The Walls of Jericho [antikvár]

There is no such city as Jericho, Kansas. None of the char acter s of this boo\ ever existe d, except in imagination. But the country of which this novel tells, does exist. To some, the fiat plains of America may appear monotonous and uninteresting; but to those who \now them, they are sometimes exciting and often very beautiful, and they are peopled by a race as distinct as the Yan\e e s of New Englandwhom they much resembleor the mountaineers of Kentucky, or the cattlemen of the West. Except for the general character of the High Plains and the people who live upon them, however, this novel is entirely fictional, and any resemblance to real persons or events, of the past or present, is purely coincidental.Paul I. Wellman.Tart OneBELLELCHAPTERI1.HE paused momentarily at the front door before stepping out into the night, and took his pipe from his mouth while he feit in his coat pocket to make sure his keys were with him.A delicate pale thread of smoke rose from the bowl oL the brier in his hand, pleasantly prickling in his nostrils. As his fingers encoun-tered them, the keys clinked dully on their ring. At the same time Belle's voice came, lagging, from the sitting-room."You're going to the station?""Yes," he said. "Tucker would be disappointed if I didn't show up on the reception committee."He said it with a lame attempt at humor; but Belle did not answer. Her mother moved out into the hall in her pink wrapper. Mrs. Dunham was an immensely fleshy woman, and she wore garments festooned with ribbons and lace that accentuated her corpulence. She stood, wordlessly listening, as if awaiting something further from Belle, her great breasts moving, under their flimsy fabric, with her breathing. Something accusing was in her silence; in her daughter's silence. Tucker Wedge was bringing home to Jericho a new wife; an outlander whom nobody in the town knew. The man standing on the porch could feel the heavy disapproval of his wife and his mother-in-law.David Constable closed the door carefully behind him, shutting off the light from the hall. Half-feeling with each foot before he set it down, as a man will whose eyes are still unaccustomed to the night, he went thoughtfully down the front steps until he feit the roughness of the brick sidewalk. The elms spread over him an opaque canopy of foliage, ink black, shutting off the early stars; and against the dying brightness of the west where the twilight still dwelt, an exquisite dry point of branches and feathery leaf sprays was sketched briefly.2THE WALLS OF JERICHOBeauty was in the night. The earth brooded in quietness; yet the warm stillness was relative only.On closer attention he heard, a block away, the tinny rattle of the Horsts' mechanical piano. From the narrow circle of light beneath a Street lamp on the next corner pealed a shrill whinny of laughter, where a knot oL high school girls, like a herd of young mares, endeav-ored to attract the attention of a ranging group of youths of their own age which they had glimpsed momentarily at a distance. High in the dark branches above, a summer locust let go its whirring wings in a mounting series of lazy, rasping sounds, until it passed exhausted back into silence. And from far down over the horizon, made deeply musical by miles of Kansas prairie, came the mournful wail of a distant, speeding train.Dave turnéd his long steps toward a bright nimbus of light which showed above the nearer houses, indicating where "downtown" Jericho was. The genial warmth oL human activity drew at him powerfully.As he turned a corner, a sudden pattern of colored lights, Coming into view against the darkness, gave him a thrill of pleasure.Church windows.A wail of voices. High-pitched women's voices: And he walks with me And he talks with me, And he tells me I am his own; And the joys we share As we tarry there No mortal has ever known . . .Church hymn at prayer meeting. Why, thought Dave with a curious surprise, it's a love song. A woman is teliing of her lover. The shrill voices ached. . Odd for such a song to be disguised as a hymn. Or was it odd? Human hunger, seeking to translate the ineffable into terms of experience . . . the ache in the women's voices seemed suddenly a confession. Joys we share .no mortal has ever known . But they are mortal, he said to himself, ând they feel cheated. Be-cause they do not know the joys they sing, in the sere drabness of their mortal existence. He half-smiíed in sympathy for the women. For all the brave women who hide their disappointments over the manifold imperfections of life, and show them so rarely and in such uncon-sciously pathetic ways.He suddenly lengthened his stride. Prayer meeting at the Community Church started around seven-thirty. It must be nearing eight o'clock now; and that train which had just sent to him its long, far sound would be Number Ninewith Tucker Wedge on it, bringing home a bride to Jericho.