Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (win 10 ebook reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: Bertrand W. Sinclair
Book online «Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (win 10 ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author Bertrand W. Sinclair
Over-Effusiveness In His Comments On Americans And American
Institutions, Thackeray Wrote And Spoke Of The Century As "The Best And
Most Comfortable Club In The World."
Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 160
Stretches Of The Avenue--The Stretch Of Tradition--Washington Arch--Old
Homes And Gardens--The Mews And Macdougal Alley--In The Fourth Decade--A
Genial Ruffian Of The Olden Time--Sailor's Snug Harbor--The Miss Green
School--Andrew H. Green, John Fiske, John Bigelow, Elihu Root, And
Others As Teachers--The Brevoort Farm--The First Hotel Of The Avenue--A
Romance Of 1840--"Both Sides Of The Avenue."
A Snug Little Farm Was The Old Brevoort
Where Cabbages Grew Of The Choicest Sort;
Full-Headed, And Generous, Ample And Fat,
In A Queenly Way On Their Stems They Sat,
And There Was Boast Of Their Genuine Breed,
For From Old Utrecht Had Come Their Seed.
--_Gideon Tucker, "The Old Brevoort Farm."_
Passing Under The Washington Arch, The March Up The Avenue Properly
Begins. To Commemorate The Centenary Of The Inauguration Of The Nation's
First President A Temporary Arch Was Erected In The Spring Of 1889. The
Original Structure Reached From Corner To Corner Across Fifth Avenue,
Opposite The Park, And The Expense Was Borne By Mr. William Rhinelander
Stewart And Other Residents Of Washington Square. It Added So Much To
The Beauty Of The Entrance To The Avenue That Steps Were Taken To Make
It Permanent, And The Present Arch Was The Result Of Popular
Subscription. One Hundred And Twenty-Eight Thousand Dollars Was The Cost
Of The Structure, Which Was Designed By Stanford White. Comparatively
Recent Additions To The Arch Are The Two Sculptured Groups On Northern
Facade, To The Right And Left Of The Span. They Are The Work Of H.A.
Macneil.
Of All The Blocks In The Stretch Of Tradition That Carries The Avenue Up
To Fourteenth Street, The Richest In Interest Is, Naturally, That Which
Lies Immediately North Of The Square. Dividing This Block In Two, And
Running Respectively East And West, Are Washington Mews And Macdougall
Alley. When Fifth Avenue Was Young And Addicted To Stately Horse-Drawn
Turnouts, It Was In These Half Streets That Were Stabled The Steeds And
The Carriages. Of Comparatively Recent Date Is The Remodelling That Has
Converted The Old Stables Into Quaint, If Somewhat Garish Artist
Studios.
From The Top Of A North-Bound Bus As It Leaves The Square May Be Seen
The Beautiful Gardens That Have Always Been A Feature Of These First
Houses. Mrs. Emily Johnston De Forest, In Her Life Of Her Grandfather,
John Johnston, Has Described These Gardens As They Were From 1833 To
1842. "The Houses In The 'Row,' As This Part Of Washington Square Was
Called, All Had Beautiful Gardens In The Rear About Ninety Feet Deep
Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 161Surrounded By White, Grape-Covered Trellises, With Rounded Arches At
Intervals, And Lovely Borders Full Of Old-Fashioned Flowers." Although
Some Of The "Row" Had Cisterns, All The Residents Went For Their Washing
Water To "The Pump With A Long Handle" That Stood In The Square. Of That
Pump Mrs. De Forest Tells The Following Tale. One Of Her Grandfather's
Neighbours Told His Coachman To Fetch A Couple Of Pails Of Water For
Mary, The Laundress. The Coachman Said That This Was Not His Business,
And Upon Being Asked What His Business Was, Replied: "To Harness The
Horses And Drive Them." Thereupon He Was Told To Be When It Grips A Man, Thompson Gave No
Heed To Sophie--Until He Felt Her Hand On His Arm And Looked Down Into
Her Upturned Face, White And Troubled, Into Gray Eyes That Glowed With
Some Peculiar Fire.
"It Is Really, Truly You?" She Said In A Choked Voice.
"Of Course," He Answered--And He Could Not Help A Little Fling. "You See
I Am No Longer A Rabbit. I Don't Like Your Friend Here. He Has Tried To
Sneak A March On Me, And I Suspect It Is Not The First. I Feel Like
Hurting Him."
She Paid Not The Least Heed To That.
"You Were Officially Reported Dead," She Went On. "Reported Shot Down
Behind The German Lines A Year Ago."
"I Know I Was Reported Dead, And So Have Many Other Men Who Still Live,"
He Said Gently. "I Was Shot Down, But I Escaped And Flew Again, And Was
Shot Down A Second Time And Still Am Here Not So Much The Worse."
Sophie Slipped Her Hand Into His And Turned On Tommy Ashe.
"And You Knew This?" She Said Slowly. "Yet You Came Here To Me This
Morning--And--And--"
She Stopped With A Break In Her Voice.
"I Didn't Believe You Were Capable Of A Thing Like That, Tommy," She
Continued Sadly. "I'm Ashamed Of You. You'd Better Go Away At Once."
Ashe Looked At Her And Then At Thompson, And His Face Fell. Thompson,
Watching Him As A Man Watches His Antagonist, Saw Tommy's Lips Tremble,
A Suspicious Blur Creep Into His Eyes. Even In His Anger He Felt Sorry
For Tommy.
The Next Instant The Two Of Them Stood Alone, Sophie's Hand Caught Fast
In His. She Tried To Withdraw It. The Red Leaped Into Her Cheeks. But
There Was Still That Queer Glow In Her Eyes.
Thompson Looked Down At The Imprisoned Hand.
"You'll Never Get That Away From Me Again," He Said Whimsically. "You
See, I Am Not A Rabbit, But A Man, No Matter What You Thought Once. And
When A Man Really Wants A Thing, He Takes It If He Can. And I Want
You--So--You See?"
For Answer Sophie Hid Her Hot Face Against His Breast.
Chapter 25 (The Stretch Of Tradition) Pg 162"Ah, I'm Ashamed Of Myself Too," He Heard A Muffled Whisper. "I Sent You
Away Into That Hell Over There With A Sneer Instead Of A Blessing. And I
Was Too Ashamed, And A Little Afraid, To Write And Tell You What A Fool
I Was, That I'd Made A Mistake And Was Sorry. I Couldn't Do Anything
Only Wait, And Hope You'd Come Back. Didn't You Hate Me For My Miserable
Holier-Than-Thou Preachment That Day, Wes?"
"Why, No," He Said Honestly. "It Hurt Like The Devil, Of Course. You See
It Was Partly True. I _Was_ Going Along, Making Money, Playing My Own
Little Hand For All It Was Worth. I Couldn't Rush Off To The Front Just
To Demonstrate To All And Sundry--Even To You--That I Was A Brave Man
And A Patriot. You Understand, Don't You? It Took Me Quite A While To
Feel, To Really And Truly Feel, That I _Ought_ To Go--Which I Suppose
You Felt Right At The Beginning. When I Did See It That Way--Well, I
Didn't Advertise. I Just Got Ready And Went. If You Had Not Been Out Of
Sorts That Day, I Might Have Gone Away With A Kiss Instead Of Your
Contempt. But I Didn't Blame You. Besides, That's Neither Here Nor
There, Now. You're A Prisoner. You Can Only Be Paroled On Condition."
Sophie Smiled Up At Him, And Was Kissed For Her Pains.
"Name The Condition."
"That You Love Me. I've Waited A Long Time For It."
"I've Always Loved You," She Said Gravely. "Sometimes More, Sometimes
Less. I Haven't Always Believed We Could Be Happy Together. Sometimes I
Have Been Positive We Couldn't. But I've Always Measured Other Men By
You, And None Of Them Quite Measured Up. That Was Why It Stung Me So To
See You So Indifferent About The War. Probably If You Had Talked About
It To Me, If I Had Known You Were Thinking Of Going, I Should Have Been
Afraid You Would Go, I Should Have Been Afraid For You. But You Seemed
Always So Unconcerned. It Maddened Me To Think I Cared So Much For A Man
Who Cared Nothing About Wrongs And Injustices, Who Could Sit Contentedly
At Home While Other Men Sacrificed Themselves. My Dear, I'm Afraid I'm
An Erratic Person, A Woman Whose Heart And Head Are Nearly Always At
Odds."
Thompson Laughed, Looking Down At Her With An Air Of Pride.
"That Is To Say You Would Always Rather Be Sure Than Sorry," He
Remarked. "Well, You Can Be Sure Of One Thing, Sophie. You Can't Admit
That You Really Do Care For Me And Then Run Away, As You Did At Lone
Moose. I Have Managed To Stand On My Own Feet At Last, And Your Penalty
For Liking Me And Managing To Conceal The Fact These Many Moons Is That
You Must Stand With Me."
She Drew His Face Down To Her And Kissed It. Thompson Held Her Fast.
"I Can Stand A Lot Of That," He Said Happily.
"You May Have To," She Murmured. "I Am A Woman, Not A Bisque Doll. And
I've Waited A Long Time For The Right Man."
Chapter 26 (A Mark To Shoot At) Pg 164
An Hour Or So Later Sam Carr Came Trudging Home With A Rod In His Hand
And A Creel Slung From His Shoulder, In Which Creel Reposed A Half Dozen
Silver-Sided Trout On A Bed Of Grass.
"Well, Well, Well," He Said, At Sight Of Thompson, And Looked Earnestly
At The Two Of Them, Until At Last A Slow Smile Began To Play About His
Thin Lips. "Now, Like The Ancient Roman, I Can Wrap My Toga About Me And
Die In Peace."
"Oh, Dad, What A Thing To Say," Sophie Protested.
"Figuratively, My Dear, Figuratively," He Assured Her. "Merely My Way Of
Saying That I Am Glad Your Man Has Come Home From The War, And That You
Can Smile Again."
He Tweaked Her Ear Playfully, When Sophie Blushed. They Went Into The
House, And The Trout Disappeared Kitchenward In Charge Of A Bland
Chinaman, To Reappear Later On The Luncheon Table In A
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