the pit-第52节

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which　he　told　himself　he　mastered。　The　afternoon　waned；　night　came　on。　　The　day's　business　was　to　be　gone　over；　the　morrow's　campaign　was　to　be　planned；　little；　unexpected　side　issues；　a　score　of　them；　a　hundred　of　them；　cropped　out　from　hour　to　hour；　new　decisions　had　to　be　taken　each　minute。　　At　dinner　time　he　left　the　office；　and　his　horses　carried　him　home　again；　while　again　their　hoofs　upon　the　asphalt　beat　out　unceasingly　the　monotone　of　the　one　refrain；　〃Wheatwheatwheat；　wheatwheatwheat。〃　　At　dinner　table　he　could　not　eat。　　Between　each　course　he　found　himself　going　over　the　day's　work；　testing　it；　questioning　himself；　〃Was　this　rightly　done？〃　〃Was　that　particular　decision　sound？〃　〃Is　there　a　loophole　here？〃　〃Just　what　was　the　meaning　of　that　despatch？〃　After　the　meal　the　papers；　contracts；　statistics　and　reports　which　he　had　brought　with　him　in　his　Gladstone　bag　were　to　be　studied。　　As　often　as　not　Gretry　called；　and　the　two；　shut　in　the　library；　talked；　discussed；　and　planned　till　long　after　midnight。

Then　at　last；　when　he　had　shut　the　front　door　upon　his　lieutenant　and　turned　to　face　the　empty；　silent　house；　came　the　moment's　reaction。　　The　tired　brain　flagged　and　drooped；　exhaustion；　like　a　weight　of　lead；　hung　upon　his　heels。　　But　somewhere　a　hall　clock　struck；　a　single；　booming　note；　like　a　gonglike　the　signal　that　would　unchain　the　tempest　in　the　Pit　to…morrow　morning。　Wheatwheatwheat；　wheatwheatwheat！　　Instantly　the　jaded　senses　braced　again；　instantly　the　wearied　mind　sprang　to　its　post。　　He　turned　out　the　lights；　he　locked　the　front　door。　　Long　since　the　great　house　was　asleep。　　In　the　cold；　dim　silence　of　the　earliest　dawn　Curtis　Jadwin　went　to　bed；　only　to　lie　awake；　staring　up　into　the　darkness；　planning；　devising　new　measures；　reviewing　the　day's　doings；　while　the　faint　tides　of　blood　behind　the　eardrums　murmured　ceaselessly　to　the　overdriven　brain；　〃Wheatwheatwheat；　wheatwheat　wheat。　　Forty　million　bushels；　forty　million；　forty　million。〃

Whole　days　now　went　by　when　he　saw　his　wife　only　at　breakfast　and　at　dinner。　　At　times　she　was　angry；　hurt；　and　grieved　that　he　should　leave　her　so　much　alone。　But　there　were　moments　when　she　was　sorry　for　him。　　She　seemed　to　divine　that　he　was　not　all　to　blame。

What　Laura　thought　he　could　only　guess。　　She　no　longer　spoke　of　his　absorption　in　business。　　At　times　he　thought　he　saw　reproach　and　appeal　in　her　dark　eyes；　at　times　anger　and　a　pride　cruelly　wounded。　　A　few　months　ago　this　would　have　touched　him。　　But　now　he　all　at　once　broke　out　vehemently：

〃You　think　I　am　wilfully　doing　this！　You　don't　know；　you　haven't　a　guess。　　I　corner　the　wheat！　　Great　heavens；　it　is　the　wheat　that　has　cornered　me！　　The　corner　made　itself。　　I　happened　to　stand　between　two　sets　of　circumstances；　and　they　made　me　do　what　I've　done。　　I　couldn't　get　out　of　it　now；　with　all　the　good　will　in　the　world。　　Go　to　the　theatre　to…night　with　you　and　the　Cresslers？　　Why；　old　girl；　you　might　as　well　ask　me　to　go　to　Jericho。　　Let　that　Mr。　Corthell　take　my　place。〃

And　very　naturally　this　is　what　was　done。　　The　artist　sent　a　great　bunch　of　roses　to　Mrs。　Jadwin　upon　the　receipt　of　her　invitation；　and　after　the　play　had　the　party　to　supper　in　his　apartments；　that　overlooked　the　Lake　Front。　　Supper　over；　he　escorted　her；　Mrs。　Cressler；　and　Page　back　to　their　respective　homes。

By　a　coincidence　that　struck　them　all　as　very　amusing；　he　was　the　only　man　of　the　party。　　At　the　last　moment　Page　had　received　a　telegram　from　Landry。　　He　was；　it　appeared；　sick；　and　in　bed。　　The　day's　work　on　the　Board　of　Trade　had　quite　used　him　up　for　the　moment；　and　his　doctor　forbade　him　to　stir　out　of　doors。　　Mrs。　Cressler　explained　that　Charlie　had　something　on　his　mind　these　days；　that　was　making　an　old　man　of　him。

〃He　don't　ever　talk　shop　with　me；〃　she　said。　　〃I'm　sure　he　hasn't　been　speculating；　but　he's　worried　and　fidgety　to　beat　all　I　ever　saw；　this　last　week；　and　now　this　evening　he　had　to　take　himself　off　to　meet　some　customer　or　other　at　the　Palmer　House。〃

They　dropped　Mrs。　Cressler　at　the　door　of　her　home　and　then　went　on　to　the　Jadwins'。

〃I　remember；〃　said　Laura　to　Corthell；　〃that　once　before　the　three　of　us　came　home　this　way。　　Remember？　　It　was　the　night　of　the　opera。　　That　was　the　night　I　first　met　Mr。　Jadwin。〃

〃It　was　the　night　of　the　Helmick　failure；〃　said　Page；　seriously；　〃and　the　office　buildings　were　all　lit　up。　See；〃　she　added；　as　they　drove　up　to　the　house；　〃there's　a　light　in　the　library；　and　it　must　be　nearly　one　o'clock。　　Mr。　Jadwin　is　up　yet。〃

Laura　fell　suddenly　silent。　　When　was　it　all　going　to　end；　and　how？　　Night　after　night　her　husband　shut　himself　thus　in　the　library；　and　toiled　on　till　early　dawn。　　She　enjoyed　no　companionship　with　him。　　Her　evenings　were　long；　her　time　hung　with　insupportable　heaviness　upon　her　hands。

〃Shall　you　be　at　home？〃　inquired　Corthell；　as　he　held　her　hand　a　moment　at　the　door。　　〃Shall　you　be　at　home　to…morrow　evening？　　May　I　come　and　play　to　you　again？〃

〃Yes；　yes；〃　she　answered。　　〃Yes；　I　shall　be　home。　　Yes；　do　come。〃

Laura's　carriage　drove　the　artist　back　to　his　apartments。　　All　the　way　he　sat　motionless　in　his　place；　looking　out　of　the　window　with　unseeing　eyes。　His　cigarette　went　out。　　He　drew　another　from　his　case；　but　forgot　to　light　it。

Thoughtful　and　abstracted　he　slowly　mounted　the　stairwaythe　elevator　having　stopped　for　the　nightto　his　studio；　let　himself　in；　and；　throwing　aside　his　hat　and　coat；　sat　down　without　lighting　the　gas　in　front　of　the　fireplace；　where　（the　weather　being　even　yet　sharp）　an　armful　of　logs　smouldered　on　the　flagstones。

His　man；　Evans；　came　from　out　an　inner　room　to　ask　if　he　wanted　anything。　　Corthell　got　out　of　his　evening　coat；　and　Evans　brought　him　his　smoking…jacket　and　set　the　little　table　with　its　long　tin　box　of　cigarettes　and　ash　trays　at　his　elbow。　　Then　he　lit　the　tall　lamp　of　corroded　bronze；　with　its　heavy　silk　shade；　that　stood　on　a　table　in　the　angle　of　the　room；　drew　the　curtains；　put　a　fresh　log　upon　the　fire；　held　the　tiny　silver　alcohol　burner　to　Corthell　while　the　latter　lighted　a　fresh　cigarette；　and　then　with　a　murmured　〃Good…night；　sir；〃　went　out；　closing　the　door　with　the　precaution　of　a　depredator。

This　suite　of　rooms；　facing　the　Lake　Front；　was　what　Corthell　called　〃home；〃　Whenever　he　went　away；　he　left　it　exactly　as　it　was；　in　the　charge　of　the　faithful　Evans；　and　no　mater　how　long　he　was　absent；　he　never　returned　thither　without　a　sense　of　welcome　and　relief。　Even　now；　perplexed　as　he　was；　he　was　conscious　of　a　feeling　of　comfort　and　pleasure　as　he　settled　himself　in　his　chair。

The　lamp　threw　a　dull　illumination　about　the　room。　　It　was　a　picturesque　apartment；　carefully　planned。　　Not　an　object　that　had　not　been　chosen　with　care　and　the　utmost　discrimination。　　The　walls　had　been　treated　with　copper　leaf　till　they　produced　a　sombre；　iridescent　effect　of　green　and　faint　gold；　that　suggested　the　depth　of　a　forest　glade　shot　through　with　the　sunset。　Shelves　bearing　eighteenth…century　books　in　seal　brown　tree　calfAddison；　the　〃Spectator；〃　Junius　and　Racine；　Rochefoucauld　and　Pascal　hung　against　it　here　and　there。　　On　every　hand　the　eye　rested　upon　some　small　masterpiece　of　art　or　workmanship。　　Now　it　was　an　antique　portrait　bust　of　the　days　of　decadent　Rome；　black　marble　with　a　bronze　tiara；　now　a　framed　page　of　a　fourteenth…century　version　of　〃Li　Quatres　Filz　d'Aymon；〃　with　an　illuminated　letter　of　miraculous　workmanship；　or　a　Renaissance　gonfalon　of　silk　once　white　but　now　brown　with　age；　yet　in　the　centre　blazing　with　the　escutcheon　and　quarterings　of　a　dead　queen。　Between　the　windows　stood　an　ivory　statuette　of　the　〃Venus　of　the　Heel；〃　done　in　the　days　of　the　magnificent　Lorenzo。　　An　original　Cazin；　and　a　chalk　drawing　by　Baudry　hung　against　the　wall　close　by　together　with　a　bronze　tablet　by　Saint　Gaudens；　while　across　the　entire　end　of　the　room　opposite　the　fireplace；　worked　in　the　tapestry　of　the　best　period　of　the　northern　French　school；　Halcyone；　her　arms　already　blossoming　into　wings；　hovered　over　the　dead　body　of　Ceyx；　his　long　hair　streaming　like　seaweed　in　the　blue　waters　of　the　AEgean。

For　a　long　time　Corthell　sat　motionless；　looking　into　the　fire。　　In　an　adjoining　room　a　clock　chimed　the　half　hour　of　one；　and　the　artist　stirred；　passing　his　long　fingers　across　his　eyes。

After　a　long　while　he　rose；　and　going　to　the　fireplace；　leaned　an　arm　against　the　overhanging　shelf；　and　resting　his　forehead　against　it；　remained　in　that　position；　looking　down　at　the　smouldering　logs。

〃She　is　unhappy；〃　he　murmured　at　length。　　〃It　is　not　difficult　to　see　that。。。。　　Unhappy　and　lonely。　　Oh；　fool；　fool　to　have　left　her　when　you　might　have　stayed！　Oh；　fool；　fool；　not　to　find　the　strength　to　leave　her　now　when　you　should　not　remain！〃

The　following　evening　Corthell　called　upon　Mrs。　Jadwin。　She　was　alone；　as　he　usually　found　her。　　He　had　brought　a　book　of　poems　with　him；　and　instead　of　passing　the　evening　in　the　art　gallery；　as　they　had　planned；　he　read　aloud　to　her　from　Rossetti。　　Nothing　could　have　been　more　conventional　than　their　conversation；　nothing　more　impersonal。　　But　on　his　way　home　one　feature　of　their　talk　suddenly　occurred　to　him。　　It　struck　him　as　significant；　but