water in fresh relish of those comedies best known and best enjoyed.
It was as excruciatingly funny as it had ever been, when his boat
nosed its way into a great flock of ducks idling upon the water, to
see the mad paddling haste of those nearest him, the reproachful turn
of their heads, or, if he came too near, their spattering run out of
water, feet and wings pumping together as they rose from the surface,
looking for all the world like fat little women, scurrying with
clutched skirts across city streets. The pelicans, too, delighted him
as they perched with pedantic solemnity upon wharf-piles, or sailed in
hunched and huddled gravity twenty feet above the river's surface in
swift, dignified flight, which always ended suddenly in an abrupt,
up-ended plunge that threw dignity to the winds in its greedy haste,
and dropped them crashing into the water.
When darkness came suddenly at last, he made in toward shore, mooring
to the warm-fretted end of a fallen and forgotten landing. A
straggling orange-grove was here, broken lines of vanquished
cultivation, struggling little trees swathed and choked in the
festooning gray moss, still showing here and there the valiant golden
gleam of fruit. Gideon had seen many such places, had seen settlers
come and clear themselves a space in the jungle, plant their groves,
and live for a while in lazy independence; and then for some reason or
other they would go, and before they had scarcely turned their backs,
the jungle had crept in again, patiently restoring its ancient
sovereignty. The place was eery with the ghost of dead effort; but it
pleased him.
He made a fire and cooked supper, eating enormously and with relish.
His conscience did not trouble him at all. Stuhk and his own career
seemed already distant; they took small place in his thoughts, and
served merely as a background for his present absolute content. He
picked some oranges, and ate them in meditative enjoyment. For a while
he nodded, half asleep, beside his fire, watching the darkened river,
where the mullet, shimmering with phosphorescence, still leaped
starkly above the surface, and fell in spattering brilliance. Midnight
found him sprawled asleep beside his fire.
Once he awoke. The moon had risen, and a little breeze waved the
hanging moss, and whispered in the glossy foliage of orange and
palmetto with a sound like falling rain. Gideon sat up and peered
about him, rolling his eyes hither and thither at the menacing leap
and dance of the jet shadows. His heart was beating thickly, his
muscles twitched, and the awful terrors of night pulsed and shuddered
over him. Nameless specters peered at him from every shadow,
ingenerate familiars of his wild, forgotten blood. He groaned aloud in
a delicious terror; and presently, still twitching and shivering, fell
asleep again. It was as if something magical had happened; his fear
remembered the fear of centuries, and yet with the warm daylight was
absolutely forgotten.
He got up a little after sunrise, and went down to the river to bathe,
diving deep with a joyful sense of freeing himself from the last alien
dust of travel. Once ashore again, however, he began to prepare his
breakfast with some haste. For the first time in his journey he was
feeling a sense of loneliness and a longing for his kind. He was still
happy, but his laughter began to seem strange to him in the solitude.
He tried the defiant experiment of laughing for the effect of it, an
experiment which brought him to his feet in startled terror; for his
laughter was echoed. As he stood peering about him, the sound came
again, not laughter this time, but a suppressed giggle. It was human
beyond a doubt. Gideon's face shone with relief and sympathetic
amusement; he listened for a moment, and then strode surely forward
toward a clump of low palms. There he paused, every sense alert. His
ear caught a soft rustle, a little gasp of fear; the sound of a foot
moved cautiously.
"Missy," he said tentatively, "I reckon yo'-all's come jes 'bout 'n
time foh breakfus. Yo' betteh have some. Ef yo' ain' too white to sit
down with a black man."
The leaves parted, and a smiling face as black as Gideon's own
regarded him in shy amusement.
"Who is yo', man?"
"I mought be king of Kongo," he laughed, "but I ain't. Yo' see befo'
yo' jes Gideon - at yo'r 'steemed sehvice." He bowed elaborately in the
mock humility of assured importance, watching her face in pleasant
anticipation.
But neither awe nor rapture dawned there. She repeated the name,
inclining her head coquettishly; but it evidently meant nothing to
her. She was merely trying its sound. "Gideon, Gideon. I don' call to
min' any sech name ez that. Yo'-all's f'om up No'th likely." He was
beyond the reaches of fame.
"No," said Gideon, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry - "no, I
live south of heah. What-all's yo' name?"
The girl giggled deliciously.
"Man," she said, "I shu got the mos' reediculoustest name you eveh did
heah. They call me Vashti - yo' bacon's bu'nin'." She stepped out, and
ran past him to snatch his skillet deftly from the fire.
"Vashti" - a strange and delightful name. Gideon followed her slowly.
Her romantic coming and her romantic name pleased him; and, too, he
thought her beautiful. She was scarcely more than a girl, slim and
strong and almost of his own height. She was barefooted, but her
blue-checked gingham was clean and belted smartly about a small waist.
He remembered only one woman who ran as lithely as she did, one of the
numerous "diving beauties" of the vaudeville stage.
She cooked their breakfast, but he served her with an elaborate
gallantry, putting forward all his new and foreign graces, garnishing
his speech with imposing polysyllables, casting about their picnic
breakfast a radiant aura of grandeur borrowed from the recent days of
his fame. And he saw that he pleased her, and with her open admiration
essayed still greater flights of polished manner.
He made vague plans for delaying his journey as they sat smoking in
pleasant conversational ease; and when an interruption came it vexed
him.
"Vashty! Vashty!" a woman's voice sounded thin and far away.
"Vashty-y! Yo' heah me, chile?"
Vashti rose to her feet with a sigh.
"That's my ma," she said regretfully.
"What do yo' care?" asked Gideon. "Let her yell awhile."
The girl shook her head.
"Ma's a moughty pow'ful 'oman, and she done got a club 'bout the size
o' my wrist." She moved off a step or so, and glanced back at him.
Gideon leaped to his feet.
"When yo' comin' back? Yo' - yo' ain' goin' without - - " He held out
his arms to her, but she only giggled and began to walk slowly away.
With a bound he was after her, one hand catching her lightly by the
shoulder. He felt suddenly that he must not lose sight of her.
"Let me go! Tu'n me loose, yo'!" The girl was still laughing, but
evidently troubled. She wrenched herself away with an effort, only to
be caught again a moment later. She screamed and struck at him as he
kissed her; for now she was really in terror.
The blow caught Gideon squarely in the mouth, and with such force that
he staggered back, astonished, while the girl took wildly to her
heels. He stood for a moment irresolute, for something was happening
to him. For months he had evaded love with a gentle embarrassment;
now, with the savage crash of that blow, he knew unreasoningly that he
had found his woman.
He leaped after her again, running as he had not run in years, in
savage, determined pursuit, tearing through brier and scrub, tripping,
falling, rising, never losing sight of the blue-clad figure before him
until at last she tripped and fell, and he stood panting above her.
He took a great breath or so, and leaned over and picked her up in his
arms, where she screamed and struck and scratched at him. He laughed,
for he felt no longer sensible to pain, and, still chuckling, picked
his way carefully back to the shore, wading deep into the water to
unmoor his boat. Then with a swift movement he dropped the girl into
the bow, pushed free, and clambered actively aboard.
The light, early morning breeze had freshened, and he made out well
toward the middle of the river, never even glancing around at the
sound of the hallooing he now heard from shore. His exertions had
quickened his breathing, but he felt strong and joyful. Vashti lay a
huddle of blue in the bow, crouched in fear and desolation, shaken and
torn with sobbing; but he made no effort to comfort her. He was
untroubled by any sense of wrong; he was simply and unreasoningly
satisfied with what he had done. Despite all his gentle, easygoing,
laughter-loving existence, he found nothing incongruous or unnatural
in this sudden act of violence. He was aglow with happiness; he was
taking home a wife. The blind tumult of capture had passed; a great
tenderness possessed him.
The leaky little boat was plunging and dancing in swift ecstasy of
movement; all about them the little waves ran glittering in the
sunlight, plashing and slapping against the boat's low side, tossing
tiny crests to the following wind, showing rifts of white here and
there, blowing handfuls of foam and spray. Gideon went softly about
the business of shortening his small sail, and came quietly back to
his steering-seat again. Soon he would have to be making for what lea
the western shore offered; but he was holding to the middle of the
river as long as he could, because with every mile the shores were
growing more familiar, calling to him to make what speed he could.
Vashti's sobbing had grown small and ceased; he wondered if she had
fallen asleep.
Presently, however, he saw her face raised - a face still shining with
tears. She saw that he was watching her, and crouched low again. A
dash of spray spattered over her, and she looked up frightened,
glancing fearfully overside; then once more her eyes came back to him,
and this time she got up, still small and crouching, and made her way
slowly and painfully down the length of the boat, until at last Gideon
moved aside for her, and she sank in the bottom beside him, hiding her
eyes in her gingham sleeve.
Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and
with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his.
"Honey," said Gideon - "Honey, yo' ain' mad, is yo'?"
She shook her head, not looking at him.
"Yo' ain' grievin' foh yo' ma?"
Again she shook her head.
"Because," said Gideon, smiling down at her, "I ain' got no beeg club
like she has."
A soft and smothered giggle answered him, and this time Vashti looked
up and laid her head against him with a small sigh of contentment.
Gideon felt very tender, very important, at peace with himself and all
the world. He rounded a jutting point, and stretched out a black hand,
pointing.