Part 33 (1/2)

The blue that had been so timid and so tentative overspread the sky; more robins came, and after them bluebirds and redbirds and Peterbirds, and the impudent screaming robber jay that is so beautiful and so bold, and flute-voiced vireos, and nuthatches, and the darling busybody wren fussing about her house-building in the corners of our piazzas. The first red flowers of the j.a.panese quince opened flame-like on the bare brown bushes. When the bridal-wreath by the gate saw that, she set industriously to work upon her own wedding-gown. The yellow jessamine was full of waxy gold buds; and long since those bold frontiersmen of the year, the Judas-trees, had flaunted it in bravest scarlet, and the slim-legged scouts of the pines showed shoulder-straps and c.o.c.kades of new gay green above gallant brown leggings.

One brand new morning the b.u.t.terfly Man called me aside and placed in my hands a letter. The American Society of Natural History invited Mr.

John Flint, already a member of the Entomological Society of France, a Fellow of the Entomological Society of London, and a member of the greatest of Dutch and German a.s.sociations, to speak before it and its guests, at a most notable meeting to be held in the Society's splendid Museum in New York City. Not to mention two mere ex-Presidents, some of the greatest scientific names of the Americas were included in that list. And it was before such as these that my b.u.t.terfly Man was to speak. Behold me rocking on my toes!

The first effect of this invitation was to please me immensely, I being a puffed-up old man and carnal-minded at times; nor do I seem to improve with age. The plaudits of the world, for anybody I admire and love, ring most sweetly in my foolish ears. Now the honors he had gotten from abroad were fine and good in their way, but this meant that the value of his work was recognized and his position established in his own country, in his own time. It meant a widening of his horizon, a.s.sociation with clever men and women, enn.o.bling friends.h.i.+ps to broaden his life. A just measure of appreciation from the worthwhile sweetens toil and encourages genius. And yet--our eyes met, and mine had to ask an old question.

”Would you better accept it?” I wondered.

”I can't afford not to,” said he resolutely. ”The time's come for me to get out in the open, and I might just as well face the music, and Do it Now. Risks? I hardly think so. I never hunted in couples, remember--I always went by my lonesome and got away with it. Besides, who's remembering Slippy? n.o.body. He's drowned and dead and done with.

But, however, and nevertheless, and because, I shall go.”

Again we looked at each other; and his look was untroubled.

”The pipe-dreams I've had about slipping back into little old New York! But if anybody had told me I'd go back like I'm going, with the sort of folks waiting for me that will be waiting now, I'd have pa.s.sed it up. Well, you never can tell, can you? And in a way it's funny--now isn't it?”

”No, you never can tell,” said I, soberly. ”But I do not think it at all funny. Quite the contrary.” Suppose, oh, suppose, that after all these years, when a well-earned success was in his grasp, it should happen--I turned pale. He read my fear in my face and his smile might have been borrowed from my mother's mouth.

”Don't you get cold feet, parson,” he counseled kindly. ”Be a sport!

Besides, it's all in the Game, you know.”

”Is it?”

”Sure!”

”And worth while, John?”

He laughed. ”Believe me! It's the worthwhilest thing under the sun to sit in the Game, with a sport's interest in the hands dealt out, taking yours as it comes to you, bluffing all you can when you've got to, playing your cards for all they're worth when it's your turn. No reneging. No squealing when you lose. No boasting how you did it when you win. There's nothing in the whole universe so intensely and immensely worth while as being _you_ and alive, with yourself the whole kitty and the sky your limit! It's one great old Game, and I'm for thanking the Big Dealer that I'da whack at playing it.” And his eyes snapped and his lean brown face flushed.

”And you are really willing to--to stake yourself now, my son?”

”Lord, parson, you ought to know! And you a dead ringer for the real thing in a cla.s.sy sport yourself!”

”My _dear_ son--!”

My dear son waved his fine hand, and chuckled in his red beard.

”Would _you_ back down if this was your call? Why, you're the sort that would tackle the biggest noise in the ring, even if you knew you'd be dragged out on your pantry in the first half of the first round, if you thought you'd got holy orders to do it! If you saw me getting jellyfish of the spine now, you'd curl up and die--wouldn't you, honest Injun?” His eyes crinkled and he grinned so infectiously that my fears subsided. I had an almost superst.i.tious certainty that nothing really evil could happen to a man who could grin like that.

Fate and fortune are perfectly powerless before the human being who can meet them with the sword of a smile.

”Well,” I admitted cautiously, ”jellyfish of the spine must be an unlovely ailment; not that I ever heard of it before.”

”You're willing for me to go, then?”

”You'd go anyhow, would you not?”

”Forget it!” said he roughly. ”If you think I'd do anything I knew would cause you uneasiness, you've got another thing coming to you.”

”Oh, go, for heaven's sake!” said I, sharply.