Joan of Arc of the North Woods | Page 8

You are going home to the north soon?" The polite
query was in a tone which checked all his new impulses in regard to
her.
"I'm headed north right now. If there's any information I can send
you----"
She shook her head slowly, but even the negative was marked by an
indecisive quality, as if she were repressing some importunate desire.
"I wish you a pleasant journey, sir." All her belongings were in her
hands.
"It's queer--it's almost more than queer how we happened to meet--both
interested in the north country," he stuttered, wanting to detain her.
He was hoping she would make something of the matter.
But she merely acknowledged the truth of his statement, adding, "There
would be more such coincidences in life if folks took the trouble to
interest themselves a bit in one another and compare notes."
She started to walk away; then she whirled and came back to the table
and leaned over it. Her soul of longing was in her eyes--they were filled
with tears. "You're going back there," she whispered. "God bless the
north country! Give a friendly pat to one of the big trees for me and say
you found a girl in New York who is homesick."
She turned from him before he could summon words.
He wanted to call after her--to find out more about her. He saw her
gathering up her change at the cashier's wicket. The spectacle reminded
him of his own check. Even love at first sight, if such could be the
strange new emotion struggling within him, could not enable him to
leap the barrier of the cashier's cold stare and rush away without paying
scot. He hunted for his punched check. He pawed all over the marble
top of the table, rattling the dishes.

A check--it was surely all of that!
The search for it checked him till the girl was gone, mingled with the
street crowds. He found the little devil of a delayer in the paper napkin
which he had nervously wadded and dropped on the floor. He shoved
money to the cashier and did not wait for his change. He rushed out on
the street and stretched up his six stalwart feet and craned his neck and
hunted for the little green toque with the white quill.
It was a vain quest.
He did not know just what the matter was with him all of a sudden. He
had never had any personal experience with that which he had vaguely
understood was love; he had merely viewed it from a standpoint of a
disinterested observer, in the case of other men. He hated to admit, as
he stood there in the drizzle, his defeat by a cafeteria check.
He remained in New York for another night, his emotions
aggravatingly complex. He tried to convince his soul that he had a
business reason for staying. He lied to himself and said he would make
another desperate sortie on the castle of the Comas company. But he
did not go there the next day. Near noon he set himself to watch the
entrance of the cafeteria. When he saw a table vacant near the door he
went in, secured food, and posted himself where he could view all
comers.
The girl did not come.
At two o'clock, after eating three meals, he did not dare to brave the
evident suspicions of that baleful cashier any longer. Undoubtedly the
girl had been a casual customer like himself. He gave it up and started
for the north.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Ward Latisan was home again and had laced his high boots and
buttoned his belted jacket, he was wondering, in the midst of his other
troubles, why he allowed the matter of a chance-met girl to play so big

a part in his thoughts. The exasperating climax of his adventure with
the girl, his failure to ask her name frankly, his folly of bashful
backwardness in putting questions when she was at arm's length from
him, his mournful certainty that he would never see her again--all
conspired curiously to make her an obsession rather than a mere
memory.
He had never bothered with mental analysis; his effort to untangle his
ideas in this case merely added to his puzzlement; it was like one of
those patent trick things which he had picked up in idle moments,
allowing the puzzle to bedevil attention and time, intriguing his interest,
to his disgust. He had felt particularly lonely and helpless when he
came away from Comas headquarters; instinctively he was seeking
friendly companionship--opening his heart; he had caught something,
just as a man with open pores catches cold. He found the notion grimly
humorous! But Latisan was not ready to own up that what he had
contracted was a case of