Dawn O'Hara: The Girl Who Laughed Read online

  CHAPTER V. THE ABSURD BECOMES SERIOUS

  I can understand the emotions of a broken-down war horse that is hitchedto a vegetable wagon. I am going to Milwaukee to work! It is a thing tomake the gods hold their sides and roll down from their mountain peakswith laughter. After New York--Milwaukee!

  Of course Von Gerhard is to blame. But I think even he sees the humorof it. It happened in this way, on a day when I was indulging in aparticularly greenery-yallery fit of gloom. Norah rushed into my room.I think I was mooning over some old papers, or letters, or ribbons, orsome such truck in the charming, knife-turning way that women have whenthey are blue.

  "Out wid yez!" cried Norah. "On with your hat and coat! I've just hada wire from Ernst von Gerhard. He's coming, and you look like anunder-done dill pickle. You aren't half as blooming as when he was herein August, and this is October. Get out and walk until your cheeks areso red that Von Gerhard will refuse to believe that this fiery-facedpuffing, bouncing creature is the green and limp thing that huddled in achair a few months ago. Out ye go!"

  And out I went. Hatless, I strode countrywards, leaving paved streetsand concrete walks far behind. There were drifts of fallen leaves allabout, and I scuffled through them drearily, trying to feel gloomy, andold, and useless, and failing because of the tang in the air, andthe red-and-gold wonder of the frost-kissed leaves, and the regularpump-pump of good red blood that was coursing through my body as perNorah's request.

  In a field at the edge of the town, just where city and country begin tohave a bowing acquaintance, the college boys were at football practice.Their scarlet sweaters made gay patches of color against the dullgray-brown of the autumn grass.

  "Seven-eighteen-two-four!" called a voice. There followed a scuffle, acreaking of leather on leather, a thud. I watched them, a bit enviously,walking backwards until a twist in the road hid them from view. Thatsame twist transformed my path into a real country road--a brown, dusty,monotonous Michigan country road that went severely about its business,never once stopping to flirt with the blushing autumn woodland at itsleft, or to dally with the dimpling ravine at its right.

  "Now if that were an English country road," thought I, "a sociablyinclined, happy-go-lucky, out-for-pleasure English country road, onemight expect something of it. On an English country road this wouldbe the psychological moment for the appearance of a blond god, in graytweed. What a delightful time of it Richard Le Gallienne's hero had onhis quest! He could not stroll down the most innocent looking lane, hemight not loiter along the most out-of-the-way path, he never ambledover the barest piece of country road, that he did not come face toface with some witty and lovely woman creature, also in search of thingsunconventional, and able to quote charming lines from Chaucer to him."

  Ah, but that was England, and this is America. I realize it sadly as Istep out of the road to allow a yellow milk wagon to rattle past. Thered letters on the yellow milk cart inform the reader that it isthe property of August Schimmelpfennig, of Hickory Grove. TheSchimmelpfennig eye may be seen staring down upon me from the bit ofglass in the rear as the cart rattles ahead, doubtless being suspiciousof hatless young women wandering along country roads at dusk, alone.There was that in the staring eye to which I took exception. It worean expression which made me feel sure that the mouth below it was alla-grin, if I could but have seen it. It was bad enough to be staredat by the fishy Schimmelpfennig eye, but to be grinned at by theSchimmelpfennig mouth!--I resented it. In order to show my resentment Iturned my back on the Schimmelpfennig cart and pretended to look up theroad which I had just traveled.

  I pretended to look up the road, and then I did look in earnest.No wonder the Schimmelpfennig eye and mouth had worn the leeringexpression. The blond god in gray tweed was swinging along toward me! Iknew that he was blond because he wore no hat and the last rays of theOctober sun were making a little halo effect about his head. I knewthat his gray clothes were tweed because every well regulated hero on acountry road wears tweed. It's almost a religion with them. He was notnear enough to make a glance at his features possible. I turnedaround and continued my walk. The yellow cart, with its impudentSchimmelpfennig leer, was disappearing in a cloud of dust. Shades ofthe "Duchess" and Bertha M. Clay! How does one greet a blond god in graytweed on a country road, when one has him!

  The blond god solved the problem for me.

  "Hi!" he called. I did not turn. There was a moment's silence. Thenthere came a shrill, insistent whistle, of the kind that is made byplacing four fingers between the teeth. It is a favorite with thegallery gods. I would not have believed that gray tweed gods stooped toit.

  "Hi!" called the voice again, very near now. "Lieber Gott! Never have Iseen so proud a young woman!"

  I whirled about to face Von Gerhard; a strangely boyish andunprofessional looking Von Gerhard.

  "Young man," I said severely, "have you been a-follerin' of me?"

  "For miles," groaned he, as we shook hands. "You walk like a grenadier.I am sent by the charming Norah to tell you that you are to come hometo mix the salad dressing, for there is company for supper. I am thecompany."

  I was still a bit dazed. "But how did you know which road to take? Andwhen--"

  "Wunderbar, nicht wahr?" laughed Von Gerhard. "But really quite simple.I come in on an earlier train than I had expected, chat a moment withsister Norah, inquire after the health of my patient, and am told thatshe is running away from a horde of blue devils!--quote your charmingsister--that have swarmed about her all day. What direction did herflight take? I ask. Sister Norah shrugs her shoulders and presumes thatit is the road which shows the reddest and yellowest autumn colors. Thatroad will be your road. So!"

  "Pooh! How simple! That is the second disappointment you have given meto-day."

  "But how is that possible? The first has not had time to happen."

  "The first was yourself," I replied, rudely.

  "I had been longing for an adventure. And when I saw you 'way up theroad, such an unusual figure for our Michigan country roads, I forgotthat I was a disappointed old grass widder with a history, and I grewyoung again, and my heart jumped up into my throat, and I sez to mesilf,sez I: 'Enter the hero!' And it was only you."

  Von Gerhard stared a moment, a curious look on his face. Then helaughed one of those rare laughs of his, and I joined him because I wasstrangely young, light, and happy to be alive.

  "You walk and enjoy walking, yes?" asked Von Gerhard, scanning my face."Your cheeks they are like--well, as unlike the cheeks of the Germangirls as Diana's are unlike a dairy maid's. And the nerfs? They nolonger jump, eh?"

  "Oh, they jump, but not with weariness. They jump to get into actionagain. From a life of too much excitement I have gone to the otherextreme. I shall be dead of ennui in another six months."

  "Ennui?" mused he, "and you are--how is it?--twenty-eight years, yes?H'm!"

  There was a world of exasperation in the last exclamation.

  "I am a thousand years old," it made me exclaim, "a million!"

  "I will prove to you that you are sixteen," declared Von Gerhard,calmly.

  We had come to a fork in the road. At the right the narrower road ranbetween two rows of great maples that made an arch of golden splendor.The frost had kissed them into a gorgeous radiance.

  "Sunshine Avenue," announced Von Gerhard. "It beckons us away from home,and supper and salad dressing and duty, but who knows what we shall findat the end of it!"

  "Let's explore," I suggested. "It is splendidly golden enough to beenchanted."

  We entered the yellow canopied pathway.

  "Let us pretend this is Germany, yes?" pleaded Von Gerhard. "This goldenpathway will end in a neat little glass-roofed restaurant, withtables and chairs outside, and comfortable German papas and mammas andpig-tailed children sitting at the tables, drinking coffee or beer.There will be stout waiters, and a red-faced host. And we will seatourselves at one of the tables, and I will wave my hand, and one of thestout waiters will come flying. 'Will you have coffee, _Fraul
ein_, orbeer?' It sounds prosaic, but it is very, very good, as you will see.Pathways in Germany always end in coffee and Kuchen and waiters in whiteaprons."

  But, "Oh, no!" I exclaimed, for his mood was infectious. "This isFrance. Please! The golden pathway will end in a picturesque littleFrench farm, with a dairy. And in the doorway of the farmhouse therewill be a red-skirted peasant woman, with a white cap! and a baby on herarm! and sabots! Oh, surely she will wear sabots!"

  "Most certainly she will wear sabots," Von Gerhard said, heatedly, "andblue knitted stockings. And the baby's name is Mimi!"

  We had taken hands and were skipping down the pathway now, like twoexcited children.

  "Let's run," I suggested. And run we did, like two mad creatures, untilwe rounded a gentle curve and brought up, panting, within a foot of adecrepit rail fence. The rail fence enclosed a stubbly, lumpy field. Thefield was inhabited by an inquiring cow. Von Gerhard and I stood quitestill, hand in hand, gazing at the cow. Then we turned slowly and lookedat each other.

  "This pathway of glorified maples ends in a cow," I said, solemnly. Atwhich we both shrieked with mirth, leaning on the decrepit fence andmopping our eyes with our handkerchiefs.

  "Did I not say you were sixteen?" taunted Von Gerhard. We were gettingsurprisingly well acquainted.

  "Such a scolding as we shall get! It will be quite dark before we arehome. Norah will be tearing her hair."

  It was a true prophecy. As we stampeded up the steps the door was flungopen, disclosing a tragic figure.

  "Such a steak!" wailed Norah, "and it has been done for hours and hours,and now it looks like a piece of fried ear. Where have you two drivelingidiots been? And mushrooms too."

  "She means that the ruined steak was further enhanced by mushrooms," Iexplained in response to Von Gerhard's bewildered look. We marched intothe house, trying not to appear like sneak thieves. Max, pipe in mouth,surveyed us blandly.

  "Fine color you've got, Dawn," he remarked.

  "There is such a thing as overdoing this health business," snappedNorah, with a great deal of acidity for her. "I didn't tell you to makethem purple, you know."

  Max turned to Von Gerhard. "Now what does she mean by that do yousuppose, eh Ernst?"

  "Softly, brother, softly!" whispered Von Gerhard. "When women exchangeremarks that apparently are simple, and yet that you, a man, cannotunderstand, then know there is a woman's war going on, and step softly,and hold your peace. Aber ruhig!"

  Calm was restored with the appearance of the steak, which was foundto have survived the period of waiting, and to be incredibly juicy andtender. Presently we were all settled once more in the great beamedliving room, Sis at the piano, the two men smoking their after-dinnercigars with that idiotic expression of contentment which always adornsthe masculine face on such occasions.

  I looked at them--at those three who had done so much for my happinessand well being, and something within me said: "Now! Speak now!" Norahwas playing very softly, so that the Spalpeens upstairs might not bedisturbed. I took a long breath and made the plunge.

  "Norah, if you'll continue the slow music, I'll be much obliged. 'Thetime has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things.'"

  "Don't be absurd," said Norah, over her shoulder, and went on playing.

  "I never was more serious in my life, good folkses all. I've got to be.This butterfly existence has gone on long enough. Norah, and Max, andMr. Doctor Man, I am going away."

  Norah's hands crashed down on the piano keys with a jangling discord.She swung about to face me.

  "Not New York again, Dawn! Not New York!"

  "I am afraid so," I answered.

  Max--bless his great, brotherly heart--rose and came over to me and puta hand on my shoulder.

  "Don't you like it here, girlie? Want to be hauled home on a shutteragain, do you? You know that as long as we have a home, you have one. Weneed you here."

  But I shook my head. From his chair at the other side of the room Icould feel Von Gerhard's gaze fixed upon us. He had said nothing.

  "Need me! No one needs me. Don't worry; I'm not going to become maudlinabout it. But I don't belong here, and you know, it. I have my work todo. Norah is the best sister that a woman ever had. And Max, you'rean angel brother-in-law. But how can I stay on here and keep myself-respect?" I took Max's big hand in mine and gathered courage fromit.

  "But you have been working," wailed Norah, "every morning. And I thoughtthe book was coming on beautifully. And I'm sure it will be a wonderfulbook, Dawn dear. You are so clever."

  "Oh, the book--it is too uncertain. Perhaps it will go, but perhaps itwon't. And then--what? It will be months before the book is properlypolished off. And then I may peddle it around for more months. No; Ican't afford to trifle with uncertainties. Every newspaper man or womanwrites a book. It's like having the measles. There is not a newspaperman living who does not believe, in his heart, that if he could onlytake a month or two away from the telegraph desk or the police run, hecould write the book of the year, not to speak of the great AmericanPlay. Why, just look at me! I've only been writing seriously for a fewweeks, and already the best magazines in the country are refusing mymanuscripts daily."

  "Don't joke," said Norah, coming over to me, "I can't stand it."

  "Why not? Much better than weeping, isn't it? And anyway, I'm no subjectfor tears any more. Dr. von Gerhard will tell you how well and strong Iam. Won't you, Herr Doktor?"

  "Well," said Von Gerhard, in his careful, deliberate English, "since youask me, I should say that you might last about one year, in New York."

  "There! What did I tell you!" cried Norah.

  "What utter blither!" I scoffed, turning to glare at Von Gerhard.

  "Gently," warned Max. "Such disrespect to the man who pulled you backfrom the edge of the yawning grave only six months ago!"

  "Yawning fiddlesticks!" snapped I, elegantly. "There was nothing wrongwith me except that I wanted to be fussed over. And I have been. AndI've loved it. But it must stop now." I rose and walked over to thetable and faced Von Gerhard, sitting there in the depths of a greatchair. "You do not seem to realize that I am not free to come and go,and work and play, and laugh and live like other women. There is myliving to make. And there is--Peter Orme. Do you think that I could stayon here like this? Oh, I know that Max is not a poor man. But he isnot a rich man, either. And there are the children to be educated, andbesides, Max married Norah O'Hara, not the whole O'Hara tribe. I want togo to work. I am not a free woman, but when I am working, I forget, andam almost happy. I tell you I must be well again! I will be well! I amwell!"

  At the end of which dramatic period I spoiled the whole effect by bowingmy head on the table and giving way to a fit of weeping such as I hadnot had since the days of my illness.

  "Looks like it," said Max, at which I decided to laugh, and thesituation was saved.

  It was then that Von Gerhard proposed the thing that set us staring athim in amused wonder. He came over and stood looking down at us, hishands outspread upon the big library table, his body bent forward in anattitude of eager intentness. I remember thinking what wonderful handsthey were, true indexes of the man's character; broad, white, surgeonlyhands; the fingers almost square at the tips. They were hands asdifferent from those slender, nervous, unsteady, womanly hands of PeterOrme as any hands could be, I thought. They were hands made for workthat called for delicate strength, if such a paradox could be; hands tocling to; to gain courage from; hands that spelled power and reserve. Ilooked at them, fascinated, as I often had done before, and thought thatI never had seen such SANE hands.

  "You have done me the honor to include me in this little familyconclave," began Ernst von Gerhard. "I am going to take advantage ofyour trust. I shall give you some advice--a thing I usually keep forunpleasant professional occasions. Do not go back to New York."

  "But I know New York. And New York--the newspaper part of it--knows me.Where else can I go?"

  "You have your book to finish. You could never finish i
t there, is itnot so?"

  I'm afraid I shrugged my shoulders. It was all so much harder than I hadexpected. What did they want me to do? I asked myself, bitterly.

  Von Gerhard went on. "Why not go where the newspaper work will not be sonerve-racking? where you still might find time for this other work thatis dear to you, and that may bring its reward in time." He reached outand took my hand, into his great, steady clasp. "Come to the happy,healthy, German town called Milwaukee, yes? Ach, you may laugh. Butnewspaper work is newspaper work the world over, because men and womenare just men and women the world over. But there you could live sanely,and work not too hard, and there would be spare hours for the book thatis near your heart. And I--I will speak of you to Norberg, of the Post.And on Sundays, if you are good, I may take you along the marvelous lakedrives in my little red runabout, yes? Aber wunderbar, those drives are!So."

  Then--"Milwaukee!" shrieked Max and Norah and I, together. "After NewYork--Milwaukee!"

  "Laugh," said Von Gerhard, quite composedly. "I give you until to-morrowmorning to stop laughing. At the end of that time it will not seem quiteso amusing. No joke is so funny after one has contemplated it for twelvehours."

  The voice of Norah, the temptress, sounded close to my ear. "Dawn dear,just think how many million miles nearer you would be to Max, and me,and home."

  "Oh, you have all gone mad! The thing is impossible. I shan't go back toa country sheet in my old age. I suppose that in two more years I shallbe editing a mothers' column on an agricultural weekly."

  "Norberg would be delighted to get you," mused Von Gerhard, "and itwould be day work instead of night work."

  "And you would send me a weekly bulletin on Dawn's health, wouldn't you,Ernst?" pleaded Norah. "And you'd teach her to drink beer and she shallgrow so fat that the Spalpeens won't know their auntie."

  At last--"How much do they pay?" I asked, in desperation. And the thingthat had appeared so absurd at first began to take on the shape ofreality.

  Von Gerhard did speak to Norberg of the Post. And I am to go toMilwaukee next week. The skeleton of the book manuscript is stowedsafely away in the bottom of my trunk and Norah has filled in theremaining space with sundry flannels, and hot water bags and medicineflasks, so that I feel like a schoolgirl on her way to boarding-school,instead of like a seasoned old newspaper woman with a capital PAST and ashaky future. I wish that I were chummier with the Irish saints. I needthem now.