Crittenden

He was flipping at one shaft with the cracker of his whip and not

looking at her, and Judith kept silent; but she was watching his face.

"It's time," he went on, with slow humour. "So far, I've just missed

being what I should have been; doing what I should have done--by a

hair's breadth. I did pretty well in college, but thereafter, when

things begin to count! Law? I never got over the humiliation of my first

ridiculous failure. Business? I made a fortune in six weeks, lost it in

a month, and was lucky to get out without having to mortgage a farm.

Politics? Wharton won by a dozen votes. I just missed being what my

brother is now--I missed winning you--everything! Think of it! I am

five feet eleven and three-quarters, when I should have been full six

feet. I am the first Crittenden to fall under the line in a century. I

have been told"--he smiled--"that I have missed being handsome. There

again I believe I overthrow family tradition. My youth is going--to no

purpose, so far--and it looks as though I were going to miss life

hereafter as well as here, since, along with everything else, I have

just about missed faith."

He was quite sincere and unsparing, but had Judith been ten years older,

she would have laughed outright. As it was, she grew sober and

sympathetic and, like a woman, began to wonder, for the millionth time,

perhaps, how far she had been to blame.

"The comfort I have is that I have been, and still am, honest with

myself. I haven't done what I ought not and then tried to persuade

myself that it was right. I always knew it was wrong, and I did it

anyhow. And the hope I have is that, like the man in Browning's poem, I

believe I always try to get up again, no matter how often I stumble. I

sha'n't give up hope until I am willing to lie still. And I guess, after

all--" he lifted his head suddenly--"I haven't missed being a man."

"And a gentleman," added Judith gently.

"According to the old standard--no." Crittenden paused.

The sound of buggy wheels and a fast-trotting horse rose behind them.

Raincrow lifted his head and quickened his pace, but Crittenden pulled

him in as Basil and Phyllis swept by. The two youngsters were in high

spirits, and the boy shook his whip back and the girl her

handkerchief--both crying something which neither Judith nor Crittenden

could understand. Far behind was the sound of another horse's hoofs, and

Crittenden, glancing back, saw his political enemy--Wharton--a girl by

his side, and coming at full speed. At once he instinctively gave half

the road, and Raincrow, knowing what that meant, shot out his feet and

Crittenden tightened the reins, not to check, but to steady him. The

head of the horse behind he could just see, but he went on talking

quietly.