the poet was amusing himself the next afternoon with a book of scotch ballads when fulton found him, with his back against a big beech, apparently established for all time. the young man didn’t know that the poet was rather expecting him—not anxiously or nervously, in the way of people unconsoled by a sound philosophy; but the poet had nevertheless found in the ballads some hint that possibly frederick fulton would appear.
fulton carried a tennis racket and an old geography with the leaves torn out which served him as a portfolio. these encumbrances[155] seemed in nowise related to each other, a fact which called for a gibe.
“i telephoned down to the office last night and arranged to take my vacation now,” fulton explained. “in two weeks i can do some new poems to relieve the prose of my story and round it out. the lake’s my scene, you know; i planned it all last september—and a lot of things will occur to me here that i’d never get hold of in town.”
“there’s something in that,” the poet agreed; “and by putting aside the pen for the racket occasionally you can observe marian in her golden sandals at short range. and then,” he deliberated, “if she doesn’t prove to be quite up to the mark; if you find that she isn’t as enchanting as you imagined when you admired her at a distance, you can substitute another girl. there are always plenty of girls.”
fulton met the poet’s eyes squarely and grinned.
[156]“so far my only trouble is my own general incompetence. the scenery and the girl are all right. by the way, you got me into a nice box showing her my verses! i suffered, i can tell you, when i followed your advice and paddled up in my little canoe and found her with those things!”
the poet discounted his indignation heavily, as fulton clearly meant that he should.
“formal introductions bore me, and in your case i thought we’d do something a little different. from the fact that you’re going off now with your scribble-book and racket to find her i judge that my way of bringing you to each other’s attention has been highly successful. pray don’t let me detain you!” he ended with faint irony.
“i wanted to tell you,” said fulton, “that i’ve decided not to accept redfield’s offer; i’ve just written to him.”
the poet expressed no surprise. he merely[157] nodded and began searching for a knot in the cord attached to his eye-glasses.
“we can usually trust june with our confidences and rely on her judgments,” he remarked pensively. “january is first-rate, too; february and march are tricky and unreliable. april, on the other hand, is much safer than she gets credit for being. but it was lucky that we thought of june as an arbiter in your case. if we would all get out under a june sky like this with our troubles we’d be a good deal happier. it was a bad day for the human race when it moved indoors.”
the poet, absorbed in the passage of a launch across the lake, had not applauded fulton’s determination not to ally himself with redfield, as the young man had expected. fulton felt that the subject required something more.
“i mean to stick to the newspaper and use every minute i have outside for study and writing,” he persisted earnestly. “i’ve decided[158] to keep trying for five years, whether i ever make a killing or not.”
“that’s good,” said the poet heartily. “i’m glad you’ve concluded to do that. your determination carries you halfway to the goal; and i’m glad you see it that way. i didn’t want to influence you about redfield; but i wanted you to take time to think.”
“well, i’m sure i should always have regretted it, if i’d gone with him. and now that i’ve met mrs. redfield, i’m fully convinced that i’m making no mistake. it doesn’t seem possible—”
he checked himself, and waited for a sign from the poet before concluding. the poet drew out and replaced in the ballads the slim ivory paper-cutter he used as a bookmark.
“no, it doesn’t seem possible,” he replied quietly. “it was just as well for you to see her before making up your mind about going in with redfield.” (his own part in making it possible[159] for fulton to meet mrs. redfield at this juncture was not, he satisfied his conscience, a matter for confession!) “of course their affairs will straighten out—not because you or i may want them to, but because they really need each other; or if they don’t know it now they will. i’m inclined to think marian will help a little. even you and i may be inconspicuous figures in the drama—just walking on and off, saying a word here and there! none of us lives all to himself. all of us who write must keep that in mind;—our responsibility. when i was a schoolboy i found a misspelled word in a book i was reading and i kept misspelling that word for twenty years. we must be careful what we put into print; we never can tell who’s going to be influenced by what we write. don’t let anybody fool you into thinking that the virile book has to be a nasty one. there’s too much of that sort of thing. they talk about warning the innocent; but there’s not much[160] sense in handing a child the hot end of a poker just to make it dread the fire. there are writers who seem to find a great joy in making mankind out as bad as possible, and that doesn’t help particularly, does it? it doesn’t help you or me any to find that some man we have known and admired has landed with a bump at the bottom of the toboggan. but,” he ended, “when we hear the bump it’s our job to get the arnica bottle and see what we can do for him. by the way, i’m leaving this afternoon.”
“not going—not to-day!” cried fulton with unfeigned surprise and disappointment.
“as i never had the slightest intention of coming, it’s time i was moving along. and besides, i’ve accomplished all the objects of my visit. if i remained any longer i might make a muddle of them. i’m a believer in the inevitable hour and the inevitable word. ‘skip’ was the first word that popped into my[161] head when i woke up this morning. at first i thought providence was kindly indicating the passing of a prancing buccaneer who began pounding carpets under my window at 5 a.m.; but that was too good to be true. i decided that it was in the stars that i should be the skipper. unless the innkeeper is an exalted liar my train leaves at four, and i shall be occupied with balladry until the hour arrives. we must cultivate repose and guard against fretfulness. there’s no use in trying to hasten the inevitable hour by moving the dial closer to the sun. if you’re not too busy you might bring marjorie and marian over to see me off. it would be a pleasant attention; and besides, i should be much less likely to miss the train.”
