The Adventures of a Modest Man

"You did! You meant the humour of the situation. I will answer you. I do not see the humour of it!"

"You are quite right," he admitted, looking furtively at the edge of her gown which concealed his right foot. "It is, as you say, simply ghastly to be tied together by the feet. Don't you suppose I could – without awakening suspicion – cut the – the laces with a penknife?"

"I beg you will attempt nothing whatever until this car is empty."

"Certainly," he said. "I will do anything in the world I can to spare you."

She did not reply, and he sat there nervously balanced on the edge of his seat, watching the lights of Harlem flash into view below. He had been hungry; he was no longer. Appetite had been succeeded by a gnawing anxiety. Again and again warm waves of shame overwhelmed him, alternating with a sort of wild-eyed pity for the young girl who sat so rigidly beside him, face averted. Once a mad desire to laugh seized him; he wondered whether it might be a premonition of hysteria, and shuddered. It did not seem as though he could possibly endure it another second to be tied by the foot to this silently suffering and lovely companion.

"Do you think," he said, hoarsely, "at the next station that if we rose together – and kept step – "

She shook her head.

"A – a sort of lock-step," he explained, timidly.

"I would if I thought it possible," she replied under her breath; "but I dare not. Suppose you should miss step! You are likely to do anything if it's only sufficiently foolish."

"You could take my arm and pretend you are my lame sister," he ventured.

"Suppose the train started. Suppose, by any one of a thousand possible accidents, you should become panic-stricken. What sort of a spectacle would we furnish the passengers of this car? No! No! No! The worst of it is almost over. My guest is there – astounded at my absence. Before I am even half-way back to Twenty-eighth Street she will have become sufficiently affronted to leave the house. I might as well go on to the end of the road." She turned toward him hastily: "Where is the end of this road?"

"Somewhere in the Bronx, I believe," he said, vaguely.

"That is hours from Twenty-eighth Street, isn't it?"

"I believe so."

The train whirled on; stations were far between, now. He sat so silent, so utterly broken and downcast, that after a long while she turned to him with a hint of softness in her stern reserve.

"Of course," she said, "I do not suppose you deliberately intended to tie our feet together. I am not absurd. But the astonishment, the horror of finding what you had done exasperated me for a moment. I'm cool enough now; besides, it is perfectly plain that you are the sort of man one is – is accustomed to know."

"I hope not!" he said, devoutly.

"Oh, I mean – " She hesitated, and the glimmer of a smile touched her eyes, instantly extinguished, however.

"I understand," he said. "You mean that it's lucky your shoe-laces are tied to the shoe-lace of a man of your own sort. I hope to Heaven you may find a little comfort in that."

"I do," she said, with the uncertain violet light in her eyes again. "It's bad enough, goodness knows, but I – I am very sure you did not mean – "

"You are perfectly right; I mean well, as they say of all chumps. And the worst of it is," he added, wildly, "I never before knew that I was a chump! I never before saw any symptoms. Would you believe me, I never in all my life have been such an idiot as I was in those first few minutes that I crossed your path. How on earth to account for it; how to explain, to ask pardon, to – to ever forget it! As long as I live I shall wake at night with the dreadful chagrin burning my ears off. Isn't it the limit? And I – I shouldn't have felt so crushed if it had been anybody excepting you – "

"I do not understand," she said gravely.

"I do," he muttered.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MASTER KNOT OF HUMAN FATE

The conversation dropped there: she gazed thoughtfully out upon the Teutonic magnificence of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street by gaslight; he, arms folded, relapsed into bitter contemplation of the breakfast-food. So immersed he became in the picture of an unctuous little boy stuffing himself to repletion under the admiring smirk of a benevolent parent that he forgot his manacles, and attempting to stretch his cramped leg, returned to his senses in a hurry.

"I think," she suggested, quietly, "that, if you care to stretch, I wouldn't mind it, either. Can you do it discreetly?"

"I'll try," he said in a whisper. "Shall I count three?"

She nodded.

"One, two, three," he counted, and they cautiously stretched their legs.

"I now know how the Siamese twins felt," he said, sullenly. "No wonder they died young."

She laughed – a curious, little laugh which was one of the most agreeable sounds he had ever heard.

"I take it for granted," he said, "that you will always cherish for me a wholesome and natural hatred."

"I shall never see you again," she replied, simply.

That silenced him for a while; he fished about in his intellect to find mitigating circumstances. There was none that he knew of.

"Suppose – under pleasanter auspices, we should some day meet?" he suggested.

"We never shall."

"How do you know?"

"It is scarcely worth while speculating upon such an improbability," she said, coldly.

"But – suppose – "

She turned toward him. "You desire to know what my attitude would be toward you?"

"Yes, I do."

"It would be one of absolutely amiable indifference – if you really wish to know," she said so sweetly that he was quite sure his entire body shrank at least an inch.

"By the way," she added, "the last passenger has left this car."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "Now's our time. Would you mind – "

"With the very greatest pleasure," she said, quickly; "please count one, two, three."

He counted; there came a discreet movement, and from under the hem of her gown there appeared a dainty shoe, accompanied by a larger masculine companion. He bent down, his fingers seemed to be all thumbs, and he grew redder and redder.

"Perhaps I can do it," she said, stripping off her gloves and bending over. A stray tendril of bright hair brushed his cheek as their heads almost came together.

"Goodness, what a dreadful knot!" she breathed, her smooth fingers busy. The perfume of her hair, her gloves, her gown thrilled him; he looked at her face, now flushed with effort; his eyes fell on her delicate hands, her distractingly pretty foot, in its small, polished shoe.

"Patience," she said, calmly; "this knot must give way – "