A Poor Wise Man, Mary Roberts Rinehart [classic book list TXT] 📗

land for certain purposes of his own, to build a clubhouse for the men at the plant, with a baseball field. Finding his father obdurate in that, he had urged that the field be thrown open to the men and their families, save immediately preceding and during the polo season. But he had failed there, too. Anthony Cardew had insisted, and with some reason, that to use the grounds for band concerts and baseball games, for picnics and playgrounds, would ruin the turf for its legitimate purpose.

Howard had subsequently found other land, and out of his own private means had carried out his plans, but the location was less desirable. And he knew what his father refused to believe, that the polo ground, taking up space badly needed for other purposes, was a continual grievance.

Suddenly Pink stared ahead.

“I say,” he said, “have they changed the rule about that sort of thing?”

He pointed to the field. A diamond had been roughly outlined on it with bags of sand, and a ball-game was in progress, boys playing, but a long line of men watching from the side lines.

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt anything.”

“Ruins the turf, that’s all.” He stopped the car and got out. “Look at this sign. It says ‘ball-playing or any trespassing forbidden on these grounds.’ I’ll clear them off.”

“I wouldn’t, Pink. They may be ugly.”

But he only smiled at her reassuringly, and went off. She watched him go with many misgivings, his sturdy young figure, his careful dress, his air of the young aristocrat, easy, domineering, unconsciously insolent. They would resent him, she knew, those men and boys. And after all, why should they not use the field? There was injustice in that sign.

Yet her liking and real sympathy were with Pink.

“Pink!” she called, “Come back here. Let them alone.”

He turned toward her a face slightly flushed with indignation and set with purpose.

“Sorry. Can’t do it, Lily. This sort of thing’s got to be stopped.”

She felt, rather hopelessly, that he was wrong, but that he was right, too. The grounds were private property. She sat back and watched.

Pink was angry. She could hear his voice, see his gestures. He was shooing them off like a lot of chickens, and they were laughing. The game had stopped, and the side lines were pressing forward. There was a moment’s debate, with raised voices, a sullen muttering from the crowd, and the line closing into a circle. The last thing she saw before it closed was a man lunging at Pink, and his counter-feint. Then some one was down. If it was Pink he was not out, for there was fighting still going on. The laborers working on the grounds were running.

Lily stood up in the car, pale and sickened. She was only vaguely conscious of a car that suddenly left the road, and dashed recklessly across the priceless turf, but she did see, and recognize, Louis Akers as he leaped from it and flinging men this way and that disappeared into the storm center. She could hear his voice, too, loud and angry, and see the quick dispersal of the crowd. Some of the men, foreigners, passed quite near to her, and eyed her either sullenly or with mocking smiles. She was quite oblivious of them. She got out and ran with shaking knees across to where Pink lay on the grass, his profile white and sharply chiseled, with two or three men bending over him.

Pink was dead. Those brutes had killed him. Pink.

He was not dead. He was moving his arms.

Louis Akers straightened when he saw her and took off his hat.

“Nothing to worry about, Miss Cardew,” he said. “But what sort of idiocy - ! Hello, old man, all right now?”

Pink sat up, then rose stiffly and awkwardly. He had a cut over one eye, and he felt for his handkerchief.

“Fouled me,” he said. “Filthy lot, anyhow. Wonder they didn’t walk on me when I was down.” He turned to the grounds-keeper, who had come up. “You ought to know better than to let those fellows cut up this turf,” he said angrily. “What’re you here for anyhow?”

But he was suddenly very sick. He looked at Lily, his face drawn and blanched.

“Got me right,” he muttered. “I - “

“Get into my car,” said Akers, not too amiably. “I’ll drive you to the stables. I’ll be back, Miss Cardew.”

Lily went back to the car and sat down. She was shocked and startled, but she was strangely excited. The crowd had beaten Pink, but it had obeyed Louis Akers like a master. He was a man. He was a strong man. He must be built of iron. Mentally she saw him again, driving recklessly over the turf, throwing the men to right and left, hoarse with anger, tall, dominant, powerful.

It was more important that a man be a man than that he be a gentleman.

After a little he drove back across the field, sending the car forward again at reckless speed. Some vision of her grandfather, watching the machine careening over the still soft and spongy turf and leaving deep tracks behind it, made her smile. Akers leaped out.

“No need to worry about our young friend,” he said cheerfully. “He is alternately being very sick at his stomach and cursing the poor working man. But I think I’d better drive you back. He’ll be poor company, I’ll say that.”

He looked at her, his bold eyes challenging, belying the amiable gentleness of his smile.

“I’d better let him know.”

“I told him. He isn’t strong for me. Always hate the fellow who saves you, you know. But he didn’t object.”

Lily moved into his car obediently. She felt a strange inclination to do what this man wanted. Rather, it was an inability to oppose him. He went on, big, strong, and imperious. And he carried one along. It was easy and queer. But she did, unconsciously, what she had never done with Pink or any other man; she sat as far away from him on the wide seat as she could.

He noticed that, and smiled ahead, over the wheel. He had been infuriated over her avoidance of him, but if she was afraid of him -

“Bully engine in this car. Never have to change a gear.”

“You certainly made a road through the field.”

“They’ll fix that, all right. Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You have been treating me very badly, you know, Miss Cardew.”

“I have been frightfully busy.”

‘That’s not true, and you know it. You’ve been forbidden to see me, haven’t you?”

“I have been forbidden to go back to Cardew Way.”

“They don’t know about me, then?”

“There isn’t very much to know, is there?”

“I wish you wouldn’t fence with me,” he said impatiently. “I told you once I was frank. I want you to answer one question. If this thing rested with you, would you see me again?”

“I think I would, Mr. Akers,” she said honestly.

Had she ever known a man like the one beside her, she would not have given him that opportunity. He glanced sharply around, and then suddenly stopped the car and turned toward her.

“I’m crazy about you, and you know it,” he said. And roughly, violently, he caught her to him and kissed her again and again. Her arms were pinned to her sides, and she was helpless. After a brief struggle to free herself she merely shut her eyes and waited for him to stop.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispered.

Then he freed her. Lily wanted to feel angry, but she felt only humiliated and rather soiled. There were men like that, then, men who gave way to violent impulses, who lost control of themselves and had to apologize afterwards. She hated him, but she was sorry for him, too. He would have to be so humble. She was staring ahead, white and waiting for his explanation, when he released the brake and started the car forward slowly.

“Well?” he said, with a faint smile.

“You will have to apologize for that, Mr. Akers.”

“I’m damned if I will. That man back there, Denslow - he’s the sort who would kiss a girl and then crawl about it afterwards. I won’t. I’m not sorry. A strong man can digest his own sins. I kissed you because I wanted to. It wasn’t an impulse. I meant to when we started. And you’re only doing the conventional thing and pretending to be angry. You’re not angry. Good God, girl, be yourself once in a while.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” Her voice was haughty. “And I must ask you to stop the car and let me get out.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort, of course. Now get this straight, Miss Cardew. I haven’t done you any harm. I may have a brutal way of showing that I’m crazy about you, but it’s my way. I’m a man, and I’m no hand kisser.”

And when she said nothing:

“You think I’m unrestrained, and I am, in a way. But if I did what I really want to do, I’d not take you home at all. I’d steal you. You’ve done something to me, God knows what.”

“Then I can only say I’m sorry,” Lily said slowly.

She felt strangely helpless and rather maternal. With all his strength this sort of man needed to be protected from himself. She felt no answering thrill whatever to his passion, but as though, having told her he loved her, he had placed a considerable responsibility in her hands.

“I’ll be good now,” he said. “Mind, I’m not sorry. But I don’t want to worry you.”

He made no further overtures to her during the ride, but he was neither sulky nor sheepish. He feigned an anxiety as to the threatened strike, and related at great length and with extreme cleverness of invention his own efforts to prevent it.

“I’ve a good bit of influence with the A.F.L.,” he said. “Doyle’s in bad with them, but I’m still solid. But it’s coming, sure as shooting. And they’ll win, too.”

He knew women well, and he saw that she was forgiving him. But she would not forget. He had a cynical doctrine, to the effect that a woman’s first kiss of passion left an ineradicable mark on her, and he was quite certain that Lily had never been so kissed before.

Driving through the park he turned to her:

“Please forgive me,” he said, his mellow voice contrite and supplicating. “You’ve been so fine about it that you make me ashamed.”

“I would like to feel that it wouldn’t happen again: That’s all.”

“That means you intend to see me again. But never is a long word. I’m afraid to promise. You go to my head, Lily Cardew.” They were halted by the traffic, and it gave him a chance to say something he had been ingeniously formulating in his mind. “I’ve known lots of girls. I’m no saint. But you are different. You’re a good woman. You could do anything you wanted with me, if you cared to.”

And because she was young and lovely, and because he was always the slave of youth and beauty, he meant what he said. It was a lie, but he was lying to himself also, and his voice held unmistakable sincerity. But even then he was watching her, weighing the effect of his words on her. He saw that she was touched.

He was very well pleased with himself on his way home. He left the car at the public garage, and walked, whistling blithely, to his small bachelor apartment. He was a self-indulgent man, and his rooms were comfortable to the point of luxury. In the sitting room was a