In The Bishop's Carriage [15]
the table beside his couch.
"I think--if you don't mind, Mr. Latimer, I'll begin the reading to-morrow." I got up to go. I was through with that garden now.
"But I do mind!"
Silken voice? Not a bit of it! I turned on him so furious I thought I didn't care what came of it--when over by the great gate-post I saw a man crouching--Moriway.
I sat down again and pulled the book farther toward the light.
We didn't learn much poetry at the Cruelty, did we, Mag? But I know some now, just the same. When I began to read I heard only one word--Moriway--Moriway--Moriway. But I must have--forgotten him after a time, and the dark garden with the light on only one spot, and the roses smelling, and Latimer lying perfectly still, his face turned toward me, for I was reading--listen, I bet I can remember that part of it if I say it slow--
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!
--when all at once Mr. Latimer put his hand on the book. I looked up with a start. The shadow by the gate was gone.
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--- How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden--and for ONE in vain!
Latimer was saying it without the book and with a queer smile that made me feel I hadn't quite caught on.
"Thank you, that will do," he went on. "That is enough, Miss--" He stopped.
I waited.
He did not say "Omar."
I looked him square in the eye--and then I had enough.
"But what in the devil did you make believe for?" I asked.
He smiled.
"If ever you come to lie on your back day and night, year in and year out, and know that never in your life will it be any different, you may take pleasure in a bit of excitement and--and learn to pity the under dog, who, in this case, happened to be a boy that leaped over the gate as though his heart was in his mouth. Just as you would admire the nerve of the young lady that came out of the house a few minutes after in your housekeeper's Sunday gown."
Yes, grin, Torn Dorgan. You won't grin long.
I put down the book and got up to go.
"Good night, then, and thank you, Mr. Latimer."
"Good night. . . . Oh, Miss--" He didn't say "Omar"--"there is a favor you might do me."
"Sure!" I wondered what it could be.
"Those diamonds. I've got to have them, you know, to send them back to their owner. I don't mind helping a--a person who helps himself to other people's things, but I can't let him get away with his plunder without being that kind of person myself. So--"
Why didn't I lie? Because there are some people you don't lie to, Tom Dorgan. Don't talk to me, you bully, I'm savage enough. To have rings and pins and ear-rings, a whole bagful of diamonds, and to haul 'em out of your pocket and lay 'em on the table there before him!
"I wonder," he said slowly, as he put them away in his own pocket, "what a man like me could do for a girl like you?"
"Reform her!" I snarled. "Show her how to get diamonds honestly."
Say, Tom, let's go in for bigger game.
III.
Oh, Mag, Mag, for heaven's sake, let me talk to you! No, don't say anything. You must let me tell you. No--don't call the other girls. I can't bear to tell this to anybody but you.
You know how I kicked when Tom hit on Latimer's as the place we were to scuttle. And the harder I kicked the stubborner he got, till he swore he'd do the job without me if I wouldn't come along. Well--this is the rest of it.
The house, you know, stands at the end of the street. If you could walk through the garden with the iron fence you'd come right down the bluff on to the docks and out into East River. Tom and I came up to it from the docks last night. It was dark and wet, you remember. The mud was thick on my trousers--Nance Olden's a boy every time when it comes to doing business.
"We'll blow it all in, Tom," I said, as we climbed. "We'll spend a week
"I think--if you don't mind, Mr. Latimer, I'll begin the reading to-morrow." I got up to go. I was through with that garden now.
"But I do mind!"
Silken voice? Not a bit of it! I turned on him so furious I thought I didn't care what came of it--when over by the great gate-post I saw a man crouching--Moriway.
I sat down again and pulled the book farther toward the light.
We didn't learn much poetry at the Cruelty, did we, Mag? But I know some now, just the same. When I began to read I heard only one word--Moriway--Moriway--Moriway. But I must have--forgotten him after a time, and the dark garden with the light on only one spot, and the roses smelling, and Latimer lying perfectly still, his face turned toward me, for I was reading--listen, I bet I can remember that part of it if I say it slow--
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake: For all the sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!
--when all at once Mr. Latimer put his hand on the book. I looked up with a start. The shadow by the gate was gone.
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--- How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden--and for ONE in vain!
Latimer was saying it without the book and with a queer smile that made me feel I hadn't quite caught on.
"Thank you, that will do," he went on. "That is enough, Miss--" He stopped.
I waited.
He did not say "Omar."
I looked him square in the eye--and then I had enough.
"But what in the devil did you make believe for?" I asked.
He smiled.
"If ever you come to lie on your back day and night, year in and year out, and know that never in your life will it be any different, you may take pleasure in a bit of excitement and--and learn to pity the under dog, who, in this case, happened to be a boy that leaped over the gate as though his heart was in his mouth. Just as you would admire the nerve of the young lady that came out of the house a few minutes after in your housekeeper's Sunday gown."
Yes, grin, Torn Dorgan. You won't grin long.
I put down the book and got up to go.
"Good night, then, and thank you, Mr. Latimer."
"Good night. . . . Oh, Miss--" He didn't say "Omar"--"there is a favor you might do me."
"Sure!" I wondered what it could be.
"Those diamonds. I've got to have them, you know, to send them back to their owner. I don't mind helping a--a person who helps himself to other people's things, but I can't let him get away with his plunder without being that kind of person myself. So--"
Why didn't I lie? Because there are some people you don't lie to, Tom Dorgan. Don't talk to me, you bully, I'm savage enough. To have rings and pins and ear-rings, a whole bagful of diamonds, and to haul 'em out of your pocket and lay 'em on the table there before him!
"I wonder," he said slowly, as he put them away in his own pocket, "what a man like me could do for a girl like you?"
"Reform her!" I snarled. "Show her how to get diamonds honestly."
Say, Tom, let's go in for bigger game.
III.
Oh, Mag, Mag, for heaven's sake, let me talk to you! No, don't say anything. You must let me tell you. No--don't call the other girls. I can't bear to tell this to anybody but you.
You know how I kicked when Tom hit on Latimer's as the place we were to scuttle. And the harder I kicked the stubborner he got, till he swore he'd do the job without me if I wouldn't come along. Well--this is the rest of it.
The house, you know, stands at the end of the street. If you could walk through the garden with the iron fence you'd come right down the bluff on to the docks and out into East River. Tom and I came up to it from the docks last night. It was dark and wet, you remember. The mud was thick on my trousers--Nance Olden's a boy every time when it comes to doing business.
"We'll blow it all in, Tom," I said, as we climbed. "We'll spend a week