’"Well. Thanks—once more.
You’ve been—er—uncommonly—really
there’s no word to . . . Uncommonly!
I don’t know why, I am sure. I am afraid
I don’t feel as grateful as I would if the whole
thing hadn’t been so brutally sprung on me.
Because at bottom . . . you, yourself . . .”
He stuttered.
’"Possibly,” I struck in. He frowned.
’"All the same, one is responsible.”
He watched me like a hawk.
’"And that’s true, too,” I said.
’"Well. I’ve gone with it to the
end, and I don’t intend to let any man cast
it in my teeth without—without—resenting
it.” He clenched his fist.
’"There’s yourself,” I said with
a smile—mirthless enough, God knows—but
he looked at me menacingly. “That’s
my business,” he said. An air of indomitable
resolution came and went upon his face like a vain
and passing shadow. Next moment he looked a dear
good boy in trouble, as before. He flung away
the cigarette. “Good-bye,” he said,
with the sudden haste of a man who had lingered too
long in view of a pressing bit of work waiting for
him; and then for a second or so he made not the slightest
movement. The downpour fell with the heavy uninterrupted
rush of a sweeping flood, with a sound of unchecked
overwhelming fury that called to one’s mind
the images of collapsing bridges, of uprooted trees,
of undermined mountains. No man could breast the
colossal and headlong stream that seemed to break
and swirl against the dim stillness in which we were
precariously sheltered as if on an island. The
perforated pipe gurgled, choked, spat, and splashed
in odious ridicule of a swimmer fighting for his life.
“It is raining,” I remonstrated, “and
I . . .” “Rain or shine,” he
began brusquely, checked himself, and walked to the
window. “Perfect deluge,” he muttered
after a while: he leaned his forehead on the
glass. “It’s dark, too.”
’"Yes, it is very dark,” I said.
’He pivoted on his heels, crossed the room,
and had actually opened the door leading into the
corridor before I leaped up from my chair. “Wait,”
I cried, “I want you to . . .” “I
can’t dine with you again to-night,” he
flung at me, with one leg out of the room already.
“I haven’t the slightest intention to
ask you,” I shouted. At this he drew back
his foot, but remained mistrustfully in the very doorway.
I lost no time in entreating him earnestly not to
be absurd; to come in and shut the door.’
’He came in at last; but I believe it was mostly
the rain that did it; it was falling just then with
a devastating violence which quieted down gradually
while we talked. His manner was very sober and
set; his bearing was that of a naturally taciturn
man possessed by an idea. My talk was of the
material aspect of his position; it had the sole aim
of saving him from the degradation, ruin, and despair
that out there close so swiftly upon a friendless,
homeless man; I pleaded with him to accept my help;
I argued reasonably: and every time I looked up
at that absorbed smooth face, so grave and youthful,
I had a disturbing sense of being no help but rather
an obstacle to some mysterious, inexplicable, impalpable
striving of his wounded spirit.
