Active Service by Stephen Crane (reading tree .TXT) 📕

Marjory Walked pensively Along The Hall. In the Cool

Shadows Made By The Palms On The Window Ledge,  Her Face

Wore The Expression Of Thoughtful Melancholy Expected on The

Faces Of The Devotees Who Pace In cloistered gloom. She Halted

Before A Door At The End Of The Hall And Laid Her Hand On The

Knob. She Stood Hesitating,  Her Head Bowed. It Was Evident

That This Mission Was To Require Great Fortitude.

At Last She Opened the Door. " Father," She Began At Once.

There Was Disclosed an Elderly,  Narrow-Faced man Seated at A

Large Table And Surrounded by Manuscripts And Books. The

Sunlight Flowing through Curtains Of Turkey Red fell Sanguinely

Upon The Bust Of Dead-Eyed pericles On The Mantle. A Little

Clock Was Ticking,  Hidden Somewhere Among The Countless

Leaves Of Writing,  The Maps And Broad Heavy Tomes That

Swarmed upon The Table.

Her Father Looked up Quickly With An Ogreish Scowl.

Go Away! " He Cried in a Rage. " Go Away. Go Away. Get Out "

" He Seemed on The Point Of Arising to Eject The Visitor. It Was

Plain To Her That He Had Been Interrupted in the Writing of One

Of His Sentences,  Ponderous,  Solemn And Endless,  In which Wandered

Multitudes Of Homeless And Friendless Prepositions,  Adjectives

Looking for A Parent,  And Quarrelling nouns,  Sentences Which No

Longer Symbolised the Languageform Of Thought But Which Had About

Them A Quaint Aroma From The Dens Of Long-Dead Scholars. " Get Out,"

Snarled the Professor.

Father," Faltered the Girl. Either Because His Formulated

Thought Was Now Completely Knocked out Of His Mind By His

Own Emphasis In defending it,  Or Because He Detected

Something of Portent In her Expression,  His Manner Suddenly

Changed,  And With A Petulant Glance At His Writing he Laid Down

His Pen And Sank Back In his Chair To Listen. " Well,  What Is It,

My Child ? "

The Girl Took A Chair Near The Window And Gazed out Upon

The Snow-Stricken Campus,  Where At The Moment A Group Of

Students Returning from A Class Room Were Festively Hurling

Snow-Balls. " I'Ve Got Something important To Tell You,  Father,"

Said She,

But I Don'T Quite Know How To Say It."

"Something important ? " Repeated the Professor. He Was

Not Habitually Interested in the Affairs Of His Family,  But This

Proclamation That Something important Could Be Connected

With Them,  Filled his Mind With A Capricious Interest.  "Well,

What Is It,  Marjory ? "

She Replied calmly: " Rufus Coleman Wants To Marry Me."

"What?" Demanded the Professor Loudly. "Rufus Coleman.

What Do You Mean? "

The Girl Glanced furtively At Him. She Did Not Seem To Be Able

To Frame A Suitable Sentence.

As For The Professor,  He Had,  Like All Men Both Thoughtless

And Thoughtful,  Told Himself That One Day His Daughter Would

Come To Him With A Tale Of This Kind. He Had Never Forgotten That

The Little Girl Was To Be A Woman,  And He Had Never Forgotten

That This Tall,  Lithe Creature,  The Present Marjory,  Was A Woman.

He Had Been Entranced and Confident Or Entranced and

Apprehensive According' To The Time. A Man Focussed upon

Astronomy,  The Pig Market Or Social Progression,  May

Nevertheless Have A Secondary Mind Which Hovers Like A Spirit

Over His Dahlia Tubers And Dreams Upon The Mystery Of Their

Slow And Tender Revelations. The Professor'S Secondary Mind

Had Dwelt Always With His Daughter And Watched with A Faith

And Delight The Changing to A Woman Of A Certain Fat And

Mumbling babe. However,  He Now Saw This Machine,  This Self-

Sustaining,  Self-Operative Love,  Which Had Run With The Ease Of A

Clock,  Suddenly Crumble To Ashes And Leave The Mind Of A Great

Scholar Staring at A Calamity. " Rufus Coleman," He Repeated,

Stunned. Here Was His Daughter,  Very Obviously Desirous Of

Marrying rufus Coleman. " Marjory," He Cried in amazement

And Fear,  "What Possesses,  You? Marry Rufus Colman?"

The Girl Seemed to Feel A Strong Sense Of Relief At His Prompt

Recognition Of A Fact. Being freed from The Necessity Of Making a

Flat Declaration,  She Simply Hung Her Head And Blushed

Impressively. A Hush Fell Upon Them. The Professor Stared long

At His Daugh. Ter. The Shadow Of Unhappiness Deepened upon

His Face. " Marjory,  Marjory," He Murmured at Last. He Had

Tramped heroically Upon His Panic And Devoted his Strength To

Bringing thought Into Some Kind Of Attitude Toward This Terrible

Fact. " I Am-I Am Surprised," He Began. Fixing her Then With A

Stern Eye,  He Asked: "Why Do You Wish To Marry This Man? You,

With Your Opportunities Of Meeting persons Of Intelligence. And

You Want To Marry-" His Voice Grew Tragic.  "You Want To Marry

The Sunday Editor Of The New York Eclipse."

" It Is Not So Very Terrible,  Is It?" Said Marjory Sullenly.

"Wait A Moment; Don'T Talk," Cried the Professor. He Arose

And Walked nervously To And Fro,  His Hands Flying in the Air. He

Was Very Red behind The Ears As When In the Classroom Some

Student Offended him. " A Gambler,  A Sporter Of Fine Clothes,  An

Expert On Champagne,  A Polite Loafer,  A Witness Knave Who Edits

The Sunday Edition Of A Great Outrage Upon Our Sensibilities.

You Want To Marry Him,  This Man? Marjory,  You Are Insane. This

Fraud Who Asserts That His Work Is Intelligent,  This Fool Comes

Here To My House And-"

He Became Aware That His Daughter Was Regarding him Coldly.

"I Thought We Had Best Have All This Part Of It Over At Once," She

Remarked.

He Confronted her In a New Kind Of Surprise. The Little Keen-

Eyed professor Was At This Time Imperial,  On The Verge Of A

Majestic Outburst. " Be Still," He Said. "Don'T Be Clever With Your

Father. Don'T Be A Dodger. Or,  If You Are,  Don'T Speak Of It To Me. I

Suppose This Fine Young Man Expects To See Me Personally ? "

" He Was Coming to-Morrow," Replied marjory. She Began To

Weep. " He Was Coming to-Morrow."

" Um," Said The Professor. He Continued his Pacing while

Marjory Wept With Her Head Bowed to The Arm Of The Chair. His

Brow Made The Three Dark Vertical Crevices Well Known To His

Students. Some. Times He Glowered murderously At The

Photographs Of Ancient Temples Which Adorned the Walls. "My

Poor Child," He Said Once,  As He Paused near Her,  " To Think I

Never Knew You Were A Fool. I Have Been Deluding myself. It Has

Been My Fault As Much As It Has Been Yours. I Will Not Readily

Forgive Myself."

The Girl Raised her Face And Looked at Him. Finally,  Resolved

To Disregard The Dishevelment Wrought By Tears, 

She Presented a Desperate Front With Her Wet

Eyes And Flushed cheeks. Her Hair Was Disarrayed. "I Don'T See

Why You Can Call Me A Fool," She Said. The Pause Before This

Sentence Had Been So Portentous Of A Wild And Rebellious

Speech That The Professor Almost Laughed now. But Still The

Father For The First Time Knew That He Was Being un-Dauntedly

Faced by His Child In his Own Library,  In the Presence Of 372

Pages Of The Book That Was To Be His Masterpiece. At The Back

Of His Mind He Felt A Great Awe As If His Own Youthful Spirit Had

Come From The Past And Challenged him With A Glance. For A

Moment He Was Almost A Defeated man. He Dropped into A Chair.

" Does Your Mother Know Of This " " He Asked mournfully.

"Yes," Replied the Girl. "She Knows. She Has Been Trying to

Make Me Give Up Rufus."

"Rufus," Cried the Professor Rejuvenated by Anger.

"Well,  His Name Is Rufus," Said The Girl.

"But Please Don'T Call Him So Before Me," Said The Father With

Icy Dignity. " I Do Not Recognise Him As Being named rufus.

That Is A Contention Of Yours Which Does Not Arouse My

Interest. I Know Him Very Well As A Gambler And A Drunkard,  And

If Incidentally,  He Is Named rufus,  I Fail To See Any Importance

To It."

" He Is Not A Gambler And He Is Not A Drunkard," She Said.

" Um. He Drinks Heavily-That Is Well Known. He Gambles.

He Plays Cards For Money--More Than He

Possesses-At Least He Did When He Was In college."

" You Said You Liked him When He Was In college."

" So I Did. So I Did," Answered the Professor Sharply. " I

Often Find Myself Liking that Kind Of A Boy In college. Don'T I

Know Them-Those Lads With Their Beer And Their Poker Games In

The Dead Of The Night With A Towel Hung Over The Keyhole. Their

Habits Are Often Vicious Enough,  But Something remains In them

Through It All And They May Go Away And Do Great Things. This

Happens. We Know It. It Happens With Confusing insistence. It

Destroys Theo- Ries. There-There Isn'T Much To Say About It. And

Sometimes We Like This Kind Of A Boy Better Than We Do The-The

Others. For My Part I Know Of Many A Pure,  Pious And Fine-

Minded student That I Have Positively Loathed from A Personal

Point-Of-View. But," He Added,  " This Rufus Coleman,  His Life In

College And His Life Since,  Go To Prove How Often We Get Off The

Track. There Is No Gauge Of Collegiate Conduct Whatever,  Until We

Can Get Evidence Of The Man'S Work In the World. Your Precious

Scoundrel'S Evidence Is Now All In and He Is A Failure,  Or Worse."

" You Are Not Habitually So Fierce In judging people," Said

The Girl.

"I Would Be If They All Wanted to Marry My Daughter,"

Rejoined the Professor. " Rather Than Let That Man Make Love To

You-Or Even Be Within A Short Railway Journey Of You, 

I'Ll Cart You Off To Europe This Winter And Keep You There

Until You Forget. If You Persist In this Silly Fancy,  I Shall At Once

Become Medieval."

Marjory Had Evidently Recovered much Of Her Composure.

"Yes,  Father,  New Climates Are Alway'S Supposed to Cure One,"

She Remarked with A Kind Of Lightness.

" It Isn'T So Much The Old Expedient," Said The Professor

Musingly,  "As It Is That I Would Be Afraid To Leave You Herewith

No Protection Against That Drinking gambler And Gambling

Drunkard."

" Father,  I Have To Ask You Not To Use Such Terms In speaking

Of The Man That I Shall Marry."

There Was A Silence. To All Intents,  The Professor Remained

Unmoved. He Smote The Tips Of His Fingers Thoughtfully

Together. " Ye-Es," He Observed. "That Sounds Reasonable From

Your Standpoint." His Eyes Studied her Face In a Long And

Steady Glance. He Arose And Went Into The Hall. When He

Returned he Wore His Hat And Great Coat. He Took A Book And

Some Papers From The Table And Went Away.

Marjory Walked slowly Through The Halls And Up To Her Room.

From A Window She Could See Her Father Making his Way Across

The Campus Labouriously Against The Wind And Whirling snow.

She Watched it,  This Little Black Figure,  Bent Forward,  Patient,

Steadfast. It Was An Inferior Fact That Her Father Was One Of The

Famous Scholars Of The Generation. To Her,  He Was Now A Little

Old Man Facing the Wintry Winds. Recollect. ing herself And

Rufus Coleman She Began To Weep Again,  Wailing amid The Ruins

Of Her Tumbled hopes. Her Skies Had Turned to Paper And Her

Trees Were Mere Bits Of Green Sponge. But Amid All This Woe

Appeared the Little Black Image Of Her Father Making its Way

Against The Storm.

In A High-Walled corrider Of One Of The College Buildings,  A

Crowd Of Students Waited amid Jostlings And A Loud Buzz Of Talk.

Suddenly A Huge Pair Of Doors Flew Open And A Wedge Of Young

Men Inserted itself Boisterously And Deeply Into The Throng.

There Was A Great Scuffle Attended by A General Banging of

Books Upon Heads. The Two Lower Classes Engaged in herculean

Play While Members Of The Two Higher Classes,  Standing aloof,

Devoted themselves Strictly To The Encouragement Of Whichever

Party For A Moment Lost