Amazing Stories, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 46: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A STORY OF THE DAYS TO COME HITEY was.not popular, and the vault disgorged to see him haze the new man with only a languid interest. But matters changed when Whitey’s attempt to open the proceedings by kicking Denton in the face was met by an excellently executed duck, catch and throw, that completed the flight of Whitey’s foot in its orbit and brought Whitey’s head into the ash-heap that had once recetved Denton’s. Whitey arose a shade whiter, and now blasphemously bent upon vital injur- ies. There were indecisive passages, foiled enter- prises that deepened Whitey’s evidently growmg per- plexity; and then things developed into a grouping of Denton uppermost with Whitey’s throat in his hand, his knee on Whitey’s chest, and a tearful Whitey with a blaclx face, protruding tongue and broken finger endeav- oring to explain the misunderstanding by means of hoarse sounds. Moreover, it was evident that among the bystanders there had never been a more popular person than Denton. Denton with proper precaution, released his antag- onist and stood up. His blood seemed changed to some sort of fluid fire, his limbs felt light and supernaturally strong. The idea that he was a martyr in the civiliza- tion machine had vanished from his mind. He was a -man in a world of men. The little ferret-faced man was the first in the com- petition to pat him on the back. The lender of oil cans was a radiant sun of genial congratulation. .. . It seemed incredible to Denton that he had ever thought of despair. Denton was convinced that not only had he to go on through with things, but that he could. He sat on the canvas pallet expounding this new aspect to Elizabeth. One side of his face was bruised. She had not recently fought, she had not been patted on the back, there were no hot bruises upon her face, only a pallor and a new line or so about the mouth. She was taking the woman’s share. She looked steadfastly at Denton in his new mood of prophecy. “I feel that there is something,” he was saying, “something that goes on, a Being or Life in which we live and move and have our being, some- thing that began fifty—a hundred million years ago, perhaps, that goes on—on: growing, spreading, to things beyond us—things that will justify us all.... That will explain and justify my fighting—these bruises, and all the pain of it. It’s the chisel—yes, the chisel of the Maker, If only I could make you feel as I feel, if I could make you! You will, dear, I know you will.” “No,” she said in a low voice. “So I might have thought—” She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I have thought as well. What you say—doesiit t convince me.’ : She looked at his face resolutely. “I hate it,” she said, and caught at her breath. “You do not under- stand, you do not think, There was a time when you said things and I believed them. I am growing wiser. You are a man, you can fight, force your way. You do not mind bruises. You can be coarse and ugly, and still a man. Yes—it makes you. It makes you. You are right. Only a woman is not like that. We are different. We have let ourselves get civilized too soon. This underworld i is not for us.’ “No, I shall not.” ' city in ‘which his flukes were made. 141 She paused and began again. “T hate it! I hate this horrible canvas! I hate it more than—more than the worst that can happen. It hurts my fingers to touch rt. It is horrible to the skin. And the women J work with day after day! I lie awake at nights and think how I may be growing like tien, = She stopped. “I am growing like them,” she cried passionately, Denton stared at her distress. ‘‘But—” he said and stopped. “You don’t understand. What have 1? What have Ito save me? You can fight. Fighting is man’s work. But women—women are different. . . . I have thought it all out, I have done nothing but think night and day. Look at the color of my face! I cannot go on. I can- not endure this life . . . I cannot endure it.” She stopped. She hesitated. “You do not know all,” she said abruptly, and for an instant her lips had a bitter smile. “I have been asked to leave you.” “Leave me!” She made no answer save an affirmative movement of the head. D ENTON stood up sharply. They stared at one an- other through a long silence. Suddenly she turned herself about, and flung face downward upon their canvas bed. She did not sob, she made no sound, She lay still upon her face. After a vast, distressful void her shoulders heaved and she be- gan to weep silently. . “Elizabeth!” he whispered—“Elizabeth!” Very, softly he sat down beside her, bent down, put his arm across her in a doubtful caress, seeking vainly for some clue to this intolerable situation. “Elizabeth,” he whispered in her ear. She thrust him from her with her hand, bear a child to be a slave!” bitter weeping. Denton’s face changed—became blank dismay. Pres- ently he slipped from the bed and stood on his feet. All the complacency had vanished from his face, had given place to impotent rage. He began to rave and curse at the intolerable forces which pressed upon him, at all the accidents and hot desires and heedlessness that mock the life of man. His little voice rose in that little room, and he shook his fist, this animalcule of the earth, at all that environed him about, at the millions about him, at his past and future and all the insensate vastness “T cannot and broke out into loud and of the overwhelming city. CHAPTER V. Bindon Intervenes N Bindon’s younger days he had dabbled in specu- lation and made three brilliant flukes. For the rest of his life he had the wisdom to let gambling alone, and the conceit to believe himself a very clever man. A certain desire for influence and reputation interested him in the business intrigues of the giant He became at last one of the most influential shareholders in the conmicldboolkks.conn