Red and Black

by Grace S. Richmond

Two days later Robert Black, hurrying down the street, traveling bag in hand, passed the office of Redfield Pepper Burns just as the doctor’s car drew up at the curb. Black turned, halted, and came up to the car. Red was sitting still in it, waiting for him, the unstopped motor throbbing quietly. Black hadn’t seen him for several days, but the last he knew Red had been deep in his preparation for an early departure. It was on Black’s lips to say, “How’s everything coming on?”—knowing that no other subject had any interest for Red compared with that. But Red spoke first.

“You’ve got to know sooner or later,” he said, in his gruffest tone, “so you might as well know now. I’m not going over. That’s all. Can’t stop to talk about it.” And he set hand to gear-shift, and with a nod was off again, leaving Black standing looking after him, feeling as if something had hit him between the eyes.

As he walked on, after a moment, his mind was busy with the impressions it had received in that brief encounter. Red’s face had been set and stern; it was often that when he was worn with work over more than usually hard cases. His eyes had looked straight at Black with his customary unevasive gaze, but—there had been something strange in that look. He was unhappy—desperately unhappy, there could be no doubt about that. What could have happened so suddenly to put a spoke in the rapidly turning wheels of his plans? Black fell to puzzling over it, himself growing every moment more disturbed. He cared tremendously what happened to Red; he found himself caring more and more with each succeeding thought about it.

He was on his way to the station, to take a train for a distant city, where was to be held a reunion of his seminary class in the old halls of their training. He had been looking forward to it for weeks, in expectation of meeting certain classmates whom he had not seen for six years, and some of whom he might never meet again. He had been exchanging letter after letter with them about it, and anticipating the event with the ardour with which most men look forward to such reunions at that period in life. There was nothing to do but go, of course; though by now he was longing intensely to follow up Red, by some means, and find out what was the matter. He hadn’t liked the look in those hazel eyes, usually so full of spirit and purpose; the more he thought about it the surer he grew that Red was at some crisis in his life, and that he needed something he hadn’t got to help him face it. Of course he must be horribly disappointed not to be going across, oh, desperately disappointed! But there was more than that in the situation to make him look like that, Black was sure of it.

His feet continued to move toward the station, his eyes lifting to the clock upon its tower, which warned him that he must lose no time. He had his ticket and a sleeper reservation—it was fifteen hours’ journey back to the old ivy-covered halls which had grown dearer in his memory with each succeeding year of his absence. He was thinking that he couldn’t disappoint Evans, his best friend, or Desboro, his old college chum who was going to China on the next ship that sailed; such appointments were sacred—the men would never quite forgive him if he threw them over. But this he could do: he could go on for the dinner which was to take place the following evening, and then catch a late train back, cutting the rest of the program, and reaching home again after only forty-eight hours’ interval; he had expected to be absent at least five days. No, he couldn’t, either. Desboro was on for an address, that second evening, for which he had expressed particular hope that Black would remain. Desboro was a sensitive chap and he was going to China. Well—what——

His train had been called; those determined feet of his took him toward it, though his mind was now slowing them perceptibly. And then, suddenly, his will took charge of the matter—his will, and his love. He loved Red Pepper Burns—he knew it now, if he had not fully known it before; loved him even better than he did Desboro, or Evans, or any of the rest of them for whom he had cared so much in the old days. And Red was in trouble. Could he leave him to go on to hear Desboro’s speech, or wring Evans’ hand, or even to hear a certain one of his adored old professors say: “I’m especially glad to see you, Black—I want to hear all about you——” a probability he had been happily visualizing as worth the trip, though he should get nothing more out of it.

He turned about face with determination, his decision made. What was a class reunion, with all its pleasures—and its disappointments, too—compared with standing by a friend who needed him? The consciousness that Red was quite as likely to repel as to welcome him—more likely, at that—lent no hesitation to his steps. He went back to the ticket windows, succeeded in getting his money returned, and retraced his steps to the manse even more rapidly than he had come away from it. It was only as he let himself in at the door that he remembered that his little vacation was Mrs. Hodder’s as well, and that at his insistence she had left early that morning. He grinned rather ruefully at this thought; so it was to be burned toast and tinned beans again, instead of banquet food! Well, when a fellow was making sacrifices for a friend, let him make them and not permit the thought of a little lost food to make him hesitate. Banquets—and beans—interesting alliteration! And now—to find out about Red without loss of time.

Ten minutes later he was in Red’s home, standing, hat in hand, before Mrs. Burns, who had come to him without delay.

“I saw your husband just a minute this morning, and he told me it was all off with his going to France. That’s all he said—except that he had no time to talk about it. Of course I understood that he didn’t want me to talk about it. But something in his looks made me a little anxious. I thought you wouldn’t mind my coming to you. If you don’t want to tell me anything more, Mrs. Burns, that’s all right. But I wanted you to know that if anything has happened to make him—or you—unhappy, I care very much. And I wish I could help.”

Ellen Burns looked up into his face, and saw there all that one could wish to see in a friend’s face when one is in trouble. She answered as frankly as he had spoken, and he couldn’t help seeing that his coming was a relief to her.