CHAPTER XVI
Opportunity has been depicted as a sturdy youth, girded for swift flight, tapping lightly at one's door at uncertain intervals; then, when one opens as quickly as may be, more often than not showing but a pair of mischievous heels retreating into the mists of yesterdays—"Gone," we are told solemnly, "never to return!" A truer philosophy recognizes opportunity as the child of desire, and wholly dependent for continued existence upon its parent. So when opportunity comes a-knocking (as happens every day and wellnigh every hour of the day) let desire make haste to run and open to its child, knowing well that opportunity is but a weakling, and must be sheltered and nourished lest it perish with cold and hunger on the very threshold that gave it birth.
A lover, whether or no he be an acknowledged lover in his own eyes and in the eyes of his world, needs no teaching as to the relationship his eager desires bear to his fleeting opportunities. In his case, at least, opportunity obeys desire, as a child should ever obey its parent; and this, if the mad world would only pause to examine, is the chief reason why lovers are of all men happy.
All of which is submitted as a simple preamble to a simpler statement; videlicet: because John Everett wished to see and converse with the unconfessed object of his affections, he found ample opportunity to do so, and this despite the fact that Jane Blythe herself did not wish it. And here it should be observed that there is a wide disparity in the quality and character of desire. John Everett's desire to know Jane was natural, strong, vigorous, true. Jane's desire to keep the young man at a distance was—to put it in the form of a vulgar colloquialism—something of a fake. Therefore being a mere creature of straw it stood no sort of a chance against the bold, aggressive, opportunity-seeking wishes of John—as, indeed, it did not deserve. Fraud, even though it be a nice, modest, girlish, innocent little fraud like the one Jane was cherishing in her heart of hearts, should never be tolerated.
And so, although Jane frowned upon John on every suitable occasion, John the more determinedly smiled upon Jane, and she, being young and lovely and, after all, a mere woman, grew (quite stealthily) prettier and sweeter and more worthy to be smiled upon with every passing hour. And this despite the vinegar and gall which she was forced to mingle with her daily food partaken of in the Belknap kitchen under the glowering eyes of Mary MacGrotty.
But opportunity when worthily fathered and properly nourished, as has been noted, frequently grows into surprising stature and, moreover, develops aspects which astonish even its fondest well-wisher. It is at this point that Providence, luck, fate—what you will—is apt to take a hand, and then—things happen.
The thirtieth day of May dawned clear and beautiful after a week of rain and cloudy weather, and Mrs. Belknap looking anxiously from her window in the early morning gave a girlish shout of joy. "What a glorious day for our ride with the Sloans in their new motor car!" she cried. "You haven't seen it, Jimmy; but it is the darlingest thing, all shiny and cushiony, with big lunch baskets on the side and a lovely, deep, horn arrangement that trails out behind on the breeze like an organ chord."
"The lunch baskets appeal to my most esthetic sensibilities," observed Jimmy blandly. "I suppose the organ chord arrangement is designed to distract the mind of the stationary public from the beastly smell of the thing. Did you say the kid was asked too?"