The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1919-09-05
CHAPTER xxxII.
The White Night.


The White Night.
<Lord, I'm tired" groaned Richard
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"
The day, confused and jumbled,
burned across his eyeballs; turmoil
of hustle and hurry Of insurrectfon. He
had made q swift stand against that.
He was to be minded to the last man.
jack of them, or anyone would go, his
threat including the engineers, Silent,
Irish, Wooster, Hardin himself. This
was no time for factions, for leader
feeling.
In bed, the day with its 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 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.
= Richard Weakened as to call. What
had startled him? He listened, rails
ing himself by his elbow. From a dis
lance, a 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 lines Hardin.
He pulled aside his curtain which
hung over the screening of his tent
and looked out into a moon-fooded
world. Richards eyes fell on a little
tent over yonder, a white shrine.
white as that fine sweet soul of
hers!''
Wandering into the night, Godfrey
passed down the river, singing. His
voice, the footlights, the listening
great audiences were calling to him.
To him, the moon-flooded levee, the
glistening water, made 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 it to Gerry
Hardin; she would hear it in her tent /;
she would take 1t as the tender re-
proach he had leased her with that
afternoon in the ramada.
He gave for encore a ballad long
forgotten; he had pulled 1t back from
the cobwebs of two decades; he had
made 1t 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, pretty figure a
man cutsl If his wife can't stand
him, who can? He wasn't good enough
steSr her. He was rough. His life had
kept him from fitting himself to her
taste. She needed people who could
talk like Richard, sing like Godfrey.
People, other people, might miscon-
strue her preferences. He knew they
were not fiirtations; she needed her
kind. She would always keep straight /;
she was straight as a whip. Life was
as hard for her as 1t 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, Gerry Hardin lay listening to
the message meant for her. The tickle
sex, he had called hers; no constancy
in woman, he had declared, fondling
her hair. He had tried to coax her
into pledges, pledges which were also
disavowals to the man outside.
Silver threads! Age shuddered at
her threshold. She hated that song.
Cruel, life had been to her; none of it's
promises had been kept. To be happy,
why, that was humans birthright ;
grab it, that was her creed! There
was chance yet; youth had not gone.
He was singing 1t to her, her escape
Darling, you will be,
Ever young and fair to me-
Godfrey, singing to Gerry Hardin,
had awakened the camp. lines, in
her tent, too, was listening
Darling, you will be,
Ever young and fair to mel''
So that is the miracle, that wild
rush of certain feeling! Yesterday,
doubling, tomorrow, more doubts-but
tonight, the song. the night isolated
them, herself and Richard, into a
world of their own. Life with him on
INV forpoS che