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

Eyes Glowed With Some Queer Repressed Feeling. Carr Sat Gazing Silently

At Her While She Continued To Look After The Vanished Canoe Whose

Passing Left Tiny Swirls On The Dark,  Sluggish Current Of Lone Moose.

Presently Carr Gave The Faintest Shrug Of His Lean Shoulders And Resumed

The Reading Of His Book.

When He Looked Up From The Page Again After A Considerable Interval The

Girl's Eyes Were Fixed Intently Upon His Face,  With A Queer Questioning

Expression In Them,  A Mute Appeal. He Closed His Book With A Forefinger

Inserted To Mark The Place,  And Leaned Forward A Trifle.

"What Is It,  Sophie?" He Asked Gently. "Eh?"

The Girl,  Like Her Father,  And For That Matter The Majority Of Those

Who Dwelt In That Region,  Wore Moccasins. She Sat Now,  Rubbing The Damp,

Bead-Decorated Toe Of One On Top Of The Other,  Her Hands Resting Idle In

The Lap Of Her Cotton Dress. She Seemed Scarcely To Hear,  But Carr

Waited Patiently. She Continued To Look At Him With That Peculiar,

Puzzled Quality In Her Eyes.

"Tommy Ashe Wants Me To Marry Him," She Said At Last.

The Faint Flush On Her Smooth Cheeks Deepened. The Glow In Her Eyes Gave

Way Altogether To That Vaguely Troubled Expression.

Carr Stroked His Short Beard Reflectively.

"Well," He Said At Length,  "Seeing That Human Nature's What It Is,  I

Can't Say I'm Surprised Any More Than I Would Be Surprised At The Trees

Leafing Out In Spring. And,  As It Happens,  Tommy Observed The

Conventions Of His Class In This Matter. He Asked Me About It A Few Days

Ago. I Referred Him To You. Are You Going To?"

"I Don't Know,  Dad," She Murmured.

"Do You Want To?" He Pursued The Inquiry In A Detached,  Impersonal Tone.

"I Don't Know," She Repeated Soberly. "I Like Tommy A Lot. When I'm With

Him I Feel Sure I'd Be Perfectly Happy To Be Always With Him. When I'm

Away From Him,  I'm Not So Sure."

"In Other Words," Carr Observed Slowly,  "Your Reason And Your Emotions

Are Not In Harmony On That Subject. Eh? So Far As Tommy Ashe Goes,  Your

Mind And Your Body Pull You Two Different Ways."

She Looked At Him A Little More Keenly.

"Perhaps," She Said. "I Know What You Mean. But I Don't Clearly See Why

It Should Be So. Either I Love Tommy Ashe,  Or I Don't,  And I Should Know

Which,  Shouldn't I? The First And Most Violent Manifestation Of Love Is

Mostly Physical,  Isn't It? I've Always Understood That. You've Pointed

It Out. I Do Like Tommy. Why Should My Mind Act As A Brake On My

Feelings?"

"Because You Happen To Be Made The Way You Are," Carr Returned

Thoughtfully. "As I've Told You A Good Many Times,  You've Grown Up A

Good Deal Different From The Common Run Of Girls. We've Been Isolated.

Lacking The Time-Occupying Distractions And Pleasures Of Youth In A More

Liberal Environment,  Sophie,  You've Been Thrown Back On Yourself And Me

And Books,  And As A Result You've Cultivated A Natural Tendency To

_Think_. Most Young Women Don't. They're Seldom Taught Any Rational

Process Of Arriving At Conclusions. You Have Developed That Faculty. It

Has Been My Pride And Pleasure To Cultivate In You What I Believed To Be

A Decided Mentality. I've Tried To Show You How To Get Down To

Fundamentals,  To Work Out A Philosophy Of Life That's Really Workable.

Knowledge Is Worth Having For Its Own Sake. Once You Find Yourself In

Contact With The World--And For You That Time Is Bound To Come--You'll

Apply All The Knowledge You've Absorbed To Problems As They Arise. If

There's A Rational Solution To Any Situation That Faces You,  You'll Make

An Effort To Find That Solution. You'll Do It Almost Instinctively. You

Can't Help It. Your Brain Is Too Alert Ever To Let You Act Blindly. At

The Present Your Lack Of Experience Probably Handicaps You A Little. In

Human Relations You Have Nothing Much But Theory,  Got From The Books

You've Digested And The Way We've Always Discussed Every Possible Angle

Of Life. Take Tommy Ashe. He's Practically The First Young,  Attractive

White Man You've Ever Met,  The Very First Possibility As A Lover.

Tommy's A Nice Boy,  A Pleasant,  Sunny-Natured Young Fellow. Personally

He's Just The Sort Of Fellow That Would Sweep A Simple Country Girl

Clean Off Her Feet. With You,  Your Mind,  As You Just Put It,  Acts As A

Brake On Your Feelings. Can't You Guess Why?"

"No," She Said Quietly. "I Can't. I Don't Understand Myself And My

Shifts Of Feeling. It Makes Me Miserable."

"Look Here,  Sophie Girl," Carr Reached Over And Taking Her By The Hand

Drew Her Up On The Low Arm Of His Chair,  "You're Asking Yourself A More

Or Less Important Question Directly,  And You're Asking It Of Me

Indirectly. Maybe I Can Help You. At Least I Can Tell How I See It. You

Have All Your Life Before You. You Want To Be Happy. That's A Universal

Human Attribute. Sometime Or Other You're Going To Mate With A Man. That

Too Is A Universal Experience. Ordinary Mating Is Based On Sex Instinct.

Love Is Mostly An Emotional Disturbance Generated By Natural Causes For

Profoundly Natural And Important Ends. But Marriage And The Intimate

Associations Of Married Life Require Something More Substantial Than A

Mere Flare-Up Of Animal Instinct. Lots Of Men And Women Aren't Capable

Of Anything Else,  And Consequently They Make The Best Of What's In

Them. But There Are Natures Far More Complex. You,  Sophie,  Are One Of

Those Complex Natures. With You,  A Union Based On Sex Alone Wouldn't

Survive Six Months. Now,  In This Particular Case,  Leaving Out The Fact

That You Can't Compare Tommy Ashe With Any Other Man,  Because You Don't

Know Any Other Man,  Can You Conceive Yourself Living In A Tolerable

State Of Contentment With Tommy If,  Say,  You Didn't Feel Any More

Passion For Him Than You Feel For,  Say,  Old Standing Wolf Over There?"

"But That's Absurd," The Girl Declared. "Because I Have Got That Feeling

For Tommy Ashe,  And Therefore I Can't Imagine Myself In Any Other State.

I Can't Look At It The Cold-Blooded Way You Do,  Daddy Dear."

"I'm Stating A Hypothetical Case," Carr Went On Patiently. "You Do Now.

We'll Take That For Granted. Would You Still Have Anything Fundamental

In Common With Tommy With That Part Left Out? Suppose You Got So You

Didn't Care Whether He Kissed You Or Not? Suppose It Were No Longer A

Physical Pleasure Just To Be Near Him. Would You Enjoy His Daily And

Hourly Presence Then,  In The Most Intimate Relation A Man And A Woman

Can Hold To Each Other?"

"Why,  I Wouldn't Live With Him At All," The Girl Said Positively. "I

Simply Couldn't. I Know."

"You Might Have To," Carr Answered Gently. "You Have Never Yet Run Foul

Of Circumstances Over Which You Have No More Power Than Man Has Over The

Run Of The Tides. But We'll Let That Pass. I'm Trying To Help You,

Sophie,  Not To Discourage You. There Are Some Situations In Which,  And

Some Natures To Whom,  Half A Loaf Is Worse Than No Bread. Do You Feel,

Have You Ever For An Hour Felt That You Simply Couldn't Face An

Existence In Which Tommy Ashe Had No Part?"

Sophie Put Her Arm Around His Neck,  And Her Nt Of The

Ball At Mrs. White's Last Night,  Where All The Beauty And Fashion Of New

York Was Assembled; With The Sewer's Own Particulars Of The Private

Lives Of All The Ladies That Were There. Here's The Sewer! Here's The

Sewer's Exposure Of The Wall Street Gang,  And The Sewer's Exposure Of

The Washington Gang,  And The Sewer's Exclusive Account Of A Flagrant

Act Of Dishonesty Committed By The Secretary Of State When He Was Eight

Years Old; Now Communicated,  At Great Expense,  By His Own Nurse. Here's

The Sewer! Here's The New York Sewer In Its Twelfth Thousand,  With A

Whole Column Of New Yorkers To Be Shown Up,  And All Their Names Printed.

Here's The Sewer's Article Upon The Judge That Tried Him,  Day Afore

Yesterday,  For Libel,  And The Sewer's Tribute To The Independent Jury

That Didn't Convict Him,  And The Sewer's Account Of What Might Have

Happened If They Had! Here's The Sewer,  Always On The Lookout; The

Leading Journal Of The United States!"

Such Were The Cries,  According To The Veracious Account Of Charles

Dickens,  Who Had Paid His First Visit To Us A Short Time Before,  That

Greeted The Ears Of Martin Chuzzlewit Upon His Arrival In The Gate City

Of The Western World. That Amiable Caricature Reflects What The English

Novelist Thought Or Pretended To Think,  Of The New York Journalism Of

The Day. Exaggeration,  Of Course: The Bad Manners Of A Young Genius Of

The British Lower Middle Classes. But Quite Good-Naturedly Today We

Concede That Beneath Bad Manners And Exaggeration There Was A Foundation

Of Truth. Into The Making Of Colonel Diver,  The Editor Of The "Rowdy

Journal," May Have Gone A Little Of Old Noah,  Of The "Star," Or James

Watson Webb,  Of The "Courier And Enquirer," Or Colonel Stone,  Of The

"Commercial." Can't You See Those Grim Figures Of An Old World Strutting

Down Broadway,  Glaring About Belligerently And Suspiciously? Almost

Every Editor Of That Period Had A Theatre Feud At One Day Or Another. On

The Luckless Mummer Who Had Incurred His Displeasure He Poured Out The

Vials Of His Wrath. He Incited Audiences To Riot. Against His Brother

Editors He Hurled Such Epithets As "Loathsome And Leprous Slanderer And

Libeller," "Pestilential Scoundrel," "Polluted Wretch," "Foul Jaws,"

"Common Bandit," "Prince Of Darkness," "Turkey Buzzard," "Ghoul."

Somehow,  In Thinking Of The Old Days,  I Find It Hard To Reconcile Those

Men And Women Who Lived Under The Knickerbocker Sway With Their

Newspapers. It Is Pleasanter To Dwell Upon The Old Customs,  To Picture

Mr. Manhattan Leaving The Scurrilous Sheet Behind Him When He Departed

From His Store Or Counting House,  And Repairing With Clean Hands To The

Wife Of His Bosom And His Family,  Somewhere In Greenwich Village,  Or

Richmond Hill,  Or Bond Street,  Or The Beginnings Of Fifth Avenue.

But To Revert To The Manners Of The Old Town. First Of All There Was The

Business Of Getting Married. It Was With An Idea Of Permanency Then,  And

The Knickerbocker Wedding Was,  In Consequence,  A Ceremony.