TOM AND NED

As the days passed a picturesque, rustic structure arose above the rough bridge and closed it in. No taint of bare or trimmed wood was there about it, the little dim resting-place being devised entirely of timber clothed in its natural bark.

And as this work progressed Tom and his companion became close friends. Whalen had seen fighting in France and had a wound on his shoulder to show for it. Tom had also been “over there” and they found much to talk of while they worked and especially in their stroll to and from the hotel at luncheon time.

Tom always ate his luncheon with the men. He enjoyed this, and it left his conscience clear in the matter of dining with Ferris and Audry in the cottage each night. One and all, the workers took his affiliation with the “executive mansion” kindly enough. They seemed not to think it strange that he should make his headquarters there.

It would have been an unreasonable person indeed who could have thought ill of Tom. He was so simple and so friendly with all, that he soon became a general favorite. If the men thought of his identity with the cottage at all they probably thought of it good-humoredly in the light of his ready submission to the charms of Audry Ferris. He was rather younger than the rest of them.

“They treat me pretty fine, I’ll say that,” he observed to Ned Whalen one day at work.

“All the world loves a lover,” said Ned Whalen.

“What do you mean by that?” Tom snapped.

“I mean all the world loves a diligent pupil. That better?”

“I’d like to know what you mean by that?”

“Don’t you approve of a good pupil? When I went to school—”

“Yes, that’s always the way you change things around,” Tom said impatiently. “You make it sound as if you mean something else. No wonder they say you’re sarcastic.”

“They? You’re not such a good pupil after all. You don’t know the singular from the plural.”

“Well, she then,” snapped Tom. “And I admit she’s a mighty smart girl. She’s forgotten more than I ever knew, that’s sure.”

“She’s the forgetful kind, huh?”

“Why look at the books she reads,” said Tom. “Good Citizenship and Character Building and all things like that. I haven’t got brains enough to understand them—I admit it.”

“Arbor building is more in your line, huh?”

“There you go again.”

“I’m just saying that you made a good job of the little shrine in the forest. Looks pretty neat, huh?” They were sitting each on one of the two rustic seats, lolling for a few minutes before going home for the day. “We ought to fell another tree and saw the trunk in half and lay the two pieces side by side over that space right there. It’ll be muddy there in the spring and fall. What d’you say?”

“To-morrow,” said Tom.

“Any time,” said Whalen.

“And another thing,” said Tom.

“I seem to be in for it,” laughed Whalen.

“No, but you speak of this place as if I planned it and built it. It’s just as much your work as mine. That’s always the way you talk before the bunch. Didn’t you suggest the seats? Who said about having thatch on the top?”

“Guilty,” said Ned.

“Well then,” concluded Tom.

“You’d better not spring that stuff up at the cottage,” said Ned.

“No? Why not? You’re just as good a friend of mine as—as—”

“Fairgreaves?”

“As anybody,” said Tom coloring. “I’ve learned more from you than you could ever learn from me, that’s sure. And look at your war record—Reims, Verdun, the Marne—Why, I haven’t even got a wound.”

“I’m sorry,” said Whalen.

“No, but that’s just your darned sarcastic way,” said Tom. “You don’t give anybody a chance to praise you or like you. Look at the way you came down here with the legitt just as if you were a tenderfoot and just did everything I suggested without letting me know that you know all about the woods and everything. It just makes me feel like a fool when I think how I told you things. And you ten years older than I am and a regular A-1 scout!”

“Terrible,” said Whalen.

“It just makes me feel like a fool,” said Tom.

“Don’t let anybody make you feel like a fool, Tommy boy; not even the Good Citizen—or the character architect. You’re all to the good, Tommy, only you don’t know it.”

“I know what you mean by that, you mean Audry Ferris. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’ve learned a lot from her.”

“Fine.”

“She doesn’t know you, that’s the trouble with her,” persisted Tom generously. “She doesn’t know how generous and friendly and all that you are. You never tell anybody anything about your history. Why, she didn’t even know you had a wound till I told her. She hasn’t found you out as I have.”

“That’s where you’re smarter than she is,” said Ned.

“I’d just like her to see that wound,” said Tom.

“Oh, she’s too busy loving her country,” said Whalen. “She’s a nice little girl, Tommy, but Mirandy is my favorite.”

Whalen, quiet, ironical, modest and reticent, knew full well of Tom’s liking and admiration for him, for Tom was anxious to show this at every opportunity.

Perhaps it was because Tom had another friendship which he cherished that he felt so ready to acknowledge his fondness and admiration for this taciturn, lonesome man. Being rich in joy he could afford to be open-hearted. He never asked himself where his heart really lay; it was enough to be so opulent in friendships.

Ned Whalen had no friends save Tom. His fancy for the youngster who had been thrown with him was very strong and Tom’s cheery nature and unsophisticated squint seemed to furnish a measure of amusement in his silent, weary life. All the men liked him but he seemed to stand apart as a sort of looker on.

He certainly did not dislike the sweet young girl in whose company Tom found more and more delight. He found amusement in her aggressive, cocksure smartness. He admitted that she was very, very pretty. And he thought that was the best thing about her....