Harry Stillwell Edwards

“ She knows, too, that only in stories do New York heiresses marry poor, unknown young men. Money isn’t everything with them, though. There is something better, but they don’t all find it. A good name means a great name in New York and a great name is better than riches with the rich city girl who is free to choose her husband.”
“What a girl! What a tragedy should he have learned to love another!”
“But he can’t, King! He may not know it, but he can’t escape a love like that. It will pull him from the end of the world. She is just outside his life and her radiance is across his path. ”

“ Once in the water, King’s amazement was complete, and delight unbounded. Billee could not only swim, but swim along with him. It takes a swimmer to keep along with a Georgia islander in salt water. Her far-reaching overhand and under stroke was wonderfully graceful and effective. She glided through the water with that seal-like ease so seldom seen, but oftener in woman than in man. King was beside her, measuring stroke with stroke, her radiant face flashing up in the moonlight, her cheek level with the water.
“How did you learn that, girl? It’s wonderful! wonderful!” ”

“ I am a draughtsman with Beeker, Toomer & Church, as you know. Did I never mention that art glass designs is my specialty there? Yes, it is my work. The little faces are half memory, half dream. One prays, one sleeps.”
“Yours! Yours!” Her hand tightened in the hand that again clasped it, and shook. “You—you—furnished the memorial for my—my little girl’s mother!—for Agnes Vandilever! Then you were the boy—the little girl loved! You’ve been carrying the face that was lifted above you that night—the face that slept on your breast—in your heart, all these years? Oh, King! King! it’s true! ”

“ It takes a long time for a boy to become famous. I think I know him. He will come if he makes good, and when he does come, remember it’s fifty-fifty.’ She had never told her father of her dream, but he had guessed, and he smiled when he saw he had guessed right, and died with the smile on his face. So she waits, and waits, and waits, at times most unhappy. Do you suppose he will come back, King?”
“How could he? How could such a boy come to claim so rich a girl?” he answered earnestly. “It seems to me she would know that the boy was father to the man. Her wealth will always be between them. ”

“ Love isn’t just an emotion; it’s a power. Even God wouldn’t try to tear it to pieces. He made it and—well, I guess He knows there wouldn’t be any immortality without it.”
King patted Billee’s shoulder.
“Loyal to your ideals, aren’t you? Good! When our ideals perish, the kernel’s out of the shell, the juice out of the grape!
“And such, then, is the story of the little girl whose face is in the window.”
“Yes, but wasn’t it a miracle that Mr. Church, a very ordinary man, I am told, should have dreamed just such a dream, and have guessed those little faces into it?” ”

“ A sob shook Billee and suddenly she slipped forward to her knees and buried her face in her arms on the pew rail. Presently King reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“It doesn’t change anything Billee. There’s but one girl in the world for me—one grown-up girl. I am sorry for Miss Vandilever’s romance, but some day she will meet and marry a real man. They always do—these story girls. My little dream girls wouldn’t know her now, nor she them. It is you, who are the older vision of them, not the painted society belle.” ”

“ And in silence her cheek lay again on his breast.
“Billee,” he whispered, in awe, “Billee!” Then she lifted herself a little and Father Ocean, with a deep intake of breath, lifted her a little more. Only her finger tips touched his shoulders; her body floated free. She hovered over him as Psyche over the sleeping god, her lips, one moment, on his: “Just sweethearts,” she whispered, and was gone.
King never forgot the picture that followed. Try as he might, he could not overtake her. Into and out of the waves, over and under, she fled, a moonbeam, a silver fish. ”

“ But why shouldn’t he marry a stenographer, or an actress, or a shop girl? Or even a model or manicurist or a lady’s maid, if she were square? What had her occupation to do with his happiness?
King was younger than his years, as are most Southerners, but he was sensitive to delicate influences. Without analysis, he knew that this girl had touched an atmosphere of refinement and was educated. And she had traveled. But what was so poor a girl doing in Charleston and Savannah and Macon? ”

“ The dream of the young architect was a thirty-five story office building wherein utility was to be combined with beauty without sacrifice of dividend-paying space or money, and without offense to the artistic eye from any point of view. ”

“ Again the inevitable happened, but this time Billee did not struggle nor King ask forgiveness.
“Oh, King!” she whispered gently, freeing herself at length and taking his face between her soft hands, “my splendid boy-man, you said you’d come back when you were famous, didn’t you? King, all that my father, my mother had are mine—this house—everything—mine and yours. It’s our Christmas! Let’s always be ‘just sweethearts’.”
An old man who was peeping in at the door drew a deep breath, smiled and went back to his den and chair to pick up a paper wherein was a noble building of thirty-five stories. ”

“ Fate is a merry jade, at times. Half way to Jacksonville in a Pullman next day a young woman with gentian eyes, who had time and again searched her handbag, opened a package of cheap lace to finish dressing a Christmas doll, and a card dropped out. It bore the inscription, “King Dubignon.” Underneath was penciled the information that he was associated with Beeker, Toomer & Church, Architects, New York, and to this was added, “Hotel Dempsey, Macon, three days.” Fate’s little jest was the concealment of the card in a fold of the paper wrapper for twenty-four hours. ”

“ We don’t just meet the women He creates for us; we have known them all along. We just recognize them and take their hands in ours for eternity. My soul has been sitting at the window all my life, waiting, watching. ”

“ Again that swift, half mocking, upward smile. “Outside of every girl’s life there is a man standing—just outside, his shadow across her path. She is always conscious of him there; she knows him as the man God made for her, but she cannot see him. Then, one day, he steps in and she recognizes him.”
“What a beautiful thought!” he echoed. And then: “Down in Macon, for instance, did you recognize me?” ”

“ At twelve o’clock next day King handed his card to the red-headed outer guard at Banker Throckmorton’s office. To his everlasting astonishment, the boy smiled genially.
“Come in, Mr. Dubignon,” he said. And by the inner guard and the extreme inner guard and the secretary entanglements, King marched straight into the august Presence. All roads led to Rome. Ten minutes later he came out, his head in the clouds. His cherished plans for a thirty-five story office building were behind him. Billee’s eyes danced when he told her the story. ”

“ Now he is out with iridescent wings, a guitar under his arm, and life is one long, sweet summer dream.
New York was getting uncomfortably small for King Dubignon. The world itself didn’t feel too large.
Then the window at the end of the Throckmorton hall was finished by the factory and skilled workmen placed it. King went around by appointment to view it Christmas eve with the arc light of the street shining through, the hall lights dimmed. It represented a river night scene, New York’s skyline in the distance and the stars above. ”

“ That’s why her father selected the design over the dozens submitted.”
“That I had heard.”
“But the romance is this: the little girl is now grown, and one of the richest girls in the world—are you listening?”
“Yes,” said King, whose gaze had returned to the two little faces. “You were saying she is rich—one of the world’s richest girls. I know that. A century though lies between her and the little ones yonder. She can never dream back to them. I was thinking of that.”
“Wait! No man ever knows all that’s in a girl’s heart. ”

“ Beeker looked at him affectionately.
“My boy, will you mind if I tell you the difference between a crank and a genius?”
“Of course not, sir.”
“A genius is a crank who has succeeded. You’ve had a narrow escape.”
But King went back half blind with excitement to his office to find that a postman had left some letters, and Terence, good old Terence, had placed one with a zigzag address on top. It was more of a jumping than a running hand, and had become associated in the mind of the observant Irish lad with dollar tips. It was from Billee in California. ”

“ One of your old South Atlantic voodoos been earning a dollar?” He was amazed. It was not to be the last time this girl was to amaze him. She was an amazing girl.
“Why place me at the South Atlantic?”
“Oh my! Innocent! Doesn’t everybody know Charleston and Savannah brogue when they hear it?”
“Close. But it was a little further down. Are we so distinct, though?”
“Nobody can imitate it. I’ve tried. The fraud was apparent. My poor voice sticks. I can’t change it.” ”

“ It was not easy. “It’s easy” is a fiction of the game. She did not teach him, but among the dancers was a young man, coat buttoned tight across his waist and lapels spread wide and a little felt hat slouched across his northeast temple, who handled himself and partner like a pair of Indian clubs. It was a pleasure to watch him and the little “skirt” he toyed with. His eyes met Billee’s. He left his partner in the middle of the floor, as a matter of course.
“What’s the matter, Bo’?” he said to King. “Can’t little Beauty dance?” King regarded the visitor with amusement. ”

“ It makes no difference to me if you are Marietta herself or a chorus girl.” Billee gasped and after a swift glance to his solemn face laughed until her eyes swam in tears.
“You dear boy! No, I am not an actress, that is, professionally. I went to Jacksonville, since you want to know, as—can you stand a shock?”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t care to know.” She picked at a darned place in her glove.
“As the companion of an old lady. Are you very much disappointed?”
“Happy old lady!” said King fervently. “Disappointed? I have an intense admiration for the girl who earns her own living. ”

“ Just wait till I get you outside. Sorry? Child, we’ve got the biggest thing coming you ever dreamed of! I am full partner in the firm now. It’s Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon. I’ve made good! Have you seen the evening papers? Every notable piece of work I have done for New York is mentioned; there is a picture of my office building, and all about my family. Billee, the world is mine, and you are the most wonderful thing in it!”
“But I—I am only—” she glanced down at her dress. “Oh, King, you are beyond me now. You won’t need Billee any more.” ”

“ My old lady friend—the one I live with—is her relative. I have seen Miss Vandilever many times, and have often read her story in some old newspapers. She was but eight years old when the accident occurred, and in the care of an old negro nurse on the boat. The family were on their way up from the South, and the little girl and her nurse had gone out of the cabin to the deck to see the lights. ”

“ Many architects have wrestled with the same problem and some with brilliant results. Now, by strange coincidence, a thirty-five story office building for Chicago, financed in New York, began to be talked of in building circles. No plans had been asked, no consultation with architects had. A rumor had started and was kicked around as a football. King took the backward trail and patiently followed it into the office of a certain great banker, whose young woman secretary had a friend that served an afternoon paper in reportorial capacity. Here King met his Waterloo ”

“ And there are others!” He waved a hand feebly toward a vista of rooms with bending forms therein. “We can’t always keep the crowd we have busy.”
“I know all about that,” said King coolly, “but perhaps you need a man in this special line—art glass, stained glass windows?” He opened a portfolio and laid some designs before the architect.
Now, while no artist listens with patience to business argument, none refuses to listen to pictures. Mr. Church looked, carelessly at first, then with a distinct show of interest. ”

“ There’s always a ‘her’ in a young man’s life. There was in mine.”
“The trouble is, sir, I don’t know where my ‘her’ is. I seem to have lost her.”
“Don’t bother. She’ll turn up. They always do. Here, you are going without signing the papers.” King signed, and shook hands fervently.
Mr. Beeker drew a box of Havanas from his desk and taking one shoved the others across to him.
“Tell me the truth, Dubignon”—his face was full of smiles and he leaned back, cutting the cigar—“did you put those plans across on old Throckmorton before he had decided to put up any building at all?” ”

“ Three days later he was in New York, that Mecca of ambitious young Southerners, and at the door of Beeker, Toomer & Church, esteemed by him and many another as the great city’s leading architects. Mr. Church, the junior partner, heard his application. A little smile hovered about the man’s thin lips, and a slight movement of the lines leading southeast and southwest from the nostrils expressed a cynical weariness.
“On an average,” said he with an air of calculation, “we have applications from Cornell men at the rate of six a week. ”