He was not given much to reading, but when Martin left the cottage and stood out in the liquid silver of the moon under the vast dome which dazzled with stars, and he caught the flash of fireflies among the undergrowth that were like the lanterns of the fairies a line came into his mind that he liked and repeated several times, rather whimsically pleased with himself for having found it at exactly the right moment.It was "the witching hour of night."He remained on top of the incline for a little while, moved to that spirit of the realization of God which touches the souls of sensitive men when they are awed by the wonder and the beauty of the earth.He stood quite still, disembodied for the moment, uplifted, stirred, with all the scents and all the whisperings about him, humble, childlike, able, in that brief flight of ecstasy, to understand the language of another world.
And then the stillness was suddenly cut by a scream of vacuous laughter, probably that of an exuberant Irish maid-servant, to whom silences are made to break, carrying on, most likely, a rough flirtation with a chauffeur.
It brought Martin back to earth like the stick of a rocket.But he didn't go down immediately to the water.He sat there and nursed his knees and began to think.Whether it was Howard's unexpected talk of Plattsburg and of being made something of or not he didn't know.
What he did know was that he was suddenly filled with a sort of fright...."Good God," he said to himself, "time's rushing away, and I'm nearly twenty-six.I'm as old as some men who have done things and made things and are planted on their feet.What have Idone? What am I fit to do? Nearly twenty-six and I'm still playing games like a schoolboy!...What's my father saying? 'We count it death to falter not to die'...I've been faltering--and before Iknow anything about it I shall be thirty--half-time....This can't go on.This waiting for Joan is faltering.If she's not coming to me I must go to her.If it's not coming right it must end and Imust get mended and begin again.I can't stand in father's shoes with all he worked to make in my hands like ripe plums.It isn't fair, or straight.I must push up a rung and carry things on for him.Could I look him in the face having slacked? My God, I wish I'd watched the time rush by! I'm nearly twenty-six...Joan--to-morrow.That's the thing to do." He got up and strode quickly down to the water."If she's going to be my wife, that's a good step on.
And she can help me like no one but my father.And then I'll make something of myself.If not...if not,--no faltering, Gray,--then I'll do it alone for both their sakes."He chucked his sweater into the dingey, shoved it off the beach and sprang in and rowed strongly towards the yawl.Somehow he felt broader of back and harder of muscle for this summing up of things, this audit of his account.He was nearly twenty-six and nothing was done.That was the report he had to make to his conscience, that was what he had to say to the man who smiled down upon him from his place in the New York house....Good Lord, it was about time that he pulled himself together.
The yawl was lying alone, aloof from the other small craft anchored near the pier.Her mast seemed taller and her lines more graceful silhouetted against the sky, silvered by the moon.It was indeed the witching hour of night.
He got aboard and tied up the dingey, cast a look round to see that everything was shipshape, took in a deep breath and went into the cabin.He was not tired and never felt less like sleep.His brain was clear as though a fog had risen from it, and energy beat in him like a running engine.He would light the lamp, get into his pajamas and think about to-morrow and Joan.He was mighty glad to have come to a decision.
Stooping, he lit the lamp, turned and gave a gasp of surprise.
There, curled up like a water sprite on the unmade bunk lay Tootles in bathing clothes, holding a rubber cap in her hand, her head, with its golden bobbed hair, dented into a cushion.
For a moment she pretended to be asleep, but anxiety to see how Martin was looking was too much for her.Also her clothes were wet and not very comfortable.She opened her eyes and sat up.
"My dear Tootles!" said Martin, "what's the idea? You said you were going home to bed." She would rather that he had been angry than amused."It was the night," she said, "and something in the air.Ijust had to bathe and swam out here.I didn't think you'd be coming yet.I suppose you think I'm bug-house.""No, I don't.If I hadn't taken my bathing suit to the cottage to be mended I'd have a dip myself.Cigarette?" He held one out.
