The Man in Lonely Land | Page 9

a pretense, and presently he pushed his coffee aside, lighted
a cigar, and took up the evening paper. The headlines were glaring, but
he passed them quickly. Telegraphic news was skimmed, stock reports
and weather conditions glimpsed unheedingly, and the editorial page
ignored, and, finally, with a gesture of weariness, he threw the paper on
the floor and went into the library.
It was, as Moses had said, a very spacious room, and its furnishings
were distinctive; but, though warm and brightly lighted, to stay in it
to-night was impossible, and, ringing for his coat and hat, he made
ready to go out.
At the table he lingered a moment and glanced at some letters upon it.
Mechanically he took one up, looked at the writing of his name, and
wondered indifferently who it was from. Breaking it open, he read the
few words it contained, and at them his face colored and he bit his lips
to hide their twitching. He read:
DEAR MR. LAINE,--Dorothea has just told me. I am so sorry.
CLAUDIA KEITH.
With a sudden surrender to something stubbornly withheld, he sat
down in the chair near the table, leaned back in it, and closed his eyes
to keep back that which stung and blinded them. To most of his friends
the going of General would be but the going of a dog, and barely a
passing thought would be its portion when they heard, but she must
understand. He got up. No. There was no one who could really
understand.

VI
A LETTER PROM DOROTHEA
For a moment he hesitated whether to go down or up the street. The air
was biting, but the snow, fairly well cleaned from the sidewalks, no
longer bothered; and, crossing into Madison Avenue, he turned down
and began to walk rapidly toward that part of the city where there
would be few people and little glare, and as he walked unconsciously

he repeated over and over to himself: "Dorothea has just told me. I am
so sorry."
"Mister, please, sir, buy a paper?" He stopped abruptly. The boy in
front of him stamped first one foot and then the other, and the hand he
held out was rough and red. Drawing it back he blew on it for a little
warmth.
"What are you doing out this time of night?" Laine asked the question
hardly knowing why. "You ought to be home in bed."
"Ain't got no home." The boy laughed cheerfully, and again put his fist
to his mouth and blew upon it. "I'm sleepin' with another boy this week,
but I have to pay him. Please buy a paper, Mister!"
Under his breath Laine caught himself saying something, then handed
the boy a piece of money and passed on. Where was he, anyhow?
Surely he was in no mood for the life of this neighborhood. It was one
he had seldom been in, and as he looked at its houses dull wonder filled
him as to their occupants. To keep breath in their bodies meant sordid
struggle and bitter strife, but possibly they were happy. Certainly he
had long since learned the possession of mere material things did not
mean happiness. He had long since learned a great many things it was
unfortunate to know.
A clock in the church near by struck ten, and turning he went over into
the Avenue and began his walk up-town. As he reached Madison
Square he looked at the empty benches and wondered as to the fate of
the derelicts who daily filled them in warm weather, and wondered if
they, too, wondered what it was all for--this thing called life.
In contrast to the traffic of the day the stillness of the Avenue was
puzzling. Only the whir of an automobile or the occasional hoofbeats of
a cab-horse broke the silence, and hardly less dark than the tenements
just passed were its handsome houses, with their closed shutters and
drawn curtains, and the restless occupants therein. As he reached the
Park he stopped, hesitated, and lighted a fresh cigar. Three squares
away was his sister's house, and in it was the girl with the fresh, clear
voice. He took the note she had sent him out of his pocket, and in the
light hanging just above him looked again at the firm, clear writing,
then put it back. Did she, too, wonder at life, at its emptiness and
aimlessness? Her voice did not sound as if she were tired of it or found
it wearisome. It sounded like a very happy voice.

At his door he turned the latch-key, and for a moment--a bare
moment--drew back; then, with a shiver, he opened the door and went
inside.
Moses was waiting. "Miss Dorothea she called me up, sir, and told me