Rose of Dutcher's Coolly Part 38

"O, we're not old in years, but we're old in experience. The bloom of the grape is lost."

"But the grape is ripe, and we still have that. The bloom--what is it? A nest for bacteria."

"But it is so beautiful with the bloom on," she said wistfully. "I'd take it again, bacteria and all. See those young people! The meeting of their eyes is great as fame, and the touch--the accidental touch of their hands or shoulders, like a return of lost s.h.i.+ps. I am thirty-three years of age and I've missed that somewhere."

Mason lifted his eye-brows:

"Do you mean to say that the touch of Sanborn's hand does not hasten your blood?"

"I do--and yet I love him as much as I shall ever love anybody--now."

Mason studied her, and then chanted softly:

"'Another came in the days that were golden, One that was fair, in the days of the olden Time, long ago!'

You've never told me about that."

She smiled. "No, but I will some time--perhaps."

She led the way out to supper with Dr. Thatcher, and the rest followed without quite breaking off conversation, a merry, witty procession.

Rose was conscious of a readjustment of values. Dr. Thatcher had less weight in the presence of these people, but Mason--Mason easily dominated the table without effort. Indeed, he was singularly silent, but there was something in the poise of his head, in the glance of his eyes, which showed power and insight into life.

The young folks, led by young Harvey took possession of the table, and laughter rippled from silence to silence like a mountain stream. Young Harvey aided at the chafing-dish with the air of an adept, and Isabel was almost as light-hearted in laughter as he.

Thatcher and Mason seemed to sit apart from it, and so it was Mason found opportunity to say:

"You knew our young friend of the coule--discovered her, in fact?"

"Yes, as much as any one could discover her. It's a little early to talk of her as if she had achieved fame."

"Dr. Herrick thinks she's on the instant of going up higher, and so we're all hanging to her skirts in hopes of getting a rise."

Thatcher didn't like Mason's tone.

"Rose is a hard worker. If she rises any higher it will be by the same methods which put her through college." He spoke with a little air of proprietors.h.i.+p.

Mason felt the rebuff, but he was seeking information about Rose, therefore he ignored it.

"She's an only child, I believe."

"Yes; her father is a hard-working, well-to-do farmer in a little 'coolly' in Wisconsin."

"It's the same old story, I suppose; he doesn't realize that he's lost his daughter to the city of Chicago. We gain at his expense."

Mason's mind had something feminine about it, and he saw as never before how attractive to a girl a fine young fellow like Harvey could be. Being rich he was lifted above worry. His activity was merely wholesome exercise, and his flesh was clean and velvety as a girl's. He was strong, too, as it was the fas.h.i.+on of college men of his day to be. He had never known want or care in his beautiful life. He was, moreover, a clean boy. Money had not spoiled his sterling nature. It was no wonder that Rose's eyes grew wide and dark as they rested on him. They were physically a beautiful pair and their union seemed the most inevitable thing in the world.

Isabel leaned over to say:

"Aren't they enjoying themselves? I wish Mrs. Harvey could see them."

After they had returned to the sitting room a couple of young artists came in with John Coburg, Mason's room-mate on the _Star_. He was a smooth-faced fellow of extra-solemn visage, relieved by twinkling black eyes. The artists were keen, alert-looking fellows, with nothing to indicate their profession save their pointed beards. One of them being lately from Paris turned his moustaches up devilishly; the other had fallen away from his idols sufficiently to wear his moustaches turned down and an extra width to his beard.

Rose was glad Mr. Davidson twisted his mustache; there was so little else about him to indicate his high calling.

Their coming turned the current of talk upon matters of art, which made Rose feel perfectly certain she was getting at the heart of Chicago artistic life.

Mr. Davidson inveighed against America, and Chicago especially, for its "lack of art atmosphere."

"If you've got the creative power you can make your own art atmosphere,"

his companion hotly said. "You always start up on that thing." Evidently it was a source of violent argument between them.

"The trouble is you fellows who paint, want to make a living too easy,"

Mason remarked.

"You ought to stay and do pioneer work among us," said Isabel.

"I don't consider it worth while so far as I am concerned. I prefer Paris."

"You're not very patriotic."

"There is no patriotism in art."

"That's the regular Parisian jabber," returned his friend. "I talked all that myself. What you need is a touch of poverty. I'd like to see your people drop you in a small town where you had to make your living for a little while."

"All the hard conditions of Chicago are changing," Isabel interposed, with peaceful intent. "All that was true a few years ago is not true now. The materialism you war against, no longer dominates us. We are giving a little time to art and literature."

Davidson twisted his mustache point. "It isn't noticeable yet--O, there's a little band of fellows starving here like rats in a garret--but what general recognition of art have you?"

"What could you expect?"

"Well, you might buy pictures."

"We do--old masters and salon pictures," said Mills, with a relenting acknowledgment of the city's weakness.

"That's it exactly!" said Davidson. "You've no judgment here. You are obliged to take your judgment from somebody else."

So the talk proceeded. To Rose it was illuminating and epoch-making. She read in it the city's developing thought. Paris and the Rocky Mountains met here with Chicago and the most modern types of men and women.

Meanwhile Mason found opportunity to say to Thatcher, who seemed a little ill at ease:

"These little informal Sunday suppers and free-for-alls are increasing in number, and they are signs of civilization. Of course a few of the women still go to church in the morning, but that will wear off, except at new-bonnet time."

Thatcher did not reply; he thought Mason a little flippant.

Rose sought opportunity to talk about Mrs. Thatcher and Josephine.

"They're quite well."