Burned Bridges, Bertrand W. Sinclair [ready to read books .txt] 📗

Though Not In The Least Given To Flattery Or

Over-Effusiveness In His Comments On Americans And American

Institutions,  Thackeray Wrote And Spoke Of The Century As "The Best And

Most Comfortable Club In The World."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 160

Stretches Of The Avenue--The Stretch Of Tradition--Washington Arch--Old

Homes And Gardens--The Mews And Macdougal Alley--In The Fourth Decade--A

Genial Ruffian Of The Olden Time--Sailor's Snug Harbor--The Miss Green

School--Andrew H. Green,  John Fiske,  John Bigelow,  Elihu Root,  And

Others As Teachers--The Brevoort Farm--The First Hotel Of The Avenue--A

Romance Of 1840--"Both Sides Of The Avenue."

 

    A Snug Little Farm Was The Old Brevoort

    Where Cabbages Grew Of The Choicest Sort;

    Full-Headed,  And Generous,  Ample And Fat,

    In A Queenly Way On Their Stems They Sat,

    And There Was Boast Of Their Genuine Breed,

    For From Old Utrecht Had Come Their Seed.

      --_Gideon Tucker,  "The Old Brevoort Farm."_

 

 

 

 

Passing Under The Washington Arch,  The March Up The Avenue Properly

Begins. To Commemorate The Centenary Of The Inauguration Of The Nation's

First President A Temporary Arch Was Erected In The Spring Of 1889. The

Original Structure Reached From Corner To Corner Across Fifth Avenue,

Opposite The Park,  And The Expense Was Borne By Mr. William Rhinelander

Stewart And Other Residents Of Washington Square. It Added So Much To

The Beauty Of The Entrance To The Avenue That Steps Were Taken To Make

It Permanent,  And The Present Arch Was The Result Of Popular

Subscription. One Hundred And Twenty-Eight Thousand Dollars Was The Cost

Of The Structure,  Which Was Designed By Stanford White. Comparatively

Recent Additions To The Arch Are The Two Sculptured Groups On Northern

Facade,  To The Right And Left Of The Span. They Are The Work Of H.A.

Macneil.

 

Of All The Blocks In The Stretch Of Tradition That Carries The Avenue Up

To Fourteenth Street,  The Richest In Interest Is,  Naturally,  That Which

Lies Immediately North Of The Square. Dividing This Block In Two,  And

Running Respectively East And West,  Are Washington Mews And Macdougall

Alley. When Fifth Avenue Was Young And Addicted To Stately Horse-Drawn

Turnouts,  It Was In These Half Streets That Were Stabled The Steeds And

The Carriages. Of Comparatively Recent Date Is The Remodelling That Has

Converted The Old Stables Into Quaint,  If Somewhat Garish Artist

Studios.

 

From The Top Of A North-Bound Bus As It Leaves The Square May Be Seen

The Beautiful Gardens That Have Always Been A Feature Of These First

Houses. Mrs. Emily Johnston De Forest,  In Her Life Of Her Grandfather,

John Johnston,  Has Described These Gardens As They Were From 1833 To

1842. "The Houses In The 'Row,' As This Part Of Washington Square Was

Called,  All Had Beautiful Gardens In The Rear About Ninety Feet Deep

Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 161

Surrounded By White,  Grape-Covered Trellises,  With Rounded Arches At

Intervals,  And Lovely Borders Full Of Old-Fashioned Flowers." Although

Some Of The "Row" Had Cisterns,  All The Residents Went For Their Washing

Water To "The Pump With A Long Handle" That Stood In The Square. Of That

Pump Mrs. De Forest Tells The Following Tale. One Of Her Grandfather's

Neighbours Told His Coachman To Fetch A Couple Of Pails Of Water For

Mary,  The Laundress. The Coachman Said That This Was Not His Business,

And Upon Being Asked What His Business Was,  Replied: "To Harness The

Horses And Drive Them." Thereupon He Was Told To Be When It Grips A Man,  Thompson Gave No

Heed To Sophie--Until He Felt Her Hand On His Arm And Looked Down Into

Her Upturned Face,  White And Troubled,  Into Gray Eyes That Glowed With

Some Peculiar Fire.

 

"It Is Really,  Truly You?" She Said In A Choked Voice.

 

"Of Course," He Answered--And He Could Not Help A Little Fling. "You See

I Am No Longer A Rabbit. I Don't Like Your Friend Here. He Has Tried To

Sneak A March On Me,  And I Suspect It Is Not The First. I Feel Like

Hurting Him."

 

She Paid Not The Least Heed To That.

 

"You Were Officially Reported Dead," She Went On. "Reported Shot Down

Behind The German Lines A Year Ago."

 

"I Know I Was Reported Dead,  And So Have Many Other Men Who Still Live,"

He Said Gently. "I Was Shot Down,  But I Escaped And Flew Again,  And Was

Shot Down A Second Time And Still Am Here Not So Much The Worse."

 

Sophie Slipped Her Hand Into His And Turned On Tommy Ashe.

 

"And You Knew This?" She Said Slowly. "Yet You Came Here To Me This

Morning--And--And--"

 

She Stopped With A Break In Her Voice.

 

"I Didn't Believe You Were Capable Of A Thing Like That,  Tommy," She

Continued Sadly. "I'm Ashamed Of You. You'd Better Go Away At Once."

 

Ashe Looked At Her And Then At Thompson,  And His Face Fell. Thompson,

Watching Him As A Man Watches His Antagonist,  Saw Tommy's Lips Tremble,

A Suspicious Blur Creep Into His Eyes. Even In His Anger He Felt Sorry

For Tommy.

 

The Next Instant The Two Of Them Stood Alone,  Sophie's Hand Caught Fast

In His. She Tried To Withdraw It. The Red Leaped Into Her Cheeks. But

There Was Still That Queer Glow In Her Eyes.

 

Thompson Looked Down At The Imprisoned Hand.

 

"You'll Never Get That Away From Me Again," He Said Whimsically. "You

See,  I Am Not A Rabbit,  But A Man,  No Matter What You Thought Once. And

When A Man Really Wants A Thing,  He Takes It If He Can. And I Want

You--So--You See?"

 

For Answer Sophie Hid Her Hot Face Against His Breast.

Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 162

"Ah,  I'm Ashamed Of Myself Too," He Heard A Muffled Whisper. "I Sent You

Away Into That Hell Over There With A Sneer Instead Of A Blessing. And I

Was Too Ashamed,  And A Little Afraid,  To Write And Tell You What A Fool

I Was,  That I'd Made A Mistake And Was Sorry. I Couldn't Do Anything

Only Wait,  And Hope You'd Come Back. Didn't You Hate Me For My Miserable

Holier-Than-Thou Preachment That Day,  Wes?"

 

"Why,  No," He Said Honestly. "It Hurt Like The Devil,  Of Course. You See

It Was Partly True. I _Was_ Going Along,  Making Money,  Playing My Own

Little Hand For All It Was Worth. I Couldn't Rush Off To The Front Just

To Demonstrate To All And Sundry--Even To You--That I Was A Brave Man

And A Patriot. You Understand,  Don't You? It Took Me Quite A While To

Feel,  To Really And Truly Feel,  That I _Ought_ To Go--Which I Suppose

You Felt Right At The Beginning. When I Did See It That Way--Well,  I

Didn't Advertise. I Just Got Ready And Went. If You Had Not Been Out Of

Sorts That Day,  I Might Have Gone Away With A Kiss Instead Of Your

Contempt. But I Didn't Blame You. Besides,  That's Neither Here Nor

There,  Now. You're A Prisoner. You Can Only Be Paroled On Condition."

 

Sophie Smiled Up At Him,  And Was Kissed For Her Pains.

 

"Name The Condition."

 

"That You Love Me. I've Waited A Long Time For It."

 

"I've Always Loved You," She Said Gravely. "Sometimes More,  Sometimes

Less. I Haven't Always Believed We Could Be Happy Together. Sometimes I

Have Been Positive We Couldn't. But I've Always Measured Other Men By

You,  And None Of Them Quite Measured Up. That Was Why It Stung Me So To

See You So Indifferent About The War. Probably If You Had Talked About

It To Me,  If I Had Known You Were Thinking Of Going,  I Should Have Been

Afraid You Would Go,  I Should Have Been Afraid For You. But You Seemed

Always So Unconcerned. It Maddened Me To Think I Cared So Much For A Man

Who Cared Nothing About Wrongs And Injustices,  Who Could Sit Contentedly

At Home While Other Men Sacrificed Themselves. My Dear,  I'm Afraid I'm

An Erratic Person,  A Woman Whose Heart And Head Are Nearly Always At

Odds."

 

Thompson Laughed,  Looking Down At Her With An Air Of Pride.

 

"That Is To Say You Would Always Rather Be Sure Than Sorry," He

Remarked. "Well,  You Can Be Sure Of One Thing,  Sophie. You Can't Admit

That You Really Do Care For Me And Then Run Away,  As You Did At Lone

Moose. I Have Managed To Stand On My Own Feet At Last,  And Your Penalty

For Liking Me And Managing To Conceal The Fact These Many Moons Is That

You Must Stand With Me."

 

She Drew His Face Down To Her And Kissed It. Thompson Held Her Fast.

 

"I Can Stand A Lot Of That," He Said Happily.

 

"You May Have To," She Murmured. "I Am A Woman,  Not A Bisque Doll. And

I've Waited A Long Time For The Right Man."

 

 

Chapter 26 (A Mark To Shoot At) Pg 164

An Hour Or So Later Sam Carr Came Trudging Home With A Rod In His Hand

And A Creel Slung From His Shoulder,  In Which Creel Reposed A Half Dozen

Silver-Sided Trout On A Bed Of Grass.

 

"Well,  Well,  Well," He Said,  At Sight Of Thompson,  And Looked Earnestly

At The Two Of Them,  Until At Last A Slow Smile Began To Play About His

Thin Lips. "Now,  Like The Ancient Roman,  I Can Wrap My Toga About Me And

Die In Peace."

 

"Oh,  Dad,  What A Thing To Say," Sophie Protested.

 

"Figuratively,  My Dear,  Figuratively," He Assured Her. "Merely My Way Of

Saying That I Am Glad Your Man Has Come Home From The War,  And That You

Can Smile Again."

 

He Tweaked Her Ear Playfully,  When Sophie Blushed. They Went Into The

House,  And The Trout Disappeared Kitchenward In Charge Of A Bland

Chinaman,  To Reappear Later On The Luncheon Table In A