The Happy End | Page 4

sensation his information had wrought in the kitchen; "and it's certain I
can't meet her. The bank's sending me into West Virginia about some
securities."
Richmond Braley, it developed further, was bound to a day's work on
the public roads. They turned to Calvin.
"Take my buggy," Hosmer offered; "I'll have to go from Durban by
rail."
There was no reason why he shouldn't meet Phebe Braley, Calvin

realized. He lingered, gazing with silent longing at Hannah, but it was
evident that she had no intention of returning to the parlor.
III
Waiting in Hosmer's buggy for the arrival of the Greenstream stage and
Phebe Braley, Calvin was conscious of the persistence of the
depression that had invaded him at the announcement of her visit. He
resented, too, the new element thrust into the Braley household,
disrupting the familiar course of his love. Hannah had been
unreasonably distracted by the actuality of Phebe's return--the Phebe
who had gone away from the mountains and become an actress.
The buggy was drawn to one side of the principal Greenstream road, at
the post-office. Before him the way crossed the valley and lifted
abruptly to the slope of the eastern range. At his back the village-- the
brick Methodist church and the white painted Presbyterian church, the
courthouse with its dignified columns, the stores at the corners of the
single crossroads, and varied dwellings--was settling into the elusive
May twilight. The highest peaks in the east were capped with
dissolving rose by the lowering sun, and the sky was a dusty blue.
Calvin Stammark heard the approaching stage before he saw it; then the
long rigid surrey with its spare horses rapidly rolled up over the open
road to the post-office. He got down and moved diffidently forward,
seeing and recognizing Phebe immediately. This was made possible by
her resemblance to Hannah; and yet, Calvin added, no two women
could be more utterly different.
Phebe Braley had a full figure--she was almost stout--a body of the
frankest emphasized curves in a long purple coat with a collar of soiled
white fur. A straw hat with the brim caught by a short purple- dyed
ostrich feather was pinned to a dead-looking crinkled mass of
greenish-gold hair, and her face--the memorable features of
Hannah--was loaded with pink powder.
Calvin said: "You must be Phebe Braley. Well, I'm Calvin Stammark.
Your father or Hosmer couldn't meet the stage and so they had to let me

get you. Where's your bag?"
She adopted at once an air of comfortable familiarity. "I don't
remember your name," she said, settling beside him in the buggy.
He told her that he had come to this vicinity after she had gone and that
he was about to marry her sister.
"The hell you say!" she replied with cheerful surprise. "Who'd thought
Hannah was old enough to have a fellow!"
They were out of the village now and she produced a paper pack of
cigarettes from a leather hand bag with a florid gilt top. Flooding her
being with smoke she gazed with a shudder at the mountain wall on
either hand, the unbroken greenery sweeping to the sky.
"It's worse than I remembered," she confided, resting against him. "A
person with any life to them would go dippy here. Say, it's fierce! And
yet, inside of me, I'm kind of glad to see it. I used to dream about the
mountains, and this is like riding in the dream. I'm glad you came for
me and let me down easy into things. I suppose they live in the kitchen
home and pa'd lose a currycomb in his beard. Does Hosmer still beller
if he gets the chicken neck?
"Do you sit in the holy parlor for your courting, and ain't that plush sofa
a God-forsaken perch for two little love birds? It's funny how I
remember this and that. I reckon ma's temper don't improve with age.
They kid me something dreadful about saying 'reckon,' in the talent.
But it's all good and a dam' sight better than 'I guess.' That's all they get
off me."
Calvin Stammark's vague uneasiness changed to an acute dislike, even
a fear of Phebe. Her freedom of discourse and person, the powdered
hard fare close to his, the reek of scent--all rasped the delicacy of his
love for Hannah. The sisters were utterly different, and yet he would
have realized instantly their relationship. Phebe, too, had the disturbing
quality that made Hannah so appealing. In the former it was coarsened,
almost lost; almost but not quite.

"I'll bet," she continued, "that I'm the only female prodigal on the bills.
Not that I've been feeding on husks. Not me. Milwaukee lager and raw
beef sandwiches. I have a passion for them after the show. We do two a
day