Adventure, August 1917 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

26 First he told her of his father. Probably because he had never spoken of him and his dream to any one, probably because he now felt so certain that the dream was to come true, he talked as he had never known he could talk. And, in the telling of that story of a misunderstood life, of a youthful deter- - mination and ambition, he expressed him- self better, more appealingly, than he. imagined. Joan, always sympathetic, found herself swayed by this simple story of a boy’s devo- tion to his parent. To her it was like look- ing at an unclothed soul. She suddenly found herself desiring more than anything else that he should win, and in the same in- stant felt certain that he would. Elated, Wallace declared that success was at hand. He did not tell of the work, of the possible obstacles, of what must still be done. Those were things for a man to understand, for men to hear and discuss. For this girl, whom he desired more than he had known it possible for a man to de- sire, it was only necessary that she know the end. It was the way of his kind, and yet, as he drew near the finish, Joan felt a sudden emptiness, a sudden aloofness from this thing which had become of such great moment to her. “Tt will end my field work,”’ Wallace said. “T had this one thing to do before I could begin those which I would rather take up as a life’s work. This was more of a—a——” ‘“‘A crusade,” suggested Joan. “Yes, that’s it. I had to vindicate my father before I ever did anything else, but from now on my work will be in the city. And Joan,” he said suddenly as he turned toward her, ‘“‘when it is done, when I have put this through, when this job is out of the way, I’m going to have something to tell you.” He reached forward suddenly and took her hand as it lay on the log upon which they were sitting. “T want to tell you now, dear,” he whis- pered, “but I can’t, not until I have squared up for my father. Then I’m coming. You'll wait, won’t you, Joan?” Nothing could have been more effective than this ingenuous plea. To the woman’s soul of Joan it was the message of her knight battling his way to her side. Love had called across a torrent. Only the tor- rent must be crossed and then.... Quickly, tenderly, the girl pressed the Adventure fingers that held hers and then sprang to her feet. In the darkness he felt the warmth of her smile, felt what her answer would be, and the man alone, unshackled by a boy- hood obligation, was at her side in an in- stant. “Joan!” he cried. ‘You love me!” Nag? THE click of a paddle against the gees SunWale of a canoe came to them MES across the water, sounding, in the stillness, and with the instant echo from the pe along the shore of the bay, like a rifle- shot. “Hush,” whispered the girl. ‘Some one is coming.” ‘Together they looked out into the dark- ness which seemed part of the water itself until the dim outline of a canoe appeared. “It’s Stan,” said Joan in a low voice. In silence they waited. Joan drew a little away from Wallace. She had realized suddenly that Stanton must know soon, that he might know even then, after that exclamation from Wallace. And, realizing this, she wondered what he would think, what he would say, Stanton, who had always been her comrade, who had shared all her thoughts and secrets. Unaccount- ably there came a sudden terror of his know- ng; wholly unexplainable but nevertheless real. “Stan!” she called. ‘Oh, Stan!” “Hello,” came from the canoe and in a few seconds the bow grated on the sand. Joan ran down to the edge of the water. “What luck?” she asked. “Did you learn anything?” “Nothing,” came the dispirited reply. “TI am just where I began.” “But the murderer? What did you do with him?” “‘He’s free, free to do it again if he gets the whisky.” “But, Stan. You were so confident that you would find out this time.”’ Bancroft lifted his canoe from the water and carried it back up the beach. “How are you, Searles?” he said,. ex- tending his hand to the engineer. ‘How is aunty, Joan?” “She’s well. We’re all well. But, Stan, I’m so sorry. Where have you been?” “Tm hungry, Joan. Come up to the house and I'll tell you while I’m eating. You'll join us, Searles?” Even Wallace was struck by the haggard CoOmiclsoo CO S|