The Trail of the Hawk: A Comedy of the Seriousness of Life
While Carl prepared for Gertie Cowles's party by pressing his trousers
with his mother's flat-iron, while he blacked his shoes and took his
weekly sponge-bath, he was perturbed by partisanship with Eddie Klemm,
and a longing for the world of motors, and some anxiety as to how he
could dance at the party when he could not dance.
He clumped up the new stone steps of the Cowles house carelessly, not
unusually shy, ready to tell Gertie what he thought of her treatment
of Eddie. Then the front door opened and an agonized Carl was
smothered in politeness. His second cousin, Lena, the Cowleses' "hired
girl," was opening the door, stiff and uncomfortable in a cap, a black
dress, and a small frilly apron that dangled on her boniness like a
lace kerchief pinned on a broom-handle. Murray Cowles rushed up. He
was in evening clothes!
Behind Murray, Mrs. Cowles greeted Carl with thawed majesty: "We are
so glad to have you, Carl. Won't you take your things off in the room
at the head of the stairs?"
An affable introduction to Howard Griffin (also in evening clothes)
was poured on Carl like soothing balm. Said Griffin: "Mighty glad to
meet you, Ericson. Ray told me you'd make a ripping sprinter. The
captain of the track team 'll be on the lookout for you when you get
to Plato. Course you're going to go there. The U. of Minn. is too
big.... You'll _do_ something for old Plato. Wish I could. But all I
can do is warble like a darn' dicky-bird. Have a cigarette?... They're
just starting to dance. Come on, old man. Come on, Ray."
Carl was drawn down-stairs and instantly precipitated into a dance
regarding which he was sure only that it was either a waltz, a
two-step, or something else. It filled with glamour the Cowles
library--the only parlor in Joralemon that was called a library, and
the only one with a fireplace or a polished hardwood floor. Grandeur
was in the red lambrequins over the doors and windows; the bead
portiere; a hand-painted coal-scuttle; small, round paintings of
flowers set in black velvet; an enormous black-walnut bookcase with
fully a hundred volumes; and the two lamps of green-mottled shades and
wrought-iron frames, set on pyrographed leather skins brought from New
York by Gertie. The light was courtly on the polished floor. Adelaide
Benner--a new Adelaide, in chiffon over yellow satin, and
patent-leather slippers--grinned at him and ruthlessly towed him into
the tide of dancers. In the spell of society no one seemed to remember
Eddie Klemm. Adelaide did not mention the incident.
Carl found himself bumping into others, continually apologizing to
Adelaide and the rest--and not caring. For he saw a vision! Each time
he turned toward the south end of the room he beheld Gertie Cowles
glorified.
She was out of ankle-length dresses! She looked her impressive
eighteen, in a foaming long white mull that showed her soft throat. A
red rose was in her brown hair. She reclined in a big chair of leather
and oak and smiled her gentlest, especially when Carl bobbed his head
to her.
He had always taken her as a matter of course; she had no age, no sex,
no wonder. That afternoon she had been a negligible bit of Joralemon,
to be accused of snobbery toward Eddie Klemm, and always to be watched
suspiciously lest she "spring some New York airs on us."... Gertie had
craftily seemed unchanged after her New York enlightenment till
now--here she was, suddenly grown-up and beautiful, haloed with a
peculiar magic, which distinguished her from all the rest of the
world.
"She's the one that would ride in that horseless carriage when I got
it!" Carl exulted. "That must be a train, that thing she's got on."
After the dance he disposed of Adelaide Benner as though she were only
a sister. He hung over the back of Gertie's chair and urged: "I was
awful sorry to hear you were sick.... Say, you look wonderful,
to-night."
"I'm so glad you could come to my party. Oh, I must speak to you
about----Do you suppose you would ever get very, very angry at poor
me? Me so bad sometimes."
He cut an awkward little caper to show his aplomb, and assured her, "I
guess probably I'll kill you some time, all right."
"No, listen, Carl; I'm dreadfully serious. I hope you didn't go and
get dreadfully angry at me about Eddie Klemm. I know Eddie 's good
friends with you. And I did want to have him come to my party. But you
see it was this way: Mr. Griffin is our guest (he likes you a _lot_,
Carl. Isn't he a dandy fellow? I guess Adelaide and Hazel 're just
crazy about him. I think he's just as swell as the men in New York).
Eddie and he didn't get along very well together. It isn't anybody's
fault, I don't guess. I thought Eddie would be lots happier if he
didn't come, don't you see?"
"Oh no, of course; oh yes, I see. Sure. I can see how----Say, Gertie,
I never did know you could look so grown-up. I suppose now you'll
never play with me."
"I want you to be a good friend of mine always. We always have been
awfully good friends, haven't we?"
"Yes. Do you remember how we ran away?"
"And how the Black Dutchman chassssed us!" Her sweet and complacent
voice was so cheerful that he lost his awe of her new magic and
chortled:
"And how we used to play pum-pum-pull-away."
She delicately leaned her cheek on a finger-tip and sighed: "Yes, I
wonder if we shall ever be so happy as when we were young.... I don't
believe you care to play with me so much now."
"Oh, gee! Gertie! Like to----!" The shyness was on him again. "Say,
are you feeling better now? You're all over being sick?"
"Almost, now. I'll be back in school right after vacation."
"It's you that don't want to play, I guess.... I can't get over that
long white dress. It makes you look so--oh, you know, so, uh----"
"They're going to dance again. I wish I felt able to dance."
"Let me sit and talk to you, Gertie, instead of dancing."
"I suppose you're dreadfully bored, though, when you could be down at
the billiard-parlor?"
"Yes, I could! Not! Eddie Klemm and his fancy vest wouldn't have much
chance, alongside of Griffin in his dress-suit! Course I don't want to
knock Eddie. Him and me are pretty good side-kicks----"
"Oh no; I understand. It's just that people have to go with their own
class, don't you think?"
"Oh Yes. Sure. I do think so, myself." Carl said it with a spurious
society manner. In Gertie's aristocratic presence he desired to keep
aloof from all vulgar persons.
"Of course, I think we ought to make allowances for Eddie's father,
Carl, but then----"
She sighed with the responsibilities of _noblesse oblige_; and Carl
gravely sighed with her.
He brought a stool and sat at her feet. Immediately he was afraid that
every one was watching him. Ray Cowles bawled to them, as he passed in
the waltz, "Watch out for that Carl, Gert. He's a regular badix."
Carl's scalp tickled, but he tried to be very offhand in remarking:
"You must have gotten that dress in New York, didn't you? Why haven't
you ever told me about New York? You've hardly told me anything at
all."
"Well, I like that! And you never been near me to give me a chance!"
"I guess I was kind of scared you wouldn't care much for Joralemon,
after New York."
"Why, Carl, you mustn't say that to me!"
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Gertie, honestly I didn't. I was
just joking. I didn't think you'd take me seriously."
"As though I could forget my old friends, even in New York!"
"I didn't think that. Straight. Please tell me about New York. That's
the place, all right. Jiminy! wouldn't I like to go there!"
"I wish you could have been there, Carl. We had such fun in my school.
There weren't any boys in it, but we----"
"No boys in it? Why, how's that?"
"Why, it was just for girls."
"I see," he said, fatuously, completely satisfied.
"We did have the best times, Carl. I _must_ tell you about one awfully
naughty thing Carrie--she was my chum in school--and I did. There was
a stock company on Twenty-third Street, and we were all crazy about
the actors, especially Clements Devereaux, and one afternoon Carrie
told the principal she had a headache, and I asked if I could go home
with her and read her the assignments for next day (they called the
lessons 'assignments' there), and they thought I was such a meek
little country mouse that I wouldn't ever fib, and so they let us go,
and what do you think we did? She had tickets for 'The Two Orphans' at
the stock company. (You've never seen 'The Two Orphans,' have you?
It's perfectly splendid. I used to weep my eyes out over it.) And
afterward we went and waited outside, right near the stage entrance,
and what do you think? The leading man, Clements Devereaux, went
right by us as near as I am to you. Oh, _Carl_, I wish you could have
seen him! Maybe he wasn't the handsomest thing! He had the blackest,
curliest hair, and he wore a thumb ring."
"I don't think much of all these hamfatters," growled Carl. "Actors
always go broke and have to walk back to Chicago. Don't you think it
'd be better to be a civil engineer or something like that, instead of
having to slick up your hair and carry a cane? They're just dudes."
"Why! of course, Carl, you silly boy! You don't suppose I'd take
Clements seriously, do you? You silly boy!"
"I'm not a boy."
"I don't mean it that way." She sat up, touched his shoulder, and sank
back. He blushed with bliss, and the fear that some one had seen, as
she continued: "I always think of you as just as old as I am. We
always will be, won't we?"
"Yes!"
"Now you must go and talk to Doris Carson. Poor thing, she always is a
wall-flower."
However much he thought of common things as he left her, beyond those
common things was the miracle that Gertie had grown into the one
perfect, divinely ordained woman, and that he would talk to her again.
He danced the Virginia reel. Instead of clumping sulkily through the
steps, as at other parties, he heeded Adelaide Benner's lessons, and
watched Gertie in the hope that she would see how well he was dancing.
He shouted a demand that they play "Skip to Maloo," and cried down the
shy girls who giggled that they were too old for the childish
party-game. He howled, without prejudice in favor of any particular
key, the ancient words:
"Rats in the sugar-bowl, two by two,
Bats in the belfry, two by two,
Rats in the sugar-bowl, two by two,
Skip to Maloo, my darling."
In the nonchalant company of the smarter young bachelors up-stairs he
smoked a cigarette. But he sneaked away. He paused at the bend in the
stairs. Below him was Gertie, silver-gowned, wonderful. He wanted to
go down to her. He would have given up his chance for a motor-car to
be able to swagger down like an Eddie Klemm. For the Carl Ericson who
sailed his ice-boat over inch-thick ice was timid now. He poked into
the library, and in a nausea of discomfort he conversed with Mrs.
Cowles, Mrs. Cowles doing the conversing.
"Are you going to be a Republican or a Democrat, Carl?" asked the
forbidding lady.
"Yessum," mumbled Carl, peering over at Gertie's throne, where Ben
Rusk was being cultured.
"I hope you are having a good time. We always wish our young friends
to have an especially good time at Gertrude's parties," Mrs. Cowles
sniffed, and bowed away.
Carl sat beside Adelaide Benner in the decorous and giggling circle
that ringed the room, waiting for the "refreshments." He was healthily
interested in devouring maple ice-cream and chocolate layer-cake. But
all the while he was spying on the group gathering about Gertie--Ben
Rusk, Howard Griffin, and Joe Jordan. He took the most strategic
precautions lest some one think that he wanted to look at Gertie; made
such ponderous efforts to prove he was care-free that every one knew
something was the matter.