ENTRY NO. XXII
I AM UTTERLY MISERABLE
On Board "Oceanic," East-bound.
I may as well finish the sentence which ends brokenly in the preceding entry. "I am an ass."
Three weeks have passed since I finished that entry with the most appropriate words, "I am." They fittingly express the consummate egoism with which I was then afflicted. I have recovered—partially, at least.
I am—there goes that "I am" again—I am on the "Oceanic" pointed for London. Unless we sink—and I care little whether we do or not—I should be in that city inside of forty-eight hours.
In looking over my luggage I found this diary. I gave it to my room steward and told him to throw it overboard. Then it occurred to me that it would be my luck that it would be picked up and published as the mental meanderings of an idiot, so I called him back and took it away from him.
This steward of mine discovered my mental unbalance the first day out, but considers me harmless and treats me accordingly.
I have decided to bring this diary up to date, retain possession of it pending certain developments, and then incinerate it with appropriate ceremonies. So I will begin at the beginning, which is the ending of the last entry with its immortal declaration, "I am."
I have forgotten what I intended to write when I started that sentence, and what it was cuts no figure. I only know that just at that instant Chilvers, Marshall, and Carter appeared, dragged me from my chair and insisted that I join them in a foursome. There was no escape, so I got ready and in a few minutes was with them at the first tee.
On my way there I met Miss Harding, Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield. I chatted with them for a moment and went on. I remember—oh, do I not remember!—that I called Miss Harding aside and reminded her that we were to take a moonlight spin in my new automobile. She smilingly replied that she had not forgotten it, and with a look into each other's eyes which thrilled my very being I turned to join those golfers.
How can I write this? It is like pouring a burning acid into a wound!
I have forgotten who won the game. I know I played vilely for I was not thinking of golf. I was counting the minutes which must elapse before I could be by her side and tell her that I loved her.
I was rehearsing the words I should whisper to her as we paused on the smooth crest of "Old Baldy." I was picturing the fairy landscape shimmering in the moonlight, its rays falling on her fair face as I took her hand in mine. I saw it all as plain as I see this page in front of me. I felt it vividly as I feel the heaving of this great ship and the vibrations of its engines.
How could I play a decent game of golf under such circumstances?
On returning to the club house one of the attendants handed me a telegram which had just been received. I opened it carelessly and read:
Albuquerque, New Mexico.
To JOHN HENRY SMITH, Woodvale:
If you wish to see your Uncle Henry alive come at once.
DR. L.L. CLARK.
I had an hour in which to get ready to catch the last train to the city and make the proper connections. I called my man and gave him the necessary instructions.
Then I began a search for Miss Harding. I suddenly resolved to declare my love that day if the opportunity presented. I was delighted when I found her alone in the library.
She did not hear me as I softly entered the room. She was seated near a window, an opened book in her lap but her gaze was not on its print and it was evident her thoughts were far away.
I gently touched her shoulder, thinking to surprise her. I shall never forget the changing expressions in her eyes as they met mine.
"I beg pardon, Miss Harding," I began. "I am—"
She rose to her feet, the book falling to the floor. Her pretty head was erect, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing and her face deadly pale.
"Do not address me, sir!" she exclaimed, drawing away from me as if I were some repulsive animal.
I stood transfixed! I knew she was not dissembling. I could not think; I could not speak! The floor seemed flying beneath my feet, and I must have reeled.
"Leave me, sir! Leave me, sir, and never speak to me again!"
My voice came back to me.
"But, Miss Harding, there must be some mistake!" I stammered. "I beg of you—"
"There is no mistake!" she cried with intense bitterness, pushing past me. "If you were a gentleman you would grant the last request I shall ever ask of you!"
I stood as in a trance and watched her sweep proudly from out the room. I fell back into the chair she had vacated. I do not know how long I remained there or what tumultuous thoughts crashed against me like breakers storm-lashed on a rock-girt shore; I only know that my man found me there and told me that my train was due in fifteen minutes.
I went to my room and changed my golf for a travelling suit. The next I remember is that I was on the train rushing toward the city.
[Illustration: "She rose to her feet">[
No sleep came to my eyes that long and awful night as the miles spun out which separated me from the one I loved so madly. Yes, I loved her then, and I love her now!
Like a caged and wounded animal I paced the narrow confines of my stateroom. Ten thousand times I asked for the disclosing of this pitiful mystery, and ten thousand times a mocking laugh came back in the roar and shriekings of the train. The car wheels chuckled in rhythm, the airbrakes hissed in derision and the engine whistle hooted in scorn.
It was daybreak when I threw myself on the couch and closed my eyes. I think I slept for an hour or so. To my surprise and disgust I found when I awoke that I was hungry. I had thought I should never care to eat again.
It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of my journey had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her. It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it. I told her I loved her, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word or deed.
I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense, and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it by mentioning and apologising for it.
I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder—the left shoulder. It was an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had pondered the matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise to exhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorish indiscretion. It was the only straw on which I could float an apology for a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case by mentioning it.
Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and assuring her of my undying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted the persuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.
I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer to it.
Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival. Before he passed away he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern town where he was born. He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golf links, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir. Thus by the death of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocks and other property for which I have no use.
Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire. I would rather—oh, what's the use of writing that?
As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.
I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house,
and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!
Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?
Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.
As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to Oak Cliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first had called me "Jacques Henri." How happy I was that day! I thought of the terrors of the tornado and would have given all that I possessed to live through it again with her.
Handing my bags to the porter I hastened toward the club house. I was hurrying across the edge of the eighteenth green when someone shouted to me.
"Hello, Smith!"
I turned and saw Marshall and Chilvers. Marshall pitched his ball to the green with more than his usual deliberation, and then they came toward me and I advanced to meet them.
"Where in thunder have you been?" asked Chilvers, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had told no one of my mission, neither had I left my address. The next instant I realised that Miss Harding had not told of the receipt of my letter. This might mean much or little.
"My Uncle Henry died out in New Mexico," I said.
"Too bad," said the sympathetic Chilvers. "Unless one of my uncles dies pretty soon I'll have to go to work. But why didn't you let us know where you were."
"I had just time to catch a train," I said. "What's the news?"
"News? Let's see?" reflected Chilvers. "Grandma Marshall, here, won the July cup, and our team won the match with South Meadows by a score of twenty-three to five. Say, we didn't do a thing to those boys. Moon has bought two new clubs, Boyd made the sixth hole in two, Duff won four dozen balls from Monahan, Lawson has a new stance which he claims will lengthen out his drive twenty yards—and speaking about Lawson, he discovers something every week which lengthens his drive at least twenty yards. I've figured out that he should be driving at least five hundred yards from improvements alone. That's all the news I can think of; do you know any, Marshall?"
"They have moved the tee back on the seventh hole," volunteered
Marshall, "and—oh, yes; Wallace has gone."
"Where's he gone?" I asked, exasperated at the character of their information.
"Someone died over in Scotland and left him money," said Chilvers. "Just as soon as we get a good professional, his rich relatives pass away and we lose him."
"How is Mr. Harding?" I asked.
I saw Chilvers wink at Marshall.
"Did you say Mr. Harding or Miss Harding?" asked Chilvers.
"I said Mr. Harding. What's the matter; are you deaf?"
"I'm a little hard of hearing at times," he grinned. "Let's see; when did Mr. Harding leave here, Marshall?"
"It was the day that you and I beat Boyd and Lawson," said Marshall, after a long pause. "That was a week ago."
"I presume he's in the city," I carelessly remarked.
"I presume he is not," laughed Chilvers. "He's probably rolling around in the English Channel right this minute."
"Gone abroad?"
"That's what."
"And Mrs. Harding?" I inquired.
"Gone with him, of course. Also Miss Harding."
"And Carter," added Marshall. "They all went on the same boat."
"At the same time," laughed Chilvers. "You see that lots of things have happened since you went away. What are you looking so white and glum about, Smith? Brace up, man; it may not be true. Come up to the club house. We've got a new brand of Scotch, and it's great."
I don't know whether my laugh sounded natural or not, but I cheerfully could have murdered both of them.
In those brief minutes I learned practically all I now know concerning the departure and the whereabouts of the Hardings and Carter. There was a lot of mail awaiting me, and I opened letter after letter hoping against hope that there might be one from Miss Harding. There was none.
I discreetly questioned Miss Ross, Miss Dangerfield and others whom I met, and all that I learned was this: A few days after my departure the Hardings suddenly decided to go to England, or France or Germany or somewhere. Carter was with them much of the time, but none of them talked of their plans, and all the hints dropped to me by the married and unmarried ladies of Woodvale were unproductive of information. They had been here; they were abroad—and that was all there was to it.
It was yet early in the day and I took the first train for the city and went straight to Mr. Harding's office. I am known to his representatives there. They told me that all they knew was that Mr. Harding had gone abroad to remain for a time.
"I assure you, Mr. Smith," said his private secretary, "that I do not know where he is. He said that his family was going with him, and that nothing possibly could happen here which would warrant bothering him. I am sure he would be glad to see you, and I can only advise you to call on his London bankers, who may have his address."
"Do you think the family are in England?" I asked, willing to accept the faintest clue.
"I have no more idea than have you," he replied and I am convinced he was telling the truth.
The "Oceanic" was the first boat to sail, and here I am. I doubt if a sane man ever went on so absurd and hopeless a quest. I have had nothing to do for several days but think over this situation, and the mystery of the sudden departure resolves itself into these two possibilities; first, that they have gone abroad to keep away from me; and, second, that they have gone to England for the purpose of celebrating the marriage of Carter and Miss Harding.
I do not see how I shall be of much use in either event. But this good ship is cleaving the water toward England at the rate of twenty-five knots an hour and I cannot turn back if I would.
I do not see how I am to stop the wedding. I remember that Carter once told me that if he ever married it would be in London. I suppose they are married before this time. Perhaps they will assume that I came across on purpose to congratulate them.
I cannot understand why Mr. Harding did not leave some word for me.
Surely I have not offended him?
[Illustration: "I cannot turn back if I would">[
I met and chatted with him a few minutes before Miss Harding said the words which have made me the most miserable of human beings.
This thing is past my solving. I only know that whatever she has done or whatever she may do I love her and ever shall love her.