the portygee-第70节

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still　keep　thinkin'　he's　an　angel。　　That's　true；　too；　Al。　　Not；〃
with　the　return　of　the　slight　smile；　〃that　Rachel　ever　went　so　far
as　to　call　me　an　angel。　　No；　no。　　There's　limits　where　you　can't
stretch　her　common…sense　any　farther。　　Callin'　me　an　angel　would　be
just　past　the　limit。　　Yes；　yes；　yes。　　I　guess　SO。〃

They　spoke　of　Captain　Zelotes　and　Olive　and　of　their　grief　and
discouragement　when　the　news　of　Albert's　supposed　death　reached
them。

〃Do　you　know；〃　said　Labe；　〃I　believe　Helen　Kendall's　comin'　there
for　a　week　did　'em　more　good　than　anything　else。　　She　got　away　from
her　soldier　nursin'　somehowmust　have　been　able　to　pull　the
strings　consider'ble　harder'n　the　average　to　do　itand　just　came
down　to　the　Snow　place　and　sort　of　took　charge　along　with　Rachel。
Course　she　didn't　live　there；　her　father　thought　she　was　visitin'
him；　I　guess　likely；　but　she　was　with　Cap'n　Lote　and　Olive　most　of
the　time。　　Rachel　says　she　never　made　a　fuss；　you　understand；　just
was　there　and　helped　and　was　quiet　and　soft…spoken　and　capable　and
and　comfortin'；　that's　about　the　word；　I　guess。　　Rachel　always
thought　a　sight　of　Helen　afore　that；　but　since　then　she　swears　by
her。〃

That　eveningor；　rather；　that　night；　for　they　did　not　leave　the
sitting　room　until　after　twelveMrs。　Snow　heard　her　grandson
walking　the　floor　of　his　room；　and　called　to　ask　if　he　was　sick。

〃I'm　all　right；　Grandmother；〃　he　called　in　reply。　　〃Just　taking　a
little　exercise　before　turning　in；　that's　all。　　Sorry　if　I
disturbed　you。〃

The　exercise　was；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　almost　entirely　mental；　the
pacing　up　and　down　merely　an　unconscious　physical　accompaniment。
Albert　Speranza　was　indulging　in　introspection。　　He　was　reviewing
and　assorting　his　thoughts　and　his　impulses　and　trying　to　determine
just　what　they　were　and　why　they　were　and　whither　they　were
tending。　　It　was　a　mental　and　spiritual　picking　to　pieces　and　the
result　was　humiliating　and　in　its　turn　resulted　in　a　brand…new
determination。

Ever　since　his　meeting　with　Helen；　a　meeting　which　had　been　quite
unpremeditated；　he　had　thought　of　but　little　except　her。　　During
his　talk　with　her　in　the　parsonage　sitting　room　he　had　beenthere
was　no　use　pretending　to　himself　that　it　was　otherwisemore
contented　with　the　world；　more　optimistic；　happier；　than　he　had
been　for　months；　it　seemed　to　him　for　years。　　Even　while　he　was
speaking　to　her　of　his　uneasiness　and　dissatisfaction　he　was　dimly
conscious　that　at　that　moment　he　was　less　uneasy　and　less
dissatisfied；　conscious　that　the　solid　ground　was　beneath　his　feet
at　last；　that　here　was　the　haven　after　the　storm；　here　was

He　pulled　up　sharply。　　This　line　of　thought　was　silly；　dangerous；
wicked。　　What　did　it　mean？　　Three　days　before；　only　three　days；　he
had　left　Madeline　Fosdick；　the　girl　whom　he　had　worshiped；　adored；
and　who　had　loved　him。　　Yes；　there　was　no　use　pretending　there；
either；　he　and　Madeline　HAD　loved　each　other。　　Of　course　he
realized　now　that　their　love　had　nothing　permanently　substantial
about　it。　　It　was　the　romance　of　youth；　a　dream　which　they　had
shared　together　and　from　which；　fortunately　for　both；　they　had
awakened　in　time。　　And　of　course　he　realized；　too；　that　the
awakening　had　begun　long；　long　before　the　actual　parting　took
place。　　But　nevertheless　only　three　days　had　elapsed　since　that
parting；　and　now　　What　sort　of　a　man　was　he？

Was　he　like　his　father？　　Was　it　what　Captain　Zelotes　used　to　call
the　〃Portygee　streak〃　which　was　now　cropping　out？　　The　opera　singer
had　been　of　the　butterfly　typein　his　later　years　a　middle…aged
butterfly　whose　wings　creaked　somewhatbut　decidedly　a　flitter
from　flower　to　flower。　　As　a　boy；　Albert　had　been　aware；　in　an
uncertain　fashion；　of　his　father's　fondness　for　the　sex。　　Now；
older；　his　judgment　of　his　parent　was　not　as　lenient；　was　clearer；
more　discerning。　　He　understood　now。　　Was　his　own　〃Portygee
streak；〃　his　inherited　temperament；　responsible　for　his　leaving　one
girl　on　a　Tuesday　and　on　Friday　finding　his　thoughts　concerned　so
deeply　with　another？

Well；　no　matter；　no　matter。　　One　thing　was　certainHelen　should
never　know　of　that　feeling。　　He　would　crush　it　down；　he　would　use
his　common…sense。　　He　would　be　a　decent　man　and　not　a　blackguard。
For　he　had　had　his　chance　and　had　tossed　it　away。　　What　would　she
think　of　him　now　if　he　came　to　her　after　Madeline　had　thrown　him
overthat　is　what　Mrs。　Fosdick　would　say；　would　take　pains　that
every　one　else　should　say；　that　Madeline　had　thrown　him　overwhat
would　Helen　think　of　him　if　he　came　to　her　with　a　second…hand　love
like　that？

And　of　course　she　would　not　think　of　him　as　a　lover　at　all。　　Why
should　she？　　In　the　boy　and　girl　days　she　had　refused　to　let　him
speak　of　such　a　thing。　　She　was　his　friend；　a　glorious；　a　wonderful
friend；　but　that　was　all；　all　she　ever　dreamed　of　being。

Well；　that　was　right；　that　was　as　it　should　be。　　He　should　be
thankful　for　such　a　friend。　　He　was；　of　course。　　And　he　would
concentrate　all　his　energies　upon　his　work；　upon　his　writing。
That　was　it；　that　was　it。　　Good；　it　was　settled！

So　he　went　to　bed　and；　eventually；　to　sleep。



CHAPTER　XIX


While　dressing　in　the　cold　light　of　dawn　his　perturbations　of　the
previous　night　appeared　in　retrospect　as　rather　boyish　and
unnecessary。　　His　sudden　and　unexpected　meeting　with　Helen　and
their　talk　together　had　tended　to　make　him　over…sentimental；　that
was　all。　　He　and　she　were　to　be　friends；　of　course；　but　there　was
no　real　danger　of　his　allowing　himself　to　think　of　her　except　as　a
friend。　　No；　indeed。　　He　opened　the　bureau　drawer　in　search　of　a
tie；　and　there　was　the　package　of　〃snapshots〃　just　where　he　had
tossed　them　that　night　when　he　first　returned　home　after　muster…
out。　　Helen's　photograph　was　the　uppermost。　　He　looked　at　it
looked　at　it　for　several　minutes。　　Then　he　closed　the　drawer　again
and　hurriedly　finished　his　dressing。　　A　part；　at　least；　of　his
resolve　of　the　night　before　had　been　sound　common…sense。　　His　brain
was　suffering　from　lack　of　exercise。　　Work　was　what　he　needed；　hard
work。

So　to　work　he　went　without　delay。　　A　place　to　work　in　was　the　first
consideration。　　He　suggested　the　garret；　but　his　grandmother　and
Rachel　held　up　their　hands　and　lifted　their　voices　in　protest。

〃No；　INDEED；〃　declared　Olive。　　〃Zelotes　has　always　talked　about
writin'　folks　and　poets　starvin'　in　garrets。　　If　you　went　up　attic
to　work　he'd　be　teasin'　me　from　mornin'　to　night。　　Besides；　you'd
freeze　up　there；　if　the　smell　of　moth…balls　didn't　choke　you　first。
No；　you　wait；　I've　got　a　notion。　　There's　that　old　table　desk　of
Zelotes'　in　the　settin'　room。　　He　don't　hardly　ever　use　it
nowadays。　　You　take　it　upstairs　to　your　own　room　and　work　in　there。
You　can　have　the　oil…heater　to　keep　you　warm。〃

So　that　was　the　arrangement　made；　and　in　his　own　room　Albert　sat
down　at　the　battered　old　desk；　which　had　been　not　only　his
grandfather's　but　his　great…grandfather's　property；　to　concentrate
upon　the　first　of　the　series　of　stories　ordered　by　the　New　York
magazine。　　He　had　already　decided　upon　the　general　scheme　for　the
series。　　A　boy；　ragamuffin　son　of　immigrant　parents；　rising；　after
a　wrong　start；　by　sheer　grit　and　natural　shrewdness　and　ability；
step　by　step　to　competence　and　success；　winning　a　place　in　and　the
respect　of　a　community。　　There　was　nothing　new　in　the　idea　itself。
Some　things　his　soldier　chum　Mike　Kelley　had　told　him　concerning　an
uncle　of　hisMike'ssuggested　it。　　The　novelty　he　hoped　might
come　from　the　incidents；　the　various　problems　faced　by　his　hero；
the　solution　of　each　being　a　step　upward　in　the　latter's　career　and
in　the　formation　of　his　character。　　He　wanted　to　write；　if　he
could；　the　story　of　the　building　of　one　more　worth…while　American；
for　Albert　Speranza；　like　so　many　others　set　to　thinking　by　the　war
and　the　war　experiences；　was　realizing　strongly　that　the　gabbling
of　a　formula　and　the　swearing　of　an　oath　of　naturalization　did　not
necessarily　make　an　American。　　There　were　too　many　eager　to　take
that　oath　with　tongue　in　cheek　and　knife　in　sleeve。　　Too　many；　for
the　first　time　in　their　lives　breathing　and　speaking　as　free　men；
thanks　to　the　protection　of　Columbia's　arm；　yet　planning　to　stab
their　protectress　in　the　back。

So　Albert's　hero　was　to　be　an　American；　an　American　to　whom　the
term　meant　the　highest　and　the　best。　　If　he　had　hunted　a　lifetime
for　something　to　please　and　interest　his　grandfather　he　could　not
have　hit　the　mark　nearer　the　center。　　Cap'n　Lote；　of　course；
pretended　a　certain　measure　of　indifference；　but　that　was　for　Olive
and　Rachel's　benefit。　　It　would　never　do　for　the　scoffer　to　become
a　convert　openly　and　at　once。　　The　feminine　members　of　the　household
clamored　each　evening　to　have　the　author　read　aloud　his　day's
installment。　　The　captain　sniffed。

〃Oh；　dear；　dear；〃　with　a　groan；　〃now　I've　got　to　hear　all　that
made…up　stuff　that　happened　to　a　parcel　of　made…up　folks　that　never
lived　and　never　will。　　Waste　of　time；　waste　of　time。　　Where's　my
Transcript？〃

But　it　was　noticedand　commented　upon；　you　may　be　sureby　his
wife　and　housekeeper　that　the　Transcript　was　likely　to　be；　before
the　reading　had　progressed　far；　either　in