--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Fishel, Ruth, and Fred McLaughlin collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 29 number: 5 published: 1926-03 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Fishel, Ruth, and Fred McLaughlin, “The Hermit,” *Improvement Era* 29, no. 5 (March 1926): 452–460." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2905unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2905unse start_page: 452 end_page: 460 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1926-03) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2905unse publication_year: 1926 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1926, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Hermit THE HERMIT By Ruth Fishel and Fred McLaughlin As the sun went down behind the low Florida coast, Miss Bettina Crosby — grown suddenly famous as a novelist — crouched amid the ornate furnishings of her motor boat and bailed — bailed frenziedly, desperately, hopelessly. Each green, oncoming wave lifted the boat, and breaking into hissing yellow foam, contributed its fateful burden of water, then slid out from under the helpless craft, which plunged again into the trough, while the girl held on in breathless terror. Resting a moment from her labors she contemplated the shining brass and silver and polished mahogany. "A motor boat," she gasped " — what could be more useless than a motor boat with a dead motor?" She choked back a sob. "Not even an oar! If I ever get out of this — ■" A gull, idly curious, flew low, studying her. For an hour now he had followed her. The mastery of his magic wings infuriated her; she suddenly hated the dark, button-like, expressionless eyes. She swung her arms wildly and yelled. He swept away in a graceful curve and came back, ever watchful, ever near. She studied the plunging sea and the scudding clouds. The constant splashing slap of waves and the tearing shriek of the wind had strained her nerves to the breaking point, the futile frenzied labor of bailing had worn her body to a tired, helpless numbness. Utter lone- liness took possession of her. All the world that she had known seemed suddenly gone. There was left only icy water that chilled her, only the foam-flecked sky and a wild tumultuous sea — a con- stantly menacing sea that promised death with every topling wave. "Smart!" she gasped. "That's what I was. They said it was going to blow, and I laughed at them — laughedl" She took a long breath and watched the boat fill. "Well, I — I guess there's nothing." A lump came up in her throat. They will miss me — I guess." She quailed before a monster wave that drenched her and, cowering in the bottom of the boat, sobbed out her helpless misery. She watched each wave as it came. She wondered with a sort of detached fascination if that wave would be the last. She wondered too how long she might be able to swim, yet she knew that a minute would be just the same as an hour. The water crept up around her body. As the shining brass and silver and mahogany went down she kept her head above the sur- face and her eyes upon the last green rolling ridge that bore down upon her. She saw, as in a dream, a tiny boat with a huge lug- sail top the foaming crest, dip, and careening crazily, slide down the side of the wave. THE HERMIT 455 "The — the Hermit," she sobbed. "Bless him!" She watched him shorten the sail and put the rudder down, saw the boat come around like a thing of intelligence, felt the grip of muscular fingers on her shoulder, the clasp of strong arms, and finally, the comforting warmth of some soft enfolding garment. After two hours of grevious buffetings, the Hermit brought his tiny craft safely through the line of guarding islands and sailed slowly up the silvery bay under a glorious tropical moon. Warm now and comfortably cuddled against the mast, she watched him through half-closed eyes. The coarse brown shirt and heavy corduroys could not conceal the easy grace of the man. He still wore the huge blue goggles that had piqued her curiosity weeks be- fore. Putt-putting past his crude house-boat snuggled among the willows, she had seen him loafing lazily in the sun, with his blue goggles, and a book — always alone. Many times she had passed him and his craft, with its unwieldy sail, scudding precariously before the wind or tacking laboriously homeward. She had called him the Hermit, and her mother, practical and progressive, had laughed at her. She moved, and he turned his head slightly. "All right?" His voice held a vibrant note of anxiety. "Umph-humph." He moved restlessly. "Did you know it was going to blow?" She sat up suddenly and studied him. "Shame to lose that beautiful boat," he mused. "Oh!" she gasped. "The boat indeed — humph!" He raised his head and smiled at the moon. "Does the sun hurt your eyes," she asked, " — and the sea?" He nodded. "And the moon?" "Not at all." He took off the offending goggles and put them in the pocket of hi9 shirt. "That's a lot better." She liked his eyes; the blue of them was almost purple in the moonlight. "I've been calling you the Hermit," she confided. "I saw you go out," he explained, "and the wind came up. You — you didn't come back — " "So you risked your life in that storm?" "I like it; it's great, to see what you can do — when you have to. You will have to buy another boat." "Sure." She was silent a minute. "They told me it would blow; I — I shouldn't have gone out, but — " "You had to," he finished for her; "I understand. We have to try everything once. We are not as considerate of our parents as we should be, Miss Crosby — " "Then you know?" 456 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Of course; besides, your picture is in the Miami paper, with a long write-up of your life, and a most favorable criticism of 'Angela Comes Alive.' It has been proclaimed the greatest novel of the year. You are to be congratulated; you're famous almost overnight. Don't you feel * * * ?" He was smiling at her happily, but he found no answering smile in her eyes; only surprise and hurt, and a little fear. She sprang to her feet and held to the mast for support. "If you ever mention that despicable book again, I'll — •" "It's a beautiful book," he broke in softly, "a beautiful book." He touched the rudder and the boat swung silently in toward the tiny landing, which led, by a narrow drive-way flanked with palms, to the Crosby mansion. "I'm sorry," she said contritely. "You were very fine and brave. Please don't mention the book again." He nodded and she went on: "Mother will want to thank you; will you — will you come up and see Mother?" He looked at the dim white house, lacy and beautiful in the moonlit distance; he studied the girl, slim, lovely, with her great gray eyes and her youthful eagerness, and then he looked down at his own crude outfit. "Perhaps I'd better wait," he said; "don't you think I'd better?" There was a pleading earnestness in his voice that thrilled her. "Alright." "And I will see you sometime?" She held out her hand. "You will, unless you and your boat and — and your blue goggles disappear entirely from the earth." Then she left him — left him standing alone on the little wharf, watching her until she disappeared among the other wraiths in the moonlight. Hurrying toward the house she took no note of the slim, sentinel- like trunks of the palms, or of the velvety smoothness of lawn, checkered with silver and brown. She was cold, cold from the wet and clinging garments; and hot, boiling with unreasoning rage against her mother. She was buoyed by a new and indescribable thrill, and nerveless and broken by the strain of her escapade. She was a living panorama of emotions. She burst in upon her mother and father. Her father sat, half lost, in a great chair with deep leather cushions. He was pale, with scant gray hair, empty, inefficient hands, and a dreamy sort of imagery in his eyes. He raised a news- paper futilely as his daughter entered. "There she is, Caroline — at last," he said. "I've seen him," she cried breathlessly; "he has the nicest eyes, and the whitest teeth, and his shoulders — he — " "You're all wet, Bettina," said her mother. Mr. Crosby half raised himself from the cushions. "Why, THE HERMIT 457 Caroline, I never heard you use slang." "She's been in the water," explained Caroline. "I went beyond the islands and a storm blew me out to sea. The motor quit, and — " "You were out in that storm — Betty?" "Yes, mother; and the boat sank- He picked me up out of the ocean. She laughed shrilly. "He picked me up in that crazy cat- boat of his. He had followed me. Then he put back and worked it into the storm. It took hours." She clasped her hands against her heaving bosom. "Ah, what a man!" "Who?" "The Hermit, Mother." "Oh, the Hermit." Her mother spoke with fine sarcasm: "And he has the nicest eyes, has he, and the whitest teeth^-and his shoulders — " "Now, Caroline," said Mr. Crosby, gently chiding. "Humph, the Hermit — the long-shoreman with his indolence and his uncouth apparel and his foolish blue goggles — who is the Hermit?" "I — I don't know, Mother, but — " "Go change your clothes, Bettina," said Caroline with heavy finality; "I want to talk to you." * * * The Hermit dug a hole in the white sand with a heavy heel. He looked out over the blue and silver bay to the line of barrier islands which served always to spend the strength of breakers. A few white gulls rode high on the surface of the water and a lone blue crane came winging up the bay in long, laborious lunges. "A great university, Betty," he was saying, "can teach a man a lot of useless things." "But you did something, Ted — didn't you?" "Umph humph. Let's see: I was right half-back for two years, I won the pole vault, I was the best ukulele player in the Sigma Chi, and I used to fling a wicked barytone." "It that all?" She studied the gentle ripples at their feet, a mute hopelessness in her eyes. "It that all?" "No indeed." He brightened up. "I was editor of the Uni- versity magazine, and I spent twenty thousand dollars in four years." She drew in a long breath. "And since then?" "I tried newspaper work, but my stuff was not newspaper style; too much imagination, too little fact. They threw me out. I spent a year in my father's office in New York. Another flop. The Governor had a right to be disgusted. Funny how sons can be so different. He staked me again. He said that the world was full of opportunities. He told me to find one of them and bring it home, but not to come home without it. I haven't." He spread his arms wide. "Oh well." 458 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Go on, Ted," she urged. "So I came here and got the unbeautiful house-boat and that rustic, awkward looking thing with the over-size sail." "And you have written?" He nodded. "It has been a little quiet here and, up to the time of that heaven-sent storm, a bit lonesome. Since then I've been very, very happy. Betty, you — " She touched his hand gently. "You finished your book, didn't you, Ted?" He smiled happily. She loved that smile because she saw in it all the yearning eagerness of his heart. "Yes, I rewrote it — after I met you, and something of you went into it. It gave me such a joy to write it." His rich blue eyes were searching her face hungrily. "Some of the fine idealism of you went into that book, some of the sweet and winning frankness, some of the loveliness, and the ever delightful, varying moods of you. When you read a book you make yourself the hero, and someone very dear to you the heroine, and you live the love scenes over and over again; when you write one —ah!" "You're nice, Ted," she said softly. "Since I picked you up out of the ocean you've been a lode- star of love, of ambition. For the first time life seemed worth while. The book was a labor of love, Betty; it is you, and because it is you it will go." "I'm glad for you, Ted." She leaned against his shoulder. "If it lands, Bettina, honey, I'm going to ask you to marry me." "No," she said, "no." She tried vainly to push away from him. "No, Ted, never!" "Why, honey; you love me?" The eager yearning in his fine eyes and the fading hope in his voice hurt her. "You love me, don't you?" She nodded against his shoulder. "But I c-can't marry you — never!" "Never is a long time, Betty; I thought — " "I know — but I can't." He put his hand under the sweetly pointed chin, and lifting the wistful face, studied the clear gray eyes until he saw tears beginning to form. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said gently. "If you love me, is there any reason why you cannot marry me? Surely you can tell me why." I "Because I'm a fraud." She hid her face against him. "A faker, a hypocrite — " "No," he said; "just a sweet, slim little angel with the wonder- fullest gray eyes, and the softest brown curls, and the most adorable red lips — lips just made for kissing, and — " "Don't, please — don't kiss me again, Ted — please; you — you THE HERMIT 459 make it so hard for me. Oh, I'm miserable, unhappy, fearful. Why didn't you let me die in the ocean? Every day I wait for the crash." "Crash? There can't be a crash." Far away across the tiny inlet he could see the ornate gate that led into the Crosby estate, a thing of wealth and magnificence. "There can't be a crash, Betty; your — your book must have paid you a fortune. You — " "The book is just the trouble, Ted; can't you see?" He waited for her to continue. "See what, honey? I can see only a very lovely face." "Listen, Ted, dear; I must tell you — then I'm going away. I've been waiting for the thing to happen, as it must, some day. When it does I cannot face you." "I'm listening, honey, but I warn you — " "You think you are in love with a great author, don't you?" "I know I'm in love, but — " She rushed on, headlong: "One whose book is selling by the thousands, one whose name is on the lips of everyone who reads, whose picture may be found in magazines and in the papers, whose every childish prank has been depicted for the multitude. Oh — " She was sobbing frenziedly. "Ted, I — I didn't write that book." She held to the lapels of his coat. "I didn't write it, Ted; I couldn't write a decent paragraph to save my life. It's all a beastly sordid plot — a trick!" She was crying softly against his shoulder. "Now you will hate me, and — Oh, I — I love you so!" He held her close, kissing the soft shining curls, the tear- wet eyes, and the sweet tremulous mouth. She reached up and touched his cheek. "Whatever was done," he said after a long silence, "you could not have done it; I think you could not have prevented it." "I must tell you, Ted. Yes, you must let me tell you. You — you still love me a little?" "More than ever, honey." He was smiling happily. She imagined she found a great relief in his face, as though he had feared some impending catastrophe, and had suddenly discovered his fears to be groundless. "Mother is a kind of a — a — " " — a Roman?" "Yes, Ted," she smiled wanly; "a Roman. Dad is a sort of dreamer, but a dear — like you, Ted. Don't kiss me until I have finished — wait! Where was I? Dad had a little electrical shop, and puttered with his foolish inventions. Not so able, nor so successful, but happy, dear; and that counts for so much. Let me talk — I'll never get through if you keep on kissing me; you can kiss me afterward. Wait, Ted. "Mother made him sell out, sold his shop, sold the home. I suppose she got twenty thousand for all of it. In five years she 460 IMPROVEMENT ERA ran that into a vast fortune. I think it was mainly Florida real estate. Mother usually gets what she goes after." Bettina waved her hand toward the Crosby estate. "After that mother waited, but people — the people — drove by the beautiful gate. Do you see, Ted?" The Hermit nodded. "I didn't seem to care for the social stuff, which of course made it harder for mother, but obstacles for mother are only stepping stones to success. "Literary people always have entree. Therefore I must write a book, I must be famous. Everything that mother did she did for me. Few people have ever prevailed against her will. A book — even an ordinary book — may be so advertised as to sell, and sell extensively. "Mother finally found a struggling author with a novel — a sort of bureau drawer masterpiece. You know, Ted?" "Yes, I know," said the Hermit ruefully; "most novels are bureau drawer masterpieces." "So she bought it; for a thousand dollars she bought 'Angela Comes Alive' from Mr. Arlo Anderson. All rights to it — authorship, royalties, everything. Ted, I knew nothing about it until the book was out. I never saw Mr. Anderson, I hope I — I never see him, but there is no probability that he will keep quiet now that the book is a hit. And when Arlo Anderson does show up — Oh Ted, I'm afraid!" "Why worry; didn't your mother buy the thing?" "Yes, but — " "Hadn't she the legal right to do what she did?" "Yes." "Then everyone can know." "Ted, you're a dreamer, and a dear, but you don't see very far ahead. When people find out that Bettina Crosby, advertised author of 'Angela Comes Alive,' did not write the novel they are going to laugh me off the face of the earth. I c-can't stand it. Arlo Anderson will come back, there will be blackmail — •" "No, sweetheart!" "I want to get away from it, to hide; Oh, to have been a party to such a hoax! Don't you hate me, Ted? You're so fine, so clean, so honorable; can you love me now? Why, you're crying, dear; what is it?" "Just tears of happiness, honey. Will you marry me, Betty, if my book lands?" "Yes — whether it lands or not; I won't be able to help myself." "May I kiss you now?" "Umph humph." Slim shadows of palm trees lengthened across the inlet. THE HERMIT 461 "I'm coming up tonight, Betty; may I?" "Umph humph." The girl laughed a little. "Mother will be surprised when she discovers that my long-shoreman, as she calls you, is Ted Meredith." "Yes, your mother will be surprised," said Ted. Mrs. Meredith has taken mother up, as you know," said Bettina, "and people — the people — do not pass the gate any more." "Fine," said the Hermit; "I'll bring mother tonight." "Ted — you can't; you've never been home since — since — " "Since the Governor gave me the gate, but he told me to bring home an opportunity, and I'm going to do it." "You came here to be near your mother, Ted, didn't you?" "Sure. No one knows me around here; I've been away at school. Besides, the outfit — and the blue goggles' — made up a satis- factory camouflage. I'm taking home an opportunity today, Betty, and I think the Governor will be glad to see me." Mrs. Caroline Crosby bit off the sunny side of a* peach and chewed contentedly. Bettina, with fair young face upturned, trans- figured, studied the golden moon. Her mother's voice broke into her reverie: "Mrs. Meredith is coming over tonight, Bettina." "How nice," said Bettina. "And she's bringing her son, who has just come home. Mrs. Meredith has spoken so often of her son. I hope you like him." "Umph humph," said Bettina. "I have been harboring a faint hope," continued Mrs. Crosby tentatively, "that young Mr. Meredith might take the place of your long-shoreman." "Me too," said Bettina. "Your conduct, my dear, with that creature has been little short of reprehensible. It has been a source of disappointment to me. The Merediths, as you know, are — " But Mrs. Crosby didn't finish, for a motor car, swinging into the drive, swept the magnificent porch with a sudden flare of light. Bettina fled, and her mother went out to meet them. The two women pecked each other perfunctorily on the cheek, and then the hostess held out her hand to the gentleman who had been proudly introduced as "my son." She saw a faultlessly attired young man with frank blue eyes and a most engaging smile on his bronzed, handsome face. "Mr. Anderson!" she gasped " — Arlo Anderson! How in the world — " Ted shook the limp hand. "Not at all," he said, winking portentiously, "Mr. Meredith." "But you — -" "Ted, you rascal," broke in his mother, "what kind of a game have you been playing?" "Just a little joke on Mrs. Crosby." He winked again. 462 IMPROVEMENT ERA Anyone who has run twenty thousand dollars into a million can- not by any stretch of imagination be considered simple. Mrs Crosby laughed. "It was a happy laugh, a laugh full of pent-up emotions, of relief. "Ted has written a book," said Mrs. Meredith happily, "and the publishers have just accepted it — and sent him a check. His father is very proud of him." "Isn't that fine?" said Mrs. Crosby. "And I thought it would be so nice if he and Bettina — you see, both are interested in literature." "Ye-es," said Mrs. Crosby. "You see — " Ted squared his shoulders " — your daughter has done me the honor to promise to marry me, and — " Mrs. Crosby gasped again. "She — she never saw you!" Young Meredith smiled at her. She considered the deep blue of his eyes, the even white teeth, and the shoulders. "The Hermit!" He nodded. "Sure." "I'm sunk," said Mrs. Crosby. They heard a light step and knew that Bettina was coming. Ted Meredith turned quickly to his prospective mother-in-law. "Arlo Anderson is dead," he breathed, "forever and ever." "Amen!" said Mrs. Crosby. Washington, D. C. My Guide Unworthily I tread the path toward God, Though oft my tears rain down upon the mountain sod. The Master's footsteps I but dimly trace, And yet I follow meekly, through his grace; I needs must travel brier and thicket, marsh and flood, Whate'er betide, I know that God is good. I know my Lord has passed along this way, Submitting to his Father's will — his hope and stay. I wander far afield and heavy grows my load, But love divine fresh vision gives to see the road Where flowers and fragrant roses strew the beaten track; I whisper thanks to him who draws me back. The Christ life beckons ever up the grassy slopes Toward peace and calm content and heightened hopes; I proudly gird my armour on, renew the fight, Since he has promised strength and power to do the right — Though friends forsake and I may seem alone, His tender Spirit will be there to fortify my own. Kershaw N. White. Salt Lake City