Red Fleece | Page 9

to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a
pure and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is
wonderful for me to be here with you. And this man loves you."
It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment.
Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the
lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for
an instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave
themselves.
"I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name," Berthe
said. "But I am going to tell him--before he goes."
"He is safe," said Fallows. "I felt free with him--almost immediately
--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It
is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for
The States. You will see great things--best of all with the Russian
columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang every day.
I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I wonder if he
will come out this time--to find how his dream of brotherhood is faring?
God, how he took to that dream! He will be a Voice--"

They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. "I'll go out
with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night."
Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had
already said too much.
"He seems to be burning up," said Peter.
Berthe did not answer.
"He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so
shockingly full of power," Peter added. "And yet he said so little of his
own part."
"He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh,
Peter, where do you keep your passion?"
"You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?"
"Yes."
"I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. But you
have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must have
loved the world--"
"But you love the world--"
"No, I love you."
"Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!"
Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely
showed a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of
Fallows' mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from
Berthe. She had always talked easily of death, and he had been without
criticism; now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk.
Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows personally
was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel martyrdoms

for others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not strictly a
conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for another, it was
not good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to be just, by thinking
of Fallows' life.
Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not
come to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up
everything in life to make the world better as he saw it. He had written
and traveled and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to poverty, all
for the good of the under-dog.
"It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it," Peter mused. "He sees
it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He isn't
afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I take things as
I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought otherwise, except
for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked."
Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main issue
that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, stuffing her
ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He braced himself now
and faced it. "If it happened to another pair, I should say it was the
finish," he thought. "I should say that no man and woman could pass a
rock like that.... I can't get to her point of view by thinking myself there.
I'm cold--that's the word. And she's superb. I'd rather be her friend than
lord of any other woman. That won't change. And she has spoiled
everything I thought I knew. Altogether--it's a game, bright little
story--and deep."
Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily.
"I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going with
him?"
"I'm ready," said Peter.
"Did you have a big time?"
"Yes."

"What do you think of Fallows now?"
"I'm strong for him."
"Peter--you look bushed."
"It drains a man to spend