The Land of Joy

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“Haven’t seen you for a good while, Phil,” he said.

“No; I—I’ve been rather busy since I got back,” Phillip answered confusedly.

“Have you, boy? Look here, Phil, it’s none of my business—in a way—but I want to tell you that you’re making a big mistake. John has told me, you know. Now, whatever it is you’ve got against him, I’ll bet you dollars to pants buttons there’s nothing in it. He swears he doesn’t know what it is, and John doesn’t lie, Phil. He doesn’t know I’m saying this; he’d try to break my neck if he found it out. But you’ve hurt him quite a bit. If you’re in the right of it—why, there’s nothing more to be said. But if you’re making a mistake I think you’d better own up.”

“I don’t think there’s any mistake,” Phillip answered gravely.

“Think be damned! You’ve got to know, Phil! If you’re in the wrong it’s your duty, my boy, to say so, and if he’s in the wrong it’s equally your duty to tell him where. Now you think it over, will you? And, look here, Phil, supposing you come around some Sunday night—to-morrow, for instance—just to see me? You’ve got nothing against me, have you? Well, you come and call on me, then; it’s none of John’s business if you do, you know. Anyhow, think it over well, will you?”

Phillip could do no less than promise.

But what David had said impressed him. He had hitherto believed himself altogether in the right. Now he began to wonder whether, after all, he did not owe it to John to explain what he was charged with. Not that there could be any mistake. He had spoken with Guy Bassett and Bassett had readily acknowledged that John had seen him and asked him to refrain from playing poker with Phillip. But, declared Bassett, it had ended there; he had not mentioned the matter to any one else. Phillip was glad of that, but it did not, he told himself, mitigate John’s offense. John had treated him like an irresponsible child—had deceived him, had made him an object of amusement, perhaps ridicule, to Bassett at least; probably to David as well. Phillip could not forgive him that.

It was quite conceivable that John did not guess what he held against him; he probably did not for a moment suspect that Phillip had found him out. And so perhaps David was right and it was Phillip’s duty to acquaint John with the cause of the estrangement. But he would not call on David. He would write John a note. Yet, when it came down to doing so, when the paper was before him and the pen in his hand, the task proved too difficult; he was not a ready writer, and after several attempts he put it off. The result was that the note was never written.

On Thursday Phillip went to Everett’s room in Beck with his heart thumping madly under his new Ascot tie. The thought of meeting Betty again was as delicious as it was disquieting. How could he explain his apparent indifference to her existence during the past six weeks? Would she forgive him? He was forced to acknowledge that he had given her excellent reasons for not doing so.

When he reached Everett’s door sounds from within told him that the visitors had already arrived. When he entered he found them roaming about the study, examining the pictures, reading the shingles, peeping curiously among the litter on the mantel, and all the while deftly preening themselves, smoothing their dresses, touching their hair with little surreptitious glances into mirrors, and asking many questions and paying little heed to answers. It is scarcely fair, perhaps, to associate Mrs. Kingsford with the mild hurly-burly. She did her sightseeing very quietly. Phillip shook hands with her first and made his apologies for declining her invitation to dinner. He found her very gracious and forgiving.