Chapter XIX

by Susan Glaspell

　　Two hours later she found herself alone on the porch with Captain

　　Prescott.

　　A good deal had happened in the meantime.

　　Mrs. Prescott had arrived during Katie's absence, a stop-over of twoweeks having been shortened to two hours because of the illness of herfriend. Her room at her son's quarters being uninhabitable because offresh paint, Wayne had insisted she come to them, and she was even thenresting up in Ann's room, or rather the room which had been put at herdisposal, a bed having been arranged for Ann in Katie's room. Had Katiebeen at home she would have planned it some other way, for above allthings she did not want it to occur to Ann that she was in the way. ButKatie had been very busy talking to the man who mended the boats, andnaturally it would not occur to Wayne that Ann would be at all sensitiveabout giving up her room for a few days to accommodate a dear old friendof theirs. And perhaps she was not sensitive about it, only this was notime, Katie felt, to make Ann feel she was crowding any one.

　　And in Katie's absence "Pet" had been shot. Pet had not seemed to realizethat alley methods of defense were not in good repute in the army. Hecould not believe that Pourquoi and N'est-ce-pas had no guile in theirhearts when they pawed at him. Furthermore, he seemed to have aprejudice against enlisted men and showed his teeth at several of them.Katie began to explain that that was because—but Wayne had curtly cuther short with saying that he didn't care why it was, the fact that itwas had made it impossible to have the dog around. If one of the men hadbeen bitten by the contemptible cur Katie couldn't cauterize the woundwith the story of the dog's hard life.

　　The only bright spot she could find in it was that probably Watts hadtaken a great deal of pleasure in executing Wayne's orders—and CarolineOsborne said that all needed pleasure.

　　She saw that Ann's hands were clenched, and so had not pursued thediscussion.

　　Katie was not in high favor with her brother that night. He said it wasoutrageous she should not have been there to receive Mrs. Prescott. WhenKatie demurred that she would have been less outrageous had she had theslightest notion Mrs. Prescott would be there to be received, itdeveloped that Wayne was further irritated because he had come to takeAnn out for a boat ride—and Katie had gone in the boat—heaven only knewwhere! Then when Katie sought to demolish that irritation with thesuggestion that just then was the most beautiful time of day for theriver—and she knew it would do Ann good to go—Wayne clung manfully tohis grievance, this time labeling it worry. He forbade Katie's going anymore by herself. It was preposterous she should have stayed so long. Hewould have been out looking for her had it not been that Watts had beenable to get a glimpse of the boat pulled in on the upper island.

　　Katie wondered what else Watts had been able to get a glimpse of.

　　Wayne was so bent on being abused (hot days affected people differently)that the only way she could get him to relinquish a grievance for apleasure was to put it in the form of a duty. Ann needed a ride on theriver, Katie affirmed, and so they had gone, Wayne doing his best tocover his pleasure.

　　"Men never really grow up," she mused to Wayne's back. "Every so oftenthey have to act just like little boys. Only little boys aren't half soapt to do it."

　　Though perhaps Wayne had been downright disappointed at not having theboat for Ann when he came home. Was he meaning to deliver that lecture onthe army? She hoped that whatever he talked about it would bring Ann homewithout that strained, harassed look.

　　And now Katie was talking to Captain Prescott and thinking of the man whomended the boats. Captain Prescott was a good one to be talking to whenone wished to be thinking of some one else. He called one to no dim,receding distances.

　　She was thinking that in everything save the things which counted mosthe was not unlike this other man—name unknown. Both were well-built,young, vigorous, attractive. But life had dealt differently with them,and they were dealing differently with life. That made a difference bigas life itself.

　　From the far country in which she was dreaming she heard CaptainPrescott talking about girls. He was talking sentimentally, but even hissentiment opened no vistas.

　　And suddenly she remembered how she had at one time thought it possibleshe would marry him. The remembrance appalled her; less in the idea ofmarrying him than in the consciousness of how far she had gone from theplace where marrying him suggested itself to her at all.

　　Life had become different. This showed her how vastly different.

　　But as he talked on she began to feel that it had not become as differentto him as to her. He had not been making little excursions up and downunknown paths. He had remained right in his place. That place seemed tohim the place for Katie Jones.

　　As he talked on—about what he called Life—sublimely unconscious of thefences all around him shutting out all view of what was really life—itbecame unmistakable that Captain Prescott was getting ready to proposeto her. She had had too much experience with the symptoms not torecognize them.

　　Katie did not want to be proposed to. She was in no mood for dealingwith a proposal. She had too many other things to be thinking of,wondering about.

　　But she reprimanded herself for selfishness. It meant something to him,whether it did to her or not. She must be kind—as kind as she could.

　　The kindest thing she could think of was to keep him from proposing. Tothat end she answered every sentimental remark with a flippant one.

　　It grieved, but did not restrain him. "I had thought you would understandbetter, Katie," he said.

　　Something in his voice made her question the kindness of her method.

　　Better decline a love than laugh at it.

　　He talked on of how he had, at various times, cared—in a way, hesaid—for various girls, but had never found the thing he knew was fatedto mean the real thing to him; Katie had heard it all before, and alwaystold with that same freedom from suspicion of its ever having been saidbefore. But perhaps it was the very fact that it was familiar made herlisten with a certain tenderness. For she seemed to be listening, less tohim than to the voice of by-gone days—all those merry, unthinking dayswhich in truth had dealt very kindly and generously with her.

　　She had a sense of leaving them behind. That alone was enough to make herfeel tenderly toward them. Even a place within a high-board fence,intolerable if one thought one were to remain in it, became a kindly anda pleasant spot from the top of the fence. Once free to turn one's faceto the wide sweep without, one was quite ready to cast loving looks backat the enclosure.

　　And so she softened, prepared to deal tenderly with Captain Prescott,as he seemed then, less the individual than the incarnation ofoutlived days.

　　It was into that mellowed, sweetly melancholy mood he sent thefollowing:

　　"And so, Katie, I wanted to talk to you about it. You're such a goodpal—such a bully sort—I wanted to tell you that I care for Ann—andwant to marry her."

　　She dropped from the high-board fence with a jolt that well-nigh knockedher senseless.

　　"I suppose," he said, "that you must have suspected."

　　"Well, not exactly suspected," said Katie, feeling her bumps, as it were.

　　Her first emotion was that it was pretty shabby treatment to accord onewho was at such pains to be kind. It gave one a distinctly injuredfeeling—getting all sweet and mellow only to be dashed to the ground andlet lie there in that foolish looking—certainly foolish feeling heap!

　　But as soon as she had picked herself up—and Katie was too gamey to belong in picking herself up—she wondered what under heaven she was goingto do about things! What had she let herself in for now! The pains of aninjured dignity—throb of a pricked self love—were forgotten in thisreal problem, confronting her. She even grew too grave to think about howfunny it was.

　　For Katie saw this as genuinely serious.

　　"Harry," she asked, "have you said anything to your mother?"

　　"Well, not said anything," he laughed.

　　"But she knows?"

　　"Mother's keen," he replied.

　　"I once thought I was," was Katie's unspoken comment.

　　"And have you—you are so good as to confide in me, so I presume to askquestions—have you said anything to Ann?"

　　"No, not said anything," he laughed again.

　　"But she knows?"

　　"I don't know. I wondered if you did."

　　"No," said Katie, "I don't. Truth is I've been so wrapped up in my ownaffairs—some things I've had on my mind—that I haven't been thinkingabout people around me falling in love."

　　"People are always falling in love," he remarked sentimentally. "Oneshould always be prepared for that."

　　"So it seems," replied Katie. "And yet one is not always—entirelyprepared."

　　She had picked herself up from her fall, but she was not yet able to walkvery well. Fortunately he was too absorbed in his own happy striding tomark her hobbling.

　　A young man talking of his love does not need a brilliantconversationalist for companion.

　　And he was a young man in love—that grew plain. Had Katie ever seen sucheyes? And as for the mouth—though perhaps most remarkable of all was thevoice. Just what did it make Katie think of? He enumerated various thingsit made him think of, only to express his dissatisfaction with them allas inadequate. Had Katie ever seen any one so beautiful? And with suchan adorable shy little way? Had Katie ever heard her say anything abouthim? Did she think he had any chance? Was there any other fellow? Ofcourse there must have been lots of other fellows in love with her—agirl like that—but had she cared for any of them? Would Katie tell himsomething about her? She had been reserved about herself—the kind ofreserve a fellow wouldn't try to break through. Would Katie tell him ofher life and her people? Not that it made any difference with him—oh, hewanted just her. But his mother would want to know—Katie knew howmothers were about things like that. And he did want his mother to likeher. Surely she would. How could she help it?

　　She wondered if Ann knew him for a young man in love. Katie's hearthardened against Ann at the possibility. That would not be playing a fairgame. Ann was not in position to let Katie's friends fall in love withher. Katie had not counted on that.

　　"Have you any reason," she asked, "to think Ann cares for you?"

　　He laughed happily. "N—o; only I don't think it displeases her to haveme say nice things to her." And again he laughed.

　　Then Ann had encouraged him. A girl had no business to encourage a man tosay nice things to her when she knew nothing could come of it.

　　But Katie's memory there nudged Katie's primness; memory of all themen who had been encouraged to say nice things to Katie Jones, evenwhen it was not desirable—or perhaps even possible—that anythingcould "come of it."

　　But of course that was different. Ann was in no position to permit nicethings being said to her.

　　"Katie," he was asking, "where did you first meet her? How did you cometo know her? Can't you tell me all about it?"

　　There came a mad impulse to do so. To say: "I first met her right downthere at the edge of the water. She was about to commit suicide. I don'tknow why. I think she was one of those 'Don't You Care' girls you admiredin 'Daisey-Maisey.' But I'm not sure of even that. I didn't want her tokill herself, so I took her in and pretended she was a friend of mine. Imade the whole thing up. I even made up her name. She said her name wasVerna Woods, but I think that's a made-up name, too. I haven't theglimmering of an idea what her real name is, who her people are, whereshe came from, or why she wanted to kill herself."

　　Then what?

　　First, bitter reproaches for Katie. She would be painted as havingviolated all the canons.

　　For the first time, watching her friend's face softened by his dreams,seeing him as his mother's son, she questioned her right to violate them.She did not know why she had not thought more about it before. It hadseemed such a joke on the people in the enclosure. But it was not goingto be a joke to hurt them. Was that what came of violating the canons?Was the hurt to one's friends the punishment one got for it?

　　"You can't cauterize the wounds with the story of the dog's hard life,"Wayne had said of poor little unpetted—and because unpetted,unpettable—Pet.

　　Was Watts the real philosopher when he said "things was as they was"?

　　She was bewildered. She was in a country where she could not find herway. She needed a guide. Her throat grew tight, her eyes hot, at thoughtof how badly she needed her guide.

　　Then, perhaps in self-defense, she saw her friend Captain Prescott, notas a victim of the violation of canons, but as a violator of themhimself. She turned from Ann's past to his.

　　"Harry," she asked, in rather metallic voice, "how about that affair ofyours down in Cuba?"

　　He flushed with surprise and resentment. "I must say, Katie," he saidstiffly, "I don't see what it has to do with this."

　　"Why, I should think it might have something to do with it. Isn't there apopular notion that our pasts have something to do with our futures?"

　　"It's all over," he said shortly.

　　"Then you would say, Harry, that when things are over they're over. Thatthey needn't tie up the future."

　　"Certainly not," said he, making it clear that he wanted that phase ofthe conversation "over."

　　"It's my own theory," said Katie. "But I didn't know whether or not itwas yours. Now if I had had a past, and it was, as you say yours is,all over, I shouldn't think it was any man's business to go pokingaround in it."

　　"That," he said, "is a different matter."

　　"What's a different matter?" she asked aggressively.

　　"A woman's past. That would be a man's business."

　　"Though a man's past is not a woman's business?"

　　"Oh, we certainly needn't argue that old nonsense. You're too much thegirl of the world to take any such absurd position, Katie."

　　"Of course, being what you call a 'girl of the world' it's absurd Ishould question the man's point of view, but I can't quite get the logicof it. You wouldn't marry a woman with a past, and yet the woman whomarries you is marrying a man with one."

　　"I've lived a man's life," he said. And he said it with a certain pride.

　　"And perhaps she's lived a woman's life," Katie was thinking. Only thewoman was not entitled to the pride. For her it led towardself-destruction rather than self-approval.

　　"It's this way, Katie," he explained to her. "This is the difference. Awoman's past doesn't stay in the past. It marks her. Why I can tell awoman with a past every time," he concluded confidently.

　　Katie sat there smiling at him. The smile puzzled him.

　　"Now look here, Katie, surely you—a girl of the world—the goodsort—aren't going to be so melodramatic as to dig up a 'past' forme, are you?"

　　"No," said Katie, "I don't want to be melodramatic. I'll try to dig upno pasts."

　　His talk ran on, and her thoughts. It seemed so cruel a thing that Ann'spast—whatever it might be, and surely nothing short of a "past" couldmake a girl want to kill herself—should rise up and damn her now. To himshe was a dear lovely girl—the sort of a girl a man would want to marry.Very well then, intrinsically, she was that. Why not let people bewhat they were? Why not let them be themselves, instead of what onethought they would be from what one knew of their lives? It was so easyto see marks when one knew of things which one's philosophy held wouldleave marks. It seemed a fairer and a saner thing to let human beings bewhat their experiences had actually made them rather than what onethought those experiences would make them.

　　Captain Prescott had blighted a Cuban woman's life—for his own pleasureand vanity. With Ann it may have been the press of necessity, or it mayhave been—the call of life. Either one, being driven by life, or drawnto it, seemed less ignominious than trifling with life.

　　Why would it be so much worse for Captain Prescott to marry Ann than itwould be for Ann to marry Captain Prescott?

　　The man who mended the boats would back her up in that!

　　Through her somber perplexity there suddenly darted the sportive idea ofgetting Ann in the army! The audacious little imp of an idea peepedaround corners in Katie's consciousness and tried to coquet with her.Banished, it came scampering back to whisper that Ann would not bring thearmy its first "past"—either masculine or feminine. Only in the armythey managed things in such wise that there was no need of committingsuicide. Ann had been a bad manager.

　　But at that moment they were joined by Captain Prescott's mother and heretired for a solitary smoke.