The Cost [14]
position."
"Yes--a matter of expense." Scarborough was in control of himself now. "But not precisely the kind of expense you mean. No--I can't join I'd rather not explain. I'm ever so much obliged, but really I can't."
"As you please." Pierson was offended. "But I warn you, you've got to belong to one or the other of these fraternities or you'll be cut off from everything. And you oughtn't to miss the chance to join the best."
"I see I've offended you." Scarborough spoke regretfully. "Please don't think I'm not appreciating your kindness. But--I've made a sort of agreement with myself never to join anything that isn't organized for a general purpose and that won't admit anybody who has that purpose, too."
Pierson thought on this for a moment. "Pardon me for saying so, but that's nonsense. You can't afford to stand alone. It'll make everything harder for you--many things impossible. You've got to yield to the prejudices of people in these matters. Why, even the barbs have no use for each other and look up to us. When we have an election in the Literary Society I can control more barb votes than any one else in college. And the reason is--well, you can imagine." (Mr. Pierson was only twenty years old when he made that speech.)
"It doesn't disturb me to think of myself as alone." The strong lines in Scarborough's face were in evidence. "But it would disturb me if I were propped up and weren't sure I could stand alone. I'm afraid to lean on any one or anything--my prop might give way. And I don't want any friends or any associates who value me for any other reason than what I myself am. I purpose never to `belong' to anything or anybody."
Pierson laughed. "Do as you please," he said. "I'd like to myself if it wasn't such an awful lot of trouble!"
"Not in the end," replied Scarborough.
"Oh, bother the end. To-day's good enough for me."
"You'd better not let Miss Shrewsbury hear you say that," said Scarborough, his eyes mocking.
Pierson grew serious at once. "Splendid girl, isn't she?" She happened to be the first he had known at all well who hadn't agreed with him in everything he said, hadn't shown the greatest anxiety to please him and hadn't practically thrown herself at his head. His combination of riches, good looks, an easy-going disposition and cleverness had so agitated those who had interested him theretofore that they had overreached themselves. Besides, his mother had been subtly watchful.
"Indeed, yes," assented Scarborough, heartily but not with enthusiasm--he always thought of Olivia as Pauline's cousin.
The four had arranged to go together to Indian Rock on the following Sunday. When the day came Olivia was not well; Pierson went to a poker game at his fraternity house; Pauline and Scarborough walked alone. As she went through the woods beside him she was thinking so intensely that she could not talk. But he was not disturbed by her silence--was it not enough to be near her, alone with her, free to look at her, so graceful and beautiful, so tasteful in dress, in every outward way what he thought a woman ought to be? Presently she roused herself and began a remark that was obviously mere politeness.
He interrupted her. "Don't mind me. Go on with your thinking--unless it's something you can say."
She gave him a quizzical, baffling smile. "How it would startle you if I did!" she said. "But--I shan't. And"--she frowned impatiently--"there's no use in thinking about it. It's all in the future."
"And one can't control the future."
"Yes, indeed--one can," she protested.
"I wish you'd tell me how. Are you sure you don't mean you could so arrange matters that the future would control you? Anybody can SURRENDER to the future and give it hostages. But that's not controlling, is it?"
"Certainly it is--if you give the hostages in exchange for what you want." And she looked triumphant.
"But how do you know what you'll want in the future? The most I can say is that I know a few things I shan't want."
"I shouldn't like to be
"Yes--a matter of expense." Scarborough was in control of himself now. "But not precisely the kind of expense you mean. No--I can't join I'd rather not explain. I'm ever so much obliged, but really I can't."
"As you please." Pierson was offended. "But I warn you, you've got to belong to one or the other of these fraternities or you'll be cut off from everything. And you oughtn't to miss the chance to join the best."
"I see I've offended you." Scarborough spoke regretfully. "Please don't think I'm not appreciating your kindness. But--I've made a sort of agreement with myself never to join anything that isn't organized for a general purpose and that won't admit anybody who has that purpose, too."
Pierson thought on this for a moment. "Pardon me for saying so, but that's nonsense. You can't afford to stand alone. It'll make everything harder for you--many things impossible. You've got to yield to the prejudices of people in these matters. Why, even the barbs have no use for each other and look up to us. When we have an election in the Literary Society I can control more barb votes than any one else in college. And the reason is--well, you can imagine." (Mr. Pierson was only twenty years old when he made that speech.)
"It doesn't disturb me to think of myself as alone." The strong lines in Scarborough's face were in evidence. "But it would disturb me if I were propped up and weren't sure I could stand alone. I'm afraid to lean on any one or anything--my prop might give way. And I don't want any friends or any associates who value me for any other reason than what I myself am. I purpose never to `belong' to anything or anybody."
Pierson laughed. "Do as you please," he said. "I'd like to myself if it wasn't such an awful lot of trouble!"
"Not in the end," replied Scarborough.
"Oh, bother the end. To-day's good enough for me."
"You'd better not let Miss Shrewsbury hear you say that," said Scarborough, his eyes mocking.
Pierson grew serious at once. "Splendid girl, isn't she?" She happened to be the first he had known at all well who hadn't agreed with him in everything he said, hadn't shown the greatest anxiety to please him and hadn't practically thrown herself at his head. His combination of riches, good looks, an easy-going disposition and cleverness had so agitated those who had interested him theretofore that they had overreached themselves. Besides, his mother had been subtly watchful.
"Indeed, yes," assented Scarborough, heartily but not with enthusiasm--he always thought of Olivia as Pauline's cousin.
The four had arranged to go together to Indian Rock on the following Sunday. When the day came Olivia was not well; Pierson went to a poker game at his fraternity house; Pauline and Scarborough walked alone. As she went through the woods beside him she was thinking so intensely that she could not talk. But he was not disturbed by her silence--was it not enough to be near her, alone with her, free to look at her, so graceful and beautiful, so tasteful in dress, in every outward way what he thought a woman ought to be? Presently she roused herself and began a remark that was obviously mere politeness.
He interrupted her. "Don't mind me. Go on with your thinking--unless it's something you can say."
She gave him a quizzical, baffling smile. "How it would startle you if I did!" she said. "But--I shan't. And"--she frowned impatiently--"there's no use in thinking about it. It's all in the future."
"And one can't control the future."
"Yes, indeed--one can," she protested.
"I wish you'd tell me how. Are you sure you don't mean you could so arrange matters that the future would control you? Anybody can SURRENDER to the future and give it hostages. But that's not controlling, is it?"
"Certainly it is--if you give the hostages in exchange for what you want." And she looked triumphant.
"But how do you know what you'll want in the future? The most I can say is that I know a few things I shan't want."
"I shouldn't like to be