That was one of those nights upon which anyone who has had them--and who has not?--looks back with wonder at how they ever lived, how they ever came to an end.She slept a little toward dawn--for youth and health will not let the most despairing heart suffer in sleeplessness.Her headache went, but the misery of soul which had been a maddening pain settled down into a throbbing ache.She feared he would come; she feared he would not come.The servants tried to persuade her to take breakfast.
She could not have swallowed food; she would not have dared take food for which she could not pay.What would they do with her if he did not come? She searched the room again, hoping against hope, a hundred times fancying she felt the purse under some other things, each time suffering sickening disappointment.
Toward noon the servant came knocking."A letter for you, ma'am."Susan rushed to the door, seized the letter, tore it open, read:
When I got back to the horse and started to mount, he kicked me and broke my leg.You can go on south to the L.and N.and take a train to Cincinnati.When you find a boarding house send your address to me at the office.I'll come in a few weeks.I'd write more but I can't.Don't worry.Everything'll come out right.You are brave and sensible, and I _back you to win_.
With the unsigned letter crumpled in her hands she sat at the window with scarcely a motion until noon.She then went down to the show boat.Several people--men and women--were on the forward end, quarreling.She looked only at her acquaintance.
His face was swollen and his eyes bloodshot, but he still wore the air of easy and patient good-humor.She said, standing on the shore, "Could I speak to you a minute?""Certainly, ma'am," replies he, lifting his dingy straw hat with gaudy, stained band.He came down the broad plank to the shore.
"Why, what's the matter?" This in a sympathetic tone.
"Will you lend me two dollars and take me along to work it out?"she asked.
He eyed her keenly."For the hotel bill?" he inquired, the cigar tucked away in the corner of his mouth.
She nodded.
"He didn't show up?"
"He broke his leg."
"Oh!" The tone was politely sympathetic, but incredulous.He eyed her critically, thoughtfully."Can you sing?" he finally asked.
"A little."
His hands were deep in the pockets of his baggy light trousers.
He drew one of them out with a two-dollar bill in it."Go and pay him and bring your things.We're about to push off.""Thank you," said the girl in the same stolid way.She returned to the hotel, brought the bag down from her room, stood at the office desk.
The servant came."Mr.Gumpus has jes' stepped out," said she.
"Here is the money for my room." And Susan laid the two-dollar bill on the register.
"Ain't you goin' to wait fur yer--yer brother?""He's not coming," replied the girl."So--I'll go.Good-by.""Good-by.It's awful, bein' took sick away from home.""Thank you," said Susan."Good-by."
The girl's homely, ignorant face twisted in a grin.But Susan did not see, would have been indifferent had she seen.Since she accepted the war earth and heaven had declared against her, she had ceased from the little thought she had once given to what was thought of her by those of whom she thought not at all.She went down to the show boat.The plank had been taken in.Her acquaintance was waiting for her, helped her to the deck, jumped aboard himself, and was instantly busy helping to guide the boat out into mid-stream.Susan looked back at the hotel.Mr.Gumpus was in the doorway, amusement in every line of his ugly face.
Beside him stood the slovenly servant.She was crying--the more human second thought of a heart not altogether corrupted by the sordid hardness of her lot.How can faith in the human race falter when one considers how much heart it has in spite of all it suffers in the struggle upward through the dense fogs of ignorance upward, toward the truth, toward the light of which it never ceases to dream and to hope?
Susan stood in the same place, with her bag beside her, until her acquaintance came.
"Now," said he, comfortably, as he lighted a fresh cigar, "we'll float pleasantly along.I guess you and I had better get acquainted.What is your name?"Susan flushed."Kate Peters is the name I gave at the hotel.
That'll do, won't it?"
"Never in the world!" replied he."You must have a good catchy name.Say--er--er----" He rolled his cigar slowly, looking thoughtfully toward the willows thick and green along the Indiana shore."Say--well, say--Lorna--Lorna--Lorna Sackville!
That's a winner.Lorna Sackville!--A stroke of genius! Don't you think so?""Yes," said Susan."It doesn't matter."
