Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 5, June 1905

“Chilly?” said I.

Dickie laughed unconvincingly. “No, just burning some old trash. Want to take a tramp?”

I did. Was it chance or the immutable workings of fate which took us in time past the house of the cherry tree? In a porch hammock was Rosie, a vision of budding beauty only half clouded in flimsy lawn and lace. Yet with never a turn of the head Dickie swaggered by, talking meanwhile to me in tones meant to carry an idea of much light-heartedness. Over my shoulder I noted that Rosie was standing watching us, a puzzled look on her face.

“Dick!” It was rather a faint call, but loud enough to be heard.

“She’s calling you,” said I.

“Wait, Dickie!” This time there was an aggrieved, pleading note, against which the stern Dickie was not proof.

“Well,” said he, “I suppose I’d better see what she wants. Will you wait?”

“No, I will go on slowly and you can catch up with me. Don’t be long, Dickie.”

But a full hour later, when I returned, he was just starting. From some distance up the road I could see them. On the veranda Rosie’s mother rocked and worked placidly away at something in her lap. Quite sedately they walked down the path until a big hydrangea bush, studded thickly with great clumps of blossoms, screened them from the house. Then something occurred which told me that the boating incident and the unanswered note had either been forgiven or forgotten. I dodged out of sight behind a hedge. When I thought it safe to come out, Dickie was swinging up the road toward me, whistling furiously. Clawing my shoulder, he remarked: “Say, old man, what do you think of her?”

“Think of whom?”

“Why, Rosie.”

“Rosie! What Rosie? Oh, you mean the one who gave you the cherries?”

“Yes, of course. Say” – this impulsively in my ear – “she’s the sweetest girl alive.”

“From what I saw just now,” said I, “I should say that you were quite competent to pass on Rosie’s flavor. You took at least two tastes.”

“I don’t care if you did see,” said Dickie. “Suppose you can keep a secret? We’re en – ”

“You young scamp!” I exclaimed. Visions of an ambitious and angry mother came to me with abrupt vividness. “You don’t mean to tell me that you two – ”

“Yep, we are. But no one is to know of it until I’ve graduated.”

Interesting news for me, wasn’t it? Well, by means of discreet deception and the use of such diplomacy as would have settled a dispute between nations, I dragged Dickie far away that very night. Moreover, although it was the most difficult and thankless task I had ever undertaken, I kept him away until I had seen him safely bestowed in a college dormitory. There I left him constructing, in defiance of all the good advice I had given him, an elaborate missive to a person whom he addressed as “My Darling Rosie.” Then I knew that I might as well give up. Sorrowfully I recalled the words of a forgotten sentimentalist: “It is on the deep pages of the heart that Youth writes indelibly its salutary to Cupid.”

When I met Dickie’s mother at the pier in October, I expected to hear that he had written all about my wicked interference in the Rosie affair. He hadn’t, though, and I shamelessly accepted her thanks, wondering all the while what she would say when the shocking truth came out. Her Dickie engaged! And to a nameless nobody! It would not be pleasant to face Dickie’s mother after she had acquired this knowledge.

So at the end of the term I was on hand to help Dickie pack his trunk, meaning to save him, by hook or crook, from his precocious entanglement. I should try reason first, then ridicule, and, lastly, I would plead with him, as humbly as I might, to forget.

This program I did not carry out. On the mantel in Dickie’s room, propped against a tobacco jar, was a photograph of a girl with fluffy hair and pouting lips. Observing that Dickie wrapped the picture carefully in a sweater before tucking it away in his trunk, I asked: “Who is that, Dickie?”

“Met her at the Junior hop,” said Dickie. “She’s a queen, all right.”

“Indeed!” Then I added, anxiously: “And what of Rosie?”

“Rosie?” Could this blankness on Dickie’s face be genuine? “What Rosie?”

“Why, the one who gave you the cherries.”

“Oh, that one!” Dickie laughed lightly. “Why, that’s all off long ago, you know.”

Right there I abandoned all faith in a sentimental theory having to do with Cupid and certain pages in the heart of Youth.

SONG

I gave to love the fairest rose
That in my garden grew;
And still my heart its fragrance knows —
Does he remember, too?

He laid his dreams upon my day,
His kisses on my mouth,
I woke, to find him flown away
With summer to the south.

Love’s vagrant step once more to greet,
My garden blooms in vain;
The roses of the south are sweet —
Love will not come again!

The roses of the south are sweet —
Love will not come again!

    Charlotte Becker.

AN EDITORIAL

SYNOPSIS OF CHAPTERS I – XIII OF “THE DELUGE,” BY DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS

Matthew Blacklock, the central figure of the story, is essentially a self-made man, who has made himself a power to be reckoned with. He is a man of great natural force, immense egotism, insatiable greed for notoriety and unswerving adherence to his own standards of morality. He has two devouring ambitions: First to become one of the inner circle that controls high finance and second to become one of the elect in society.

The opening chapters explain these ambitions. The magnate of the financial world is Roebuck, who has from time to time made use of Blacklock’s peculiar abilities and following. The latter has become impatient and dissatisfied with his role as a mere instrument and demands of Roebuck that he shall be given a place among the “seats of the mighty.” Roebuck makes a pretense of yielding to the demand.

Blacklock’s social ambition is awakened and stimulated by his meeting with Anita Ellersly, the sister of a young society man who has been the recipient of many financial favors from Blacklock.

The latter finally succeeds in his wish so far as to receive an invitation to dinner at the Ellerslys’, which is given for reasons that are obvious. It is made plain to him, however, that his intentions with respect to Anita are extremely distasteful to her, and after an evening spent under a tremendous nervous strain he leaves the house exhausted and depressed.

His first impulse after his visit to the Ellerslys’ house is to regard his plans as hopeless, but his vanity comes to his rescue and strengthens his resolution to succeed. For assistance he turns to Monson, the trainer of his racing stable, an Englishman in whom he has discovered unmistakable signs of breeding and refinement. Under Monson’s tuition he makes rapid progress in adapting himself to the requirements imposed upon aspirants for social distinction.

His absorption in these pursuits leads to his unconscious neglect of some of the finer points of his financial game. He allows himself to be misled by the smooth appearance of the friendliness of Mowbray Langdon, one of Roebuck’s trusted lieutenants, and accumulates a heavy short interest in one of his pet industrial stocks. He visits Roebuck and is deceived by the latter’s suavity. He has another invitation to dine at the Ellerslys’, but his experience is as discouraging as before.

Nevertheless, having now become hopelessly in love with Anita, he persists in his attentions and finally becomes engaged to her, though it is perfectly understood by both that she does not love him and accepts him only because he is rich and her family is poor.

Meantime, he has to some extent lost his hold upon his affairs in Wall Street and suddenly awakens to the fact that he has been betrayed by Langdon, who, knowing that Blacklock is deeply involved in a short interest in Textile Trust stock, has taken advantage of the latter’s preoccupation with Miss Ellersly to boom the price of the stock. With ruin staring him in the face, Blacklock takes energetic measures to save himself.

He makes the startling discovery that Langdon is the person responsible for the rise in Textile, the object being to drive him from the Street. He sees Anita, tells her the situation and frees her, but she refuses to accept her release when she hears of Langdon’s duplicity.

With the aid of money loaned to him by a gambler friend, he succeeds the next day, by means of large purchases of Textile Trust, in postponing the catastrophe.