The Pace of Youth
IStimson stood in a corner and glowered. He was a fierce man and hadindomitable whiskers, albeit he was very small."That young tarrier," he whispered to himself. "He wants to quit makin'eyes at Lizzie. This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,he'll get fired."His brow creased in a frown, he strode over to the huge open doors andlooked at a sign. "Stimson's Mammoth Merry-Go-Round," it read, and theglory of it was great. Stimson stood and contemplated the sign. It wasan enormous affair; the letters were as large as men. The glow of it,the grandeur of it was very apparent to Stimson. At the end of hiscontemplation, he shook his head thoughtfully, determinedly. "No, no,"he muttered. "This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,he'll get fired."A soft booming sound of surf, mingled with the cries of bathers, camefrom the beach. There was a vista of sand and sky and sea that drew to amystic point far away in the northward. In the mighty angle, a girl in ared dress was crawling slowly like some kind of a spider on the fabricof nature. A few flags hung lazily above where the bathhouses weremarshalled in compact squares. Upon the edge of the sea stood a shipwith its shadowy sails painted dimly upon the sky, and high overhead inthe still, sun-shot air a great hawk swung and drifted slowly.Within the Merry-Go-Round there was a whirling circle of ornamentallions, giraffes, camels, ponies, goats, glittering with varnish andmetal that caught swift reflections from windows high above them. Withstiff wooden legs, they swept on in a never-ending race, while a greatorchestrion clamored in wild speed. The summer sunlight sprinkled itsgold upon the garnet canopies carried by the tireless racers and uponall the devices of decoration that made Stimson's machine magnificentand famous. A host of laughing children bestrode the animals, bendingforward like charging cavalrymen, and shaking reins and whooping inglee. At intervals they leaned out perilously to clutch at iron ringsthat were tendered to them by a long wooden arm. At the intense momentbefore the swift grab for the rings one could see their little nervousbodies quiver with eagerness; the laughter rang shrill and excited. Downin the long rows of benches, crowds of people sat watching the game,while occasionally a father might arise and go near to shoutencouragement, cautionary commands, or applause at his flying offspring.Frequently mothers called out: "Be careful, Georgie!" The orchestrionbellowed and thundered on its platform, filling the ears with its longmonotonous song. Over in a corner, a man in a white apron and behind acounter roared above the tumult: "Popcorn! Popcorn!"A young man stood upon a small, raised platform, erected in a manner ofa pulpit, and just without the line of the circling figures. It was hisduty to manipulate the wooden arm and affix the rings. When all weregone into the hands of the triumphant children, he held forth a basket,into which they returned all save the coveted brass one, which meantanother ride free and made the holder very illustrious. The young manstood all day upon his narrow platform, affixing rings or holding forththe basket. He was a sort of general squire in these lists of childhood.He was very busy.And yet Stimson, the astute, had noticed that the young man frequentlyfound time to twist about on his platform and smile at a girl who shylysold tickets behind a silvered netting. This, indeed, was the greatreason of Stimson's glowering. The young man upon the raised platformhad no manner of license to smile at the girl behind the silverednetting. It was a most gigantic insolence. Stimson was amazed at it. "ByJiminy," he said to himself again, "that fellow is smiling at mydaughter." Even in this tone of great wrath it could be discerned thatStimson was filled with wonder that any youth should dare smile at thedaughter in the presence of the august father.Often the dark-eyed girl peered between the shining wires, and, uponbeing detected by the young man, she usually turned her head quickly toprove to him that she was not interested. At other times, however, hereyes seemed filled with a tender fear lest he should fall from thatexceedingly dangerous platform. As for the young man, it was plain thatthese glances filled him with valor, and he stood carelessly upon hisperch, as if he deemed it of no consequence that he might fall from it.In all the complexities of his daily life and duties he foundopportunity to gaze ardently at the vision behind the netting.This silent courtship was conducted over the heads of the crowd whothronged about the bright machine. The swift eloquent glances of theyoung man went noiselessly and unseen with their message. There hadfinally become established between the two in this manner a subtleunderstanding and companionship. They communicated accurately all thatthey felt. The boy told his love, his reverence, his hope in the changesof the future. The girl told him that she loved him, and she did notlove him, that she did not know if she loved him. Sometimes a littlesign, saying "cashier" in gold letters, and hanging upon the silverednetting, got directly in range and interfered with the tender message.The love affair had not continued without anger, unhappiness, despair.The girl had once smiled brightly upon a youth who came to buy sometickets for his little sister, and the young man upon the platform,observing this smile, had been filled with gloomy rage. He stood like adark statue of vengeance upon his pedestal and thrust out the basket tothe children with a gesture that was full of scorn for their hollowhappiness, for their insecure and temporary joy. For five hours he didnot once look at the girl when she was looking at him. He was going tocrush her with his indifference; he was going to demonstrate that he hadnever been serious. However, when he narrowly observed her in secret hediscovered that she seemed more blythe than was usual with her. When hefound that his apparent indifference had not crushed her he sufferedgreatly. She did not love him, he concluded. If she had loved him shewould have been crushed. For two days he lived a miserable existenceupon his high perch. He consoled himself by thinking of how unhappy hewas, and by swift, furtive glances at the loved face. At any rate he wasin her presence, and he could get a good view from his perch when therewas no interference by the little sign: "Cashier."But suddenly, swiftly, these clouds vanished, and under the imperialblue sky of the restored confidence they dwelt in peace, a peace thatwas satisfaction, a peace that, like a babe, put its trust in thetreachery of the future. This confidence endured until the next day,when she, for an unknown cause, suddenly refused to look at him.Mechanically he continued his task, his brain dazed, a tortured victimof doubt, fear, suspicion. With his eyes he supplicated her to telegraphan explanation. She replied with a stony glance that froze his blood.There was a great difference in their respective reasons for becomingangry. His were always foolish, but apparent, plain as the moon. Herswere subtle, feminine, as incomprehensible as the stars, as mysteriousas the shadows at night.They fell and soared and soared and fell in this manner until they knewthat to live without each other would be a wandering in deserts. Theyhad grown so intent upon the uncertainties, the variations, theguessings of their affair that the world had become but a hugeimmaterial background. In time of peace their smiles were soft andprayerful, caresses confided to the air. In time of war, their youthfulhearts, capable of profound agony, were wrung by the intricate emotionsof doubt. They were the victims of the dread angel of affectionatespeculation that forces the brain endlessly on roads that lead nowhere.At night, the problem of whether she loved him confronted the young manlike a spectre, looming as high as a hill and telling him not to deludehimself. Upon the following day, this battle of the night displayeditself in the renewed fervor of his glances and in their increasednumber. Whenever he thought he could detect that she too was suffering,he felt a thrill of joy.But there came a time when the young man looked back upon thesecontortions with contempt. He believed then that he had imagined hispain. This came about when the redoubtable Stimson marched forward toparticipate."This has got to stop," Stimson had said to himself, as he stood andwatched them. They had grown careless of the light world that clatteredabout them; they were become so engrossed in their personal drama thatthe language of their eyes was almost as obvious as gestures. AndStimson, through his keenness, his wonderful, infallible penetration,suddenly came into possession of these obvious facts. "Well, of all thenerves," he said, regarding with a new interest the young man upon theperch.He was a resolute man. He never hesitated to grapple with a crisis. Hedecided to overturn everything at once, for, although small, he was veryfierce and impetuous. He resolved to crush this dreaming.He strode over to the silvered netting. "Say, you want to quit youreverlasting grinning at that idiot," he said, grimly.The girl cast down her eyes and made a little heap of quarters into astack. She was unable to withstand the terrible scrutiny of her smalland fierce father.Stimson turned from his daughter and went to a spot beneath theplatform. He fixed his eyes upon the young man and said--"I've been speakin' to Lizzie. You better attend strictly to your ownbusiness or there'll be a new man here next week." It was as if he hadblazed away with a shotgun. The young man reeled upon his perch. At lasthe in a measure regained his composure and managed to stammer: "A--allright, sir." He knew that denials would be futile with the terribleStimson. He agitatedly began to rattle the rings in the basket, andpretend that he was obliged to count them or inspect them in some way.He, too, was unable to face the great Stimson.For a moment, Stimson stood in fine satisfaction and gloated over theeffect of his threat."I've fixed them," he said complacently, and went out to smoke a cigarand revel in himself. Through his mind went the proud reflection thatpeople who came in contact with his granite will usually ended in quickand abject submission.IIOne evening, a week after Stimson had indulged in the proud reflectionthat people who came in contact with his granite will usually ended inquick and abject submission, a young feminine friend of the girl behindthe silvered netting came to her there and asked her to walk on thebeach after "Stimson's Mammoth Merry-Go-Round" was closed for the night.The girl assented with a nod.The young man upon the perch holding the rings saw this nod and judgedits meaning. Into his mind came an idea of defeating the watchfulness ofthe redoubtable Stimson. When the Merry-Go-Round was closed and the twogirls started for the beach, he wandered off aimlessly in anotherdirection, but he kept them in view, and as soon as he was assured thathe had escaped the vigilance of Stimson, he followed them.The electric lights on the beach made a broad band of tremoring light,extending parallel to the sea, and upon the wide walk there slowlyparaded a great crowd, intermingling, intertwining, sometimes colliding.In the darkness stretched the vast purple expanse of the ocean, and thedeep indigo sky above was peopled with yellow stars. Occasionally outupon the water a whirling mass of froth suddenly flashed into view, likea great ghostly robe appearing, and then vanished, leaving the sea inits darkness, whence came those bass tones of the water's unknownemotion. A wind, cool, reminiscent of the wave wastes, made the womenhold their wraps about their throats, and caused the men to grip therims of their straw hats. It carried the noise of the band in thepavilion in gusts. Sometimes people unable to hear the music glanced upat the pavilion and were reassured upon beholding the distant leaderstill gesticulating and bobbing, and the other members of the band withtheir lips glued to their instruments. High in the sky soared anunassuming moon, faintly silver.For a time the young man was afraid to approach the two girls; hefollowed them at a distance and called himself a coward. At last,however, he saw them stop on the outer edge of the crowd and standsilently listening to the voices of the sea. When he came to where theystood, he was trembling in his agitation. They had not seen him."Lizzie," he began. "I----"The girl wheeled instantly and put her hand to her throat."Oh, Frank, how you frightened me," she said--inevitably."Well, you know, I--I----" he stuttered.But the other girl was one of those beings who are born to attend attragedies. She had for love a reverence, an admiration that was greaterthe more that she contemplated the fact that she knew nothing of it.This couple, with their emotions, awed her and made her humbly wish thatshe might be destined to be of some service to them. She was veryhomely.When the young man faltered before them, she, in her sympathy, actuallyover-estimated the crisis, and felt that he might fall dying at theirfeet. Shyly, but with courage, she marched to the rescue."Won't you come and walk on the beach with us?" she said.The young man gave her a glance of deep gratitude which was not withoutthe patronage which a man in his condition naturally feels for one whopities it. The three walked on.Finally, the being who was born to attend at this tragedy said that shewished to sit down and gaze at the sea, alone.They politely urged her to walk on with them, but she was obstinate. Shewished to gaze at the sea, alone. The young man swore to himself that hewould be her friend until he died.And so the two young lovers went on without her. They turned once tolook at her."Jennie's awful nice," said the girl."You bet she is," replied the young man, ardently.They were silent for a little time.At last the girl said--"You were angry at me yesterday.""No, I wasn't.""Yes, you were, too. You wouldn't look at me once all day.""No, I wasn't angry. I was only putting on."Though she had, of course, known it, this confession seemed to make hervery indignant. She flashed a resentful glance at him."Oh, you were, indeed?" she said with a great air.For a few minutes she was so haughty with him that he loved her tomadness. And directly this poem, which stuck at his lips, came forthlamely in fragments.When they walked back toward the other girl and saw the patience of herattitude, their hearts swelled in a patronizing and secondary tendernessfor her.They were very happy. If they had been miserable they would have chargedthis fairy scene of the night with a criminal heartlessness; but as theywere joyous, they vaguely wondered how the purple sea, the yellow stars,the changing crowds under the electric lights could be so phlegmatic andstolid.They walked home by the lakeside way, and out upon the water those gaypaper lanterns, flashing, fleeting, and careering, sang to them, sang achorus of red and violet, and green and gold; a song of mystic bands ofthe future.One day, when business paused during a dull sultry afternoon, Stimsonwent up town. Upon his return, he found that the popcorn man, from hisstand over in a corner, was keeping an eye upon the cashier's cage, andthat nobody at all was attending to the wooden arm and the iron rings.He strode forward like a sergeant of grenadiers."Where in thunder is Lizzie?" he demanded, a cloud of rage in his eyes.The popcorn man, although associated long with Stimson, had never gotover being dazed."They've--they've--gone round to th'--th'--house," he said withdifficulty, as if he had just been stunned."Whose house?" snapped Stimson."Your--your house, I s'pose," said the popcorn man.Stimson marched round to his home. Kingly denunciations surged, alreadyformulated, to the tip of his tongue, and he bided the moment when hisanger could fall upon the heads of that pair of children. He found hiswife convulsive and in tears."Where's Lizzie?"And then she burst forth--"Oh--John--John--they've run away, I know theyhave. They drove by here not three minutes ago. They must have done iton purpose to bid me good-bye, for Lizzie waved her hand sadlike; andthen, before I could get out to ask where they were going or what, Frankwhipped up the horse."Stimson gave vent to a dreadful roar."Get my revolver--get a hack--get my revolver, do you hear--what thedevil--" His voice became incoherent.He had always ordered his wife about as if she were a battalion ofinfantry, and despite her misery, the training of years forced her tospring mechanically to obey; but suddenly she turned to him with ashrill appeal."Oh, John--not--the--revolver.""Confound it, let go of me!" he roared again, and shook her from him.He ran hatless upon the street. There were a multitude of hacks at thesummer resort, but it was ages to him before he could find one. Then hecharged it like a bull."Uptown!" he yelled, as he tumbled into the rear seat.The hackman thought of severed arteries. His galloping horse distanced alarge number of citizens who had been running to find what caused suchcontortions by the little hatless man.It chanced as the bouncing hack went along near the lake, Stimson gazedacross the calm grey expanse and recognized a color in a bonnet and apose of a head. A buggy was traveling along a highway that led toSorington. Stimson bellowed--"There--there--there they are--in thatbuggy."The hackman became inspired with the full knowledge of the situation. Hestruck a delirious blow with the whip. His mouth expanded in a grin ofexcitement and joy. It came to pass that this old vehicle, with itsdrowsy horse and its dusty-eyed and tranquil driver, seemed suddenly toawaken, to become animated and fleet. The horse ceased to ruminate onhis state, his air of reflection vanished. He became intent upon hisaged legs and spread them in quaint and ridiculous devices for speed.The driver, his eyes shining, sat critically in his seat. He watchedeach motion of this rattling machine down before him. He resembled anengineer. He used the whip with judgment and deliberation as theengineer would have used coal or oil. The horse clacked swiftly upon themacadam, the wheels hummed, the body of the vehicle wheezed and groaned.Stimson, in the rear seat, was erect in that impassive attitude thatcomes sometimes to the furious man when he is obliged to leave thebattle to others. Frequently, however, the tempest in his breast came tohis face and he howled--"Go it--go it--you're gaining; pound 'im! Thump the life out of 'im; hit'im hard, you fool!" His hand grasped the rod that supported thecarriage top, and it was clenched so that the nails were faintly blue.Ahead, that other carriage had been flying with speed, as fromrealization of the menace in the rear. It bowled away rapidly, drawn bythe eager spirit of a young and modern horse. Stimson could see thebuggy-top bobbing, bobbing. That little pane, like an eye, was aderision to him. Once he leaned forward and bawled angry sentences. Hebegan to feel impotent; his whole expedition was a tottering of an oldman upon a trail of birds. A sense of age made him choke again withwrath. That other vehicle, that was youth, with youth's pace; it wasswift-flying with the hope of dreams. He began to comprehend those twochildren ahead of him, and he knew a sudden and strange awe, because heunderstood the power of their young blood, the power to fly stronglyinto the future and feel and hope again, even at that time when hisbones must be laid in the earth. The dust rose easily from the hot roadand stifled the nostrils of Stimson.The highway vanished far away in a point with a suggestion ofintolerable length. The other vehicle was becoming so small that Stimsoncould no longer see the derisive eye.At last the hackman drew rein to his horse and turned to look atStimson."No use, I guess," he said.Stimson made a gesture of acquiescence, rage, despair. As the hackmanturned his dripping horse about, Stimson sank back with the astonishmentand grief of a man who has been defied by the universe. He had been in agreat perspiration, and now his bald head felt cool and uncomfortable.He put up his hand with a sudden recollection that he had forgotten hishat.At last he made a gesture. It meant that at any rate he was notresponsible.
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