The Turmoil Booth Tarkington (best reads .txt) 📖

a colossus of steel and wholly blackened with soot. But Bibbs carried his fancy further⁠—for there was still a little poet lingering in the back of his head⁠—and he thought that up over the clouds, unseen from below, the giant labored with his hands in the clean sunshine; and Bibbs had a glimpse of what he made there⁠—perhaps for a fellowship of the children of the children that were children now⁠—a noble and joyous city, unbelievably white⁠—

It was the telephone that called him from his vision. It rang fiercely.

He lifted the thing from his desk and answered⁠—and as the small voice inside it spoke he dropped the receiver with a crash. He trembled violently as he picked it up, but he told himself he was wrong⁠—he had been mistaken⁠—yet it was a startlingly beautiful voice; startlingly kind, too, and ineffably like the one he hungered most to hear.

“Who?” he said, his own voice shaking⁠—like his hand.

“Mary.”

He responded with two hushed and incredulous words: “Is it?”

There was a little thrill of pathetic half-laughter in the instrument. “Bibbs⁠—I wanted to⁠—just to see if you⁠—”

“Yes⁠—Mary?”

“I was looking when you were so nearly run over. I saw it, Bibbs. They said you hadn’t been hurt, they thought, but I wanted to know for myself.”

“No, no, I wasn’t hurt at all⁠—Mary. It was father who came nearer it. He saved me.”

“Yes, I saw; but you had fallen. I couldn’t get through the crowd until you had gone. And I wanted to know.”

“Mary⁠—would you⁠—have minded?” he said.

There was a long interval before she answered.

“Yes.”

“Then why⁠—”

“Yes, Bibbs?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he cried. “It’s so wonderful to hear your voice again⁠—I’m shaking, Mary⁠—I⁠—I don’t know⁠—I don’t know anything except that I am talking to you! It is you⁠—Mary?”

“Yes, Bibbs!”

“Mary⁠—I’ve seen you from my window at home⁠—only five times since I⁠—since then. You looked⁠—oh, how can I tell you? It was like a man chained in a cave catching a glimpse of the blue sky, Mary. Mary, won’t you⁠—let me see you again⁠—near? I think I could make you really forgive me⁠—you’d have to⁠—”

“I did⁠—then.”

“No⁠—not really⁠—or you wouldn’t have said you couldn’t see me any more.”

“That wasn’t the reason.” The voice was very low.

“Mary,” he said, even more tremulously than before, “I can’t⁠—you couldn’t mean it was because⁠—you can’t mean it was because you⁠—care?”

There was no answer.

“Mary?” he called, huskily. “If you mean that⁠—you’d let me see you⁠—wouldn’t you?”

And now the voice was so low he could not be sure it spoke at all, but if it did, the words were, “Yes, Bibbs⁠—dear.”

But the voice was not in the instrument⁠—it was so gentle and so light, so almost nothing, it seemed to be made of air⁠—and it came from the air.

Slowly and incredulously he turned⁠—and glory fell upon his shining eyes. The door of his father’s room had opened.

Mary stood upon the threshold.

Colophon

The Turmoil
was published in 1915 by
Booth Tarkington.

This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Alex Cabal,
and is based on a transcription produced in 1997 by
Lois Heiser and David Widger
for
Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans available at
Google Books.

The cover page is adapted from
Randolph Street, Chicago,
a painting completed in 1905 by
Colin Campbell Cooper.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.

The first edition of this ebook was released on
October 4, 2020, 6:35 p.m.
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at
standardebooks.org/ebooks/booth-tarkington/the-turmoil.

The volunteer-driven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org.

Uncopyright

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