CHAPTER XLII

for—andIwastheloneliestlittledevilintheworld.Irememberonlyonehappydayinmychildhood,Valancy.Onlyone.Evenyouwerebetteroffthanthat.Dadhadgoneouttoseeanoldfriendinthecountryandtookmealong.IwasturnedlooseinthebarnyardandIspentthewholedayhammeringnailsinablockofwood.Ihadagloriousday.WhenIhadtogobacktomyroomfulofplaythingsinthebighouseinMontrealIcried.ButIdidn’ttellDadwhy.Inevertoldhimanything.It’salwaysbeenahardthingformetotellthings,Valancy—anythingthatwentdeep.Andmostthingswentdeepwithme.IwasasensitivechildandIwasevenmoresensitiveasaboy.NooneeverknewwhatIsuffered.Dadneverdreamedofit. “Whenhesentmetoaprivateschool—Iwasonlyeleven—theboysduckedmeintheswimming-tankuntilIstoodonatableandreadaloudalltheadvertisementsofFather’spatentabominations.Ididit—then”—Barneyclinchedhisfists—“Iwasfrightenedandhalfdrownedandallmyworldwasagainstme.ButwhenIwenttocollegeandthesophstriedthesamestuntIdidn’tdoit.”Barneysmiledgrimly.“Theycouldn’tmakemedoit.Buttheycould—anddid—makemylifemiserable.IneverheardthelastofthePillsandtheBittersandtheHairTonic.‘Afterusing’wasmynickname—youseeI’dalwayssuchathickthatch.Myfourcollegeyearswereanightmare.Youknow—oryoudon’tknow—whatmercilessbeastsboyscanbewhentheygetavictimlikeme.Ihadfewfriends—therewasalwayssomebarrierbetweenmeandthekindofpeopleIcaredfor.Andtheotherkind—whowouldhavebeenverywillingtobeintimatewithricholdDoc.Redfern’sson—Ididn’tcarefor.ButIhadonefriend—orthoughtIhad.Aclever,bookishchap—abitofawriter.Thatwasabondbetweenus—Ihadsomesecretaspirationsalongthatline.HewasolderthanIwas—Ilookeduptohimandworshippedhim.ForayearIwashappierthanI’deverbeen.Then—aburlesquesketchcameoutinthecollegemagazine—amordantthing,ridiculingDad’sremedies.Thenameswerechanged,ofcourse,buteverybodyknewwhatandwhowasmeant.Oh,itwasclever—damnablyso—andwitty.McGillrockedwithlaughteroverit.Ifoundouthehadwrittenit.” “Oh,wereyousure?”Valancy’sdulleyesflamedwithindignation. “Yes.HeadmitteditwhenIaskedhim.Saidagoodideawasworthmoretohimthanafriend,anytime.Andheaddedagratuitousthrust.‘Youknow,Redfern,therearesomethingsmoneywon’tbuy.Forinstance—itwon’tbuyyouagrandfather.’Well,itwasanastyslam.Iwasyoungenoughtofeelcutup.Anditdestroyedalotofmyidealsandillusions,whichwastheworstthingaboutit.Iwasayoungmisanthropeafterthat.Didn’twanttobefriendswithanyone.Andthen—theyearafterIleftcollege—ImetEthelTraverse.” Valancyshivered.Barney,hishandsstuckinhispockets,wasregardingthefloormoodilyanddidn’tnoticeit. “Dadtoldyouabouther,Isuppose.Shewasverybeautiful.AndIlovedher.Oh,yes,Ilovedher.Iwon’tdenyitorbelittleitnow.Itwasalonely,romanticboy’sfirstpassionatelove,anditwasveryreal.AndIthoughtshelovedme.Iwasfoolenoughtothin