Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (bearly read books txt) 📕

A Most Unchristian Flash Of Anger Shot

Through Him. His Reply Was An Earnest,  If Ill-Directed Blow. This Tommy

Dodged By The Simplest Expedient Of Twisting His Head Sidewise Without

Moving His Body,  And Launched At The Same Time A Return Jab Which Neatly

Smacked Against Thompson's Jaw.

 

Tommy Ashe Was Wonderfully Quick On His Feet And A Powerful Man To Boot.

Moreover He Had A Certain Dexterity With His Fists. He Was In Deadly

Earnest,  As A Man Is When Matters Of Sex Lead Him To A Personal Clash.

But He Found Pitted Against Him A Man Equally Powerful,  A Man Whose

Extra Reach And Weight Offset The Advantage In Skill,  A Man Who Gave And

Took Blows With Silent Ferocity.

 

Thompson,  In All His Carefully Ordered Life,  Had Never Fought. He Fought

Now As If His Life Depended Upon It. Each Blow He Gave And Took Brought

To The Surface A Furious Determination. He Was Not Conscious Of Real

Pain,  Although He Knew That His Lips Were Cut And Bleeding,  That His

Cheeks Were Bruised And Cut Where Tommy Ashe's Hard-Knuckled Fists

Landed With Impressive Force,  That His Heart Pounded Sickeningly Against

His Ribs,  And That Every Breath Was A Rasping Gasp. Nor Was He Conscious

Of Pity When He Saw That Tommy Ashe Was In No Better Case. It Seemed Fit

And Proper That They Should Struggle Like That. There Was A Strange Sort

Of Pleasure In It. It Seemed Natural,  As Natural An Act As He Had Ever

Performed. The Shock Of His Clenched Fist Driven With All His Force

Against The Other Man's Body Thrilled Him,  Gave Him A Curious

Satisfaction. And That Satisfaction Took On A Keener Edge When Ashe

Clinched And They Fell To The Earth A Struggling,  Squirming Heap--For

Thompson Felt A Tremendous Power In His Arms,  In Those Arms Covered With

Flat Elastic Bands Of Muscle Hardened By Weeks Of Axe-Slinging,  Of

Heaving On Heavy Logs. He Wrapped His Arms About Ashe And Tried To Crush

Chapter 5 (Universal Attributes) Pg 49

Him.

 

One Trial Of That Fierce Grip Enlightened Tommy Ashe. He Broke Loose

From Thompson By A Trick Known To Every Man Who Has Ever Wrestled,  And

Clawed Away To His Feet. Thereafter He Kept Clear Of Grips. Quick,  With

Some Skill At Boxing,  He Could Get Home Two Blows To Thompson's One. But

He Could Not Down His Man. Nor Could Thompson. They Struck And Parried,

Circling And Dodging,  Till Their Lungs Were On Fire,  And Neither Had

Strength Enough Left To Strike A Telling Blow.

 

The Rage Had Gone Out Of Them By Then. It Had Become A Dogged Struggle

For Mastery. And Failing That,  There Came A Moment When They Staggered

Apart And Stood Glaring At Each Other,  Choking For Breath. As They

Stood,  Tommy Ashe Spoke First.

 

"You're A Tough Bird--For A Parson."

 

He Gasped The Words.

 

With The Dying Out Of That Senseless Fury A Peculiar Feeling Of Elation

Came To Thompson,  As If He Had Proved Himself Upon A Doubtful Matter. He

Was Ready To Go On. But Why? That Question Urged Itself Upon Him. He

Recalled That He Had Struck The First Blow.

 

"I Think--I Started This,  Didn't I?" He Said. "I'm Willing To Finish It,

If You Want To--But Isn't It--Isn't It Rather Foolish?"

 

"No End Foolish. Don't Think We'd Ever Finish," Ashe Said With A Gleam

Of His Old Humor. "Let's Call It A Draw. I Feel A Bit Ashamed Of Myself

By Now."

 

Somewhere,  Sometime,  Mr. Thompson Had Heard That Men Who Fought Shook

Hands When The Struggle Was Ended--A Little Ceremony That Served To

Restore The _Status Quo_. He Had Not The Least Rancor Against Tommy

Ashe. It Had All Seeped Away In The Blind Fury Of That Clash. He Thrust

Out A Hand Upon Which The Knuckles Were Cut And Bloody. And The Man Upon

Whose Countenance He Had Bruised Those Knuckles Took It With A Wry

Self-Conscious Smile.

 

Then They Drew A Little Apart And Squatted On The Bank Of The Creek To

Lave Their Battered Faces In The Cold Water.

 

For A Period Of Possibly Five Minutes They Sat Dabbling Water-Soaked

Handkerchiefs Upon Their Faces. The Blood Ceased To Ooze From Thompson's

Nostrils. Tommy Ashe Looked Over At His Late Antagonist And Remarked

Casually.

 

"We're A Pair Of Capital Idiots,  Eh,  Thompson?"

 

Mr. Thompson Tried To Smile. But His Countenance Was Swelling Rapidly

And Was In No Condition For Smiling. He Mustered Up A Grimace,  Nodding

Assent.

 

"I Hope Sophie Didn't See Us Making Such Asses Of Ourselves," Tommy

Continued Ruefully.

 

"I Hardly Think She Would," Thompson Returned. "It Couldn't Have Been

The Sort Of Spectacle A Woman Would Care To Watch."

Chapter 5 (Universal Attributes) Pg 50

"You Never Can Tell About A Woman," Ashe Observed Thoughtfully. "Nor,"

He Added,  "A Man. I Could Never Have Imagined Myself Going Off

Half-Cocked Like That. I Suppose The Primitive Brute In Us Is Never

Really Far From The Surface. Especially In This Country. There's

Something," He Looked Up At The Surrounding Depths Of Forest,  Down Along

The Dusky Channel Of Lone Moose,  Curving Away Among The Spruce,  "There's

Something About This Infernal Solitude That Brings Out The Savage. I've

Noticed It In Little Things. We're Loosed,  In A Way,  From All Restraint,

Except What We Put Upon Ourselves. Funny World,  Eh? You Couldn't

Imagine Two Chaps Like Us Mauling Each Other Like A Pair Of Bruisers In

Mrs. Grundy's Drawing-Room,  Could You? Over A Girl--Oh,  Well,  It'll Be

All The Same A Hundred Years From Now."

 

There Was Nothing Apologetic In Either Tommy's Tone Or Words. Thompson

Understood. Tommy Ashe Was Thinking Out Loud,  That Was All. And

Presently,  After Another Silent Interva Yorkers,  Who Like The Present

Writer,  Not Having Considered The Subject Very Deeply,  Have Held To The

Vague Idea That The Club Was An Invention Of A Certain Dr. Samuel

Johnson. Also That It Came About In Some Such Way As This. The Doctor

Had Grown Weary Of Bullying The Patient Boswell,  And Browbeating The

Acquaintance Met By Chance In Fleet Street Or The Strand Did Not

Entirely Satisfy Him. So One Day,  Storming Out Of The Cheshire Cheese,

After Roundly Abusing The Larkpie Of Which He Had Consumed An Enormous

Quantity,  He Founded The First Club,  With The Object Of Gathering

Together A Number Of His Fellow-Mortals In One Place,  And Upon Them

Pouring Out The Vials Of His Pompous And Splenetic Wrath.

 

One Day,  However,  The "De Senectute" That Had Been Long Forgotten Was

Recalled By A Passage In Mr. James W. Alexander's "History Of The

University Club Of New York." There It Was Pointed Out,  That As Far Back

As 200 B.C.,  Cicero Represented Cato As Saying: "To Begin With,  I Have

Always Remained A Member Of A 'Club.' Clubs,  As You Know,  Were

Established In My _Quaestorship_ On The Reception Of The Magna Mater

From Ida. So _I Used To Dine At Their Feast_ With Members Of My Club--On

The Whole With Moderation." But,  Except As A Point Of Historical

Interest,  Whether Stern Cato Or Voluble Johnson Was The Inventor Does

Not Matter Greatly To The New York Club Member Who Is Airing His Weekly

Grievance By Drawing Up A Petition,  Or Writing A Scorching Letter A Day

To The House Committee.

 

If You Will Listen To The Manhattanite Of The Older Generation,  You Are

Likely To Derive The Impression That Club Life In New York Is A Matter

Of The Last Half-Century At Most. He Is Rather Inclined To Fleer At Any

Pretension To American Club Life Of Earlier Date. In One Sense He Is

Right. The Club As We Know It Now Is Essentially A British Institution

Modelled On British Lines. More And More Is The British Idea Being

Carried To The Extreme,  Until We Are Associating Club Life With The Vast

Club-House Of Spacious Lounges And Marble Swimming Pools,  And A Cuisine

Rivalling That Of One Of The Great New Hotels. The Fifth Avenue Club Of

Half A Century Ago Had Little Magnificence As We Now Understand The

Word. It Was A Simpler And More Limited Hospitality That Was Offered To

The Friend Or The Distinguished Stranger From Overseas. Yet That

Hospitality Must Have Had A Rare Flavour And Atmosphere. There Must Have

Been Something About It That Went Far To Make Up For Mere Material

Deficiencies,  If We Are To Credit The Verdicts Of Those Who Were In A

Chapter 5 (Universal Attributes) Pg 51

Position To Compare American Club Life With Club Life In England And On

The Continent. Thackeray Was As Fine A Judge Of The Matter As Any Man

Who Ever Strutted Through St. James's Park And Scowled Back At The

Barnes Newcomeses And Captain Heavysideses In The Club Windows Along

Pall Mall,  And There Was What He Said And Wrote About The Century.

 

It Was In The Middle Of The Sixth Decade Of The Last Century That The

Clubs Began To Find Their Way Into Fifth Avenue. One Of The First Was

The Union Club. Writing Of That Organization In 1906,  M. Charles Huard,

In "New York Comme Je L'ai Vu," Volunteered The Puzzling Information

That It Was "_Fondé En 1836 Par Les Descendants De Knickerbocker,  Le

Plus Vieux Donc Des Grand Clubs De New York_." If The Frenchman Was To

Be Taken Literally He Apparently Regarded The Offspring Of Washington

Irving's Creation As An Exceedingly Prolific Race. The Union,  In 1855,

Moved From Broadway Near Fourth Street Into A House On The Northwest

Corner Of Fifth Avenue And Twenty-First Street. That Home,  Which The

Union Occupied Until Fifteen Or Twenty Years Ago,  Was Described As "A

Superb Structure Which Cost Three Hundred Thousand Dollars." It Was The

First Building Erected In The City Solely For Club Purposes. Almost To

The Day Of Its Demolition,  Although The Neighbourhood About It Was

Changing Rapidly,  The Old House Wore An Aspect Of Dignity. To The Corner

The Habitués Of Other Years Seldom Come Today. Instead,  At The Noon

H

Thinkers Long Enough To Become Incorporated In A Great Deal That Has

Been Written Upon Philosophy And Theology.

 

Sophie Didn't Believe In His God,  Nor His Work; He Stopped Short Of

Asking If He Himself Any Longer Had Full And Implicit Belief In These

Things,  Or If He Had Simply Accepted Them Without Question As He Had

Accepted So Many Other Things In His Brief Career. But She Believed In

_Him_ And Cared For Him. He Took That For Granted Too. And Love Covers

A Multitude Of Sins. He Had Often Had Occasion To Discourse Upon Various

Sorts Of Love--Fatherly Love And Brotherly Love And Maternal