From: Arden Town (1913; Unpublished MS)
Author: Scott Nearing
Published:
“You see why I left you so much alone with Ruth on the way down,” said Sam Bennett, as they climbed into a cab. “I was morally certain that she would tear some one to shreds, and bespatter the car seats with his gore, and I was perfectly willing th.at that person should be you.”
Fred Allen smiled with mock solemnity.
“You see, I was not at all mistaken, Miss Wade. I told you that you were slaughtering me in most barbaric fashion, and our good friend confirms my opinion. However, the salt air will soon brace me up. In fact, I feel better already.”
“I think it is very unfair for two big men to pick on one girl just because she is little,” protested Ruth Wade. “I had no intention of being disagreeable.”
“Disagreeable!” exclaimed Fred Allen. “No, indeed, far from it. I have seldom been so deeply interested.”
“Ahem,” coughed Sam. “Driver, just stop and let me walk, will you? I fear that my presence here may prove a hindrance to this most remarkable flow of soul.”
The banter was checked by the arrival of the cab at the hotel.
“How I adore these splendid big shore hotels,” laughed Ruth to her cousin, as they walked up the steps, “they always make me feel as if I were a member of a continuous-performance vaudeville cast.”
“Then you do not stay at big hotels, Miss Wade?”
“Do I look like that kind of a person, Mr. Allen?”
They had entered the lobby, and a bell boy had taken their baggage. Fred Allen turned to make some answer. Instead, he stepped a pace forward, exclaiming,—
“There’s Mrs. Treat.”
A stately, handsomely gowned lady with a severe, satisfied expression, was crossing toward them. In one gloved hand she carried a blue silk parasol. The other hand she advanced to Fred Allen in a distantly cordial manner.
“I am perfectly charmed to see you again, Mr. Allen. How have you been?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Treat, very well indeed.” The reply was a queer mingling of social frigidity and deference. “I trust that you and Eleanor have enjoyed the past week.”
“Yes, rather; although I must say that we’re both rather tired of this place, you see, we have been here nearly four weeks now. If it were not for the kindness of you busy city folk, we should perish. But I see that you are not alone.” She adjusted a lorgnette and stared fixedly.
“No, Mrs. Treat, allow me to present an old college friend, Mr. Bennett. He and I roomed together for two years. He is rather long about it, but there isn’t a finer fellow in the world.”
“I am delighted to meet Mr. Bennett,” said Mrs. Treat with a slight inclination of the head. “You live in the East, I suppose?”
“No, indeed; in the Middle West.”
“Oh, how splendid! I always enjoy meeting Westerners. They have such a fresh, breezy way with them. They are quite like the ocean, you know. Ah, Eleanor, here is Mr. Allen.”
She turned to address the words to a young lady who stepped up beside Fred Allen and greeted him cordially.
After introducing Sam Bennett, Fred answered her query regarding his stay.
“Yes, I’m down for the week, Eleanor, but it was a pull to get away. But, as I wrote you, my good friend Sam promised to bear me company; and I felt that I had earned a few hours of respite from that furnace of a city.”
“You men are so devoted to business. Is it just as bad in your city, Mr. Bennett?”
“Miss Treat, nothing could be just as bad or just as good as Fred. He is a paragon; but if you ask me whether there are men out in the wilds who stand close to the desk and workbench, I regret to tell you that there are. Some are born to it; some come to it gingerly, like a horse to a strange watering trough; and some—in fact, quite a goodly number—are held there by loving and dutiful wives.”
“Mr. Bennett,” vociferated Mrs. Treat, “how you slander us! I am sure that there are no such wives in our part of the country.”
“No,” interrupted Fred Allen, “it is all our fault here. We find business as interesting as anything else. Oh, excuse me, have you met Miss Wade?”
Ruth Wade, who had been examining some paintings on the opposite side of the lobby, had joined the party at the same time that Fred was greeting Eleanor Treat. In the interval between Fred Allen’s greeting to Eleanor Treat, and his question to her, Ruth Wade stood with her body well poised, and an expression of closest interest on her face, looking intently at Eleanor Treat.
“No,” said Eleanor, “I have not had the pleasure of meeting Miss Wade. How do you do?” and she bowed coldly. “Did you “three come down together?” she asked turning at once to Fred Allen.
“Yes,” he answered enthusiastically, “and we had the most delightful time. Miss Wade disposed of us both in a series of arguments on every conceivable topic from Noah’s Ark to Kingdom Come.”
He stopped, involuntarily. Eleanor Treat and Ruth Wade stood gazing at one another, the former with a gleam of suspicion, if not of jealousy, in her eyes; the latter with an expression of quiet superiority.
“How different,” he said to himself. The contrast was striking. Eleanor Treat was stylishly gowned, faultlessly groomed, with a trace of artificial color on her cheeks, and a droop at the corners of her mouth which suggested world weariness. Ruth Wade was well dressed, but her costume lacked those subtle additions which answer to the term “stylish.” Her figure was fuller and more natural; there was an elasticity in her posture and a fresh color in her face which suggested the vigorous, trained athlete. Moreover, the corners of her mouth were firm and straight. Fred Allen was a college bred man, and in his business associates and friends he numbered some of the most able men in the city. Among them, minds were alert and lips were firm; but to see a woman with the lithe, aggressive expression of Ruth Wade’s body and the keen grasp of her mind, was somewhat of a revelation to him. Now that the two women were brought face to face, the contrast was violent. The tableau lasted but a moment. Then Eleanor Treat turned to Fred Allen.
“You never talk about politics and Noah’s Ark to me,” she said almost petulantly.
“Do you ever want me to?”
“Certainly. All women like to be intellectual—at times.”
“Good. Miss Wade, will you join Miss Treat and me here after dinner and assist me in convincing her that women should vote?”
“Why, Fred,” Eleanor Treat began in a tone of pained surprise, “this is your first evening here for a week, and I thought—”
At this point Mrs. Treat came quickly to her daughter’s relief.
“Eleanor, dear, we must keep our dinner engagement.” Then, as she started toward the door with her hand on Eleanor’s arm,—“I trust that we shall see all of you later in the evening.”
Eleanor Treat looked once more at Ruth Wade, and then, without a word, followed her mother to their waiting automobile. She had been waiting two whole weeks for Fred to come down. Two weeks without seeing Fred was a long period in a life that was growing daily more accustomed to regard him as her natural protector. She was not engaged to Fred, yet she thought of that as a mere matter of time now. They understood one another so well. Eleanor Treat had looked forward through two weeks of relative boredom to this day, and now Fred had come to her with a raw Westerner and an artistic cousin, who looked for all the world as though she might already be in possession of Fred Allen, or any one else that she cared to possess, for that matter.
Eleanor Treat was not weak by nature. Her father was an active, successful business man; her mother an aspiring, conquering social leader; yet there was that about the drooping corners of Eleanor Treat’s mouth which said plainly,—“She has never been forced to make a vital decision and to take its consequences.”
It was past ten before the party reassembled in a small sitting-room near Mrs. Treat’s rooms. Mrs. Treat looked, if possible, more dignified than before; Eleanor wore a half injured look, and greeted Ruth Wade with a nod and a disagreeable haughty stare; Ruth Wade, oblivious of the Treat coldness, talked joyously about the boardwalk, the piers, and the moon on the water; Sam Bennett, silent and thoughtful, watched Eleanor Treat and Ruth Wade by turns. Each played a conscious role in a drama of social discomfort. Fred Allen alone vacillated at the outset; the coldness of the Treats chilled his genial spirit; then Sam Bennett’s pensive mood swept over him, making him almost sullen; but at last, yielding to the contagion of her joy and pleasure, he followed Ruth Wade’s guidance, laughing and chatting gayly.
The Treats retired early—the day had been fatiguing, they pleaded; yet, as they left, Mrs. Treat threw at Ruth Wade a glance that was far from friendly, and Eleanor’s proud lip fluttered imperceptibly as she shook hands with Fred Allen.
“Good-night, Fred, I am—so glad you came down.” Her voice was a trifle uncertain. It trembled with the dread of impending defeat. He was so much gayer in Ruth Wade’s presence than even she had ever seen him before, that she dreaded the outcome.
“Good-night, Eleanor. I am glad I came down—very glad.” Fred Allen’s voice rang deep and true from his heart. He was glad. The rays of a new luminary had passed into his life. He was elated, transfigured.
As they passed through the doorway Eleanor looked again at the three heads, close together over some story of Ruth Wade.
“Yes,” she sighed, “he seems to be very glad.”
Ruth Wade poured the choicest of nectar into Fred Allen’s expanding heart. He reveled in the presence of his old school mate; he reveled in Ruth Wade’s glowing vitality. Sam Bennett was the same unconscionable old Sam. Ruth Wade was a revelation.
For Eleanor Treat the days dragged themselves out interminably. She had not been feeling well on Friday, but she had looked forward hopefully to Fred’s visit as a balm for her indisposition. Invitations for Saturday and Sunday she had declined remorselessly, that she might be the freer for the attention which she felt certain Fred would pay her. Alas, Fred spent his time with the others. Never once was he alone with her. The humiliation, as she described it to herself, was gall and wormwood to Eleanor Treat. Had she not denied herself to the other men for these days, in order that Fred might have what opportunity he chose?
Mrs. Treat, seeing the dangerous storm in which her matrimonial plans for Eleanor were caught, remained haughty and cold. Certainly she would not permit her daughter to be compared with this artist’s model, as she styled Ruth Wade. Therefore, she kept Eleanor away from the others, although they asked her repeatedly to join them. On both days the five dined together—Eleanor Treat saw to that. It was a concession to her misery, since there was no other way in which she could keep Fred Allen near her.
On Sunday evening Sam Bennett am Ruth Wade went for a long walk in the moonlight. Mrs. Treat, pleading fatigue, withdrew to her room. Left alone with Eleanor, Fred asked,—
“Wouldn’t you like to walk too, Eleanor?”
“Wouldn’t I like to walk too,” she cried, with a bitter emphasis on the last word. “Thank you, I don’t feel like walking to-night.”
“Well, let’s sit down and have a talk then,” said Fred, surprised at the exasperation in her voice.
“I wish you would,” she said.
Her voice was sad, almost rasping. Fred Allen noted the change from her usual musical note, and wondering, sent his thoughts rapidly over the past two days. He had not thought much about Eleanor since his arrival; but now it came to him suddenly that she had been unhappy each time that they had met. His life had been so full of Ruth Wade’s brilliant gayety and deep life purpose, that he had scarcely noticed Eleanor. The truth broke on him suddenly. Eleanor had expected to take most of his time. Ruth Wade had stood in the way. Eleanor was jealous. Had she a right to be? She had no claim on him, and yet—
“Fred,” she began, when they had found a secluded place on the veranda, “it has been very nice to have you here for so many days. You say you are staying until Friday?”
“No, until next Sunday,” he answered quickly. “We have all decided to stay until Sunday.”
“Indeed, you never stayed so long before.” She was half indignant, half complaining.
“No, but it seems to me that the shore is particularly attractive just now. Then you know how hot it is in town.”
“Ah, perhaps.”
“How long are you staying, Eleanor?”
“I think we are going Thursday—perhaps Wednesday.”
“No! Why I thought you expected to stay at least two weeks more. You wrote me to that effect not three days ago.”
“Well, we’ve changed our minds. We are both tired of this place. It bores us to extinction.”
“I am very sorry to hear that.”
“Shouldn’t you like to go in bathing with me to-morrow morning, Fred?”
“Indeed I should, Eleanor, but to-morrow is Monday, isn’t it? I promised to take Miss Wade sailing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You know, she likes sun rises and that sort of thing; so we arranged to go out at five to-morrow morning. Wouldn’t you like to go?”
“No, thank you. I never like to spoil a party.”
“I thought you wouldn’t care to. You are always ‘bored to extinction,’ as you say, by clouds and landscapes; and besides, we expect to tumble out of our beds by half-past four. I’m afraid you couldn’t stand that, could you?”
“Hardly. Is Mr. Bennett going?”
“No. He begged off—said he would like to sleep and snore a little longer. So we two are to try it alone.”
“That is very nice. I trust that you will have a pleasant time. You said that you were getting up at four? Then you will be going to bed early, will you not?” As she said this Eleanor Treat rose haughtily.
“You’re not going, are you?” Fred Allen exclaimed in surprise. “I thought we were to have a little talk.”
“Yes, I think that I shall go up now. Mother will be waiting for me. Good-night, Mr. Allen.”
“Why, Eleanor, I—”
Already she had gone, and Fred Allen, stepping quickly after her retreating figure, reached the elevator just in time to see her into it. She acknowledged the courtesy with a cold “Thank you” and a bow.
Fred Allen walked out to the veranda again, plunged his hands deep into his coat pockets, and paced up and down restlessly. The situation was unsatisfactory enough. Here was a woman whom the world looked upon as a brilliant match, a woman who had given him every reason to believe that she would marry him when he asked her to. On the other hand, there was a two-day acquaintance, an artist from an artist settlement. To be sure she was gay; to be sure she had a grasp of life which few women of his acquaintance could boast. But was she for him? Had not Sam Bennett picked her out for himself, even though they were cousins? How striking the contrast had been? How disagreeable the Treats had shown themselves to people whom they regarded as “socially inferior!” How wonderful Ruth Wade had appeared, even under the most trying circumstances! Even now, she was probably delighting Sam’s ears with her sweet, deep voice.
Perhaps Sam loved her.
“I wonder why Eleanor is so catty,” Fred Allen said to himself. “She can hardly expect me to recline perpetually at her feet. I am certainly my own master. She has no claim on me—yet, and I rather doubt whether she ever will have any.”
Unconsciously his mind wandered back to Friday afternoon in the Pullman. “She’s the first girl who ever got the better of me,” he muttered, “and she certainly is a wonder.”
All Sub-Works of Arden Town (1913; Unpublished MS):
PDF Sub-Works open in a new tab. Close the tab when done viewing to return here.
