Stephen Crane - Ultimate Collection: 200+ Novels, Short Stories & Poems. Stephen Crane

these beautiful red and green designs that surround the common tomato can?"

      "Yes."

      "Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upon tomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in my design. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobody wanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus——"

      "Truly?"

      "Yes, indeed. It is true."

      "But still, the life of the studios——"

      "There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd could have money at one time. The other five lived off him and despised themselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we had admiration."

      "And was this just because you had no money?"

      "It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker.

      "Well, after a while something happened——"

      "Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened."

      "In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. The sympathy——"

      "One's own people!" said Hawker.

      "Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. The appreciation——"

      "'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!"

      He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floated through the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like a blue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and waded in the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawker stood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds. The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds.

      The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours."

      "What?"

      "At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows—and things—in the snow—and—and a haystack."

      "Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it about my best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhaps recalled it to you."

      "Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course."

      "Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to be indignant.

      "Why—I just remembered it because—I liked it, and because—well, the people with me said—said it was about the best thing in the exhibit, and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Hollie had spoken of you, and then I—I——"

      "Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picture was no good, anyhow!"

      The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Of course, I don't know—I can't talk about pictures, but," she said in distress, "everybody said it was fine."

      "It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head.

      From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oars splashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcester girls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation.

      "Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!"

      "Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?"

      "Yes." She gazed off at the water.

      "He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and little Helen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and they were quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings me violets. But I know you will like him."

      "I shall expect to," said Hawker.

      "I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?"

      "About eleven," said Hawker.

      "He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us."

      "Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker.

      The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood in the moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from the lakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing rays from the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and he rowed very slowly.

      The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. She leaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddled subconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant.

      At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was not going to disappoint us."

      Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not."

      "Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children—and all of us—shall be anxious. I know you will like him."

      CHAPTER IX.

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      "Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why, he's that friend of the Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! What about him?"

      "Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow," answered Hawker. "What kind of a fellow did you say he was?"

      "Deuced good fellow! What are you so—— Say, by the nine mad blacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but I must be thick-headed to-night!"

      Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?"

      "Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?"

      "Yes. How do you know he's my rival?"

      "Know it? Why, hasn't he been—— Say, this is getting thrilling!" Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into the chair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds of smoke.

      Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deep weariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in."

      "Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stare at the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when—— Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you! Just at this time, too!"

      "Oh," cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of an accursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, instead of sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?"

      "By the piper——"

      "Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want to hear about him. Quit all that other business!"

      "Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he—why, say, he's one of the best fellows going. If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easy in your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't a man that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting the chumps!"

      The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pines could be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chair close and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of the inn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!"

      Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?"

      "You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is a situation!"

      A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressing case. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bug and like to see me wriggle. But——"

      "Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Under the circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like a wounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that! Especially when I'm—when I'm doing all I can for you."

      "Doing