Kent Knowles: Quahaug

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

To begin with, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I had bungled the affair dreadfully. This was not the time for explanations; I should not have attempted them. It would have been better, much better, to have accepted the inevitable as gracefully as I could, paid the bills, and then, after we reached home, have made the situation plain and “have put my foot down” once and for all. But I had not done that. I had lost my temper and acted like an eighteen-year-old boy instead of a middle-aged man.

She did not understand, of course. In her eyes I must have appeared stingy and mean and—and goodness knows what. The money I had refused to pay she did consider hers, of course. It was not hers, and some day she would know that it was not, but the town square at Wrayton was not the place in which to impart knowledge of that kind.

She was so young, too, and so charming—that is, she could be when she chose. And she had chosen to be so during our drive together. And I had enjoyed that drive; I had enjoyed nothing as thoroughly since our arrival in England. She had enjoyed it, too; she had said so.

Well, there would be no more enjoyment of that kind. This was the end, of course. And all because I had refused to pay for a tennis racket and a few other things. They were things she wanted—yes, needed, if she were to remain at the rectory. And, expecting to remain as she did, it was but natural that she should wish to play tennis and dress as did other young players of her sex. Her life had not been a pleasant one; after all, a little happiness added, even though it did cost me some money, was not much. And it must end soon. It seemed a pity to end it in order to save two pounds eight and threepence.

There is no use cataloguing all my thoughts. Some I have catalogued and the others were similar. The memory of her face and of the choke in her voice as she said she had been almost happy haunted me. My reason told me that, so far as principle and precedent went, I had acted rightly; but my conscience, which was quite unreasonable, told me I had acted like a boor. I stood it as long as I could, then I shouted at “Pet,” who was jogging on, apparently half asleep.

“Whoa!” I shouted.

“Pet” stopped short in the middle of the road. I hesitated. The principle of the thing—

“Hang the principle!” said I, aloud. Then I turned the trap around and drove back to Wrayton. The blond young man in the sporting-goods store was evidently glad to see me. He must have seen me drive away and have judged that his sale was canceled. His judgment had been very near to right, but now I proved it wrong.

I paid for the racket and the press and the shoes and the rest. They were wrapped and ready.

“Thank you, sir,” said the clerk. “I trust everything will be quite satisfactory. I'm sorry the young lady did not take the Slazenger, but the one she chose is not at all bad.”