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Page 50
The casino band was playing a waltz--a waltz. What a fool he had been
to tear deliberately ten years of his life from the calendar of
existence for one who had given him up for the false joys that wealth-
-"tum ti tum ti tum ti"--how did that waltz go? But those years had
not been sacrificed--had they not brought him the star and pearl of
all the world, the youngest and beautifulest of--
"But do not come on Thursday evening," she had insisted. Perhaps by
now she would be moving slowly and gracefully to the strains of that
waltz, held closely by West-Pointers or city commuters, while he, who
had read in her eyes things that had recompensed him for ten lost
years of life, moped like some wild animal in its mountain den. Why
should--"
"Damn it," said the hermit, suddenly, "I'll do it!"
He threw down his Marcus Aurelius and threw off his gunny-sack toga.
he dragged a dust-covered trunk from a corner of the cave, and with
difficulty wrenched open its lid.
Candles he had in plenty, and the cave was soon aglow. Clothes--ten
years old in cut--scissors, razors, hats, shoes, all his discarded
attire and belongings, were dragged ruthlessly from their renunciatory
rest and strewn about in painful disorder.
A pair of scissors soon reduced his beard sufficiently for the dulled
razors to perform approximately their office. Cutting his own hair
was beyond the hermit's skill. So he only combed and brushed it
backward as smoothly as he could. Charity forbids us to consider the
heartburnings and exertions of one so long removed from haberdashery
and society.
At the last the hermit went to an inner corner of his cave and began
to dig in the soft earth with a long iron spoon. Out of the cavity he
thus made he drew a tin can, and out of the can three thousand dollars
in bills, tightly rolled and wrapped in oiled silk. He was a real
hermit, as this may assure you.
You may take a brief look at him as he hastens down the little
mountain-side. A long, wrinkled black frock-coat reached to his
calves. White duck trousers, unacquainted with the tailor's goose, a
pink shirt, white standing collar with brilliant blue butterfly tie,
and buttoned congress gaiters. But think, sir and madam--ten years!
>From beneath a narrow-brimmed straw hat with a striped band flowed his
hair. Seeing him, with all your shrewdness you could not have guessed
him. You would have said that he played Hamlet--or the tuba--or
pinochle--you would never have laid your hand on your heart and said:
"He is a hermit who lived ten years in a cave for love of one lady--to
win another."
The dancing pavilion extended above the waters of the river. Gay
lanterns and frosted electric globes shed a soft glamour within it. A
hundred ladies and gentlemen from the inn and summer cottages flitted
in and about it. To the left of the dusty roadway down which the
hermit had tramped were the inn and grill-room. Something seemed to
be on there, too. The windows were brilliantly lighted, and music was
playing--music different from the two-steps and waltzes of the casino
band.
A negro man wearing a white jacket came through the iron gate, with
its immense granite posts and wrought-iron lamp-holders.
"What is going on here to-night?" asked the hermit.
"Well, sah," said the servitor, "dey is having de reg'lar Thursday-
evenin' dance in de casino. And in de grill-room dere's a beefsteak
dinner, sah."
The hermit glanced up at the inn on the hillside whence burst suddenly
a triumphant strain of splendid harmony.
"And up there," said he, "they are playing Mendelssohn--what is going
on up there?"
"Up in de inn," said the dusky one, "dey is a weddin' goin' on. Mr.
Binkley, a mighty rich man, am marryin' Miss Trenholme, sah--de young
lady who am quite de belle of de place, sah."
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