Active Service, Stephen Crane [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

Dangling down.

See? "

 

" Yes,  I S'Pose I Could Do That," Said The Artist,  Mollified by A

Thought Of The Ease With Which He Could Make The Change,  And

Mollified,  Too,  By The Brazen Tribute To A Part Of His Cleverness.

 

" Well,  Do It,  Then," Said The Sunday Editor,  Turning abruptly

Away. The Artist,  With Head High,  Walked majestically Back To

The Other Room. Whereat The Curly-Headed one Immediately

Resumed the Rain Of Paper Balls Upon Him. The Office Boy Came

Timidly To Coleman And Suggested the Presence Of The People

In The Outer Office. " Let Them Wait Until I Read My

Mail," Said Coleman. He Shuffled the Pack Of Letters

Indifferently Through His Hands. Suddenly He Came Upon A Little

Grey Envelope. He Opened it At Once And Scanned its Contents

With The Speed of His Craft. Afterward He Laid It Down Before Him

On The Desk And Surveyed it With A Cool And Musing smile.

"So?" He Remarked. " That'S The Case,  Is It?"

 

He Presently Swung Around In his Chair,  And For A Time Held

The Entire Attention Of The Men At The Various Desks. He Outlined

To Them Again Their Various Parts In the Composition Of The Next

Great Sunday Edition. In a Few Brisk Sentences He Set A Complex

Machine In proper Motion. His Men No Longer Thrilled with

Admiration At The Precision With Which He Grasped each Obligation

Of The Campaign Toward A Successful Edition. They Had Grown

To Accept It As They Accepted his Hat Or His London Clothes. At

This Time His Face Was Lit With Something of The Self-Contained

Enthusiasm Of A General. Immediately Afterward He Arose And

Reached for His Coat And Hat.

 

The Office Boy,  Coming circuitously Forward,  Presented him

With Some Cards And Also With A Scrap Of Paper Upon Which Was

Scrawled a Long And Semicoherent Word. " What Are These ? "

Grumbled coleman.

 

"They Are Waiting outside," Answered the Boy,  With

Trepidation. It Was Part Of The Law That The Lion Of The Ante-Room

Should Cringe Like A Cold Monkey,

More Or Less,  As Soon As He Was Out Of His Private Jungle. "Oh,

Tallerman," Cried the Sunday Editor,  "Here'S This Arctic Man

Come To Arrange About His Illustration. I Wish You'D Go And Talk

It Over With Him." By Chance He Picked up The Scrap Of Paper

With Its Cryptic Word. " Oh," He Said,  Scowling at The Office Boy.

"Pity You Can'T Remember That Fellow. If You Can'T Remember

Faces Any Better Than That You Should Be A Detective. Get Out

Now And Tell Him To Go To The Devil." The Wilted slave Turned at

Once,  But Coleman Hailed him. " Hold On. Come To Think Of It,  I

Will See This Idiot. Send Him In," He Commanded,  Grimly.

 

Coleman Lapsed into A Dream Over The Sheet Of Grey Note

Paper. Presently,  A Middle-Aged man,  A Palpable German,  Came

Hesitatingly Into The Room And Bunted among The Desks As

Unmanageably As A Tempest-Tossed scow. Finally He Was

Impatiently Towed in the Right Direction. He Came And Stood At

Coleman'S Elbow And Waited nervously For The Engrossed man

To Raise His Eyes. It Was Plain That This Interview Meant

Important Things To Him. Somehow On His Commonplace

Countenance Was To Be Found The Expression Of A Dreamer,  A

Fashioner Of Great And Absurd Projects,  A Fine,  Tender Fool. He

Cast Hopeful And Reverent Glances At The Man Who Was Deeply

Contemplative Of The Grey Note. He Evidently Believed himself

On The Threshold Of A Triumph Of Some Kind,  And He Awaited

His Fruition With A Joy That Was Only Made Sharper By

The Usual Human Suspicion Of Coming events.

 

Coleman Glanced up At Last And Saw His Visitor.

 

" Oh,  It'S You,  Is It ? " He Remarked icily,  Bending upon The

German The Stare Of A Tyrant. "So You'Ve Come Again,  Have You? "

He Wheeled in his Chair Until He Could Fully Display A

Contemptuous,  Merciless Smile. "Now,  Mr.

What'S-Your-Name,  You'Ve Called here To See Me About Twenty

Times Already And At Last I Am Going to Say Something definite

About Your Invention." His Listener'S Face,  Which Had Worn For A

Moment A Look Of Fright And Bewilderment,  Gladdened swiftly To

A Gratitude That Seemed the Edge Of An Outburst Of Tears. " Yes,"

Continued coleman,  " I Am Going to Say Something definite. I Am

Going to Say That It Is The Most Imbecile Bit Of Nonsense That Has

Come Within The Range Of My Large Newspaper Experience. It Is

Simply The Aberration Of A Rather Remarkable Lunatic. It Is No Good;

It Is Not Worth The Price Of A Cheese Sandwich. I Understand

That Its One Feat Has Been To Break Your Leg; If It Ever Goes Off

Again,  Persuade It To Break Your Neck. And Now I Want You To

Take This Nursery Rhyme Of Yours And Get Out. And Don'T Ever

Come Here Again. Do You Understand ? You Understand,  Do You ?"

He Arose And Bowed in courteous Dismissal.

 

The German Was Regarding him  With The Surprise

And Horror Of A Youth Shot Mortally. He Could Not

Find His Tongue For A Moment. Ultimately He Gasped : "But,

Mister Editor "--Coleman Interrupted him Tigerishly. " You Heard

What I Said? Get Out." The Man Bowed his Head And Went

Slowly Toward The Door.

 

Coleman Placed the Little Grey Note In his Breast Pocket. He

Took His Hat And Top Coat,  And Evading the Dismal Band By A

Shameless Manoeuvre,  Passed through The Halls To The Entrance

To The Elevator Shaft. He Heard A Movement Behind Him And Saw

That The German Was Also Waiting for The Elevator.

Standing in the Gloom Of The Corridor,  Coleman Felt The

Mournful Owlish Eyes Of The German Resting upon Him. He Took

A Case From His Pocket And Elaborately Lit A Cigarette. Suddenly

There Was A Flash Of Light And A Cage Of Bronze,  Gilt And Steel

Dropped,  Magically From Above. Coleman Yelled: " Down!" A

Door Flew Open. Coleman,  Followed by The German,  Stepped

Upon The Elevator. " Well,  Johnnie," He Said Cheerfully To The

Lad Who Operated this Machine,  "Is Business Good?" "Yes,  Sir,

Pretty Good," Answered the Boy,  Grinning. The Little Cage Sank

Swiftly; Floor After Floor Seemed to Be Rising with Marvellous

Speed; The Whole Building was Winging straight Into The Sky.

There Were Soaring lights,  Figures And The Opalescent Glow Of

Ground Glass Doors Marked with Black Inscriptions. Other Lifts

Were Springing heavenward. All The Lofty Corridors Rang With

Cries. " Up! " Down! " " Down! " " Up! " The Boy'S Hand

Grasped a Lever And His Machine Obeyed his Lightest Movement

With Sometimes An Unbalancing swiftness.

 

Coleman Discoursed briskly To The Youthful Attendant. Once

He Turned and Regarded with A Quick Stare Of Insolent

Annoyance The Despairing countenance Of The German Whose

Eyes Had Never Left Him. When The Elevator Arrived at The

Ground Floor,  Coleman Departed with The Outraged air Of A Man

Who For A Time Had Been Compelled to Occupy A Cell In company

With A Harmless Spectre.

 

He Walked quickly Away. Opposite A Corner Of The City Hall

He Was Impelled to Look Behind Him. Through The Hordes Of

People With Cable Cars Marching like Panoplied elephants,  He

Was Able To Distinguish The German,  Motionless And Gazing after

Him. Coleman Laughed. " That'S A Comic Old Boy," He Said,  To

Himself.

 

In The Grill-Room Of A Broadway Hotel He Was Obliged to Wait

Some Minutes For The Fulfillment Of His Orders And He Spent The

Time In reading and Studying the Little Grey Note. When His

Luncheon Was Served he Ate With An Expression Of Morose

Dignity.

Chapter 4

Marjory Paused again At Her Father'S Door. After Hesitating

In The Original Way She Entered the Library. Her Father Almost

Represented an Emblematic Figure,  Seated upon A Column Of

Books. " Well," He Cried. Then,  Seeing it Was Marjory,  He

Changed his Tone. " Ah,  Under The Circumstances,  My Dear,  I

Admit Your Privilege Of Interrupting me At Any Hour Of The Day.

You Have Important Business With Me." His Manner Was

Satanically Indulgent.

 

The Girl Fingered a Book. She Turned the Leaves In absolute

Semblance Of A Person Reading. "Rufus Coleman Called."

 

"Indeed," Said The Professor.

 

"And I'Ve Come To You,  Father,  Before Seeing him."

 

The Professor Was Silent For A Time. " Well,  Marjory," He Said

At Last,  "What Do You Want Me To Say?" He Spoke Very

Deliberately. " I Am Sure This Is A Singular Situation. Here Appears

The Man I Formally Forbid You To Marry. I Am Sure I Do Not Know

What I Am To Say."

 

" I Wish To See Him," Said The Girl.

 

"You Wish To See Him?" Enquired the Professor. "You Wish

To See Him " Marjory,  I May As Well Tell You Now That With

All The Books And Plays I'Ve Read,  I Really

Don'T Know How The Obdurate Father Should Conduct Himself.

He Is Always Pictured as An Exceedingly Dense Gentleman With

White Whiskers,  Who Does All The Unintelligent Things In the

Plot. You And I Are Going to Play No Drama,  Are We,  Marjory? I

Admit That I Have White Whiskers,  And I Am An Obdurate Father. I

Am,  As You Well May Say,  A Very Obdurate Father. You Are Not To

Marry Rufus Coleman. You Understand The Rest Of The Matter.

He Is Here ; You Want To See Him. What Will You Say To Him

When You See Him? "

 

" I Will Say That You Refuse To Let Me Marry Him,  Father And-"

She Hesitated a Moment Before She Lifted her Eyes Fully And

Formidably To Her Father'S Face. " And That I Shall Marry Him

Anyhow."

 

The Professor Did Not Cavort When This Statement Came From

His Daughter. He Nodded and Then Passed into A Period Of

Reflection. Finally He Asked: "But When? That Is The Point.

When?"

 

The Girl Made A Sad Gesture.  "I Don'T Know. I Don'T Know.

Perhaps When You Come To Know Rufus Better-"

 

" Know Him Better. Know That Rapscallion Better? Why,  I

Know Him Much Better Than He Knows Himself. I Know Him Too

Well. Do You Think I Am Talking offhand About This Affair? Do

You Think I Am Talking without Proper Information?"

 

Marjory Made No Reply.

 

"Well," Said The Professor,  "You May See Coleman On

Condition That You Inform Him At Once That I Forbid Your

Marriage To Him. I Don'T Understand At All How To Manage These

Situations. I Don'T Know What To Do. I Suppose I Should Go

Myself And-No,  You Can'T See Him,  Majory."

 

Still The Girl Made No Reply. Her Head Sank Forward And She

Breathed a Trifle Heavily.

"Marjory," Cried the Professor,  It Is Impossible That You

Should Think So Much Of This Man." He Arose And Went To His

Daughter. " Marjory,  Many Wise Children Have Been Guided by

Foolish Fathers,  But We Both Suspect That No Foolish Child Has

Ever Been Guided by A Wise Father. Let Us Change It. I Present

Myself To You As A Wise Father. Follow My Wishes In this Affair

And You Will Be At Least Happier Than If You Marry This Wretched

Coleman."

 

She Answered: " He Is Waiting for Me."

 

The Professor Turned abruptly From Her And Dropped into His

Chair At The Table. He Resumed a Grip On His Pen. " Go," He Said,

Wearily. " Go. But If You Have A Remnant Of Sense,  Remember

What I Have Said To You. Go." He Waved his Hand In a Dismissal

That Was Slightly Scornful. " I Hoped you Would Have A Minor

Conception Of What You Were Doing. It Seems A Pity." Drooping

In Tears,  The Girl Slowly Left The Room.

 

Coleman Had An Idea That He Had Occupied the Chair For

Several Months. He Gazed about At The Pictures And The Odds

And Ends Of A Drawing-Room In an Attempt To Take An Interest In

Them. The Great Garlanded paper Shade Over The Piano Lamp

Consoled his Impatience In a Mild Degree Because He Knew That

Marjory Had Made It. He Noted the Clusters Of Cloth Violets

Which She Had Pinned upon The Yellow Paper And He Dreamed

Over The Fact. He Was Able To Endow This Shade With Certain

Qualities Of Sentiment That Caused his Stare To Become Almost A

Part Of An Intimacy,  A