6
THE STUDENTS JOURNAL.
pocket. He re-read the polite declination by a prominent eastern house of his last sonnet, "Her Soft Blue Eyes." He replaced the torn and well-worn envelope in his letter case. "What fools these publishers be!" he murmured.
It was later than usual when he said good night, and darker too—pitch dark. The door closed with a rub, the latch-key clicked as it turned in the lock and all was still. He reached for his cigar case at the gate and struck a match. He knew she heard it and imagined she was peeing at him through the window.
The case was empty. There was only one thing to do. He closed the lighted match in his hands before his face; it flamed between his fingers and his features shone for an instant. It was all a bluff, but then—his pride had been saved.
He was seated at the table in the dining hall. The droning of a solitary fly about the darkened room; the tinkling of the ice within his glass, so silvery clear, aroused him from a reverie to the consciousness that he was left alone. One by one the guests had passed out, inch by inch the narrow beam of light had crept along to where it soon must fade then he would go. He chose to linger here; the place was cool and only a monotone of voices, broken now and then by children's laughter, came drifting in. The waiter too had gone, as usual, after leaving another glass of tea. A sheet of letter paper lay before him, although it was too dark to read.
The momentary sense of solitude scarcely checked his train of meditations. He remembered with a smile how many times last winter at school he had been compelled to abandon exaggeration for imagination in keeping up with Tom's tales of adventure, and how enthusiastically they had planned their summer vacations. He was now supposed to be in a popular northern resort instead of being secluded in this unpretentious village a few miles from the university, where only impecunious visitors came to catch a breath of life among its quiet roads and shaded streams.
"I wonder if he'll catch on" said he, with a half audible laugh, "I mailed it at the station, dated it from Glenwood Springs said I would be gone among the lakes a fortnight or so," and he added, as he slipped the
letter into the envelope, "So Tom is in the mountains. He must be having a time; Tom always does."
The light upon the floor had vanished. He started up, but stopped as a tinkling echo of iced beverage came from the other end. Who could it be, some one had been observing him? A form advanced from the shadow.
"I got tired of keeping out of sight; had an idea you were onto me all the time Loan me a dime, we'll take a drink." It was Tom.
They both had been playing the same game.
Her many and varied domestic accomplishments brought her no assuring sense of comfort on this bright June morning. It might as well be confessed her countenance betrayed a spirit somewhat perturbed. It was the day before the close of school; a friend was to make his farewell, all-day visit; and she was to prepare the dinner which would move him to momentous things. Her new gown was finished, but the inevitable hooks and eyes were lacking. An hour before dinner, she had thought, would give ample time to attach these essentials, but a search high and low revealed none in the house, although she distinctly remembered having placed a box containing a complete set on a shelf in the kitchen.
The time slipped on in worry and despair until the fragrant smell of burning hash reminded her of an approaching dinner hour. Even this feature of the day she feared would not be a success. All thought of a new gown was banished and she bestirred herself about the noon meal, selecting all the delicacies from three cook books, and Marian Harland herself could not have bettered the array of good things she spread upon the table. At last she was satisfied. The rich repast would gratify the most epicurean taste, and she would reign sweetly elegant in one of her old frocks. Her lover's heart would be smitten with delicious condiments; and she, a happy bride, would go with him to Washington where fame in affairs of state would crown his youthful ambitions.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dinner is finished; the nervous strain is over; her dream of bliss is vanished. She will not take an eastern trip but will summer in town as usual. The hash too is gone, but there are little heaps of hooks and eyes at each plate to tell the tale of what might have been.