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The Argonauts of North Liberty
by Bret Harte
PART I
CHAPTER I
The bell of the North Liberty Second Presbyterian Church had just
ceased ringing。 North Liberty； Connecticut； never on any day a
cheerful town； was always bleaker and more cheerless on the
seventh； when the Sabbath sun； after vainly trying to coax a smile
of reciprocal kindliness from the drawn curtains and half…closed
shutters of the austere dwellings and the equally sealed and hard…
set churchgoing faces of the people； at last settled down into a
blank stare of stony astonishment。 On this chilly March evening of
the year 1850； that stare had kindled into an offended sunset and
an angry night that furiously spat sleet and hail in the faces of
the worshippers； and made them fight their way to the church； step
by step； with bent heads and fiercely compressed lips； until they
seemed to be carrying its forbidding portals at the point of their
umbrellas。
Within that sacred but graceless edifice； the rigors of the hour
and occasion reached their climax。 The shivering gas…jets lit up
the austere pallor of the bare walls； and the hollow； shell…like
sweep of colorless vacuity behind the cold communion table。
The chill of despair and hopeless renunciation was in the air；
untempered by any glow from the sealed air…tight stove that seemed
only to bring out a lukewarm exhalation of wet clothes and cheaply
dyed umbrellas。 Nor did the presence of the worshippers themselves
impart any life to the dreary apartment。 Scattered throughout the
white pews； in dull； shapeless； neutral blotches； rigidly separated
from each other； they seemed only to accent the colorless church
and the emptiness of all things。 A few children； who had huddled
together for warmth in one of the back benches and who had became
glutinous and adherent through moisture； were laboriously drawn out
and painfully picked apart by a watchful deacon。
The dry； monotonous disturbance of the bell had given way to the
strain of a bass viol； that had been apparently pitched to the key
of the east wind without； and the crude complaint of a new
harmonium that seemed to bewail its limited prospect of ever
becoming seasoned or mellowed in its earthly tabernacle； and then
the singing began。 Here and there a human voice soared and
struggled above the narrow text and the monotonous cadence with a
cry of individual longing； but was borne down by the dull；
trampling precision of the others' formal chant。 This and a
certain muffled raking of the stove by the sexton brought the
temperature down still lower。 A sermon； in keeping with the
previous performance； in which the chill east wind of doctrine was
not tempered to any shorn lamb within that dreary fold； followed。
A spark of human and vulgar interest was momentarily kindled by the
collection and the simultaneous movement of reluctant hands towards
their owners' pockets； but the coins fell on the baize…covered
plates with a dull thud； like clods on a coffin； and the dreariness
returned。 Then there was another hymn and a prolonged moan from
the harmonium； to which mysterious suggestion the congregation rose
and began slowly to file into the aisle。 For a moment they
mingled； there was the silent grasping of damp woollen mittens and
cold black gloves； and the whispered interchange of each other's
names with the prefix of 〃Brother〃 or 〃Sister；〃 and an utter
absence of fraternal geniality； and then the meeting slowly
dispersed。
The few who had waited until the minister had resumed his hat；
overcoat； and overshoes； and accompanied him to the door； had
already passed out； the sexton was turning out the flickering gas
jets one by one； when the cold and austere silence was broken by a
soundthe unmistakable echo of a kiss of human passion。
As the horror…stricken official turned angrily； the figure of a man
glided from the shadow of the stairs below the organ loft； and
vanished through the open door。 Before the sexton could follow；
the figure of a woman slipped out of the same portal and with a
hurried glance after the first retreating figure； turned in the
opposite direction and was lost in the darkness。 By the time the
indignant and scandalized custodian had reached the portal； they
had both melted in the troubled sea of tossing umbrellas already to
the right and left of him； and pursuit and recognition were
hopeless。
CHAPTER II
The male figure； however； after mingling with his fellow…worshippers
to the corner of the block； stopped a moment under the lamp…post
as if uncertain as to the turning； but really to cast a long；
scrutinizing look towards the scattered umbrellas now almost lost
in the opposite direction。 He was still gazing and apparently
hesitating whether to retrace his steps； when a horse and buggy
rapidly driven down the side street passed him。 In a brief glance
he evidently recognized the driver； and stepping over the curbstone
called in a brief authoritative voice：
〃Ned！〃
The occupant of the vehicle pulled up suddenly； leaned from the
buggy； and said in an astonished tone：
〃Dick Demorest！ Well！ I declare！ hold on； and I'll drive up to
the curb。〃
〃No； stay where you are。〃
The speaker approached the buggy； jumped in beside the occupant；
refastened the apron； and coolly taking the reins from his
companion's hand； started the horse forward。 The action was that
of an habitually imperious man； and the only recognition he made
of the other's ownership was the question：
〃Where were you going？〃
〃Hometo see Joan；〃 replied the other。 〃Just drove over from
Warensboro Station。 But what on earth are YOU doing here？〃
Without answering the question； Demorest turned to his companion
with the same good…natured； half humorous authority。 〃Let your
wife wait； take a drive with me。 I want to talk to you。 She'll be
just as glad to see you an hour later； and it's her fault if I
can't come home with you now。〃
〃I know it；〃 returned his companion； in a tone of half…annoyed
apology。 〃She still sticks to her old compact when we first
married； that she shouldn't be obliged to receive my old worldly
friends。 And； see here； Dick； I thought I'd talked her out of it
as regards YOU at least； but Parson Thomas has been raking up all
the old stories about youyou know that affair of the Fall River
widow； and that breaking off of Garry Spofferth's matchand about
your horse…racinguntilyou know； she's more set than ever
against knowing you。〃
〃That's not a bad sort of horse you've got there；〃 interrupted
Demorest； who usually conducted conversation without reference to
alien topics suggested by others。 〃Where did you get him？ He's
good yet for a spin down the turnpike and over the bridge。 We'll
do it； and I'll bring you home safely to Mrs。 Blandford inside the
hour。〃
Blandford knew little of horseflesh； but like all men he was not
superior to this implied compliment to his knowledge。 He resigned
himself to his companion as he had been in the habit of doing； and
Demorest hurried the horse at a rapid gait down the street until
they left the lamps behind； and were fully on the dark turnpike。
The sleet rattled a