the hitching-post, rang the front doorbell and asked for Miss Elliston.

He allowed her to come all the way down the stairs before he said anything. Half curious, half amused she watched him as he stood waiting for her.

"Nothing the matter with that kid?" he inquired at last.

She shook her head.

"Come with me then."

Without a word he turned and walked off through a French window which he held open for her. As she pa.s.sed him she glanced at his set face and gave a slight choking sound. He supposed he was rather amusing. No matter, though; let her laugh if she wanted. He led her across the lawn to the tennis court where they had met this afternoon and beyond it, until at last they reached a small boathouse with a dock beside it. To this was moored a canoe. He had seen that canoe this afternoon and it had recurred to him on his drive. He stooped and unfastened the painter and then held out his hand.

"Get in there," he commanded.

She hesitated. "It's not safe, really--"

"Get in," he repeated almost roughly.

She settled herself in the bow and he took his place at the other end.

With a few vigorous strokes of the paddle he sent the canoe skimming out over the dark, mysterious water. The night was close and heavy and gave the impression of being warm; it was in fact as warm as a Bar Harbor night at the end of August can respectably be. The sky was thickly overcast, but the moon which had so shamelessly failed to keep the evening's engagements shed a dim radiance through the clouds, as though generously lending them credit for having shut in a little daylight after the normal time for its departure. Not a breeze stirred; the surface of the water was still, though not with the gla.s.sy stillness of an inland lake. Low, oily swells moved shudderingly about; when they reached the sh.o.r.e they broke, not with the splashy cheerfulness of fair weather ripples, but gurgling and sighing among the rocks, obviously yearning for the days when they would have a chance to show what they really could do in the breaking business. The whole effect was at once infinitely calm and infinitely suggestive.

Neither of the occupants of the canoe spoke. Harry paddled firmly along and Madge watched him with a sort of fascination. At length her eyes became accustomed to the light and she was able to distinguish the grim, unchanging expression of his features and his eyes gazing neither at her nor away from her but simply through her. His face, together with the deathly calm of the night, worked a strange influence over her; it became more and more acute; she felt she must either scream or die of laughing....

"Well, Harry?"

"Well, Madge?"

His answer seemed less barren as she thought it over; there had been just enough emphasis on the last word to put the next step up to her.

The moment had come. She drew a deep breath.

"The answer," she said, "is in the affirmative."