So hand in hand, laughing softly together, they wandered away along the summer street.
There was just one incident that momentarily disturbed for Julie the sheer felicity of that evening. As they approached Broad Street they realized that the lifeless air, which was redolent of tobacco from the factories farther down-town, and permeated as well with the smell of the hot pavement, of fruit stands and grocery shops, or enlivened with occasional whiffs of perfumery from a passing woman, was being lifted and woven into rhythm by a band. At the sound children broke their play and began to run, and grown people also stepped off their porches and hastened toward the music. Julie and Tim ran with the rest of the crowd, reaching the corner just as a detachment of marching men swung by in rippling khaki lines. The crackle of clapping hands from the small crowd which had assembled followed the strains of the band and the stamp of the men’s feet, and, as the flag came swaying past, the people cheered and cheered. Tim did not applaud. He stood very drawn and still, his eyes fixed upon the marching men; and suddenly, as the cheers broke out for the flag, he gripped Julie’s hand so violently that a ring her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday cut sharply into her finger. She did not let herself wince, but she fixed her eyes upon his face. Once she twitched his hand, but he did not stir or turn from the soldiers. The detachment passed, the crowd began to disperse, and the band grew faint in the distance, but still he stood upon the curb, staring fixedly down the street. Julie gave his hand another little frightened pull, but he only tightened his grip so that the ring bit deeper into her flesh.
“Oh, Tim!” she gasped involuntarily at the pain. “Oh, honey!”
He started then and looked down at her as though coming back from far away. “My honey,” he muttered absently.
“Let’s go get our ice cream,” she pleaded.
“Ice cream?” He paused. “Why, yes—sure.”
He was awake now. The soldiers had disappeared down the street. His spirit was back once more with hers, and the terror that had swooped upon her lifted and blew away.
The rest of the evening was unalloyed happiness. His gayety overflowed almost boisterously. They had their ice cream, and then they went to a moving picture that made them laugh immoderately. After that, in sheer exuberance of life and joy they had more ice cream, and then at last, replete with happiness, they wandered home through the silent streets.
XVI
It was not, however, an easy matter to make friends with old Miss Fogg, as Julie discovered, in spite of her ardent longing to do so. The next morning, full of friendly desire, she went up the stairs to the bare third floor where the old woman had her room, and knocked upon her door. There was no answer. The empty hall was deserted and still save for the complaint of a few flies upon the dim unwashed window at one end, which gave what little light there was. Behind the closed door that faced her there was no sound. Julie waited there, the bearer of a cup of life that was brimful and eager to pour itself out in self-donation. A second time she knocked and waited, and finally a third time. Then at last she heard a noise within the room. The bed creaked, and footsteps came toward the door. The handle was turned and old Miss Fogg looked forth. In spite of herself Julie fell back a step or two. The old face staring out at her was so startling, so haggard, so defiant, and so horrible with despair, that she was speechless before it. For an instant the head was thrust out at her, its gray unbrushed hair, its withered neck set in torn nightgown-ruffles, looking like some grotesque despairing Jack-in-the-box. Then before Julie could muster a word, the face was withdrawn, the door banged shut, and the key twisted in the lock.