Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

“Yes; but please don’t press me for further particulars. When I find her I will tell you. I hope with all my heart she will have me. I know you will love her. All I ask of you, dear mother, is to give me time.”

The good lady was greatly moved by this display of her son’s feelings. It was evident that this love which possessed him was a very serious one. John saw her anxiety and putting his arms round her shoulders, he said:

“Mother, dear, you will love her, too, I know. She is just about Ruth’s age and the loveliest girl God ever created. Won’t you, please, have faith in me? You will not be disappointed. If I can wait, surely, you can. Now, dear, just dry your eyes and believe that I know what is best for my happiness.”

She had to let the matter rest there. She told Ruth it was useless for them to go on with their plans, because John had plans of his own. An unfortunate remark to make to Ruth since it acted like a match to the dry tinder of her curiosity. Who was she? What was she? Where was she? Where had he met her? Where was she now? Would she meet her?

To all these questions Mrs. Morton could, of course, give no answer. John had not told her. They must wait his time. He did not himself know where she was. He was hoping to find her.

Ah, then it was a real romance! How fascinatingly interesting! And Ruth, afraid to question her brother herself, gave free rein to her imagination. Nothing but a princess would satisfy her ideas of what her brother deserved. She must be the daughter of one of the Balkan kings, and the lady had to wait until she was called to the throne. She hoped, however, John wouldn’t get mixed up in those wars there. Still, John would know how to handle matters when once they were put up to him. She didn’t mind what happened so long as he would be happy. And, after all, it was fine to have a brother who didn’t run after girls and who gave his sister good times. Thus did Ruth reconcile herself to the inevitable, like the practical philosopher she was.

The summer found the Mortons at Newport. John would come up for week-ends from the city and suffer the boredom of the clubs. The men he met appealed to him not at all; and a man can be no more alone than when with his fellow-men if he declines to live their lives. If, occasionally, he drifted with the rest, he did not drift far. His good sense, his self-esteem and inborn dignity of character prevented him from losing himself in vulgar pleasures or in seeking a cheap notoriety.

The understanding he arrived at with his mother had this one good effect—it recalled him to his better self. He gave up his horses and avoided the “set” he had come to know during his temporary lapse. He went back to his business doubly determined to give it his earnest thought and energies, and the dollars kept rolling in. He became a recognized power in the world of finance and people began to say of him that “he beats the old man.”

But in the quiet of his own room, he would sit of an evening alone engaged in what he smilingly said to himself were “Hellenic studies.” Helène’s photograph—the same he had received from Count Rondell’s hand on that memorable interview on the steamer—was never moved from his study table. The sweet face looked out at him with all the power of its insistent beauty. Why had he not carried her off at Vienna and married her there and then? What a fool he had been!

Now, all he could do was to wait. She had said in her letter that she would write him again a year hence. He read the letter again. No; it said, “when autumn comes.” Ah, well—autumn was not so far off. But oh, if he could but see her for just one minute! He wondered if there was any truth in his friend, Professor Guermot’s theory about thought transference. If only he could send her a telepathic message to say to her: “Helène, Helène, I love you. I am waiting for you, dearest, with my heart in my hand. Time is flying, and I want you—I want you.” Surely, she was somewhere in this wide world where his impassioned thoughts might reach her! Was she happy? Was she well? Perhaps she was in distress and in need! Damn money! Damn fame! If it hadn’t been for that disgusting newspaper everything would have been so different. Fate must have loaded the dice against him, as though she had said to him: “Heads I win, tails you lose.”