Lost Pueblo (1992) (4 page)

"Why, certainly."

"You were justified in being shocked at my question about Janey. But I wouldn't blame anyone for a pretty raw opinion of modern girls. I have it myself... To be brief, they have gotten under my skin, if you know what that means. Janey's generation is beyond my understanding. They have developed something new. They are eliminating right and wrong. They have no respect for their parents, and so far as I can see very little affection. They have a positive hatred for all restraint. They will not stand to be controlled. They have no faith in our old standards. As a rule they have no religion. They wear indecent clothes, or I might say very few clothes at all. They dance all night, drown themselves in booze, pet and neck indiscriminately, and most of them go the limit."

"Mr. Endicott!" expostulated Randolph, somewhat taken aback by the elder man's outburst.

"Phil, I'm telling you straight. This is not my theory. I know. I've got this young crowd figured that far, at least. I have no patience at all with the fatuous mamas and papas who claim the young people are all right. They are not all right. They are a fast crowd and the nation that depends on them and can't change them is slated for hell. These wise-acres who say there is no flagrant immorality are far off the track. Those who claim young women of today are no different from yesterday are simply blind. They are different, and I don't mean wholly the emancipation of women since the war. I was always for woman suffrage... Well, I'm not concerned with the causes, as whether or not we parents are to blame. I've done my damnedest for Janey and it hurts to think maybe I've failed. I'm honest in believing I've not been a bad example for my child. But sometimes Janey makes me crawl into a dark corner and hide... I'm concerned with the facts of what I'm telling you. I want to see Janey married to a good and straight and industrious young man. Janey says he doesn't exist... Her mother was like Janey, though not so beautiful. She was willful, intelligent, bewildering. But she had no vices... Now I take it Janey is about as fascinating as a young woman could be. Perhaps she is all the more so because of this complexity of modern times. She knows it. I wouldn't call Janey conceited. She's not really vain. She's rather a merciless gay modern young woman who takes pleasure in wading through a mob of men. If she heard her friends speak of a man who was not likely to fall for her, as they call it, Janey would yell, 'Lead me to him!' Despite all this I feel and hope Janey can be saved. Lord, fancy her hearing me say that! To my mind if she drifts with her crowd she'll never amount to anything. She would probably divorce one husband after another. I don't like the idea. Janey's mother left her something which she will have control of in another year. And then of course she'll get all I possess, which isn't inconsiderable. Her prospects then, and her beauty, make her a mark for the men she comes in contact with, and their name is legion. I have tried to keep her away from the worst of them. But it's impossible."

"Why impossible?" broke in Phillip, tersely.

"I gave up because when I'd tell Janey a certain young fellow was no fit acquaintance for her I would only stimulate interest. She'd say, 'Dad, you think you know a lot, but I'll have to see for myself'--and you bet she would."

"Then Janey wouldn't obey you?" asked Randolph.

"Obey!" echoed Endicott, in surprise. "Most certainly she would not."

"Then indeed you are to blame for what she is."

"Ha! I'd like to see you or anybody else make Janey obey."

"I could and I would," declared Randolph.

"My dear young Arizona archaeologist! May I ask how?" returned Endicott, not without sarcasm and amusement.

"I'd take that young lady across my knee and spank her soundly."

"Good Lord! You don't know what you're saying... Why, if I subjected Janey to such indignity she'd--she'd--well, what wouldn't she do? Wrecking the place where it happened would be the least... Yet, oh--how I have wanted to do that same little thing!"

"Mr. Endicott, your daughter is a spoiled child," asserted Randolph, in a tone that made Janey want to shriek.

"Spoiled--yes--and everything else," agreed Endicott, helplessly. "But with it all she is adorable. Have you noticed that, Phil?"

"Why, come to think of it I believe I have," he answered, with dry humor.

"Well, we are agreed on a few things, anyway. We can dismiss her demerits by acknowledging that, and her intelligence, truthfulness, and other cardinal virtues which she has in common with all the young people today. It may be that they are too advanced for us of the older generation to understand. It might be that something wonderful will come of such a paradox. But I can't see it, and my problem is to check Janey's mad career... Ha!--Ha!"

"If I may presume to advise you, Mr. Endicott, you are undertaking a perfectly impossible task," said Randolph.

"No! Why, Phil, I am sometimes damn fool enough to believe Janey might do all I ask just because she loves me. I know she does. But I always put things to her in a way that makes her furious. So I've quit it... This is my last card--my trump."

"This?" asked Randolph, with curiosity.

"This trip, and the plan I've decided upon. Here it is! I'm going to marry Janey to you."

There was an absolute blank silence. Janey felt what a shock this must have been to Randolph. It was no less a shock to her.

"Now--now I know what's the matter," said Randolph, finally, in a queer voice.

"What?"

"You really are out of your mind!"

"Well, that may be," returned Endicott, with good humor. "But I'll stand by my guns. I've sense enough to understand that you will at first indignantly refuse such a proposition. Won't you?"

"I certainly do," replied Randolph, bluntly.

"Randolph, no young man who knew and loved Janey could refuse for any other reason than he thought it preposterous... That she didn't care two straws for him?"

"Exactly. In my case one straw."

"The only weakness in my proposition is the hope, the dream, that Janey might love you someday. You must remember I know her as I knew her mother. Janey, too, is capable of the most extraordinary things."

"It surely would be that for her to--to--Oh, Endicott, the idea is ridiculous," returned Randolph, beginning in bitterness and ending in anger.

"Hear me out. If you don't I'll think you, too, are just like the rest of this generation... I base my hopes on this. Janey likes you--respects you. She makes all manner of fun of you, but underneath it there's something deep. At least it's deep enough to keep her from adding your scalp to her belt... You'll forgive me, Phil, for saying that any fancy-free girl would learn to care for you--under favorable circumstances."

"What are they?" queried the archaeologist.

"Never mind details. But I mean the things that make a man. I'll swear I don't believe Janey has ever met a real man... Well, to go on. I save my conscience in this case by believing she could care for you. And my plan is simply to give Janey a terrific jar--and then nature, with such a favorable start, will do the rest."

"Believe me, it would have to be a terrific jar, all right," said Randolph, with another of his resonant laughs.

"Believe me, it is. And it's simply this. Be as nice as pie to Janey. Then at an opportune time just throw her on a horse and pack her off to one of your ruins in the desert. Kidnap her! Keep her out there a little while--scare her half to death--let her know what it is to be uncomfortable, hungry, helpless. Then fetch her back. She'd have to marry you. I would insist upon it... Then we'd all be happy."

"Mr. Endicott, the only sane remark you've made is that epithet you applied to yourself a few moments ago."

"It is a most wonderful opportunity. You are ambitious. This would make you."

"No."

"I will make you a most substantial settlement. You will be independent for life. You can follow up your archaeological work for the love of it. You--"

"No!"

"Now, Phil, I can apply that epithet to you. May I ask why you refuse?"

"You--I--Oh, hell!... Endicott, it's because I really love Janey. I couldn't think of myself in such a case. If I did I'd--I'd be as weak as water... Why, Janey would hate me."

"Don't be so sure of that," replied Endicott, sagely. "You can't ever tell about a woman. It's a gamble, of course. But you have the odds. Be a good sport, Phil. Even if you lose you'll have gained an experience that You'll remember a lifetime."

"Mr. Endicott, you're taking advantage of human nature," replied Randolph, with agitation. Janey could hear him pacing the room, and she felt sorry for him. It pleased her that he had refused. But she knew her father, his relentless ways, and she held her breath.

"Certainly I am," agreed Endicott, growing warmer. "Phil, look at it this way. Consent for Janey's sake!"

"But man, I can't believe that wonderful girl is going to hell. I can't."

"Naturally. You're in love with her. To you she's an angel. All right. Think of it this way then. You admitted she was adorable. You just said she was wonderful. You know how beautiful she is. Well, here's your chance to make her yours. Maybe it's a thousand-to-one shot. Remember, you'll do her good in any case. And you've that one chance in a thousand. Her mother was the most loving of women. Why, Phil, if Janey loved you, you would be entering the kingdom of heaven. She might."

"My--God!" gasped the young man. "I am her father. I worship her. And I am begging you to do this thing."

"All--right. I--I'll do it," replied Randolph, in a queer strangled voice. "It will be my ruin. But I can't resist... Only, understand--I couldn't accept money."

"Fact is, I didn't think you would," replied Endicott, quickly. "And your refusal makes me sure you are the right man. Come, shake on it, Phil. I'll be forever grateful to you whether we win or lose."

Janey heard him rise and cross the room. Taking advantage of this she slipped out of the hammock and ran round to the back of the house, and entering the long corridor she arrived at her room in a more excited and breathless state than she had ever been in all her life. Closing the door she locked it and then relaxed against it, with a hand over her throbbing breast.

"If that wasn't the limit!" she exclaimed, and succumbed to conflicting emotions, among which such rage as she had never felt assumed dominance.

Not long afterward her father knocked on the door. Janey did not answer. He knocked again, and called anxiously.

"Janey?"

"Yes."

"Dinner is ready. We're waiting."

"I don't want any," she replied.

"Why, what is the matter?"

"I've a headache."

"Headache!... You? Never heard of the like before."

"Maybe it's a toothache."

"Oh!" he returned, and discreetly retired.

When Janey's anger had finally subsided so that she could think, she found she was deeply wounded. Things for her had come to a very sad pass indeed, if her father could go to such extremes. But were they so bad for her? How perfectly absurd! There was not anything wrong with her. Yet all the same an awakened consciousness refused to accept her indignant assurance. She knew she was the pride and joy of her father's life. He was a trying parent indeed; nevertheless she could not seriously say he had neglected her or given her a bad example. He was just thick-headed, and too much concerned about her affairs. Janey, however, dodged for the present any serious thought concerning her friends and acquaintances at home. They were as good as any other crowd.

Randolph! She could overcome her shame and resentment enough to feel sorry for him. What chance had he against her father, especially if he was genuinely attracted to her? Janey blushed in the loneliness of her room. Randolph had saved his character, in her estimation, by scorning her father's opinions, by resisting his subtle attack, by refusing any consideration of a material gain in his outrageous proposals.

Then Janey happened to remember what Randolph had said about spanking her. In a sudden fury she leaped up and began to pace the little room. There was not very much in the way of disgust, contempt, amazement, pride, wrath, that did not pass through her mind. What an atrocious insult! He had been in earnest. He talked as if she were a nine-year-old child. Her cheeks burned. She refused in the heat of the moment to answer a query that knocked at her ears.

"Oh, I won't do a thing to Phillip Randolph!" she said, under her breath, and as she said it she caught sight of her face in the mirror. When had she looked like that? Only the other day she had fancied she wore a tired bored look. At least she was indebted to Randolph for a glow and a flash of radiance.

A hundred thoughts whirled through her mind. One of them was to run off from her father and punish him that way. Another was to actually be what he feared she was or might become. The former appeared too easy on him and the second unworthy of her. It stung her acutely that she was compelled to prove to him how really different she was. But revenge first! She would show them. She would play up to their infamous plot. She would walk right into their little trap. Then--she would frighten her clever parent out of his wits. And as for Randolph! She would reduce him to such a state of love-sick misery that he would want to die. She would be ten thousand times herself and everything else she could lend herself to. She would help him on with the little scheme, make him marry her; and then, when he and her father were at the top of their bent and ridiculously sure of her so-called salvation, she would calmly announce to them that she had known all about it beforehand. She would denounce them, and go home and divorce Randolph.