Elder Conklin - Frank Harris (i am malala young readers edition .TXT) 📗

“You,” and he turned to her, “whose beauty is like the beauty of nature itself, perfect and ineffable. When I think of you and that coarse brute together, I shall always remember this moonlight and the hateful zigzagging snake-fence there that disfigures and defiles its beauty.”

The girl looked up at him, only half understanding his rhapsody, but glowing with the hope called to life by his extravagant praise of her. “Why, George,” she said shyly, because wholly won, “I don’t think no more of Lawyer Barkman than the moon thinks of the fence—an’ I guess that’s not much,” she added, with a little laugh of complete content.

The common phrases of uneducated speech and the vulgar accent of what he thought her attempt at smart rejoinder offended him. Misunderstanding her literalness of mind, he moved away, and shortly afterwards re-entered the house.

Of course Loo was dissatisfied with such incidents as these. When she saw Bancroft trying to draw Barkman out and throw contempt upon him, she never dreamed of objecting. But when he attacked her, she flew to her weapons. What had she done, what was she doing, to deserve his sneers? She only wished him to love her, and she felt indignantly that every time she teased him by going with Barkman, he was merciless, and whenever she abandoned herself to him, he drew back. She couldn’t bear that; it was cruel of him. She loved him, yes; no one, she knew, would ever make him so good a wife as she would. No one ever could. Why, there was nothin’ she wouldn’t do for him willingly. She’d see after his comforts an’ everythin’. She’d tidy all his papers an’ fix up his things. And if he ever got ill, she’d jest wait on him day and night—so she would. She’d be the best wife to him that ever was.

Oh, why couldn’t he be good to her always? That was all she wanted, to feel he loved her; then she’d show him how she loved him. He’d be happy, as happy as the day was long. How foolish men were! they saw nothin’ that was under their noses.

“P’r’aps he does love me,” she said to herself; “he talked the other evenin’ beautiful; I guess he don’t talk like that to every one, and yet he won’t give in to me an’ jest be content—once for all. It’s their pride makes ‘em like that; their silly, stupid pride. Nothin’ else. Men air foolish things. I’ve no pride at all when I think of him, except I know that no one else could make him as happy as I could. Oh my!” and she sighed with a sense of the mysterious unnecessary suffering in life.

“An’ he goes on bein’ mad with Lawyer Barkman. Fancy, that fat old man. He warn’t jealous of Seth Stevens or the officer, no; but of him. Why, it’s silly. Barkman don’t count anyway. He talks well, yes, an’ he’s always pleasant, always; but he’s jest not in it. Men air foolish anyway.” She was beginning to acknowledge that all her efforts to gain her end might prove unsuccessful.

Barkman, with his varied experience and the cooler blood of forty, saw more of the game than either Bancroft or Loo. He had learnt that compliments and attention count for much with women, and having studied Miss Conklin he was sure that persistent flattery would go a long way towards winning her. “I’ve gained harder cases by studying the jury,” he thought, “and I’ll get her because I know her. That schoolmaster irritates her; I won’t. He says unpleasant things to her; I’ll say pleasant things and she’ll turn to me. She likes to be admired; I guess that means dresses and diamonds. Well, she shall have them, have all she wants…. The mother ain’t a factor, that’s plain, and the father’s sittin’ on the fence; he’ll just do anythin’ for the girl, and if he ain’t well off—what does that matter? I don’t want money;” and his chest expanded with a proud sense of disinterestedness.

“Why does the schoolmaster run after her? what would he do with such a woman? He couldn’t even keep her properly if he got her. It’s a duty to save the girl from throwin’ herself away on a young, untried man like that.” He felt again that his virtue ought to help him to succeed.

“What a handsome figure she has! Her arms are perfect, firm as marble; and her neck—round, too, and not a line on it, and how she walks! She’s the woman I want—so lovely I’ll always be proud of her. What a wife she’ll make! My first wife was pretty, but not to be compared to her. Who’d ever have dreamt of finding such a beauty in this place? How lucky I am after all. Yes, lucky because I know just what I want, and go for it right from the start. That’s all. That’s what luck means.

“Women are won little by little,” he concluded. “Whoever knows them and humours them right along, flattering their weak points, is sure to succeed some time or other. And I can wait.”

He got his opportunity by waiting. As Loo took her seat in the buggy one afternoon he saw that she was nervous and irritable. “The schoolmaster’s been goin’ for her—the derned fool,” he said to himself, and at once began to soothe her. The task was not an easy one. She was cold to him at first and even spiteful; she laughed at what he said and promised, and made fun of his pretensions. His kindly temper stood him in good stead. He was quietly persistent; with the emollient of good-nature he wooed her in his own fashion, and before they reached the first settler’s house he had half won her to kindliness. Here he made his victory complete. At every question he appealed to her deferentially for counsel and decision; he reckoned Miss Conklin would know, he relied on her for the facts, and when she spoke he guessed that just settled the matter; her opinion was good enough for him, and so forth.

Wounded to the soul by Bancroft’s persistent, undeserved contempt, the girl felt that now at last she had met some one who appreciated her, and she gave herself up to the charm of dexterous flattery.

From her expression and manner while they drove homewards, Barkman believed that the game was his own. He went on talking to her with the reverence which he had already found to be so effective. There was no one like her. What a lawyer she’d have made! How she got round the wife and induced the husband to sign the petition—‘twas wonderful! He had never imagined a woman could be so tactful and winning. He had never met a man who was her equal in persuading people.

The girl drank in the praise as a dry land drinks the rain. He meant it all; that was clear. He had shown it in his words and acts—there, before the Croftons. She had always believed she could do such things; she didn’t care much about books, and couldn’t talk fine about moonlight, but the men an’ women she knew, she understood. She was sure of that. But still, ‘twas pleasant to hear it. He must love her or he never could appreciate her as he did. She reckoned he was very clever; the best lawyer in the State. Every one knew that. And he had said no man was equal to her. Oh, if only the other, if only George had told her so; but he was too much wrapped up in himself, and after all what was he anyway? Yet, if he had—

At this point of her musings the lawyer, seeing the flushed cheeks and softened glance, believed his moment had come, and resolved to use it. His passion made him forget that it was possible to go too fast.

“Miss Conklin,” he began seriously, “if you’d join with me there’s nothin’ we two couldn’t do, nothin’! They call me the first lawyer in the State, and I guess I’ll get to Washington soon; but with you to help me I’d be there before this year’s out. As the wife of a Member of Congress, you would show them all the way. I’m rich already; that is, I can do whatever you want, and it’s a shame for such genius as yours, and such talent, to be hidden here among people who don’t know how to value you properly. In New York or in Washington you’d shine; become a social power,” and as the words “New York” caused the girl to look at him with eager attention, he added, overcome by the foretaste of approaching triumph: “Miss Loo, I love you; you’ve seen that, for you notice everythin’. I know I’m not young, but I can be kinder and more faithful than any young man, and,” here he slipped his arm round her waist, “I guess all women want to be loved, don’t they? Will you let me love you, Loo, as my wife?”

The girl shrank away from him nervously. Perhaps the fact of being in a buggy recalled her rides with George; or the caress brought home to her the difference between the two men. However that may be, when she answered, it was with full self-possession:

“I guess what you say’s about right, and I like you. But I don’t want to marry—anyway not yet. Of course I’d like to help you, and I’d like to live in New York; but—I can’t make up my mind all at once. You must wait. If you really care for me, that can’t be hard.”

“Yes, it’s hard,” Barkman replied, “very hard to feel uncertain of winning the only woman I can ever love. But I don’t want to press you,” he added, after a pause, “I rely on you; you know best, and I’ll do just what you wish.”

“Well, then,” she resumed, mollified by his humility, “you’ll go back to Wichita this evenin’, as you said you would, and when you return, the day after tomorrow, I’ll tell you Yes or No. Will that do?” and she smiled up in his face.

“Yes, that’s more than I had a right to expect,” he acknowledged. “Hope from you is better than certainty from any other woman.” In this mood they reached the homestead. Loo alighted at the gate; she wouldn’t allow Barkman even to get down; he was to go right off at once, but when he returned she’d meet him. With a grave respectful bow he lifted his hat, and drove away. On the whole, he had reason to be proud of his diplomacy; reason, too, for saying to himself that at last he had got on “the inside track.” Still, all the factors in the problem were not seen even by his keen eyes.

The next morning, Loo began to reflect upon what she should do. It did not occur to her that she had somewhat compromised herself with the lawyer by giving him leave, and, in fact, encouragement to expect a favourable answer. She was so used to looking at all affairs from the point of view of her own self-interest and satisfaction, that such an idea did not even enter her head. She simply wanted to decide on what was best for herself. She considered the matter as it seemed to her, from all sides, without arriving at any decision. Barkman was kind, and good to her; but she didn’t care for him, and she loved George still. Oh, why wasn’t he like the other, always sympathetic and admiring? She sat and thought. In the depths of her nature she felt that she couldn’t give George up, couldn’t make up her mind to lose him; and why should she, since they loved each other? What could