The Conflict [80]
muttered. ``Yet we've got to do it. How Selma Gordon's eyes would shame me, if she could see me now!''
Davy had the familiar fondness for laying on the secret penitential scourge--wherewith we buy from our complacent consciences license to indulge in the sins our appetites or ambitions crave.
Judge Lansing--you have never seen a man who LOOKED the judge more ideally than did gray haired, gray bearded, open browed Robert Lansing--Judge Lansing was all ready for his part in the farce. He knew Hugo and helped him over the difficult places and cut him short as soon as he had made enough of his speech to give an inkling of what he was demanding. The Judge was persuaded to deliver himself of a high-minded and eloquent denunciation of those who had misled the court and the county prosecutor. He pointed out--in weighty judicial language--that Victor Dorn had by his conduct during several years invited just such a series of calamities as had beset him. But he went on to say that Dorn's reputation and fondness for speech and action bordering on the lawless did not withdraw from him the protection of the law. In spite of himself the law would protect him. The injunctions were dissolved and the indictments were quashed.
The news of the impending application, published in the morning papers, had crowded the court room. When the Judge finished a tremendous cheer went up. The cheer passed on to the throng outside, and when Davy and Hugo appeared in the corridor they were borne upon the shoulders of workingmen and were not released until they had made speeches. Davy's manly simplicity and clearness covered the stammering vagueness of hero Galland.
As Davy was gradually clearing himself of the eager handshakers and back-slappers, Selma suddenly appeared before him. Her eyes were shining and her whole body seemed to be irradiating emotion of admiration and gratitude. ``Thank you--oh, thank you!'' she said, pressing his hand. ``How I have misjudged you!''
Davy did not wince. He had now quite forgotten the part selfish ambition had played in his gallant rush to the defense of imperilled freedom--had forgotten it as completely as the now ecstatic Hugo had forgotten his prejudices against the ``low, smelly working people.'' He looked as exalted as he felt. ``I only did my plain duty,'' replied he. ``How could any decent American have done less?''
``I haven't seen Victor since yesterday afternoon,'' pursued Selma. ``But I know how grateful he'll be-- not so much for what you did as that YOU did it.''
The instinct of the crowd--the universal human instinct--against intruding upon a young man and young woman talking together soon cleared them of neighbors. An awkward silence fell. Said he hesitatingly:
``Are you ready to give your answer?--to that question I asked you the other day.''
``I gave you my answer then,'' replied she, her glance seeking a way of escape.
``No,'' said he. ``For you said then that you would not marry me. And I shall never take no for an answer until you have married some one else.''
She looked up at him with eyes large and grave and puzzled. ``I'm sure you don't want to marry me,'' she said. ``I wonder why you keep asking me.''
``I have to be honest with you,'' said Davy. ``Somehow you bring out all the good there is in me. So, I can't conceal anything from you. In a way I don't want to marry you. You're not at all the woman I have always pictured as the sort I ought to marry and would marry. But--Selma, I love you. I'd give up anything--even my career--to get you. When I'm away from you I seem to regain control of myself. But just as soon as I see you, I'm as bad as ever again.''
``Then we mustn't see each other,'' said she.
Suddenly she nodded, laughed up at him and darted away --and Hugo Galland, long since abandoned by the crowd, had seized him by the arm.
Selma debated whether to take Victor the news or to continue her walk. She decided for the walk. She had been feeling peculiarly toward Victor since the previous afternoon. She had not
Davy had the familiar fondness for laying on the secret penitential scourge--wherewith we buy from our complacent consciences license to indulge in the sins our appetites or ambitions crave.
Judge Lansing--you have never seen a man who LOOKED the judge more ideally than did gray haired, gray bearded, open browed Robert Lansing--Judge Lansing was all ready for his part in the farce. He knew Hugo and helped him over the difficult places and cut him short as soon as he had made enough of his speech to give an inkling of what he was demanding. The Judge was persuaded to deliver himself of a high-minded and eloquent denunciation of those who had misled the court and the county prosecutor. He pointed out--in weighty judicial language--that Victor Dorn had by his conduct during several years invited just such a series of calamities as had beset him. But he went on to say that Dorn's reputation and fondness for speech and action bordering on the lawless did not withdraw from him the protection of the law. In spite of himself the law would protect him. The injunctions were dissolved and the indictments were quashed.
The news of the impending application, published in the morning papers, had crowded the court room. When the Judge finished a tremendous cheer went up. The cheer passed on to the throng outside, and when Davy and Hugo appeared in the corridor they were borne upon the shoulders of workingmen and were not released until they had made speeches. Davy's manly simplicity and clearness covered the stammering vagueness of hero Galland.
As Davy was gradually clearing himself of the eager handshakers and back-slappers, Selma suddenly appeared before him. Her eyes were shining and her whole body seemed to be irradiating emotion of admiration and gratitude. ``Thank you--oh, thank you!'' she said, pressing his hand. ``How I have misjudged you!''
Davy did not wince. He had now quite forgotten the part selfish ambition had played in his gallant rush to the defense of imperilled freedom--had forgotten it as completely as the now ecstatic Hugo had forgotten his prejudices against the ``low, smelly working people.'' He looked as exalted as he felt. ``I only did my plain duty,'' replied he. ``How could any decent American have done less?''
``I haven't seen Victor since yesterday afternoon,'' pursued Selma. ``But I know how grateful he'll be-- not so much for what you did as that YOU did it.''
The instinct of the crowd--the universal human instinct--against intruding upon a young man and young woman talking together soon cleared them of neighbors. An awkward silence fell. Said he hesitatingly:
``Are you ready to give your answer?--to that question I asked you the other day.''
``I gave you my answer then,'' replied she, her glance seeking a way of escape.
``No,'' said he. ``For you said then that you would not marry me. And I shall never take no for an answer until you have married some one else.''
She looked up at him with eyes large and grave and puzzled. ``I'm sure you don't want to marry me,'' she said. ``I wonder why you keep asking me.''
``I have to be honest with you,'' said Davy. ``Somehow you bring out all the good there is in me. So, I can't conceal anything from you. In a way I don't want to marry you. You're not at all the woman I have always pictured as the sort I ought to marry and would marry. But--Selma, I love you. I'd give up anything--even my career--to get you. When I'm away from you I seem to regain control of myself. But just as soon as I see you, I'm as bad as ever again.''
``Then we mustn't see each other,'' said she.
Suddenly she nodded, laughed up at him and darted away --and Hugo Galland, long since abandoned by the crowd, had seized him by the arm.
Selma debated whether to take Victor the news or to continue her walk. She decided for the walk. She had been feeling peculiarly toward Victor since the previous afternoon. She had not