The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1919-05-09
CHAPTER xxxH.,
The White Night.

IT,. The White Night.
"Lord, I'm tired" groaned Rickard,
stumbling into camp, wet to the skin.
"Don't you say letters to me, Mac.
I'm going to bed. Tell Ling I don't
want any dinner. He'll want to fuss
up something. I don't want to see
food."' g..
The day, confused and jumbled,
burned across his eyeballs; turmoil
of hustle and hurry Of insurrection. he
had made q swift stand against that.
He was to be minded to the last man
Jack of them, or anyone would 60, his
threat including the engineers, Silent,
Irish, Wooster, Hardin himself. This
was no time for factions, for leader
feeling.
, In bed, the day with It's irritations
fell away. He could see now the step
ahead that had been taken; the last
trestle was done; the rock.pouring
well on; he called that going some
He felt pleasantly languid. but not yet
sleepy. His thought wandered over the
resting camp. And then Innes Hardin
came to him. =
Not herself, but as a soft little
thought which came creeping around
the corner Of his dreams. She had
been there, Of course, all day, tucked
away in his mind, as though in his
home waiting for him to come back to
her, weary from the pricks Of the day.
The way he would come home to her,
please God, some day. Not bearing
his burdens to her, he did not believe
in that, but asking her diversions. Con.
tentment spread her soft wings over
him. He fell asleep.
Rickard wakened as to call. What
had startled him? He listened, rails
ing himself by his elbow. From dis
tance, q sweet high voice, unreal In Its
pitch and thrilling quality, came to
him. 1t was Godfrey. somewhere on
the levee, singing by the river. 1t
brought him again TO Innes Hardin.
He pulled aside his curtain which
hung over the screening Of his tent
anu looked out into ,moon-fooded
world. Richards eyes fell on little
tent over yonder, a white shrine.
"White as that fine sweet soul OF
hers!n .. g:. -.
Wandering into the night, Godfrey
passed down the river, singing. Ills
voice, the footlights, the listening
great audiences were calling to him.
To him, the moon-fooded levee. the
glistening water, made a star-set
scene. He was treading the boards,
the rushing waters by the bank gave
the orchestration for his melody-"La
Donna Mobile" He began 1t to Gerty
Hardin; she would hear 1t in her tent
she would take it as the tender re-
proach he had teased here with that
afternoon in the ramada.
He gave for encore q ballad long
forgotten; he had pulled 1t back from
the cobwebs Of two decades; he had
made it his own.
"But, my darling, you will be,
Ever young and fair to me-"
1t came, the soaring voice, to Tom
Hardin, outside Gerty's tent on his
lonely cot. He knew that song. Dis
dained by his wife, a pretty figure a
man cuts! If his wife, can't stand
him, who can? He wasn't good enough
for her. He was rough. His life had
kept him from fitting himself to her
taste. She needed people who could
talk like Rickard, sing like Godfrey.
People, other people, might miscon-
strue her preferences. He knew they
were not flirtations; she needed her
kind. She would always keep straight ;
she was straight as whip. Life was
as hard for her as it was for him; he
could feel sorry for her; his pity was
divided between the two Of them, the
husband, the wife, both lonely In their
own way.
On the other side Of the canvas
walls, Gerty Hardin lay listening to
the message meant for her. The tickle
sex, he had called hers; no cbnstancy
in woman, he had declared, fondling
her hair. He had tried to coax her
into pledges, pledges which were also