Keeping up with Lizzie | Page 9

swap him for one with still longer legs,' I says. 'Lizzie is engaged to a gentleman o' fortune in the old country.'
"Dan's face began to stretch out long as if it was made of injy-rubber.
"'It's too bad,' says he. 'Lizzie is a good-hearted girl, if she is spoilt.'
"'Fine girl!' I says. 'An', Dan, I was in hopes that she would discover her own folly before it was too late. But she saw that others had begun to push her in the race an' that she had to let out another link or fall behind.'
"'Well, I wish her happiness,' says Dan, with a sigh.
"'Go an' tell her so,' I says. 'Show her that you have some care as to whether she lives or dies.'
"I could see that his feelin's had been honed 'til they were sharp as a razor.
"'I've seen that fellow,' he says, 'an' he'll never marry Lizzie if I can prevent it. I hate the looks of him. I shall improve the first opportunity I have to insult him.'
"'That might be impossible,' I suggested.
"'But I'll make the effort,' says Dan.
"As an insulter I wouldn't wonder if Dan had large capacity when properly stirred up.
"'Better let him alone. I have lines out that will bring information. Be patient.'
"Dan rose and said he would see me soon, an' left with a rather stern look in his face.

III
IN WHICH LIZZIE DESCENDS FROM A GREAT HEIGHT
"Lizzie was on hand at the hour appointed. We sat down here all by ourselves.
"'Lizzie,' I says, 'why in the world did you go to Europe for a husband? It's a slight to Pointview--a discouragement of home industry.'
"'There was nobody here that seemed to want me,' she says, blushin' very sweet.
"She had dropped her princess manner an' seemed to be ready for straight talk.
"'If that's so, Lizzie, it's your fault,' I says.
"'I don't understand you,' says she.
"'Why, my dear child, it's this way,' I says. 'Your mother an' father have meant well, but they've been foolish. They've educated you for a millionairess, an' all that's lackin' is the millions. You overawed the boys here in Pointview. They thought that you felt above 'em, whether you did or not; an' the boys on Fifth Avenue were glad to play with you, but they didn't care to marry you. I say it kindly, Lizzie, an' I'm a friend o' yer father's, an' you can afford to let me say what I mean. Those young fellows wanted the millions as well as the millionairess. One of our boys fell in love with ye an' tried to keep up, but your pace was too hot for him. His father got in trouble, an' the boy had to drop out. Every well-born girl in the village entered the race with ye. An era of extravagance set in that threatened the solvency, the honor, o' this sober old community. Their fathers had to borrow money to keep agoin'. They worked overtime, they importuned their creditors, they wallowed in low finance while their daughters revelled in the higher walks o' life an' sang in different languages. Even your father--I tell you in confidence, for I suppose he wouldn't have the courage to do it--is in financial difficulties. Now, Lizzie, I want to be kind to you, for I believe you're a good girl at heart, but you ought to know that all this is what your accomplishments have accomplished.'
"She rose an' walked across the room, with trembling lips. She had seized her parachute an' jumped from her balloon and was slowly approachin' the earth. I kept her comin', 'These clothes an' jewels that you wear, Lizzie--these silks an' laces, these sunbursts an' solitaires--don't seem to harmonize with your father's desire to borrow money. Pardon me, but I can't make 'em look honest. They are not paid for--or if they are they are paid for with other men's money. They seem to accuse you. They'd accuse me if I didn't speak out plain to ye.'
"All of a sudden Lizzie dropped into a chair an' began to cry. She had lit safely on the ground.
[Illustration: Lizzie dropped into a chair an' began to cry.]
"It made me feel like a murderer, but it had to be. Poor girl! I wanted to pick her up like a baby an' kiss her. It wasn't that I loved Lizzie less but Rome more. She wasn't to blame. Every spoilt woman stands for a fool-man. Most o' them need--not a master--but a frank counsellor. I locked the door. She grew calm an' leaned on my table, her face covered with her hands. My clock shouted the seconds in the silence. Not a word was said for two or three minutes.
"'I have been brutal,' I says, by-an'-by. 'Forgive me.'
"'Mr. Potter,' she says, 'you've done me a great kindness. I'll never forget it. What