He twiddled his cap some more, and let it fall. Then he picked it up and dusted it off, vacantly. Then he clapped it on the back of his head—“devilish” (as the Arkansans say)—and walked out of the gate whistling with a fiercer but melancholy emphasis his favorite air of “I’m a Dutchman,” mounted his wheel and rode away pensively, but with a “devilish” jauntiness.
* * * * *
Two days later Mr. Dewness was found by several of the clubmen in one of the city parks about sunset, walking behind his empty tricycle and pushing it along the smooth paths. Occasionally he took a short run and sent it rolling a long way by a vigorous push. He had set up the screw of the steering head so that it would not turn easily, but would run straight. His actions were exactly as though there was some invisible person on the saddle whom he was pushing about out of pure kindness. The serious courtesy of his manner in this apparently ridiculous proceeding attracted attention, but nobody ventured to question him—a liberty his grave but somewhat menacing demeanor to those who approached distinctly repelled—until his club comrades appeared and fell to jeering him. To them he paid not the slightest attention for some minutes, but continued his strange occupation. But after a little, as if the imaginary occupant of the tricycle was gone, he stopped it, loosened the steering-head, mounted the saddle and rode about with the club as jolly as usual, but wholly impervious to their gibes and questioning.
The truth was, he was becoming well acquainted with the ghost that haunted his tricycle. He had seen her presence several times every day. His fixed and curious attention had noticed that she seemed anxious to make the wheel move. She seemed to push vainly upon the treadles.
David was probably not at all braver than anybody else in the presence of the supernatural. But to him this apparition was not—never had been—supernatural. He knew very well that it was a phantom, and not composed of flesh and blood; but he was confident that it was the phantom of some real person. To his consciousness it was a shadowy disembodiment of a real woman, how explicable or inexplicable was of small consequence. Enough that it was some one who evidently appealed to him for a kindness. He knew that nobody except himself saw this person—knew it by their actions. He could not see her himself except when at a distance of at least several feet. Upon a near approach she took refuge in invisibility. But every day he could approach a little nearer before she vanished, as if she trusted him more and more. But she did not permit him to see her face until he bethought himself of pushing the wheel, so as to give her the motion for which she seemed to long.
Then, when he gave it a careful start and permitted it to run by itself, she turned her face over her shoulder, and smiled her pleased thanks back at him. At first the face was indistinct and evanescent. But it was growing more fixed, confident and clear. It was a handsome—a noble face. He should recognize it anywhere. Its first wistful, half-doubting expression of appeal was becoming reassured, serene, and confidently friendly.
Face and figure gradually took possession of his fancy. There was something about this shadow-woman that touched his enthusiasm of benevolence—a strong point in his character. He was sure that this was a woman in trouble, needing help, longing for sympathy, companionship and kindness—a woman isolated and weary of sorrow and struggle. He loved to help the helpless. From loving to help to loving the helped is an easy transition. The shadow-woman filled him, not with the desire of passion, but with the gentle affection which is the deepest root of the truest love, only the later flower of which is passion.
Thus far, beyond a natural curiosity, he had not cared to search for the living woman, whom he felt certain existed somewhere near him. Still her influence quite drove out of his mind every idea of being a lover of May Bentley, or aught toward her more than a pleasant acquaintance and friend. He now saw their relations in their true aspect. He should always admire and like May Bentley, but the shadow-woman was one whom it would be a perpetual delight to know, serve and protect.
On Saturday morning two gentlemen called at the store and inquired for David Dewness. Finding him, they inquired if he owned the southeast quarter of the northwest quarter of Section 21, town —— north, of range —— west. He stared. Then, remembering his forty acres, he begged them to wait a moment, while he got his deed.
Yes, he owned it.