CHAPTER XXV
A NEW ATTITUDE
There are a number of things that an attorney and counselor at law is likely to do when distracted. Morris Leighton was convinced that the universe in general was out of joint and he did not care who suffered. He rebuked the stenographer sharply about an error that crept into a demurrer he had dictated, which was not her fault at all, but Leighton’s; and the discovery that he had, with his own hand, addressed an important letter to Portland, Maine, that should have gone to Portland, Oregon, did not tend to ease his spirit; nor did he lift the burden that lay upon his soul by scolding the office boy for complicity in the loss of the letter, when the boy was neither physically nor morally responsible.
He was quite confident that he should never see Zelda Dameron any more. He knew she would not care, and he tried to assure himself that it made no difference to him, but without any great degree of success. He was lonely, for Rodney Merriam had accompanied Mrs. Forrest to Saratoga, a place which the Merriams had visited in days gone by, and which Mrs. Forrest wished to see again—she so expressed herself—before she died. Rodney Merriam had departed in a low state of mind, for he declared to Morris in confidence that if there was any choice between the place of eternal punishment and Saratoga it was not in favor of Saratoga.
So Zelda had gone out of Morris’s life and Rodney Merriam, his best friend, had left town, and he abused the fates that had ordained his own presence in Mariona when it had suddenly become a hateful spot to him; or, in the way of young men who find the path of love difficult, he thought it had.
While in this frame of mind he walked down Jefferson Street one July morning on his way to the office of the clerk of the Supreme Court. He was sure that he did not think of Zelda Dameron any more and he was congratulating himself on the ease with which he had forgotten her, when he saw, hitched at the curb just ahead of him, Zan, with the runabout. There was a book-shop near at hand,—a real book-shop, with a big fireplace and many pleasant corners. Morris being, as has been said, bound for the State House, remembered suddenly that he was particularly anxious to see the midsummer number of a certain magazine. The doors of the book-shop stood wide open; Zan was hitched outside; the moment seemed opportune for a study of the periodical counter, so Morris entered.
Very likely if Zelda should prove to be there, she would not speak to him; she had certainly used him ill; she had always dealt harshly with him; and the remembrance of her treatment of him at their last interview rankled. But he walked down the long aisle of the shop, under the pleasant delusion that he was looking for a magazine, whereas he was looking for the owner of Zan. At the periodical counter a clerk told him the old story, that they were just out of the magazine he sought, and he answered that they need not trouble to get it. As a matter of fact he always read it at the Tippecanoe Club and had not the slightest wish to buy it. Zelda was clearly not there and he started out, abusing the shop for never having anything he wanted,—or, at least, he thought it was the shop that aroused his indignation, whereas his spirit was in rebellion against himself.
Near the door there was a long bench where you might take down a book and read, if you liked; and sitting in a corner, and looking very cool and collected sat Olive Merriam, a book in her hand and a smile of interest on her face. The interest was wholly centered in the book, for it was Olive’s way to make the most of the passing moment; and she was as completely lost in the volume she held in her hand as though she were in her own room at home. She made a pretty picture in the corner—an altogether charming picture—the slight, fair-haired girl against the dark wood and black leather of the bench. If he couldn’t see Zelda the sight of Olive was the next best thing. They had undoubtedly driven into town together; Zelda was probably not far away. Morris would not, of course, have spoken to Zelda had she been there instead of Olive; but Olive was always approachable and amiable. Yet he felt a trifle conscious as he stopped and bade Zelda Dameron’s cousin good morning.
“It’s too bad to disturb you; you have an appearance of comfort that rests the soul.”
“Generously spoken! I’m waiting; and while I wait I may as well be cool.”
“Oh, you’re waiting,” said Morris, irrelevantly.