Plain Mary Smith: A Romance of Red Saunders Read online

  VI

  "I'M MARY SMITH"

  Plunk, plunk, plunketty-plunk, down the pike, me and Eli, and Dandy Jim,Eli's black horse.

  I'll never tell you how I felt. It was the first I'd ever been away fromhome. All the regrets I had was eased by knowing it wouldn't be morethan six months before I'd come back with a gunny-sack full ofhundred-dollar bills, buy Mr. Jasper's place with the pillars in front,and a railroad, and pervade things in general with a tone of pink andbirds singing.

  One thing about being a boy is that you're sure of to-morrow, anyhow.

  Well, we slid along behind a free-gaited horse, in an easy wagon, overgood roads, in early New England summer, when every breath of air had apretty story to tell. If it hadn't been for the tight vest I had on, Ireckon my heart would have bust my ribs for joyfulness.

  Boston scart the life out of me. I had no notion there was that manyfolks and horses and buildings in the world. We pulled for the schoonerright away, but none too quick for me. I never liked a crowd. A manunderstands he don't amount to much, yet don't like to have the factrubbed in.

  Cap'n Jesse Conklin owned the boat. He had a mild blue eye, a splendidline of cuss words, a body as big as mine, and a pair of legs that justsaved him from running aground. When I first saw him I thought he wasstanding in a hole. Howsomever, he got around mighty lively on hislittle stumps, and he could light his pipe when the _Matilda_, ofBoston, was throwing handsprings. He always opened his eyes wide andsaid, "Ha!" like he was perfectly astonished when you spoke to him.Then, to square things, you was really perfectly astonished when hespoke to you.

  Eli introduced me. "Ha!" says the captain. "So this is one of themripperty-splintered and bejiggered young thingermergummeries that runsaway from hum, heh?" I don't wish to be understood as giving thecaptain's exact words, although I ain't one of your durn prudes,neither.

  Eli explained.

  "Ha!" says the captain. "Is that so? Howjer come by them legs, youngfeller? You'll be riggin' a set of stays fur them when we hit thestream. I've seen shorter and thicker things than them growin' ontrellises."

  "Never you mind about his legs, you old bladder-head," says Eli,cousinly. "You're to take the boy as passenger."

  "_I_ am!" says Captain Jesse, jumping back, mad as a bumblebee. "_I_ am;that's _me_! I don't own this boat nor nothin'! I've got to be told whatI'm to do, I have!"

  "Sure!" says Eli, undisturbed.

  "Well, all right," says the captain, calm as anything. "What makes youso hasty, Eli? Does he pay his passage, or work it?"

  "He gives you five dollars in hand, and works the rest of it," says Eli.

  The cap'n gave a horrible grin, showing a set of teeth like a smallhorse.

  "And won't he work it!" says he, rubbing his hands together. "Dryland'll do for him, two weeks out."

  "Yaaas," says Eli. "You're a turble person, you are--you'd ought to beena pirate, Jess."

  Cap'n Jesse got mad again--he was more like a little boy than anybody ofhis weight I ever see. He come up to Eli and shook his finger under thathawk-bill of a nose.

  "I don't want none of your slack, Eli!" he says. "You've tried meoften"--here he got impressive, talking very slow--"don't you try meonce too much!"

  Eli grabbed the hand, stuck the finger in his mouth, and bit it.

  "Aaoow!" yells the captain, grabbing his finger. "You quit yourfoolin'!"

  By this time I was lost entirely. What to make of the proceedings wasbeyond guessing. Boylike, I thought men always acted with some big ideain view, but the next minute Eli and Cap'n Jesse had grabbed holt of oneanother and was scuffling and giggling around the deck like a pair ofkids. Captain Jess was stout about the shoulders; he had Eli waving inthe breeze once, but at last Eli gave him a back trip and down theycome. Then up they got; each cut off a hunk of chewing and began to talkas if they'd acted perfectly reasonable. Seems that's the way theyalways come together.

  The three of us took a look about the boat. She was an able, finethree-master, the pride of Jesse's soul; 'most as big as a ship.

  Them were the days when most folk built deep and narrer, but Jesse hadideas of his own when he laid down the lines of the _Matilda_, ofBoston. She looked bluff and heavy in the bows and her bilges turnedhard, but she walked over the water, and don't you forget it. Moreover,she was the kindest boat in a seaway I ever boarded. Old _Matilda_ girlwould heel just so far; after that the worst draft that ever whistledwouldn't put her under an inch; she'd part with her sticks first. Handyboat, a schooner, too; sensible and Yankeefied. Lord! what aclaw-and-messing on board a square-rigger, compared to it! And takingtwo men to the schooner's one at that.

  The _Matilda_ was fitted for passengers. She had eight nice cleancabins, and fine quarters for the crew. In most such boats you can'tmore 'n stand up, if you stretch between hair and shoe-leather the way Ido, but here there was head-room a-plenty. And Uncle Jesse ate the boyswell, too. Good old craft and good old boy running her. Soon's yourealized that all his spitting and swearing and roaring didn't amount tono more than a hearty sneeze, you got along with Jesse great, if you wasfit to get along with anybody.

  We took aboard four passengers that night, one of 'em being a lady. Thenext morning at four we pulled out with the ebb-tide.

  Before we got into the open water, I felt such a joy boiling inside me Ihad to sing, no matter what the feelings of the rest were. Oh! Oh! Theblue, bright sky; and the blue, crinkly, good-smelling water; thequantities of fresh air around, and _Matilda_ picking up her whiteskirts and skipping for Panama! Neither man nor money will ever give mea feeling like that again. But then,--ah, then! And there's 'most alwaysa then,--when the _Matilda_ tried to spear a gull with her bowsprit,and, shamefaced at the failure above, tried to harpoon some little fishywith the same weapon,--why, I hope I'll never have a feeling like thatagain, neither.

  I hung over a bunk like a snarl of rope. Jesse come down and grinned atme. I couldn't even get mad. "Tell mother I died thinking of her," wasall I could say.

  Now that was noble of me. Many a man has cashed his checks not feelinghalf so bad; but if any poor soul ever regretted a good deed, I did thatone. That last message to my mother seemed to remain in the memory ofour ship's company, long after I was willing to forget it.

  For two solid days I didn't live inside of myself,--mind floated aroundin space. After that, I got up, ready for anything in the line of eatingthey had on board. Jesse brought me a smoked herring and a cup ofcoffee,--the first coffee I ever tasted, mother thinking it wasn't goodfor boys. Within ten minutes after my meal, William De La Tour Saundersbelonged to himself once more. Never had a squirm of seasickness since.For the first week I wasn't quite up to the mark, but Jesse told me totake a cup of sea-water every morning before breakfast, which tuned meup in jig-time.

  I saw our lady passenger when she come up for air. A girl of abouttwenty, supple and balanced as a tight-rope walker; you thought she wasslim when you first looked at her, yet when you looked the second timeyou couldn't prove it. What a beautiful thing is a set of muscles thatknow their business! Muscles that meet every roll of a boat, or whateverit is they should meet, without haste and without loss of time,--justthere, when they should be there! Why, to see that girl walk twenty feeton the schooner's deck was a picture to remember for the rest of yourdays. Kid that I was, I noticed there wasn't a line in her makeup thatsaid, "Look at me." Afterward I learned to shake my head at gracefulladies, but I feel kindly toward them still, out of memory of that firstgirl. My mother moved beautifully, likewise Mattie. They were quiet,though; restful women; this one was all spring and ginger,--for Heaven'ssake, don't think I mean prancy! Nor that I haven't met a prancy girl ortwo who was all right, when I say that,--fat and jolly, yellow-hairedgirls, to go with good meals and a romp,--but this My Lady was made ofthe stuff Uncle Shakspere wrote. She was clean and sweet as pine-woodsafter rain, but full of fire, sense, and foolishness.

  I remember thinking, "When this girl turns round she ain't going to behandsome in the face. Wi
th that head of hair, that back, and that walk,Providence will feel square on the deal." And when she did turn round Isimply spread my hands, mouth, and eyes, and looked at her. I forgotbeing aboard ship, I forgot where I was going and why, I forgot who Iwas and everything else; all I knew was that a kind of human I neverbelieved lived was walking toward me.

  I caught one glance of her eyes; outside their beauty was fun, kindness,and a desire to be friends; from that minute one red-headed puppy-dogfound something to live for.

  My devotion had nothing to do with the ordinary love-affair. As formarrying her, no such idea entered my loft. I had no jealousies. All Iwanted was for her to be near me, to be a friend of mine, and that shemight be on hand to approve if I did something surprising. I wanted theprivilege of her hearing me talk about myself; and, for the rest of it,I could sit and look at her beauty, the same as you or me could sit andlisten to the greatest music. It meant more than just good looks; Iwouldn't go too far if I said it was a kind of religion. And the deviltake my soul if I forget the horse-sense and kindness that girl used inteaching a foot-loose boy what a different place this world is, fromwhat he'd been like to think it, without her. A young feller's firstoutpourings toward a woman has more effect on him than even his mother'syears of care. He kind of takes mother for granted. The other womanrepresents his own endeavors. I played in luck.

  We were introduced, bang! When about ten feet away from me she took herhand from the rail to gather in one end of a shawl. At that minute the_Matilda_ saw a whale, or something, and shied. We struck the mainmasttogether, me trying to hold her up. She said, "Why, how do you do?" Isaid I did very well, and was she hurt? She said, not in the least,thank you, except in her feelings, at being so clumsy. I said, if _she_was clumsy, why, then, why, then--Now I was a little bashful. Nobodycould be a clodhopper who lived with my mother, and ordinarily I actedquite like a man when necessary, but this was a little sudden. Icouldn't reach the word I looked for. With one hand braced against themainmast, her hair standing in a black cloud about her head, the colorwhipped to her cheeks, she gave me a flash from the corner of her eye:"I'm afraid I lose my compliment," said she.

  "The _Matilda_ saw a whale, or something and shied"]

  Afterward I learned she had liked me from the first, too, and was afraidI mightn't turn out well. Lucky for me I didn't try to show off!

  "I wouldn't think it a compliment to compare you to anything on earth!"says I, meaning every word of it.

  She laughed out, hearty as a boy. "Royal!" she said, and held out herhand.

  "And the hand is the hand of--?" she asked.

  "Bill Saunders," said I, thinking to take off my hat.

  "I sound almost as honest as you," said she. "I'm Mary Smith."

  It was almost a shock to think she was Mary Smith. Since then it wouldbe a shock to think of her as Eulalie Rosalinde De Montmorency. Shedidn't need it. Plain Mary Smith told of what was beneath herloveliness,--and, I'm forced to admit, her side-stepping andbuck-jumping, once in a while. Oh, she could cut loose for fair, ifstirred, but you could always remember with perfect faith Mary Smith.

  It wasn't five minutes after we started talking that Arthur Saxton camealong. The girl knew him, and said good morning in that civil, hold-offfashion a good woman uses to a man she thinks may come to liking her toowell, or that she may come to like too well, when the facts are againstany happy result. So there was three of us, that took our little shareof what followed, gathered together early in the game.

  I liked Saxton from the jump. He had more faults than any other man Iever seen. He was the queerest, contrariest cuss, and yet such agentleman; he had such a way, and such talents, that when you were madenough to kill him, you couldn't help but feel glad you knew him to getmad at. Somehow, he steered clear of meanness. There was a sort ofnobility in his capers, even when his best friends would have to admitthey didn't seem to be of a size for a full-grown man. I don't know howto express myself. He often played a poor part; but darned if he didn'tcarry it off well, because it was him; I think that's the nearest I cancome to it; good or bad, large or small, he was always Saxton, neverattempting to put on anything different. And vain! Well, Heaven preserveus! And, on the other hand, not vain, neither. 'Twas like this. Amongthe things he did well enough to be high-class was playing the violin.He had a style and a go in it all his own, but he hadn't spent the timeto learn some of the stunts that go with the trade. All the same, hisnatural gifts got him a job to play in concerts. The boss of the affairwas a German, the kind of a man who had a soul to realize that Saxtonmade music, but had a head to go crazy over his slam-dashery. Now,Saxton grew excited whilst playing, and cut loose on his own hook,letting the poor perspiring Dutchman and the rest of the orchestra keepup to his trail the best they could. At these opportunities the Dutchmanwent home in a cab, frothing at the mouth. You see, he understood it wasgreat stuff, as far as Saxton was concerned, so he cussed the cab-driverand the cab-horse, and the people on the street, being an honest sort ofDutchman, if limited; but, also, he had a pride in his gang, and he feltentitled to a show, here and there.

  At last there come a big occasion. Saxton was half sick and loaded up onchampagne and coffee to pull through the evening. I have his own wordfor it, the mixture done wonders. Right in the middle of a piece by agentleman whose name I don't recall, as it's spelt with all the tail-endof the alphabet, and sounds like rip-sawing a board, Saxton throws dullcare away and wanders into regions of beautiful sounds hithertounexplored. Now and then the tall and melancholy gent with thebull-fiddle would scratch out a note or two, and the drummer got in alick here and there, while the flute man toodle-oodled around to headoff Saxy; but, on the whole, that orchestra was worse lost than so manyWest Pointers trying to catch an Apache who ain't longing for home. Theysat and let old Saxton ramp by himself, laying low to hit her up strongon the last note. And they did,--but they misguessed the note. Saxtonground his teeth yet, recalling the finish. "It was my best," said he."I was inspired that night,--and then, for that assortment of garlic andsausage to smash me!"

  Well, he heaved his fiddle at the poor leader, and called him a barrelof sauerkraut afloat on a sea of beer, right before the whole audience.It is perhaps unnecessary to state that he and the orchestra partedcompany. Now he was off for Panama,--quit fiddling forever. Done withit. Going to take up a _man's_ work, he said. He didn't mention thevariety, but rolled out the statement as if it was a joy. In themeantime, he was painting pictures and writing a novel. The picturesnever got finished, and the novel hasn't come out, but those thingsdidn't make him any less entertaining; and, as usual, what did get doneof them was almighty well done, and done in a way only Arthur Saxtoncould do. I never see such a man to stamp himself on anything he put hishand to. And when he was working, if you said the least thing againstthe job, he wanted trouble with you; but the next day he'd smoke hispipe and tear it apart worse than you possibly could. That was Saxy:first crack, spoiled kid; second thought, clear-headed man.

  The three of us, Mary and him and me, walked the deck day after day,talking of everything, from what fine weather it was to religion. OnceSaxton called our attention to the wind in the rigging. Afterward I knewit sounded like Injun chants and coyotes howling, but Saxton asked if wedidn't notice how much it was like the songs the children sing in play.He said those songs must have been handed down from far-off days--whenwe whites were savages, hopping around hollering hye-ee yah, hye-ee yah,and calling on the ladies, dressed in a streak of red paint. I don'tknow about that, though. No child in this world can be as mournfulenjoying himself as a cow-puncher with all night before him and sevenhundred verses to get through; there's puncher songs would make a strongman curl up and die.

  Now, says Saxton, what makes children and savages, who have a clearfield to amuse themselves as they see fit, pick, with deliberate choice,such melancholy tunes? And he said it was because nature always hit onthat; wind in rigging, wind in trees, waterfalls, the far-off hum of thecity, all sad, sad.

  I asked h
im, if it was natural, where did we get the idea it was sad? Itstruck me that if a thing was natural, it was natural, not sad, nornothin' else.

  He said, because nature was sad. Mary said, no such a thing; naturewasn't sad--there were the flowers and green fields, also natural, andpleasant and cheerful to the eye; there was more blue sky than gray, andas for the savage being sad, why, that might be, but it wasn't sad tothink that men were working out of savagery into civilization.

  So then Saxton gave civilization one for its Ma, and talk brisked up.Civilization stood for Dutchmen that ran orchestras to Saxton, and hedidn't spare her feelings none. I was glad Civvy, old girl, was nofriend of mine. According to him, of all the mistakes so foolish that tothink of bettering it was like building a hole with no rim around it,civilization stood first and foremost.

  Mary got red in the face and her eyes shone. They had it up one side anddown the other, forgetting me entirely. Finally Saxton told her shewasn't talking honestly, that she hated civilization worse than he did,and it was plumb hypocrisy for her to set up in its defense; whereuponshe replied that _she_ hadn't wasted her time and talents, anyhow; thatshe wasn't throwing things up the first little obstacle that came in theway. Which didn't seem to be just the answer one might expect to thecharge, but finished Saxton plenty.

  He drew himself up proud. "If every topic had to turn topersonalities--" said he.

  "I didn't begin the personalities," said Mary. "You called me a fraud."

  "I never did!" cries Saxton. "I said you were defending a cause youdidn't believe in!"

  "And that isn't a fraud? I admire your distinctions."

  Saxton chewed his mustache and swallowed. He made her a low bow andsaid, in a tone of voice to flatten her out: "I am glad Miss Smith findssomething admirable in me!"

  Mary's lip curled hard and contemptuous. It _was_ kiddish.

  "There'd be plenty in you to admire if you let it have liberty," shesaid. "The trouble is that your follies seem worth it, to you."

  "Follies! You let me off lightly. Why not absurdities, idiocies?"

  "Pick your name," she said, throwing away her interest with a sweep ofher hand.

  "There is one folly you give me great cause to regret," he answered her,his manhood coming back to him, "but yet I never do."

  "Oh!" she jeered at him. "You should renounce them all. If I understandyour meaning, that is the least excusable--you have some reason for theothers."

  Later I understood the cruelty of that speech. It was cruel to be kind,but it was mighty cruel and a doubtful kindness. It woke old Saxton up.He took a breath and shook. He put a hand on her shoulder, standingstraight and tall--a handsome, slim critter, if ever there lived one.

  "Listen!" he said, quiet, but all of him in it. "You shall care for me,just as I am--you understand? A fool, and a this, and a that--but youshall care."

  A look in her eyes--the kind of defy that grows of being scart--showedhis talk wasn't all air.

  But it went in a second, and she whirled on him. "Why don't youadvertise your intentions?" she demanded. "If I had an idea I should beso persecuted--"

  "Don't say persecuted, little girl," he answered her softly. "Let's befriends the rest of the trip. I'll trouble you no more,--by sea," hefinished, smiling.

  She gripped the rail and looked out over the waters. Again her eyesturned to him for a second. He was worth it. That dark, long face ofhis, set off with his red neckerchief, made something for any woman tolook at. And we're not always so darned fond of reasonable people as wemake out.

  "If only--" she began, then bit back whatever it was. "Well, as yousay," she wound up, "let us be friends. Isn't it foolish for us toquarrel so, Will?" she asked, turning to me. "I think you must feelwe're both ridiculous."

  "I don't care whether you are or not," I said. "I like you both."

  Saxton looked pleased 'way back in his dark eyes. "That's the boy for mymoney!" he said. And then we three began to laugh.

  "It's all too beautiful to quarrel in," he said, waving an arm around."To feel sorrowful on such a day, savage or civilized, really isridiculous."

  She couldn't help giving him one last jab,--I make a guess he turnedhappy too soon to please her. If she didn't like him, she liked somebodywho so much resembled him that she wanted to have him around to remindher.

  "Mr. Saxton's sorrows are soon healed," she said. "That's a valuabledisposition."

  "I take _that_ as friendly, because I must," said he, smiling in a way,as with the other things he did, that was beautiful in a fashion of itsown. She tried to buck against it, to keep sneering; but something soyoung and joyful was in his face, she couldn't help smiling back at him.So we walked the deck and talked about everything in the best of humors.