THE PACE OF YOUTH
I
Stimson stood in a corner and glowered. He was a fierce man and had
indomitable whiskers, albeit he was very small.
"That young tarrier," he whispered to himself. "He wants to quit makin'
eyes at Lizzie. This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,
he'll get fired."
His brow creased in a frown, he strode over to the huge open doors and
looked at a sign. "Stimson's Mammoth Merry-Go-Round," it read, and the
glory of it was great. Stimson stood and contemplated the sign. It was
an enormous affair; the letters were as large as men. The glow of it,
the grandeur of it was very apparent to Stimson. At the end of his
contemplation, he shook his head thoughtfully, determinedly. "No, no,"
he muttered. "This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,
he'll get fired."
A soft booming sound of surf, mingled with the cries of bathers, came
from the beach. There was a vista of sand and sky and sea that drew to a
mystic point far away in the northward. In the mighty angle, a girl in a
red dress was crawling slowly like some kind of a spider on the fabric
of nature. A few flags hung lazily above where the bathhouses were
marshalled in compact squares. Upon the edge of the sea stood a ship
with its shadowy sails painted dimly upon the sky, and high overhead in
the still, sun-shot air a great hawk swung and drifted slowly.
Within the Merry-Go-Round there was a whirling circle of ornamental
lions, giraffes, camels, ponies, goats, glittering with varnish and
metal that caught swift reflections from windows high above them. With
stiff wooden legs, they swept on in a never-ending race, while a great
orchestrion clamored in wild speed. The summer sunlight sprinkled its
gold upon the garnet canopies carried by the tireless racers and upon
all the devices of decoration that made Stimson's machine magnificent
and famous. A host of laughing children bestrode the animals, bending
forward like charging cavalrymen, and shaking reins and whooping in
glee. At intervals they leaned out perilously to clutch at iron rings
that were tendered to them by a long wooden arm. At the intense moment
before the swift grab for the rings one could see their little nervous
bodies quiver with eagerness; the laughter rang shrill and excited. Down
in the long rows of benches, crowds of people sat watching the game,
while occasionally a father might arise and go near to shout
encouragement, cautionary commands, or applause at his flying offspring.
Frequently mothers called out: "Be careful, Georgie!" The orchestrion
bellowed and thundered on its platform, filling the ears with its long
monotonous song. Over in a corner, a man in a white apron and behind a
counter roared above the tumult: "Popcorn! Popcorn!"
A young man stood upon a small, raised platform, erected in a manner of
a pulpit, and just without the line of the circling figures. It was his
duty to manipulate the wooden arm and affix the rings. When all were
gone into the hands of the triumphant children, he held forth a basket,
into which they returned all save the coveted brass one, which meant
another ride free and made the holder very illustrious. The young man
stood all day upon his narrow platform, affixing rings or holding forth
the basket. He was a sort of general squire in these lists of childhood.
He was very busy.
And yet Stimson, the astute, had noticed that the young man frequently
found time to twist about on his platform and smile at a girl who shyly
sold tickets behind a silvered netting. This, indeed, was the great
reason of Stimson's glowering. The young man upon the raised platform
had no manner of license to smile at the girl behind the silvered
netting. It was a most gigantic insolence. Stimson was amazed at it. "By
Jiminy," he said to himself again, "that fellow is smiling at my
daughter." Even in this tone of great wrath it could be discerned that
Stimson was filled with wonder that any youth should dare smile at the
daughter in the presence of the august father.
Often the dark-eyed girl peered between the shining wires, and, upon
being detected by the young man, she usually turned her head quickly to
prove to him that she was not interested. At other times, however, her
eyes seemed filled with a tender fear lest he should fall from that
exceedingly dangerous platform. As for the young man, it was plain that
these glances filled him with valor, and he stood carelessly upon his
perch, as if he deemed it of no consequence that he might fall from it.
In all the complexities of his daily life and duties he found
opportunity to gaze ardently at the vision behind the netting.
This silent courtship was conducted over the heads of the crowd who
thronged about the bright machine. The swift eloquent glances of the
young man went noiselessly and unseen with their message. There had
finally become established between the two in this manner a subtle
understanding and companionship. They communicated accurately all that
they felt. The boy told his love, his reverence, his hope in the changes
of the future. The girl told him that she loved him, and she did not
love him, that she did not know if she loved him. Sometimes a little
sign, saying "cashier" in gold letters, and hanging upon the silvered
netting, got directly in range and interfered with the tender message.
The love affair had not continued without anger, unhappiness, despair.
The girl had once smiled brightly upon a youth who came to buy some
tickets for his little sister, and the young man upon the platform,
observing this smile, had been filled with gloomy rage. He stood like a
dark statue of vengeance upon his pedestal and thrust out the basket to
the children with a gesture that was full of scorn for their hollow
happiness, for their insecure and temporary joy. For five hours he did
not once look at the girl when she was looking at him. He was going to
crush her with his indifference; he was going to demonstrate that he had
never been serious. However, when he narrowly observed her in secret he
discovered that she seemed more blythe than was usual with her. When he
found that his apparent indifference had not crushed her he suffered
greatly. She did not love him, he concluded. If she had loved him she
would have been crushed. For two days he lived a miserable existence
upon his high perch. He consoled himself by thinking of how unhappy he
was, and by swift, furtive glances at the loved face. At any rate he was
in her presence, and he could get a good view from his perch when there
was no interference by the little sign: "Cashier."
But suddenly, swiftly, these clouds vanished, and under the imperial
blue sky of the restored confidence they dwelt in peace, a peace that
was satisfaction, a peace that, like a babe, put its trust in the
treachery of the future. This confidence endured until the next day,
when she, for an unknown cause, suddenly refused to look at him.
Mechanically he continued his task, his brain dazed, a tortured victim
of doubt, fear, suspicion. With his eyes he supplicated her to telegraph
an explanation. She replied with a stony glance that froze his blood.
There was a great difference in their respective reasons for becoming
angry. His were always foolish, but apparent, plain as the moon. Hers
were subtle, feminine, as incomprehensible as the stars, as mysterious
as the shadows at night.
They fell and soared and soared and fell in this manner until they knew
that to live without each other would be a wandering in deserts. They
had grown so intent upon the uncertainties, the variations, the
guessings of their affair that the world had become but a huge
immaterial background. In time of peace their smiles were soft and
prayerful, caresses confided to the air. In time of war, their youthful
hearts, capable of profound agony, were wrung by the intricate emotions
of doubt. They were the victims of the dread angel of affectionate
speculation that forces the brain endlessly on roads that lead nowhere.
At night, the problem of whether she loved him confronted the young man
like a spectre, looming as high as a hill and telling him not to delude
himself. Upon the following day, this battle of the night displayed
itself in the renewed fervor of his glances and in their increased
number. Whenever he thought he could detect that she too was suffering,
he felt a thrill of joy.
But there came a time when the young man looked back upon these
contortions with contempt. He believed then that he had imagined his
pain. This came about when the redoubtable Stimson marched forward to
participate.
"This has got to stop," Stimson had said to himself, as he stood and
watched them. They had grown careless of the light world that clattered
about them; they were become so engrossed in their personal drama that
the language of their eyes was almost as obvious as gestures. And
Stimson, through his keenness, his wonderful, infallible penetration,
suddenly came into possession of these obvious facts. "Well, of all the
nerves," he said, regarding with a new interest the young man upon the
perch.
He was a resolute man. He never hesitated to grapple with a crisis. He
decided to overturn everything at once, for, although small, he was very
fierce and impetuous. He resolved to crush this dreaming.
He strode over to the silvered netting. "Say, you want to quit your
everlasting grinning at that idiot," he said, grimly.
The girl cast down her eyes and made a little heap of quarters into a
stack. She was unable to withstand the terrible scrutiny of her small
and fierce father.
Stimson turned from his daughter and went to a spot beneath the
platform. He fixed his eyes upon the young man and said--
"I've been speakin' to Lizzie. You better attend strictly to your own
business or there'll be a new man here next week." It was as if he had
blazed away with a shotgun. The young man reeled upon his perch. At last
he in a measure regained his composure and managed to stammer: "A--all
right, sir." He knew that denials would be futile with the terrible
Stimson. He agitatedly began to rattle the rings in the basket, and
pretend that he was obliged to count them or inspect them in some way.
He, too, was unable to face the great Stimson.
For a moment, Stimson stood in fine satisfaction and gloated over the
effect of his threat.
"I've fixed them," he said complacently, and went out to smoke a cigar
and revel in himself. Through his mind went the proud reflection that
people who came in contact with his granite will usually ended in quick
and abject submission.
