Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 105, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1919 — An Insistent Insult [ARTICLE]

An Insistent Insult

By FIELD DOUGAL

{Copyright.) When Barbara reached the station in Lucca the train was almost clanking out. i “Pronti!” yelled the little-legged conductor, and the engine began its penny-whistle toot. There was no time to hunt for a compartment reserved for women only. Barbara dashed for the nearest door and climbed in just as the wheels creaked starting. She waved a hand to the Partridges, the friends whom she left behind. There was a question ventured from them relative to women traveling alone. “I guess an American girl can take care of herself,” Barbara answered jauntily. “But you may telegraph the Bensons to meet the train in Florence. I forgot that." Then distance reduced her to “Byby” and another wave of the hand. The compartment was empty, anyway, except that in the farther corner was an Italian, come from Pisa, doubtless. But he was asleep and didn’t matter. She slapped open the Ruskin that had been the cause of the Partridges’ discomfiture. “Mornings In Florence” it was, and she read “Before the Soldan” in anticipation of a new visit to Santa Croce. Oh, dear, there was so much to see! She hoped she would remember most of it when she got back to Detroit. Her woman’s f club wanted her to talk on the history of Italian art; she talked very well for a girl of twenty-four, if she did think it herself. At Pistoja a man climbed in at the door opposite, without jolting the Italian. Barbara slapped open her book again, and read “The Golden Gate.” She must remember that Ghirlandajo wasn’t great, after all; Ruskin said so. She didn’t deign to notice the intruder who sat down opposite the sleeper. But the. intruder apparently deigned to notice her. She could catch a hint of a sight of him out of the corner of her eye, enough to know. Well, he had reason; though Barbara only half admitted to herself she admitted it. Now, howeyer, the newcomer actually dared to move over and sit opposite her. , She was too deep in Ruskin to care, of course, but it was queer. And, well—l never! Was he speaking to her? “Lei parla inglese, signorina?” Barbara looked up blankly. She skimmed details; brown hair and eyes, good eyebrows, clean-cut face; thirtyfive, she thought, perhaps a little more. “Suppose I do?” Barbara answered pertly. “Well, then—-perhaps—you will allow me to talk to you?” the man replied, in the intonation of the British Isle. “Why should I?” said Barbara. “We’re both English.” “I’m not, and you know it. I suppose you think that you can talk to me because I’m an American. You English' always think us unconventional. So we are, but —” Barbara paused, breathless. She was taking care of herself. “I didn’t mean to offend you—really. I beg your pardon.” He said it like a gentleman. Barbara felt she had been rude. “I’m not offended,” she said amicably. “It’s just my way.” “American?” quizzically. Seeing his eyes, she liked him for the-slap. “Perhaps; but I’m too patriotic to admit it.” He looked at her. “You must forgive me for speaking to you. I have a Reason." Barbara did not blurt the “Well, I never!” but it thumped inside of her. Then she fell to glancing at the only reason conceivable, and was pleased. “You may talk if you wish. What do you want to talk about?” He cast a half-glance at the Ruskin In her lap. “You are interested in painting?” he suggested. “Yes. I’m looking It up. Been to Lucca to see the Fra Bartolommeos —interesting influence on Raphael.” She poured the phrases headlong. The stranger smiled. “You Americans are very energetic,” he said. i “Don’t you care about pictures?” “Oh, yes,” he answered, “in a lazy way. I have a few at home- —old family Vandykes, you know, and some portraits of the eighteenth century. I’m looking a bit about me here. Been to PistQja for a few days, looking for a Lorenzo di Credi; staying now at Prato for a few days—the elder Lippi at his best, you know, all over the choir.” “Yes, I know. I haven’t seen the Prato frescos yet; but I’m going to run out to them from Florence.” “Why don't v you stop off now at Prato? Well soon be there. I’d like to show the pictures to you. There’s another train for Florence in two hours.” This time Barbara did blurt out: “Well, I never!” Then she added, with pert, offended dignity: “My friends will meet me in Florence station.” She italicized the sentence as she spoke it, to show the man that she was well protected.;. .;• ■; “I shall read my Ruskin till I get there,” she added saucily, ripping the book open upside down.

-2 “I want you not to consider nae rude,’* he answered. “I’m not considerlng you at all," Barbara snapped, her eyes riveted on the topsyturvy volume. “You can wake up that Italian and talk to him if you still feel in need of conversation.” She noticed with exasperation what was wrong with Ruskin, and turned the book about. “I should not continue to bother you if I didn’t have a reason. It is really necessary that I should talk to you.” Barbara studied Ruskin. “What my reason is I cannot explain ; but it is very serious.” Still she .studied. = “I jnust insist that you listen to me.” She raised her hand toward a little brass ring above her head. Then she darted at him: "Do you want me to yank that danger signal and stop the train?” “No! Stop!” he shouted, starting nervously. Barbara reveled in that nervous start of his. “You’re afraid, are you? Well, be quiet, or I’ll do it.” Then she ground her teeth, determined. He was silent for some minutes. Then he tried her on another tack. “We may have mutual acquaintances,” he ventured. “I haven’t told you my name. It is Crosby.” He paused. “Carrol Crosby.” “What! The painter? I don’t believe you.” He drdw forth a card. “Please,” he said pleadingly. She was intent on being intent upon her book, but he had her now. She couldn’t help being curious. She read R. A. upon the card. Her rudeness came over her with a qualm. «I_l’ve heard abbut you from the Bensons,” she said humbly. Tm so sorry.” “Sorry that you’ve heard about me?” He laughed to put her at her ease. “You mean the Hyland Bensons, I suppose. I know his landscapes.” “They’re the people that are to meet me at Florence,” Barbara whimpered. “I’ve been rude. You’ll think me awful. But”—here her spirit sprang to self-defense —“you know what you suggested.” “You believe me now to be a gentleman of honor?” “Oh, don’t! That isn’t kind. It hurts.” “Forgive me,” Crosby said. “But I want you to understand me. I had, and still have, a very good reason for asking you to stop off with me' at Prato. The Fra Filippo Lippis were only an excuse.” “The reason?” There was a flurry in Barbara’s breast. Was he going to be foolish, after all? Other men had been foolish ; they had even praised her turnedup nose. But she knew she wasn’t pretty; at least, she didn’t think so. “It Is not a personal one,” Crosby answered. And Barbara —she didn’t know why —was a little hurt. “What is It, then?” “I cannot tell you; but It is a very potent one. I beg you to believe me when I say that it is necessary—really necessary—that you leave this train with me at Prato.” “I don’t see why.” “Then I shall go with you to Florence.”~ Barbara wondered. “But that wouldn’t do as well,” he added gravely. “If you will get out wdth me at Prato—and you must —I shall tell you the reason as soon as the train has left the station.” “Why not now?” “I have told you that I cannot The next train for Florence will be along in a couple of hours. I will telegraph the Partridges. While you are waiting I shall stay with you, or leave you, just as you choose. My purpose will then be fulfilled.” His purpose! Are you trying to see if you can command me?” Barbara asked him ’sharply. “Men are strong; but women are stubborn.” “I don’t commander beg. You will thank me. The Partridges will thank me. A gentleman would never be as rude as I have been unless he had good reason.” - 4 The word “rude” stung her. “Here’s Prato now. Will you trust me?” His eyes joined his voice in pleading with her. Barbara had never yet been beaten by a man. Her pride still bristled up when th*> train put on the brakes. “Won’t you Srust me?” He asked it as a favor. She wondered now if she would\ yield. The train clattered to a full stop. Crosby opened the door of the compartment. “Come,” he said, commanding. Barbara followed him. He said nothing till the train had gone. “Will you tell me why Pm here?” Barbara asked him pertly. “Yes. But I want to compliment you first upon your fortitude. An English girl would have actef differently. If I had known you from the first, I might have decided not to speak to you, after all.” don’t meT* salJ Barba.rtu “That’s too bad.” “I like you very much,” he answered. “Did you make me get out just to tell me that?” “No.” “Why, then ?’ “Did you notice that Italian in the car?” “It is not my custom to notice strangers.” Then she added, to soothe away the sting: “Especially when they are foreigners qsleep.” “He wasn’t asleep,” said Crosby. “His hat was down. You couldn’t see. 1 sat opposite. His throat was cut from ear to ear.”