Earl Derr Biggers

“ Eugene had been represented amid the wedding gifts by a generous and easily carried draft on a New York bank. In the midst of the honeymoon Bob had discovered that Dell had lists—long, appalling lists of things that were needed. For it seemed that this prodigious array of presents would not serve; there were other things vital to housekeeping—beds, tables, more chairs, prosaic kitchen ware. As soon as they reached the cottage Dell's purchases began pouring in.
“Where we going to put all this stuff, Dell?”
“Oh, we must make room somehow. Not a thing we don't actually need. I'll find a place.” ”

“ Roses are blooming on a trellis; roses with the moon on them. The young man is not alone. A girl is close by—in his arms in fact, her head upon his shoulder. He has just asked her to marry him.
When Bob Dana came back to Mayfield, his home town, to paint a resurrection portrait of the late Henry Benedict, there wasn't a girl on his horizon. Eugene Benedict, now president of the First National, had written that he desired a portrait of his father to hang in the new quarters of the bank, and Bob had welcomed the opportunity. ”

“ Further objections, Bob knew, would be futile. He went outside. The car was standing before the cottage, its engine running merrily. Dell, excited over her newest acquisition, had forgotten it. Running along, using up gasoline—gasoline that cost money. But Dell never thought of such things. He reached in and savagely snapped off the power.
A dog! He sat down on the running board of the car. A dog, of all things! What did you do with a dog if you wanted to set out and see the world? ”

“ Dell urged. “Get the habit, Bob. I've heard it now and then from other men, and it always bored me. But you, Bob—you certainly do make it sound interesting.”
He continued his interesting talk for three hours, with suitable interruptions from Dell. When he walked down Maple Avenue on his way back to the hotel he was a happy man. Only a few weeks before he had traveled this same thoroughfare, saying to himself, ”Me married! Terrible, terrible! Watch your step, old son!” Yet here he was, abroad in the midnight calm, engaged and exulting. Life was a funny proposition. ”

“ Even after he had seen Della Benedict again his purpose did not consciously alter. The grown-up Dell was sweet and clever and desirable, and if he had been settled in a good business—but he wasn't; he was an artist, and he knew well that artists should not marry. ”

“ What do your little pictures matter? The urge, young man, is as old as the race. Here is the girl, your future wife. Get on with it!”
He was pretty far on with it this July night, standing there in the shadow on Eugene Benedict's porch, dazed, a little breathless, with Della in his arms. Give the girl credit. She had not led him on; rather she had discouraged him from the first. And none save the most hardened cynic would intimate that she knew only too well the provocative nature of discouragement.
“What's it all about, Dell?” ”

“ Late in August she said casually, “Bob, I meant to tell you—father is sending on my car.”
“Your car! Great Scott, Dell! Where shall we put it?” He looked anxiously about the studio living room.
“We'll have to build a garage, of course. I've got figures on one—only five hundred dollars.”
“But—but”—his spirits sank; a car—oil, gas, tires, repairs—“but, Dell, we don't really need a car.”
“Of course we do! We can take an occasional trip along the Cape. It will do you good—the change, the fresh air.” ”

“ Summer seas and strange, interesting ports.”
“Is there, Bob?” She smiled a little sadly.
“Look here, I've got nearly three thousand in the bank. Why can't we just lock up and beat it? I'd like to show you round the Mediterranean. It's my old-home ocean; I know it well. Gibraltar, Algiers—a few months in Sicily and Naples. You'd love it.”
“And how about your work, Bob?”
“Oh, I could get a little done. Not much, perhaps; but I'd pick up a lot of color. Then when we came back in the spring——”
“We'd be broke,” said Dell. “And we can't be broke next summer, Bob, you know that.” ”

“ I—you can trust the granddaughter of Eight Per Cent Benedict to steer clear of the rocks.”
“Dell!” cried her mother.
“Well, what I mean is, with one of our family managing finances, it seems to me the subject is closed,” Dell said gayly.
“It isn't just the money,” Mrs. Benedict began. “Going way off to Massachusetts to live! I've always hoped Dell would settle down right here in Mayfield. And what's all this about travel? Travel isn't for married people; at least not when they're young. I didn't even get to New York until Dell was eighteen. ”

“ Bob said, “Stands back of the town and you get a fine view across the roofs to the harbor.”
But Eugene was not interested in views. “Were you planning to pay for it outright?” he inquired.
“Why not? I've got the money.”
“Well, it might be better to leave a thousand on mortgage.”
“Oh, no!” Bob shuddered. “I couldn't get mixed up with that sort of thing; I'm too innocent. All I know about mortgages is that somebody always forecloses them in the dead of winter. I'd hate to see Dell put out in a Provincetown snowstorm; they're pretty fierce.”
Mrs. Benedict glared at him. ”

“ On the veranda a young man; one of those carefree, casual lads who has sworn never to marry. Not for him the ties and cares of wedded life; his soul, an artistic one, craves constant excitement, perpetual change, freedom to travel unhampered. ”

“ Bob, it will be fine for you. We've been sticking here too closely. Every evening we can take a spin.” She stopped. “Only we must have a stronger lock on the back door, and new locks on the windows. I'll speak to the carpenter about that too.”
For days thereafter he worked with the noisy evidences of a five-hundred-dollar project drifting through his windows. Then the hammering came closer, new locks all round—new locks to protect this vast collection of things that had come along with Dell and were so precious—to Dell. ”

“ Bob seized her arm at the top of the stairs and they dashed down through the crowd and out into the moonlight. He helped her into the car and sank down beside her.
“Well, we made it!” he cried.
He was mighty happy now. The car sped toward the station. Thank heaven that was over. Married! He was married—that was what had happened. Well, why not? Pretty good idea. He felt in his pockets—tickets all right. What was Eugene fussing about? Oh, yes, the presents. Twenty crates, twelve barrels! Good Lord! ”

“ What's the idea, my boy? Work—work's the great medicine.”
“I know; I ought to get busy; I meant to.” Bob's face clouded. “But it's like I told you. I don't feel right somehow. I can't explain, but I keep thinking about Dell all the time—more even than when I was with her; wondering what she's doing. Oh, it's silly! But I saw from the first how it would be. I knew it even before I left New York.”
“Then why did you leave?” Osborne asked.
“Well, I—I don't know exactly. I couldn't creep back to Mayfield, you know. I had to show my independence.”
Osborne smiled, still turned toward his canvas. ”

“ Twenty-seven hundred would do for a first payment on the Minturn house, and the balance on mortgage—you know, first and second, with the second to be paid off semiannually.”
He rose to his feet. The nail puller dropped from his hand, making a great clatter on the floor.
“It's the chance of a lifetime, Bob,” Dell went on. “We've got to have a larger house, you know that. The Minturn place has a wonderful furnace, if we have to stay there a winter or two. And we won't need many more things—a few rugs, a regular dining-room set—a thousand dollars would cover it.” ”

“ Somehow this idea didn't appeal to Bob.
“I proposed, if that's what you mean,” he said. “You don't think for a minute that I went into this against my will.”
“No, no; that's not what I meant. You don't quite understand. As I was saying, Dell's always had her own way—the only child; a bit spoiled perhaps. I'm mighty fond of her; but you'll have your hands full——”
“Oh, I'll manage.”
“I hope so. I'm looking at it from your angle now. Always try to see the other fellow's side. You're an artist. I don't know much about artists. I'm a small-town banker myself ”

“ Dell went on gently. “Some time later, but not now. Now—if you stop work for an instant we're lost. You've got to go on making money. I'm afraid it's like that, Bob. Being married, I mean.” He said nothing. “I've been thinking, too,” Dell continued. “My plan is, let's go up to Boston and take a studio apartment. It's cheaper than New York, and I've got a lot of college friends there; people who would help us. I'll arrange an exhibit of your work and we'll sell something, I'm sure. Then, too, there's Myra Tell. They've loads of money, and they want a portrait of the grandmother. ”

“ He pictured a village on the shores of Lake Como, a village he had been meaning to go back to long before this. And Paris—Paris with the moon on it—the boulevards in spring!
On May first, said Dell; on May first—back to Provincetown, back to all those possessions. There was no escape; she had spoken. It seemed to Bob that time had never gone so swiftly. Already he felt the nail puller in his hand.
The morning came when he actually had it there. He sat on a crate in the middle of the dismantled studio. Outside, the sun was sparkling on the harbor, the town was coming to life. ”

“ Then down the Riviera; season's over, we'll have it to ourselves. Then up, just to make sure Paris is still there—and home. We could be back here in plenty of time for work, and—and all that. It's nearly a year, Dell, and that morning hasn't come; that bright morning when we lock the door and go. And you know you said——”
The door opened and Dell came in, a radiant Dell, very much alive, enthusiastic. She tossed an armful of groceries down on a chair.
“Bob, listen to me! I've just called at the real-estate office. What do you think? The Minturn house is for sale!” ”

“ During the next two weeks Bob called daily at the house on Maple Avenue. Dell had little time for him, however; she was busy shopping, busy with modistes and caterers. Up there round Eugene's back door it appeared that something was going on, something that was news to Bob. Wedding presents were pouring in—crates, barrels, boxes. At first Dell insisted that they must open these together; he struggled with nail pullers, hammers, wallowed in excelsior. Steadily the loot increased. Bob found the sight of it a bit disturbing, but Dell was thrilled. ”

“ He stopped “Of course, all we want,” said Eugene, “is Dell's happiness——”
“Then, father dear,” Dell suggested, “there's nothing more to be said.”
“Oh, yes, there is!” Eugene insisted. “Happiness depends on many things—money, among others. Can you support a wife? That seems to me to be the question.”
“Precisely,” said Mrs. Benedict. She never appeared to need more than one word. That was plenty.
“You haven't, I take it, found the art game very profitable,” went on the president of the First National.
“Not as yet,” Bob told him. “I'm just getting started, you know. ”

“ Life's looking up. The future never seemed so bright. It's filled with you.”
“Happy?”
“Happy!”
He held her close. “Words, Dell, words! I'm stumped again—clean stumped. But wait till I get back to my easel. I'll say it with paint.”
II
THEY were settled in the cottage at Provincetown. It was bought and paid for, the deed reposing in the bottom of the grandfather's clock that had been one of the wedding presents. It seemed to Bob Dana that for ages he had been pulling nails, wallowing in excelsior; but now the twenty barrels and twelve crates were unpacked. ”

“ Going to be hard to pack.”
“Oh, you don't appreciate anything!”
“But it's different with men, Dell. I guess just—er—things don't mean so much to them. Say, Dell, give a thought to the bridegroom.”
“Not now—later.”
The big evening came. Bob checked out from the Mayfield House and went with his luggage up to Maple Avenue. Eugene met him at the door.
“Hello, Bob! How are you?”
“I'm—I'm all right.”
“I guess you'll be glad when the ceremony's over.” Eugene always referred to it as the ceremony, in a solemn way that sent the cold chills down Bob's back. “Your best man is upstairs. ”

“ Eugene bustled in.
“Well, Bob, all over now. Got your tickets—everything? The car's in the drive. You'll have to make a dash for it. Dell's ready—take good care of her—all we've got—naturally anxious. By the way, I meant to tell you—I had the packer up today to look over the presents. He figures on twenty barrels and twelve crates.”
“Twenty—twelve——”
“I'll get them off to you by express right away. It's quicker than freight. Have to put a pretty stiff value on them—five thousand——”
Someone knocked on the door—Dell was waiting. ”