ENTRY NO. XXII

I AM UTTERLY MISERABLE

_On Board "Oceanic," East-bound._

I may as well finish the sentence which ends brokenly in the preceding entry. "I am _an a.s.s_."

Three weeks have pa.s.sed since I finished that entry with the most appropriate words, "I am." They fittingly express the consummate egoism with which I was then afflicted. I have recovered--partially, at least.

I am--there goes that "I am" again--I am on the "Oceanic" pointed for London. Unless we sink--and I care little whether we do or not--I should be in that city inside of forty-eight hours.

In looking over my luggage I found this diary. I gave it to my room steward and told him to throw it overboard. Then it occurred to me that it would be my luck that it would be picked up and published as the mental meanderings of an idiot, so I called him back and took it away from him.

This steward of mine discovered my mental unbalance the first day out, but considers me harmless and treats me accordingly.

I have decided to bring this diary up to date, retain possession of it pending certain developments, and then incinerate it with appropriate ceremonies. So I will begin at the beginning, which is the ending of the last entry with its immortal declaration, "I am."

I have forgotten what I intended to write when I started that sentence, and what it was cuts no figure. I only know that just at that instant Chilvers, Marshall, and Carter appeared, dragged me from my chair and insisted that I join them in a foursome. There was no escape, so I got ready and in a few minutes was with them at the first tee.

On my way there I met Miss Harding, Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield. I chatted with them for a moment and went on. I remember--oh, do I not remember!--that I called Miss Harding aside and reminded her that we were to take a moonlight spin in my new automobile. She smilingly replied that she had not forgotten it, and with a look into each other's eyes which thrilled my very being I turned to join those golfers.

How can I write this? It is like pouring a burning acid into a wound!

I have forgotten who won the game. I know I played vilely for I was not thinking of golf. I was counting the minutes which must elapse before I could be by her side and tell her that I loved her.

I was rehearsing the words I should whisper to her as we paused on the smooth crest of "Old Baldy." I was picturing the fairy landscape shimmering in the moonlight, its rays falling on her fair face as I took her hand in mine. I saw it all as plain as I see this page in front of me. I felt it vividly as I feel the heaving of this great ship and the vibrations of its engines.

How could I play a decent game of golf under such circ.u.mstances?

On returning to the club house one of the attendants handed me a telegram which had just been received. I opened it carelessly and read:

Albuquerque, New Mexico.

To JOHN HENRY SMITH, Woodvale:

If you wish to see your Uncle Henry alive come at once.

DR. L.L. CLARK.

I had an hour in which to get ready to catch the last train to the city and make the proper connections. I called my man and gave him the necessary instructions.

Then I began a search for Miss Harding. I suddenly resolved to declare my love that day if the opportunity presented. I was delighted when I found her alone in the library.

She did not hear me as I softly entered the room. She was seated near a window, an opened book in her lap but her gaze was not on its print and it was evident her thoughts were far away.

I gently touched her shoulder, thinking to surprise her. I shall never forget the changing expressions in her eyes as they met mine.

"I beg pardon, Miss Harding," I began. "I am--"

She rose to her feet, the book falling to the floor. Her pretty head was erect, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing and her face deadly pale.

"Do not address me, sir!" she exclaimed, drawing away from me as if I were some repulsive animal.

I stood transfixed! I knew she was not dissembling. I could not think; I could not speak! The floor seemed flying beneath my feet, and I must have reeled.

"Leave me, sir! Leave me, sir, and never speak to me again!"

My voice came back to me.

"But, Miss Harding, there must be some mistake!" I stammered. "I beg of you--"

"There is no mistake!" she cried with intense bitterness, pushing past me. "If you were a gentleman you would grant the last request I shall ever ask of you!"

I stood as in a trance and watched her sweep proudly from out the room.

I fell back into the chair she had vacated. I do not know how long I remained there or what tumultuous thoughts crashed against me like breakers storm-lashed on a rock-girt sh.o.r.e; I only know that my man found me there and told me that my train was due in fifteen minutes.

I went to my room and changed my golf for a travelling suit. The next I remember is that I was on the train rushing toward the city.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She rose to her feet"]

No sleep came to my eyes that long and awful night as the miles spun out which separated me from the one I loved so madly. Yes, I loved her then, and I love her now!

Like a caged and wounded animal I paced the narrow confines of my stateroom. Ten thousand times I asked for the disclosing of this pitiful mystery, and ten thousand times a mocking laugh came back in the roar and shriekings of the train. The car wheels chuckled in rhythm, the airbrakes hissed in derision and the engine whistle hooted in scorn.

It was daybreak when I threw myself on the couch and closed my eyes. I think I slept for an hour or so. To my surprise and disgust I found when I awoke that I was hungry. I had thought I should never care to eat again.

It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of my journey had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her.

It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it. I told her I loved her, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word or deed.

I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense, and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it by mentioning and apologising for it.

I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder--the left shoulder. It was an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had pondered the matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise to exhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorish indiscretion. It was the only straw on which I could float an apology for a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case by mentioning it.

Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and a.s.suring her of my undying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted the persuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.

I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer to it.

Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival. Before he pa.s.sed away he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern town where he was born. He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golf links, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir. Thus by the death of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocks and other property for which I have no use.

Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire. I would rather--oh, what's the use of writing that?

As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.

I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house, and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!

Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?

Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.