The Harvester. Stratton-Porter Gene
Читать онлайн книгу.
to think. He could not remember anything more he could have done, but since what he had done only ended in failure, he was reproaching himself wildly that he had taken his eyes from the Girl an instant after recognizing her. Yet it was in his blood to be decent and he could not have run away and left a frightened woman and a hurt child. Trusting to his fleet feet and strength he had taken time to replace the box also, and then had met the crowd and delay. Just for the instant it appeared to him as if he had done all a man could, and he had not found her. If he allowed her to return to Chicago, probably he never would. He leaned his head on his hands and groaned in discouragement.
Doctor Carey whirled the chair so that it faced him before the Harvester realized that he was not alone.
“What's the trouble, David?” he asked tersely.
The Harvester lifted a strained face.
“I came for help,” he said.
“Well you will get it! All you have to do is to state what you want.”
That seemed simplicity itself to the doctor. But when it came to putting his case into words, it was not easy for the Harvester.
“Go on!” said the doctor.
“You'll think me a fool.”
The doctor laughed heartily.
“No doubt!” he said soothingly. “No doubt, David! Probably you are; so why shouldn't I think so. But remember this, when we make the biggest fools of ourselves that is precisely the time when we need friends, and when they stick to us the tightest, if they are worth while. I've been waiting since latter February for you to tell me. We can fix it, of course; there's always a way. Go on!”
“Well I wasn't fooling about the dream and the vision I told you of then, Doc. I did have a dream—and it was a dream of love. I did see a vision—and it was a beautiful woman.”
“I hope you are not nursing that experience as something exclusive and peculiar to you,” said the doctor. “There is not a normal, sane man living who has not dreamed of love and the most exquisite woman who came from the clouds or anywhere and was gracious to him. That's a part of a man's experience in this world, and it happens to most of us, not once, but repeatedly. It's a case where the wish fathers the dream.”
“Well it hasn't happened to me 'on repeated occasions,' but it did one night, and by dawn I was converted. How CAN a dream be so real, Doc? How could I see as clearly as I ever saw in the daytime in my most alert moment, hear every step and garment rustle, scent the perfume of hair, and feel warm breath strike my face? I don't understand it!”
“Neither does any one else! All you need say is that your dream was real as life. Go on!”
“I built a new cabin and pretty well overturned the place and I've been making furniture I thought a woman would like, and carrying things from town ever since.”
“Gee! It was reality to you, lad!”
“Nothing ever more so,” said the Harvester.
“And of course, you have been looking for her?”
“And this morning I saw her!”
“David!”
“Not the ghost of a chance for a mistake. Her height, her eyes, her hair, her walk, her face; only something terrible has happened since she came to me. It was the same girl, but she is ill and in trouble now.”
“Where is she?”
“Do you suppose I'd be here if I knew?”
“David, are you dreaming in daytime?”
“She got off the Chicago train this morning while I was helping Daniels load a big truck of express matter. Some of it was mine, and it was important. Just at the wrong instant a box fell and knocked down a child and I got in a jam——”
“And as it was you, of course you stopped to pick up the child and do everything decent for other folks, before you thought of yourself, and so you lost her. You needn't tell me anything more. David, if I find her, and prove to you that she has been married ten years and has an interesting family, will you thank me?”
“Can't be done!” said the Harvester calmly. “She has been married only since she gave herself to me in February, and she is not a mother. You needn't bank on that.”
“You are mighty sure!”
“Why not? I told you the dream was real, and now that I have seen her, and she is in this very town, why shouldn't I be sure?”
“What have you done?”
The Harvester told him.
“What are you going to do next?”
“Talk it over with you and decide.”
The doctor laughed.
“Well here are a few things that occur to me without time for thought. Talk to the ticket agents, and leave her description with them. Make it worth their while to be on the lookout, and if she goes anywhere to find out all they can. They could make an excuse of putting her address on her ticket envelope, and get it that way. See the baggagemen. Post the day police on Main Street. There is no chance for her to escape you. A full-grown woman doesn't vanish. How did she act when she got off the car? Did she appear familiar?”
“No. She was a stranger. For an instant she looked around as if she expected some one, then she followed the crowd. There must have been an automobile waiting or she took a street car. Something whirled her out of sight in a few seconds.”
“Well we will get her in range again. Now for the most minute description you can give.”
The Harvester hesitated. He did not care to describe the Dream Girl to any one, much less the living, suffering face and poorly clad form of the reality.
“Cut out your scruples,” laughed the doctor. “You have asked me to help you; how can I if I don't know what kind of a woman to look for?”
“Very tall and slender,” said the Harvester. “Almost as tall as I am.”
“Unusually tall you think?”
“I know!”
“That's a good point for identification. How about her complexion, hair, and eyes?”
“Very large, dark eyes, and a great mass of black hair.”
The doctor roared.
“The eyes may help,” he said. “All women have masses of hair these days. I hope——”
“Her hair is fast to her head,” said the Harvester indignantly. “I saw it at close range, and I know. It went around like a crown.”
The doctor choked down a laugh. He wanted to say that every woman's hair was like a crown at present, but there were things no man ventured with David Langston; those who knew him best, least of any. So he suggested, “And her colouring?”
“She was white and rosy, a lovely thing in the dream,” said the Harvester, “but something dreadful has happened. That's all wiped out now. She was very pale when she left the car.”
“Car sick, maybe.”
“Soul sick!” was the grim reply.
Then Doctor Carey appeared so disturbed the Harvester noticed it.
“You needn't think I'd be here prating about her if I wasn't FORCED. If she had been rosy and well as she was in the dream, I'd have made my hunt alone and found her, too. But when I saw she was sick and in trouble, it took all the courage out of me, and I broke for help. She must be found at once, and when she is you are probably the first man I'll want. I am going to put up a pretty stiff search myself, and if I find her I'll send or get her to you if I can. Put her in the best ward you have and anything money will do——”